JULY 16 
476 
$itaOT HSUsaUauj. 
“UNCLE DAN.” 
EBOEEION. 
Sadly and slow went “ TTncle Dan,” 
Trudging through the farm. 
Hia butter-firkin stowed with, rolls. 
Was banging on bis arm. 
And in his other hand he held 
A basket filled with eggs— 
A good ly load for Ills stiff back 
And tired, plodding leg*. 
Each Saturday, for many years. 
He'd trugged off thus before, 
To get his mail, and barter track, 
For nick-uaoks, at the store. 
He once had bragged his bank had been. 
His cows and " Plymouth Rocks,” 
Whose solvency could not be swayed 
By rise and fall in stocks, 
Alas ! poor Dau! he sees it now, 
His wisdom counts for naught, 
For even banks as sound aM his 
With clangers may bo fraught, 
And though they really may not break, 
Nor actually suspend. 
Ho must confess that it amounts 
To Just that in tho end. 
The price of butter does not pay 
For time ami labor spent. 
Since greasing bread with “ Oleo,” 
Oives pleasure and content; 
And chickens are so numerous, since 
They hatch them out in pens. 
That laying eggs will hardly pay 
Tho worry of the hens. 
His butter last week, only brought 
A flp’any bit a pound 
While eggs—well eggs no market had— 
Were loosely Iticking round; 
His ton-cow dairy, once supplied 
His family’s every need. 
While now, it scarcely would euffice 
To keep him in “ the weed.” 
‘•Just what the world Is coming to,” 
Said Dan," I cannot toll 
But thatit’s rough on farmer folks, 
This much 1 know right well; 
I can’t tell, for the life of me, 
Wby things don’t take a change, 
We surely ought to regulate 
These matters through the Grange." 
--- » » 
MY EXPERIENCE. 
Continued from page 458. 
CHAPTER II. 
“Mabel, don’t you like Cyril?” 
Mabel looks up with a start from her writing as 
I propound the above question one morning about 
a week after my returu home. We are alone In 
the breakfast-room; a pretty Little apartment 
•with French windows opening into the garden, 
througn which the sun Is streaming gatly. Built, 
out from one of them is a little conservatory—pay 
especial care—for It contains all my favorite 
plants and blossoms; while through tho other 
window by which l am standing l can see the gar¬ 
den with Its profusion of summer tlowers. Cyril 
Is sauntering up and down the path.. I am ready 
in my shady hut and cool print ilreas tor a saun¬ 
ter through the lanes with him, but l am In no 
burry to be off, having something to say to Mabel 
before I go. 
My sister is busy with her account books, and 
looks pale and weary—the heat seems to try her 
more than usual this Summer ; but I am not un¬ 
selfish enough to leave her In peace until she sets 
my mind at rest about something which ta troub¬ 
ling me greatly Just now, 
“Mabel, don’t you like Cyril?” I repeat, more 
earnestly, when l meet the swift, questioning 
glance of her beautiful, velvety brown eyes—eyes 
which have such sadness and yet tenderness In 
their depths. 
“ I like him very much, Oracle,” she answers. In 
a somewhat troubled voice. “I think him worthy 
of all respect and esteem.” 
“ Respect and esteem,” I repeat, contemptuously. 
“ l don’t want you to respect and esteem him. 
I want you to like him as a brother.” 
She smiles a little sadly, and bends her head 
again over her work. 
“You see, Mabel, If you don’t like him, you 
will never euro to come and see us; and I could 
not be happy without you.” 
*• Not happy—with Mr. Vernon!” 
“ Mr. Vernon i There, I see you don’t like him. 
Even the children call him Cyril—and you call 
him Mr. Vernon." 
“ He calls me Miss Ord.” 
“That la because you are so stiff and cold to 
him. Mabel, won’t you try to like him? 
“ Grade, 1 have told you that I do like him,” 
she answers very gently. 
“Thenwhy are you not cordial to him ?” 
•< i am cordial, dear—at least, I try to be.” 
“ You are not>-you don't try 1” I reply, Impa¬ 
tiently. “ I am sure Cyril has noticed your man¬ 
ner.” 
