A LITTLE IRISH GIRL
■) **Tl»e Dnrliru."
CHATTER IX—Continukd.
•'A» you will, of course!” says Eyrt
Vary stiffly. Ha» all his chlvalr
vomo to this thut she will none of him
of his Hid, or sympathy, or affection
Surely ho is ns modern a Don Quix
0(0 as one may hope to Hud! "You re
ally wish to return?”
••I do! 1 do indeed!" says the poo
child, clasping her hands imploringly
Mr. Eyre makes but one answer t
this impassioned and distinctly un
flattering appeal—ho returns to he
her bag. To the man in the dusk be
yond, watching them with a livid face
this act seems unprecedented.
"11 ok It oocurred to you how you ari
to get back ?" askod Kyro, in atom
calculated to freeze a salamander.
"I shall be able to manago that'
feverishly. "1 shall, indued! Oh
there is your train," us that snortim
machine dashes into thoslatiou. "Oo
go!
"1 shall ‘go,’ certainly sooner oi
later,” says he, sullenly. "Thongl
considerably later thuu will please
you, to judge by your manner. Hul
before 1 oblige you I shall sou you
sort* into your home.”
••If you do. you will miss your train.
Do -do you think of that?" says she, in
« small agony. “Hoe —they are shut
ting the doors, and—oh!" breaking off
with a little gasp of hope that almost
ends in n cry, "there Is Andy! Andy!"
calling out aloud. "There! Don't, you
sec himPi just running into the station?
I'd know bis logs anywhere! Andy!
Ami v!M
It i>>, indeed. Andy, in tlio flesh and
out of humor. All day long1, ever
since hit) memorable encounter with
her in the vegetable garden be hud de
cided to keep an eye upon her, and un
eye he 3i«d kept, without blinking;
that is, so long as the daylight lasted.
But when !> o'clock came and the short
winter day was at an end, ho hud re
mt taxed his vigilance, and decided to
jti consider himself off duty.
He had been wondering would she
come to ten with him, ns usual, in tlio
old schoolroom. Perhaps she would;
perhaps too, she wouldn't. As the
.>■' hour struck he had gone there and
waited.
He waited for quite an hour without
a misgiving. He waited another qunr
; ter of an hour with considerable inis
;3 givings. At a quarter to six he
waited no longer, but went threo steps
’ at a time up stairs to old Bridget to
ask her if she knew where Miss Dul
J cle was.
Mrs. Driscoll had no idea. She put
down her knitting, and wrinkled her
. brows bo strongly thut Andy, who had
;; not believed thorn capable of another
s: crease, gazed at her astounded.
' Wasn't she down in the sohoolroom,
? theni1 No; she wasn’t She hadn’t'
come in yet, then?
Come in?
Andy’slieart began to bent a little
quickly. Wflat was it she had said!’
—that she would let them see! Did
, she begin Pi let them see when she
ff- wont outf But wlien was that';’
••When did slie go out?" asks ho.
. “l'aix. not so long, thin," said the
old uurse, in a little frightened fash
ion. "Have yo anything on your
tniud, Muslber Andy? If you have,
epake out! I mind uie now she kissed
me in a quare. mad, disturbin' sort of
n way. when she was lavin'. I mind,
too, that I tould her it was a bit late
for a ramble, an' she laughed strange
like, and said may bo she'd never
have n chance of a ramble ag’in, so
she might as well havo it now as not
Oh! wlrra! wirrasthrue! What’ll I
{■' do it harm has come to roe beauty?”
Andy had cut her short it wus ev
ident her mind ran on suicide. His
tnind ran on Eyre. He knew that lat
teb was leaving this evening, and the
- ettepioion that Dulcle, in a mad, angry
moment had agreed to go with him.
seized upon him and held him. Ho
t: left the old woman rooking to and fro,
nnd praying to every saint in the cal
«bdar.
It didn’t take him two minutes to
•And his hat and rush out into the chill
night air en route for the waysido sta
tion. '
“"Andy!’cries Dulcinea frantically.
