'I'I-IE: G-RANGE VISITOR. -v- I . OC l5. 1891 Sables’ Department. Judge Not. l Jll(lL{4:l'll’Il1ll(‘ workiiig of his brain. And of his heart thou can‘-at not see; \’Vhat looks to thy dim eyes a stain, In God‘; purc light may only be A scar brought from some well-worn field, \Vherc thou woiild‘st only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight. May be a token that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some internal, fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face! The fall thou darcst to despisr.-— May be the angel's slackcncd hand llas siiffcred it, that hi- may rise And take a firiiii-i‘, snrcr stand. Ur. trusting li::~‘.s to i-artlily thing-;. May licncefoitli ll:.'illI to use his wings. Aml jiidgn none lost; but wait and st-e-, \\’itli hopeful pity, nut vlisrlaiii, j 'l'lit- Ilulllll of the abyss iiiay luv The on .l'slll(' of ill" l1I‘lL{lll cl paiii, Anil lovc and gloij.. that iirly iai-:~ 'l'lii- r/illl to (lovl lll :ll2v'l' _w-ais. :\1i('l.Il4ll‘.‘.lllll’ l‘i'ot:toi. "'. 0 jw Indian Summer. . _ ~'\.'..t i':.i':i:.i-("iii lint i'l‘io 'i :n:.: i . -nu.-w i ll!" ~ein~liiiiri whv-ii 'ti~ ]‘.'t\{.i l.o. llH- rl-. ix lllil ll}. tin-3. liieak. ihi-_v lly, Faii Siiinan r --flying linin chill .-\iitiiiiin's bit-nth 'iii<1'iKill‘all‘.;l!1i.l‘:liliiitii:i',r:i———- I ask not xvi-alth, but p-iwci‘ to take And iist: the things I have aright; Not years, but wisiloin that shall make My life a prom and delight. I ask not that for im: the plan, Uf good and ill be set asiiliz; l’.iit that the ttoiniiion lot of man lic iiobly boiiii.-. aiiil glorifii-r‘l. —Phocbe Cary. —< o > — Clouds. The chariot of the day ap- proaches. The low rumbling of its wheels break in upon our slunibers. and we unclose our eyes upon a world of beauty. The early birds. keenly sensitive to the influence of the hour, be- gin to stir upon the swaying branches of the treetops, greet- ing each other with a cheery good morning and a challenge to song. As. one by one, they join in the chorus the air becomes laden with sweet. enchanting ll1ll..\'l(‘.. The insects. darting here and there among the grasses at our feet. add a monotonous but cheer- ful accompaniment "as the first faint tokens of the (lawn show in I-lit) ciist." The {_‘,2‘tl‘ll(_‘Sl. rays of sunlight. , lalliiig upon the trembling tl-.-w-‘ drops o'ersprt-ading grass. andf shrub. and tree, bcdeck Lhcnii with a glittering robe of raiiibow lines. l The new day. in its full gloryi of presence and proniise, has‘ come, and we greet it with light heart and pleasant anticipation. As the fleet-footed hours roll by. light clouds float through the azure and. niayhap. for abrief time. obscure the sunlight; but if we look up we see them small and transient and enhancing even the beauty of the sky. Bye-and-bye they become more numerous and assume a darker hue: their speed is accelerated and. gathering in a solid phalanx, they roll heavily above us. A hush pervades the air, and all living things seek shelter. Darker and more dense tliei shadows grow. The breeze fresh 1 ens and arouses the listless trees 3 till. under the influence of itsl accelerating spced. they wildly: wave their branches in fierce but-3‘ unavailing protest. E Vivid shafts of light flash} through the darkness to herald’ the roar of distant thunder: nearer and still nearer comes the flash and roar of Heaven’s artil- ery. piercing the frail fabric of the overcharged clouds, until they yield their burden, and the storm is upon us. So, in life's morning, we are surrounded by beauty and all things have, to our ears, a. musical chime. while all paths are made pleasant and smooth to our ten- der feet. As we go on, the clouds of disappointment cast shadows upon our way, through which we fear to pass; but they are transi- tory and, as we look back upon them from the eminece of later life, theyprove to be like the light and unsubstantial mists of morn- ing. In youth we go forth with light heart to enter the world’s broad battlefield and win, as we confi- dently hope, fair victories; but 'sation. for again the shadows lie across our: ‘-,way and our brightest hopes are ~ dimmed. We stuggle on. per- . chance with lagging steps but? trustful hearts. that the future.