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rhe baik received ted His 1zes . and & protect h D|!s moveâ€" it the ds Iton Com W r se t# Deep and deadly, though suppressed, vnder the iron rule of the time, was the rage of the people when Brother Cyprian‘s bells, with their beautiful dedicatory legends and their orthoâ€" dox baptism, were thus transferred to the enemy of their country and their faith. Deep, deadly, and vain ; for the people were helpless. But there was something on their sideâ€"something they could not define, did not care to investigate, did not dare openly to claim and exult in, but, nevertheless, believed in and cherished, as the Irish people always believe in and cherish anything which combines the elements of religion and revenge. ‘The men employed to hang the bells in their new place feli from the scaffolding, and were mortally hurt; the belfry was struck by lightning and hurled to the ground ; the bells split in the fall. and when restored they cracked of their own accord. At last, in all the parish, no man could be found to officiate as bellringer, for it became known that he who made Brother Cyprian‘s bells chime in obedience to the stranger and the heretic, should kave no place by any fireside, no partner in a dance, no wilfe from out ‘any household, no nurse in sickness 'r-hld. in fact, be cast out from his Aeliows. The power of the strong hamd eastern wall, of which one sturdy fragment is still standing, and where the irregularities of the earth indiâ€" cate ancient and forgotten graves. But the bells kept the memory of him fresh for scores of years, long after they had been carried off from the ruined and dismantled abbey, and hung in the belfry of a church of the reformed faith in the county town. m as on an Old Rotl!&n ('flnwwa."- TVCUD BRTDINIIOLE, UHC INIR UZ SCHEOC W IUH Groups of cattle on the plains, goats l the supernatural granted. clamberi about the hills, the|, But this was of late dato, and when scream gf the carlew flying far in | ruin had so taken possession of Kilâ€" from the frequent storm, the grey.| lerran Abbey that it would have needâ€" bluso sky, piled with the lowâ€"lying, | 6| & keen imagination, and a thorough fantastic clouds which veil the face| knowledge of the architocture of the of heaven from the lands near the| period at which it was built,to restore sea ; thewo are the surroundings of| it to the ntind‘s eye, as it had been the ancieat abbey, once a place of | when Brother Cyprian trod its cloisâ€" great fame and much resort in byâ€" ters with his sandaled feet, and mused gone t‘mes when it was a monastery | among the graves, so numerous even of the Dominican Order. From Kilâ€"| then, with his refined, thin, dark, ferran, preachers, full of fire and| French face, very eager, and yet eloquence, of zeal and severity, had| weary, anoa differing mucix from the gore abroad to preach in Ireland and | faces of his brethren. The front of the in distant lands over the sea, with| abbey was of great extent, and can the sound of whose distant waters| now be traced, in all its length, mingled the tolling of the bells of | though of the remainder a mere shell Kilferran, masterpileces of Flemish | exists. The lofty and wide entrance is founder‘s art, brought to the abbey | in the centre, and a portion of the in its high and palmy days by Franâ€" | stonework above the arch of the masâ€" cols de Yalmont, who lived, and workâ€" | sive gateway is in good preservation, ed, and Hed a mucké respected menuâ€" | This portion consists of a long line of ber of. the Dom‘nican community as | short, bulky columns, which onee formâ€" Brother Cyprian. d the external side of the principal France in those days was a terriâ€"| cloister, and was probably continued Ple long way ofi from Ireland, a disâ€"| on three sides of the building. Of decoâ€" Kilferran, masterpileces of founder‘s art, brought to t} in its high and palmy days | cols de Yalmont, who lived, a ed, and Hed a much respec ber of. the Dom‘nican comm: Brother Cyprian. France in those days was ble jong way ofi from Irelan tance which, except to the g bles, to statesmen, to soldier the Friars Preachers, implie so ute strangemess and divisi & do not now â€" exi robe, and cloak, and cowl, to mingle with the motliey world awhile, and preach to unwilling ears the vanity of earth, the worth of heaven, and then to return and keep the severe but mcelul pule of St. Dominic. But ther Cyprian lived always within the abbey, though the tradition which lingered long among the peas antry of the place, who had little lore beside, or nutriment for the ever acâ€" tive Irish imagination, had it that no more â€" learned man, or _ *"‘goldenâ€" mouthed," dwelt among the friars