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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (April 22, 1897)
1 CHAPTER XXI. Mr. Brooke hopes to be able to influ ence Mountcarron to do what is right, or, at all events, to keep him mure away from Mis Kuaherton. And. ia a great meas ure, he succeeds. The Earl, mstini tiveiy, fall into hi old habit of asking Jemmie to accompany him wherever he goes and whether it is a ruu over to Brighton, or up to town, or out with the harriers, the cousins are generally to be seen to gether. Miss Kusherton does not like the innovation. She has been accus tomed to receive Lord Mountcarron al most every day for the last six mouths, and now his visits have fallen off to out: or two a week, and his excuses are in variably mingled with the name of Mr. Brooke". One afternoon, when his lord ship presents himself after five or six days' absence, he finds his usually warm welcome exchanged for the coldest of greetings. "Halloa!" he exclaims, "what's up now? What's the matter with your ladyship?" "I should not imagine that the ques tion' can have much interest for you. Lord Mountcarron, considering that I might have been dead and buried since we last met." "But you are not dead and buried, yon see. my dear giri. so you can hardly ex pect me to cry. But I was here ou Tues day." "Indeed, you were not. You have not been here since last Friday." . "Haven't I? I know I meant to come. But I remember now. That beggar Jem took me oft to Henley to see a carl mare, and we didn't get back till dark. Very sorry, 'pon my soul, Agnes: but I'm glad you missed me, anyway." "I never said I had missed you, my lord. But. if this sort of thing goes on. the dav will come when you will miss me." "Agnes it's Jem. It's all bis fault, you may take my word for it." "I know it is all his fault." Miss Hush ert.ou replies, with quickened breath. "You have not been the same man since he returned from India." "Well! I always was fond of Jem. you know, Aggie " "More fool you, my lord, for being so." "Come,, come, that's not polite! Why shouldn't I be fund of my own cousinf He's the nearest relation, remember." "Yes; and yoiir worst friend." "I don't know that," replies the Earl, thoughtfully. - "Would you call a man your friend v '.io tried to set me against you?" she it inands, quickly. ic;!i hasn't done anything of that sort! He hasn't been near you since bis re turn." - "Thr.t's all you know about it. You come here so seldom yourself now that a regiment might call in the iuterv.il without your being any the wiser, Mr. Brooke was sitting in the same chair you occupy now for a couple of hours last Monday week "The deuce he was!" exclaims the Earl, ready, like all men, to be jealous even of the woman he t prepared to resign. "Why, what did he want with you? He always professes not to like you before me!" Miss Uushertoi; laughs. "Perhaps he professes not to like Lady Mountcarron. as well, my lord." "I don't know what that has to do with It ." "But 1 do. Anyway, Mr. Brooke hon ored me with a call last week, and spent the afternoon here." "Well, 1 repeat, what did he want? What did be say?" "He said a great deal, and he insinu ated a great deal more. There was a time, you know, my lord (as my pa and ma could tell you), when your cousin's attention? to me were .very particular; but. of course, I shouldn't encourage them now. And perhaps it vexed him. Any way, he got very angry, and had the as surance to accuse me openly of of " "Of what? Spiak out, do! What's the good of pretending to be modest before mer "Well, of caring for your lordship more than I ought to do, and then (yon must make allowance for his being a little jealous, remember) be declared that if really, my lord, you must excuse me. I cannot tell you the rest of it." "If Jem could say it to you, I should think you might repeat it to me. ' I insist upon hearing it," way the Earl, authori tatively. "Well," regimes Miss Rusherton, look ing very rnodent, "he said that if you were determined to make a fool of your self (those were bis words, mind) your family were at determined you should pay the price of your folly, and that, come what may, Lady Mountcarron would never give you a divorce." "He wanta yoo himself, I auppoae. He aha'n't have you, though." "Oh. no, my lord, that' not hit ob ject not now, at all event, for he know H would be uaeles even to try. It wa at bar ladyship' behalf he came here, at aiiae. Aay one could see that. And, Mtn rally. If he wanted an ambassador, aba would employ Mr. Brooke. They are each very great friends." "Of coat they arc friend they are Mates." - "Ya, A coaaia'a love la a my con vwdawt aort of