CHAPTER Ill.-Continned
The next afternoon finds Susie pacing
Bp a;xl down -he grass in front of the
bishop' lxsu". aul peering wistfully
througii ihe pr.-nn bars for a ight of bid
little dniigine Some unknown fascina
tiou wi'tiis to draw her to thin child.
Susie ban been walking up and down for
what seem a 'ong time to her, when she
is startled by receiving a smart slap on
the shoulder.' md there stands the weird
child outside iht gates.
"Han! run!" she cries, as be seizes
Susie's band. :tud Susie kw pace with
her new friend, until they have skirted
the garden ami are well hidden by the
high ivy-covcni! wall at the Kick.
".Now." says I.ena. throwing herself
down on the ,. to recover her breath,
"now I can play w ith you. Where hs the
kitten?"
"I left him at home." replied Susie:
"you k:mw you said yesterday that you
would never p: ly with me again."
"No more I ought, for your leing such
te'.'.-taie. Wli. did you let mademoiselle
know where I a hidden?"
"She asked me," says Susie, simply.
"That was no good reason," replies
Lena, with hn foreign accent. "And
what do you tii'nk she did to me in con-
eouence
? I.o ked me up for tne rest 01
the afternoon, and made me write out
two bnieful ve bi. Oh. she is an nooni
inat'on!" "I shall bring Charlie to-morrow for
yon to p'.ny with," says Susie, by way of
consolation.
"I don't want jour Cuarlie now," replies
Lena brnsnneiy. "I am going to have
something tmwh nicer of my own a lit
tle dog that can jump and ran after me,
and you can k.vp your Charlie for your
self." "I would ha e let you call him yours,
urn Susie, so'ily.
"I don't like calling things mine," re
turn Lena, "i want them to be all mine.
And I like you, Susie," abe repeats in the
awe strange !one she used yesterday,
a she fastens ber big, black eyes on the
fair face of th yaunger child, "and I
ahould like to have you for all my own,
too. And you must promise to come here
every afternoon and play with me, and
aever play wi:h anybody ehte, unless I
f4va you leave "
Bo then the children sit close together,
ad play at bring lost, like tbe Babes in
the Wood: and the sudden influence
which the bishop 's daughter seems to have
acquired over Miss Preseott's orphan
charge grows d eier as the days pa si on.
CHAPTER IV.
Tbe childish intimacy has not been
carried on very long before in incident
occurs which marks in a terrible degree
the jealous and revengeful spirit of Lena
Anstey. The bishop is not allow cl to for
get his promise to give ber a little dog,
and In a few days she is the proud po
sessor of a black-and-white spaniel puppy.
It la a fnt Kill of a puppj, with a go nl
tenrpered, foolish face, the sort of puppy
that, from its very helplessness, no less
than from its general love for mankind,
woukl appeal to tbe affectuvo of any good
hearted child.
Tor a few days Lena is delighted with
ber new toy not that she cares so much
for the animal itself, bnt It pleases her
to possess something better tban Susie.
Btill, these are but pafsing clouds athwart
their childish paradise, and, as a rule.
be Utile girls mutually enjoy themselves,
ieeorating their animals with daisy chains
bt ribbons, ami laughing at the queer
spectacle they present. L'nfortuuately,
however, as it turn out for the little dog,
be display a decided preference for .Su
ite and will shrink away from Lena's
ide to cuddle up to her little friend. Ani
mal are ns instinctive as children in
guessing wno really like them, and who
$nly pretend to do so. And although Lena
ks.de a great fuss over her puppy, she is
too fond of dragging him along the grans,
whether lie will or no, with a string tied
tightly around his throat.
Often does she bring the tears to Susie's
toft eyes by beating the puppy tor his al
leged misdemeanor, or casting him from
her with such violence as to endanger
is wretched little life. And one day,
when It is time for the children to sep
arate, and tne little dog persists in an at
tempt to follow Susie home, Iena's anger
verleaps all bounds. She calls and whis
tles, and caresses and threatens in vain.