preachers. The abbey, within whose ancient walls the Comte de Yalmont found peace, and buried the story of his forâ€" mer PMe, was ancient when â€" he claimed its shelter. The famous bells, his magnificent gift, were landed from & foreignâ€"looking crait, the fashion of whose sails was declared to be "outâ€" lapdish." A rumor gained ground that the novice had brought much wealth *to the community, in addition to his gift of the bell«, which the people reâ€" garded with superstitious veneration. Apparently, Brother Cyprian did no more than this for the Abbey of Kilâ€" ferrap. If, indeed, he had brought wealth with him into the cloister there was no external evidence of its exâ€" perditure ; his life was as obscure as that of any humble lay brother there, «wnd his name was rarely beard while be lived. But for "the musical, magicâ€" al bells," he might have been forgotâ€" ten as utterly as any of the countless brethren of the order who â€" moulâ€" dered away in nameless _ sepulâ€" ture in the abbey _ burialâ€"ground under the shade ol the thick tbween our island kingdoms ana any portion of the known earth. Kilferran _ sent many an earnest, eagerâ€"facel mook in the Dominican robe, and cloak, and cowl, to mingle The inland approach to Kilferran, from the county town Ballycashel, is monotonous and _ unintere:ting, as almost all the inland scenery of Ireâ€" r 10 y ofi from Ireland, a disâ€" , except to the great noâ€" tesmen, to soldiers and to Preachers, implied an abâ€" gemess and division, such not now _ exist beâ€" ur island kingdoms CHAPTER I. any of the countless order who _ mou}â€" nameless _ sepulâ€" bey _ burialâ€"ground le of the thick ind | was the artist‘s hand? No one knows; perhaps some â€" wanderer coming from the d»mcant sunny home of the arts to this remote place, where they were little known, and met scant welcome, who set the mark of the Christian revelation upon the yet unconsecrated waulls, and went hie way ; perhaps some monk, learnâ€" ed in other ways than with the learning of his brethren, whose peace{ful dust has mingled with theirs for ages. There is no other trace of any but the mason‘s skill entrance, the mutilated remains of a eculpured tablet may be discernâ€" ed. The relic! im almost obliterated by age and exposure ; the corners are chipped, green stains maxy the Purface, and a deep crack traverses the tablet, so that it is strange that it has not long ago fallen from its position, and added its tiny item to the heap of ruin around. There is no means of climbing up to the level of this sad little relic of the sculptor‘s presence here, and it is difficult to make out the design of the basâ€"relief. The visitor is told that it represents the winged lion of St. Mark. and people suggest that, in old times, the distinctive signs of the Four Evangelists were sculptured upon the walls of Kilferran. Whose at Kilferran Not far down the coast, formed by the craggy boundaries of the hille about Kilferran, is a fine harbor, where many . noble ships are now no uncommon sight, and where even, in those days, thero was much recourse of _ shipp‘mg, for commercial purposes, and esâ€" pecially for those generally known ration, of the artistic skill and taste with which the monks of old were wont to adorn their dwellings, the visitor will be persuaded at first that no trace remains. The fragments of the walls are rough fragments. The timeâ€"worst rugges surlace of the colâ€" umns which are still standing, in their firm and massive socketsâ€"of the grey sStone which is so drearyâ€"looking, and so enduringâ€"bears no impress of the sculptor‘s hand. But when the visitor stands close by the doorway,.and care fully scans the line of stonework just above the columns, he observes a few feet of masoury, jutting in towards the hollow, empty centre, and makes out that there was the short, b e1 the cloister, on threi of their foreign brethren, or more general intelligence of the world outside, would go on his way to encounter the vicissitudes of a trouâ€" blous time, with many a wistful backward look at the peaceful place ho left behind. The dwellers by the shore were rude peasants, mostly fishermen, near the Abbey; the towns, with their more cultivated and crafty inhabitants, lay beyond the harbor far to the southward ol Kilferran. All visitors to ‘the abâ€" bey had to come thither by special purpose ; It did not lie in any track, and the brother porter had ample notive of an arrival, before he needâ€" ed to let fall the ponderous chain which held the heavy black door, The tradition lasted ; dormant inâ€" dext, for none cared to rouse it. At length, in the lapse of time, the bells disappeared, none knew exactly when or how. ‘The explanation might have been