THE POBTEBT.
A Story of the Innor Vision of tho
Highland*™, Oommonly Called
the Second Sight.
By GHOItGK MACDONALD.
CIIAPTICK VIII.—(Continued.)
I sprang to my feet rind opened the
hidden door. There she stood, white,
asleep, with closed eyes, singing like
a lilrd, only with n herirtful of sad
meaning In every tone. I stepped
liable, without sissiklng. mid she puss
©d me Into the room. I closed the door
and followed her. She lay already
upon the couch, still mid restful al
ready covered with my plaid. I sat
down beside her, w-.lt tv, and gii/ssl
upon her In wonderiiient. That she
wns possessed of very superior Intel
lectual isiwers, whatever tn Iff hi be the
cause of their having lulu dormant so
long. I had already fully convinced
myself; but I was not prepared to tlml
art as well as Intellect.
Her** was a song, of her own making
ns to the music, so true and so isileut,
that, before 1 knew iitiylhlng of the
words. It Imd surrounded me with a
dream of the place In which Ihe scene
of the ballad was laid.
I sat and thought: Some obstruction
In the gateways, mil ward, prevented
her, In her waking hours, from utter
ing herself at all. Their obstruction
damming back upon tludr sources the
outgoings of life, threw her Into this
abnormal slis'p. In It the Impulse to
Utterance, still uusatlslleil, no wrought
within her unable, yet compliant form,
that slm could not rest, but rose and
walked. And now afresh surge from
tho sen of her unknown helui;. ittirc
prottsed by the bllberto of the objects
of Nonsc. bad burst the piles and liars,
swept the obstructions from Its chan
nel, and poured from her In melodious
soup
And now I Imd once more the delight
of watching a spirit dawn, a soul-rise,
In that lovely form. The light Hushing
of Its pallid sky was, as li.fore. Hie
llrsl sign. 1 dreaded the Hash of love
ly Halite, and the outburst of ivpiunt
tin err, ere 1 should have lime to say
that I was not to blame. Hut when,
lit length, the full dawn, the slow sun
rise came. It was with all the gentle
tiess of a elondy summer moru. Never
did a more celestial roN.v nsl hung
about lln> skirls of the level sun. Hum
deepened and glowed upon her face,
when, opening her eyes, she saw me
beside her. She covered her face
with her hands; ntul Instead of the
words of Indignant reproach which I
htul dreaded to hear, she murmered
behind the snowy screen, “I am glad
yon have broken your promise.”
My heart gave a bound and was
atlll. I grew faint with delight. “No,"
I said, "I have not broken my promise,
Iaidy Alice; 1 have struggled nearly
to madness to keep It—and l have kept
It."
"I have come then of myself.
Worse and worse! Hut It Is their
fault."
Tears now found their way through
the repressing lingers. I could not
endure to sis. her weep. I kneeled be
side Iter, and. while slm still covered
her face with her hands, I said-1 do
not know what l said. They were
wild. and. doubtless, fisdlsh words In
themselves, but they must have been
wise and true In their meaning. When
I ceased, 1 knew that 1 had ceased on
ly by the great silence about me. I
was still looking at her bauds. Slowly
She withdrew them. It was ns when
the stiu breaks forth on n cloudy day.
The winter was over and gone; the
time of tho singing of birds Imd come.
She smiled on me through her tears,
and heart met heart In the light of
that smile.
Site rose to go nt once, and 1 begged
for no delay. 1 only stood with clasp
ed hands, giulttg at her. She turned
at the door, imd said:
“1 dare say 1 shall cniue again; I
am afraid I cannot help it; only mind
you do not wake me."
Before 1 could reply, I was alone;
and I felt that 1 must not follow her.
V CHAPTER IX.
QVKSTIOMNO.
It was a week before I saw her
ognlu. Her heart had been stilled, and
she was able to sleep again.
But seven nights after, site did come.
