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.mnwmwmthWM. .M‘utu . ., _ .. -. :ngg. j ‘ your ears open. 3,; win or THE SEA'; OR, A STRANGE REUNION. The coastguard station of Whilenoec was shrouded in a thick dark November fog, which seemed to roll up the steep face of the slide, from the Channel below, as if sent up by the waves that beat with a sullen roar on the rocky shore. Thicker and thicker loomed the fog over the few houses and buildings of the station, almost the only habitation for miles around. The coastguard had all turned out on the anxious duty of warning off any vesselswhich might be de- tected sailing too close to the shore. \Vhitenose is a coastguard station on the Dorset coast, a little to the east of the town 0f \Vevmouth. The coast here is particu- larly dangerous, the cliffs rising almost per- pendicularly to a vast height from. the deep waters of the English Channel, which allow- ed vessels to sail along in apparentlsafety until they struck with a. shivering shook on the cruel rocks from which escape was hope. less. Mr. Halstead, the officer in command of the station, paced anxiously to and fro on the narrow pathway in front of the look- out. Now and again he stopped and strain- ed his attention seawards, but as no sound came back but the dull thud of the waves, he resumed his walk. ” ” Hello there ! is that you. Lucy _? called Mr. Halstead, as a slight girlish figure approached him. “ Yes, uncle," was the response. ” Whatever do you wantout a night like this? ” he remarked. “ I can’t bear to stay in all alone, uncle. Let me walk beside you, l’in well muffled up and I shan’t. catch cold.” “ Well, well, have your own way, dear, as you always will. Take my arm and keep They're sharper than mine.” The couple had only gone a few yards when Lucy came to dead stop and stood listening. “ 'l'l-ere, uncle, listen ! What was that? I heard voices. They seemed to come from right under the cliff?” “ No, no, Lucy. You’re mistaken, I’m sure,” said Mr. Halstead, after listening awhile. He was about to resume his walk when the girl cried excitedly, “ Hush, hush, uncle, I’m sure I heard the sounds again. I can hear singingâ€"a band playing, or some sort of musicâ€"it sounds like “ Home, sweet home ” they’re playing and singing.” Mr. Halstead thought he heard something this time, and nervously clutching the rail- ing that ran along the cliff, he listened in- tently. “ Good God ! Lucy, I hear it new, the vessel’s close in shore, another few minutes and she’ll be on the locks. “’ithout another word he dashed off to the look-out gun room and reappeared with a musket. Again he made sure of the sounds, and then discharged his gun, shouting in stentoriaii tones: “ Ahoy, ahoy there ; ship ahoy l” Then he paused and listened till clear, though muflled by the fog came the answer- ing call, “ Aye, aye." Fainter and fainter came the sounds, and Mr. Halstead knew the vessel was hearing out to sea. “’ith a. breath of relief he turned to Lucy. “Ah, my dear,” he exclaimed, while a. tear trickled down his cheek and snowy beard, glistening in the lamp-light of the look-out â€"“ Lucy, my dear, my dull old cars would never have heard the vessel coming on until too late. God only knows how many souls you’ve saved from a terrible death to-night.” “ Don’t praise me for it, uncle; if you had not been here I should have been useless â€"I did not know what the sounds meant.” ” I know only too well, my girl. The ship's band playing ‘ Home, Sweet Home 1’ shows it must have been one of the big liners-probably homeward bound. No wonder they were singing the old song; but if they had gone on these rocks, many a one of them would never have seen their homes again.” - The fog appeared to be now lift-ing some- what, and, trembling from the re-action, Mr. Halstead returned with Lucy to the g cottage, culling one of the men to take up his watch duty. The kitchen looked cheerfully inviting after the damp fog outside. A bright fire one just showing signs of life, wastaken to the nearest house. and was brought round almostby a miracle, it seemed to us. Lucy, my dear, you were that baby, and you were taken to my house. My dear wife that’s now dead and gone tended you, and brought you up as if you were her own. We had no children, and as you grew up, you were like a ray of sunshine in our lives. I Yes, Lucy, that was you, and I’m not your impaintod us. s. Seabird." The little uncle at all, exeept that I love you as dearly as ever an uncle could love a sweet girl like