The herald., November 30, 1883, Image 6

About The herald. (Big Stone City, Dak. [S.D.]) 1883-1890

Image provided by: South Dakota State Historical Society – State Archives

                
F.\I!M AND IIOl'Si:.
For the Cook.
K'K
M:M A PIE.—Oue cup of
OITAMIK
RAISIN*
(chopped,) one cup of currants, on uf
of sugar one cup of molasses, one and
one-half cups of water, one i!f cup of
vineger, four crackers, (powdered), and
al! kinds of spice. Bake between crusts.
C'AKK.—One cup of butter, two
cups of sugar, one cup of uiilk, five cups
of flour, and the yolks of six and whites
of three eggs. Bake six layers on jelly
tins. Trie whites oi three eggs beaten
to a stiff Irotli with oue eupofjsngar, the
grated peel of one orange and the juice
of two, if large. Sp-ead the thin mix
ture onto five layers, then add sugar for
the top sufficient to make a frosting.
This is very nice.
KM .less &JU.VS1I Pik.- Stew the squash
till very dry press through a collander
to each pint of squash allow one table
spoonful each butter and cinnamon, one
cup sugar, one teaspoonful ginger, a lit
tle salt, and a few crackers rolled very
tine. Add milk according to judgment*
Mr.sjf
AND
CHKKSK.—Swiss guides and
porters who have to bear extreme colli,
which is always supposed to require
much animal food, and whose labors are
sever.?, are said to live entirely on a
diet of polenta (mush) and cheese, and
to be fine, hardy specimens of man
horni, carrying groat weight with ease.
The Fast India coolie,'lives on a little but
ter with his rice and pulse, but his cli
mate is very different from the bracing
air of the Alps, frosty air that anywhere
else would be supposed to create a de
mand for the heaviest animal food.
There is considerable (vegetables) oil in
mush, and cheese furnishes albumen
thai in this simple (Viet are combined
the carbons and nitrogens «f food.
A Pretty lied
room.
A room recently lilted up for a clergy
man's little daughter by the ladies of the
congregation as an expression of their
regard, is thu« described in the Dee
orator and Furnisher:
The walls were covered with paper in
pretty design of daisies and bluets
(ragged sailors) upon a creamy, latticed
ground. The ceiling was painted sky
blue, with dome effect given by deepen
ing the colors toward the edges. Two
or three feathery clouds heightened the
illusion, and a llight of three or four
swallows swept across the skyey surface
towerd the windows. The carpet was
only remarkable for its harmony with
the situation, being simply an ordinary
Brussels, with a ground matching the
wall-paper tint, and so closeiy covered
with small spring flowers that the effect
was aim ist chene. A dark blue border
and ne or two rugs relieved the eye
and prevented a garish appearance. The
doors and window frames were fortu
nately of adi. and so in thorough accord
with the predomitient tint of the room,
which was blue. The window curtains
were models of dainty simplicity. They
were made of cottage drapery, a figured
Swiss muslin rather thicker than the
dress material of that name, and woven
with a border on one selvedge, which
/epeated the center pattern in this case
the figure w is a daisy the size of a dime,
with a line of the same flowers twice
the size between two strips of a bor
der. The novelty about the curtains
an addition made by cutting two hori
zontal slits two incites long across the
border between the tripes, at intervals
of six inches apart, and buttonholing
the edsres loosely, making a succession
of bias, in and out of which was slipped
a blue rihbon two inches broad. Bands
and bows of the same ribbon wera used
for looping the curtains back.
The furniture was of bamboo, and all
of the pieces were of smaller size than
the same articles in ordinary rooms, yet
not sufficiently dwarfed to be useless.
A miniature lounge and two easy chairs
were covered with buff and blue cre
tone, :»nd blue ribbon bows were tied
upon the upper corners of the graceful
little cane seat chairs. The small bed
was low, with an airy extension of
bamboo rods at the head springing to
hold up a large ring, through which a
curtain of Swiss muslin, like those at
tho windows, was drawn. A folding
1-umboo screen in front of the mantel
and two panels of cream and two of biiie
sateen. The former were decorated
with snow balls and bluets in arrasene
embroidery, the latter with daisies in
ribbon wo*k. The armorte and chiff
onier were a third smaller than full
si/ed furniture and the dressing bureau
was of similar dimensions. Al! the
dainty U)ilet appointments of the latter
were decorated with blue and the frame
the long dressing glass was covered
with a full ruche of nine silk.
