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A WOMAN'S ] IMHCB. fTv;. CHAPTER V. hojle AGAIN. ' It was late in the afternoon of a day toward the close or iiay uu?u ujiuu proached Elmwood. A telogram, sent from New York th$ day before, had announced his coming, and, on alighting trom the train, he found the carriage awaiting him, and the old coachman he remembered so well beaming a smiling welcome. Five years had wrought vary perceptible changes in the aspeot of the country. The small town lying within the belter of the valley, true to its old progressive spirit, revealed a wonderful development. New and imposing residences were to bo seen on all sides. Busy aotivity was everywhere visible, and Brian began to imagine himself a modern Kip Van Winkle, returning to his home after a long absence. His homo ? Alas! this was his home no longer. For the first time perhaps the full force of this idea struck him. From the oarriage window he caught distant glimpses of Elmwood, the stately old house crowning the brow of the kill like a sentinel guarding the village below, its terraced "gardens sloping to the narrow river winding like a silver thread between its green banks, and the splendid old forest trees clothed in the tender foliage of May. Ho sighed as he turned from the picture. He had never been particularly fond of Elmwood in the old days, the country under no circumstance offering Inducements that he found alluring, but now all was changed. The home he had looked upon as his had passed into the hands of another, and the knowledge raised new longings and new desires in bis heart. He tried to picture the cousin who had taken his inheritance from him, bul his imagination could grasp nothing definite. He wondered if she were tall or short, dark or light, cold or affable, and then he fell to framing a face in his ~ > in + nnrrihlp fihadOTO dlliUj auu ao buv mvuu^w.v ? assumed a clearer shape it unconsciously took on the form and features of the ilargaret he had left in the fishing town on Nantucket. ! "Bother it!" he cried, gnawing hie mustache with a fierceness that argued inward disturbance. "The want of money is the greatest bore under the sun. Margaret was such a dear girl." This thought came as a natural sequence ,to the other, and he smiled at the possibilities it suggested. Poor Brian had his faults; among them an overweening love for his own oomfort, and an intense dislike for whatever could cause him the least inconvenience. His love for money was relative, not abstract. Money could buy pleasure and luxury, therefore he desired its possession. He had no ambition for the fame to 'be won by his own endeavor. No desire to take his place in the working world and win his way in the struggle for prominence. Privation and hardship, those prolific mothers of greatness, were wanting in his life, and the activity and industry which Margaret ad* ' * ? - I-* mirca were xo nun a mwnu? cuvi? that no after greatness could compensate. His education was in part reeponsible for these ideas. Selfish and Indolent by nature, he had early been deprived of his mother, and in her person, of the careful training and judicious dicipline which might have weakened, if not wholly eradicated, these traits. His father was illy fitted for the guardianship of a quick, impulsive boy, and the injudicious indulgence of an old nurse strengthened the already strong characteristics. When, as frequently happened, Brian grew unmanageable,his father was appealed to, and his severity on such occasions had far from the desired effect. Such a course of training had a practical effect on Brian's after life. When he left college, he studied medicine, in accordance with his father's wishes, ?-nd during the progress of his studies, pro ceeaea to sow ms wuu uais v?iw ?utu unusual vim that frequent quarrels between himself and father became the rule. These terminated in one more bitter than all the rest, which resulted in Brian'9 departing for Europe, and his father threatening to discontinue his allowance. A very direful threat, that ended, as Brian expected, in nothing more than words. Brian had been traveling several months when Margaret's father died and Bhe took up her residence at Elmwood. Once there, she soon won her way to her uncle's heart, and the old gentleman formed the project of a marriage between her and his son. He died without realizing his hope, and for reasons which he did not disclose, he left all hi? property to Margaret, and cut Brian oil with an income of $2,000. Now, nftei five years absence, the disinherited son was experiencing the novel sensation ol entering his old home a visitor. The friendly, familiar air of everything about him, made his sense of loss more keen; and when old St phens, whe had known him as boy, met him at the door with eyes suspiciously moist, and