you.” “ Oh, uncleâ€"I must always call you scâ€" how strange it all seems. I don’t know what to think of it. But it will make no difference in my love for you. In fact I shall love you all the more, because you have cared for me all these years. Who- ever I am, I will never leave you.” “ God bless you, Lucy l” fervently ex- claimed the old man. “ Do you know, I’ve been afraid that if I told you this you would get romantic notions into your head, and want to leave me in order to find out whether your parents were rich, and so on, just as they do in the story books.” “ No, no, uncle ! so long as you live I re- main at your side. \Ve’ll not speak of this again, and I’ll thiukthe same of you, as ifI had never known it. You have been very, very good to me” and I am happy. What else can I want?” “There’s one thing that troubles me. Lucy. W hat if your father or mother, or both, are still alive? How they must have sorrowed for you! If I could be sure they were not alive I would feel happy to see you for ever at my side.” They set and conversed together till pre- sently the old man exclaimed, “Why, bless me, Lucy, it’s nigh midnight. We’ve been sitting talking and talking here, when you might to have been in your bed long ago. Now turn in, and may ye have I pleasant. dreams. Depend on in everything will be cleared up and turn out right in the end. Good-night! I’ll just trot round and see that all’s square.” ‘ Mr. Halstcad walked over to the look-out. and found the fog had cleared off, leaving a. beautiful moonlight night. \Vhen he got back to the cottage he filled his pipe and smoked reflectiver till the fire had almost died out unheeded. “ Yes, I must do it,” he muttered, as he utlast rose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe ; “ it’s my duty to the girl to find out whether her parents are living or deat .” n '. Q s it- a Not many days later, and before Mr. Halsfead had had an opportunity of carry- . ing out his resolution to prosecute enquiries linto Lucy’s identity, a stranger appeared at the coastguard station, enquiring for Mr. Halstead. The visitor was a. tall burly fel- low, evidently e, sea-farin man, whose deeply browned face beto ened e. long course of travel in tropical climes. ' Mr. Holstead received him as a stranger, yet with a vague impressionthat his face l was familur, and he thought the man seem- ed to avoid his scutiny.” “ For the present,” said the visitor, “ I ' cannot give you my name, butI have some- 'thing to tell you which will show that I come as a friend. Let us sit down here on this bench, and I will tell you all about it. ’ “ Very well, let’s hear it then,” said Mr. 1 Halstead, a. little petulantly, disliking the ~‘ mysterious way his visitor was approaching the subject. “I’m first mate of the Australian liner ‘ Greyhound,” proceeded the stranger. “ “’e were coming up the Channel last week, bound from Melbourne to London. \Ve’d called at Plymouth, and were work- ing our way along to Southampton. Foggy weather came on, and we had to feel. our way along the shore. No lights had been night. I an pose we’d be somewhere near Portland ill. The passengers were listening to. the music of the band play- ing on board, and when it struck up ‘Home, sweet liome’ we all joined in with a hearty ood will. Suddenly we heard a gun go off, and the captain ordering the band to stop playing, we heard a man’s .voice hailing us. He seemed to be not more than a hundred yards away, and when we hailed him back was burning, and its blaze lighted up the’WEheard him can» ‘L‘md “boy! Danger room with a ruddy glow, which glinted on many a polished surface, and showed the perfect cleanliness and brightness of all around. Lucy turned up the lamp and re- vealed a. small table near the fireside, cover- ed with a snow-white cloth, on which was spread a frugal evening meal. Lucy could best be described as a. nice, sensible girl, who looked from twenty to twenty-two years of age, not handsome in ahoy! Bear away!’ I guess we must have l been as close to the cliffs as we could get, and in another minute we should have been on the rocks. Anyhow, we reversed and stood out to sea. When the fog cleared off and daylight came, we were off St. Alban’s Head.” “Good Lord!” gasped Mr. Halsteall, “ it \Vhy, mate, it happen- I was on the lookout must be the same. ed at my station. the common acceptance of the term, but . here, and we heard V°ices fmm 3' Ship Close with a reserved and capable face. After supper, Mr. Hulstead, as was his wont reached down his long clay “ church- wardcn,” and meditatively filled it, while Lucy eat on a linssock at his feet and gazed vacuutly at the fire, expecting her uncle to Hurt the conversation. On these occasions he often related to her stirring stories of the sea, which Lucy was never tired of hearing. “ What are you going to tell me about to. night, Uncle ‘3" she asked. “ Well, I was just thinking,” he said re- lectively, and he stroked his hand lovingly )vcr her head. “I was just thinking,” he repeated, “ That it is now nigh twenty years ago since I first set eyes on you, and :here is a bit of a story about your coming :0 live With me." “ Do tell me all about. it uncle, I should 'ikc to hear about my father and mother. "I was too young when they died to remem- Jcr them," exclaimed Lucy. ” I've kept it secret» these nineteen years ir so, but it's right you should know it now. Nineteen years ago,” continued Mr. Halstcad, “ I was stationed at Ensttown, a small place on the nor-east coast. and We and a terrific storm one week in November. I think it was the Wednesday night when the storm had reached its height, and the men of the neighboring village were all on the beach watching for wrecks and wreck- ige. It was very unlikely that any vessel would go ashore there if it could pos- iibl be helped, for the treacherous nature of tie coast was well known, and always "ivcn .iwide berth, but the villagers well new that a good deal of wreckage would be washed up, and it was treasure trove to them. Towards morning the storm had abated and left the beach strewn with all manner of things, either washed overboard from passing vessels. or from others which had gone to pieces in the neighborhood. While the people were searching they came across": little child of about a couple of years old lashed to a lifebuoy,‘on which on shore. I ran and got my gun and tired it. I hailed you, and you answered. I‘hen I heard you bearing away!” “Yes, I know,” calmly remarked Mr. Halstead’s companion; “thnt‘s why I came here. I gathered as much at \Veymouth. But now comes the pleasautest part of my business with you. The passengers subscrib- ed a purse of about £25 to be given to the man who warned the vessel off, if he could he found. As I had occasion to come down this way myself, I promised to make en- quiries. The owners have the money, and have put another £25 to it. I have only to write to them and get the money sent to oil-II . y “I am not in want of the money," slid Mr. Hulstend, bluntly; “it was only my duty to warn the vessel ofi’. I’ll give the money to Lucy, though. She- heard the vessel first, and she ought to have the re- ward.” “Well, anyway give me your hand, Mr. llnlstcad. I have to thank you for saving my own life with the rest.” Mr. llalstead wrung the extended hand warmly, and as he looked into the man’s face a sin the recollection of its familiarity flashed across his mind, prompting him to remind his visitor that he had not yet» given his name. “Well, I’m rather surprised you haven’t guessed it already," was the reply, an amus- ed smile lightiug up the visitor’s leice. “ I an ass on have forgotten your on lost brgfhcnyBob 2" g “ Eh ! what! Why, of course, you’re Bob. What an old feel I'm getting not to know you at first sight. l seen, and at about ten o’clock on Thrifty; new? Little wife, eh! Jack? Married! Happy man!” exclaimed Bob ‘ving his bro~ ther a dig in the ribs which est took his breath away. “No, Bob. Worse luck, I lost my dear wife nigh ten years o;but Lucy’s helped me through; she’s a ear lass. She passes as my niece, though she’s not that exactly; y’see I adopted her. It came about in this we. d’ye see.” ‘ . n garrulous sailorolike fashion Jack Halstead related the story of the finding‘of Lucy as they walked towards the cottage. So absorbed was he in its relation that he did not notice how strangely it affected his brother. Bob was staring vacantly seaward s and big tears were trickling down his Weath- er beaten cheeks. At the sight of Bob’s emotion Jack paused in respectful surprise. “ Ah ! Bob, I don’t wonder yestart the brinyâ€"l’ve often thought of it, and it makes me drop a tear myself. Maybe the girl’s mother might be alive, maybe her father, and â€"â€"” “ Say no more, Jack,” burst out Bob in a husky voice. “Jack, my lad, it’s just my story. She’s my child, I’m sure of it, and I’ve been trying to trace her, living or dead, all these years. Ah ! Jack, ifwe were not brothers, we’d feel as brothers now. You’ve saved my child led, and you’ve