I waited Iter awaking, possessed with
oi.o painful thought, which 1 longed
to Impart to her. She awoke with a !
smile, covered her face with her
hands for a moment, but oul.v for a
moment, and then sat up. 1 stood be
fore her, and the first words I spoke
Were:
"Rady Alice, ought I not to go?"
“No." sbo replied nt. once. "1 cun
claim some compensation from them
for the wrong (hey have been doing
me. I>o you know hi what relation 1
stand to Lord and I.mly Hilton? They
arc but niy stepmother and her 1ms
band."
‘‘I kuow that."
“Well, I have a fortune of my own,
about, which 1 uevor thought or cared
—till—till--w thin the las' few weeks.
Lord Hilton Is my guardian. Wheth
er they made me the stupid creature
I was, 1 do not know; but 1 believe
they have represented me as far worse
than 1 was, to keep people from mak
ing my acquaintance. They prevented
1U.V going on with my lessons, because
they saw 1 was getting to understand
things, and grow like other people; and
that would not suit their pur]>oscs. It
would be false delicacy In you to
leave me to them, when you can make
up to me for their injustice. Their be
havior to me takes away any right
they had over me, and frees you from
obligation, because 1 am yours, am 1
not?”
Once more she covered her face with
her hands. I could answer only by
withdrawing one of them, which I was
now emboldened to keep in my own.
I was very willingly persuaded to
■wlmt was so much my own desire. But
whether the reasoning was quite just
or not, I am not yet sure. Perhaps it
might be so for her, and yet not for
me. I do not know; I am a poor casu
ist.
She resumed laying her hand on
mine.
“It would be to tell the soul which
you have called forth, to go back into
Us dark moaning cavern, and never
come out to the light of day."
A long pause ensued.
■ d
"It In Hlningo," hIii> wild at length,
"It* fool, whoa I llo down at night, that
I nmy nwnko In your prononco, with
out knowing how. It In strange, too,
that although I should ho utterly
nshnmoil to fomo willingly, I fool no |
oonfuiilon wlioii I lluil inywlf horo.
When I foil myself coming nwako. 1
Ilf' for a lllllo wlillo with my eyes
rinsed woiiilcrlng anil hoping, nml
nfrnlil to o|M'ii tlioin, lost I hIioiiIiI IIml
inywlf only In my own elminhor;
Hhrlnklng n llltlo, too—Just ft llltlc
from tlio first ghiuco Into your fni'i'."
"Jtui wlioii you nwako, do you know
nothing of what lia* taken plait' In
your sleep*/"
"Noihlng wliatover."
“IIiivo you no vngiio hi'IihuIIoun, no
luiunlliig hIiiiiIown, no dim, ghostly
moods, scorning to liclolig to that con
dltlon, loft’/"
"Nono wlmtovor."
Mho rose. wild "tlood nlght,” and loft
mo.
ii mix smmg taie one ntgnt iii my |
rixiin. | had nil but given up hope of
her com I ui{. I had, perhaps, deprived
her of tin* Homimiiilnilli' powor. I wus
brooding over tin* ill 11 y. when all
at once I felt ax If I wore looking Into
tlio haunted room. It seemed to Is*
lighted by tin* union, shitting through
tlio xta I nod wlnilowx. TIu> feeling
I'liitio anil wont xuililoiily, as snob vis
ions of plaoos usually tlo; but Ibis bail
an Indescribable something about It
nioro oloar anil coal than snob resur
rections of tlio |Nist. wbotbor wllloil or
linwllloil, ooiiiinoiily possess, anil a
Croat longing Heized iiio to look Into
tlio room oni'o nioro. I rose wllb a
sonso of yielding to tin* Irresistible, loft
tin* room, groped my way through tin*
ball anil up tin* oak stalronso—I bail
tiovor thought of taking a light with
mo—ami ontiTeil tin* oorrblor. No sooti
or bail I entered It tban tin* thought
sprung up In my iiiluil—“Wliat If slu*
kIkmill bo tbiTo!” My lioart stooil
still for a momont, llki* a woutulod door
and tbon boundod on, wltli a pane In
ovor.v bound. Tin* oorrldor was niglir
It si'If, wltli a dim, blnlsli gray light
from tlio windows, xultlclng to mark
I belt* own spaoos. I slob* through It,
and, without erring onoo, wont straight
to tin* hauuli'd I'iiambor. 'I'bo door
stood half upon. I ontoroil, and was be
wildered by the dim, mysterious,
dreamy loveliness upon wlileli I gazed.