In a subdued and piercing tone that
■ reaches not only Andy's ears, but
those of Anketell in his distant cor
ner. His are unnaturally strained.
pp “W«H, here I am!" says Andy, eall
• in? out, too, in a distinctly indignant
lone.
"He diears me!" says Dulciuea. with
a little sob of delight, turning excited
ly to her companion. “He is coming!
Oh! before he comes, go! go! Do
you hear me? See, the train U on the
fs. point of leaving! If you wait another
moment, you .will be left behind, and
I . l— Oh! do go!" giving him a fren
w.,i sled push. " I will write—1 will o.\
g plain -only go!"
n . . “Write—explain!” Eyre feels as if
. his senses are deserting him. The
flr girl he has put himself in this false
•*’ "position to save from abominable tyr
i' anny is the one who now deliberately
’ ' —nay, passionately—repudiates his as
S* sistance. Explain! "There is no ex
f\ planatioo—none!" stammers he, hard
ly knowing what he says. Kighteou*
. anger is burning in his breast,
i * “Oh! but 1 will writer’ declares she
S' growing desperate as she sees Audy
approaching. “There! be quid:!'
4-, Again she pushes him toward the nov
almost moving train, and Eyre, eon
'' fused, angry, puzzled, obeys her touch
and springs into the carriage ne.ros
to him.
j < Almost unconsciously he had spruiii
into it, the door is banged by a pase
;.’V ing porter, and presently be linds tha
- he is under way, and leaving Dulcine
forever! *
■ The train disappears Into the night
Eyre, leaning back in his corner—th
. corner usually coveted, but undispnte
j?-.'.in this empty train—gives him up t
v thought. It is a revelation to him t
find presently that he is feeling fa
more' angry .than miserable, rathe
upon pathos! ’ “ !
< ; Up to this. Indeed, hb had regarde
r. himself, aa a preux chovalier—a Do
•?’ .Quixote. He had exulted in his rol
£ of Knight of Wofnl Daroosels, an
m- here—here is his reward! Lo! whe
In it came to the point, the captiv
: maiden had declined to be rescued, an
clung heroically, if unpoetically. t
the tyranny she might have escape*
There must be somethin? wrong
• somewhere. Kyra, enveloping: him
self in his rug, inukes u men
tal vow to abjure distressed damsels
for all lime, ami devote himself for
the .'uture to worldly reasonable be
• lugs who hitherto have been the sol
! ace of his existence.
. “Those who inflict must suffer, for thoy
see
The work of their own hearts, and that
must bo
t Our chuatisemont or recompense '’
Dulelnen, left alone upon the plat
> form, turns with a quirk breath of
- mingled fear and relief to Andy, who
• has only just joined her.
“Nice lilt of busiuoss, this,” says
that younff man.
“Oh! don’t talk here. Andy! ('onie
i outside: come beyond the gate. I” —
i "1 don't see what going beyond the
gate will do," says Mr. McDormot.
1 looking like adamant. “Mayas well
! have it out hero, where I can see you,
us in the dusl.v road."
••I’m tired, Andy," says she faintly,
with a vague but fruitless effort of
1 softening bint.
“Not too tired to come here in the
middlo of tho night, anyway.’’
“In tho middle of the night! Oh.
Andy! Why, it can't be more than
half-past six!"
“How well you know the hours of
the train! Who" (malignantly) “taught
you? My word! all f can say is, that
you have done It tills lime, at all
events.”
“Done what?" (more faintly still).
"Do you want mo to put it into
words?” says her cousin, regarding
her in tho dim dull light of the sta
tion lamps w ith a disgust hardly to be
put into words. “You are a fool, Dul
oinea!”
CHAl’TKK X.
‘•ion don t Know nnyinmg: says |
Dulcinea. taking all tho courage she
has into her hand and preparing to do
battle with it. •'You accuse me; you
say things—but-’ (incoherently) “you
know nothing! Nothing! 1 oamo out
only—only to—to" (dospemtoly) “see
if 1 could match some wool in the vil
lage down there, und 1 wundorod on
hero, and”
“What n .hunger!” says her cousin.