Some choice engravings and colored
photographs representing phases of
childhood and girlhood were hung upon
the walls by blue cords and tassels, and
the small book snelves were tilled with
such books as young people ei joy.
In deference to the newly awakened
fears of even the best plumbing in sleep
ing rooms, there was no stationary
basin, but a washstand, en rapport with
the other furniture, held adamulv mod
eled antique toilet set with a dado de
sign of water plants upon cream color,
with swallows above on a sky blue
ground.
Replacing the door of a large closet
was a portiereof Swiss muslin, which,
being drawn, revealed a play-, ouse on a
Scale so expensive and complete that it
might be questioned whether ('.oils or
their owners were most charmingly
lodged. The happy little proprietor of
this room and annex, on returning from
the country, where she had been sent
while the surprise was prepared for her,
flaysthat half of the first night she spent
in tier pretty new bed was passed in con
gratulating "herself on her new posses
sions and the rest in gazing entranced
into the fairv-like Drecmets of the play
house, which was illuminated by a tiny
chandelier fed by real gas.
The Pol'Barrel.
A tab largest at the bottom and taper
ing toward the top, of sufficient size to
contain a year's supply, is the best ves
sel
in
which to store pork when packed
it should be the meat will not rise to
the top, the slant of the tub holding it
down. It should be placed edgewise, in
regular layers as solid as possible. After
putting a layer of salt in the bottom of
the tub (and if pounded down with a
maul the better fill the interstices with
salt then layers of salt between layers
of meat, and so ou till the tub is filled
then fill up with pure water. If the
barrel s sweet, salt pure and pork
sound, there never will be any dam
aged pork nor will skimming or scald
ing the brine be necessary in order to
have sweet pork the year round.
The old salt left in the bottom of the
barrel is, so far as it goes, just as good a
new for continued use. Never have but
one piece of pork loose at a time while
using, and keep a stone on that between
meais, for pork that comes to the air
will rust after a little. I have packed
and kept pork in this, way annually for
thirty years, and never had a pound of
it injured. The injury of which such
frequent complaint is made is due to
some neglect or carlessness, and it would
seem that people of common prudenct
would not be so often caught with dam
aged pork. -Charles Mason, I^ake Co.,
Ohio.
Influence of Food on Milk.
The influence of food upon tin* qualify
of milk has called forth, first and last,
much discussion and in this country it is
generally conceded that food has very
much to do with it. The contrary opin
ion, however, has some advocates who
base their con fusions mostly upon the
experiments made by Dr. Kuhn at the
Moeckern Agricultural Station in Sax
ony. It is claimed that he demonstrated
that the feeding of a cow has nothing to
do with the quality of milk, and the nec
essary consequence is thatjwe can not
increase the ratio or proportion of cream
or butter in a cow's milk oy any chango
ot food, however rich it maybe". This is
so much at variance with the experience
of dairymen on this s»de of the ocean
that most dairy people are skeptical
about these experiments. Curiosity
led to an investigati®n of the methods
employed in these experiments and the
revelations were not a little surprising.
The milk of Saxon cows, if the agricul
tural reports are to be credited, is of re
markable richness, four and five quarts
yielding a pound of butter. We venture
to say that such cows are not to be found
anywhere outside of Saxony. The con
clusion is irresistible that the statement
in these reports, as well as that of the
Doctor himself, may be taken with
mauy grains of allowance.
Poultry Management.
The careless poultry-keeper is often
surprised by finding,early on some cold,
frosty October morning.a brood of chicks
fiesh from the shell. The surprise can
hardly gladden the sight of the owner,
for there can be no hope of raising them
in the inclement weather. If a few sur
vive they are of small value, always
dwarfed, and imperfect. This is the re
suit of direct negligence. If the fow s
had been kept in confinement, or every
hen made to give an account of herself
at the morning feed, this trouble might
have been avoided. These are the per
sons who say that fowls do not pay for
their keep, and they are only kept
aro.ind to please the women folk.
owls should not be allowed to steal
their nests. Thev are never so profitable
as when kept in confinement—in sum
mer in ample yards, and in winter in
roomy, comfortable buildings. The eggs
can always be found where they are
laid, and there are no late broods com
ing ofl at the beginning of winter.
I have frequently heard the indif
ferent poultry-keeper remark that
it is better'for a hen to steal her nest
and come off in late summer. Her
brood is then no trouble, and the chicks
are all pretty ture to live and jrow up.