“ I am sorry if my manner displeases him,” she 
answers, rather haughtily. “ but 1 am afraid 
that 1 am too old now to alter it- 1 have told you, ” 
she adds more gently, *• that l esteem Mr. Vernon 
highly, and that I think you are a very fortunate 
girl to be loved by him. 
But It Is not essential either to your happiness or 
his that he should like your old-maid sister, so you 
need not let his want of appreciation of her mani¬ 
fold charms trouble you." 
“But, Mabel, i am suro heUkeayou.” 
“ And 1 like him. Therefore, put your heart at 
rest, my child. Vou have kept him walling quite 
long enough lor one morning, and ho won’t like 
me any tne Deuer lor detaining you. So be off.” 
She pushes me playfully out of the room and 
goes back to her writing-table, while l join Cyril 
in the garden, and wo start together on our walk. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
At the end of the lane we meet Fannie and Jack 
Edmonds and Cyril proposes that they should Join 
us, for which I am not sorry, for my fiance Is in a 
silent mood, and not very companionable this 
morning; nor does It lessen my pleasure, mthe 
sweet summer freshness and the blue sky overhead 
when he suddenly recollects an important letter 
which must be written In time tor the mid-day 
post; and without hesitation I let. film return 
alone to the house. 
It, seems almost like old times to be alone with 
Fannie and her brother—like tho dear, merry old 
times, before there were any such things as lovers 
and engagements and diamond rings. We chatter 
and talk nonsense and laugh at the nonsense as If 
It were the moat brilliant wit; and it seems to me 
that the sunshine Is lees brilliant when they leave 
me at the gate. I go slowly up t be path, up and 
down which Cyril had paced two hours ago, and 
recollecting that l had not yet filled the vases In 
the drawing-room with {lowers, I open the door of 
my little conservatory and take a pair of scissors 
from the shelf. The door leading from the con¬ 
servatory into the morning-room Is open, and 
through the shading lace curtains l can see Cyril 
seated at the table writing; but I do not make my 
presence known to him, while my movements are 
noiseless enough to escape detection, lie Is 
alone ; but I bave not been a minute In the con¬ 
servatory when the door of tbo morning room la 
opened, and Mabel comes in. She is reading a 
letter, and does not perceive Cyril until she has 
entered the room ana dosed the door after her; 
then she sees him, and stands still, growing as 
white as the dress she wears. 
There is a moment’s dead silence. Mabel turns 
towards the door and Cyril rises hastily. 
“ Do not let me frighten you away,” he says, 
formally, but with a curious hesitation In his deep 
voice. 
“ It does not matter,” Mabel answers. In a con¬ 
fused tone, and still keeping her hand on the door¬ 
handle. ‘Twill not disturb you.’’ 
“I have finished my letter,” he says, hurriedly; 
“and—and 1 want U> speak to you.” 
She comes slowly back into the centre of the 
room, and stands by the table, looking so pale 
that I am afraid she 1s going to faint. There Is 
another silence. Cyril Is standing also, but his 
back Is turned towards me, and I cannot see the 
expression of hia face. I feel a little excited and 
curious, and my humiliating position of eaves¬ 
dropper does not strike me; so 1 stand still, won¬ 
dering what will come next. 
Cyril breaks the silence first. 
“You have avoided me so persistently during 
the week I have spent under your father’s root,” 
he Bays, calmly, “that 1 have no opporiuinty of 
giving you an explanation, which you have a 
right to expect. When I asked Grade to be my 
wife, I did not know sue was your slater, wnen I 
started with her I did not know we were coming 
to your house. 
“ 1 do not need any explanation,” she answers, 
In a faint, tremulous lone, very unlike her usual 
calm, rich voice; “and 1 am sorry that my pres¬ 
ence here—” 
Her voice falls her, and she stops short. Cyril 
makes a step towards her, tout restrains uimselt 
by a strong effort.. 
‘•so many years have passed since wo met," he 
says, lu the sumeoaim toned voice,.“that we can 
fairly meet as strangers; but I think your sister 
feels tbat Mabel,” he breaks off suddenly, and 
speaks with a sudden passion, -wby did you treat 
me so?” 
She lifts her eyes to his with one swift, sur¬ 
prised glance. 
“I do not understand!” she says, faintly. “What 
do you mean?” 
"Why did you leave my letters unanswered?” 
“1 received no letters from you,” she answers. 
“No letters! Ah! Mabel, be rrank with me. 