“Is that tho best you cun doPTo mutch
wool by this light! Why not Ssy
you came to meet a young lady?
There would be a protty color about
thut, nt all events.”
"ft was wool,” persisted hulclnea,
dismally.
“With a pretty color about it, too!’ ’
with grooving scorn. “Oh, no! it wont
do, my good Dulcle. D’ye think I
can't see how the'land liesP Wait till
you see Bridget! She’s got a word or
two to say to you, believe me! Sho’s
got it hot and strong for you, und no
mistnke.”
“Bridget will say nothing to me,”
says Duluiuea. ".She, at least" (un
steadily), “has always been kind to
me."
“Your quarter’s up, there.” says
Andy. “Kxpect no grace. She’s only
waiting to see you to give you the
biggest bit of her mind on record."
“Take me to her,” says Dulcinea, in
a low tone, suggestive of intense fa
tigue, bodily and mental.
“What makes you so tired?" asks
her cousin, trying to see hor face.
“You seem done up. What!” as the
thought dawns upon him, “do yon
mean to say that you walked here?
Marched every step of the way
through the cold and damp to meet
that fellow?”
Dulcie nods her liead; words now
are almost beyond her.
“By George! you must be fond of
him!"
“I atn not!” says Dulcinea, with a
faint, a very faint return of her old
spirit.
"You expect me to believe that, and
yet you certainly coraoall this way for
tho mere sake of giving him a parting
word, of seeing him safely off.”
“Yes—yes," says his cousin, with
such an over-eager confession that she
opens'his eyes to the full truth.
“To go off with him!" says he
slowly. . - •
"It that it, really? Oh, Dulcie!”
There is such reproach, such sur
prised reproach in his young voice
that Dulcinea gives way beneath it.
"Oh, it is all true, Andy—all! every
word you have said. Father, Sir
Ralph—even you, were unkind to me.
And he—though i didn’t care fqy him
he was kind; and he asked me to come
away from all this trouble”
“You mean to say you spoke to him
—yoq complained to him of Sir Ralph
—of your father?”
“I did. 1 know now it was hateful
of me; but—he wus very kind and I
was unhappy. And Sir Ralph was so
cold, and so lecturiug-like — and”—She
'ti!’(»:»If s off.
“Well, I wou'dn’t have believed it
of you.” says Andy, shaking1 his head
gloomily. “And Anketell such a good
sort! However." (pulling himself to
gether) “the one thing now to be con
cidered is how you Are to get home.
It will take a long time to get ac >r
up here from that beastly hole below;
and by the time we reach the house
the governor will be in such a fume
that there will be no holding him.”
“Can't we walk?” (eagerly).
“That would occupy even longer. I
suppose. I know what girls are
stumbling over every stone and shriek
ing at every shadow. No; that would
take hours, and set the governor’s
I back up an inch or two higher. He’d
I be all alive O, with a vengeance, lise
the cockies, if we didn’t get home be
fore that-’’
| “What shall we do, then?’’ says
t i Duleie, glancing round her.
I “1 wish 1 knew. Better stay here
• 1 until 1 run dowu to the village and
- j bring back a car of some sort ’I’on
my soul” (moodily) “you have done it
for once, and handsomely wiien you
were a^out it.'
At this moment it so happens that
Dulrinea iu her remorse and grief and
despair, changes her position. She
had thought of escaping her cousin's
eye—which is sharp, to say the least
of it; but, not understanding the eccen
tricities of the station lamps, so turns
that he can sco her even more dis
tinctly.
Perhaps it was a wise move, ’ll un
studied. The dull, dead lamp over
there shows Mr. McUermot such a
pale, tear-stained and miserable little
face, that all his wrath dies down be'
fore it.
“After all.” begins he hurriedly,
and in, a considerably milder voioe,
f
••there’s one ining in your favor—t
don't forgot that. When it came to
the scratch you didn’t go with him.