a face full of emotion, he found himself " eo overcome that he could donolhing more than grasp the toil-worn hand oi tho faithful old servant, and shake it with impulsive affection. r "Poof Stephens," he said to himself, when left alone to his reflections. "1 firmly believe the faithful fellow had tears in his eyes. Never thought I'd be so low in the scales that the feeling of .an old servant would touch me BO. I wonder if my beloved cousin realizes what she has taken from me. Mure than mere money. Yes, a thousand times more. She has taken my happiness. And Margaret?with all this I could have married her. She liked me, I feel sure. Her every action told me as much. Dear girl! how happy I should be to make her mistress here. Well, there is certainly no use sighing ?vcr the inevitable." This was a nhilo^oi>hical conclusion: but lirian found it difficult to shako off the Incubus of despondency and turn his attention to 6omo needful changes In hin at1 irr> nrwiaratorv to troinir down to dinner. Ho was not a particularly vain man; yet, wishing to appear to the best advantago in his cousin's eyes, he took spocial pains with his toilet. Ha wondered if Margaret had visitors. Stephens had spoken of tho ladies. "Probably some old friend or chaperon," he conoluded, with a last satisfactory glance at his reflection in the mirror. He found no one in the parlors, and, the library being likewise deserted, he wandered along the hall to a half open door, through which he caught a glimpse of a black dies?. ... - He approached It with some trepidation. He suspected possible changes in the arrangement of the house since Margaret's advent, and he was rather fearful of intruding upon some private apartment. , His hesitating steps had, however, been heard. There was a movement in the room "a cry of "Dear Brian!" and he found himself holding Hiss Hilton's hand, and gazing, with mingled pleasure and surprise, in the gentle, kindly face. "Come right in," she said brightly. "This is our sitting-room, but you are not debarred entrance. It is such a rjno aiir A fn raa taii oooln trnn nnnr " . "1$ is almostJike & home Qoming," he rejoined In a low voice, following her into the cozily furnished room. "I scarcely expected my welcome from your hands. Who am I to thank for that pleasure?" "Margaret. Poor child, she is all alone, and needs some older friend and adviser." "Naturally. I suppose 6he is well?" "Yes, quite well. Her health is usually good. Still I think eha has never recovered from our late bereavement. It was a sad event for you, also, Brian." The old lady spoke fc elingly, and he* words brought an expression of pain to Brian's face. * - n i_ ^ j iroor iauier, ne emu, tu ici u b?vvuu. "I hope he did not think me quite ungrateful or unfeeling. It will be one ol my lasting regrets that I could not be With him before the end. I was traveling at the time, you see, and your message announcing his illness reached me with that announcing his death." "His illness was very sudden," put in Miss Hilton. "None of us realized i< until a few hours before the last. He spoke of you most affectionately," she continued, bending more closely ove* her knitting. "I am sure he felt that only circumstances kept j-ou from him. "And yet " began Brian, as the old lady paused. "I know what you would say," she re-, sumed. "I do not think the terms of his will argued any want of affection for you. I cannot enter into his reasons, yet I believe he thought he was acting for the best. Margaret has never reconciled herself to tho condition ol things." "I suppose it is only a balancing oi the scales," he said, rather gloomily. "I do not question my cousin's right to a portion of the money, but " He paused, either unwilling or unable to complete his sentence. "I think it will turn out for the best," remarked Miss Hilton, with cheery certainty. "Money is nice to have, I acknowledge, but most of our great mei be??Rn thair lives without it: and, by the way, in my pleasure at seeing you 1 have quite forgotten Margaret's message. She is feeljng unusually tired today, and hopes you will excuso her until dinner time." "Certainly," he responded, readily, appreciating the feeling which had prompted his cousin's remaining in the background until she should partly realize his changed condition. "But until dinner time I will allow my curiosity full play. From all accounts she is a paragon. An unpleasant fact to me, as I shall appear to disadvantage by contrast. I fear she has started out with o bad opinion of me." "Then give her reason to change. She has ideas and convictions of her own but she is just and recognizes meril where it exists." Brian appeared dubious. "Ideas and convictions," he repeated, "I guessed as much from her letters tc me. I think there is something iu th< name "which gives determination