doubly saved my life? You saved me in the fog in the channel, and now you’ve saved me going sorrowing to the grave, a broken-hearted man.” They set and grasped each other’s hand, too full of thankfulness to speak. Brothers indeed they felt at that moment, but bound by greater ties than ever mere blood relation- ship could give them. 90 i- Q . * Happy hearts were those of Jack and Bob Halstead, as they sat at the fireside of the old cottage at Whitenose, with Lucy be- tween them, and, in story, fought life ‘3 bat- ] tles over again. Bob Halstead told his broth- er and Lucy libw, when the “ Seabird” foundered in the storm, he clung to a. float- ing hatchway and was picked up by a. pass- ing trading vessel, outward bound for South America, and not calling at any English I port, he was bound to undertake the whole I voyage. When he returned he could find no I trace and hear no word of any other person being rescued from the “ Seabiu ” and con- cluded that all had been lost. He then on- gaged himself on a merchant vessel, and had ever‘since spent his life at sea, rising to his present position. He had saved enough money to retire upon, and decided ro’spend his remaining days near his brother and Lucy, who was as happy as a. bird. -â€"â€"â€"__Q.__._â€"_ MBTBORIG HEAT. An Aid in Making Up for the Sun's Ordin- ary Expenditure. I pointed out that when a. shooting star dashes into our atmosphere, its course is at- tended with an evolution of light and heat owmg to its friction through the air. \Ve were thus able to account for the enormous quantity of heat, or what was equivalent to heat, that existed in virtue of the rapid mo- tion of these little bodies. Of course, we see these meteors only at the supreme moment of their dissolution 'when they dash into our atmosphere. It is, however, impossible to doubt that there must be uncounted shoals of meteors that never collide with our earth. It must necessarily happen that many of the other great globes in ,our system must, like our globe, absorb multitudes of meteors that they chance to encounter in their room- ings. The number of meteors that will be gathered by a. globe will be doubtless great- er the larger and more massive be the globe, and this for a. double reason. In the first place, the dimensions of the net that the globe extends to entrap the meteors will, of course, increase with its size, but, in addition, the more vehement will be its attraction and the greater will be the number of the meteors that are drawn into its extensive atmosphere. Of course this reasoning will apply in a special degree to the sun. \Ve shall prob- ably be correct in the assertion that for every meteor that descends upon this earth about 1,000,000 meteors will descend upon the sun. As these objects plough their way through the sun’s atmosphere, light and heat will be, of course, evolved. It has been conjectured that the friction of the meteors that are incessantly rushing into the sun may produce light and heat in sufficient quantities to aid in the mainten- ance of the sun’s ordinary expenditure. It has even been supposed that the quan- tity of energy thus generated may supply all that is wanted to explain the extraordin- ary circumstance that from age to age no visible decline has taken place in the inten- sity of the solar radiation. Here again is a. question that we must subniitto calculation. \\’e have first to de- termine the heat that could be generated by a body of, let us say, u. pound in weight falling into the sun after being attracted thither from an indefinitely great distance. The result is not a. little startling; it shows us that such a body, in the course of its friction through the sun’s atmosphere, might generate as much heat as could be produced by the combustion of many times now its weight of coal consumed under the most favorable conditions. Spring Lambs. \Vhen new born lambs are not owned by their mothers, as is frequently done, they can be raised on meal and water (if milk is not plentiful with the housekeeper). I know from experience, for one spring a poor for lorn little lamb was brought from the field almost frozen where its mother had deserted it. Milk was not sufficiently plentiful to give it as often as necessary. So, in a week after using milk diluted with water (using a rubber nipple and bottle as for babies,) I thought I would try using warm water with cornmeal stirred in to thicken it somewhat ; had to enlarge the holes in the nipple. I found the lamb sucked it as greedin as the