The trembling puppy still crouches clone
to Basle's petticoats and refuses to leave
fcer protection. Lena's face darkens:
ter dark eyes glow like living coals; her
light frsnve quivers with rsge.
"Ill kill tbe beast," she says, between
her teeth.
"Oh, no! no!" cries Susie, imploringly;
"take him home and be kind to him, Lena,
and 1 am sure he will love you. See how
Charlie loves me."
"Klad to him!" repeats tbe bishop's
tanghter: "why should I be kind to tbe
tt wretch when he won't obey a word
I sayr
8've seize the hapless puppy by the
aecfc as site speaks and throws It down
beside her.- '
"Mow, come on' ' she exclaims, landly.
"Bat yon have hurt bltn!" cries Susie,
Is) a faltering voice, as tbe little do;
limp) and whines: "yon hare hurt bis
rr Bttle leg. Oh, Lena! how ran on
"Wen, 1 shall do what I like with my
wn r'of, and I don't care whether yon
tarts I am anklad or not: aad if it won't
ftQow use home now this vr? Instant
ly kill it!"
Cm kkfca the trraib!'! little beast with
iP
ber foot as she speaks, and In self-defense
it immediately tries to follow Susie. I-na
catches It up. with a fury shookiug to see
in so young a girl, and in a paroxysm of
rage throws it as violently die can
against the wa!L The puppy's wad conies
in contact with the brickwork. It bmly
rebound upon tbe grain, and, ltb a lew
feeble kicks, its existence is tcrai'iiutc 1.
Susie's eyes dilate with horror.
"You have kiiled it iu reality!" '! ex
claims. "I don't can-." says Ietia. defiantly,
though slie looks rather frightened. "1
a in glad of it. I .wanted it to be dead.
It was a beast! I'll never have another
dog never. And if yon bring Charlie
here any more I'll kill him. too."
With whii-h threat the bishop's daugh
ter burnt into a flood of angry tears, and
runs back to her father's house; and
Susie, hugging her kitten closer than ever
to ber bosom, makes haste to carry him
to a place of safety.
Shortly after tbe occurrence Miss Pre
cott is startled by seeing Bishop Anstey's
portly figure turning In at the gate of her
little dwelling, (if course he has come to
sjs-ak to her about Susie probably to
congratulate her on the admirable man
ner in which she wai bringing up her
little protege.
"To what am I indebted for the honor
of this visit, bishop?"
"I have something to say to you. Miss
Prescott nothing to le alarmed at. mad
amnothing but what can be set right in
a few words. You have a little girl. I
lielieve. of tbe same age as Miss Anstey?"
be U'gan.
"I have adopted my great-niece, and
bring her np as though she were my own,
if that is what you mean," replied the
lady, stiffly.
"Of course of course; so I have under
stood," he answers, "and a very nice little
girl she is. I have no doubt. But the
fact is, Miss Prescott. I have had reason
lately to )e dissatisfied with the progress
of Mi Anstey's studies. Miss Anstey
has, naturally, every advantage offered
lier, both for recreation and instruction,
but it has come to my knowledge lately
that, instead of availing herself of tbeii,
she has chosen Instead to wander about
the yard and adjoining field all the aftvr
noons with the young lady I have n n
tioned; and you must allow. Miss Pres
cott, that this is not tbe wsy in which
Miss Anstey's studies will make the most
favorable progress; nor Is it shall I say?
quite seemly that my daughter sbou'd
be seen day after day associating Inti
mately with with young persons, who,
however reepectable, can hardly be said
to occupy the same position in society as
Miss Anstey."
Miss Prescott is a prim old T.aid, lie
cause circumstances and surroundings
have made her so; but she is a thorough
woman at heart, and is boiling lo her fin
ger' end at the slight cant niwu 1 cr
charge.
"The gardens are free to the public!"
she exclaima, "and my niece Das .i g x-d
a right to play in thm as your daughter.
If you don't approve of the young indies
meeting, you had better keep Miss Anstey
indoors. I am not goiDg to pun nh my
child for the misdoings of yours."
"I hoped you would have received my
confidence iu a better spirit, madam,"
replies tbe bishop, as, seeing he has the
worst of the argument, be gets up and
makes for the door.