simple, but mystery was preferâ€" able, and th> mystery was estabâ€" lished. But in course of years, when the infants of the days in which the avoided place of Cyprian‘s bells had been unaccountably left tenantless were grown men and women, it began to be rumored that the bells were heard again on the heights of Kilferâ€" ran, and from the sea, in the calm, slumbering, sparkling time o( summer, and o‘ nights, when the watch listened from shipboard for their solemn, eleâ€" vating. admonitory music. Young mothers watching by their sick inâ€" Tants‘ cradles hoard th> belis ; mournâ€" ers by sickâ€"bods, sorrowâ€"stricken peoâ€" ple heavily laden with sin and grief ; above all, th> dying. And it was held of all "a good sign" to hear the ancient music. Th:y wore not afraid ; thcugh no one knew where the bells hung, or if they were in existence, under any form ; though centuries had passed since any sound but the swish of the bats‘ wings, the hooting of the owls, or the twittering of nesting birds among the ivy, had come from the deserted ruins of Kilferran; they were not afraid, nor had they any doubt that the sound was that of Cyprian‘s tbells. So that, though it was always sad, yet it was accounted a blessed thing to have heard these bells ; and many a sick heart had listened for th> sound until benignant fancy produced it, and the longing was satisfied: the link of sense with the supernatural granted. But this was of late date, and when ruln had so taken possession of Kilâ€" ferran Abbey that it would have needâ€" ed a keen imagination, and a thorough knowledge of the architocture of the period at which it was built,to restore it to the nfind‘s eye, as it had been when Brother Cyprian trod its cloisâ€" iters with his sandaled feet. and mused as the "Portingal trade." Many a voyager landed in that harbor, took horse and guide and set forth for Kilferran, where he would be well received and hospitabiy entertained, and having conferred with the monks and, mayhap, brought them news availed nothing against this. ‘There were cruel laws enough in Ireland then ; but, short of the subjection of slavery, none which could be applied to the forcing of a man to ring Cyprian‘s bells, and so they remained silent. teway is in fi rtion consists ulky columns, external side _ and was pr > sides of the of the artisti hich the mon > adorn their is are rough ir rB ruggec surl hich are still st 1 massive socke hich is so drea ringâ€"bears no ‘s hand. But w lose by the doo ns the line af bey that it wor imagination, ai + of the archit which it was b nfind‘s eye, as ther Cyprian 1 his sandaled fe nds iai t irtistic skill and taste > monks of old were their @wellings, the kh "You shall know in time. When I reached the harbor yonder, _ the captain, who knows the place and the people, and, I dare ~my, has done some "I have forgotten nothing," _ said the monk ; and the gesture with which he raised his hand in emphasis was slow and deliberato, but the flush which overspread his sallow cheek was quick and involuntary. "Nothing. But between me and Franceâ€"between me and Parisâ€"between me and your lifeâ€"there is nothing in common. I am not Francois de Valmont, Louls; I am Cyprian, the Dominican." He spoke with great dignity, and the tone of his voice was musical and low. "I came hither in a trading ship from Bordeaux," replied Loulsg. "The good people of this savage island have one human taste at leastâ€"that â€"for our wines, I was recommended to the captain of a trader bound to this port, and sailed with him from Borâ€" deaux. The voyage _waa-tedlous:!a:!d CHAPTER IL "You never sought to learn, you have never asked aught of my fate since we parted, Franco‘s," said Louis de Valmont to his brother, when they were alone, abhd as he spoke he looked closely in Brother Cypriâ€" an‘s face, and strove with an almost womanly eagerness to discern in it some trace of the feelings, the inâ€" terests of the past. Not quite in vain. The elder man‘s face was not impassive, though it «id not lose the impress of separation. It said plainâ€" ly, ‘Your world has ceased to . be mine ; but I can throw my mind back into it again, for a while, for your sake.