A QUEER RACE.
^ BTOllT OV A BTRANUK rKOPMb
CHAPTER XXU—CONTINUED.
Morris was a carpenter, and he had fixed
hp one mirror in the queen’s bed-room 90
nmch to her satisfaction that she wanted
10 bare all the remaining mirrors taken
out ot the saloon and Axed up in like man
ner. As for books, she was simply Insatia
ble. She read anything that came to hand,
but liked best something scientific, or a
novel with plenty of incident and a com
plicated plot. When once she became in
terested In n story of this sort, she would
neither sleep nor attend to business until
she reached the end, and woe betide the
councilor who at such a time ventured to
trouble her with sffalrs or State. When
Mr. Thomas, arather timid old gentleman,
secretary to the oounoil, brought her some
{tapers to sign while sbo was reading
"Monte Oriato,” and did not go away the
moment he was bid, sho half frightened
the poor man to death by threatening to
art her puma at him.
We went down to the "Diana" as ar
ranged, by water of course. In addition
to the boat’s crew and tbe carpenter, we
were accompanied by Marian Lester, one
of the queen’a maidens, and a youth of the,
name of Buttercup, who was halt page,
lmif errand-boy.
On reaching the ship, I looked over the
manifest, on which I had ticked off the
packages already landed, aud, in consulta
tion with Mab, decided what others we
should take back with us iu the boat, and
. told the men-to hoist them out ot the hold.
V Then, while Morris was removing the
-mirrors, we took a turn round the ship,
and mode an inspection of the cabins, on
•the chance ot finding anything likely to be
-useful and worth carrying away; for we
slid not intend to make another visit to the
ship for some time.
iu uie cupumi s cmun W're a Micrmomc
ter and a barometer.
••We will have those,” I satd, looking at
; them. "This is a self-registering ther
mometer, and I want to ascertain the avor
• ago temperature of Fairhaven; and the
tmrometer may provo very useful It gives
warning of storms. Do you ever have
storms?"
"Sometimes, and very bad ones. But
they don't often take ns by surprise. I
have nearly always a premonition of them;
so have others."
"I suppose yon can tell by the look of
the sky and the direction and force of the
wind?”
The queen laughed.
"The look Of the sky and the forco of the
•wlndl” she said. "Why, when the clouds
gather and the wind rises, the storm has
lie gun. These are signs which children
may read. What I mean is, that before
any sign Is visible, while the heavens are
still clear, the sea still ealm, something
tolls me—I know not what; It Is a feeling,
, a foreboding—that within a few hoqrs the
weather will change for the worse;"
"That comes from increase of pressure,”
I said. "Yon are sensitive to atmospherio
'-conditions,”
v "f don’t know how that is. I dare say
you an right,” she returned, pensively.
"Bat I have exactly the same feeling when
people an thinking evil against me.”
"Bnt that is not possible. Nobody can
think evil against you!”
/‘Yet snch a thing has happened, my
friend. Fair Island is very beautiful, and
Its people are happy, but thejL are not all
tco°d. And lately—the last/ few days—I
have had a foreboding. For three nights
past, Cato, who, as you know, sleeps al
ways at my chamber door, has growled
•; fiercely, as If he scented danger; und this
' morning I waa wakened by Deusil Funs’s
sword falling from the wall and clashing
on the floor: and, worse still, it broke o(
at the hilt, Nothing could be more oml»>
uus of evil—-and then this foreboding, tbs
■ like of which for Intensity 1 have never ex
perienced before—”
Here ebe came to an abrnpt stop.
. *'A foreboding of what?” I asked.
1 bad already discovered that the lslnnd
v era were somewhat superstitious, bnt I
though Mab knew bettor than to believe
in signs, orpens, and presentiments, or at
tach importance to the falling of a sword
‘ of the growling of a puma.
» ; , "A foreboding of danger.”
' "To whom.” r
to yon, Mr. Brie.”
. ‘.‘Why to me?”
' “I know not. But I Am rare the danger
w hich threatens me threatens you also.