1 know better. Experience has taught
me that one early-hatched chick, well
fed and raised is worth two of these
late, neglected ones, I do not leave it
to the fowls what kind or sori of chicks
I shall raise I like to control this mat
ter myself. I have a choice, and I
know which my best fowls are. From
them only do I make my increase of
stock. Oi course fowls kept in confine
ment are more trouble, but there is no
branch of farming that pays better for
the outlay than the keeping of fowis.
The stock must be rignt, and then there
will be found little difficulty, with a
steady application to the business. All
the fowls' wants must be supplied. A
hen should never be set after the 10th
ot June, and not then unless it be on
eggs of some small and early-manured
breed. This gives an opportunity for
every feather to get full growth ni warm
weather, alter which the fowl takes on
fat rapidly. Lean poorly-kept hens
will not lay. and lean, poor poultry is
not fit for market. The rule should be
to give good keeping at all times and
seasons.--Cor. Country (lent
lei nan.
Materials ror Bedding.
Materials for bedding horses and cat
tle kept in stables are becoming scarce
and high in many parts of the country,
as they have been for a long time in
most European countries. The value of
straw employed for bedding horses is
washed after it has been used for that
purpose and is sold to paper manu
facturers. Recently sawdust, sand, peat
and dried clay have been employed at
substitutes for straw for bedding horses
and dairy cows. Attention has also been
called to the different kinds of mosses
that grow in many parts of the country.
Tfie moss found in bogs in all tke North
ern states any which is u-ed hy nursery-,
men for packing trees and bushes is aiso
lound to make very good bedding after
it is dried. All kinds of mosses can be
compressed into very small bulk by the
baling process, and "put in a form to be
readily and cheaply transported. The
best litter is that which will absorb most
urine. According to Boussingaulr, bean,
buckwheat, and pulse straws are first,
as they absorb three times their weight
of liquid wheat straw, but twice its
weight, and dried earth, out one-half.
—Chicago Times.
The brewery of K. Kowitz, at Cannon
Falls was destroyed by lire with its contents
Loss, $i.c\000 insurance $»,000.
TAKK HKART.
All day the ttormy win-1 has blowa
From off the dark and briny SPH
No bird has past the window tlown.
The only song has been the moan
The wind nude in ttie willow tree.
This is the summer's burial time
She died when dropped the earliest tea*
And cold upou bet rosy prime
Fell dowu the aufumn's frosty rime—
Yet I am not as oae that grievej.
For well I know on sunnv s«as
The blue-bird waits for sunny skira
And at the root of fore.it trees
The may Ho were sleep in fragrant ease,
And violets hide their azure eyes.
O thou, by winds of grief o'erblowu
Hecidts some golden summer's beir,
Take heart!—ttiy bird* are only
And again the old farmer chuckled
himself into a state of semi suffocation.
"Come in and see us'" biitt he. "My
daughter Aurilla." she's come back a
widow and does tai!orin' and plain sewin.'
The old woman's slone ueaf but she's
dreadful quick ateatchia'
a
Jerome Clav bit his lip.
course," he said, "it ia
decide. But if Jpssie—"
1
IIJW",
T.i v blossoms sleeping, tearful sown,
To'gr.vt thee in th* imm rtal year.
lift IM)i Pool!.
o vou've come backa^a-1, •Ictonn'.'
said old Mr. Scwell. "Well, we heard
you was thinkin' of returnin' t« Kim
Mountain. Bad pennies always come
back ha! ha! ha! Ani you did not
make such a big fortune as you e.ilcula
ted, eh?"
Jerome Clay lean- ovet th-' -id /.ig
zug rail fence and rubbed h:s eyes. Had
time stood still all these years while be
had been in the South? For here was
Farmer Sewell in the same old blue
checked overalls, with the same bat
tered straw hat, the same wrinkles be
tween his brows, driving the same* old
red cows home through the twilight lane,
where the scent of trampled spearmint
came up. and the melancholy not.'* of a
whippoorwiil soimded faintly on the
purple silence.
And yet.---and yet it was twenty odd
years since he had left Kim Mountain,
with all his wuldly goods bahnced in a
bundle on his back. He had been a
da«iing lad of twenty-one. then: there
were silver hairs in his black locks, now,
and he left a dead past buried under the
sweet magnolia groves. And here was
Moses Sewell, just the same as ever,
only a tritle yellower and more dried up.