love, la't It, my lord? I tad a oeoehi ooee who wanted to marry tm. Mhc waaa't at gaod-took'ng aa Mr. , rtteair 'a face aaraeae. I 'A la fon ateaa ta ia sinuate, Ae fiesta! XorMag, If your kdelp ft t J It i Ma eare -rr txsr tit. tmU ami ti tt Mcfa M . i -5 -:i tt V v-,'' If tJrt sence, and that (she fretted after him till she fell sick. But you ought to know more about that than any one else." "By heavens!" exclaims the Earl, leap ing to his feet, "this is a nice thing you tell tne, Agnes, that my wife has been making love to my cousin." "Oh, my lord! I never said so, I only repeat what others say. Perhaps it is all scandal. But certainly Mr. Brooke did leave England very suddenly aud unex pectedly, and her ladyship has been out of sorts ever since. And people will talk, you know, whether you like it or not." "Upon my word, it looks very suspi cious," says the Earl, pacing the room. "They were always together, and she's been as dull as ditch-water Mnee be went away. But if I find it to be true " "What would you do, my lord?" "Divorce her like a shot. Do you think I would stand such a dishonor? And Jemniie, too! Jemmie, whom I have trusted as I would my brother; it's too much to believe." "Don't believe it, then," says Miss Rusherton, soothingly. "I dare say it isn't true. You should be the best judge. If Lady Mountcarron has been affection ate, and confiding to you, as wives ought to be, it's most likely a mistake. She couldn't be so deceitful as that. If she cared for any one else you would be sure to guess it from her manner." "You are only saying this to aggravate me further, Agnes. You know that my wife is not confidential nor affectionate with me. I have told you times out of mind that she is as hard and cold as a stone. She repulses my advances, and never speaks to me unless she is obliged. I never suspected what you tell me be fore, but the more I think of it the more 1 believe it to be true." "You mustn't act upon it without fur ther evidence." says Miss Rusherton, who is secretly di lighted at the success of her eommnni'-atkm. "1 shall si-t as 1 f!-T:; best." he an swers her. "I will have the truth from I.ady Mountcarron's lips before I sleep to-night." CHAPTER XXII. The Earl walks home in a gloomy and suspicions state of mind, gnawing his mustache, and wondering if this thing can possibly be true. Is hit hi tie scarcely believes it. He does :. ' ve his wife; but coarse as his natutv he cannot help admiring this fair, lily-like, high-bred girl, whom he has never detect ed in. a vulgar action, nor heard give vent to a vulgar word. He does not remember ia all his married life having sought her confidence nor given her his nor spoken with her ou any subjects higher than those that concern their material lives. And yet he has been cognizant all the time that Gladys is capable of discussing such things, aud that Mr. Brooke has discussed them with her. Jemmie has been the one to sing, and read, and talk, and ride with her, and he has been only her husband! How many men are only husbands to their wives, and leave other men to be their friends, and confidants, aud counselors! Prudes aud generally prudus have no husbands or, having hus bands, no friends will cry out: "A wom an should have no confidant but her hus band" yet what if the husband should prove unfit or unworthy of confidence? What if he should be a fool, and unable to advise; or a scoffer, and turn a wom an's inmost thoughts and aspirations to scorn? Is i,he to live her life within the l circle of his narrow mind, and starve her soul because he cannot give it food? Perhaps she ought to do it, but if she is i woman in the true sense of the word, aud not a talking doll, she never will! You may fetter a body, but you cannot fetter a soul! So few men are the friends of their wives. A spark of admiration, and then the book of love shrivels up and leaves nothing but ashes behind it. That is the history of most marriages. It is the history of Lord and Lady Mountcar ron's. When the Earl reaches Carronbr House he walks straight up to his wife' boudoir, and, being admitted, sits down in gloomy silence. Gladys regards his entrance with mild astonishment. She is lying, as usual, on the sofa in a loose wrapper. Her little table with books and work is by her side. Her room is redolent with the scent of violets, cyclamen, hepaticas and primroses, and she looks herself like a broken snowdrop as she rests upon her pillows. Parsons discreetly retires as soon as the Earl enters, and the husband and wife are alone. For a few moments there is silence between them, and then Gladys begins to suspect there is something wrong. But she is not afraid. Her fearless nature is afraid of nobody, least of all of Mount carron. who has taught her so thorough ly to despise him. 