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David (Srey’s Estate. Over his forge bent. David Grey, And thought of therich man 'cross the way. “ Hammer and anvil for me,” he said, “ And weary toil for the children’s bread. “ For him, soft carpets, and pictured walls, A life of case in his spacious halls.” The clang of hells on his dreaming broke; A flicker of flame, a whirl of smoke. Os in truvis. forge grown white-hot. Coat and hat were alike forgot. As up the highway, the blacksmith ran, In face and mien like a crazy man. “School house afire! ” Men’s hearts crew still. And the women prayed as women will. While ’hove the tumult the wailing cry Of frightend children rose shrill and high. Night in irs shadows hid sun and earth ; The rich man sat by his costly hearth, Lord of wide acres and untold gold, But wifeless, childless, forlorn and old. He thought of the family ’cross the way: “! would,” IK!.sighed, “1 were David Grey.” The blacksmith knelt at his children’s bed To look once more at each shining head. "My darlings all safe! Oh God,” he cried. “ My sin in thy boundless mercy hide! “Only to-day have I learned how great ■ at.li been thy bounty and mv estate.” Home Journal. DUE FRONT ROOM, “There!” said Bess, sitting down emphatically on the door-step and fanning herself with her wide straw hat. “There, that front room must, and shail he furnished !” “I wish it might be,’observed Hat tie dubiously ; “but I don’t feel much encouraged about it as yet.” “If I were you, Bessie, I would or der the suit in reps, and a tapestry carpet,” 1 remarked sarcastically. “I am airaid we cannot quite afford Au busson and satin brocade.” “Il'ow much money have you Har vie V” asked Bess, ignoring my irony. “Five dollars and forty-three cents,” said Ilarrie, after an inspec tion of the contents of her pocket book. “And you Flo.?” “I have $10,” laughed I. “We shall not be able to rival the Bentons, I am afraid, Bessie dear.” The Bentons were our showy next door neighbors, he it remarked, whose gorgeous parlor was at once the admiration and dispair of half the housekeepers in Norwoodville. “The Bentons.” exclaimed Bessie with supreme scorn. “Bo you snp- ? o ( . Flnrahella, that I would sit down ill our front rc,v._. i£ r, or(V ti, e the stery shop of the Bentons ? Do you .imagine—” “Of eourse not! : ’ I cried with up lifted hands, warding off any more in dignation. “I don’t suppose any thing at all. But what has sent you struggling with that impossible front room again ?” “Tisn’t impossible,” retorted Bess. "I have S2O all my own ; that makes $35 between us. Now it you girls will follow my directions, we can take that $35 and furnish that room.” “How.” I queried, helplessly; while Harrie evidently thought it of no use to say any more to a girl who talked such absurd nonsense as fur nishing a parlor witii $35. We were three orphan sisters, keeping house together on an income so rediculously small that any outlay for new furniture was quite out oi the question, and yet the one desire oi our three hearts was to furnish our parlor, a pretty room, but bare as any barn. We had a conveniently appointed kitchen, and a cool clean dining room, where we sat in the af ternoons with our sewing. Our bed rooms were comfortably furnished; but for the parlor we bad not so much as a table. Tomorrow our quarterly income was due, but that we must live on for the next three months. So the $35 left over from this quarter was all we could possibly count on, and that seemed too small a sum to think of in connection with the furnishing of our iiont room. Bess was our head and shoulders, our right hand, our mainstay; and her capabilities in the way of getting something out oi nothing were truly remarkable, as witnessed by the fact of her having more money at the end of the quaiter thau both of us to gether ; though we had all the same allowance for our personal expenses, and Bessie’s were the heaviest, on ac count of her being the largest and requiring the most dress material. Yet in spite of Bessie’s genius, the furnishing of that room seemed ex ceedingly problematical.,,"^^! “There is my contribution to the funds,” remarked Bess placing her S2O on the top step. I deposited my $lO beside it, and Ilafrie followed with her $5. Then we looked at Bess and wait ed an explanation. “I have been reading in a magazine,” 6aid Bess, “about a woman who fur nished her parlor with SSO and had the prettiest room in town.” “But we have only $35,” J sug- gested “And 43 cents,” supplemented Ilarrie. “Well, that woman bought some things we need not buy,” replied “To be sure she had a set of lovely old chairs which belonged to her oreat-grandmother, and which have just come into fashion; and somebody gave her a pair of pictures and somebody olse presented her with a statuette; and—‘ “Bo stop Bess,” I cried imploring ly ; while Ilarrie went off in a vio lent explosion of laughter. “I don’t suppose anybody will give us a picture, or beg the privilege