Have you forgotten the letters—there were three 
—I wrote you after I left you. 
“I received no letters rrom you,” Mabel repeats, 
very quietly, and she rests her hand upon the ta¬ 
ble as If she needs some support. 
Cyril utters an exclamation of Intense pain, and 
makes two or three strides up and down the little 
room. As he turns, I can see hia face, it Is as 
pale as my sister's, and he is evidently deeply ag¬ 
itated. Presently he turns to Mabel. 
“What do you think or me? he says, huskily, 
and the stony calm of Mabel's face Is broken tor a 
moment, but she makes no answer. “You will 
let me explain?" he sayB, eutreavlnglj; “1 owe It 
to you and myself to do so. When 1 was obliged 
to leave you so suddenly I lert a letter on the hall 
table, explaining the reasons tor such a sudden de¬ 
parture, and begging you not to judge me severe¬ 
ly. I was then under a promise to my uncle not 
to make any engagement without his consent, and 
when I left I went direct to Yernon to win him 
over. I had told you that l loved you,” he added, 
unsteadily. ’T had not been able to refuse my¬ 
self the pleasure of making my confession, and of 
hearing from your own lips that 1 was not quite 
indifferent to you; but hardly had 1 done so than 
I recognized how wrong 1 had been. I wrote to 
you, explaining as well as I could my obligations 
towards my uncle and my position with regard to 
him. When 1 had been a week at Vernon 1 wrote 
again. ! told you in that second letter that as yet 
1 had been unable to obtain my uncle’s consent 
to our engagement; he had other views for me; 
and I prayed you to trust me a little longer and 
to send me one word of encouragement.” 
He pauses tor a moment. Mabel has not moved, 
but stands pale and tremulous, leaning heavily 
against the table. 1, in my place or concealment, 
listen with eager Interest, forgetting completely 
how much 1 am concerned, and feeling like a per¬ 
son at the play feels when deeply interested tn the 
performance and eager for the drnournwnt. 
“The second letter, like the first, remained un¬ 
answered,” resumes Cyril, “and I wrote again, 
entreating a reply; and In this third letter 1 
said that 1 would accept silence as a proof that 
you had been mistaken la your feelings towards 
me—that you did not love me. That Is ten years 
ago, Mabel, but I can remember even now the 
agony of expectation with which I awaited your 
answer—an answer which never came. I remem¬ 
ber still the despair and misery I felt then. I loved 
you so wildly, so madly, that It broke my heart to 
think that you Had been trifling with me; that 
you had not meant the wards when you said, “I 
love you, CyrtL T will be your wife.” 
Mabel raises her hand for a moment with a quick 
gesture, which seemB to entreat, silence; but Cyril 
is too much In earnest to heed her movement; he 
goes on rapidly m the same husky, unsteady 
voice, and I can seo that he Is as deeply agitated 
as Mabel herself. 
“ I think It almost, killed me,” he continues. 
“ When I was able ! went abroad; my uncle, wbo 
pitied my wretchedness, gave me the superinten¬ 
dence of his sheep-station, and I remained In 
New Zealand until last March, coming back with 
a strong yearning for a home and near ties. My, 
uncle died six years ago.” 
“You know now that I received no letters from 
you,” Mabel says, forcing herself to speak calmly, 
but falling miserably. “ They never reached me 
audit is too late now to think of discovering how 
they were lost. 1 am sorry—ah ! sorry la hardly 
the word—that you should have suffered. I, also, 
have not been happy sometimes, but, as you say, 
it Is a long lime ago, and time Is the best com¬ 
forter, and you are bappy now." 
“Happy now |" he repeals with a bitter laugh. 
Happy, when I see the happiness which l lost 
through treachery 1 Do you think that I do not 
understand now who betrayed me—who detained 
those letters? Charles 8- loved you, and 
“Hush,” Mabel interrupts softly. “It Is ten 
years ago.” 
“ Ten years of loneliness and misery—ten years 
or wretchedness which might have been ten 
years of joy! You have not been happy—I can 
read that. My darling, my darling, If I could for¬ 
give him the ten years of suffering I bave known, 
could l forgive him If he has given you even ten 
dayB' pain 1” 
He has both her hands In Ms, now, and is look¬ 
ing down at her with a passion of love In his dark 
eyes—ah! such a different expression from the 
lcludly gentleness with which he looks at me. 
