St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 18, Number 22, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 17 December 1892 — Page 2

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- ’' /b ^o/ ' 1 Ai^T? r "e^^ 3 CHAPTER VIII. ON THE THRESHOLD. One thought had been, dominant in the heart of Beatrice Mercer since the moment that Raymond Marshall’s discovery of her duplicity had crushed her with humiliation. A bitter, cruel retolve that, come what might, he should never again see the face of the woman he loved! ‘'Patience!” her fierce heart had throbbed out. “He loves her yet; he Knows her to be true. He despises me, but—he shall yet love me. I cannot lose him. He shall never find or wed Edna Beane.” Then, calming her fierce, resolute nature to subtle, sinister regard of all the issues in the case in which mingled love and jealousy involved her, Bea rice Mercer fell to studying the chances in her favor. She knew where Edna had gone; the letter tint Edna had only half read, amid her excitement and anxiety, had been conned over and over again by the 1 plotting Beatrice. Ats contents gave her an insight of the character of the father who had sent lor his beloved child, into his secrets as 1 well, and she knew that one of two ' things would happen when Edna reached 1 home—her father would order her to . forget all friends of the past, or, if any ’ letter or word was sent to Raymond 1 Marshall, it would be through her 1 friends. 1 As the days passed by, however, and < no word was received, she grew puzzled, disturbed, ‘ and finally anxious 1 Tne evening preceding that upon which i Raymond Marshall appeared at the I Semin-ary to find her gone, however, she made a discovery that startled her into * a new train of thought and action, un- I expected, v.vid, exciting. A student living at quite a distance < received regularly the weekly paper i published at her homo, and glancing 1 over this, Beatrice felt the blood rush from her heart through icy channels, as f the noted an item that told her intui- 1 t.vely that she ha 1 found a trace of the S missing Edna at last. a It war the record of the death by v drowning of a man an 1 a girl; the ac- a count of the scene at that broken bridge, where the two villagers had v seen Edna Deane’s compan on plunge n to his death, and had accredited Edna e __hiyself with falling a victim to the tame late. Within an hour, from n careful study t of the item and from a knowledge of the route taken by Edna and her guide, I Beatrice knew that she no longer had a rival. Edna Deane was dead! She knew something more. She knew h that wth the death of these two had I perished a mighty secret —that some- t where—and she knew where, an anx- b ious father war awaiting the return of h s beloved daughter, to lay at her feet, as an atonement for the forced neglect y of years, a royal fortune. P 'the next morning Beatrice Mercer’s h mind was made up. Ail night long she h had plotted and planned. The jealous- o m nded school girl of the night previous had become in a few brief hours a will- e ful, wicked siren, im’ ued wi h schemes c as told and cruel us the hardest heart 8 ever yet designed. P She went straight to the town where 11 Edna and her companion had disap- v pcared. Within twenty-four hours she P was satisfied that both had met their fate in the turbulent torrent that flowed s beneath the broken rustic bridge. s “For wealth —for Raymond Marshall’s s love!” she murmured resolutely, as, a 1 few hou s later, she took a train for the h next station. Evening shadows were creeping over । b the autumnal landscape as Beatrice : I Mercer loft the little depot and walked ! d towards the outskirts of the village. I i In the dim light she made out an j f antique but magnificent mansion, occu- ! t living elaborate grounds, but surround- ; I ed by great, high walls. j c “So near to home and then to lose j life, fortune, and love!” murmured the : ] steely hearted siren. “Poor Edna! but ! i I cannot miss this royal chance.” e Her eyes sparkled as she drew from i her pocket a little chain and lo?ket that < Edna had worn at school and which she ! t had left behind her in her hurry to go f to seek her father. 