of keeping a piano in our front room," said Bessie candidly; “although that happened to the woman in the maga zine. What I want is Ben Brad shaw’s plane and saw, and Ben him self to operate them, and an old bar rel or two.” “I suppose Ben and his tools are to be had for a thank you and there are barrels enough in the woodshed. What are you going to do with them Bessie ?” “You shall see,” said Bessie, smil ing wisely. “At present let us go to Merrion’sand get some of that lovely staw matting for the floor. ’ “Straw matting will do very well for the present,” said I. “hut when it, comes cold weather—” “We must not begin to think of cold weather in May,” interrupted Bessie, “perhaps by November some good luck will bring us a carpet. In Summer matting is a positive lux ury.” We went to put on our things, of course, preparatory to visiting the carpet store, for we always obeyed Bessie’s order. When we returned from the expe dition we were accompanied by a man with a wheelbarrow; and in that barrow were 26 yards of blue and cream colored matting, of a nice qual ity, which we had bought for 50 cts. a yard; also eight rolls of pretty grey paper at 50cts. a roll. When. 1 tfe.f 1 Tit- eottago of'eight rooms fs siti was jt~ —-* •• +*- — l> t was dovvn, our front room was very clean and cool to look at. “But we could look at the pretty mattting and blue grey paper inMer rion’s store just as well,” said Harrie. “And Ido not see where we are to get any iurniture, our ancestors did not leave us any antique chairs.” “We will make the curtains first, said Bessie, cheerfully, coming in at that moment, with her bat on and a a bundle in her hands. “I’ve just been down street and bought the materials.” And Bessie opened her bundle and displayed a roll of snow white mus lin and some pale-blue cretonne. “I paid 40 cents a yard for the muslin,” she said, “and I bought 15 yards. Five yards t<> a window will be plenty it is so wide. And the cre tonne w ill make charming shades. It was GO cents and here are six yards. ; We'll make some lambrequins of it, too, tor the windows, and lor that ug ly wooden mantle-shelf. You can make some blue and white tassels, llarrie, like those on your tidy, but larger. And here are the fixtures for the shades. They cost.sl.so lor the three.” So we hung the blue shades in om threc windows, with a blue and white crochet tassel pendent from each; and over them we draped the full, white muslin curtains, with pretty blue lambrequins at the top. Harrie sacrificed her freshest blue ribbons to loop the curtains, though Harrie is a blonde, and blue ribbons are very becoming twisted among her yellow ringlets. “Why, if is charming!” she cried admiringly, regarding the effect from the doorway. “Now Bessie bring in the furniture 1” Ben will bring the table this even ing,” said Bessie. “And I can prom ise a lounge aiul two arm-chairs and a pair of ottomans, there! my ideas and the money will give out together.” Ben did bring the table—a great round pine allair,"oi his own manufact ure, rude enough, certainly, but he THE FLORIDA AGRICULTURIST. planed it smooth and stained the legs Mdth amber,in imitation of walnut,and even that did not matter much, for, very little of them showed when Bes sie nad covered it with a sheer-cloth, abstracted from the dinning room. “There now!” she cried in tri umph ; “could anything be neater ? it will hold piles of books and papers, and that is all we want it for. Who is going to lift the cover to see if it is walnut ? We will cover it with white cloth in the Summer (thank our stars we have plenty of table linen !) and next Summer I promise to save $lO from my allowance to buy a cover for it. I had Ben make it nice and big, because I hate a small table; I like one that everybody can gather around and beitociublc.” After the rable followed at inter vals of a day or two, the other arti cles which Bessie had enumerated. First, alonuge—perhaps it would be better called a sofa —composed of a long packing box. with one side knocked out, and a square block un der each corner.* These square legs were stained with amber, in imitation of walnut, like the table legs. Bessie expended all the rest of her money for blue and white chintz—a distractingly pretty pattern, and got at a bargain. With this she covered that unpromising sofa, stuffing the cushions with corn husks; and the two big square pillows were orna mented at each coiner with Harris’s pretty tassels. Upon my word the sola was as pretty an article of furniture as the Benton’s had in their house. Then Ben brought us two large casks, or hogsheads, or whatever you call them, sawed down lengthwise to the proper heights for a seat, and then sawed crosswise, and a hoard fitted in. These also were covered with the pretty chintz, and well cushioned with husks, and they made the cosi est arm-chair imaginable. Harrie fin ished them off with crochet and net ted tidies. Bessie’s ottoman was simply two soap boxes cushioned with