o: character. I daresay she has made t great many friends here." "Yes, she has a winning personality, whioh never fails her. Colonel Bartor ?you remember him of course?i6 espe cially fond of her. And the poor peopl< would go through Are and water to servi her." "A Saint Elizabeth," put in Brian meditatively. "There are drawbacks t< 'such a character. Is she very prim am particular?" Miss Hilton laughed merrily as i 'vision of Margaiet rose before her i*Wait until you soi' her, and then tel me your opinion. I suppose you ar< quite tired out with traveling, and in tend to settle down to a more quiet ex istence?" "You think I've played the Wanderin) Jew long enough?" he questioned "Well, Miss Hilton, bohemian life ha its drawbacks, certainly, but it i blessed with advantages also. It de velops the mind, broadens one's views and brinzs new ideas into being. W< ? ?1 ~~ ic a vnrr cmnll nr?rn*? I t;U11-6C tliuu liuui^ 10 c* T ol the world, after all. It is a practica education." "Ah, Brian, you are at your old tricki again. You can always lind argument! in favor of what you like." Brian Laughed. "I think wo can al do that, Miss Hilton. Now tell me th? news. The Lady Teazles are not al dead,I suppose?" "Unfortunately, no; they appear ti thrive on this air. I really don't kno\ of much particular news, though. Peo pie get married, babies are born, an< people die. That is about all the] seem to do around here. Of course yoi have not forgotten Col. Barton. Hi temper is as peppery as ever, I think His" niece is living with him. She i rather a pretty girl, though poor, I im agine. "Bertie is studying law with an ol< friend in New York. I shouldn't be n all surprised to hear of an engagemen between Alice and him one of these fin days, though that is merely suppositioi i on my part. Mary Lewis Ah, her is Margaret." Brian looked up quickly at the* I words. A slim, girlish figure stood ii the doorway, and as his glance fell upoi it his eager expeotancy gave way t consternation. He found his eye meeting those of Margaret Smith. Incapable of speeoh, he oould onl stare upon the seeming apparition, whil Miss Hilton gazed helplessly from hi disturbed face to Margaret's cold, lm penetrable one. Only Margaret was equal to the oeca sion. She had prepared herself for thi meeting, and advancing toward Bria with easy solf-possesslun, though wit an air and expression that told of rc mombrance, she took his hand, sayin in rather conventional tones: "l'ou are welcome to Elmwood, Cousi Brian, though I hope you need no word of mlno to assure you of that. I mue besr your pardon for mv late appear ance. Miss Hilton gave you my exeus< and I am sure her presence more tha compensated for my absence." Brian tried to make some intelllelbl answer, but he was not very successfu Margaret was amply revenged. Ho wondered if revenge had been he objoet in bringing him here. Justno' he was willing to believe anything. Margaret saw his inquiring glanc( and probably guessed his thought. Sh bowed her head, while a deep flus passed over her face. Then, turnin abruptly with the announcement tha dinner was served, 6he led the way t the dining room. m? 11 i. i iuo iuuny eicontuw ui&u? iuiir?u c tempt Brian's appetite. "While he fouD himself unable to penetrate Margaret' object in concealing her identity froi him, he had an unpleasant remembranc of their last meeting, the despicubl part he had played, and the contemf she had manifested toward him. Miss Hilton -watched him narrowlj -She was much m^stifled^ bui with a * Intuitive 6ense that something "was wrong, she made laudable efforts to relieve the strained condition of things by introducing various subjects of conversation. I Margaret seconded her ably, but Brian answered in monosyllables. It was a relief to him, if not to all parties, when rj dinner came to an end, and they at last repaired to the parlors, where, as soon as politeness permitted, Brian excused himself on the plea of fatigue and sought the welcome solitude of his room. "Coine, Miss Hilton," cried Margaret when they were alone, "let us go to our Sitting-room. It is ever so much more cozy than these bare parlors. Don't you think S9?" She did not wait for an answer, but 1 hurried off to the room in question, ! where MIbs llilton, following more | slowly, found her ensconced in the , depths of a large rocking chair, bending closely over ^ book which she was holding ujjside down. "Tell me all about it," said the old lady, gently taking the book from her hands and ulacincr it on the table. "You 1 know we agreed to have no secrets from each other. You and Brian have met before to-night." "Yes," answered Margaret, slowly buying her face in her hands, "and, oh, Miss Hilton, I did not think the day would ever come when I should feel so thoroughly liumbled. I had father beg in the streets than