milk. After finding it thrived on this diet, I continued for some weeks using the bottle, and water on: of a pan ; put more meal in the water and inserted one of my fingers in the mixture leaning the end out for the lamb to suck the meal off it by degrees, drawing its mouth to the meal and water and in a few days the lamb would eat with. Well. there." warmly out my finger being placed in the mixtureat grasping his brother’s hand, “ I’ve never felt all, and it thrived and was unusually healthy so jolly in all my life.” They vied toget the most information out of each other in the shortest space of time. " Well, now Bob. you must be hungry. and strong. The King of Dahomey is reported to have Seized twenty Europeans at Whydah, in Come along to my little cottage, and Lucy eluding several nuns. will give you a hearty welcome.” “Right you are, Jack. Fire at Nagoya, Japan, on March 22, dc I'll go with vou. stroyed the temple and tower and 1,300 and then I tried to teach it to eat the meal! By the way, who’s Lucy you nientiraedjast houses. Loss $350,000. HOUSEHOLD. Their It is usual to devote the see under this head to themoral training 0 children, but this month it ismy purpose to have some- thing to say about their physical training. I had a most interesting chat the other day with a physician about children’s baths. He is a man who has studied the use of water a great many years and from being a. medical practitioner of the “ old school” he has become a hydropathist and gaineda. most enviable reputation for his knowledge and skill. There is always danger of becoming what is known as a. “ crank” if you have a great deal to say on one subject, but there is ab solute need of cranks of a moderate sort. Mothers do not know half enou b about the use of water, that is certain. ‘hey might become cranks on that subject with great credit to themselves. An infant’s bath is one of the events of the day. A mother will usually give it even if pressing duties put it 03‘ until late in the afternoon. Of comes with a well~ appointed nursery the bath will be giVen in the morning and at a regular time. The physician already alluded to advises havin the water in which baby is fiist bathe almost at blood heat, that is 95 ° Fah., and it should remain at the same temperature for some days. Gradually the bath should he made cooler until it is about 80° Fah., although the temperment of the. child on hi: to regulate this to a certain degree. or instance, a nervously organized infant should have its bath in water not lower than 85 ° Fah. Let it be mentioned here and now that a bath tub thermometer is an indispensable article in a. wellâ€"regulated household. Such ther- mometeis are made very inexpensively and are invaluable. Many women rely on their own hands to determine the heat, but there is little dependence to be placed on this method. When a child gets to be a. year or two old a. bath twice a week will be all that is neces- sary for cleanliness. I have often heard a grown ersou say, “ I cannot live without my col bath every morning." To some in- dividuals the shock is beneficial, but to others it is detrimental. People forget that we are not all made with the same organi- zations and thatwater has an almost medi- cinal influence upon us. It is a great thing when a. mother finds out what is best for her children in the way of baths, for she will be able to spare them many colds. - If a. child’s daily bath is kept up it should be taken very quickly, and at a temperature of between 80 ° and 85 °. This bath will make the skin react and will be the proven- tive against cold already mentioned. It is the opinion of my medical friend that no one, either child or adult, should subject the skin to great friction by the use of coarse towels, gloves, etc., the reaction should be produced against it by the water itself. A good temperature for a child’s bath for cleanliness is 92 ° . It may be of five or ten minutes duration, and no fear need be dread- ed of a. cold afterward if the ordinary pre- cautions are taken. People have not all luxurious conveniences for taking baths, but due consideration should be given to arrangements for them of some kind' in every household. His Children Interesting- Aftzr dinnr‘.