‘ with its larger opportunities. will 3 bring lighter burdens to be lifted *; by stronger hands. I The years come and go. each} with its share of sunshine and of 3 storm. its messages of peace OI‘l calls to battle. i Advancing life brings greater responsibilities and trials harder‘ to be borne: but, if we still '‘look‘ up." with trust in Supreme love and willingness to be guided by, Supreme intelligence. we may{ sec that all is needed discipline to E ciilianco the beauty and useful-§ l’l('>'-S of our lives: and come to‘; l‘('illl'/.(‘ that each trial and each‘, sori'ow will have its just compcn ] Chewing Gum. Among the abominations off. the present day is the practice of chcwing gum in public. Sweet. intelligent girls are rendered rude and repulsive by the inces- sant motion of the often open mouth. (Indeed. barring the ex- pcctoration. men chew tobacco in better form than girls chew gum.) Dainty lips lose their delicacy. high-bred features their dignity and repose. when accom- panied by the disgusting habit. Men of refined taste only half conceal their righteous contempt, and even the rough-and-ready fellow who laughs at the practice and treats to the gum cannot ad- mire and respect the chewer with the best part of his nature. and when he wants a wife usually seeks some quiet-voiced non- chewer. No place escapes desecration by devotees of the gum-chewing art. and one glances from the platform or the pulpit to the wagging jaws. Recently. at a funeral. grown girls. with tears in their eyes and gum in their mouths, filed past the casket. through sheer force of habit, keeping up a regular chonk, chonk. as they viewed the mar- blc features of the dead. The spcctacle was odious beyond ex- pression. It will soon become lli"(‘(‘.\‘SZl.1'y to post iiotices such as --l il’f\l-( 'iii-:wi.\'<: NOT ALi.owi~:n." in ‘the icspcctable places of wor- ship. (lirls. listcii a nionicnt. Do you know that chewing gum on the ‘sli-oi.-ts and at public gatherings is coarse and places you in a false position? If you must chew. do so in the privacy of your own home. If you cultivate coarse habits you will grow coarse. whether you will it or not. and be- fore you have reached middle ago ~ the time when wo1nan’s charm should be most potent~ you will be so repulsive that you would fail to recognize in your- self the girl of to-day. One of the rudest women I know was a teacher at twenty. and possessed an intelligent. pretty face and lady-like inan- ners. At thirty—five. strident tones. street slang and personal neglect. render her unfit. for any coinpaiiionsliip but that of her own type. Her soft-tinted coin- plexioti and satin hair have given place to a leathery skin and brushy head. We each have within our spirits a Jekyll and a Hyde, and every thought and every act strengthens the one or the other. This woman, by drop- ping first into one unwomanly habit, then another——picking up a by-word here. and a rude gesture there, repeating a vulgar tale to raise a laugh, mimicking a clown or a drunkard "for fun”——gaVe the Hyde food on which she thrived until the Jekyll is almost destroyed and the loveliness of womanhood lost. So will it be with you. Through coarse habits and thoughts the Hyde will steal insidiously into power and stifle your nobler nature. Stop him while you may. At the suggest- ion of an impure thought, a rude action, a degrading habit, utter to your soul the warning cry, “It is Hyde. it is Hyde,” and pro- tect yourself against him.~Alva When the Sun Goes Down. \Vll':H the sun gm.-s down. And across the failing lca. Like the Cl‘Oi)lllllg of a inotlii-r Comes the iniiriniir of thc 52-3. The golden clouds of sunset Change to sober. restful brown. And soft Peace uiifurls her mantle When the sun goes down. When the sun goes down. And from out the glowing west The evening breeze comes sizhinz. Like a whisper from the blest. Come the little ones, aweary. Clinging to their iiiother's gown. And they nestle in her bosom \Vhcn the sun goes down. “ \\'hen the sun goes down I " Cries the toilr.-r o'er the sea. “Sweet tlioiiglits, by labor banislicd, \Vill COHIL‘ trooping back to inc. And the smiles of those who love lllt: Take the place of ] I shall lac with them \V'lii-ii the sun gm-s iluwii." \\'lzv-ii thc ~.iin gm-s vl')\\'ll. Tin: ills of lift i'cri-ill-: llll\ll‘ ml is tlic xoicc --f cvil. l .