But although Miss Prescott is undoubt
edly left in possession of the field, the
visit has a sad effect for poor little Susie.
As soon as the bishop is out of sight, her
aunt sends for ber. and tells her 'that she
is on no account ever again to accept any
invitations held out by Miss Anstey. Su
sie's limpid, hazel eyes ojh'Ii to their
widest extent, and her mouth falls at
hearing this terrible edict. But she does
not dream of gainsaying it. She is too
well trained a child to disobey; her aunt's
word to ber is law. Tbe sweet, sensitive
month trembles as tbe little girl bears
that she is rat to play any more with her
friend Lena, but she submits without a
murmur, and it is only the kitten who
knows how ninny tears she sheds lu the
back garden that afternoon.
Miss Prexcotf's back garden consists of
one large hawthorn tree and a ihabby bit
of grasi bordered by a narrow path, mid
is inclosed wtib a low brick wall, from
whitfh there U no egress. It is a desolate
looking littlv! place, even in the height of
summer, and as Susie sits with ber kitten
under the shade of the hawthorn, she is
longing with all ber soul to get back to
Lena. The little girl baa a picture book
in ber hand, but she is not looking at it;
her eyes, with all ber soul In them, are
fixed upon the opposite wall. Suddenly
they brighten and kindle with a delighted
surprise, for between the hawthorn tree
and the garden border Lena is standing
before her.
"Oh, Lena!" she exclaims, fhare yon
come to play with me? Has your papa
given you leave?"
Then, without waiting for an answer,
the excited child turns toward the bouse,
and calls through the open parlor win
dow; "Auntie Susan! Auntie Susan! look
here, Lena has come to see us!"
Miss Prescott, who has been trying
hard to keep awake over some good book
through tbe hot, drowsy afternoon and
signally failed, Is thoroughly roused from
a comfortable little nap by her niece's
announcement. Her first feeling is sur
prise, her next annoyance.
"Where is Miss Anstey T" she demands,
entering the garden. "I cannot allow her
to remain here, unless it is with the full
approbation of her papa."
But the only creature she encounters ia
little Susie, wlfi her mouth wide open,
ady to cry.
"1-1 don't know," falters the child;
"she was there," pointing with ber fin
ger to the travel path, "a minhte ago;
oat when 1 came back aha waa gone."
"How eoold aha ha gone?" aaya ber
aunt "She has not paaaed through tbe
house. And now I think of It, how ronld
she bine come? She didn't climb over
ha wall, i''d ahr
"Oh, no, auntie! She ws there-and
I saw her; but she has gone away again,
svod I don't know why."
"I was boasting to tbe bishop only thin
morning, " cuutiuuea Miss Prescutt, grave
ly, "that you had never told me a lie.
Periiapa I was wrong to boast of what
should be a simple duty, and this is my
punishment. For I cannot see my way
to believe you, Susie. You tell me what
is an impossibility. MUs Anstey cannot
have been in this garden a minute ago,
and disapjiesred without any one observ
ing her but yourself."
And so tbe pf, sobbing little soul
(which is as warm and full of love as
ever a child's soul was) is dismissed cold
ly on suspicion of a fault of which she
is not guilty, to pass twelve or more hours
of solitude and tears. But she g'ies
bravely up to her bedroom, with ber
Bible in ber bands. She did see Lena in
the garden (so she telU herself twenty
times), although sbe cannot account for
ker sudden disappearance. And she slum
bers peacefully, not withstanding ber un
merited piimshmeDt and the angels (who
watch over all of us unseen) gather thick
ly rouiel her little cot that night.
CHAPTER V.
After this tbe mention and the memory
of the bishop's daughter faded gradually
away from Malisbury. She disapjieared
and various reports are current as to her
destination. Some say she has returned
to the care of her grandparents in Italy,
others that she has been placed at a
boarding sch-xd in Paris; but In tbe course
of a yev or two. the bishop himself leave
Malisbury, lieing promoted to some higher
preferment, and with bis departure all
curiosity concerning himself or his family
die a natural dealt).