1 She calmed herself, as if for a mighty ordeal, as she seized the bell-knob at the iron gate and sounded one resonant, 1 discordant peal through the gloomy I structure beyond. f “Fairly on the threshold! ” she breathed I wildly, yet exultantly, as she awaited a 1 i cply to her summons—“one bold stroke, 1 a single resolute assumption, and I < shall be mistress of wealth untold, to 1 nave the way to the heart of the man > I lovo— Raymond Marshall!” J J CHAPTER IX. SUCI ES 3. 1 A crabbed-faced man answered the ring at the iion gate after a lapse of 1 several minutes, stared at the veiled j figure without, first penetratingly and c then without suspicion, and asked, un- f ceremoniously: i “.Who are you—what do you want?” i < Beatrice Mercer was an actress. She a had come prepared to feign a part, and i she did it well. 3 All the fire and impetuosity of her j passionate nature was subdued to the seemngly shrinking timidity of a shy a young girl. She stammered out a frightened apo’.- ; i ogy and clung to the Iron gate as if t weary and weak. j “I have come a long ways,” she mur- i mured, “and I must make no mistake, j The gentleman who lives here—Mr. 1 Caleb Marston.” 1 The servant or helper uttered a sharp 1 ejaculation of sui prise and renewed suspicion. 1 “Who told you that Mr Caleb Marston 1 lived here?' he demanded. 1 “I—l—does he not? Then I will go, j K I am in error,” and Beatrice re- j treated. 1 Buick as a flash the man unlocked the i I

gate, seized her arm, dragged her inside the overgrown, ill-kept garden, and regarded her much with the angry glare of an enemy. “No, you don’t!” he said. Where did you get that namo—Marsto: Who told you? Speak! Have they guessed his hiding place again?” the man half muttered to himself. “I got the name from a letter—a letter from Mr. Marston himself," explained Beatrice. “Oh!” muttered the man. “I’ll guarantee he never tfld you to use that name hereabouts, all the same. Ralston, girl! Do you inderstand? Never whisner Marston again, if you’re friends of ours. ” “Can I see him?” “Can you see who?” “Mr. Mar—Mr. Ralston? He sent for me.” “He did?” “Yes. Take me to him. He will tell you it is all right. ” The man studied a bit. He relocked the gate and made sure that no one was I lurking about the place. Then tak.ng an enormous Lunch of keys from his pocket, he led the way to the house. A massive, gloomy structure, the care he manifested in penetrating the doubly locked-portals, indicated a jail or a] castle of defense. It was richly fur- | nished within, but the closed and barred i windows and chill pervading each : apartment made the antiquated man- [ sion seem somber, g.oomy, and uninvit- - ing in the extreme. “You writ here.” Beatrice’s gu de pointed surlily to a chair in a small waitinq-room, and disappeared through a door at its other ent. There was the low hum of con versation in the adjoining apartment. Her eyes glowing like two sinister stars of light, Beatrice glided noiselessly to the threshold of the door” that had just closed noiselessly on her companion. Her ear bent, she strove to translate the gruff, explanatory accents of the man, the sharp, querulous, excited tones of his companion. When the door again opened, however, with the grace and agility of a panther she had regained the chair. “Go in,” nodded the keeper, and the. door opened and closed after her, ushering her into a roomy apartment, and leaving her face to face with her fate Half reclining in an invalid chair was a thin, white-haired man. She studied his working face from beneath her veil; she noted the nervous tension of bran and body, for he was almost panting with excitement, his eyes were keenly alive with unconcealed suspense. “My s eward tells me you come here with a letter, ” spoke the master of the mansion, in tones scarcely audible from emotion. “Yes,” murmured Beatrice. “I have written but one letter—it was to one I have not seen for years ” “lour daughter, Alice uaistour--lam she. 1 ather! ” The plot, the fraud, the false assumption of the fair schemer was revealed at last. She had determined to personate her dead hit nd and schoolmate; and the stolen letter had well equipped her for the cruel imposture. “My child!” She had sprung forward at that wild, yearning cry. Not a heart-throb of pity for the fond, deluded old man, soulhungry for the love and sympathy of his long-absent child stirred her heart—anly fierce, covetous joy and triumph. His