I'bo mailn shorn* full upon the windows,
ami a thousand eolorod lights and
shadows crossed ami Intertwined upon
tin* walls and floor, all so soft, and
mingling, and undelled, that the brain
was tilled as with a flickering dance of
ghostly rainbows. Hut 1 bad little
time to think of these; for out of the
only dark corner In the room came a
white tlguro, tutting across the chaos
of lights, bedewed, bespangled, be
spattered as she passed, with their mul
titudinous colors. 1 was spiH*ebless with
something far beyond Joy. With a low
moan of delight Lady Alice sank Into
my arms. Tbon, looking up, with a
light laugh. “The scales are turned
dear," she said. “You are In my power
now; I brought you here. 1 thought l
could, and 1 tried, for I wanted so
much to see you—and you are come.”
She led me across the room to the place
where she had been seated, and we
sat side by side.
"1 thought you had forgotten me,"
I said, "or bail grown tired of me."
"Did you? That was unkind. You
have made my heart so still, that, body
and soul, 1 sleep at night."
"Then shall I never six* you more?”
"\Ve can meet here. This Is the best
place. No one dares come near tie*
haunted room at night. We might
even venture in the evening. Look,
now. from where we are sitting, across
the air, between the windows and tin*
shadows on the floor. Do you see noth
ing moving?"
I looked, but could see nothing. She
resumed;
“1 almost fancy, sometimes, that
what old stories say about this room
may be true. I could fancy now that
I see dim. transparent forms in an
cient armor, and In strange antique
dresses, men and women moving about,
meeting, speaking, embracing, parting,
coming ami going. Hut 1 was never
afraid of such beings. I am sure these
would not, could not hurt us."
"I could not persuade myself that I
too, see them." I replied. “1 cannot say
that 1 am afraid of such beings any
moro than you—If only they will not
speak."
"Ah!" she replied, with a lengthened,
meaning utterance, expressing sym
pah.v with what i said: "1 know what
you mean. 1, too, ant afraid of hear
ing things. And that reminds me, I
have never yet asked you about the
galloping horse. I, too, hear some
times the sound of a loose horseshoe. It
always betokens evil to me: but I
do not know what It means. Do you?"
"I will tell you what my old foster
mother told me," I replied. And I be
gan narrating when and where 1 had
lirst heard the sound; and then gate
her, ns nearly as could, the legend
which the nurse had recounted to me.
1 did not tell her its association with
the events of my birth, for 1 feared
exciting her imagination too much. She
listened to it very quietly, however,
and when I came to a close, only said
"Of course, we cannot tell how much
of It is true, but there may be some
thing In it. I have never heard any
thing of the sort, and 1, too, have an
old nurse. She Is with me still. You
shall see her some day.”
She rose to go.
"Will you meet me here again, soon?"
I said.
"As soon as you wish," she answered.
“Then, to-iuorrow, at midnight?”
"Yes.”
CHAPTER X.
THE CLANKING SHOE.
Time passed. Wo began to feel very
secure in that room, watched as it was
by the sleepless sentry. Fear. One j
night 1 ventured to take a light with
me.
"How nice to have a candle!" she
said as I entered. “I hope they are all
in lied, though. It will drive some of
them into tits if they see the light."
"I wanted to show you something I
found in the library to-day."
"What is it?"
I opened a book, and showed her a
paper inside of it with some verses
written ou it.
