THE PORTENT.
A Story of the Inner Vision of tlM
Highlanders, Commonly Called
the Second Slgh*
Ey GEOllOK MACDUNALDi
CHAPTER X.—(Continued.)
Al the same moment Alice started
from lo r sleep, and, springing to tier
feel, stood nn Instant listening. Then
crying mil. Ill nil agonized whisper
"The horse with the clanking shoe!"
she Hung her arms nroiiml me. Her
face hum nn while nn the n|>eolrnl moon
which, the moment I put the cnmlie
out. looked In through n pane bcnldo
nn; and she gazed fearfully, yet wild
ly delimit, toward the door. We citing
to each other. \\'i« heard the sound
come nearer and nearer, till II thunder
ed right tip to the very door of the
room terribly loud. It conned, lint
the door was Hum; o|h'H, and Lord 1111
ton entered, followed by servant* with
lights.
I have lint a very eon fused rcmoin
lirnnce of what followed. I heard a
vile word from the lips of Isird IPI
ton: I fell my tlniters on Ids throat; I
received a blow on the head: and 1
seem to remember a cry of nunity from
Alice an 1 fell. Wlint happened next
I did not know.
When I came to myself I was lying
on a wide moor, with the night wind
blowlnu about me. 1 presume llmI I
had wandered thither In a stale of un
consciousness. after hclnu turned out
of the hall, and Hint I had at last
fainted from loss of blood. I was un
able to move for a hmu time. At leiiulh,
• he morning broke, and I found myself
not far from the hall. I crept hack n
mile of two, to the piles, and having
succeeded In ronslnu Alice’s old nurse,
was taken In with many Inmcntntl ms
and put to lied In the Indue. I had a
violent fever; and It was all the poor
woman could do to keep my presence
« secret from the family al the hall.
When I beunn to ufctul my llrst ques
tion was about Alice, I Icnmcd. Ibouuh
with some dlltleidty - for my kind at
teudaut was evidently uuwllllnu to tell
me all the truth -that Alice, too, had
been very III: and that, a week befere,
they had removed her. ltnt she either
would not or could not tell me wher •
they had taken her. I believed she
could not. Nor do 1 know for certain
to this day.
.Mrs. Itlakcslcy offered mo the Iona of
some of her snvlnus to uet me to Lon
don. I received It with uratltudc, and
ns sisni as 1 'was til to travel, made my
way thither. Afraid for my reason. If
1 had no employment to keep my
Ihouuhls from hroodluu on my helpless
• Itess, and so Inereaslnu my despa'.i. and
determined likewise, that my failure
should not make me burdensome on
any one else, 1 enlisted In the Scotch
• •rays, before letllnu any of my friends
know where I was. Throuuh the help
or one already mentioned In my story,
I soon obtained a commission. From
tne Held of Waterloo, I rode Into Brus
sels with a broken artu anil u saber
cut In the head.
As we passed along one of the streets,
through all the clang of Iron-shod hoofs
on the stones around me, I heard the
ominous clank. At the same moment 1
heard a cry. It was the voice of my
Alice. I looked up. At a barred win
slow I saw her face; hut It was terribly
changed. I dropped from my bor e. As
soon as I was able to move front the
hospital, I went to the pinch and found
It wits a lunatic asylum. I was permit
ted to see the Inmates, but discovered
no one resembling her. I do not now
believe that she was ever there.
For years nml years I knew not
whether she was alive or dead. 1
* sought her far and near. I wandered
over Knglauil, France and Germany,
hopelessly searching; listening at tables
•d'hote; lurking about madhouses;
haunting theaters and churches; often,
In wild regions, begging my way from
bouse to liotlse; I did not find her.
Once 1 visited Hilton Hall. I found It
»U but deserted. I learned that Mrs.
Wilson was dead, and that there were
only two or three servants In the place
Sometimes l condensed my whole
being Into a single Intensity of will—
that she should come; and sustained >t.
until 1 faluted with the effort. She
•Ihl not conic. I desisted altogether at
last, for 1 bethought me that, whether
dead nr alive, it must cause her tor
lure not to be able to obey It.
CHAPTER XL
TI1K PHYSICIAN.