husks and covered with chintz. We took a few chairs from the oth er rooms and added to this array. We cut engravings out of old maga zines, and framed them with straw and passe partoute frames ; took the fine landscape painting from the dinning room and brought it into the parlor; Bessie brought down her pet chromo of the “Cenei,” from her bed room and placed it between the east- Cl’P • rtiv -*■ t **' * grtrwlTig tfifft® and suspended then at each corner of the high old fashioned mantle-shelf now prettily upholstered in blue cre tonne. And our front room was fin ished. I say nothing about the flowers with which our room was adorned, but. perhaps they did more thau any thing else there to attract us and all our friends. It was cool and tidy to the eye, and all Summer our friends kept telling us how pleasant it was to ecme in there and sit down. Sam and Millie Benton came in often of. an evening, and they thought it a prettier room than their mothers grand parlor. And all for $35. “And 43 cents,” says Harrie. — Mal lows Monthly Tim’s Kit. It surprised the sinners and news boys around the post office, the oth er day, to see “J.impv Tim” come among them in a quiet way and to hear him say: “Boys, 1 want to sell my kit. Here is two brushes, ahox box of blacking, a good stout box, and the outfit goes for two shilling l P “Goin’ away Tiui ?” queried one. “Not ’/.aelly, boys, but I want a quarter the awfullest kind just now.” “goin' on a 'scursion ?” asked an other. “Not to-day, but I mast have a quarter,' he answered. One of the lads passed over the change and took the kit, and Tim walked straight to the counting room of one of the daily papers, put clown bis money, and said; “I guess I can write if you will give me a pencil.” With Blow moving fingers he wrote a death notice. It went into the pa per almost as lie wrote it, but you might not have seen it. He wrote: “Died—little Ted—of scarlet fe ver ; Funeral to-morrer, gon up to Hevin ; left one bruther.” “Was it your brother ?” asked the cashier. Tim tried to brace up, but he couldn’t. The big tears came up, his jChin quivered, he pointed to the no tice on the counter and gasped : “I—l had to sell my kit to do it, b—but he had his arms around my neck when he d—died !” He hurried away home, but the news went to the boys, and they gathered in a group anrl talked. Tim had not been home an hour befpre a barefooted boy left the kit on the doorstep, and in the box was a bo quet of flowers.— Detroit Free Dress. A Blighted Pleasure. Billy Spoonaker enjoyed tht taste of anew bliss the other evening. That is to say, he experienced that exhilarating serenity that makes itselt at home in the youthful bre; si when its owner for the first time finds him self bowing over a marble top table, watching the dancing light in a pair of eyes brighter than hope, while the most bewitching of rosy lips wade into tiie ice cream, and make ihe sil liest nothings the most precious gems of speech. That’s the way it seemed to Billy. Of course he will gel over it before the bh ak frosts of autumn nip tiie potato vines and make him chatter in his over-worn summer suit, as he wonders why in cr-r r-r r-eation a woman wants !•> make a refriger ator of herself ail the year round; hut just at that time he was under going an ecstatic flutter about. q )( . heart that tilled his soul with sin_’j,,„. birds and honeysuckle, ihe boy on good terms with ail the w< r jj and didn't worry about i He smiled as easy as going to and said witty things without k. ing it till afterwards. Oh, it wa p lyl They cooed and chatted and halted ;, nd then fell into contid eT)t ; a ] whisP tr!S ’ occasionally lnok'"S in the direc 1 ' 011 °t another coup^ e across the w :i y> * M,t scarcely notiei u c? them Not so > however, t 1 e oth 01 ‘ party. The m a " was eying Billy with a wicked *ook, and, when at length he got tip and started for the cashier’s desk, th<* man followed and tapped him on the shoulder. “ S u e here, youngster.” he said, with a thick breath, “T want a word or two with yon privately. Come this way, if you please.” and the stranger step ped outside ot the door. Billy was in a fog, and a little scaled. J3c. didn’t like the looks iff ..lii.w • . wnnrtiii’Pii wo&f; | x.... ..sliow, wonrtereti wrist ne could want with him, but followed with some reluctance. “ See here, boy,” said the man. tak ing a firm hold on Killy’s shoulder, “ I want to know what sort of re marks you was making about, my wife to that gal in there. Tell me at onest, or I’ll larrup the ground with ye! ” and the stranger gave him a look that made his marrow quiver. “ Why, bless your life ! sir,” said Billy in a shaky voice, “ I never notic ed your wife, and didn’t say a word about her. I didn’t think of such a thing.” “ That won’t go down, little one. I had an eye on you, and time and again I saw yon both look over our way, an’ then go to gigglin’. Was you makin’ fun of Mariar’s clothes ? I want to know,” and the man gave him a