feel my sense of obligation to him. He thinks me capa? ble of 6tooping to seek revenge. He thinks I am enjoying the money he has lost, but, ah, if be knew what bitter humiliation it6 possession is to me, he could wish no sweeter revenge." "Kevenge, Margaret? You talk wildly, mv dear child. I'm afraid that trip to S'conset did you more harm than good. I can verv safely 6ay that such an idea has not entered Brian'6 mind." "Perhaps not," replied Margaret, miserably. "I do not think he is revengeful, but I will tell you the whole story, Miss Hilton. How wo met, and what passed between us, and then you can understand how circumstances havo made my old regret more bitter." Then, with her head on Miss Hilton's shoulder, and her hand clasped in that , of the dear friend who had never failed her in any difficulty, Margaret told of the meeting on the beach at S'conset, of the long and pleasant hours of a closo companionship, and of the inter? view which marked an epoch in two lives. Miss Hilton listened quietly, and if ( she guessed what was left untold, she gave no hint She talked to Margaret in her easy, gentle way. She said all ' that was possible in Brian's favor, but ' apparently her words were ineffectual I in changing Margaret's ideas, and she confessed to herself with a sigh that the unfortunate meeting had been a contretemps indeed, and a severe if n?* * fatal blow to her crushed hopes. |TO BK CONTINUED.; [ Tame Cats Turned Wild. > If. has taken about twenty years to produce the wildcats of Goat Island, '' the degenerative process commencing soon after the lighthouse was established there in 1875. It seems that ' the first keepers brought a number of cats with them, but with unrestrained liberty the animals gradually forsook > the comfortB of civilisation. Goat . Island is the home of thousnndsof ? birds and squirrels, and to this is pos sibly due the temptation of the eats to forsake the keepers' fireside. At first ) the cats would absent themselves for ) days at a ticpe, but the kittens were E born at home. In time, however, i they got over this and lived altogether in the underbrush. After a few years the descendants of the first cats were ] so wild that they were afraid of human 3 beings and made their dens in the 3 crevices of the rocks. , From that time the cats became wilder, until now they are as ferocious > as the terrible creature of the moun1 tains. They have increased in size and changed altogether in disposition. 1 They are always seen in pairs, and apj pear to mate, as all species of the cat 3 tribe do in the wild state. The cats . live on squirrels, quail and sparrows, as well ns such other small animals and ? xl ? TKatt dm U If lib lit) lldCJ UUU Wtbu, j. 3 supplied with water from a dozen springs in different partii of the island. ? In addition to other changes the ^ wild cats have beoome hostile to suoh " tame cats as are brought to the island ^ from time to time. They will attack X them on sight, and never stop until 1 they have killed their victims. The chief dcstruotion wrought by 3 the wild cats is on the quail that in* 3 habit the island. The "artful drumj mers" used to be there in abundanco, a but are now pretty well thinned out. 1 The cats are constantly on the alert, and not only kill every quail they can a catch, but often destroy whole nests full of young. To prevent this the lightkeapers are always on the look_ out for wild cats and shoot everyone ' that comes anywhere near the house. s As a consequence, the cats keep some distance away and the quail seem to s know they aie safe in that locality, for there are more nests tfiere tnan in any other part of the island. Many plans have been tried within * the last few years to rid the island of tho hungry, carnivorous pests, but ,, the more thoy are persecuted with e shotgun, trap and poison the more rapidly they seem to multiply.?San e Francisco Call. 11 n o Influence of Winds on Vegetation. 0 At a meeting of the International y Meteorological Congress?a report of e which has recently been published? .3 considerable attention was given to i- the effect of winds. It states that the destruction of the forests is responsible for many of the cold waves which s we experience. Special mention is n made of the disappearance of peach h | trees from Michigan, which is said to | be traceable directly to the deforesta^ tion of the State and the uninterruptn ed ru6h of cold winds. The hot, 8 sweeping winds of the plains, known it as desiccated winds, are held accountable for a loss of something like 21,>> 000,000 bushels of corn in the State of D Kansas alone. The absence of timber belts and wind-breaking forests allows I these desiccating winds to sweep over many miles of cultivated land. These ,r winds may reach a temperature of 108 iv degrees or 109 degrees, with humidity < not over