"Yes," (.'lay said quietly, "I've come
back. And you are right when you say
that fortunes don't grow on every bush."
"(?ohr tujyour uncle's house?" said Mr.
.Sewell, leaning over the bars. "He's
dead and buried, poor fellow. Always
had a weak chest you know. And the
gals ain't no younger. The three old
maids we call 'em—ha, ha, ha, ha!"
person's
meaning!"
And off he trudged over the patches
of sweet smiling spearmint, bis broad
figure vanishing Into the gloom like a
shadow.
"Three old maids, eh?" repeated Jer
ome Clay to himself. "Clara and Bess,
and little Kate, the golden-haired beau
ty, the soft eyed poetess, the wild little
sprite who was a mixture of Undine and
Queen Mab. Then,surely, Father Time
has not atood still!"
The light shone out, as of old, from
the red-curtained casement, the great
fire of logs was blazing on the hearth,
and the three cousins greeted the re
turned wanderer with unaffected
warmth.
Tin y were changed, of course. What
else could have been expected? The
beauty had grown sharp and freckled
and her lovely hairjhad lost its burrLsh.,
and she was not quite as tidy as she
used to be in the old days about her
ribbons and frills. Soft-eyed Bessie's
sweet voice bad degenerated into a
whine she had grown round-should
ered and lost one of her front teath
and lit le Kate was a stout, middle-aged
woman, who reminded one of Undine
no more.
But they were cousins still—the girls
who bad played and romped and
flirtedith him in due arithmetical pro
gression. And there still existed a bond
of steadfast friendship, and he told them
the story of the Southern wife who had
been buried lor five years under the
magnolias, and they all sympathized
and beauty even cried a little.
"I have brought my three children
to the North," he said. "I left them in
New York, and if 1 can get some genu
ine, whote-sou led w man to take charge
of my home, I'm thinking of settling
here in Kim Mountain. Ciara, dear,von
used to h» foml of me in the old times!
What do you say to undertaking the
charge?"
'I he beauty seemed to grow smaller,
sharper, more business like,in a second
if cousin Jerome had come home a mil
lionaire, she would have jumped into
his arms.
iHit Clara Neely was not romantically
inchned. To her, love in a cottage pos
sessed no charms.
"I couldn't Jerome,' she answered,
lUickly. "I'm not very strong, and 1
couldn't assume any responsibility of
liiis arduous nature. Besides, I'm'not
loiid of children. I'm greatly obliged to
Vou, 1 sure, but IV rather not."
is for you to
I he poetess shrugged her shonlders,
and laughed a light, shrill-Bounding
ca bination.
"Cousin Jerome," said she, "it's just
as well to be irank about these matters
1 wouldn't marrv a poor man—not if I
loved him like Komeo and Juliet, It's
had enough to scrape along as we do
heje, witn only half what one requires
to live on decently. But to plunge into
poverty, with two or three children be
longing to another woman no, I thank
you.
For time, as may easily be perceived,
bad eliminated a great deal of poetical
element from Bessie Neelv's soul.
1 he qamd.tm Undine did not wait for
the question, as far as she was concern
ed but added, promptly, th it she quite
agr«id with her .dster in all these mat
ters.
"•It's such a pity you didn't stay here,
where vou weie well ofl, Jerome," said
she. in 'the pitying, patronizing manner
which your genuine man most abhors,
i Dear pa, you know, always disup
proved ot your going south. And you
i might have got the situation of agefjt to
{the Wnite Castle Place, at eight huu
i died a vear, and a cottage found, if
you'd
OHIV
been here on the spot. Pa
used to know the old agent, and could
have recommended yon!"
Jerome smiled.
"White Castle?" said he. 1 hat s the
big house on the hill, where we chil
dren used to peep at the roses and
white grapes through the ulass sides of
grap.
MHO
nighly considered,
broke in Bessie.
Jerome Clay went uw*y feeling rather
depi essed.
It is not the lot of every man lo :e
thrice rejected in one evening.
•'They think I am a fa lure in hie,"
said he," half smiling, halfsigbing. "Well
perhaps they are not wrong. People's
ideas differ."
Aurillia Haven, the old farmer's
daughter, had been a wild hovdon of a
schoolgirl when Jerome ('lav went
south. Hie was a silent pale woman ot
three and thirty now, who did the
"h»:l'ress" work of the neighborhood,
and had hard worn to get along.