cruel shake. I tell you, sir, ’pon honor, we didn’t once think of your wife. May be wo might have looked over that way, but we didn’t notice either one oi you. We were talking about something else all the time, and laugh ing at our own talk. Indeed we were. I don’t go about making fun of people, sir—l was better raised.” “ Well, hang me if I don’t half be lieve you, buu, an’ I axes your par don. Blow me, though, if I couldn’t a’swore you was passin’ remarks about Mariar’s clothes, an’ then titter in 1 about it to that little school gal with ye. I know she’s not rigged up as gay as some women, sonny, and she don’t flam on a great sight o’ style, but she is as good as the best of ’em, an’, though she ain’t to say purty, she knows how to keep the house lookin’ as neat as a show win der, an’ she kin make a bushel of per tatnrs hole out in hard times eq’al to anything that wears calico, an’ that’s what makes me say, little one, that whoever undertakes to have a gay timo by pokin’ fun at her when I’m around will wakeupthe worst hornets’ nest hcever stumbled over. Hows’ mever, there’s no harm done, Johnny, an’ mighty glad of it. Ye’rc a bright little feller, an’ I’d hate like sin te give ye a spankin’ afore the gal, which I should a’ done had things turned out the way I thought they was. It’s a blamed good joke, ain’t it ? ” and the man laughed with a most aggrav ating guffaw as he went back to rejoin his wife. , But Billy felt bad and put out, and was nearly mad enough to cry. It was too bad—just when he was feel ing so grand and inportant —to have this great burly man come along and call him “ bub,” and “ sonny,” and crush him to earth by talking about “ spanking,” in a voice loud enough for the angel inside to hear every word. No wonder he was glum and gloomy the rest of the evening, and make no witty speeches during the promenade to his charmer’s home. There will be no giggling over the rigid cream next lime.— . Breakfast Table. nm ipes. Spiced Fruits. —To seven pounds of fruit add three pounds of sugar, one pint of vinegar and a tablespoon ful of every kind of spice—cloves, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg. Cookies. —One cup butter; put into a teacup one egg, one teaspooufui soda, two teaspoonfuls sweet cream and fill up with sugar; mix soft enough to roll out; caraways. Ginger Snaps. —One cup of brown sugar, one cup of molasses, two eggs, one cup of fried meat, gravy, one tablespoonful ol cider vinegar, two heaping teaspoonfuls of soda, one teaspoonful of ginger; flour enough to roll. Potato Soup.— Boil eight potatoes and one good sized onion until tender; strain through a sieve; add one quart of milk, salt and pepper to taste, and nearly one teacupfui of butter; put aii in a saucenan and let it come to a boil. Serve hot. Diccolmmi Cake. Stir to cream one cup of butter, three cups of sugar, and the white of five eggs; then stir gradually into the mixture the yolks of live eggs, four cups ot flour, one and a halt teaspoonfuls of yeast pow der, and one cup of milk; flavor to the taste. Cream CaJce. —One cup sour cream, flour, two eggs, oife teaspoon even full soda; dissolve the soda in two teaspoonfuls boiling water; stir sugar and eggs well together, then add soda and flour; flavor with lemon ; bake in moderate oven. Cure for Hoarseness. —Spikenard root, sliced and bruised, and then steeped in a teapot containing equal parts oi water and spirits, and the vapor inhaled, when sufficiently cool ed, will relieve the soreness and hoarseness of the throat or lungs, when arising from a cough or cold. Canaries. —If you keep a canary bird, let its food be very simple, and it will keep well, and be a good sing er, but over feeding makes them dull andsickly. Their food should be simple canary seed mixed with about one quarter of rape seed. A bit of apple or a piece of loaf sugar once in a while wih do no harm, and prove very acceptable. Water Rising for Bread. —Take a quart pitcher and a spoon, scald them; fill the pitcher half full of boiling wa ter ; cool to the temperature of good hot dish water; stir in flour to make a batter as thick as flour pancakes; and a quarter teaspooful of salt and as much soda, cover closely, set where it will keep quite warm, stirring oc casionally ; it will raise in five or six hours. Some prefer it to hop or brew ers yeast. Pork .Pudding. —One pound of salt pork chopped fine, twice the quantity of dry bread crumbs (salt risings preferred) moistened with one pint of boiling water, a dozen sage leaves minced, three eggs, one teacup of sifted Indian meal; beat the whole thoroughly, add one-half tcaspoonful of soda and a little flour; bake in a pudding dish and serve with sweet ened sweet cream, or maple syrup.— It can be eaten with relish either hot or cold. Makes a good substitute for sliced meat for supper, when hearty food is required to satisfy hun gry harvesters. For a large family the recipe can be doubled in quantity without injury to the quality.