Miss Prescott has become a very old
woman, and very frail, and sees the neces
sity of her adopted child receiving more
instruction than sbe is able to afford ber.
So Susie is entered as a day scholar at
the academy of the Misses Waduian in
the High strwt of Malisbury. The con
tact does her gixwl. She grows tall and
puce looking amongst her lower compan
ions like a garden lily in a row of holly
hocks, aud imbiUn fresher ideas and
younger notions than she could Misibly
have gained in the close atmosphere of
Lucas Court.
"Auntie Susan!" exclaims the girl one
day as she sits down fresh and blithe, to
her early dinner, "who were my papa and
mamma, ami where did they die? I
tell me!"
Miss Prescott regards her niece through
her apectaclea as though she bad given
utterance to some terribly improper
speech. In the whole course of ber ex
istence Sunie has never pot such a ques
tion to ber lfor
"Whnt a very strange thing to nsk me!"
she replies at Inst. "Who were your papn
and mamma? What has made you think
of It. Susie""
"Is It so strsnge that I should wish to
know?" replies the g'rl, wistfully. iShe
is fourteen years old at the time, and a
straight, tall, slim creature of her age.)
"I have often and often thought of it.
auntie, but I did not like to speak to yon
before. But now tbe girls tease me if 1
say I cannot tell them, and won't believe
I speak the truth and so why shouldn't
I know all about myself as well as oth
ers r
"Certainly, my dear; but, after all.
there is not mncb to tell. Your poor, dear
mamma was my great-niece, and she
died when you were a little baby of only
four weeks old.
"My poof mamma! That was very sad.
But my papa. Auntie Susan; what was
be?"
"Your father made his money trsveling
about the country from one town to an
other, but how be made it, I cannot ex
actly tell you."
The old lady is so terribly afraid that
the theatrical bbxd in Susie's veins may
betray Itself some day, by a tendency for
the stage, that sbe has never mentioned
a theater to her, except in terms of tbe
strongest reprolsition.
"And what did be die of, auntie?" aik
tbe girl, looking straight at Mis Pres
cott with her frank, hazi-l eyes.
"Your father is not dead, my dear,"
Miss Prescott answers, primly.
Susie's face flushes with excitement as
sbe leaps from her chnir.
"My father not dead, auntie! Oli. why
have I never seen him? Why didn't yon
tell me this before?"
This sudden display of interest strikes
coldly on Miss Prescott' heart. Is nil
her care and affection and trouble, then,
to be of no avail, set against the possible
chance of nun-ting with an unknown
father? Is blood really thicker than
water? and will the child resent having
U-en kept in the dark so long?
"My dear Susie," she answers, in a
voice that trembles with diapKiintment,
"you must le good enough to try aud sit
still, and listen to me quietly. The less
you think and speak about your father
the lietter. Yoa must know that if he
had wished to see you all thew years, be
would have done so. But the fact is. that
w bcii 1 la-aid your poor uiothei hud lieeli
taken from y I offered to adopt you ns
my cbilii, and your father was quite will
ing to give np all claim to you on condi
tion that I provided for you through life."
"Didn't he want ever to see me again?"
demanded Susie, with wet eyes.
"I think not, my dear. You are now
fourteen, and I hare never beard from
blm aince your birth, nor do I know where
he is."
"But is my name 'Prescott,' then,
Auntie Susan?"
"Your father was called Gresham."
"Oresham! Oresham!" repeats Susie
with kindling eyes, "And bis Christian
name, auntie?"
"Joseph, my dear; and your mother's
was Elizabeth."
"Joseph and Elizabeth Oresham!" re
peat guaie, reverently. "And I have
never even beard them before. How
strange it seems that my own father's
and mother's names should have a new
sound in them for me. And oh! auntie, I
have never prayed for my father! How
could yon have let me live all this while
without doing aoT'
The reproach conveyed in the child's
words sinks into Miss Preseott's heart.
She feela, for the first time, that ahe baa
made a great mistake somewhere. With
out husband or child of her own, slid has
sought to supply the wsnt of nature by an
artificial bond. But Mi Prescott has
attempted an impossibility. No amount
of affection, however warmly and judl
cioosly bestowed, can ever stifle the cry
of nature for ita own flesh and blood.