1 was now Captain Campbell of the
Scotch Grays, contriving to live on my
half pay. and thinking far more about
the past than the present or future. My
father was dead. My only brother was
also gone, and the property had passed
Into other hands. 1 had no tlxed place
•if abode, but went from one siiot to an
other ns the whim seized me—some-1
times remaining a month, sometimes re- j
moving next day, but generally ehoos-:
ing retired villages about which I knew j
nothing.
i nau spent a wees in a small town
on Hit' borders of Wales, ami intended
remaining a fortnight longer, when 1
was suddenly seized with a violent Ill
ness, In which 1 lay Insensible for three !
weeks. When 1 reeovered eonselous- j
ness 1 found that my head had been
shaved, and that the eleatrlee of my old j
wound was occasionally very painful, i
Of late 1 have suspected that I had1
some operation performed on my skull;
during my Illness; but Dr. lluthwell
never dropped a hint to that effect.!
This was the friend whom, when first:
1 had opened my seeing eyes. 1 beheld ;
sitting by tny bedside, watching the'
effect of his last prescription, lie was
one of the few in the profession whose
love of science' and love of their fellows 1
combined, would be enough to chain
them to the art of healing, Irrestieet
Ive of its emoluments, lie was one of
the few, also, who see the marvelous
in nil science, and, therefore, reject
nothing merely because the marvelous
may seem to predominate in it.
lie attributed my illness to the con
sequences of the saber cut. and tny
recovery to the potency of tile drugs
he had exhibited. I attributed my ill
ness in great measure to the constant
contemplation of my early history, no
longer checked by any regular employ
meat ami my early recovery in equal
measures to the power of his kindness
and sympathy, helping from within
wbat could never have been reached
from without.
u
Aftpr I had ho far recovered aa to
render It anfo to turn my regard morn
particularly upon my own cuae, he
aald to mo one day:
“You would laugh at mo, Campbell,
wore I to oonfcHa Home of the bother
tlila Illness of you™ haa occasioned me;
enough, Indeed, to overthrow any con
ceit I ever had In my own diagnosis.”
"tlo on,” I answered; “I promise
not to laugh."
“lit your case,” he continued, “tho
pathognomonic, If you will excuse med
ical shunt, were every now and then
broken by the Intrusion of altogether
iorcigu sympioms.
I listened with breathless attention.
"'Inti.I. on Novernl (m-cuhIoiis, when,
after meditating on your cuse until I
wan worn out, I had fallen half asleep
h.V your bedside, I came to myself with
the strangest conviction that I wan
watching by the bedside of u woman."
“Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed, atari
lug tip, “alio liven mill.”
A» Moon an my friend would permit
mo, I net out for Scotland.
I made the journey hy enay nlagc'H,
chiefly on the back of a favorite black
borne, which had carried tue well In
aeveral tlglitn. had come out of them
scarred, like hln maater, hut Mound In
wind and limb. It wan night when 1
reached the village lying nearest to
my birthplace.
When l woke In the morning, I found
the whole region filled with a white
mint; hiding the mountalnn around.
When I had Mulshed my breakfast, I
went down and wandered about among
the Jteople. 11roupa of elderly men
wert* talking earnestly; and young men
and maidens who had come to be
feo'd, were Joking and laughing. They
stared til the Sassenach gentleman, and
little thinking that he uuderstodd every
word they uttered, made their remarks
upon him In no very subdued tones.
1 approached a stall where a brown old
woman was selling ginger bread and
apples. She was talking to a man
with long, white loefts. Near them
was a. group of young people. One of
them must have said something about
me; for the old woman, who hud been
taking stolen glances at me, turned
rather sharply toward them, and re
buked them for rudeness.
"The gentleman Is no Sassenach,'* she
said. “He understands everything yon
are saying."
This was spoken In Gaelic, of course.
I turned ami looked at her with more
observance. She made me a courtesy,
and said, in the same language;
“Your honor will be a Campbell, I'm
thinking.”
"1 am a Campbell," I answered, and
waited.
"Your honor's name wouldn’t bo Dun
can, sir?"
“It Is Duncan," I answered; “but
there are many Duncan Campbells.”
"Only one to me, your honor, and
that's yourself. Hilt you will not re
member me?"
1 did not remember her. Before long,
however, urged by her anxiety to asso
ciate her present with my past, she en
abled me to riH'all In her time-worn
features those of a servant in my fath
er’s house when 1 was a child.
“But how could you recollect me?" I
said.
“I have often seen you since I left
your father’s sir. But It, was really, I
believe, that 1 hear more about you
than anything else, every day of my
life.”