You caved in «t the right hour; and
uo wonder, too. The barrel-organ
business wouldn't bo irood enough for
you. 1 any. Dulcie. old girl, don't—
don’t cry, whatever you do! Keep up
you pecker; leave it all to me, and l’il
pull you through; I’ll square it with
the governor if he iinds you out, and
J'm afraid he's bound to do that, us
you are very considerably out, not
only of your house, but your reckon
ing. Ha! ha! that's a joke! D’ye see
UP’’
In this melancholy way he seeks to
cheer her; but Dulciuea is beyond see
ing anything. !She is like Nlobe—“all
tears.”
"You’ll be in hysterics In a second,
if you don’t keep a tight rein,” says
her cousin in a horror-stricken way.
••Look there” (glancing upprensively
around him), “You’ll be heard if you
go on like that. I wish to goodness
there was some way of getting you
homo in a hurry; we could then put it
on the pins or the wool-work safely;
but—-By Jove!”—starting—."there’s
Sir Ralph!”_
CHARTER XI.
"To know to esteem, to love—and then to
part,
Makes up lil’o's tale to many a feeling
heart.
“What?” says Dnlcinea. She stands
still, us if turned into stone. Her
toars eeuse. She feels frozen. He—
he, of all men, here! Hud he seen—
guessed
"Sir Ralph, by all that's fortunate,”
“WhereP”
“Just over there; evidently come
this moment in answer to my prayer.”
In fact, Sir Ralph, who had been go
ing away from the platform, having
seen nil be never wished to see, had
turned nt the last second to speak to
a porter; and had, therefore, when
Andy’s eyes fell on him, all the ap
pearance of one penning toward, in
stead of going uway from him.
"Was there ever sueh luck? Of
course he's got a trap of some sort.
He’ll drive vou home. I say, Anke
tell!—”
“Oh, Andy!”—grasping his arm—
"Oh Andy! Don’t! don’t!” *
“Don’t what?”—angrily.
“Don't make me go home with
him!” (in an agonized whisper).
“But, why—why?”—impatiently.
“Oh. not with him! Supposing he
was here all the time, and saw1-”
[to be continued.]
FOUND AT LAST 1 *
* —_$
The American Citizen Might Be .Scared,
but Wan True to His Country.
Some years ago. when Sir Charles
Smith was traveling by special train
in Dakota, he told his private secre
tary to instruct the conductor that he
should not say "Mr. Smith,” but “Sir
Charles' ’ in speaking to so great a
man. Next time the conductor camo
round he said: “Well, sir—Charles
—the next station is Clyndon. ’’ And
always thereafter he continued to use
the same form, “Well sir—Charles.” j
Last year, when Sir James Horn- j
lake and a number of other prominent i
Englishmen were traveling in this
country as guests of the American
Iron and Steel institute, the company
had U special train. The porter of the
car in which Sir James traveled for
two days was a singularly polite, but
slightly deaf negra He always ad
dressed Sir James as "Misser Ome
lette.” After this had occurred sev
eral times. Sir James who e sense of
personal importance is well devel
oped, said, in an appalling loud tone:
“My good fellow, you must not speak
to me in that manner. When you ad
dress me you are to say Sir Jamos
Homlake—Sir James Homlake—re
member that!” “Porter, have you
remembered to say Sir Janies Hom
lake ?” asked one of the Americans
the next day, when he happened to
meet the darky where the knight was
not. “Oh. not sah!. 1 don’ say no
such thing. Dis yer’s a free country.”
“What do you call him. then?" “j'us’
Misser Omelette, yessah. Jus’ Misser
Omelette, sah.” “Arn’t you afraid?”
“Yessah—scared mos’ to deff, but Pse
a 'Merican citizen, sah.”—The Arc
gonaut
Absent-Minded.
Professor Kunstler was an old Ger
man pedagogue, noted for his absent
mindedness. He and a friond, another
old professor, used to take a daily
walk together. One day. when walk
ing was very bad. Professor Kunstler
was on his way to the corner at which,
he nnd his friend always met. when
he encountered a young student whose
face he recognized dimly, having seen
it every day for some weeks in his'
morning class. The professor hailed
the boy, who was wading through the.
mud to get across the street. ••Have
you seen Professor Muller?’' ho asked.