\Ii/lill:-s:il:i—.liciyvilizi-i-«l Tl»:-iilia i)'\‘.l|Ul1ll‘V\.'Ilil fonistc --4 4 ll. l lirho iiiir-iigli thv- t]l1lt*l l«i\\"il, Ainl l‘t‘\I (‘,IIlllt'\‘ to tllt‘ \\‘i‘7ll\. \\'lii-n thc sun goes down. \\'licn tiic siin gm-s «lawn. ()n this busy life for .'l_\(:. l’t-rhaps llll‘ night that lt)llu\\‘~’. \\'ill lu- l)t:llt:l' than Illt' :l.i_\. ()li. may its i'i~.in_g sliailuws liiiiil us rca- Apologies. “Nevcr apologize." It had stared at me from the printed page all my life; but it remained for the example of two women to make it vital to me. I had the opportunity once to observe closely the intimate home life of one of my friends. Her husband's income was modest. her house plain. and she economized in dress. During the year I lived in her house_I was never con scious of the slightest jar or fric- tion of the domestic machinery. yet I know my friend was not exempt from the usual house- keeping trials. The secretwas——she never apol- ogized. She gave daily superin- tendance to house and kitchen. If accidents happened, nobody was ever made miserable with the details. If a dish failed, it must have been her rule to set it aside; if one appeared on the table not exactly up to the high- est standard, she had the good sense to see that this fact was not apparent to all, and that an apology would only intensify the consciousness of the few who did perceive it. And it is wonderful what mistakes. partial failures. will pass unnoted, if only the too- exacting housewife refrains from apologies. , Sometimes a formal caller ap- ipeared unexpectedly, finding her lin a wrapper: or she was called {to the door to speak for a mo- iment to a neighbor. No dis- tressed expression, no nervous pulling at the cheap and simple gown, betrayed her sense of its unfitness. She ignored it, and received them with aquiet grace, a dignity that added a new charm to her loveliness. I looked and pondered. I saw that an apology would have had its root in vanity. It was borne in upon me that apologies are vulgar and futile,—~above all, futile. Now for the other woman. She is my next-door neighbor, but our relations are almost entirely formal. She imagines me gifted }‘Vith the eyes of Argus. though I éillll so short-sighted that I can } scarcely see beyond my own nose. §She apologizes for facts of which -,I could never possibly have had any knowledge, but for the admissions—her servants‘ short- comings, the noise her children make, the state of her kitchen and back yard. I stand confused. annoyed, bored under this shower-bath of apologies. I meet her running through the lane to her mother's. How sweet and cool she looks, is my inward comment, if I make any. She stops to apologize/for her dress. I say truly that I see nothing amiss. She is then at great pains to show me an infinitesimal hole, or a. grass-stain on the hem. or tells me it is an old thing, patched up out of two; and then she won- ders what I must “think of Rob- ert, working in the garden in his shirt-sleeves." When I finally stem the torrent and get away, I wonder if she thinks I have no duties, no interests, to say noth- ing of moral restraints. which render it impossible for me to stand always with a spy-glass Rosse, in St. Louis Magazine. leveled on her windows. Sonic women apologizl; with “the best intention. iiiiagiiiing that not to do so shows tlls1'«).s‘1)oct and ‘Idisregard of at guest's opinion. i Others. as in the last instance. hope to gain credit for possess- ing a very high standard by apol- ogizing for every lapse there. from. They only betray egotisin. an uneasy conscience, and the fact that they are trying to seem to the world what they really are not.—Gi-ange Home5_ An Object Lesson. There are many kinds of fash- ionable foolishncss. some of wliich are best corrcctcd by a lesson in kind. A writs.-.1‘ in the Boston Post reports such a lesson. which might well be tricd in many funi- ilies. Tlic younger ll1<'llll)«‘l'.\‘ of the family of one of his l'ricnds had fallen into the wa_v of iisiiig iiiany Sl‘ll.'\i('l<*.\s' plirziscs. ‘.\'i‘ili them cvcrytliing was "a\\'l'ully swi-ct." “awfully jolly." or “awfully” soinelliing clso. One evening this gcntleiiian caine lioine with a lniilgct of li<_-\\'s. An acqiiaintaiicc had failed in business. He spoke of the inci- dent as "deliciously sad." lie had ridden up town lll the car with it noted wit. whom he de- scribed as “horribly cntcrtain- ing," and. to cap the cliiiiax. he spoke of the butter which had been set before him at a country hotel as "divinely rancid." The young people stared, and the eldest daughter said: "VVhy. papa. I should think you were out of your head.“ "Not in the least. my dear.“ he said, pleasantly. “I'm merely trying to follow the fashion. I worked out ‘divinely rancid’ with a good deal of labor. It seems to me rather more effective than ‘awfully sweet.