"Whose writing is that?" I asked.
"Yours, of course. As if I did not
know your writing!"
“Will you look at the date?"
- “Seventeen hundred and ninety-three!
You are making game of me. Dunoau.
But the paper dot's look yellow and
old.”
| "1 found it as you see It, In that book.
It belonged to laird union's brother.
The verm* are a translation of part
of the poem bout do which they lie—
ono by Von Sails, who died shortly be
fore that date at the bottom. I will
read them to you, and then allow you
something due that la a trance about
them. Tin* |H»em la called ‘Psycho's
Sorrow.’ I’Kyche menus the soul,
Alice."
“I remember. You told me about her
liefore, you know.”
"Then followM the date, with the
worda In tlerman tindcrncath It—‘How
weary I am!' Now, what Is strange.
Alice, Is that this dale Is the very
month and year in which I was born.”
She did not reply to this with any
thing beyond a lucre assent. Her mind
was fixed on the poem Itself. She bo
trail to talk about It and 1 was surprised
to find how thoroughly she entered Into
It and understood It. She seemed to
have crowded the growth of a lifetime
Into the last few months. At. length
I told her how unhappy I had felt for
some time, at remaining In Lord 11*1
ton's house, as matters now were.
"Then you must go," she said, quite
quietly.
I Ills troubled nip.
"You ilo not nilnil It?”
“No. I HimII tip very glad.”
“Will you go with mi'i" I asked, per
plexed.
"Of course I will.”
I did not know what to say to tlilN,
for I had no money, and of course I
should have none of my salary. She
divined at once the cause of my hesi
tation.
"1 have a diamond bracelet In my
room," slip said, with n smile, “and
a few guineas besides.”
“Ilovv shall we get away?"
“Nothing is easier. My old nurse,
whom I mentioned to you before, lives
at the lodge-gate.”
“I know her very well," I Interrupt
ed. "Hut she’s not Scotch.”
"Indeed she Is. Hut she has been
with our family almost all her life.
1 often go to see her, and sometimes
stay all night with her. You can get
a carriage ready In the -village and
neither of us will be missed before
morning."
I looked at her in renewed surprise
at the decision of her invention. Site
covered her face, as she seldom did
now, but went on:
"We can go to London, where you
will easily Hud something to do. Slen
always can there. And when I come
of age—"
"Alice, how old are you?” I interrupt
ed.
“Nineteen," she answered. “Ily tho
way," he resumed, "when l think of it
—how odd!- that”—pointing to the date
on the paper—“is the very mouth in
which I, too, was born.”
I was too much surprised to inter
rupt. her, an she continued:
"1 never think of my age without re
calling one thing about my birth, which
nurse often refers to. She was going up
stairs to my mother’s room, when she
happened to notice a bright star, not
far from the new tuoou. As she cross
ed the room with me in her arms, just
after 1 was born, she saw the same
star almost on the tip of the opposite
horn. My mother died a week after.
Who knows how different I might have
been if she had lived!"
It was long before I spoke. The aw
ful and mysterious thoughts roused in
my mind by the revelations of the day.
held me silent. At length I said, half
tiling aloud:
"Then you and I, ’Alice, were born
the same hour, and our mothers died
together.”
Receiving no answer, I looked at her.
She was fast asleep, and breathing
gentle, full breaths. She had been sit
ting for some time with her head lying
on my shoulder and my arm around
her. I could not bear to wake her.
We had been In this position perhaps
for half an hour, when suddenly a cold
shiver ran through me, and all at once
I became aware of the far-off gallop
of a horse. It drew nearer. On and on
It came—nearer and nearer. Then canid
the clank of the broken shoe!
(TO UK CONTINUED./
POTATOES HIS WEAPONS.
How a Humorous Kentucky Dominie
Brought the Codn Into Khllrule.