"Yea. Herr Professor,” replied the
student, pausing in the midst of a
mud puddle to remove his cap respect
fully; -the Herr Professor Muller is
at the corner, waiting for you.”
••Good." replied Professor Kunstler.
looking amiably at the lad over his
spectacles: • 'I thank you; you may be
seated. —Argonaut
Height of the Atmosphere.
Curious evidence shows that a cubic
inch of air at sea level contains about
I S50,000.000 molecules. If the law of
regularly diminishing density holds
good, a cubic inch of air at the height
of 100 miles will contain about 350. -
000 molecules; and at loss than 222
miles only nine* molecule. - Opinions
differ, however as to the actual
height of the atmosphere’s upper sur
face. Prof. Young declares that no
definite upper limit can be stated,
while Prof. Forster, of Berlin, con
tends that a thm air. connected wit!
that of the eartn. pervades the whole
solar system.
>. The Fact In the Caw.
Mrs. Kindly (meeting one of th<
twins)—My. my. how much you an<
your brother look alike. - It is ver;
difficult to tell you apart
Twin—But it ain’t so hard, ma’am
to tell us together.—Detroit Fro
Press.
THE AGRICULTURAL WORLD
MATTERS OF INTEREST TO THE
FARMER. ,
Some Ways of Draining— Sunflow
er Seed for Poultry—Make the
Land Richer— Exterminating
Rats—Frozen Eggs—
Straw Shelter.
Some Ways of Draining.
Tbs kind of drainage for any par
ticular land depends entirely on its
natural consistency, and also on the
nature of the subsoil. If the soil hnd
subsoil are both tree and open, it is
not necessary to have the drains very
close together, as water will flow «out
freely if the pipes are laid a consider
able distance apart. If the soil is
stiff clay, resting on an impervious
subsoil, it is necessary to place them
close together In all land which
drains freely the water does not fall
into tile from above, but rises up
from below, entering the bottom.
This is because there is in most land
a level, below which all the spaces be
tween the particles of soil are filled in
with water, and this top, of which is
known as the level of supersaturation
says Prof. J. Maldon in Tillage;
j and it is this which must be kept
; from rising near to the sur
| face. Above this level of supersat
uration there may be an excess of
moisture, which is h.eld by capillary
attraction, but the amount diminish
es os it nears the surface. It is neces
sary to keep the level of supersatura
tion far enough from the surface to
allow room for roots of plants to grow
without having to come in contact
with it. As the water is held up by
capillarity, that which is far above
the drains does not sink soquickly as
that near to them; so us to make the
drainage complete and rapid in its ac
tion, the drains should be laid lower
than would be otherwise desired to
keep the water level.
iooDtnin tbrough itnder.drainage,
the tiles must he laid at considerable
depth. There is one point very com
monly missed by those who follow
low drainage by theoretical teach
ings, which practice rerutes, and it
occurs when dealing with some classes
of very heavy land. Any soil with a
subsoil which, is at all porous may be
benefitted by deep under-drainage,
but there are subsoils so impervious
that water does not sink into them,
as may be proved by digging a deep
trench and leaving it open, when it will
be seen that little water finds its way
in; and as this is the case it is obvious
ly useless to open up frequent chan
nels to- become the graves of the tile
through which no water passes, ft
would be no less foolish to drain thin
soils resting on rocks by means of
tiles four feet deep. But there is no
land which suffers more from the ef
fects of water,for, beyond evaporation,
there is no outlet, unless it is conduct
ed away by shallow channels, and
the forms'that these channels can
most conveniently take are water gut
ters and shallow drains. It must not
be forgotten that the general - princi
ples of drainage do not apply, and are
not intended to apply to relieving the
undrainabie clays which are under
consideration. The water must be
got off the surface, and for this reason
the land is laid up in ridge and fur
row, so that the water can run into
the mould-furrows, and on into the
water gutters. The common signs of
wetness are: Water standing on the
land after rain; difficult working of the
land as compared with the surround
ing soil which is properly drained;
poor Crops when it is known that
the ' land is otherwise in good
condition; yellowness of the crops,
especially in Spring; presence on grass
land of rushes, sedges, water-grasses,
hassock-grass, and other weeds and
of willow weed, coltsfoot, etc., on
arable land, frequent presence of in
sect-eating birds, such as plovers.