‘ There was no lack of inâ€" terest in the monk‘s slow â€" smile, though it wanted the tenderness which exiets only with qssociation. " You are wrong," said Brother Cyprian, in the Jlong _ unspoken language of his mnative land. "I have heard of you, indirectly, and know that you still hold your place in the favor of the King and at the court, More, I knew that you had not changed in anything ; and beyond thisâ€"there was nought I care@d to know. If you lived to want me, I should see you, or hear of you, in this work}, I knew ; and I was right ; for here you are!" B Lk "Think that you have come to me as both, Louis, that will be best. Tell me‘how you travelled hither, and why, and how it comes that you have left Paris, Surely it has not become ha‘toful and deadly to you, too ? There are dangers and difficulties, _ and much weariness in such a voyage ; and, as I remember you, it is only to the first you would be indifferent." _ ~"Stlll anothor voyage, my brother! and whither * sls " And â€" have you really no desireâ€" no longing to know more than that? Do you never look back to the life you have left? Francois, have you utterly ceased to be the man _ you were * â€" Have you forgotten ?" M "I have made a long voyage," said his brother, "to see you, to confer with you; and, churchman though I know you to be, I came to you as a brother ; not as a monk." Brother Cyprian‘s face changed now, and there was a soft pity in his smile, as he looked at the speaker intently, and bheard his upbraiding tones. we had many storms, but I cared little for them, my mind being set on the business I came herée to do, and the more distant voyage that is before Prior, in cloak and cowl, and with bim a man in the prime of life, of solâ€" dierly aspect, and, despite his clumâ€" ey and stained travelling dress, of a handsome and gallant presence, who held a plumed hat in his hand. As Brother Cyprian entered with his noiseless step, the . stranger dropâ€" ped his hat, and advanced to him with outstretched arms. . every inch The sound ringing on Brother Cypri noilseless step, ped his hat, with outstretc "Francois !" "Louis! My It was a glorious day, late in the summer, when the flef(h were fast ripening for the harvest, when the sea was slumbering in the sunny haze, when all sounds had a reiucâ€" tant, drowsy tone in them, when the cattle lay down in content, and the trees, motioniess at intervals, suddenly (rustled as though with stealthy pleasure. Seven years had elapseed since the world had lost sight of Francois de Valmont, and Kilferran Abbey and the country around had come to know the learning, the piety, the austerity of Brother Cyprian; but no â€" etra had ever asked to epeak wltg him, in particular, {rom the external world. _ Great e;j:ta had happened since he had looked his last on his native land ; some terrible scenes in the history of the world had been witnessed, and it had gone very hard, not only with the society from which he had cut himsel{ adrift, but with a great part of that in which he had taken refuge. _ Kilferran Abbey owed its safety to its remotenessâ€"to its apâ€" parent insignificance. It is probaâ€" ble that many of the imen in power, engaged in destroying the ancient monastic institutions of the land, did not know anything about the obscure Dominican housge, or did not think it worth the trouble of exâ€" ploration. Be that as it may, the turn of Kilferran had not yet come; the community pursued their way of life, and held their goods in peace, though even there disquieting rumâ€" ors of the dealings of Elizabeth‘s English deputies with the Irish peo ple and their faith had penetrated, when the first sign was given that any tie still existed between Cyâ€" prian and the external world. In a emall room. with a grated window and bare white walls, sat Bro_th_elj_ Cyprian, poring over seyâ€" and ask the pleasure of the stran 1 he exclaimed brother 1" vriting on thick face had _ its with one lean followed _ the and his thin with his deciâ€" Cyprian looked \r‘ Nerve Economy. ~»"Fohn never pays more than The Judge was then more explicit, and said to him: "Speak to the jury. sir; the men sitting behind you on the benches." One Pound Will Do the Work of 236 Horses. Let us take a pound of what we will call average coal, containing, say, 10,000 heat units. ‘This would be somewhat smallor in size than a man‘s fist. A pound of this coal if expended in mechanical work would give us 236 horse power. Imagine at the time of the Pharaohs two long lines of men, extending over half a mile, all pullâ€" ing steadily, at the command of the taskmaster, at a great rope to raise some huge obelisk, and as you see them sweating, tugging and straining, think again of this small lump of coal in which nature has placed an equal amount of power. In some countries men who have been specially trained as porters to carry heavy loads on their backs, will, as a full day‘s work, carry a total of 350 to 600 pounds a «listance of one mile. And yet each hbas expended but oneâ€"third of the power stored up in this pound of coal. An exceptionally strong man has been known to do oneâ€"hall horse power of work as his mightiest effort, but in two and oneâ€"hall minutes work at this rate exhausts his muscular force. Let us suppose 100 such men putting