One way of combating an evil prac
tice Is to make it ridieulous. it was by
tills means that deuling was stopped In
a certain district In Kentucky some
forty years ago. says tho Lexington
Transcript. At that time a traveling
preacher named Bowman, a strong,
muscular man, was conducting a series
of religious meetings In Kentucky. At
one of them a well known desperate
character created a disturbance and,
being publicly rebuked by Bowman,
sent him a challenge to light.
The preacher's first thought was to
treat the matter with silent contempt.
Then he reflected that dueling was all
too common in tlint region, and he de
cided to accept the challenge.
As the challenged party. Bowman,
had the choice of weapons, he selected
a half bushel of Irish potatoes, and
stipulated that Ills opponent must
stand fifteen pact's distant and that
only one potato at a time should be
taken from the measure.
The desperado was furious, but Bow
man insisted upon Ids rights as the
challenged party and threatened to de
nounce the fellow as a coward if he
made further objections. Seeing no
waj uiu ul un* sn-iapv, im* ut'sptTlluO
at last consented.
The contest took place on the out
skirts of the town, anil almost every
body in the place turned out see the
fun. The seconds arranged the two
men In position, by the side of each
being a lialf-bushel measure tilled with
potatoes.
Bowman threw the first one. it
struck his opponent in a central spot
and fell in pi eel's. A shout of delight
went up from the crowd, which Hur
ried the desperado and his potato tlew
wide of the mark. Bowman watched
his chance, and every time his oppon
ent stooped for a potatoe another one
hit him in the side, leaving a wet pot
ou his clothes and then scattering 01
all sides. The fellow was hit in this
way live times: the sixth potato struck
hint in the short ribs and he lay on
the grass doubled up with pain and
groaning. “Knough.”
The bystanders went wild with de
light, but Mr. Bowman looked very
sober. The desperado was taken home
and put to bed. and there he stayed
for more than a week. And when
he appeared again he was greeted with
so many jokes that life was almost a
burden to him. That was the end of
dueling in that reglou.
FAHM AND GARDEN.
MATTERS OF INTEREST TO
AGRICULTURISTS.
#om« rp to Date Hints About Caltlfs
tlon of tbe boll and Yields Thereof—
Horticulture. Viticulture and Flori
culture.
Culture of Rauptierrloii.
I ftm often asked by letter how I man
ege Blackcaps in planting, cultivating
and pruning. To answer each inquiry it
takes much time, and as many that
make inquiries are readers of the Farm
ers’ Review, I answer through that
medium, and I hope to make the most
practical mode of planting and after
work so plain that the novice in berry
growing will know of a certainty how
to proceed from start to finish, and all
inquiries may be fully answered. Dow
to plant—We should plant the rows
seven feet apart, and set the plants
three feet apart in the rows. Plant
rows north and south where practica
ble, but would rather plant east and
west than to plant up and down hill.
Well grown plants before taken up
ocoupy with their roots a circle of
about one foot in diameter. I there
fore dig holes for plants at least one
foot across and several inches deeper
than the plants want to be set.
The setter draws some of the good
top soil back into the hole, leaving it
higher in the middle, and having it
deep enough to allow the sprout of
plant to be about two inches below
the surface, and let the long, small
roots slope downwards around the
center and fill fine soil on the roots
and press it down firm, but leave soil
mellow and rake after rains to prevent
crust from forming. Cultivate and
hoe often, but the steel rake is more
safe to use until plants are well up.
When plants have grown to be about
ono foot high pinch from tips of lead
ing shoots about one and ono half
inches to make them grow more stocky
and they will form better hills and not
grow so low and sprawling. After
pinching a tip back once, do not touch
it again that season, but let it grow
at will. Never tio to stakes.
If the soil is good, and good cultiva
tion given, and plants were good to
start with, you will be surprised at
their great growth. It matters not
what form your vines may take, do not
touch them until the next spring, and
especially if you have planted the
Older, they will take care of them
selves, as far as winter's winds and
cold are concerned, as they need no
protection, winter or summer, to stand
our climate, north or south. The next
spring shorten in the canes to make a
compact hill, perhaps no larger than a
half bushel basket. As soon as
pruning is done each spring, keep
ground well cultivated, the more often
the better, until berries are nearly
ripe. Mulching put in at that time will
hold moisture and keep fruit clean.