‘ had been finished the we- man of fashion seated herself comfortably in on easy chair and said : “ Well, we will have a quiet evening.” “ No one expected?” asked her husband. “ Not a. soul,” replied the wife. “Every one is at the Brown’s and I sent regrets, you know. ” “ Where are the children '2” he asked. “ Up stairs in the nursery,” she replied, longuidly. " I’d like to see them,” he replied. “ Sup» pose we let them come down.” " 0 door, no,” she exclaimed. “They’re not dressed to come down stairs. They have their nursery clothes on, you know, and they’d want to play here and get everything topsy-turvy. It wouldn’t do at all.” “ But no one is expected,” he protested. ” Yes dear_ but some one might drop in, and, besides, we mustn't get them in the habit of coming down here when they are not properly dressed and prepared to be- have themselves as well-trained *ehildren should.” . “ When they are on parade,” he suggest- ed. “ Joseph !” she said sharply, “ don’t talk like that ! They have a nurse and a room to themselves, and you certainly can’t expect me to let them come down here ex- cept when they have been properly attired. Besides, they enjoy themselves more in the nursery. ” “ I presume they do,” he said quietly. “ If you had seen what I saw to-day”, she went on, “ you would understand. I called on little Mrs. Fernwood and when I went in the floor of the library was just covered with blocks and toys, and her two children were playing there on the floor. \Vhy, she had to have the folding-doors shut when she came into the reception-room, and then some of the blocks and toys were left on our side of the door and we could hear the children laughing and talking all the while I was there. Why it lookedâ€"â€"â€"“ “It must have looked like a home and not one of the parlors ofa fashionable hotel he interrupted, as he at upfrom his chair. “ Perhaps she went aIittle too much to one extreme, but it is better than going too much to”â€"He noticed the glitter in his wife‘s c e and stopped. “ Never mind”, he said, “ I am going to the nursery.” Half an hour later when his wife sent for him to see a caller the servant found him sitting on the floor building block-houses. “ Say I’m enga ed", he said ; ” and tell her confidentially ’, he added, “ that we've got a couple of mighty bright and interest. ing children. I never had a. chance to find it out before, and maybe she doesn’t know it. Food for Invalids. Guest. â€"Roll a few butter crackers, and sprinkle slowly into boiling water, stirring constantly till about the right consistency. Add a little sweet milk or cream, salt and a dash of pepper. GRAHAK Carenâ€"One pint of milk and the same of water. \Vhen just ready to bail, stir in two spoonfuls of sifted graham flour, made smooth with a little cold water. Jclime, in every degree of latitude, and in out“). »,v«:-,\»:,~t«.,_-,_,.......xnc»s&..mamxrv=WI=MW-‘fiQ., 5. of .. , Lac, 1‘. .1. . . p . v _,,_. . . : 1. . Let it boil slowly for at least two hours, skimming off any course rtieles of flow: that ma rise. Season wi pepper and salt, and ad more milk when served. Serve hot with oyster crackers Toastâ€"Brown well a slice of bmd on both sides, cut into blocks an inch more and place on a hot plate. Have ready some stewed tomatoes, seasoned. with salt, pepper and a little butter. Dip carefully over the toast, leaving the brown squares visible. Bass Tunâ€"Cut good lean beef into shreds and place in a fruit can, dry. Screw down the cover, place in a kettle of cold water, and boil till the juices of the meat are ex- tracted. This will be strong enough to dilute with hot water. Season, and strain if not perfectly clear. â€"[Good Housekeeping. v Shin of Veal Stew. Use a shin of veal weighin about five pounds, two tablespoonfuls eac of minced onion, carrot and celery, one pint of potato cubes, two pints and a half of boiling water, two generous tablespoonfuls of flour, three tablespooufuls of butter or pork fat, three teaspoonfuls of salt and one-third of a tea- spoonful of pepper. Have the shin out in three parts. Wash it, and cut the meat from the bones ; then cut it into cubes of good size. Put the but- ter in the stew an with the minced vege- tables, and coo slowl for ten minutes. Take out the vegeta Ice and put in the meat, on which should be sprinkled the salt, pepper and flour. Stir over the bra until the meat browns, then add the water, and stir until the stew boils. Skim well, then add the cooked vegetables. Cover the stewpau and set back where the con- tents will only bubble at one side for three hours. At the end of that time add the potatoes, draw the stewpan to a hotter part of the stove and cook for half an hour longer. If dumplings be liked, mix together three gills of flour, a heaping teas Jonful of bak- ing powder, halfa teaspoon ul of salt and hulfateaspoonful of sugar. Rub throu h a sieve and wet with a. gill of sweet mil .