The foreboding weighs heavily on my soul,
yet whence it comes or how It is caused I
■ -cannot say. When we return to Fairhaven
1 wilt-consult Sybil.”
"Who Is Sybil?”
- “The oldest nnd wisest woman in the
bland; the only one to whom it is given to
interpret dreams and foretell events.”
“A very useful woman to know. I should
Tj;ko $c nsk her a few questions about rny
! self' My own future is decidedly obscure
at present. Perhnps she could throw a
, little light on it,” I said, with mock gravi
ty
“ft is only when sho is In the mood that
Sybil Can discern the shadow of coming
. events,” returned Msb, coldly, and almost
sternly, as if she resented the skepticism
Which my remark implied. “The prophetic
; mantle rests not always on her shoulders.
But you shall see her, and thou you can
judge for your.self. And now let us go on
f- -with our inspection.”
I As we passed through one of the berths
—1 think it was poor Bulnois’—I saw a car
pet-hag In one corner.
“What Is here?” I said, opening it.
' “Bookst” exclaimed the queen. “Let us
see what they are.”
- Sol carried the baginto the saloon, and
emptied on the table at least a score of
, volumes, the greater part of them novels.
“There!” I said, taking np a copy of
"The Woman In White.” “You have only
to begin reading this, and you will forget
all about your melancholy forebodings, and
t-lie supposed dangers which a too active
Imagination has conjured np.”
“Is it very Interesting?” she asked, with
(sparkling eyes.
“Very."
, - “I will begin it at once,” she said, and
. suiting the action to the word, she sat
down, and opening the volume, settled
herself for a good read. “Let me know
when the boat Is ready.”
■ An hour later the boat was ready, but so
' crowded with bales, cases, and one thing
and another, that it was evident she could
. not take us all back at one trip.
Oc, this I weut below to the qneen,
-whOMt I found deep tu Wilkie Collins’
thrilling romance, and after explaining the
•difficulty we were in, suggested that she
•and her personal attendants should go oil
In the boat, aud that two of the men and
myself would wait on board uutil another
«enli be cent to take ns off.
“Ho; let the people go. Ther onn send a
tat for ns when they get to Fairhaven—I
menu for yon, myself, ind Marian, atul
Buttercup.”
“It cannot be liere for two hoars, and In
mnoh less time than that it will be dark."
“I am not afraid of the dark. Yon hare
lamps, I suppose?” ,v„
“Yes, we have lamps; still—” ’ ■ —— i
“Let the boat so, I say!" and the next
moment her head was again bent over her
book.
I went on deck, gave orders for the boat '
to shove off, and told the coxswain to send
another for ns with all speed, the instant
he arrived. This done, I lighted a cigar
and paced to and fro, absorbed in thought, -
until the thickening twilight warned me
that It was time to trim the saloon lamp. I
Mab was still reading, nor until I lighted [
the lamp which swung over her head did
she look up. |
“Thank yon,” she said; and then turning :
round, looked intently through one of the i
ports toward the almost departed snn.
“There is going to bo a storm,” she added, |
wistfully. |
“Why should you think so?” I asked. '
“The sky is perfectly clear, and there is
hardly a breath of wind.”
“You will see. I hope it won’t be more I
than a storm—a tempest, 1 mean. But
there Is a feeling in the air. Is the ship
quite fast—eafely moored, I mean?”
“Quite. I looked to that the moment I
came on board.” i
“Good! We are safe, then. The boot
will be here in an honr. That will be time
enough,” and then she took up her book
again, and I went once more on deck.
The short twilight had now almost deep- i
ened Into darkness, and I wns quite alone, j
Marian being with her mistress, and But- !
tercup fast asleep In a corner of the saloon.