twenty or twenty-five per J. cent, at the outside. This report ? recommends extensive planting of II timber as the best protection against ^ cold waves and hot winds.?The Ledo ger. New York's Hebrew 1'opul itton. . o It is claimed that something like 112,000 d Hebrews live in that part of New York City j s east of the Bowpry, bounded by East Hous- J xi ton street, Ludlow street and East Broad- 1 Q way. Of this number nearly half are chile dren, and not more than 15.000 of the adults t can speak English or even a foreign Ian- 1 gunge fairly intelligible to other people, i They come irom Russia, Poland and Huijr gury, _ a A PRICELESS PALM. ]ll dj )p ALL TREES THE COCOANUT til IS THE MOST VALUABLE. dl bt rhe Sea a Vehicle for Its "Wide ^ Distribution and Propagation ?Many Uses to Which rfl It is Put. ? OF the 980 or more known palms, the cocoanut palm is at once the most graceful,the most picturesque and the most useful, It is to this tree that Purchas quaintly refers in his Pilgrimage, when he eays: 'JBut of greater admiration is thl coque tree, being the most profitable tree in the world, of wmeji m me asiana 01 luaiama tney make and furnjeh whole ships." A further idea of its numerous U6es is hinted at in the orlenial saying that: ,'The attributes of the cocoa would fill a volume." The Ceylonese claim that it has as many uses as there are days in the yefcr, in substantiation of which fchey exhibited at the World's Colum- i bian Exposition just 365 uses of this i ' wonderful T?alm. I With many other plants that have y\ been cultivated by man since prehis- A toric time9 the exact origin of the cocoa is not known, though it doubtless V came originally from some'group of islands either in the Pacific or the Indian Ocean. The greatest difficulty in locating its first home is due to the " wonderful provision nature has made n in its fruits for the distribution of the v species. The preponderance of fact g and ancient historial data would seem I to point, however, to an East Indian g rather than a Pacific source. Its pres- x ence on the east coast of South Amer- t ica, on the coast and islands of the ir Ait. n.. :u- a r vauu ui lucAiuu ttuu iuu L>ttniueau oca I and on the west coast of Africa is a known to be due to recent introduc- r tion by civilized men. r The cocoanut palm varies in height p from fifty to 100 feet. Its slender c trunk iB never rigidly erect, like that a of the royal palm, but leans in grace- t fal curve, ascending in its growth, t Its fohagejl summit is a crown of e drooping and ever waving feathery s leaves, always grandly picturesque, n Although the tree is now cultivated in t all tropical countries, often at quite a c A COCOANUI distance from the sea, it thrives best w and produces the greatest number of w fine fruits near the beach, where it 1< requires but six weeks to mature o o crop of from five to ten nuts, each t] tree continuing this production until r: its annual yield aggregates from eighty ii to 100 fruits. o The cocoa presents one of the finest tl examples of nature's most provident n measures for seed sowing and natural U distribution oi eeed, tne nut Demg vi carefully and successfully nurtured to q the end that it may become a floating 7 vehicle for the germ of a new life that n it contains. The nut, when ripe and ii ready to fall from its lofty height and s< roll into the sea, has a hard, woody shell, inclosing considerable air space n and the elements of growth in the tl form of a thick white albumen- the T meat. This nut is surrounded with a e: mass of lightly meshed fiber, which il still further augments its buovanoy, p and the whole is invested in a .thin 0 waterproof skin which enables the b fruit to float about in the currents for p an indefinite periud, until it is finally n cast up on some far off isle or main- & land and, rolled inward by wave and T wind, finds a final resting place where fi it may germinate by throwing out and t< upward a single !eaf and rooted from 0 one of the three blacli-stoppered holes t< i+a cmallor ??tw1 T'Viin TPfirlilv /* counts for its wide distribution,and the s; luxuriance and vigor of the cocoa palm tl growth that characteristically fringes 6] even the smallest and most remote b1 coral i6let in the tropic seas. b Each nut, when green, contains 1< about a quart of delicious water, afford- b ing when freshly cut from the p tree coolest drink to be obtained in a ]( iffili (1 COCOANTT IN* BUSK. b ?? n the drier tropic coantries. In course z: of time, as the fruit ripene, this water af becomes in most part of the consis- 6l tence of cream, and finally deposits tl within the great embryo faclc a thick pi layer of "meat" in whicn tne relatively o. tiny embryo lies. This coating con- tl stitutes almost the entire food of the q nativeB of many countries, and that of Si their domesticated