"Thank yon for telling me. Auntie Su
san!" exclaima Susie enthusiastically.
"Yon hare made me to happy. 1 will
pray for my father every night now by
his own dear nam, and then, when I
meet nim, he will not feel, perhaps, ns
though we wera qnH strangers to one
another. How glad it makes me feel to
know I hare a father."
CHAPTER VI.
The years glide peacefully and monot
onously away, until the child has reached
tbe age of seventeen, a i in all that time
she hst never had one disagreement a ith
her protectress. Susie at seventeen is al
mot aa innocent, and quite as docile, as
she ws at seven, and never dreams of
disputing tbe will of those set over ber.
She is like a lovely, tall, straight, slender
lily, with its wsxen leaves but half un
folded, and its golden heart still hidden
from the eyes of the world. She is Ig
norant of the existence of evil, and had
she been reared in the seclusion of a con
vent, could not have been more entirely
free from all harsh thoughts. Miss Pres
cott is a very old woman by this time.
She wss sixty-five when Susie came to
her, and the burden of eighty-two years
is a heavy one to bear. She has been
very feeble for some time past, and her
aunt's decrepitude, instead of leaving the
girl without surveillance, ha bound her
more closely to ber side.
One day Susie's curiosity is excited and
her desires raised by a proposal made to
ber by her chief friend. Emily Marsh
well. Malisbury, like mt towns, pos
imum'S a theater small, moldj', decayed,
and seldom occupied but still a theater:
aud occasionally some provincial com
pany, passing through from one town to
another, considers it worth its while to
stop a night at Malisbury on the way.
Such an occasion ha now offered itself,
and Emily Marsh well conies often-mouthed
to Susie with an invitation to pass the
evening with her family.
"We are all going to the play, Susie
won't it lie fun?" she exclaims, gleefully;
"and mother says you shall go, too. Oh,
I am dying for the evening to comer'
"To the play?" reieats Snsie, her fair
face flushing like the heart of a rose. "1
never thought I should go to a play!
Anna Well says they are the most lovely
things in the world just like Fairyland.
Oh, Emily, how good it i of your mother
to take me! l can never thank her
enough!"
Snsie dance into Mi Preseott's pres
ence like an animated sunbeam.
"Auntie Susan, may I take tea with
Mm. Marshwell this evening, and go to
the plsy with them?"
Mit. Prescott lo'oks np in the girl's face,
incredulous that she can have beard
aright.
"No!" sbe replies, determinedly. "You'll
stay at home this evening. Tell Emily
Marshwell to go back and tell ber moth
er o."
"But. auntie," pleads the girl, in a tone
of disapjiolntuieiit, "1 have never s-cn a
play."
"And never shall with mv co'isent." re
torts the old woman: "and Mrs. Marsh
well ought to l? ashamed of herself to
send you such an invitation. If she has
no care for tbe souls of her o n children,
she sha'n't destroy yours. (Jo aud tell
Emily whnt I have aid."
Snsie walk dej-ctedly but obediently
from the room.
"It's no good. Emily," she says, half
crying; "auntie won't let me go with you.
Mie think a play is wicked."
"Very weft." says Emily, turning away;
"only, if you were a bit like other girls,
you'd go in spite of her. Why, what can
she want with yon after sbe ha gone to
bed? I think it's perfectly shameful the
way in which you are cooped np in the
house day after day without a bit of
pleasure or amnsement."
(To be continned.)