Mabel struggles faintly lo release her hands. 
••Grade,” she says faintly, In a voice so low 
that I seem to know what word she has uttered 
more by the movement of her lips than by the 
sound. 
He drops her hands with a swift, sudden move¬ 
ment, and draws hack from her. My name has 
recalled him to the present and nis engagement, 
and he is loyal and honorable, no matter at wUat 
coat to himself. 
" I had forgotten,” ne says brokenly, and there 
is a silence which seems to me Interminable—a 
silence which Mabel breaks at last 
“I am glad to have heard your explanation,” 
she says, faintly. “Glad for my sister’s sake. 
When yon wrote to my father, it almost seemed 
that it would bo my dufy to tell him of that, epi¬ 
sode In my life which had seemed to prove un¬ 
worthy of such sacred trust as our darling's hap 
plness; hut from the first l did not think that you 
Uad meant to deceive me. Aud I urn glad—ah, 
believe me—truly glad that you are happy now - 
and 1 wish you both every joy and blessing.” 
“That 1 am happy now! Ah! Mabel, can you 
think that 1 am happy—t, who was drawn to 
Grade by her likeness to you—l, who love you. 
Heaven help me! with a passionate, unutterable 
affection—an affection which not even the thought 
of your unworthiness could dispel Mabel, if you 
had received my letters, what would jour an- 
< swers have been?” • 
“You have no right to ask that question now,” 
she answers, ralntly. “Have you forgotten that 
you have won Grade’s love, and that her happi¬ 
ness is at stake?” 
“I have not won her love,” he says, bitterly. 
“How was It possible that a bright, happy child 
like Grade should love a reserved, disappointed 
man like myself? it was a selfish expedient on 
my part—a vain endeavor to lnluse some bright¬ 
ness l^to my lonely life! What right had I to sac¬ 
rifice Grade? She cares far more for that lad 
with whom I left her a short time slnco. And yet, 
Mabel, I would have tried to make her happy—I 
would have spared no trouble." 
To be continued, 
■ -» «■ ♦- 
MAGAZINES FOR JULY. 
Ehrich's Fashion Quarterly, for Summer 1881; 
Phrenological Jourual; Domestic Monthly; Llp- 
plncott’8 Magazine; Harper’s Magazine; American 
Naturalist; Musical Herald; Godey’s Lady’s Book; 
Scribner’s Monthly; Young Scientist; Our Little 
Folks; Atlantic Monthly; Appletons’ Journal; St. 
Nicholas. 
space being limited we merely note receipt of 
above periodicals, recommending the contents 
from the popularity of former Issues. 
- . •»♦-»- 
More health, sunshine and joy In Hop Bitters, 
than in all other remedies.—Ada. 
Domestif (feuoraji. 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
CHIPS. 
Cherry juice win not jelly without gelatine. 
compotes are fresh fruits, boiled as needed, with 
but little sugar added. 
Mixed greens are tar better than all of one kind. 
Don’t borrow—that la, don’t make a practice of 
dolug so. 
Stone, aud sift granulated or powdered sugar 
over cherries and let stand several hours before 
eating. It adds to their richness and flavor. 
For mosquito bites, bathe with a solution of 
carbolic acid and glycerine—60 drops of the acid 
to an ounce of glycerine. 
To wash delicate-colored muslins, holl two 
quarts of wheat bran In soft water for hall an 
hour and use It Instead of soap-suds. It removes 
dirt the same as soap and does not fade the good s. 
The water should be quite cold. 
DRAPING LACE OR MUBLIN CURTAINS. 
A FAvoKiTB method of arranging airy curtains 
Is for the right hand side to cross the left one a 
little more t.liuu half way up the window. A large 
satin bow of ribbon to harmonize with the room, 
is fastened on the curtains where they cross each 
other. Each curtain is then fastened hack to the 
window by a somewhat smaller bow. 
TO CAN GREEN PEAS. 
PuovroH strong, new tlnoan3 with the necessary 
conveniences for soldering. Pick the peas from 
the vines, shell and cook at once. They should 
be boiled 16 minutes In water sufficient to cover. 