forth such extreme effort at rope or crank or crowbar; as they fall back, redâ€" faced and puffing, to <catch their breaths, we might imagine this little black lump saying to them: "I can do as much as your whole company, The Judge, in a bland and courteâ€" ous maunner, said : "Address yourself to the jury, sir." The man made a short pause, but, notwithstanding what had been said to him, continued his narrative. The witress at once turned around, and, making an awkward bow, said, with perfect gravity : and then can stand it for fully two minutes longer before 1 am exâ€" hausted." A man who had never seen the inâ€" side of a court room until he was inâ€" troduced ap a witness in a case pendâ€" ing in one of the Scottish courts, on being sworn took a position with his back to the jury and began telling the story to the Judge. â€" y "Good morning, gentlemen."â€"Buf falo Courier. the wear and tear of taking an expensive one." _ | . . Copyreaderâ€"Here‘s a fourâ€"column story on germs in drinking water. What shall L do with it ? Editeorâ€"Kill the germs. Copyreaderâ€"Kill the germs ? Editorâ€"Yes ; boil it down.â€"Syraâ€" cuse Herald. " Well, we won‘t dispute," said the younger man, from whose face the passing brightness faded, and was succeeded by an expression of stern anxiety. "The world has not been go blissful a place to me that I need fight its battles. I often think, Franâ€" cois, the fate which left us fatherless and motherlessâ€"you in your childhood and I in my cradleâ€"has pursued me ever since." " And not me?" asked th» elder broâ€" ther, with a sweet, wistful smile. "I cannot tellâ€"nobody can tell. The cloud of your reserve has always been impenetrable ; and the world says that there is only one person in it, beside yourself, knows what it was that sent the brilliant, the successful, the gallant Franco‘s de Valmont, into the cloister. The monk smiled. "‘The world is as wrong as I have always found it," said he, calmly. " Loet it guess, and let us leave it and its guesses alone, and speak of you and the business which has brought you hither. Seome rumors have reached us here, of the Court at Paris, of the plans for a marriage between one of the princes and the English Queen. Has Monseigâ€" neur d‘Anjou ‘or d‘Alencon sent you on a mission of inquiry, and have you come all this way round to fuifil it ?" (To be Continued.) In sawing wood a man may work at the rate of 60 strokes a minuta and consider himsel{ a "top sawyer‘" and his saw blade may have proâ€" gressed five feet a minute, but a cirâ€" cular saw, driven by machinery, may be put through seventy times that distance and saw seventy times as much wood. And yet this little pound of coal contains power enough for 180 such saws.â€"Cassier‘s Magaâ€" zine. " And that one person?" asked the mouk, in a tone which was anxious and eager in spite of him. _ o "The people are native Irish, and speak their own tongue." "Like +enough ; I, perforce, held mine. _ But, rough though the road be, the country is beautifol, with all its loneliness and its wildness, so unâ€" like our France. Bu@ I forgotâ€"IL must not say our ; a monk has no country, and no ties." * "*Not so, Louis:; say rather all the world in which men live and suffer is the monk‘s country, and humanity his brother." ACTIVEPOWERIN A LITTLE COAL Let us now turn to another porâ€" tion of the human race. From the earliest times spinning bas been a muchâ€"prized accomplishment of the fair sex. We need look back only to our own grandmothers. We can picâ€" ture them, from their own stories, told us when we were children, as rosyâ€"cheeked damsels sitting around the open fireplace and spinning from early candlelight till bedtime, let us say, possibly, two hours. Let us then conslder for a moment the thouâ€" sands of spindles rattling and whir}â€" ing in a modern cotton factory, imâ€" pelled by the power locked in coal. One pound of this coal carries the potential energy to do the work of 3,000 such spinsters. Illicit business with them in his time â€"he knows not a little of their senâ€" timents, and told me his concerning Don Philipâ€"put me in the way of proâ€" curing a stout horse and‘a guide. It is a bad road up here to your forâ€" tress from the shore, and as wild as any I have travelled ; but I _ have rougher roads than this to Kilferran before me, and no such assured goal or kind reception. . I set forth, early this morning, and performed my jourâ€" ney in silence, for the peasant . lad who walked all this weary way beâ€" side my horse‘s head is a wild creaâ€" ture, as it seems to me, and speaks no language ever heard ‘by polite ears." "Macdame Marguerite, the Queen of Navarre." »mror an ‘umbrella." . "Wbhy is that ?" "rmioany k "He says it is clrn?hr "I ieap one and lose At than to Ao Addressed the Jury. In the Sanctum. + Take one pill at a dose, and in a surprisingly short time you wiil be ar oa the road to recovery, for r. Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills act tly and promptly on the kidâ€" s, and are certain to prove of % benefit to anyone suffering Warn You Against the Most Dreadfully Fatal of Disorders You Can be Cured by Promptly Using Dr. Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills. When these pains are accompani¢ed by deposits in the urine after it has stood for twentyâ€"four hours _ you may be sure that you are a victim of kidney disease, and should not lose a single day in securing the world‘s gireatest kidney cureâ€"Dr, Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills. THE PAINS OF One of the most common symp toms of kidney disease is the smartâ€" ing, scalding sensation when passâ€" ing water, which is likely to come very frequently and at inconveniâ€" ent times,. Then there is the dull, heavy, aching in the small of the back anrd down the limbs. & Pain is mature‘s signal whereby she warns man of approaching danâ€" ger. Few diseases are so dreadfully fatal as disorders of the kidneys and few are accompanied by more severe pains and dissomforts. Sweet Tomato Pickleâ€"One peck of green tomatoes and six large onions, sliced. Sprinkle with one cupful of salt, and let them stand over night. In the morning drain. Add to the toâ€" matoes two quarts of water and one of vinegar. Boil 15 minutes, then drain again, and throw the vinegar and water away. Add to the pickle two pounds of vinegar, two tableâ€" spoonfuls of clove, one of allspice, two of mustard, two of cinnamon and one teaspoon{ul cayenne, or, better still, one green pepper cut into inch pieces. Only the best cider vinegar should be used for making pickles, and only granite or porcelain lined kettles should be employed in making them. It is not too early for tha small cuâ€" cumbers, and they can always be obâ€" tained from the market or grocery for the asking, as the farmer is ofâ€" ten very glad to pick a peck â€" or more from his heavily laden vines. In fact, U a housewile wishes the very small cucumbers this is the best way to secure them. Have the cucumâ€" bers of even size; rub them smooth with a cloth and place them in brine strong enough to float an egg. They will keep in the brine until wanted to pickle, if desired. Soak the cucumâ€" bers in wator for two days after taking them from the brine, changing the water once, and then scald in vicegar, or pour the boiling vinegar over them, and let them stand in it two days before using. Put â€" into each two quarts of vinegar, an ounce of peppercorns, a hall ounce _ each of mustard seed and mace, a piece of horeeradish, a piece of alum the size of a pea, and a half cupful of sugar ; boil them together for ten minutes before straining it over the cucumâ€" bers. One pound of sugar may . be added to the vinegar if sweet pickâ€" les are desired. Piccalliliâ€"One peck of green tomaâ€" toes, one cup of salt, six small onions, one large head of celery, two cups of brown sugar, one teaspoonful of ground cinnamon, one teaspoonful of ground allspice, one tablespoonful of mustard, two quarts of vinegar. Chop the tomatoes, mix the sait with them thoroughly, and let them stand over night. â€"In the morning pour off the water, and chop the onion and celâ€" ery. â€" Mix the sugar, pepper, cinnaâ€" mon and mustard. Put in a porcelain kettle a layer of tomatoes, onion, celery and spices, and so on until all is used, and cover with the vine gar. Cook slowly all day, or until the tomatocs are soft. Pickled Caulilfiowerâ€"Two cauliflowâ€" ers, cut up, one pint of small onions, three medium sized red peppers. Disâ€" solve half a pint of salt in water enough to cover the vegetables, and let these stand over night. In the morning drain them. Heat two quarts of vinegar with four teaspoonfuls of mustard upntil it boils. Add the vegeâ€" tables, and boil for about 15 minutes, or until a fork can be thrust through the cauliflower. Stuffed Peppersâ€"Select large, beilâ€" shaped peppers. Remove and save the tops, with the stems, and take out all the seeds. Stand the peppers upâ€" right in a large bowl, put a teaspoonâ€" ful of sait in each, cover with cold water and allow to stand for 24 hours. The filling consists of two quarts of finely chopped cabbage, a half cupful of grated horseâ€"radish, a quarterâ€" pound of white mustardâ€"seed, three teaspoon{uls of celery seed and two tablespoonfuls of salt, Put the mixture into the pepper, leaving room at the top of each for a small onion and a very small cucumber, Tie the tops on securely, put them in a jar and cover