The last of May or fore part of June,
one year from planting, the young
canes will spring up from the
hills, and when they are from
18 to 24 inches high, according
to their strength and uprightness, cut
or pinch from tlieir tops about one and
one half inches. Uo over the patch
about every two days (as the canes
grow up very quickly) and pinch off all
canes as they get the right height. We
usually watch the patch for shoots
about ten days after we commence to
pinch back. We say again, never pinch
a cane but once, and we would about
as soon dig up the whole patch and
throw it into the brush pile as to neg
lect to pinch the canes at the right
time. After the pinching back is all
done they want no more pruning until
the next spring, except cutting out old
canes after fruiting. As soon as the
crop of fruit is picked, remove all old
canes that fruited, cutting them off
near the ground, and carry out at once
and burn them. As soon as old canes
are out cultivate at once, to be out of
the way of young canes, and clean out
with hoe all weeds and grass
that may be among the hills.
In after years do as already advised,
but pinch back canes somewhat higher,
but leave them not over two and a half
feet high, to get the greatest crop, and
stand winds without supports. As
hills get older,perhaps they may throw
up too many canes in a hill. In that
case, after removing old canes, cut out
all surplus ones, leaving the best and
strongest. I often leave as many as
eight or ten, if even in size. The more
left the closer one has to prune. Four
strong canes with many laterals are
better than more. Shorten in canes
every spring to make a good hill and
row, and not leave the canes too long.
You will be more inclined to leave too
znucn woou rainer loan nos enough.
There is no rule to lay down to prune
by, but to use our best judgment. After
a season or two of careful watching
we will learn what they need. Differ
ent varieties need somewhat different
treatment, as some grow more
sprawling than others. The Older
will take on a better form of
row, of itself, than any other Black
cap that I have can' be pruned to make.
The Older is the ideal bush, and no
other grows in so fine a form, neither
can they be pruned to grow like it,
and they give me more pleasure, satis
faction and profit, than any other that
I ever planted. Pruning—Last spring
to guard against wind storms, I pruned
shorter than ever before, so the hills
looked rather stumpy until the leaves
were out. The canes are very short
pointed and the fruit stems came out
in multitude, from five to ten inches in
length. At picking time the rows
were even and in good form, being
about three and a half feet high and
about four feet wide or through, and
a mat of berries spread ov«sr the whole
surface like a blanket. No picker
could pick over one row, sixteen rods
long,in ten hours; and last season was
a poor one on account of late frosts,
high winds and burning drouth.
Pickers could not crossover from one
row to another, as they were unbrok'jn
like a hedge; they usually give us pick
ing from twelve to fourteen days. My
oldest rows, some of them 15 years
old, produced the most fruit. My
patch is always pruned and cared for
according to the above, and I always
succeed in having a heavy crop of fruit.
I use no wire or other supports, give
no winter protection, although cold
reaches thirty-five degrees below zero.
I think any novice in fruit growing, by
following these instructions and
practices, with good brains and a will
ing mind, may do well, as the above is
practical and not all theory.—L. K.
Ballard in Farmers’ Review.
Handling Manors.
Drawing out manure in the spring
when the work is pushing and
the ground is soft and muddy is
always a bother and a bugbear
to the new hired man who comes
about that time. All this work could
be saved, and much more of the fer
tilizing value of the manure, bv draw
ing it out and spreading it as fast as it
is made. Then, too, work is not so
pushing and a man has plenty of time
to draw out a load every day, or two
or three times a week.—Practical
Dairyman.