I lighted nnother cigar, and was about to
resnma my solitary walk where I had left
it off, when It occurred to me to verify the
queen’s weather-forecast l>y glancing at j
the barometer. ;
me result was startling. me mercury
bad fallen several points since I last looked
at It—that is to say, in three hoars. I
“Gad, she is right!” I thought; “we are
in for a storm, and no mistake—a regular
ripper! I hopo it won’t hurst before we
get back to Fairhnven. The creek is cer
tainly not the open sea, and wo are safely |
moored. All tho same, I would rather be j
on dry land for choice.” |
1 looked round, for. as yet, the darkness 1
was far from being absolute. Myriads of 1
stars studded the sky, and the sea was !
phosphorescent. The creek shone like a :
river of molten gold, and as the tide !
(thereabouts very Btrong) ebbed rapidly |
post, fiery wavelets broke on the shore and :
dashed merrily ngainst the “Diana’s” ,
sides. The mountain, its summit pointing !
toward the Southern Cross, loomed large t
and silent under the vaultod sky, like some j
monstrous genie guarding hidden treasure j
or a giant sentinel keeping watch over the '
sleeping island that nestled at its base. i
Westward, as well as northward and
southward, the calm was complete, and
anything more superb than the orb-gem
med heavens and the shining sea it were 1
impossible to imagine; but out of the mist
and beyond the Painted Hocks were be
ginning to creep ominous shadows—shad
ows that swiftly took the form of clouds,
and spreading pall-like over the sky, swal
lowed up the stars and turned the water to
an inky blackness.
It became so dark that I hod to grope my
way to the binnacle, intent on lighting the
lantern, as without something to denote
our whereabouts the people who were
coming to fetch us off would be unable to
find the ship. There was a peculiar feeling
in the atmosphere, too, that made me
think it was strongly charged with elec
tricity. My temples throbbed ns if they
would burst, when I pushed my hand
through my hnir I could hear it crackle.
I had reached the binnacle, and was
feeling about for the lantern, when a ter
rific peal of thunder crashed over the
mountain, and a long, vivid flashof forked
lightning rent the clouds asunder, bring
ing every object whioh it illumined into
sharpest relief. It did not lust the hun
dredth port of a second, yet I saw every
thing—the creek, the sea, the tall masts of
the “Diana,” the very leaves quivering on I
the trees—and the figure of a man cutting
one of the rope* by which the ship tea* 1
moored to the shore/ !
CHAPTER XXIII.—A TERRIBLE SIGHT. 1
I saw It distinctly—a man hacking at
the rope with a long knife; and it his back
bad not been turned toward me I should
hare seen his face—possibly recognized
him. Yet I could hnrdty believe my eyes.
I thought they had deceived me, and tried
to persuade myself that I was the victim
of an optical illusion. But my doubts were
quickly and' rudely dispelled. The next
. moment the ship swung round, and tha
second rope, unable to withstand the
strain, or perhaps weakened by the slash
of another knife, parted with a report like
the shot of a pistol, and the “Diana” was
adrift.
1 ran to the helm without any definite
idea of what I should do, for X knew how
helpless we were, and I feared we should
be dashed agoiust the opposite side of the
creek. It was, perhaps, the best thing that
could happen to us; if we were carried out
into the bay, we should be past praying
for. Just then I heard the sound of hur
ried footsteps.
“What has happened, Mr. Erie? Where
are you ?" asked a voice which i recognized
as that of Queen Mab.
4 “At the wheel. Somebody has cut the
ropes, and the ship is adrift,”
“Somebody has out the ropes? What do
you mean? How do you know?”
“When the lightning flashed just now. I
saw a man cutting the stern-rope.”
“Saw you his faoe?”
“No.”
“You have no idea who he was. then?”
"Not the least.”
"Somebody was thinking evil against us#
then, and plotting it. My foreboding hqs
soon come true; yet yon did not belie ve it,
Mr. Erie.”
"You were right, too, about the weath
er," I answered, evasively. "The barome
ter has gone doWn rapidly, and we are go
ing to hare a night of it. My God!”
Another blinding flash of lightning, fol
lowed by an even more terrific peal of
thunder than the first. At the same timo
a violent gush of wind, coming down the
channel of the creek as through a funnel,
drove the ship before It like a straw, and
almost threw her on her beam-ends.