Some very important practical points
to bear in mind are: That tiles ought
to be carted in slack time, but on
heavy land injury is done by hauling
when it is wet; therefore take advan
tage of cold weather; discard all bad
tiles; the fall must not be less than 1
foot in 220; place main drains three
inches lower than the furrow: turn
the outlets slightly down stream and
brick-face them, with a grafting over
the mouth to prevent rats entering;
see that ditches are cleaned out
properly; the top furrow may
be plowed out; make drains
nearly straight, and only: wide
enough to allow n\?n working
room; springs must be drained a few
inches lower than the rest of the field;
in large systems provide main drains
with settling tanks; work from the
outlets, laying the main drains first;
do the work by the piece; allow no
filling-iip until eriginser or yourself sees
the tiles properly laid; fill in the drains
carefully at first, so as not to dislodge
the tiles; avoid accumulation of sedi
ment;: the side drains should never en
•ter central main ones opposite each
other; avoid hedge rows and trees
where possible; have a plan of ttie
farm, with every outlet' marked, sc
that if they are lost sight of.tbey may
be fiound again.
. Exterminating Rata.
A subscriber wishes to know of e
i emedy for driving away rats, as lm
mills are almost in possession of thesi
“varmints” exclusively. At one tinn
• when his had a storehouse, we weri
bothered very much with rats, ai
samples of fertilizers, fabrics, sugars
and all such truck were thrown care
lessly in there, which furnished then
good food,and plenty material out o
, wtyich to make nests, etc., and w<
cleared the entire premises, perman
ently, of these vermin by making i
whitewash yellow with copperas, am
covering, every expo> e 1 surface witi
, it. In all crevices where they coul<
get we placed some *nnoeras crystals
and scattered the same in the corners
of the floor. The result was a perfect
stampede of rats and mice. 8ince
that time not a foot fall
of either rat or mouse has
been heard about, the bhilding,
and we treated our residence, barn
etc., with same, and like results en
sued. Every spring the cellar as well
as the entire interior of out-houses
receive a coating of yellow whitewash,
and mice and rats, and the like have
so far given us a wide berth.
In addition to the power of driving
away these vermin possessed by the
copper solution, it is an excellent dis
infectant, and we ha\'e often prescrib
ed it for buildings, tenement houses
and blocks infected with malaria and
typhoid fever with the best results,
and we advise out querist to proceed
at once to thoroughly wash all por
tions of his buildings where they have
runways, with this solution. It is
much better than poison as they are
apt to crawl between the walls to die,
and what smells worse than a de
funct rat?
Make the Land Richer.
There seems to be no occnpation in
life wherein men are so generally
averse to paying ont money (or its
equivalent) for benefits to be received
a little later on, as in farming and
especially in relation to feeding the
land in order that it may produce
more abundantly^ Take green raa
nuring, for instance. If a man sows a
crop for this purpose, half the time he
changes his mind when it has grown
and harvests and sells it, and this
notwithstanding the fact unless stock
feeding enters largely into his system
of operations green manuring must be
his main dependence for continued or
increasing prosperity.
We do not begin to make use of this
means for supplying fertility as we
would if we could bring ourselves to
pursue a more open-handed policy
with onr lands. We might often
put in a catch crop of oats,'rye
or clover where land is left bare
for months, and by turning them un
der put solid capital in our bank that
will pay good dividends in future
years. This general farmer is always
on the safe side in green manuring,
although he may be a stock keeper al
so, for, if he grows harvests ana crops
with the purpose of feeding them out
and returning the manure to the land,
the chances are that his appliance for
saving the product are so inadequate
that not half ot it gets where it is
needed. In turning under a green
crop says a writer in Farmer’s Guide
there is no opportunity for the escape
of the valuable elements. The crop
decomposes completely in the ground
which it is intended to enrich, and
enters then and there upon its work.