"I do not understand you."
“From old Margaret, I mean.”
“Dear old Margaret! Is she alive?”
“Alive and hearty, though quite bed
ridden. Why, sir, she must be within
near sight of a hundred."
“Where does she live?”
“In the old cottage, sir. Nothing will
make her leave It. The new liar wanted
to turn her out; but Margaret muttered
something at which he grew as white
ns his shirt, and he has never ventured
across her threshold again.”
“How do-you sen so much of her,
though ?”
“I never leave her, sir. She can’t
wait on herself, poor old lady. And
she’s like a mother to me. ltiess her!
But your honor will come and see her?”
"Of course I will. Tell her so when
you go home.”
“Will you honor me by sleeping at ray
house, sir?” said the old ninn to whom
she lmd been talking. “My farm Is Just
over the brow of the hill, you know.”
I had by this time recognized him,
and l accopted^hls offer at once.
My horse was an excellent walker,
and I let him walk on, with the reins
on his nook, while I, lost in a dream
of the past, was singing a song of my
own making, with which I often com
forted my longing by glvlug it voice.
I was roused by a heavy drop of rain
upon my face. I looked up. A cool
wave of wind flowed against me.
Clouds had gathered; and over the
l>enk of a hill to the left the sky was
very black. Old Constancy threw his
head up, ns if he wanted me to take the
reins, and let him step out. I remem
bered that there used to be an awk
ward piece of road somewhere not far
in front, where the path. With a bank
on the left side, sloped to a deep de
scent on the right. If the road was as
bad there as it used to be. it would bo
better to pass it before it grew quite
dark. So I took the reins, and away
went old Constancy. We had just
reached the spot, when a keen flash of
UKiitnlnjr proke from the clouds over
head, nnd my horse Instantly stood
stock still, as If paralyzed, with his
nostrils turned up toward the peak of
the mountain. 1 sat as still as he. to
Rive him time to recover himself. Hut
all at once his whole frame was con
vulsed, us if by an agony of terror. He
gave a great plunge, and then I felt
his muscles swelling and knotting
under me. as he rose on his hind legs,
nnd went backward, with scaur behind
him. 1 leaned forward on his neck to
bring him down, but he reared high
er and higher, till he stood bolt up
right. nnd It was time to slip off. lest
he should fall uix>n me. I did so; but
my foot alighted upon no support. He
had backed to the edge of the shelving
ground, and I fell and went to the
bottom. The last thing I was aware of
was the thundering fall of my horse
beside me.
When 1 came to myself it was dark.
I felt stupid and aching all over; but I
soon satisfied myself that no bones
were broken. A mass of something lay
near me. It was poor Constancy. I
crawled to him, laid my hand on his
neck, and called him by bis name. Hut
lie made no answer in that gentle, joy
ful speech—for it was speech in old
Constancy—with which he always
greeted me, if only after an hour's ab
sence.
I needed all my manhood to keep
from crying like a child; for my charg
or wan my friend. How Ion* I lay
beside him, I do not know; but, at
length, I heard the sound of wheels
coming nlnitg the road. I tried to
about, and In some measure, succeeded;
for n voice, which I recognised as that
of my hit tier's friend, answered cheeri
ly. Ho was shocked to discover that
bis expected guest was In such evil
plight. II was still dark, for tlio rain
was falling heavily; hut, with hl» direc
tions, 1 was soon able to take my Beat
beside him In the gig. He had been un
expectedly detained, and was now
hastening home with the hope of being
yet In time to welcome nut.
CHAPTER XII.
MARGARET.
Early in the afternoou I rnme Id
sight of the cot Inge of Margaret. It
lay unchanged, a gray, stone-fashioned
hut, In the hollow of the mountain
basin. I scrambled down the soft
green brae, and soon stood within the
door of the cottage. There I was met
by Margaret's attendant. She led me
to the bed where my old nurse lay.
Her eyes were yet undlmmed by yeara.
and little change had passed upon her
countenance, since I parted with her
on Hint memorable night. The moment
phe saw me she broke out Into a pas
sionnte lamentation, such ns a mother
might utter over the maimed strength
and disfigured beauty of her child.
“What ill has he done— nty bairn—to
be all night the sport of the powers of
th(> nlr and the wicked of the earth?
Hut tin- day will dawn for nty Duncan
yet, and a lovely day it will be!”