Mabel was now close by me, holding on
to the binnacle.
“How will it end? I mean, what is like
ly to be our fate?” she asked, quietly, and
with no more fear in her voice than if she
were putting an ordinary question.
"Drowning is likely to be our fate. Even
if the ship were manned by a full crew,
and commanded by a skillful captain,
we shoul 1 be in great danger; and there is
only one man on board, and he no seaman.”
“If It is God’s will for us to perish, so be
it. lie knows best, and we can die but
cnce. We cannot escape our destiny.”
This answer, spoken with measured
* gravity, surprised me exceedingly. Never
before bed I heard Mab mention religion.
I had thought her practically a pagan,
thongh she did go to church sometimes.
“We cannot escape our destiny,’’ she re
pented. ‘'Still, I like not to yield without
a struggle. It Is our duty to lire as long
as we can. Must we drift helplessly onf
Can you think of no expedient! There Is
surely an anchor!”
“Of course there is. Vftiat an ass I ami
Why didn’t I think of that before! But 1
told you I was no seaman. Yes, we will
let go the anchor—if we can—and put a
light in the mlzzen-top, and then, when the
boat comes, It may perhaps be seen, and
ourselves rescued.”
But the idea was much more easily con
ceived than carried out. A light was In
dispensible, and after several unsuccessful
attempts to obtain one from a match, we
were compelled to go into the saloon, and
there light a lantern. Then, followed by
Marian and Buttercup, we made our way
forward with great difficulty, for the ship
was rolling like a log, and the decks were
wot and slippery with the whirling spray,
which lashed our faces and impeded our
progress.
It was an exciting moment; Mab cling
ing to the capstan and holding up the lan
tern; Marian and the boy cowering behind
a coil of ropes; myself, maul in hand, grop
ing for the pin by which the chain is fas
tened to the ring of the anchor..
ui ntwuiiiciuiK—iur \
mode several bad shots —I succeeded,
though more by good luck than address.
The anchor dropped into the sea, and the
huge cnblo flew through the hawse-hole In
a sheet ot flame. What with tho wind and
tide, the ship had a good deal of way on
her; and when the anchor took ground,
she brought to with a shock that shook
her like n leaf, dashed the lautern front
Mab’s hand, and sent me sprawling'' into
the scupper.
We had to find our way aft in the dark
no easy task, for the force of the wind in
creased every minute, and tho ship heaved
aud rolled viciously.
“Can we do anything more?” asked Mnb,
when we wore all in the saloon. She had
lost her hat: her disheveled hair was damp
with spray; her face flushed with exposure
to the storm, her eyes aglow with excite
ment; and os she stood there near the
swlngiug-lamp, erect and fearless, she
looked wondrously handsome.
“The only thing mure we can do,” I said,
"is to hang a lantern In the mizzen-top; not
that I think it will be of any use. No boat
could live in this sea; but it i3 well not to
throw away a chance.”
“How long do you suppose we shall have
to remain here, then?”
“That depends on how long the storm
lasts; but at uuy rate until sunrise.”
“In that case I may as well resume my
Interrupted novel. If any change takes
place either for the better or worse, Mr.
Erie, kindly let me know.” And with that
she sat down and went on with her read
ing as unconcernedly as it she bad been in
her own room at Fairhaven.
As for me, I lighted another lantern, and
after at least three narrow escapes ot fall
ing overboard, succeeded in fixing it se
curely in thg mizzen-top.
This done, I returned to the quarter-deck
and remained there—I cannot say on the
lookout, ns there was nothing to be seen—
for I had an uneasy feeling that something
would happen, and not for the better. The
wind continued to blow in gusts so fierce
that I was more than once nearly carried
over the taffrail. I could not have made
my way to the fore-part of the ship to sovo
my life; and though the cable was invisi
ble, I knew that the strain on it must be
terrific. And the wind did not always come
from tho same quartor. Several times it
veered completely round, the ship veering
with it, till at last (being unable to see the
compass) I had not the most remote idea
in which directionlay tholand. This went
on some hours, and about midnight (as
nearly as I could tell) what I dreaded came
to pass—the anchor began to drag. At
first I thought I might be mistaken, but
when I felt sure that the ship moved I wont
below aud informed Mab.
m v<munuea.i
The Burden of Big Houses.