Taper Paint,
In England Moasrs. (iron and P.evnh
have discovered a method of making a
waterproof paint which In Inexpensive
aud durable ami baa been auccettsfullj
applied to atone walls, bridges, roofs.
and building!; even huge ships have
Imi'U decorated with tbla new paint,
and the p.ilut baa retained Its original
color. In spite of tbe severe test of con
smut iuimersUin In water and exposure
to the uiot Inclement weather. The
proceio Is simple and Inexpensive, and
one can rendlly lmngine to what varied
and lnllnlte ones tbta new discovery
may lie applied. The cellulose paper ix
reduced to pulp In a fifteen per cent,
solution of aoda lye. and the pulpy
manw produced therefrom Ik Immersed
for three hours In chloride of magnesia,
resulting In a madder-colon-d miik
which ix nothing else tban a chemically
changed paper pulp; of this, sixteen
parts are dissolved In a hundred part?
of water, to which Is added the red
brown, or Mack color denlred. Jut be
fore the paint Is used a dryer Is aildc'
of carbonic dimilphlde. chloride of
magnesia, or other salts, which render
the paint Impervious to water, hard
and durable. This pa'nt ollnar readily
and tpitaclonnly lo wood, metal, or Iron
itirfacen. and does not flake as do enam
t W or varnishes.
It All liny wltb the lllshop.
When P. T. Haruum was In Loudon
fifteeu years or so ago be sent tickets
of admlaalon to all the clergy and to the
Bishop of London and bis family. Bar
nuiu's reputation aa a philanthropic
had gone before blm, and It became nec
essary to establish a regular picket
guard around him to protect blm from
annoyance In bis hotel. Tbe appli
cants for charitable donations would
frequently get through the line and
apply for donations ranging from f 100
to $10,0(X). After tbe Bishop of London
and hit family had aeen the show the
Bishop called upon Barn urn and chat
ted with blm for aorue time. Bnrnutii
Impressed him, a he did everybody, a
being a big-beurted, amiable and brainy
man. The Bishop on leaving took his
hand and aald:
"Mr. Barnum, you are not auch a bad
man after alL I hope to meet you In
heaven, sir."
"Well, you will, If you are there," re
plied Barnum.
The answer waa too much even for
the Bishop, and those who heard It
shouted wltb laughter.
Hay and Grass.
"What became of the Jones, boya?"
naked the returned native.
"Bill atayed on tbe farm," aald tba
resident native, "and Ed went to Sloui
Fall and opened a la w office."
"Oh, one makes hay and the other
moke grnsa widow, chf Ind'amipo
llaJpurpaL .
frfSJ K71R V 1 R M V l?1 I
liVilvu a...-..
A DEPARTMENT PREPARED FOR
OUR RURAL FRIENDS.
Aa English Shipping rsperisnent
Thst 1av Help the Farmers-Commercial
Fertilizer Can le swept
Care of Animal ia Damp tstr,
A Phlpplnit Esperiment,
Every farmer iu tbe I'uited States
ought to be Interested in experiments
which have been made during the past
year by the tJreat Eastern Railroad
Company of England to bring the farm
ers and market gardener into direct
communication with the consumer.
Tbe system brought into operation by
the Orest Eastern Hallway enabled
the farmers along Its route to send
produce by passenger train Into I-ou-doii
and suburban towns at the re
clined rate of foiirieiioe for twenty
pounds, and one penny additional for
every five pounds or part thereof up lo
sixty pounds. This Includes free de
livery to the consumer If within three
miles of the station. A correspondent
writes to (lie Ixndoii Times that tbe
result has exceeded all expectation,
aud that the average uumlier of boxes
sent under these special rates is about
r.(i ier month, which failed to sup
ply the demand. The company com
piled a list of the farmers and market
gardeners Iu their district bo were
rearly to forward produce direct to the
consumer. This list was freely circu
lated among Iuidon consumers', who
corresponded with the farmer chosen
anil received produce fresh from the
farm delivered nt the door without the
aid of a middleman. It Is not !
slide that the railroads will take such
an advanced step In this country with
out the aid of some outside Influence.
The grangers would do well to under
take to push the experiment along one
or two lines of railroad for a test case.
The transaction should be direct with
the railroad companies with no added
cost of an extra ntllcered company who
would be likely to take the lion's share
of tbe profit. The express companies
do much of tbe delivery now required
by such trade, but their charges ar t'K
high. The railroad company could do
It much cheaper and more direct aud
satisfactory. t range Homes.
Krepinu Commercial fertilizer.