'So she is the first to open ihe conversation, which she does by asking if anything is the matter. "Matter!" repeats the Earl, who is re lieved to have the ice broken for him. "Matter! I should think there was." "Mis Rusherton not on view?" says Gladys, in a voice of the supreuiest con tempt "My business here to-day," replies Mountcarron, "ha nothing to do with Mis Rusherton or anybody but your self. I desire to know, in the first place, what what's the meaning of this illnes of yours?" Had yon not better put that question to he doctor? He know more about it than I do." "No, madam! I wiah you to answer It. Who or what have you been pining after to get yourself Into tbia abominable state of health r "SoaM sign of sense la yon," aba aay. coolly, "I wiU act be trifled with ia tbia man aer. I am In earnsaf. Lady Moan tea r ron, and 1 would have you know It. If yoa will aot answer one qoestioa, par bapa yoa will aaotber. Yor what reason tti my waste. Jamas Brooke, leava Car-ramy- aaJ ga ta- IaCaT At tUt am aa t2av aa tartar aa tba llianai af piaa eyeia aaaa at tar toaeam, tot ad tsZOmCf mMre- - . v--:. 1 tz t ctrrti r-i r yoiir relation, not mine. (Jo ai d ask him yourself." "No, madam! I choose to ask you." "And I choose to refuse to auswt-r. I have gained b.:t little by my marriago with you; but st least 1 .retain th option of keeping my rcouth shut." "Are you aware that your preference for him is known ail over t'arronby? That your se rct assignations and flirta tious have been the gossip of the village? That it is common rumor that you prefer him to me, and that, while I have been honoring you with the uarne and position of my wife, you have been making love to my cousin? Do you hear me, Gladys?" "Perfectly." "And what have you to say to it?" "Nothing." "You do not deny the charge?" "I refuse either to admit or deny any thing. I do not consider you have the right to call on me to do so. While your relations with that woman Rusherton continue what they are your best safe guard is silence." "But I refuse to be silent. My intim acy with Miss Rusherton has no concern in the matter. What I do is a very dif ferent thing from what you do. Yon are my wifj, and the wife of Caesar must not be suspected." Gladys laughs. . . - "While Caesar himself may. do as he cho'-'es. Exactly! But you see, the dif ficulty is that you are not Caesar! If a man wishes' his wife to keep blameless he should set her the example of being so." "Anyway, madam, you will find that, blameless or not. I will stand no- trifling from yon. Unless you promise to give up this undue intimacy with my cousin I shall be compelled to take the matter into my own hands." "1 will never give my friends up. They may give me -up,' but I will ue"er di-sert them." "You acknowledge, then, that you pre fer his so-called friendship to my re spect or the position you hold." "A thousand times over. If you will have the truth, there it is for you." Lord Mountcarron rises in his 'anger, 1 and advances toward the sofa threaten ingly. In her excitement, Gladys rises also, and confronts him. "Is James Brooke your lover or is he not '!" "I refuse to satisfy you." Her boldness enraged him. To sec this frail girl, who looks as if a puff of sum mer wind would blow her away, and who is obliged to support herself by leaning against the head of the sofa, defying him with the courage of an Amazon, makes him feel as if he had no power. It rouses his animal instincts. His nat ural ferocity and brutality rise upper most, and without considering her condi- i tion, or his own superior strength, he strikes her across the breast. Gladys gives a cry, and falls backward, striking her spine against the curved leg of a table in her descent. At that very mo ment, and in time to see the blow, the door is flung open, and Mr. Brooke stauds ' upon the threshold. He has knocked three or four times, but hearing the con tention of voices within, enters without invitation. Gladys lies on the floor in a dead faint. As he sees it, Jemmie turns on the Earl in a fury, that makes his face pale .is that of the avenging angel. "You cowardly brute! You villain! How dare you strike her in her delicate state of health?" - Aud the next moment, before his cousin has had time to answer him, he has rushed across the room and raised Gladys in his arms. "Gladys, Gladys! Good heavens! she has fainted again! Where is Parsons? Gladys. oen your eyes! I believe you've killed her with jour brutality." "Drop my wife!" roars the Earl. "How dare you hold her in that way, sir? By George! if