An ideal of earthly oomfort, so com
mon that every reader must have seen
it, is to get a house so big that it is
burdensome to maintain, and fill it np
so full of jimcracks that it is a con
stant occupation' to keep it in order.
Then, when the expense of living in it
is so great that you can't afford to go
away aud rest from the burden of it
the situation is complete and boarding
houses and cemeteries begin to yawn
for you. How mauy Americans do
von suppose out of the droves that
ilock annually to Europe, arc running
away from oppressive houses? VYlieu
nature undertakes to provide a house,
it fits the occupant. Animals who
build by instinct build ouly what they
need, but man's building instinct, if it
gets a ehauce to spread itsulf at all, is
boundless, just as all his iustiucts are.
For it is man’s peculiarity that nature
has filled, him with impulses to do
things and left it to his discretion when
to stop. She never tells him when lie
lias Uuishod. Aud perhaps wo ought
not to bo surprised that in so many
cases it happons that he doosn't know;
hut just goes ahead as long as the ma
terials last.
If another man tries to oppress him
ho understands that aud is ready to
fight to the death and sacrifice all he
has rather thau submit; but the tyranny
of things is so subtle, so gradual in its
approach, and comes so masked with,
seeming benefits that it has him hope
lo-isly bound before ho suspects nit
fetters.—Scribner.
Old Heads and Young Hearto.
“Now, Samuel,” said bis doting
mother, <*you are going to soe ono o’
the nicest girls to-night that over came
to this town, and I want you to make
a good impression. Now, the way to
do that is to show appreciation. As
somo ono says, ’Be a good listener.’
Now, don't yon forget it.”
••I won’t mother,” answered the
dntiful Samuel.
At another house, the one to which
Samuel's feet were tending, a loving
aunt was saying to her visiting uiece:
“Now, if Sam comes don’t you rattle
on as if yon iiadn't any brains. Just
vou keep qniol and let him do tho talk
ing. He'll like you all the bolter for
it."
To this day those match-making
women can't* understand why those
two young folks despise each other.—
Jhiclc.
It is stated that the confederate gray
uniform was borrowed from the First
Virginia regiment, which borrowed it
from the Seventh New York regiment.
FACTS FOB THE FABMEK,
USEFUL INFORMATION ABOUT
I FARMINO TOPICS)
Root and Vegetable Storing—About
tho Spud — Cutting Corn—
Grass Seeding—Vari
ous Mattersa
Root and Vegetable Storing.
Some oops are much sooner injured
by frost or light freezing than others
and to avoid damage, should be har
vested in good seAson, says the Or
ange Judd Farmer. It is necessary
to store away where they are intend
ed to be kept all Winter, says an ex
change, but the safest plan is to store
where they will at least be safe from
injury by frost or light freezing. Sweet
potatoes are generally the first crop
to be dug. after these beets and car
rots and then the Irish potatoes.
Turnips stand considerable frost but
a good freeze seriously injuries them
Cabbage will stand a freeze, while
salsify and parsnips can be left out all
Winter if desired, although usually
it is best to dig and store a supply to
use during the Winter before hard
freezing weather sets in. A very good
plan is to dig and sort, carefully taking
out all the small unmarketable speci
mens and also any that are bruised
or injured. Fruit or vegetables to be
I stored for long keeping must be sound,
j Store them where there is a good
I circulation of air and yet in a place
where they can be readily protected
in case a sudden change of weather
should make it necessary. In this
t way a good opportunity will be given
them to dry out before storing away
\ and they will keep much better thau
| if they are dug and stored away im
mediately. With this work, as with
much else that is done on the farm, it
is better to get it done in good season
than to be even a little behind, as an
early frost often does considerable
damage which a little work in proper
season would have readily avoided.