But. her dark brown eyes lighted up
when Mr. Clay spoke of his far-off home
and her cheek glowed scarlet when Mr.
.vweil chuckled out:
"So the three old maids wouldn't
have nothing to say to you? Ha, ha.
ha!"
"Do vou blame them?" said Jerome.
"Well, no," confessed the old man.
"(lals naturallv want to better them
selves nowadays. If you'd come back
with your pockets full of gold, they'd
sing a "different song, you'd see."
Aurilla looked pitying v at Jerome
Clay. She, too, had fwund life a tailurn,
and in her quiet way did all thut she
could to comfort the tall, quiet man,
who had hire 1 the spare chamber in
her father's house for a few weeks, since
his cousins had altogether omitted to
invite fiiuc as their guest at the old
place.
She was not pretty—never had been—
but .-he had a sweet, oval face, with
fringed eyes, and a mild, wistful expres
sion, which Jerome ay liked.
And one day she spoke out what wad
in her heart.
"Mr. Clay," she said, "I can't help
thinking of those poor, little, mother
less children of yours. If you bring
them here, I'll take care of them. I al
ways liked children, and it shall cost
you nothing. Father will let me have
the big north bed room for a nursery,
and their board won't signify. They
can go to the public school, and I'll
make their clothes, if you'll buy the ma
terial.''
"Aurilla, you are a genuine woman!"
said Mr. Clay, earnestly. "None of my
cousin* have spoken to me like this."
"Perhaps- perhaps they didn't think
of it!" faltered Aurilla.
"Possibly," dryly remarked Mr. Clay.
"But, Aurilla," gently retaining her
hand, "is it of rnv children only that
vou think'' Have vou no tender, pitying
feeling—the sweet sensation that is akin
tw love, you know—for me? Aurilla wfll
"U be my wife?"
And Aurilla did not refuse.
"Now that vou have promised to mar
ry me," said Jerome Clay,"[ will t*d!
you all my plans. Aurilla. I have
bought a house here"—
"Here, Jerome?"
"Yes, here. Will y u come with in
to look at it?"
"I will go wherever you wish, Je
rome," sn:d the bride-elect, in i»ort of
innocent be wilder merit.
Mr. Ciay put her into a little carriage
at the door, and drove her upthe moun
tain-side. through the huge, stone gate
way of White Ca-tle, to the velvet lawns
in front of the colonnad' portico,
where statues of Ceres altid Proserpina
stood in dazzling marble on either side.
anl an antique sun-dial marked the
Iden footsteps of the tlod of Day.
Its a beautiful piae.ei'' said Aurilla."
he answered quietiv, "it is our home."
on mean to tell me, dear," cried
the delighted widow, "that you've been
fortunate enough to receive the a"rrn\'
I thought Mr. Wright--"
"Mr. Wright is the asrent still," said
lay.
"What I moan is that I have bought
V\ bite Castle and Us ground. This fin
old house is to be your home hencefor
ward, Aurilla."
"But, Jerome, I thoaght you were a
poor titan?"
"Did I ever tell you so?" be laughing
u "Did I evertell anyone so'.'
it the good people in Elm Mountain
choose to believe me a pauper, is it fair
"'d me responsible for
tiuMr TRiMi councinusnes*? No, Aurillu!
In money, I am rich—rich beyond n.y
wildest aspirations. But when first "l
came to Kim Mountain, I believed
uivst-sf bankrupt, indeed, in the sweet
coin of love and human kindness. Sweet
heart, it is so with me now. It was vonr
u-ind that unlocked the gate of happi
ness to me it shall be your hand that is
to reap the rich reward."
i k'®*s®d her forehead ien-
the children?" she cried.
I he children are With their maternal
aunt at the Windsor hotel in New
°rk he answered. "The boy is Koon
to enter college, and the gir!s are both
tngaged to be married to southern gen
tlemen, and after a brief visit here will
return to .New Orleans with their aunt.
", my darling, your tender solicitude
was not required after all!"
Autiila sighed softly. had soir.e-
r',iir,VorihetoMchShe
°f
tW.nJrS?
tn^'utV1tenderest
iiuie
,er ue a
•lo ,ei»h J'ohnsohTv,
From :iit \aldorta,
.«•
%nnty.
wntes UHtilif
arsofad.-s1HMtttn,
ster ahrgHtor in whiclj
SHoh, played «u
seen:a that lluniW.,
At it
c|,ii-
dren hands in her own, the sound o!
small child voices in her ear. But she
w,B«i"I-
ioviug
eyes, and
e l0Ved hw
And the Three Old Maids are sharper,
more untuly and shrid-voiced iimnover
since they have realized the fatal mis
ke hey made retusing the overture*
of their cousin Jerome.