On this National Dairyman com
ments as follows: All very plausible,
and indeed very practical on dead level
land, but what about hilly land, where
the most valuable part of the manure
will be washed away by the heavy
rains or as the snow melts? There
are two sides to every question, and
while hauling a load every day may be
economical in one way it means hitch
ing up for every load instead of for
half a day’s work. Hut that is the
smallest consideration. The main
thing is the horrible waste by spread
ing the green manure and exposing it
to alternate sun and rain. We con
fess to an old fashioned liking for a
manure heap under cover and well
cared for by pumping the liquid
manure over it now and then, increas
ing its size by leaves, sweepings, etc.,
and it was with satisfaction that we
read in Hoard's Dairyman the follow
ing1 by Mr. J. D. Smith of Delaware
county, New York:
“Some nine years ago we built our
house and found it necessary to tear
down our pig pen. The following sea
son we concluded to build a carriage
house and horse barn. This is 30x40;
our old house was 37x34. This we
placed upon a foundation at the end of
the horse barn on a line with the
lower side, making the length of the
two 74 feet. I removed all flooring and
floor joists, and made a cement floor
about two feet below the sills. I never
expect to live long enough to see the
sills rot out. The cement floor is laid
on an incline of eight inches in twenty
seven feet. (If building again would
have as much as twelve inches incline.)
At the lowest, or back side, I made a
sort of trough or depression to conduct
the liquids toward the center. In the
wall at this point I left an opening or
doorway large enough for a good sized
hog to go through. Through this open
ing all the liquids pass into a vat, the
bottom of which is about four feet be
low the bottom of the main pen. This
vat is what I term my ’manure fac
tory.’ It is 13 feet wide, 48 feet long
and about 10 feet high, a wall laid in
cement with water tight cement bot
tom. In the center of the wall I left
a wide doorway which is high enough
to back a wagon under the sill to clean
out the manure. The manure from
the horse stable goes into this vat
every day and is worked up by the
pigs, absorbing the liquids. We have
never yet worked it to its full capacity,
but have taken out 150 good wagon
loads as the year’s make. I find it
more valuable for the production of
corn, grass or any farm crops than any
cow manure I can get. The liquids
from pigs are very rich in potash, and
I find no difficulty in growing fine
crops of clover on land manured with
that taken from this vat.”
“Dark Age of Agricultare.”
The “dark age of agriculture” in
England is said to have been during
the civil strife known as the Wars of
the Roses. This idea is corroborated by
Mr. Corbett in his recently published
work on the history of England. He
remarks that “during the whole of the
years between the revolt of the peas
ants under Wat Tyler and their re
volt in 1549 under Ket hardlv a single
improvement was introduced. The
uses of clover, turnips and artificial
grasses still remained unknown, plow
ing continued to be little more than a
scratching of the surface, draining and
manuring were neglected: and
marling' went somewhat out of fash
ion. For draft purposes horses
were still hardly ever used,
oxen being preferred, because they
cost less to keep in winter, wanted no
shoes, and when dead were man's meat,
whereas horses were carrion. And
yet the common pastures were in many
cases as bare and unsheltered, and the
grass so poor, that we are assured it
was almost impossible to keep work
ing oxen in condition upon them.” The
cultivation of “such herbes, fruites,
and roots as grow yearly out of the
ground of seed,” which had been plen
tiful on the land in the days of the
Edwards, “in process of time grew also
to be neglected,” so that from Henry
IV. till the beginning of the reign of
Henry \ III. there was little or no use
of them in England.
frOVKRXMEXT ROAD BuiI.I)IXO._The
government of the United States took
a hand in road building for the first
forty years of its existence. The
eumberland pike, crossing the states
of Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania,
Ohio, Indiana and extending to Illi
nois, costing over $6,000,000, was the
U°Erwin ^ *eneral government.—J.