By sorting when harvesting some
work in handling may be avoided,
and the unmarketable part be fed
out tojthe stock which if left until the
product is either sold or used, would
be lost. Irish potatoes especially*
should never be left exposed to the
sun any longer than is strictly
necessary, as they are easily damaged.
But all products will keep better if
they are well dried before storing
away. With care in handling much
loss by bruising may be avoided and
when a crop has grown it seems only
common prudence to take pains to
save it in best condition possible and
it is therefore best to arrange to
harvest in good season, to sort and
dry carefully and then either market
or store away in as good a condition
as possible. But before selling make
sure of a sufficient supply for home
use as it is rarely profitable to sell
products in the Autumn and then be
obliged to buy the next Spring before
anything can be grown to take their
place. _
About the Spud;
Speaking about the use of a spud on
a farm, a writer in the Ohio Farmer
gives the following personal experi
ence:
I have used a spud, or light narrow
spade, which ever you please to call
it, for the last fifteen years to destroy
burdocks. My farm was overrun with
that pest when I came in possession,
but now they are nearly wiped out.
By cutting them ofl below the crown
they cannot sprout. I had my spud
made at that time in the following
manner: I got a broken cross-cut
saw-plate, took it to a blacksmith,
had it cut about 15 inches long, and
cut tapering, the top of plate cut
square across, and the pointed
end cut a little rounding
as shown in Fig. 1. Then I
punched two quarter-inch holes, the
first one about one inch from upper
end of spud and the other, two or
three inches below, according to the
length of spud. Then X make it a lit
tie concave, which gives it strength
to resist any pressure on the handle;
which is cut beveling, as shown in Fig.
2. Any tough spade or fork handle
wi 1 answer the purpose. The handle
must be riveted on the concave side
of blade; the head of rivet should be
long and T-shaped to bend over the
handle to keep it from splitting. I
have a large and small spud. The
latter is made from a band-saw plate
about eight inches long and two inches
pointed end and tapering as shown
ln Fig. 1; made in every way as the
one described. My large one I use for
spading in the garden; they are thin,
light, and easily kept sharp.
Cutting Corn.
Although this article may be some
what late to be of use to all farmers
this season the following suggestions
offered by a writer in the Ohio Farm
er are well worth remembering: The
first suggestion is that of an im
proved corn-cutter, for more readily
and easily gathering down or leaning
corn. It is made of an ordinary
heavy back cutter, such as are sold at
har4 ware storeo. The cut will explain
how it is made, the dotted lines show
ing the cutler before treatment, the
solid lines after treatment. The cor
ner of the blade should be cut out
with a cold chisel, and care should be
taken when heating the horn not to
heat the blade so as to draw the tern
Another suggestion—although ofd
to many may be new to some—to
which J wish to call attention is that
of cutting corn "railroad” fashion, or
by going through the first two rows
where the shocks are to btand and
tying the standards, cutting only the
two rows in which they are tied, then
taking a single row on one side and
going the whole length of the row,
stopping at each shock to set up the
armful cut between the shocks; then
going back on the other side of the
roiwof shocks the same way, and so
on till the rows are cut; the last row
cut, the shocks are tied. In cutting
this way the work is all straight
ahead and I think corn can be cut
faster by this method than by cutting
one shock at a time. Try it and sea
Grass Seeding
In answer to a subscriber the Orange
Jndd Farmer has this to say about
grass seeding:
On well prepared loamy soils
10 to 12 lbs to an acre ot theordi*
nary red clover seed is sufficient. On
clays and other soils not so rich in
plant food it is necessary to sow 12
to 16 lbs to be sure of a good stand.
Of course if the season is very favorable
throughout, a less quantity would
probably give good results, but tak
ing one year with another it is not ad
visable to sow less than the above
named quantities.
It is the cheapest and best method
to sow timothy seed when drilling
wheat. It is the cheapest and usual
ly the best method in all respects.