‘ And now." he continued. “let me help you to a piece of this exquisitely tough beef." Adverbs. he says. are not so fashionable as they were in his family.——Grange Homes. Moo} To Have a. Bright’ Lamp. In these days. when lamps are used so much, the care of them is quite an important matter, writes Maria Parloa. in her de- partment iii the October Ladies’ Home Journal. If the lamps be good and have proper attention. one cannot wish for a more satis- factory light; but if badly cared for they will be a source of much discomfort. The great secret of having lamps in good working order is to keep them clean and to use good oil. Have a regular place and time for lriiiiiiiing the lamps. Put a foldcd iicwspapcr on the table, so that any stray bits of burned wick and drops of oil may fall upon it-. \Vasli and wipe the Clll[llllt.'_YS and sl1atlcs.' Now take off all loose parts of the burner. washing them in hot soap-suds and wiping with a clean soft cloth. Trim the wicks and turn them quite low. With a soft. wet cloth, well soaped, wipe the burner thoroughly, working the cloth as much as possible in- side the burner. to get off" every particle of the charred wick. Now fill the lamps within about one inch of the top. and wipe with a dam p towel and then a dry one. Adjust all the parts and return them to their proper places. Whenever a new wick is required in a lamp. wash and scald the burncr bvsforc putting in the wick. With it stiideiit lamp, the i'e(-optacle for waste oil. which is screwed on the bot- tom of the burner. should be taken off at least oiic.c a week and washed. Sometimes a wick will get very dark and dirty before it is half consumed. It is not econ- omy to try to burn it: replace it with a fresh one. The trouble and expense are slight and the increase in clearness and bril- liancy will repay the extra care. When a. lamp is lighted it should not at once be turned up to the full height; wait until the chim- ney is heated. Beautiful shades are often cracked or broken by having the hot chimneys rest against them. Now, when light- ing a lamp be careful that the chimney is set perfectly straight and does not touch the shade at any point. The shade should be placed on the lamp as soon as it is lighted, that it may heat grad- ually. 1 Desirable for Ladies. The new Fashion Journals pub- lished by A. McDowell & Co., .4 ‘West 1-lih struck. New York, are again on our table. The supe- iriority of these journals is abund- antly shown on every page. "La Motle“ is the smallest of the three. and is intended for family use. It has many styles for chil- dren. and is only $1.50 per year, or 15 cents per copy. “La Mode de Paris" is an elegant journal. filled with everything of the latest style in Paris. This is a great favorite with ladies who wish to keep posted in the new styles as they come out. "Album des Modes" is also it popular Parisian publication. many ladies giving it the })l‘:"f(‘l‘(‘l1('(‘. It is replete with such styles as are patroiiizcd by lhc iiiidtllc classes. its dcsigiis iwiiig neat and plain. l.\'<*l all of llll‘ i'ii-lies! <-li:ii'a<-to-i‘. l'l‘licsc llll'(‘t‘ inonilily _ioiiriial.~ ;("l2lllIl to givc llll‘ carlicst l'usli- lions. anil Ill-~_v are all ]lI'llllt‘ll ii: }l’aris. Tlicy conlniii lcssoiis in pi':ic1i<-al di'cs.-;-iiiiilriiig. wliicl. arc of iiicoiiiparablc \'lllllt- and c.a>,\' to niiilerstaiiti. “lia Mod»- kl“ l’:iris" and tho ".-\lbi1ni dos :\l()(ll‘.\” :ll'i‘ l-%£l('l1$Il.3ll1)(x1';u1n111;;. or 3:3 ct-ms for at single copy. Sziiiiplcs can bu obtaiiied front tliclioii.~'.c at single copy prim-. if lll4‘l't‘ is any (lllll('llll_\' in obtain- ing lll(‘lll froin in-\\‘s " Mrs. Loring's Lemon Pie. Take a large table-spoonful of corn starch, dissolve in a little cold water in a bowl, add a cup of boiling water to cook it. While hot stir in a tablespoonful of but- ter, add one beaten egg and the yolks of two more. a full cup of sugar and the juice of two lem- ons; use none of the peel. Makes two small pies or one large one. For the frosting beat the whites of two eggs until you can turn the plate without its running, add two heaping teaspoonfuls of pow- dered sugar; put on after the pie is baked and set back into a. slow oven until slightly brown. Please try this pie. ——-—<—o«>—--- Have good will To all that live, letting unkindness die. And greed and wrath; so that your lives be made Like soft air passing by.