Sunflower Seed for Poultry.
A correspondent for American Poul
try Yard speaking of the sunflower
seed as a poultry feed says it is the
grandest poultry food on earth, being
valuable for egg-producing and flesh
forming, as well as for adding a beauti
ful luster to the fowls. As an egg-food,
we believe it is fully equal, if not super
ior, to wheat, buckwheat or oats, and
greatly superior to corn, as it is neith
er so heating nor so fattening as the
latter grain. He says:
Sunflowers will grow on any kind of
soil or in fence corners, but yield bet
ter when cultivated upon good land.
They should be planted about the
same as corn, two or three seeds in a
hill; if they are planted two thick,
they grow slim and tall, without mak
ing good heads. We prefer the short,
thick stalks to the tall ones, as we
think they yield better and are easier
to gather. Care should be taken in cul
tivating them, as the stalks are very
brittle and break easily. Though
they will grow up again, if broken off,
they will branch out and not make
good heads. The heads vary in size
from two to 18 inches in diameter,
sometimes to even 22 inches with
good cultivation; but 12 inches is a
good average, a good head of this last
diameter yielding about a quart of
Beed.
ounnowers may oe planted any
time from the moment the host leaves
the ground until the middle of July.
We believe when they are planted
early enough say in March, that two
crops could be raised from the same
ground in a year, by planting the
second crop between the rows of the
first after they have matured, and
cutting down the stalks as they get
ripe. We planted two acres about
June 20, ot this year and though the
season was an exceptionally dry one,
we raised about six bushels to the
acre, and we think would have raised
four or five times as much, if it had
not been so dry.
This grain can usually be- had at
seed-houses at about $1 per bushel
Frozen Eggs.
In the winter season quantities of
eggs are frozen, and it is generally .con
sidered that such eggs are worth but
little, or to say the least are much in
jured for cooking purposes. This, how
ever. is not strictly true, for if proper
ly treated are but little injured. In
stead of (as was the custom) putting
them into cold water to take the frost
out and waiting several hours for the
thawing to take place, and then find
• J1?® y°lk9 >" such a solid state
that they can be used with no satis
w°k,nft try the following
method. 1 lace them in boiling water
and leave them there from five to
twenty minutes, according to the
amount ot frost in them, when upon
Car. mt ■****1^
-Street trees sometime*,^
H- however, they havew?h
well selected a rinali knifTjS
that is necessary for a tew I
move an occasional bra»*i>y?"*|
out in the wrong- plae? &
1™"'. J* this necessity^
ssafts&igfr
We have often exp&^»
e stub to left thiSi^tol
Md as the trtnlc grows abM]
ease will eat inw«ffi $*3
zssssastS
qSS&iC.S^lS
9 removal of one which*1
with another.—Garden and Pa
When a Kan la at HI. Bn. 1
The best half of life is in flTj
man of 40 if he be amtwSfl
The work he will dowUlbf^
the hand of a master and nnt^.
apprentice. The trained iWCj
not see men as trees walkin»»
sees everything clear and in jSL
ure. The trained temper doi
at work like a blind bill atS
but advances with the calm and £
pace of conscious power and dein.
determination.—Vick’s Magazin" ;
Treating Snake Bit*.
Sir Joseph Fayrer, who is the a
est living authority on thesuhS
snake bites, holds that a Sf
ing from snake poison is pram
dying of “nervous exhaustion"
consequently when the victim hi
to take violent exercise in or
throw off by perspiration the
that has been absorbed in his s
his end is in reality being ham
Perspiration should be induced!
vapor bath so as to draw the poi*
of the system. Sir Joseph ft.
experience leads to the eonclusioal
at the present time there is no I
cure for the bite of either the cot,
theDabola. ,i
a ®«®«» and the Watch. H
A young lady had a beautiful j
watch of which she was unduly ■
The time-piece was exhibited on ni
occasions, and a few days ago,i
some admiring friends were exam
it, the watch accidentally slipped
their fingers. A cry of dismay wei
when the party saw the wateh i
pear with a gulp in the yaw
mouth' of a dog which sat at their
looking expectantly upward and)
naturedly wagging its tail. Poordi
imagined that he had received a eL,
morsel, and looked pleased with
feat of catching it on the fly, 1
proved to be his death warrant
was summarily dispatched, audit
post-mortem the watch was re
none the worse for the mishap
■100 Bernard 0100.