Most wheat drills have attachments
by means of which timothy seed can be
sowed while the wheat is being drilled,
thus saving an additional going over
the ground, which is then in good con
dition and the seed is more likely to
grow. Then too, the plant will get a
good start before the freezing weather
comes on and will be better able to win
ter well. In Borne cases it happens
that if the wheat is thin or not very
strong the grass sowed this early will
tend to choke out tho wheat but; ordi
narily this will not happen. If the
season is not favorable for wheat it
will hold its own. Autumn grass seed
ing, however, often fails because of
continuous dry weather during Sep
tember and October. If this happens
the field can be again seeded later in
Autumn or the following Spring.
Some Brief Pointers.
Late hatched chicks are apt to be
lacking in size and vigor, and their
progeny will follow suit.
In horse parlance, if a foal is drop
ped December 81, it is a yearling the
next day.
An exchange lays down the wise
rule for sheep raisers to grow mutton
bieeds if near a good market for meat,
letting the wool be a secondary con
sideration; or wool, if distant from a
market, or if large flocks are to be
kept.
At this season it is important to
give cattle, horses and Bheep a taste
of salt. Sheep should have it as often
as once a week, at least. But it is
better to place lumps of American
rock salt (the best) where the animals
can help themselves. If constantly
within reach they will not take too
much.
Farm poultry, with the opportuni
ties for healthful exercise and plenty
of good food the parents ought to
thrive and pay well for their keep.
But far too frequently they are a
sorry neglected lot, and consequently
fail to make satisfactory returns.
This is not, however, the fault of the
biddy. The farmer is theguilty biped.
Why don’t farmers oftener keep
pigeons? It would be very little
trouble to fit up a loft, and the sub
sequent care of the beautiful creatures
is not great. They make a charming
addition to the farm live stock, and
the tender squabs are not bad eating
by any means. Let the boys or girls
have a flock of pigeons. It, will help
to make them contented with farm
life.
Prof. Henry, of the Wisconsin Ex
periment station, says, there is an
absolute loss incookinglood for hogs.
He claims that the only way in which
cooked food is of any value is in fur
nishing a variety. There is so much
difference of opinion upon this subject
and upon the use of ground as against
unground grain, that we should ad
vise all farmers to accept no state
ment as authoritative, but to test the
matter fully for themselves.
Few men have grown rich by selling
hay, corn or oats. The apparent
profit was derived by robbing the
soil of plant food which went away
with each load sold. By feeding these
products on eajtra profit would be
procured from that operation, and
the plant food would remain where
it belongs—upon the farm. Look to
it that you are not selling a part of
the farm whenever you haul a load of
produce to markets Some men do
this, but do not find it out until too
late.
The fixed stanchion for fastening
in stall onght to be relegated to the
limbo of discarden things, along with
other instruments of torture. They
hold a cow, surely enough; but tho
restraint on her freedom is altogether
unnecessary and, (specially in flv
time, a source of great distress to the
poor animal. The pivoted stanchion
is undoubtedly a decided improve
ment, as we might suppose an
inquisitorial thumb screw would be
that only turned half way. But
it is still too great a restraint
upon the natural movements of
the cow. A collar and rope or chain
of proper length is the best method of
fastening and ought to be generally
adopted. '
AVOID PADS IN DIBf.
The Lass Psopls Hava to Do
Thsm tha Better for iw
Health.
Tomatoes are in season, andHhere
with has come again the cry that wai
raised last autumn, that theeatia.
of them induces cancer. Gancer
as common in Britain long before te
matoes became cheap and popular t(
it is now, but such a fact will make
no impression on those whochoon
to see some connection between the
two, and who will perhaps teR usnext
year that cabbages ■ induce consump
tionand green peas lead to epilepsy
Without disputing the importance of
diet both in health and disease, the
Hospital thinks, one may regret the
numberless fads and caprices which is
these days ban one food and •‘boom”
another. That maltreatment of the
digestive organs is at the root of
many diseases is true enough; but it u
to be remembered that to treat the
average stomach as if it were an
invalid is the best way to make it one
It is a popular notion that the
stomachs of vegetarians undergo cer
tain organic changes which make then
more akin to the herbivorous animals.