Then, looking at me anxiously, sho
said:
“You’re not much the worse for last
night, my bairn. Hut woe’s me! Ills
grand horse, that carried him so, that
I blessed the beast In my prayers!”
1 knew that no one could have yet
brought her news of my accident.
"You saw me fall, nurse?” I said.
“That I did,” she answered. “1 see
you oftener limn you think. Hut there
was a time when 1 could hardly see
you at all, and llhought you were dead,
my Duncan."
I stooped to kiss her. She laid the
one hand that lmd still the power of
motion, upon my head, and dividing
the hair, which had begun to be mixed
with gray, said: “Kh, the bonny gray
lmlrs! My Duncan's a man In spite of
them!”
She searched until she found the
scar of the saber cut!
".lust where I thought to find It!”
she said. “That was a terrible day
worse for me than you, Duncan!”
"You saw me then!” I exclaimed.
“Utile do folks know," she answered,
"who think I’m lying here like a llvo
corpse In its ootlln, what liberty my
soul—and that’s Just me—enjoys. IJt
tlc do they know what I set' and hear.
And there’s no witchcraft of evil-doing
in It my Isiy; but Just what the Al
mighty made me. Janet, here, de
clares she heard the cry, that I made,
when this same cut, that’s not so well
healed yet, broke out in your bonny
head. 1 saw no sword, only the burst
ing of the blood from the wouud. But
sil down, my bairn, and have some
iliiug to eat nfter your walk. Wo’ll
have time enough for speech.”
"You said, nurse, that some time ago
you could not see me. Did you know
nothing about me nil that time?”
"I took It to mean that you were 111,
my dear. Shortly after you left us,
I he same thing happened first; but I do
not think you were ill then.”
"I should like to tell you my story,
dear Margaret,” I said, conceiving a
sudden hope of assistance from one
who hovered so near the unseen that
she often tlltted across the borders,
"lint would It tire you?”
“Tire me, my child!” she said, with
sudden energy. "Did I not carry you
lu my bosom, till I loved you more than
the darling I had lost? f»o I not think
about you and your fortunes, till, sit
ting there, you are no nearer to mo
than when a thousand miles away?
You do not know my love to you, Dun
can. I have lived upon It when, I daro
say, you did not care whether I was
alive or dead. But that .was all one to
my love. When you leave me now I
shall not care much. My thoughts will
only return to their old ways. But I
want to hear your story. I am hunger
ing to hear it.”
“Hut,” I whispered, "I cannot speak
about It before anyone else.”
"I will send Janet away. Janet, I
want to talk with Mr. Campbell alone.”
“Very well, Margaret,” answered
Janet, and left the room.
(TO I!H CONTINUED.)
Cure for Sleeplessness.
A physiclnn, In speaking of the var
ious methods of inducing sleep, said:
"I've tried them nil—putting a cold
towel on the head, bathing the feet la
hot water, counting up to 1,000, drink
ing a glass of milk and so on, and the
best thing I ever found was simply
this: When I have worked all evening
and find myself at bed time In a state
of nervousness or mental activity, I
go to bed and place my right hand
directly over tho pit of my stomach.
Whether It Is the animal warmth of
tho hand acting on the stomach and
drawing the circulation from the head,
or some nervous action, 1 can’t say,
but I know that I fall asleep in a few
minutes. I believe that In a large
majority of the ordinary cases of sleep
lessness tills simple remedy will prove
effective. I have recommended It to
many patients and they report sur
prising success.”—Chicago ltecord.
Alda to Speed.
If It Is true, as reported, that the
sulky In which “Alls was driven her
great mile" at Columbus was made
of aluminium and weighed only 21
pounds It is another case where in
crease of speed is due less to Improve
ment in horsetlesh than hi racing ap
pliances. When a lowered record
means simply better tracks or better
sulkies it goes for something, but it
does not represent its face value.—New
York World.
Then She Fainted.
Looking up suddenly she beheld the
bearded face of a man, with a gleam
ing knife between his teeth.
Then she fainted.
It was no wonder, for she had been
carefully reared and had never seen
any one eat pie in that manner. In
dianapolis Journal.
The total annual value of English
match manufacture lias been estimat
ed at from £1,500,000 to £2.000.000,
and England is now the greatest pro
ducer of matches.
DAIRY AND POULTRY.
INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR
OUR RURAL READERS.
flow SafCMiful Farmers Opersls This
Department of the Homestead—Hints
m to the Care of Use Stock and
Poultry.
Assist Wot Fraud.
J. D. Smith writes as follows in
Hoard's Dairyman: I desire to com
mend the article of C. II. Everett |n a
recent issue of your journal, condemn
ing the practice of some farmers in
selling their skim milk at 13 and 15
cents per hundred pounds to be manu
factured into filled cheese. It would
seem impossible in this day of dairy
information, to find any dairymen
who could be so short sighted. In the
first plsoe, as Mr. Everett says, the
milk is worth at least 35 cents per
hundred- pounds to feed to growing
hogs. If fed to thrifty young pigs, I
believe It worth even more than this.
There is another profit to be made out
of skim milk that many lose sight of. I
met a small dairy farmer recently who
carefally looks after details, who said
to me that he believed the manure his
hogs manufactured was worth as mnoh
to him as the pork. With proper facili
ties for making manure, I believe this
is not a wild estimate. Certainly,
then, here is a big leak in the purse of
the dairyman who sells his skim milk
at 13 to 15 cents per hundred pounds.
Hack of this is a still greater leak.
Every pound of this miserable fraud
cheese which the farmer furnishes the
material to manufacture robs him of
the opportunity of selling a quantity of
whole milk sufficient to make ten
pounds of cheese. Now this may seem
like an astonishing statement, but I
have taken pains to inform myself, and
I am confident it is true. I have intro
duced the subject in dairy meetings,
have talked with hundreds of individ
uals, and have obtained figures from
dealers, and I Bay, without hesita
tion, that there is not one pound of
cheese consumed by our people where
there should, and would, be ten, only
for those abominations, filled and
skim cheese. We ought to be, and
would be, a cheese consuming people,
if we could, buy a pure unadulterated
article of cheese when we call for it.
Mr. Everett utters a burning truth
when he says: “The consumer buys it
for full cream cheese, and pays just as
much for it as he would for good
cheese, and when he attempts to eat it
he becomes disgusted, declares he can
get no good cheese, and he declines to
buy.” This sums up the whole mat
ter. I have been imposed upon
more times in buying cheese than
any other article of food. I can
remember when my mother used to
make home made or dairy cheese, and
what a delicious article it was. Two
or three nice large ones were always
made and sufficiently cured for use in
haying, and then others made with
special reference to long keeping for
winter use. It fairly makes my mouth
water now to think of them. Fellow
dairymen of Wisconsin and elsewhere,
why not apply a little common sense
to this business? If my statement is
true, and I am borne out in it py such
a multitude of witnesses—I do not see
how it can be doubted—then, for
every dollar received for skim milk, or
milk sold to manufacture skim cheese,
there is a loss of $10 to the dairymen
of the country. I know scores of
farmers will read this and say “Oh!
bosh"—but how many more years will
it take, with oleo flooding our
markets, and filled and skim cheese
on sale everywhere, while honest
dairy butter is begging a sale,
before farmers will open their
eyes to their own “bosh?" Why,
with the light receipts of butter which
have prevailed all the fall, do we hear
such complaints ot dull markets and
slow ssles? Simply because honest
goods are being driven out of the mar
ket. I have repeatedly paid 4s high as
16 cents per pound for cheese that I
bought for full creap, that was nothing
but half or three quarters skim; in
three days after cutting it would be as
dry as a chip. My experience is that
of every one; we are constantly being
imposed upon until, as I have said, we
do not consume one pound of cheese
when we would ten,and I believe itmay
be placed even higher than that. Do
away with filled and skim cheese and
let our people know they can get a
genuine article when they call for it,
and at once the dairy industry will re
ceive a powerful impetus all over this
country. _
Weight and Tleld of Eggs.
A correspondent of the Kansas Farm
er furnishes the following:
Geese, 4 to the pound; 20 per annum.
Polish, 9 to the pound; 150 per an
num.
Bantams, 16 to the pound; 60 per an
num.
Uoudans, 8 to the pound; 160 per an
num.
La Fleche, 7 to the pound; 130 per
annum.
Hamburgs, 9 to the pound; 200 per
annum.
Turkeys, 5 to the pound;'30 to 60 pea
annum.
Game fowl, 9 to the pound; 130 per
annum.
Leghorns, 9 to the pound; 150 per an
num.
Black Spanish, 7 to the pound; 150
per annum.