‘ Draw the stewpun forward where the stew will boil rapidly and drop the dough in it by dessertispoonfuls. Cover for nine minutes. Serve the stew on a. warm platter with the dumplings arranged around the border. , The shin-bone can be covered with water and boiled for five or six hours for alight stock. If there be other bones or bits of tough meet it will be well to put them with the veal bones. ANBN I’ UMBRELLASl A. of Utility Universal m Its * Spread. There has long been a suspicion that the leading umbrella manufacturers have tam- pered with the Weather Bureau, and have paid some of the Signal Service em loyes a handsome salary topredict min. be large number of predictions of wet and showcry weather, which have never been verified, lends color to the belief that many of the meteorological sevens of the Government are in the pay of the umbrella manufac- turers. _ _ A signal prediction of “ fair With occa- sional light showers,” will cause the sale of hundreds, of dozens of umbrellas to the trade, while a good, strong prediction of northeasterly winds, with heavy rains, gives a sudden boom to the umbrella indus- try even when it is in the dry and yellow leaf. The annual consumption of umbrellas in the United States is estimated at 5,000,- 000. The artificial stimulus of purely im- aginative weather predictions increases this number very greatly. The umbrella is thd most widespread article in the world. It is found in every every degree of life. Mr. James G. Blaine carries an umbrella in Washington. The King of Dahomey carries an umbrella when Mr. Glad- he walks abroad in his capital. So does the stone carries an umbrella. Maharajah of Delhi. the Akbar of Swat, the Prince of Siam, the Mikado of Japan, * the Great Tycoon of China, the Shah of Persia, the King of the Sandwich Islands, the Ameer of Afghanistan, and Muley Hassam. Everybody has heard of “old umbrellas.” Perhaps few are aware how old umbrellas are. Pictures of umbrellas are found on walls of the ruins of Nineveh. Jonah may have borrowed an umbrella if it happened to be showery weather when he visited Nineveh. Three thousand years ago the citizen of Nineveh may have leaned his um- brella against a. winged lion and may have stopped to talk with a citizen of Babylon who carried his umbrella under his arm. Cleopatra had a gorgeous umbrella. Julius Caesar perhiipswalked up the steps of the Roman Senate with an umbrella. over his head. For aught anybody knows to the con: trary, Noah may have carried a. family uni- brella aboard the ark. In some countries the umbrella, like tli sword, is a mark of distinction- Kings en joy a certain reflected glory from the mag- I _. nificence of their ‘umbrellas. Noblemen carry gorgeouri umbrellas, but not so gor~ geous as those. of the king. The anatomy of an umbrella has never been deeply studied, but it is not dissimilar to that of a. human being. Both have ribs. An American umbrella usually has eight ribs, though some particularly large and healthy umbrellas have sixteen ribs. Chin- ese and Japanese umbrellas have a gener- ous allotment of ribs, some of them possess- ing as many as forty or fifty. â€"â€"â€"-â€"-â€"â€".â€"-â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" How to Grow Tomatoes. “ Because the generous nature of the to' matoes yields bountifully with seemingly little care and attention, the general im- pression prevails,” says Mr. C. L. Allen, “ that the plant requires but little attention. This is a sad mistake, for there is not a vegetable in the garden that is so gross a feeder, nor one that so readily pays for all the food and care given as the tomato. To grow it to the greatest perfection, the hills should be dug out to the depth of two and a half feet ; at the bottom there should be a half bushel of well-rotted manure ; above this let the soil be an equal mixture of loam and manure thoroughly mixed. The hills should be at least six feet apart. Let the situation beopen, warm, airy. When the fruit begins to set mulch with clean straw or very small brush. Under these conditions six plants will furnish sufficient tomatoes iorafamily of twelve persons. Whatever variety may be planted in this manner, the result will show specimens for sin, smooth- ness, and esculent properties, unknown to the variety when grown in the ordinary lmanuer.” ya 4..-. n «\r x a.“ w M \AA.,~‘.A ~ _. .. toasty..." _, u _, .- ~.‘ I» as '