animals. Even the o: skinny, fearsome dog that detects in tl his every approach to man an oppor- k tunity to receive a cuff or a kick will p rush frantically io your side should a you pick up a coconut and break it, it sure of his poor meal within the shell si you later cast away. p . iCiae scathe that contains the flowers o. * elds on incision a quantity of deli- < one liquid that, when fresh, is called \ joidy." This liquid on fermenta- j an produces palm wine, a delightful < ink, as well as a useful yeast for the iker who is fortunate enough to have )ur. By distillation toddy yields jout twenty-five per cent, of "ar,ck," the true "strong drink" of the GEBMINATINO COCOA. tative tribes. By boiling it is conerted into a tolerable sugar, or jag;ery, the only sweet known to him. Sight gallons of toddy yield the Cingalese two gallons of a delicious liquid rhich they call "pervin," a sort of hin maple 6yrup, eo to speak. The shell of the cocoanut takes a ligh polish, and when cut in two forms , convenient and durable cap or other teedful vessel. The husk or coir surounding the nut yields the best fiber >osgible for braiding into ropes or ables, especially as such cables float ,nd are practically indestructible by rater. One of these cables, four inches hick and 250 feet long, together with inmerous other coir articles, can ba ecn in the galleries of the Field Colimbian Museum. The Polynesians wist and braid this fiber into small ords that serve in house construction I IT ii P GROVE. rhere we would use nails, while the hole husk needs but to be cut in two mgthwise to form an excellent pair f scrubbing brushes. The utility of lie nut does not cease here, for the ipe meat yields, on pressure or heat- , ig in the 6un, a fine oil for cooking : r illuminating purposes, as well a6 for Li/\<1 XT A^Viin r# rtV\^oinoV?ln 1Q ' LIU lUUCbi wuiaiuauiv lore refreshing under the blazing ropic sun than anointing the body 1 rith clean, sweet cocoanut oil. Large uantities of this oil are shipped to 1 ariouB countries, where it is used in laking pharmaceutic preparations and 1 the manufacture of candles and saps. Not only does the fruit furnish the ative with fire, water and food, but ie tree his house and all its comforts, ho wood is'soft internally but hard sternally. Small trees are thus ready converted into a system of water ipes or other, useful tubes. When Id and past fruiting the Whole trunk ecomeshard, forming the well-known orcupine wood of commerce, and mch used where the trees grow for orner posts and rafter3 of dwellings, he leaves, usually from twelve to fteen in number, of which from five 3 six are produced each year as the Id ones drop off, are from eighteen 3 twenty feet long, and make an exellent thatching for both the roof and ides of buildings. Before unfolding bese leaves are inclosed ia a fibrous beath, which is used as a sieve or trainer, and again for clothing and edding, while the yonng unfolded af is cooked and eaten like cabage. The base of the old leavesis exanded until it half clasps the trunk, nd the midrib stripped of its lighter jaf tissue forms a hard and durable hovel or paddle, as need may require, ty splitting up this expanded part an xcellent broom results, or by removag it and sharpening the midrib a pear or arrow is readily formed. The .'aves are also made into fans, paresis and beds, and the sheathes into sh nets and hammocke, while tbe :aflets serve as paper when writt'.. ' pon with a sharpened piece of tii. lidrib. Tne smaller ribs are con -j erted by splittiDg into neat hair J smbs, while the whole leaf makes an scellent torch, whose resulting ashe-> ield a potash that in turn convert-! je oil of the nut into one of the finest f soaps. In the collections in the botanical epartment of the Field Museum may e found twines, ropes, mats, cloth, igs, brushes and various other utili - 11 itions of the cocoa ;iiL>er, lis wen i many of the nuts in section, lowing the various useful portions oi le fruit, together with other kindred aim nuts that yield oils and products f somewhat less extended use. Among lese the moat curious are the uadrangular cocoanuts of the South ea Islands and the great coco de mer, r sea cocoanut, of the Indian Ocean, le latter being the largest tree fruit uown, often weighing over fifty ounds. In shape this sea cocoanut tuch resembles a twin growth, and s peculiar form, as well as its great ze, give rise to many varied and sueretitious legends among the peoples t the East African and West India .:* / n- t'V>< <- . . m . ' ' y io&st, who found it washed upon their seaches centuries before they knew of vi ts source in the Seychelles Islands.? ol Chicago Times-Herald. f< ? fi HOT AIR HEATING. el a Practical Suggestions for This Method n of Warming Houses. ? fi (CopyrlRhted 1896.) _ ii "When a man starts out to build