real daughter was dead, a knowledge of that fact, in his evident critical condition of health, might kill him. Surely, it was a mercy to step into her j place, to solace the last days of a dying I man, co benefit by a fortune that, else, ' would go to strangers or sordid com- ! panions in his inexplicable exile. She knew she was safe in tell ng the j story she had framed, and that circumstances would carry out her claims. She showed the letter she had stolen from Edna; she told how she and her guide had been overtaken by the storm at the broken bridge. He had perished, she had escaped, and she showed the newspaper containing the account of the double tragedy, unconsciously portraying what had really transpired, little dreaming that Edna Deane of the past, the real Alice Ecna Marston, or Ralston, had not gone down in that weird swirl of waters. But there was mu h to learn. Her path was yet one Os pitfalls, and she must be secretive, ana yet draw out the secrets of the unsuspecting old man who accepted her unreservedly as his own child, blinded by clever falsehoods, the changes 0“ years, and her cireum- ' stantial narration of events he knew to ‘ have happened as she related them. “When you enter this house,” he said, 1 “you close a door on the past never to I be opened. Pool Rodney! he died in j bringing you to me. He was my best j friend. All these years, amid my im- | prisonment, my fugitive wanderings, he | has been true to me. He alone knew j where you had been placed. Now, under a new name, you come to share my loneliness. Fear not’ it will only be for a few brief years. Then, mistress of my fortune, you can go forth into the world and enjoy the liberty denied me.” “Fa her, I do not understand,” murmured the false daughter. “Do not try to. An innocent man, I have yet been called upon to suffer the penalty of a crime unjustly laid 1o my charge. Even now, I am a fugitive from justice. Hunted down, a reward upon my recapture. I sought this secluded spot to die in peace. , Here we j will live in quiet contentment, your love I and care the solace of my declining | years. Are you not content with that, | Alice, my chill?” “Yes,” murmured Beatrice, „since you I will It so.” Why not? Life here, surrounded by every luxury, would not bo so arduous that she could not find some enjoyment in it, and later on!—her eyes glowed with sinister triumph,—there was a farther p’ot to carry out, there was Raymond Marshall to think of, the man she was determined to win, come what might. Imperfectly understanding the vague mystery surrounding Ralston, she yet realized that he was in danger of apprehension for some entanglement of the past. Some day she must posses; that secret in full. It would give her added power to sway him to her will if ever : her imposture were discovered.

She could scarcely comprehend the rare success of her imposture as, later that evening, she sat in the boudoir of the suite of rooms apportioned to her in the old mansion. Not a breath of suspicion had been aroused. Placidly, unequivocally had old Mr. Ralston accepted her as the child he had not seen since infancy. Her past, like his own, he would newer seek to probe or revive. Yesterday was as deal and gone as the ages past. Here she could change her own identity in the undisputed possession of a royal fortune. Ralston dead, that fortune acquired, and with her youth, beauty and intelligence, she could go I out into the world and become a queen among women, tread a velvet path i through life-she, the poor, obscure ! teacher on ha f-pay, the friendless drudge of Hopedale Seminary. Yet there was a canker at the heart of the rose. Conscience did not trouble her. She even justified her fraudulent representations. No, all she thought of. all that disturbed her was a memory of the man she loved. How she loved him still! How the handsome, animated face of Raymond Marshall haunted her. “For h s sake I did it all!” she murmured, tumultuously. “He must benefit by it all. How? Ah! patience, my eager hear! I hold the strings of destiny! If I make no misstep, fortune and love are both mine in the end. ” Her rooms had been papered for her with infinite care. They were moie than luxurious, they were elegant. The ' steward an 1 a housekeeper were the sole servants, but they attended like mute slaves to her