with cold vinegar. Mustard Picklesâ€"Equal quantitios of small cucumbers, cauliflowers picked into flowerets, and small button onions. Keep them covered with saited water for 24 hours. In the morning scald the brine and dissolve in it a bit of alum the siz> of a nutmeg. Pour the boiling brine over the pickies, When cold drain thoroughly and preéâ€" pare as much vinegar as there were quarts of brine. To ozse quart of vinâ€" egar use one cup of brown sugar, half a cup of flour and oreâ€"fourth of a pound of ground mustard. . Boll the sugar and vinegar. Mix tho flour and mustard, and stir the boiling vinegar into it, and when smooth pour it over the pickles. Aat H”@ u5 hk Pb e ertee AB KIDNEY DISEASE pill a dose, 25 cents a bor, at Healers, or Edmanson, Bates & Mr. Jas. Simpgon, Newcomb Mills, Northumberland _ County, Ontario, writes: ‘"This is to certify that I was sick in bed the most of the timg for three years with kidney disease. I took several boxes of pilisâ€"differâ€" ent kindsâ€"and a great many other kinds of patent medicines; besides that, I was under treatment by four different doctors during the time and not able to work, I beâ€" gan to take Dr. Chage‘s Kidneyâ€" Live» Pillis and since that time have been working every day, .laor a man nearly 70 years of age. , Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills have cupâ€" pill Don‘t imagine that you are exâ€" perimenting when you use Dr. Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills. They are almost as well known as his great Revipe Book, which made some of the most surprising cures of kidney disâ€" ease on record and have come to be considered the only absojute cure for kidney diseases. dress. Considerable business faculty. Unflagging industry, Undaunted ambition, : An utter lack of sensitiveness. A vast capacity for taking paine, 1 An absolute and undisputed devotion to the theatre. + Amn unwedded life. An ability to distinguish criticksm from abuse or fulsome gush. A readiness to profit thereby. Kome genius at advertising. Quickuess at sceizing opportuniics. A well defined specialty, A good memory,. Good luck. Talent. Colonel Joseph H. Wood, Grand Marâ€" shal of the Grand Army parade durâ€" ing the recent national encampmebt in (‘hl("ago, died at midnight of angina from irregularities of these organs. Chowâ€"chowâ€"Cut into pieces oneâ€" half peck of green tomatroes, two large cabbages, 15 onions and 25 cuâ€" cumbers. Mix them together and pack them in layers with salt ; let them stand for 12 hours then drain off the brine and cover them with vinegar and water, and let them stand another 12 hours. Drain off the vinegar and cover them with one and oneâ€"half gallons of scalding hot vinegar which has been bolled a few minutes with one pint of grated horseradish, oneâ€"hal{ pound of musâ€" tard seed, one ounce of celery seed, one half of ground pepper, oneâ€"half cup{ul cinnamon and four pounds of sugar. Let them stand until perâ€" fectby cold, then add one cupful of salmd oil, and oneâ€"hal‘ pound of ground mustard. Mix them together and pace in jars and seal. QUALIFICATION® FOR sSUCCEs®®S®. What a Woman Needs for a Stage Career. Miss Cayvan once gave Mr. Hubert tho following little list of what she termed â€" ithe* qualifications for sucâ€" Boil 15 minutes, or until the tomaâ€" toes are tender. r Cucumbers in oilâ€"Pare and slice three dozen medium sized cucumbers, sprinkle them with salt and allow them to remain over night. In the morning drain and put them in a stone jar, and pour over them _ a dressing made of one cupful of white mustard seed, a half cupful of black mustard seed, one tablespoonful of celery seed and one quart of cold cider vinegar. and pace in jirs and sead. Mangoesâ€"Take small green muskâ€" melons or cantelopes. Cut a small square from the side of each one, and with a teaspoon scrape out all the seeds. Make a brine of one pint of salt to a gallon of water. Cover the mangoes with it while it boils. let them stand two days; _ then drain them, and stuff with two quarts of chopped cabbage, a cup ful of white mustard seed, _ three tablespoonfuls of celery seed, two tablespoonfuls of sailt, hall a cup ful of grated horseradish. Pour boilâ€" ing vinegar over them, having added to it one pound of sugar. A Dr. Chase‘s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills, ome A carrying voice, A lack of real feeling. An abundance of pretnded feeling. Much magnetism. Fascination of manner, Purity of &peech. A general knowledge of history. A good gemeral education. A general knowledge of costuming. A practical knowlsdge of economy in ss unor the stage: A strong physique, An unimpaired digestion A slonder figure, A marked face. se i6 week nuts until them *Kel