Plymouth Rocks, 8 to the pound; 120
per annum.
Langshans, 8 to the pound; 150 per
annum.
Bramahs, S to the pound; 130 per an
num.
Guinea fowl, 11 to the pound; 160 per
annum.
Ducks, 6 to the pound; 30 to 60 per
annum.
[The above figures will be disputed
by many. Some of them certainly
should be received with a good deal of
hesitation. The Leghorns and Ply
mouth Bocks appear to be far too low.
—Farmers' Review.]_
Sizk of Flocks. - As to the size of flocks
a writer in the Poultry Journal sug
gests that it is a great mistake in keep
ing too large flocks together. There is
no profit, he says, in keeping 100 hens
in a place hardly large enough for 50.
In fact, I doubt very much if 100 hens
should ever be kept in one flock. I con
sider fifty an outside number. They
will lay more eggs in the winter in the
same place than 100. To illustrate:
For several winters I kept from twenty
five to thirty birds in a pen 14x10 feet,
and got very few eggs. Of late win
ters I kept only half the number and
got more'than twice as many eggs. If
you are keeping fifty hens, you should
raise twenty-five early pullets each
year to replace the twenty-five 2
year-old bens which ahould be killed
in the fall, as soon as they begin to
moult. They will be in good oondition
then. In this way you will always
have birds that, with proper care.must
prove profitable. Remember that be
sides small flecks your birds must have
plenty of room. They can not have
too much.—Ex.
Culture ok the Farm.—Why fin ill
our houses with white coat, when the
rough brown coat will keep out the
cold? Why paint the inside of our
homes, with so much expenditure of
treasure and labor? Why put large
costly windows in our houses, and then
cover them almost entirely with two
sets of curtains? Why put stripes and
figures in our carpets when it costs
money to put them there? Why have
carpets at all, if the floors and walls
be tight? Why keep a musical instru
ment in the house when we play so
poorly? Why get up at night and
build fires to save a few house plants
from freezing, when we can buy ten
times the amount with the money ex
pended for extra fuel? All these
questions may be answered by a close
observation of the difference between
a cultured and an uncultured youth.
We are largely what our environments
make us.—Mo. Report
Duck Farming.—It is worthy 01
note that the Chinese very, very long
ago hatched out their ducks by arti
ficial heat, and the incubators that
seem so wonderful to us at the poultry
shows and country fairs were an old
story in the east long before our great
grandfathers were born. It is likely
that we got the domesticated duck
from China so long ago that we know
not when, and the writers on natural
history content themselves with tell
ing us that it is derived from the mal
lard, mixed in some cases with the
musk-duck and the gad wall, and per
haps the black duck. The domestica
tion of the duck has had an effect the
opposite of that usually produced by
civilization on man, for the mallard is
strictly monogamous. Waterton the
naturalist assures us, indeed, that the
wild duck is a most faithful husband
and remains paired for life, while the
domestic drake is most notoriously po
lygamous.—Harper's Weekly.
A Mistake ix Dairy Figures.—The
following item is going the rounds of
the agricultural press: “Capt. W. J.
Wallace, living a few miles south of
the city,” says the Indiana Farmer,
“kept account for one year of the
amount of butter sold from his sixty
Jersey cows, two of them with first
calf, and found that it footed up 2,154
pounds, for which he received 30 cenls
a pound or #046.20. This was in addi
tion to the cream and butter consumed
by the family, and shows what may be
done with good stock and pood feed.
He feeds liberally with bran, cotton
seed, clover, etc., and ‘keeps the ma
chine going’ in all kinds of weather.”
— [There is a mistake in these figures,
as a yearly yield of thirty-five pounds
of butter per cow is nothing to brag
of.—Farmers’ Review.]
Wyandottes.—There arc three stan
dard varieties of Wyandottes—the
silver, golden and white. There is
also a black variety, which, however,
is not yet recognized as an established
standard breed. There is no differ
ence in the varieties except color; but
the silver Wyandotte is the original
from which the others were taken;
hexlce it is an older breed and more
vigorous, as well as being considered
hardier than the others. It is not a
large breed, but is larger than the
Leghorn. Its rose comb is an advan
tage against the frost in winter, and
it. skin and legs are reddish yellow.
As layers the hens are considered
equal to any of the breeds, and the
chicks are plump and attractive in ap
pearance.