every caprice as.the days went by. Ralston was not exacting. He asked an hoar or two of her time each day to i read to him in the garden, ar play for j him in the great, somber drawing-room on the piano. Ever under the shadow I of some great fear,, he never lelt tha [ walled grounds of the estate, and requested her t> confine her long drives to the unfrequented roads fading away from the village. A week passed thus, then the novelty of her BIW life began to wear away. The false Al ce Ralst m, the real Beatrice Mercer, began to grow restless, anxious, moody. Then she fell to plotting. If she could onlv drag from that past life the object of her love. Raymond Marshall, she would be content. “You are getting wearied of the loneliness here, I fear,” spoke Ralston, anxiously, one evening. “No, father.” “You are deceiving me. I can read it in your face. J caught you crying yesterday. £peak, my child, if you have any secret sorrow." The veiled eyes of the siren glowed I triumphantly. The hour had come for a master-stroke of finesse. “Shall I tell you the truth, even if it disturbs you?” asked Beatrice, in a low, purring tone. “Always, my dear." “I am happy here, only there is a chapter in my past that haunts me." I pursued the fals°-hearted Beatrice. “I have friends whom I love, whom I left in poverty, trouble. Father, if I had the means to visit lh?m, to place them in a position beyond want, I would return here satisfied, never to leave you again.” “You mean this, my daughter^” “I nu an it, father.” v T underpinnH vou wish ff goto these friends—to bid them a nuuMrarewell, and to enrich them?” “Yes." He led her to a room guarded with an iron door. With a key he unlocked a cabinet. It was stored with money—coin, bank notes, bonds. “Yours,” he sad generously; “all yours. Take what you want. I shall j never ask how much, nor care. Deal as | liberally with y< ur friends as you like, only—must you go to them?” “I must, father." “Alone?” “I will be careful—nothing will happen to me.” “I shall worry—your absence will torture me.” “Not for long. Oh! dear father, you make me happy iq enabling me to make my dearest friends happy. Let me go at once—to-night, to-m now. In a weak —two, at the farthest, I shall return. Then I shall forget them—all the world save you.” She had carried her point. The first I impoitant step in the plot of htr' life ' was accomplished. As the next morning, a little moneyfilled sachelin her hand, she left the mansion bound for Hopedale, her confident heart told her that she would never return until she had won the man she loved. jTO EE CONTINUED. I How a Fish Sees. The medium in which fresh-water fishes live gives them a chance to see a great distance only in the horizontal direction, and the pioper adjustment of the eye would make, under ■ usual conditions, the optical axis take this direction. To me it seems im- , possible to explain the constant revo- , lution the eyeball on any other i hypothesis except that given, viz: j That the optical axis extends forward ; instead of sidewise. When a fish wishes to eat> any- j thing, either at the bottom of the pond or at the surface of the water, it swims directly toward the object; and in this case the eyes are instantly adjusted in line with the body, so as to bring the image of the particle desired upon the posterior portion of tue retina. In this case they lose their usu il horizontal position. If a fish wishes to turn to the right or left in the water, the first movement is that of the eyes in unison with the direction of the turning. This would be entirely unnecessary if , I the apparent axis was the axis of i i most distinct vision, as one of the ■ j eyes would see all that was to be seen ’ ।in the side of the turning. After 1 i this movement of the eyes, the body I turns enough ‘0 bring the eyes into । their normal position; and there is i again a movement of the eyes, and I next a movement of the body. This I causes a peculiar jerking motion of , the eyeball during the whole time of the turning of the body. A medical discovery reported from Edinburgh is that severe inflammation of the brain, due to blows on the heaa, can be cured by lubricat ng all the internal membranes of the nose with g’yceldne. This gives relief to the brain : by causing the water to descend by the nose and throat.