Fill the cans with peas within half an inch of the 
top, pour In liquor to AH to the brim. Wipe the 
groove dry, put on the cap and solder atr-tlght.. 
Make a puncture with an awl in center or the cap,, 
place the cans In a boiler of hot water to boll for 
an nour. The water should not cover the cans. It 
la best to have the bottom of the holler covered 
with old crockery, wooden slats, or In fact any¬ 
thing to keep the cans off from the bottom. With 
a needle open the puncture to allow of the escape 
of gas and steam. Seal up with a drop of solder, 
and leturn to the water to boll two hours longer. 
Cook. 
--- 
DOMESTIC RECIPES. 
Lemon Snaps. 
One large cup of sugar, two-thirds cup of butter, 
two beaten eggs, two tablespoonfuls of hot water, 
half a teaspoonful of soda, flavor with lemon and 
flour to tolx. Roll very thin. Bake In a quick 
oven. 
Corn Soup. 
Cut only the top of the kernels from the cob 
scraping off all that remains. To a quart of this 
corn add two quarts of hot water. Boll lor an 
flour, then pass through a colander. Into a stew- 
pan put two spoonfuls of butter, when it melts 
Stir In a large spoonful of flour, stir In the corn 
add a pint of hot milk aud a cupful of cream. 
When it cornea to a boll season with salt and pep¬ 
per. 
Candled Fruits. 
Boll peacnes, pears, plums, cherries, citron or 
quinces In a thick sirup—a teacupful of water to a 
pound of white sugar—until tender. Take from 
the fire and let remain In the strap two days. 
Take out, drain, sprinkle sugar over each piece 
and dry In a cool oven. Mrs. E. B. 
gpiced Chicken. 
Boll three chickens until the meat will fall from 
the bones, free the meat from fat and Bkln and 
chop fine; season with cloves, allspice, pepper and 
salt; pour over a pint or more of the liquor in 
which they were boiled; turn into an earthen dish, 
place a plate with a weight on top and let stand 
several hours in a cool place before stlctng. a. b. 
Currant Jelly. 
Crush the fruit and strain the Juice. Weigh the 
juice and put over the fire in a porcelain kettle. 
Let come to & foil, then stir In pound for pound of 
< granulated sugar. As soon as It bolls again re¬ 
move from the fire and turn Into tumblers, as it 
jells very quickly. Place the glasses on a wet 
cloth before filling with the hot liquid. Jelly 
should not be cooked. b. p. 
-♦♦♦- 
QUESTIONS ANSWERED. 
Otto of Roses. 
Plkask give directions for making the above 
and oblige R. M. Ludlow. 
Ans.—F ill a large glazed earthen jar with rose 
leaves carefully separated from the cups: pour 
over them spring water just sufficient to cover 
them, and set the jar with its contents in the 
sun for two or three days, taking care to put It 
under cover at night. At the end or the third 
day, or so. 3mall partloles of yellow oil will be seen 
floating on tne surface of the water, and these 
in the course of a week will have increased to a 
thin scum. This scum Is the otto of roses. Take It 
up with a little cotton tied to a suck and squeeze 
it into a phial. 
Angel’s Cake. 
Please give recipe lor the above and oblige a 
Cakk Maker. 
Ans.— Four ounces and a heaping tablespoonful 
of flour, twelve ounces of powdered sugar, the 
whites of eleven eggs beaten to a very stiff Iroth, 
(flavor with rose before beating) a teaspoonful of 
cream-of-tartar and a little salt. Mix the sugar, 
flour, salt and cream-of-tartar together and silt 
through a veiy fine selve six times. Then stir 
In lightly the beaten whites. Bake in a new pan, 
without greasing, for 4U minutes. After taking 
from the oven, invert the pan and place upon cups 
or tumblers until the cake is cold, then remove 
and cover with a thin icing. No soda Is used. 
A p in with a tin tube in center Is preferable for 
baking. 
-- 
Note.— Please give my thanks to Mary Wager- 
Fisher for her article in the Rural of June 18. 
It is exactly the help l desired tn induce my wife 
to consider her health before anything else. The 
advice Is priceless to tuose who heed It, and the 
more we have like it tho belter. Su bsckvbkk. 
--» ♦ » 
Suffer on, Groan on, Sicken on, Die on, If you 
will not use flop Bitters and be cured.—Adv. 