you don't drop her, I'll kick you out of the house!" "I will not drop her," replies the other boldly. "I will hold her against you and the world, until I have placed her in better care than yours, and then you may kick tne out of your house, if you can." "Yon defy me to my face, do you, both of you?" says Mountcarron. "She has just refused to deny that you are her lover, and now you come and clasp her to your breast before my very eyes." "Did she refuse to deny it?" says Jem mie, looking down with ineffable tender ness on the white, still face that reposes ou his arm. "If so, it is because she can not utter a falsehood. I am her lover. Mountcarron; but not in the sense you mean. I love her as a brother, and I shall love her so to the end. If your anger must visit some one let it fall on me, for I am the only one to blame in this matter." , "I don't believe you," exclaims the Earl. "I've heard of these brotherly and sis terly attachments before, and I know what they end in. Will you wear yon have never thought of ber in any other light than a sister?" "Will you swear, thot if I tell the troth, you will never visit my offense upon her head?" "Not if she is blameless." ' "She is blameless, Mountcarron; blame less as the angels. I know that what I am about to tell yon will separate me from her perhaps forever," says Jem mie with a strangled sob; "but for her sake, I will bear it. Well! I loved her, Mountcarron I loved her even before you married her. Nay, man! you may as well bear me to the end, and I wa mad enough to tell her so." "When?" "Last Christmas. I would have taken her from yon and everybody if she would have come. But she refused me. She preferred to remain with you at Csrron by. Can you take a worse revenge on me than that? "She refused to listen to you V ' "Hava I not told you so? I left my home in consequence because I was wretched, and I knew It wa better I honld go. When I felt I was cured I came back again. That ia the whole his tory, and, aa I said before, I am the only culprit. Whatever you believe you mua believe that" "Cured or not cured," replied the EarL In a aollen tone, "you cannot enter Car ronby House again; this end everything between aa. We are stranger from tbia moment" . t "I knew yoa would say so, and I aaa prepared for the consequences of ray avowal If yoa will call Parsons to bar assistance, I win go at once.' Bat ba Had ta bar, Moantcarnm. Kh kaa a loving baart aad a aaaaittve nature. Only ba Und aad amatia wttb bar, aad aba will reward jra tar the troaaie." Tawrta! 'I aaa't wast aay rmr rittoa "Cam rr wO. fa ts ttw k : ? rm rrr lira ; T. . -r-Cn tr) P.irs. us?" Aud be walks intn he next room to find the maid. Jemmie bends' down burr'-'dly. apd press s a last kiss on Gladys' pale face. "For your sake, my own darling." he whispers, "for your dear sake. Pray heaven, my pain may bring forth l'3ce for you." lu another minute the servant takes possession of her mistress, and the two men walk down the stairs, and into the vast hall together. "There lies your road,' says the Ear!, pointing in the direction of Nutley; "and don't cross it again while I live." Mr. Brooke is too proud to answer him. or to attempt to make better terms. H. merely bows his head in acquiescence, aud, passing over the threshold, walk quickly away. (To be continued.) THE PRIVATE SECRETARY. His Position Generally Puts Him on the KoaJ to RichrA. The man who obtains the place of private secretary to Major McKinley niny esteem himself lucky. The pout in a gtepplnif-siione to wraith and honors. John Il.iy, who served Mr. Lincoln iiuifit valuably in that connection, mar rltil a daughter of the Standard Oil tniMt and now occupies a dwelling much liner than the White House for domieilinry purposes, directly opposite thf ICxectitive mnnnion, across Lafay ette square-. He is many times a mill ionaire, iu right of bis wife. Daniel Latnont i rich iu this world's foods and a jM)wer In the land, thanks to the private secretaryship as a start. Major Ilalford was appoint paymaster in tit? army as a testimonial from Presi dent Harrison. It ia highly probable that Mr. Cleveland will look out for Mr ThurlH't-'s future In one way or another. The private secretaryship, even at Sr,(iM! a year, is not in Itself a very en viable Job. The Incumbent is a buffer between tlu chief magistrate and the people, lie must sec everybody, who wishes to nee the President, and from morning to night his time Ik occupied by visitors who have Komctbing to ask for. Nearly all of them have sonic, par ticular reason for wanting to see the Prcfchb'tit personally, and they must be put off without giving offense. Dan gerous lunatics