a ^ house, after having settled the ques- >j tion of location, size, price and gener- % al style, the most important matter a that remains to be decided is the B method of heating. The larger pro- ^ portion of dwellings make use of the t air system, and, all things considered, there is none that is more satisfactory. Hot air furnaces offer very convenient means of communicating warmth to a dwelling of almost any dimensions? its special advantage oeing tnat n ic is properly managed it constantly brings into the house a larg^ body of fresh air, and so contributes most materially to the ventilation of the building. This is effected by a furnace placed in the lower portion of the house, which being duly provided with flues and registers, heats and distributes through all parts of the establishment a quantity of fresh air in proportion to the dimensions and capacity of the air chamber in whioh it is placed. A fundamental point of this system is the supply of pure air to this air chamber, which should be " provided by a duct or air passage . from that side of the house on which 1 the air is likely to be the most pure. ' j HOUSE HEATED BY HOT AIR. 1 But the objections citcd against stoves , when made with thin plates of metal without any lining to protect them from becoming red hot. apply with equal force to a vast majority of hot air fnrnaces now in use. Air deliv ered from a furnace should never exceed the temperature indicated by 120 degrees Fahrenheit; where the heat reaches 150 degrees to 180 degrees at the point of delivery, the effects are undoubtedly pernicious. The principle to be attended to in 1 construction of all hot air furnaces is t to generate and communicate the < greatest amount of heat with a given i nnnnfi+.v nf fneL without nrodncinar t 1- J # * w % any change in the breathing property < of the air. A common fault is that 1 the water pan is allowed to become < empty, so that the heated air has that f dry and stuffy quality of which many i people justly complain. But with , < water constantly evaporating in the < furnace, with cold air drawn from outdoors, and with such an arrangement of pipes that every room will receive its due proportion of heat, there is no system more satisfactory for ordinary houses, nor is any more economical ?an important consideration. Many house-holders urge objection to the hot air system that at first, glance seem to be well founded. They, themselves, have these furnaces and they never tire of recounting their tribulations with them. They say that there are certain rooms in their houses that never get a particle of heat, although they force the furnace so that it eats up coal by the ton and makes the rest of the house unbear- f able; and often an impression exists that certain pipes and registers will always be favored, and that one cr more (generally the one to the north) j is bound to go without heat. Such people will at once dispute the asser- 1 tion that each pipe can be made to draw as well as its fellows, and that , every register, properly managed, will throw out its quota of heat. The one prime fault with most hot . air heaters is that the cold air bos is very much too small. The size of this ? is generally left to the judgment of , the carpenter and builder, and is made small so as not to be in the way. It is simply a physical fact that no more hot air can bo sent out of the furnace than cold air goes in. If the cold box has an aperture of five . square feet, and the hct air pipes aggregate ten square feet, ( it stands to reason that half of the hot air pipes will be starved. An prsv tefit of the matter is this: Wait until you have a hot fire in your furnace, and then open all the registers j and hold a lighted candle before each one in turn. If there is a down I draught through one or more of the c registers, the furnace, starved for cold * air, 'is drawing through one of those with the least upward draught ] in order to discharge it when heated 1 through the others. If your hot air 1 furnaco fails to give satisfaction, and 1 is of a reliable make and in good condition, investigate your cold air sup- * ply first of all; then see that each of \ the hot air pipeB is taken oniy from 1 j Kitcf'srs f" "8 I 1 ft II-VXII1 6' ty~" ' ^>|'||||lhl|cdaS Dining p. I . J -i I j H' r ' (j \ IT \ 3 P&rlor | J v j L J | Veranda f*^ * \ 15'w ice \ s j t ^ ^^ i s First rtocr j the crown of the furnace; that each \ pipe has a distinct pitch (the greater 5 the better) and finally it may be well to coyer ihe pipes with asbestos in or3 4 - ?iU.?m 1/-v<?insv Koof ucr tu prcvcut mem uu>u iwoiu^ uwu? by radiation. If you have a good fur- 1 nace to be?in with, do not give up un- i til you have mastered the problem and i obtained the results you should ob- i tain. i The accompanying plan is for a c house with hot air heating. 