REAL RITUAL READING WILL BE FOUND IN THIS DEPARTMENT. How to Build Hoard Fences Economically —Give Attention to Betails-To Prevent Washouts in Grain Fields—An Effective Game Trap— Notes Etc. Board Fences. Every farmer who builds board fence knows that the main cost is the posts and digging the holes and’ setting them. If we buy first-class locust posts they cost 20 to 25 cents each, and it takes two for each rod: and if we set cheap posts they rot off in a few years and the fence must be re-built. More than fifteen years ago, writes Waldo F. Brown in the Practical Farmer, I invented a fence which supports itself without posts, and I have had it in use on my farm ever sin e, and it has given good satisfaction. I call it a sell-supnorting truss fence, because it requires no posts; but to make it perfectly safe in exposed situations, stakes should be driven down in the notches be- > tv-—r fls , tween,the panels after the fence is set up. The drawing above gives an idea of the fence. The panels can be made in the barn or shop, all ready to I be put up and thisisan advantage, for rainj' weather can be utilized in making it. The boards are nailed to uprights of hardwood two inchess juare, and beveled at the top, so that when the panels are leaned together these bevels will exactly lit each other. In setting up this fence the panels are leaned towards each other, with the foot of the uprights from two and a halt to three feet apart, and then j short boards are nailed from one up- i right to the other, to hold the I fence in place. Fig. 2 shows an cud A. FIC 2 View of the fence, which is one of the 1 trusses which takes the place of a post, and 1; n b are the short boards । nailed across from one upright to the 1 other, to hold the panels of the fence together. A stake, three inches in j diameter, driven in the ground flat ! against these short bonds, and a nail I driven through each board into it, I makes the fence as firm as if there i were good post® set in the ground. I ! have some of this fence made only ■ three boards high, with, a barbed wire ' stretched above it and fastened to ! the stakes, and this still further re- । duces its cost, for a board 16A feet' long costs as many cents, but a wire ; of this length only 3 or I cents. It ' A— c iu । m 1 y - —mt rm 3 is not best, however, to make this fence in panels 10 feet long, as they are awkward to handle and will sag a 1 little. 1 like to make a fence with i panels just 11 feet long, as then three ■ of them make just two rods, and by ! buying a part of the lumber 12 feet । long and a part 14 there will be a very little waste, as the ends cut oil can i be used for the short stay boards 0:1 1 the trusses. Fig. 3 shows the threeboard fence with the wire above. A Blanket of Snow, A winter covering of snow fu? *lie ’ fields, grass, or grain, is extremely beneficial, presenting deep freezing of tho soil, keeping the plants and their roots at an almost uniform ' temperature, and the almost daily ' freezing and thawing that occurs on i land not thus protected. The cover- ' ing of snow should be made as uniform as possible by placing branches of evergreens or anv other obstruction about 1 the open spaces in fields and especially 1 upon the knolls and other elevations where the wind sweeps away the, fallen snow. These obstructions need ; not be placed in position until the ground is frozen solid, when other farm work is not pressing, and should there be an open winter the protection afforded by the obstructions alone will amply repay the labor and expense, When t 9 Water a Horse. Dr. C. E. Cary. B. S., D. V. M., of' the veterinary department of the Da- I kota Farmer, says: “The horse's 1 stomach is small, and if water is I given Immediately after feeding, a; great portion of the food is washed | beyond the stomach before the gastric I digestion has occurred. Thus a great ; part of the food is lost and. in many 1 instances, is liable to induce indigos-1 tion, etc. Always water your horses i before feeding, and never water them I for two or thre? hours after feeding, 1 and you will save food and have ■ stronger and healthier horses.” Attention to Details. Careful attention to details very; often is the turning point between a 1 profit and a loss. This is more notice- ' able where the competition is strong , in the farming line, while prices are i low and fluctuating. Hence make i the best use of each day. Have the! men do some work that tells to ad-