even must sometimes bo interviewed. During the fcix month immediately ul)s (iuent to the inaugu ration, cranks will turn up at the Exec utive mansion at the rate of at least two a day. Most of them will ! of the religious variety. Some will be advance agents of the Messiah; others will have in vent Ions to exhibit, and yet others will want to liberate young alligators lu the cast room or to indulge In freaks even more extraordinary. Indian Skulls. Altout Ave and forty miles below Portland, on the Oregon mh of the Columbia, the broad expanse- of water hen Hows without a ripple, and is deep and as still as death. The bank rises high above the water's level, and stretches it way back to the timber line. Juki above lids point in "Collin Hock." which was thu starting place to "the happy bunting ground" of th various Oregon tribes of Indians, but th- very high water of IW2 swept Collin Kock of all its dejKmits to flic point below. It Is a lonely place, without sound, avi; the call of the cricket iu the grass, or the boot of the screech owl n's:!ed iu the adjacent timber. Here the over flowing waters of nearly- half a century ago lodged the remains of many tribes. high aud dry, literally moving the last resting place of their dead, for no Pa cific coast tribe ever buried their dead below the surface of the earth. Some, hedged them about with rocks, above, the ground, leaving the face upward aud exposed. Others put a bark cover ing over them, while others were sus pended from limbs or left in the forks of trees. Time barf robbed every form of its substance, and left only the whit ened Imjiics and blenched skulls. Students, dentists and physicians are eager to secure these trophies for ar ticulation. Ho great is the demand that at least one man has for year follow ed the hazardous business of gathering these skulls for the market. It Is risky, for the few remaining Indians still keep vigil over the remains of lbelr dead, and to be caught in the B"t would mean a prison iu the recesses of the neighboring mountains, followed by a death of slow torture, for no quarter or mercy would be shown the victim, ritlll, knowing this, Howard Clause, a reel uae, nightly risks bis life to gather these grinning, whitened skulls, and every now and then n box of large and small skulls Is shipped from Portland. Ore., to the various noted seats of med ical and dental learning In the Katt San Francisco Call. Was Coming Doon. Some yeara ago there lived in Perth, Scotland, a man convivial habits, well known by bis Christian uum-'. Jamie. One dark night mi acquaintance found Jamie lying nt the foot of an outside atalr. "la that you, JnraleV" asked the acquaintance, In a voice of the greatest astonishment. "Ay, it'a me," replied Jamie, In a tone of com plete resignation. "Hare you fa'en doon the stair?" wa the next question. "Ape, I fell doon; but I waa coming doon, whether or no." Electricity. It la evident that before long electric Uy will Invade many new departments of action, but the propoael to cremate people by Ha aid eecma a llttlo ta ri ling, a patent baa been taken out la Parte for an electric furnace to that end. After all, why not? Tbat actlof If almply auperbC "I don't ate It? Hie lack of appreciation waa apparent to everyone but the wearer of the Lernorn wbo aat lmtnedl atal Ife frost of hlra. New lor Proaa, ' Om af tiee met pKJfal agfctt la tb werU U ta m ft oil wmmm wetttrj CULTURE OF GRASS. CRC HARD GRASS THE BEST FOR PARKS AND ORCHARDS. It Requires a Iieep, Finely Pnlveried Boil-For a Pasture, Well Drained, Moist Land Is Nec unary Notice able Art in Aaricul t urc. Ur.i". l-'or parks and orchards, and upon dry soils, orchard grass Is oue of our most profitable grasses, says the Balti more American. The soil must be made fertile, deep aud mellow, l'lie roots run down a long distance Into the ground. It therefore requires a deep, linely pulverized soir. The seed Is very light, feeling like chaff, and weighing but fifteen pounds to the bushel. It usually sells for $1.75 to i?l-S; per bush el. Two bushels of fresh see l should be sown to the acre, and une peck of clover seed. These seeds should be sown over the soiling rye ground early in March, so as to get fully rooted be fore hot weather. The rye will be fit to cut by the middle of April, and by the Pith of May. being all cut oHT, the ground should be heavily rolled, and dressed with twenty bushels r lime to the acre. By the middle of July a half crop of excellent gras can ! cut, and by the middle of September an other crop. Manure the ground In the fall, ami if it is wanted for hay, do not pasture the ground. This grass de lights lu a deep, rich, clay