1 'T? The width of this house inclading^^H eranda Is 46 ft. 4 ins.; its depth, in*^^H lading front veranda, 46 ft. 6 ins. Its^^^fl jnndation is of stone and briok. Thaj^KH rat story, clapboards; the secondjHH tory, gable, dormers, roofs and ver-j^^H nda enclosnre, shingles. The cellan^^H leasnres 7 ft. 6 ins. in hight; thdjHHjj rst story, 9 ft.; second story, 8 ft. as., and the attic, S ft. It is finished^^H bronghont with three-coat plaster.j^^H 'he flooring is of North Carolina pine be trim, white wood; main staircase, sh; kitchen and bath room, wain?||^^l coted. The laundry is in cellar nn<j^HI ier kitchen, and the kitchen has lortable range. ?? ?iBB L Bed R J| ' H j|l itffrtiiti I a mf?^ , lio| 111111 Uifs* ciof B?d R. I m ' | rfcn I HE 7!!&a. ? J Bed P. I Bed R 1 BH 13^.15^ LS'x 14'-6" I /Laf \]j 3ccor\d rio Of The first impressioa of this hoase if,j ,BB f built in the northern part of the ^B| Jnited States, some people might sayj^H ;hat, the chimney being on the ont-^^B side of the house instead of being rua^^B ip through the centre, that the openHB] ireplace in the parlor would not giva^^B aeat; it is not so. If the house faces^^B she north the furnace should be about^^B under the centre of the parlor, d^aw-^^B in# tfcrougn Ctte cmmney nearutsb lbi^^HE if the house faces the south it shoulc^^H be about uuder the kitchen where tlic^^H tvord "down" is shown in the floozj^^H plan, drawing principally through the^^D :bimney shown in the floor plau rnn-^^H aing through the kitohen and the bed*^^J room in second floor, and if the cold^^H ?ir duct is as large in the aggregate in the hot air pipes every room sbould^^H be sufficiently warm enough to heat^^H the house seventy degrees in zero^^B tveather. 9^H This house would cost about ?including the heating apparatus, range and mantel?built within lOO^^H niles of New York City, although in^^H nany sections of the country the cost^^B should be much less where labor or^Hfl materials are cheaper. _ A Simple Little Trick. Vn A lawyer who has an office in thd^^H Sew York Life building was at a party ;he other night where the principal^^H iivertisement was tricks, one of whicht recalls to tho lawyer's mind one lsed to do when he was a schoolboyBH jack in Maine. He called for a whis^^Hj jroom and then, laying a niokel in the^^H :enter of his open palm, offered it to^^H tnyone in the party who wpuld eweep'^^B t off with the broom. One of the eon"'^HI litions was that the broom mnst be^^B M' n THE milOVABLE KICKEL. ield straight up and the coin vith the ends of the broom straws. "Oh, I can do that," said a youm^HI voman, and she took the broom and^^H )egan to sweep at the coin. The hardez^^H he swept the tighter the coin stuck to^^H he open palm of the lawyer's hand.^^H Jne after another, each person at the^^H 3arty tried to sweep off the com anc^JH t was an astonishing thing that th^^^a )room would not budge it. Since then the trick has spread, it nearly party someone shows thi^^^B vhisk broom and nickel trick, and ii^^H tauses no end of wonder and amuse^^H uent. Any kind of small coin and anj^^H tind of whisk broom are all that ar^^^H leeded to show the trick.?Kansu^^H 3ity Star. HHj Tlie Chiiiauian anil the Piano. bBI There was a ChiDamen who hast^^M anndry on Market street, who 'went^^H o a musical a few days ago. The^Hfl jress agent for the show struck np^^H juite an accquiantance with John and^^H ;avc him a ticket, so John went. I happened to be in the laundrj^^H vhen John returned from the enter-^^M ;ainment. He and his partner haveflHj 101 DGtll iU LUia Vil'uuuj' ftij ind it was the first time John bac^HH leard a piano. I won't attempt jive tne dialect, bnt this is the way described the instrument to bis ow-countryman: "They bad a four-legged beasH^Ej xhich the people could make sing a^^^f .rill. A man, or a woman, or even :eeole girl sits down in front of mimal and step on its tail, while [be same time bitting its white teet^^^f tvith bis or ber 5ngere, and tben th^^^H creatures begin to sing. Tbe singing^Hfl though much louder than a bird, p'.easent to listen to. The beasts do^J^H [lot bite, nor does it more, although Evas not tied uo during the whole eve^^^H ing."?Louisville (Ky.) Cooimercia^^^M userm juats. Bats have been found very nscfi^^^H a cotton mills wtiere the raw cotto^^^H aas been imperfectly ginned. Jn Spanish cotton mill the storeroom nvaded by swarms of rats, who pull^^^H the bales to pieces to get at the 8ee#^HM eft in the cotton. They did :horoughly, without injuring thehb^^^^B n any Maine's Taliest Man. The tnlie6t mun in Maine is W. Keller, of Phillips. Ho is six feet nches tall, and ot symmetrical builfl^Hj weighing more tlian 200 pounds. n'les a bicycle, which he had to ha^^^^^ nude expressly for bis own use, :auee of the length of his legs. eader of the local cornet band