Most farmers In purchasing commer
cial fertilizers buy only what are need
ed for Immediate use. This U partly
to ecaie losing the interest on Invest
ment not Iu use, but mainly lcause
there Is a popular idea that fertilizers
deteriorate by exposure to the air. If
they are kept from Incoming wet they
will be ns gixid the second year as tbe
first, except that absorption of moist
ure from damp air will make tbe min
eral harden Into lumps which will make
it difficult to drill. The best way to
keep any surplus of mineral fertilizer
Is to scatter It from time to time over
the stable manure heap and apply it
with that. Both the slable manure
and phosphate will be made more effi
cient by this combination, a each kind
of . fertilizer will supplement the de
ficiencies of the other.
Animals In Damp Weather.
Nearly nil the animals on a farm are
usually healthy when the weather Is
dry aud cold, but dniiipncss Is disagree
able to them tbe same as to human.
They are subject to coughs, cob Is,
rheumatism, etc., hence when the
weather Is damp they should have
quarters that are dry and which do
not permit cold draughts to flow ever
them. Leaves or cut straw as bedding
will assist In absorbing tbe moisture
and also prevent loss of warmth to a
cert ii In extent.
Kx posing l'ntatoca to bunliKht.
Potatoes that are kept for eating
should not He long on the surface of
the ground eXoed to the sun, for If
they are greened even slightly much
of the potato must be cut with tin
peel of it will be bitter. The green of
jjotato Is a poison. Though tbe green
i tops of potatoes will sometimes, be
I eaten by cows, they will give the bit
ter taste to the milk that Is sometimes
noticed In full. Cows will not eat
enough of them, however, to do them
selves any Injury. When tbe green of
sunburned jmHiiioch Is cut away It ear
lies w ith It the Iwst part of the potato,
ns there Is In nearly everything more
nutrition on tbe outer surface of vege
tables tban In those less near to tbe
sunlight. For need potatoes the green
ing by sunshine ia uo disadvantage. It
dries out the potato and makes the
eyes push out stronger than they would
If not ao dried.
Grape Vines Near llonaca.
There Is no better place for a grajie
vine than near a dwelling house, If on
the southeast or west side. The sun
shine falling on the building gives part
of Ita warmth to the wood or brick,
and part of It la reflected back upon
the vine. The warmth that U absorb
ed Is given off at tjlglit and after cold
weather comes. Besides, In a dwell
ing house some of the warmth of fires
escapes through oeiied windows, giv
ing the vine, planted so that Ita branch
es extend over the kitchen, several de
grees higher temperature than vlmi
have planted at a distance from any
dwelling. Varieties of grapes that will
not rlen In tbe open air will ripen
thoroughly if given the slight protec
tion, which the warmth from a sum
mer kitchen affords.
Careful Fruit Packing I'ara.
C. L, II arts born say a his fruit la al
ways carefully picked and graded and
usually placed In the cellar. When
picked each barrel contains the same
trade of apple throughout. He bad
occasion to make a shipment of a few
barrels of appler to Ht. Louie, where
a good price was obtained. He wrote
a letter and placed It In the middle of
tbe bnrrd asking the consumer re-
celvfnz the fruit to write Irlui. si. ns
the quality, condition and wha' tbe
St. luia market demanded. la a
abort time be rc-clved a letter from a
St. I tils commission merchant prais
ing the uualify and Hacking and fak
ing how many more !arrel of such
fruit be had to sell. Mr. Hartshorn
bad no more to sell, but felt convinced
that tbe high price revived and the
demand for more fully paid for tbe
ltest of packing. This plan might well
le followed by other fruit growers who
have a large picking, by sending sam
ple barn-Is with similar letters. The
luiMrtance of selecting only the finest
fruit for shipment was never greater
than now. Another iiiut Is to distrib
ute tbe fruit so as not to glut the big
cities. Orang Judd Farmer.
F fleets of Impure Water.