loam; upon poor, thin, gaudy or gravelly soils, It would prove a failure. The needing should be done early In the season, au.l thirty pounds, or two bushels, of seed should be sown to the acre. For a pasture grass it is very valuable, as, when once set. it will continue to spring up and grow after every graz ing. Tor pasture, sow it on deep, well drained, moist land.. The ground must be heavily dressed with rich, finely rot ted manure. Any one carefully follow ing these directions will find that It is a most valuable grass, either for feed ing at the barn or for pasture. On poorly prepared, thin soils, using but little seed, it will not give satisfaction. With slipshod methods the grass would prove a failure, and should not be sown. Earn Ventilation. If the bant Is not ventilated enough to give the cows a sufiiciency of oxy gen, then all the carbon is not burned up and dead tua tier soil!.? left in the sys-tem, and this tits it to be a fertile place for the tuberculous germs to make a lodgment, and the, cows will have tuberculosis just in the order they are predlsixtsl to the disease from weak lungs or any other cause, I have Imh-h in quite a number of stable where the commissioners bad applied the teat lu one they hail taken four lift lis of the cows where there was no chance for air to get in, yet the own ers told me that the officers never said a word to them alniut ventilation. The horse a ml ox seldom have tuberculosis, as they have a chance to get outdoors and fill their lungs with fresh air and get rid of the dead carbon which has been accumulating in me system. I will stake my reputation that many herds tested hist year will show the same, or nearly the same, ratio of sus pected cases this year, If again subject ed to the tultereulin test. Ventilation isbould be looked after, and when that is done we shall seldom hear much alKut tuberculosis. Partners should look well after ventilation and thus avoid disease. Open your ventilators wide, particularly warm nights. Now is the time cattle take the disease. Agriculturist. Grinding Corn, on the Cob. The cob possesses some nutrition, though when fed whole it is bard to digest. But if ground flue with the corn on It the mixture makes a fee on which cattle will thrive better than on corn meal nut tbtKs distended iu bulk. It Is well known to rtock feeders that the chief ditiictilty with them iti "get ting off their feed" if even a slight ex cess of food is given, lu carefully con ducted experiments It was found that more corn could be eaten without In Jury when ground with the cob than if shelled and ground separately. So whether the coru cob contributed to the result directly or did not, there can be no question that at least for fatten ing stock there ia an advantage lu grinding thetu together over that of feeding the corn separately. To Prevent Milk Fever. After having a twenty-cow dairy for the paist twenty years, and having them conic freata at all times in th year, a writer In the Country Ontle niau says lie lia never bad a case of milk fever lu xumuicr, and only two In cold weather, and the reason is simply "exercise." He Is a strong advocate of exercise for a dairy cow, although be would not give it In the same rummer that he would do a trotting hots While a cow may live and keep fat by Ixdng lied by the neck, from fall till spring, as a pig will being confined in a pen, yet this Is not the proper thing to do. Country Centletrinn. Art In Airr culture. Art In agriculture la coming to In- more and more noticeable every day With the advent of new methods, Im proved Implement and a wider know) edge of the field, the agriculturist Is ris ing higher aud higher In the field of ueeful or ornamental art as the yeara go by. We may aay that sharp compe tltlon Is no small factor In this progres sive movement, says the American Htu dent Take, for example, the manner In which certain .producta are 'prepared for the open market. Tbe improvement In tbecoodltlonof cerraladalry products aad fmlt on tbe market la the hat few yeara la truly woaderfnL Tbe reaeon, f mum ia that people always taiy Cart aiedo irbica la pot q la tin oost I.isiy and attractive tyl and are w.li iug to pay a little more for it. With this change eoniei a more wholesome effect upon tbe aiticl.' Itself, ami dis ease Is much less dlssemlaaieii inrougu food at the present time than formerly. Greater precautious are taken now than ever before In preventing the spread of contagious diseases iu this manner, and. with the increase iu the s;7.o of ihe cities find the greater liabil ity to i:;-nealtli, these precautious can not be observed too carefully. i uus. the ne-rlculiitrlsf. to