?a,ltrm'n,IK'
R,anaK»n«
5
$
ttie noithern |art i.f y,e:
•learic d'i.-d
upj
.,
\»u.
A grand place,
the givat greenhouse.
as I remember it."
"And tnc posi ion of n.v::t i» most
•sponsible,
-nhyth,
ritlf.
n
P«r!ii i j„u
I
s"». U
J*
others 1-1 the. m, ,.2
'cuown that tiuir andt:r•
the perch f-imilv
great quantities by t^V,
ty were auifKed
other appliance?, ai.
bete and thereover'
pond I laving havocwi'1
Master .lon-ph carrier
sack, in which todep,»l»a
caught. WIKMI loaded
he co"
Id carry lit! wr©/
and make a deist's,,
more. In making orl( ,r
while wailing thmugi,
tin ee feet deep, su'iie .j
li.-hermen, a mounter
1 of unuMial sizf,
at he boy and «.'!,)
A desperate strugi'.v .-KW
dtled for his life.I!
hi- prey. It s.i lui|.f,c^j|i
which hung hy th*
in Uti r-ih.jnti-rM
ami it pio\I'd a si rt
iu.' .-reatlv the imisi.-.v
brute's teeth, anil tt: y
venting a short to bat
whiiM might haw ai
without tin- strugg'-*
ids life. By an "Ll-ji
pe r|, natl elf tS K
only when f.ising Ie
bleeding fli-
1
The inuibt'
.. a moment wti.
he e!ih i .el i.i
,m fpp irpui:
by "\triciite.l i,!
death befoiu the
bv the struggle, wire a\.
other battle ensueI
with gigs, lie-i,
V'kv.
other instrument
hand, charg ujw!.
ing in three feet w^r
considerable advantage,
had their blood up and
out-done, when one 'Its
bold to seize him by the
Tkeie were too nnc.v y'
'gator to slap around w:t:
culiar mode of 'gator ws:
had to give up the
ir
was plunged inti hi* t/r
was safe to approach
Soon his head *aa -c'
body, and the vlct
r:
out of the pond w:t!. ::.e
on a pole. Fortuuw
among tho party, u:
the buy's rt oil lid-.
writes us that Ma-!
suif -rs mui ti, is d-.i.i:
hkelv be out soon.
FOKTY YI:VL
Fashion* of Our Faihf
That Were Familiar
Bv l'renlice Mulfori
Forty y ars aszo
ture course had n: t
ance. The village
of regular winter
"Which vrna the
Washington or b•.
or "What iiiventii :.
ful to mankind, tK
the mariner's com:
The land was free
Breech-loaders an
ridges" were un'
cut their o^n wft'l
of powder into tin
ful of shot, adjust
and hanged
1
fowling-pie *o was
game of all desori]
plentiful. Forty .v*'
still native to the i
1!
Island, and a year
organized by the
this country.
The trunk ni tfif
with small brass
smasher had bae*
Valises were Ion
bugs were not out
('ity hotels CrtU
by the gong or d...
lord sat at the
carved the break^.
dined together
HH
1
Dinner was serw
and formality. 1
the covers from tn"
given signal, horc
1
room, then reapp*
dishes to
PC
carve''
The oyster sale
furnished with
r,
re 'esses afb'rditii!'
1
and quiet than the"'
without a cloth-clu
sign, painted ..
candle was snick i"
The liar of the
than that of the I
was better. Brfli
In the citv drinks
fore the screen
Six cent drinks w
gant and so wen
Among old awjJr
could be found
and port or
the sideboard tn*-
ji
of the smaller
n
years ago nniinta
erns" where
pliug and bitcinP
tives was fsi
I1,or^
i-
e s o i u i n
s
to engine comp^
crea
re is the anpei]tt iion they ap
y to Mrs. Jerome
HII kKwn.
av Wulll(1
80 y i re ,f
C.
u v a i e s A
inated in a
drunk. Exhnnst .,
course to
hours, and th«
lage engine
after a fire a»(f.
one. IbiUsehoI'l^rR
law to keep 1('H
at tires TheV.bJJ*,
had the owm'f"
in white lettew1.