Most of the lM-st dairy regions of tbe
country are where there are natural
springs of pure water. These section
lire usually good for grass, but we have
always thought that the superior water
bclied the dairyman to make a better
quality of butter, and so command the
highest price In the market. Wherever
tbe water is not good, and it is consid
ered desirable to engage iu dairying,
the difticulty may be remedied by
sinking driven wells with casing deep
enough to find supplies of water lis
clear and pure ns from any i-priug
This water will be of tbe same temper
ature w inter aud summer, and should
be warmed !efore being offered ta
milch cows, as nothing check milk
supply more quickly tban giving cow
water so cold that they will not drink
what they require.
Halt and Heeds.
Wherever salt Is sown so that It
comes in contact with germinating
seeds It will rot and destroy them.
The tlrst germ of seeds Is very tender,
and a It starts out tbe seed gives out
some moisture which dissolves tbe salt
The effect of very small quantities o
salt Is to di-couipose vegetation of all
kinds. A large amount might plckU
It and prevent decomposition. Hul
cither small or large It is destructive
of the germs of vegetable life. But II
there is a great deal of rainfall the
salt Is dissipated, ami so mixed with
surrounding soil that llule Injury to
the seed Is produced.
Foot-Kot.
Foot-rot Is quite as contagious a dis
ease us the scab, but It Is not much
considered as such. It Is only on wet
bind that It U severe, but by con
tagion It Is liable to spread to the dry
est pastures. It la as easily controlled
as tbe scab, which by the requisite
measures nmy be easily eradicated.
When this Is done on any fann or range
all that remains Is to lie sure not to
bring diseased Mbeep on the land to re
Infect the flock.
Odd and Knit
Oyster shell Is good to clenn the
firebrick of the stove. Lay a number
of them on top of the hot coals, and
when the fire burns down It will lie
found that all the clinkers have been
scaled off tbe bricks.
Bed clothing bangs at either side
nowadays, after the fashion of long
ago. This applies to tbe plain spreads,
as well us the handsome sets of tam
boured or milled Swiss and Irish point
that are now In vogue.
Flour cannot be too cold for pastry,
cfiokles or kindred doughs, while for
yeast bread should lie warm enough
to favor the growth of the yeast plant.
For the same reason warm water
should be used with yeast, while with
cream of tartar and soda H would has
ten the escape of gas, and cold liquids
only are allowable.
Cleanse light summer woolens, which
are easily soiled, with finely powdered
French chalk. The soiled parts should
be thickly covered with tbe chalk,
which should be allowed to remain for
one or two days, and then remove
with a camel's bnlr Velvet brush. In
most cases ibis treatment will cause
the spots to disappear.
Farm Notes.
P.ei-8 do their own ventilating, by
standing alsiut the entrance at such a
distance apart us will allow a free use
of their wings, and, by working them,
produce a current of air through the
hive.
Spread the onions on shelves In thin
layers and do not disturb them until
they are wanted for use. Onions may
freeze and thaw several tlmea during
the- winter without Injury if they are
not handled.
In Hussla sunflowers are made spe
cial (Tops, the seed being ground and
used for cnttle, the same as cottonseed
meal, and such food Is not only whole
some, bnt gives cxi-idb-nt results In
milk and butter.
Beets, carrot aud turnlpsj keep In
good condition lo winter If stored In
mounds, aud apple should remain in
good condition all through the winter
iu a dry cellar. The chief obstacle la
not the cold, but usually too much
warnvth,
Cleauliuess may not hit a cholera
cure, says a writer, but If the hog
growers of the country would come to
recognize and act tqion the fact that
the hog neither enjoys nor thrives up
on tilth, It would do much toward re
ducing the losses of hogs by disease.
Professor Blount, of the Colorado
Station, says a bushel of clean, sound
wheat of average size contains H'22,
000 kernels, and thst half this number,
or half a bushel. Is ample seeding flir
an acre und"r Irrigation, which Insures
perfect germination. He finds larger
yields of finer wheat from this amount
than from any thicker. seeding.
The fine grass of the hills Is espe
cially attractive to sheep, but the long
wool breeds are at borne In the rich,
level pastures, and do well If the soil
Is dry. They are not such rovers a
thfl morino, but are content to fill up,
lie down and fatten and let their wool
grow. They make wool and mutton
rapidly and profitably.