At E
very | Wjntf
Of Rheumatism you should
that relief Is at hand In Hood’s .TS
rilla. Rheumatism is caused i, ^
acid in the Wood, which settles^. ^
joint*. Hood’s Sarsaparilla
w w _ _«a P«n6es .k
J-JOOd S Sarsa~
blood and removes
this taint. There
fore Hood’s Sarsapa
rilla cures rheumatism when allV
remedies have failed. Give it a fair
Parm
“I suffered Intensely with rheu^
but Hood's Sarsaparilla perfectly '
me.” Habbt F. Pittabd, Winterviii"?
Hood’S Pills are the best farnliyTB^
★ WORLD’S-FAnTT^
Z HIGHEST AWAlirv
A\BDICINal
Has justly acquired the reputation of bias
The 5alvator for
IlSIX^VI^IDs
The-Aged.
An Incomparable Aliment tor the
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CHI LDREN
A superior nutritive in continued F;vjs,
And a reliable remedial agent
in all gastric and enteric diseases;
often in instances cf consultation over
patients whose digestive organs v:r; r;.
i duced to such a low and sensitive Conti's
that the IMPERIAL GRAMM ,a
the only nourishment the stomai
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depending on its retention
And ai a FOOD it would be difficult to
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Sold by DRUGGISTS. Shipping Depot,
JOHN CARLE & SONS, New York.
My son was afflicted
with catarrh. I induced
him to try Ely's Cream
Balm and the disagree
able catarrhal smell all
left him. He appears as
well as any one.—J. C.
Olmsted, Areola, III.
CATARRH
ELY’S CREAM BALM opens and cleanses tk
Nasal Passages, Allay* Pain and Intlanmiatum.Hfai
the Sores, protects the Membrane from Colds, i*
stores the Senses of Taste and Smell. TLe baiai
quickly absorbed and gives relief at once.
A particle Is applied Into each nostril awl isagm
able. Price 50 cent s at Druggists or by mail.
ELY BROTHERS, 56 Warren St., New Til
K COLGKESTEG
SPADIN6
BOO!.
. BEST IN MARKET.
} • BEST IX FIT
> BEST l.\ WEAKESG
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:'Tj The cuter or tap soleei
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ASK YOUR DEALS!
FOR THEM
and don't be put os
with inferior goods.
COLCHESTER RUBBER CO.
W. L. Douclas
$3 SHOE*'?;®
CORDOV^
FRENCH A ENAMELLED CALF.
,4.*3SPFineCalf&KW»
♦3.SP POLICE, 3 SO'K.
'I *»so*2. W°RK|NG«Ef,j
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*2. *1.75 BOYS'SCHDOlSHE
LADIES*
B- 6EST
BROCKTON.-MASS.
wer une million mpu wear uw
W. L. Doug’as $3 & $4 Sfeoes
All our shoes are equally satisfactory
They give the best value for the money*
They equal custom shoes in style and fit.
Their wearing qualities are unsurpassed.
Prom $i to $3 saved over other makes.
If your dealer cannot supply you we can*
iwardsi
Caicxatia ft*341
i w—»—'tt wa ** >
[always FRESH AND SELtABL^,
A Moat Attractlae nl to'»
JMoat Attracts and Instnio■ -[0
oataloaaa eaer published; r Kt* once1
‘"tm/ingporch-an. Afi^Van..
D intanding purchaeara. ao»T" a'.naa’
'H.W.BHckbee.K^^i
Port OfBco Box
ACRE APPLES, $1,493 IK
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_ ipl* «>P.T u‘iiubu*b'
A practical Fruit and Farm papt‘r* J.r.jMK*
Stark Bros., 40e a year; circulation.^** jp* ;
The “Ci earn of the* Cieam”—ffives
the bo*j
Grower or Farmer, who hadn't the time or tbe_ (
*<> buy and read a groat mass of pav^j^* J(| gn'
'berf
from them all, what be w*«** VI ysta*;
what would take him. to teanb uuSJil_
Patents. Trade-Marls
Advice ns to. p'JJjfi'toCf
Examination __ - , .
Invention. Send for “ Inventors’
a latent." FAT2IC2 0TAS22LL, WAS5B“^
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