How far this idea is true no one who
has not dissected a 'sworn vegetarian
would dare to say; but there seems to
be little doubt that a digestion which
is never exercised on anything but the
mildest meats becomes incapable of
Kwva.iug OtIUUmjr,
Perhaps popular medical literature
is partly to blame for the growing
habit of overnursing organs which
are quite able to stand ordinary
work. Health articles are written by
doctors, and these, seeing people only
when they are ill, forget that the pa
pera they write for—the “family jour
nals”—are read by men and women,
especially women, who are perfectly
well. “Avoid pastry," .writes the
doctor, thinking of the confirmed dys
peptic who left his consulting room
half an hour ago, and a hundred
folks who were never a whit the worse
for their tarts avoid pastry con
scientiously and take to unending sago
puddings, whose monotony their
weary palate loathes. If we were to
renonnee all that we see or hear con
demned or overstraining or misusing
our digestive apparatus, we should
probably take nothing but pepsin,
with perhaps a little milk to exercise
it on. There are times when after s
too rigid dieting, the most mature of
us longs for the green apples and
raspberry tarts of youth, and such s
longing is an honest rebellion of the
digestion against a regimen which
keeps it weak for lack of proper exer
cise. _ To give a fair and reasonable
consideration to the food we eat, is a
matter of common sense, but to make
ourselves mentally the parallels of
monks of Mount Athos, and concen
trate our attention on all that we
should avoid, is to lay ourselves open
to the chance of indigestion as much
as if we indulged every day in the
banquets of a Lucullus.
THE MALE BASS AND YOUNQ,
He Guards the Eggs While the Fe
male la Otherwise Engaged.
A small-mouthed bass, the variety
sought by anglers, and the only kind
caught about the islands in Lake
Erie, says the Cleveland Press, at
tains a weight of about one-pound in
two years, at which time it also ar
rives at maturity in a productive
sense.
It then fans off a clean place on the
gravel, deposits eggs which are impreg
nated by the male member of the
family, when contrary to the general
rule laid down by nature, the female
goes off to some favorable watering
place, wbiletheold man attends strict
ly to household duties, and by the
most constant care fans with his tail
all the sediment off the eggs and drives
off all intruders, even to ten-pound
mud-turtles.
He brings forth his little family of
several thousand individual fishes
about as large as the end of a broom
splint, and about a quarter of an
inch long, to become as long as a
broomhandla and weigh all the way
up to ten pounds, according to the
conscience and eyes of the one who
for the first time pulls him perinan
I ently out of aqua pura. He seldom
I attains a weight of over four pounds,
I although those weighing over si*
pounds have been caught.
A Boy's Philosophy.
‘Tattle Johnny,” whose sayings aw
reported in the New York Herald,
must be a bad boy. Can hie father
and mother be at all to blame?
“If you tell the truth about some
thing,” says Johnny, “You get licked,
and if you tell a lie you don’t, nnle»
you get found out, and then you get
licked twice.
“1 know a boy,” he adds, who al
ways tells the truth. His mother i*
in Europe and his father is out West.'
The same youthful philosopher d#
livers himself upon another point after
this fashion:
“Some boys is brave ’cause they al
ways play with little boys, and som«
boys is brave ’cause their legs is toe
short to runaway, but most boys *
brave ’cause somebody’s lookin’.’’
Hot Retort to the Russian Autoorat
After the partition of Poland, Nich
| olas proposed that Vernet should
i paint a picture on the subject. “I a®
| afraid I cannot do it, sire,” was the
[ answer. “I have never painted »
Christ on the cross.” “Thejnomeptl
had said it,” continued Vernet, when
he told me the story, which isscorcely
known, “I thought my last hour bad
struck. I am perfectly certain that»
Russian would have paid for the#*
words with his life, or at least wit#
life long exile to Siberia. I shall n#8
er forget the look he gave me; them
was a murderous gleam in the ey*8
—An Englishman in Par**