, vantage. Do not. let crops go to waste, but secure them promptly when matured, look after the stock ■ while at pasture, give the work animals healthy food, feed regularly, and do not water them too warm. If the ■ harness, vehicles, or machinery have : any weak points, repair in time and , do. not wait until a break occurs that may cause hours of lost time in a busy season Keep the fences in good repair, thereby saving your own crops i and keeping on good terms with vour j neighbors. Sell cropsand stock when I I a fair price can be obtained. It a ' i neighbor has stock for sale cheap and 1 1 you have the pasture, or feed, to still i further add to its value, then make a I deal. Trading sharpens the wits, and . makes one more observant of honest; 1 opportunities. A Ganic Trap. Here is a trap, as described in Farm ' and Home, for catching anv game ; that will take bait. For the bottom • use a board 1G inches long. The I sides should be 12 inches long and j ' nailed or screwed to the bottom so । that it will project 2 inches for the i : foot to rest on while setting the trap, | L T se two standards 16 or 18 inches | long, which are screwed to one end of the box. The middle piece is a round j stick of hard wood to which is attached a coiled spring. The fork may i be made ot wood or iron and is for ' catching the game when the trap is j sprung. A piece of seasoned hickory is used to attach the bait on, as shown In the. cut. This holds the I f J - pdlL trap up when set and lets it down when the bait is taken. Underneath the fork are fastened a number of spikes or pointed irons to make sure of holding the game. All Around the Farm. Mark all the grain bags. Make your farm productive and it i will pay. A rich soil is an essential item in i the growing of good crops. Chern at as low a temperature as' 1 you can anil wash the butter grains with cold water. Linseed and cotton seed (cake or meal) is excellent, but all oily foods , are liable to cause moulting. A wheat crop of twenty bushels per acre at 75 cents per bushel will give some profit, but it is much betI terto raise thirty bn^hoLs. Corn fodder, put in shocks and 1 j left m the field during a good part of । the fall and winter, loses from onethird to one-half of its feeding value. When your birds have bowel disease . change the food for a day or two and i ! change the grit. One-half the ‘ I troubles are from lack of sharp, hard ' grit. The farmer who raises uniformly ' I good crops does not suffer much from ■ the fluctuations in price, The good ! crops pay a profit over production j even when prices are the lowest. By judiciius feeding, well-bred 2-vear-old steers may be made to I weigh upward of two pounds fori each day of their live;. At that I rate of gain beef production can be i made profitable. Corn is the great food for fatten-! ing. There is nothing equal to it , for making hard, solid pork that commands the highest market .price. i Swine, however, will be able to digest more of it, if allowed turnips, ! i potatoes, carrots or beets and some I ; bran instead of nothing at all but • | corn. Too much corn will make them j “cloyed.” To Prevent Washouts in Grain Fields. If comparatively level fields are ; ! sown to wheat or rye, furrows should i be made that will quickly carry off all the superfluous water, says the ' American Agriculturist. Tne fur- , ' rows should follow the rhe lowest por- ■ tion of the field, even if it be a . tortuous course. It is best to do this ! immediately after seeding, but it may i i be done at any time before the ground i ' becomes frozen solid. Os course, some I 1 of the urain will be destroyed, but by j scattering, with a fork or shovel, the j upturned soil, only the plants m the) ! immediate channel will be lost, and ' this precaution often saves ten times i that amount being drowned out or ' stunted in low places. If grain occupies the-steep hillsides, furrows should । be made from the lowest places lead-1 ing down and horizontally around the . hill, thus conveying much of the sur- ; plus water to the direct portions. If 1 the furrows are gradually sloping, j washing will be prevented. If the ' I hill is quite steep several furrows ‘ j should be drawn, thus diverting heavy j : rainfalls into several channels, with ! i consequent less danger from washing I ! or overflow. Fanners and Fertilizers, i There are truths in connection ! ' with farming that are known and ' have been expressed many times, and ' I yet are of a character that require I repeating over and over and over! ; again, so as to keep them constantly j before the minds of farmers. One of j I these is a want ot knowledge of the ! requirements of the farm as relates) ito the application of fertilizers. Most! lof the States provide through their j experiment stations for the deter- j ; mination of the fertilizing value of ) ; the various compounds that arc ■ j thrown upon the market, and so far ! as this goes is of service and a protec-! ! tion against undiscoverable frauds I i