The readers of this paper will be plea
learn that there is at least one dreaded 4
that solence has been able to cure lid
stages, and that ia Catarrh. Hall’ll
Cure is the only positive cure now tarn
the medical fraternity. Catarrh belngss
stitutlonal disease, requires a conitittdi
treatment. Hall’s Catarrh Cure iatiiai
ternaliy, acting directly upon thebMt
mucous- surfaces of the system, tW
destroying the foundation of the dliaM,i
giving the patient strength by buddii)
the constitution and assisting nature lib
its work. The proprietors have so mud*
in its curative powers that tbey ofirl
Hundred Dollars for any case that It b*
care. Send for list of testimonial!.
(7*Address F. J. CHENEY & CO., Tok*t
New Treatment for Nervous DImmO
This novel method consists ins
taneous injections of a solution oil
phosphate of soda, which, notentar
the system by the digestive tract,*
directly on the nervous system. T
Brown-Sequard elixir was notaln
harmless, but in many instances*
duced local inflammation at the p
where the injection was made or d
unpleasant consequences. But no*
serious objection is likely to be r"
to the use of a solution of five g“
of seltzerized, distilled water.
Coughing Leads to a oso
tion. Kemps Balsam will stop> the
at once. Go to your druggist todsy*
a sample bottle free. Large bottle# w1
and onedoUar.
The man who never praise^ his wib
serves to have a poor one.
••Hanson's Magic
Warranted to cure, or money roluuaw.
dru#fflMt Ior.lt. Price 25 cento.
What some people call prudenw
what others call meanness.
We eat too much and take too M
door exercise. This is the fault of»
ern civilization. It is claimed that ^
Tea, a simple herb remedy, helps
overcome these abuses. _
mini
He who would be strong in
have facts for diet.
DUQUETTE & CO'S
Tablets. “Absolutely the best maoI .
ounce package for 5 cento, at your
gists or Confectioners. Ask for to
STOP THAT COUGH.
It takes contact with others to
acquainted with ourselves.
Baker's Emiilsl*”-. a,bil
The great, reiedv for throat '“‘JiSa
etc., palatable as honey Sold b?<trlua
The best workers are those who hat*
learned how to rest._____
line's Medicine Moves the
Day. Iu order to he healthy kidi
sary. Cures constipation, heaaat sM
and liver troubles and regulates
ach and bowels. ___
The man. who is faithfully iiuprov't^
one talent will soon have ten.
It the Baby Is Cnttlag Ti** „
Borare and uh that old mod well-tnea
WuaLov’* Sooranc Sraar for children u*
The devil shoots hard at the ®aD
makes an honest tax return
Sadden Changes'T"®*
causes Throat Diseases. There
effectual remedy for Coughs, i
than Brown's. Bronchiai. Tb<x» ^
only in boxes. Price 25 cto.
-tin
Not many tears are sbed whe“
who dies has lived only for binis
B ram men's Cough Drop*
Um BranmeU's Celebrated CciisJ1
mhave A H a. ca each drop
" visit*
The poker player does not u
cards when he ig calling._
"jiiirj
■/aVt^trsroua. after dar,;, ^
vslous cure* Trestiveasd B®® trial p.j^JvlV41
Send IS Dr. KUss.ni ArchSt..rv—
A good credit ia ofen as useful »5
bank account. _ __
Nobody can become rich by ®*T*r
away/anytbing.--rr,„M
The man who is ruled by bU W
always travel in a tig-tag courts