be successful, must keep right up to date In his readings and methods. Wisconsin Farmer. t'tnm fo Fru't Grower. Plackberrie are a profitable fruit mid may lie grown with little labor on almost every farm. Never crowd the 'orchard. Trees should have room to grow; they need plenty of ground and free sun. Iu settitiij out an orchard confine yourself to a few, well selected varie ties of each fruit; as you become ex- perieiiceij you can add new ones. It pays to set out wliade trees arouud the orchard to protect the treen from storm: they also assist greatly lu beautifying the premises. If 1 .,,,.. .If,,,,. ii.l .1,1 o bIhiH fnftiif. In mi, tf riwl ami It la. most disastrous to the man who baa placed all his hopes on one crop. Don't Imagine that to have a profit able orchard all you have to do is to buy trees, plant them and afterwards allow them to take their own chances. There are two dangerous extremes lu the selection of varieties for the or chard. Tlie one Is the liability of se- (s-tiug too few, and the other too many. .. Juiy can strike the medium if you observe carefully the success of other people. Every horticulturist ought by this time to know all about the topper solu tion for fungi! diseases.. The usual mixture Is six pounds of copper sul- phnte and four pouudri of lime to twenty-two gallons of water. Sprayers are ii.i m i tn i.n in a tlnif ( lu ,1iHmll ,i mini, auy one that is better than another, I'onltry Notes, Cleanliness Is the best disinfectant. Exercise is'good medicine and cheap. Dry, warm quarters area Joy to poul try just now. If you desire (strong eggs for early Incubation yon should male up your hens at once. Iu saving the droppings, mix them with dry earth before they have a chance to freeze. Clover, by displacing grain, supplier the hens with su'.tstauces which are lacking In grain, and also bulky food for heating. . . Don't forget to keep the grit-box well filled. Tills Is especially important when the ground is frown hard, or cov ered with snow. Boiling of brine, as strong as It can Is1 made, is an effective remedy for white mites. Apply to the roosts and dropping boards with a whitewash brush. lie always on the watch .irra!nst draughts In the roost ins house. A cold at thus time of the year is very apt to run into roup and ruin your flock. lie who would keep poultry success fully lu this northern country, must know that the house must be warm and free from draughts; It is the warmth which brings the eggs. lie sure that the water fountains are not allowed to freeze up. The best thing to do is to turn out the water as soon aa all the fowls have had a good drink. They should be watered at least twice a day, if you wish a full egg basket. What Hats We gli. "Do you know the actual weight of a hatV" queried the spruce salesman, as he handed out several "new styles," "People don't geneiiilly. I asked a man that question yesterday and he guessed fourteen ounces on that hat, which weigh exactly four and a hal'. An ordinary silk hat weighs only seven. "I looked tip Ihe matter recently, and so I know precisely. A 'silker' is al most the heaviest hat made, though hunting hats weigh more for their hav ing an inner lining of great stiffiietis and strength to save a man If he should Ik- thrown ou bis head". Tbe hunting top bats weigh ten ounces, and the bunting derbys nine, A winter derby weighs five and a quarter ounces, vary ing a quarter onii'-e either way for size, arid a summer soft felt three and tbre-quartor ounces. "When It comes to women's headgear there are all sorts of weights, though seldom does a w oman's bat of any kind run more than seven ounem It de pends on the kind of trimming and fal lals. Home ribbons ar heavy, and so are some artificial flowers. Jet is heavy, too. Tbe average little foment weighs two ounce to two and n half, a trimmed 'sailor three mid a half, mid a 'Seunett' (the kind that have brims stif fened with glue), four and three-quarters. "The French 'creations' aae heavier, but they are not so weighty aa you might suppoae. Six aud a half to seven ounces mean a big bat, and one you would need X raya to eee through. If you happened to alt behind It" .New York Herald. The Oliver Itnlag. The palaied old mau aat by the llrp, his bead slinking from aide to side lu tbe manner peculiar to his eomplalut. "It must be awful to be afflicted that way," said tbe aympathctlc young man. "Oh," aaM tbe old gentleman, "I find It rlgbt bandy lb the eummer when I want to look at a two-ring clrcua." A widower la saved from a eecond marriage by bla daughter aa often aa tbe wheat la saved by the anow. Too crown octavo page lafu bi S ' 'J ' . t . ' ' " J - . V r 1S , 1 .