that might otherwise be practiced ■ upon the farmers. But with all this, arc they exercising as great care I as they should in the selection of the 1 goo Is they use? The requirements of the soil should be fairly well understood, and then a better estimate can be made of what is best adapted to the soil to which it is applied. There is another point that ought also to be considered, that various fertilizing elements exist in very different forms, which present very different I commenial values as well as fertiliz- ■ ing values. It is important then 1 that the farmer should become suffi- • ciently acquainted with these values I in the different forms in which they ! may be found, so as to be able to I Judge of the desirability of a fertilI izer. When, as is the case in the j State < f Rhode Island, the difference I between the selling price andcommer- | cial prices ranges from 839.33 per ton ito the small difference of two cents i per ton, it can be seen how much ' may be saved by the applicatioo'«f a I little knowledge,—Germantown Tel- । egrapli. , — Sheep Shearings. Especially when on dry feed sheep ' need a good supply of water. , Look over the flock and sell the ! sheep that show the least improve- । me nt. Inferior sheep are often a drug when good sheep sell readily at good prices. Never allow sheep to be frightened or run by a dog or in any way be disturbed. If any of the ewes have poor teeth it will always pay to feed them ground feed. A sheep kept thrifty will shear a heavier and better fleece than one foorly kept. In commencing to fee l grain to «heep, feed a small quantity at first and gradually increase. The farmer that is too carelss to give sheep good care will do better with some other class of stock. Sheep of different ages and conditions should be sorted into different lots and the weaker ones have a little better feed. With comfortable surroundings, which implies dry, warm shelter and regular feeding, a small imount- of grain can be made to count. How to IHaKe Working Mittens. Bed ticking is the principal and Lest material for home made working mittens, although they can be made ot ! old bags or overalls. A. The full round thumbless cut shows the back side of the mittem. B. The palm and the frent side of the thumb. This should be made double or it can be faced with soft leather, for this is the part where all the wear comes. C is yy,. the top part of the front side of the mitten and thumb. D the mitten . complete. First sew B and C together, forming the thumb and the j front side ot the mitten, and then to j the back (A), making the mitten comi plete. This is a much handier and Letter pattern than the old method, because there is no thumb to set,_ i which is the hardest part of the job. i The face can be replaced when worn ' out, also.—Practical Farmer. Keep Hie Woodbox Full. 1 A year’s supply ahead of seasoned i wood is what every farmer should 1 have, and then if by their own effort: they keep the wood-box as well as the woodhouse full, how much tribulation । would the patient wives be saved! The Housekeeper. i Grate and bottle odd bits of cheese i ready for use Onions keep best when spread out on a dry floor. . Prick potatoes before baking tc I allow the air to escape. The tone of the piano is. not sc ! good when it is set back against the wall. Iris stated that cheese will not mold if wrapped in a cloth with cider vinegar. Place a lump of camphor gum with the silver ware to keep it from 1 tarnishing. A Gocd wav to clean stovepines is to rub them well with linseed oil ; while they are warm. । C irk that has been boiled may be I pressed more tightly into a bottle ! than when it is cold. I One of the best remedies for i bruises, where the skin has not been ! broken, is arnica and sweet oil. Coffee grounds can be used to fill , pin-cushions. They should be put in a bag and hung up back of the stove ' until they are perfectly dry. Mrs. Buttome writes to the La-, ' dies’ Home Journal: “I am tired of ; seeing all the flowers at wedding* । and funerals: we need a few be-” । tween.” i Blu:> jeans makes an effective 1 soft cushion cover when embroide:c 1 I with white silk in conventional dej signs, and trimmed all around with a ' ru He of the stuff. In France, instead of using starch . 0:1 table napkins, after they are I washed anil ironed,they are dipped in boiling water and partially wrung out ! between cloths. They are rapidly ironed with as hot a flat-iron as pos- ’ ! siblc without burning them. ! Does the point at the back of your i waist persist in curling up when you ; sit in the car or even in an ordinnry I chair? If so, sew two inchesof black ' elastic on the under side, leaviner it the least bit tighter than the dress ’ I iust over the whalebone, and see how ' it will hug the top of your skirt-.