Empty thb Cans.—One of the argu
ments often advanced against dispos
ing of the whey at the factory is that
the cans will be harder to clean, by
the milk drying and sticking to the
sides of the cans, than if the sour whey
is carried home. This can be overcome
quite easily by having the milk drawer
put in a gallon or two of water before
leaving the factory. It is also claimed
that this sour whey makes the cans
easier to clean by loosening whatever
milk may have adhered to the sides of
the cans. The little good that this mav
do is more than counterbalanced by
the bad effect of the acid of the whev
on the tin of the can.—American
Cheesemaker.
Old Milk Cass.—Don't use old bat
tered rusty tin milk cans. I noticed a
comment on this subject in a dairy
paper not long ago in which it was
stated that milk which has been con
veyed in a rusty can was analyzed and
found to contain considerable iron,
and it was further said that the butter
produced therefrom had a tallowy
taste. The experiment was tried after
the can was thoroughly steamed and
spores were destroyed. How many
K;Sty cans now °n the
Rheumatic PZ
tli* _ *1
Keturn when the colder wc»ti,(r
They are caused by lactic »,.ia '
blood, which frequently settle ■
joints. This poisonous taiut 0nsl^'
Hood’s *"*'
Pan
moved. Hood's Sar
saparilla con q u e r s
rheumatism because
o
ftai.
It drives out of the blood
impurity. It makes pure, rich blood
“I suffered with rheumatism |„
foot. I took Hood’s Sarssparlll, J
pain is all go"*-” Miss R. R, B
Mills House, Charleston, 8. C. '
Mood’* Hit* prevent eonstipilKj
Ely’s Cream Balml
ffiU CURE
Catarrh^
piiwISCmisri '
Aeair Balas mss
■aiBaoa.sS Wa
Turn htruasur
Imsufflator.
h. mo' mm MM H. turn u
_lolA fcf all Draggitu.
, COICHESK
SPADI1
BOOT.
■«8T IN MAN
BUST IN' in
Best in wf.ui
QUAliTr™
Theo;:UT„rta;R
tendi the rvin.lf fc
down to thu
trcUliE the b».t«
ATinir uni! ia uthtr
work.
ASK TOUR rjji
bor Tiia"
and don't lie pa
With Inferior ruA
COLCHESTER RUBBER R
. L. Doucu
$3 SHOE
ISTHIHtt
FIT FOR A KM
fa. CORDOVAS
FRENCH & CN AMELLU CW,
Araff rlNEuiflKfl
MIICE.35K
- E>
. WMKIto
•2.*I7»|0YSM!
LADIES
Item
wtruM jnuiwa people wssrtb
W.L.Dou^as$3&$4S
All our shoes are equally «ti»M
They give the beet value for the c
Thev equal custom shoes In style amti.
Their wear! eg qualities are uaaurpa«t
The prices are uiifem,— stasopMoiifl
Prea $i te $j saved ever othsrVikei
If your dealer cannot supply you ws can.
WELL MACHINERY
Ulastrated eatalane shoving
AUGERS, ROOK DRILLS. HTP&AULU)
ABB JlfmBO MACEMaiY, etc.
8kmt Fan. Bare been tested and
all wormt» fed.
Sioux City Engine A Iron Works,
Buooeasora to Peek Ilfs. Co.,
IImx Uty. lows.
HIT Union Are., Kean City. Mo.
ACRE APPLES, $1,493
Louisiana. Ho., for fr«r sample
A vrartleal Fnilt and Farm rap*1-' P*&;
year; circukuw. ^
fctark BroH., 4«c
The “Cream of
tka »
•rlk
. - — — Cream”—gi
Grower or Farmer, who hatui't tlie time w
to buy and read a great naef of pap«*.
from them all. what he wan'*1*
what would take him days to tearrh out ‘
BOOKS FI
In order to introduce our li
Standard Novels to the public*
for a short time, send one ora
following books FREE °n 11
of 12c (stamps accepted)!
book to cover postage, paoH'
Good Print Good Paper,
Csniury Cook Book .
U ncla Tom’s Cabin .
Reveries of a Bachelor
Last days of Pompeii
Beyond the City . .
Dora Thorno . . .
Poems and Yarns . BillNy11'
The Wife’s Secret •
Webster Vest-Pocket Dictionary
The Gem Sonpster, with words and »i,‘’
A. Cm®
' .J.t
Address HARRISON BOOK
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