i? I 1 . t LOVE THE CONQUEROR. O love, if life wtil enJ to-nujht. How short ocr lirt would seem! One Uttle Cash of summer lisht: One bn-f and passfcjnate Cream, 0e s: apse or roses oa the wall. Or blue-bells is the lane. Then, love, the end, the end of all Ay. bads mlsht swell, and leaves miijht fall. But not for as again! "Tae stream we used to watch and love Would erer onward flow; From the dark pines the gray wood-dove Would call we should not know. -Ah! not Icr cs the pines would wave. For us no stream would run; "We should be silent in the grave. TInable even to hoard and save One little riimpse ol sun! Tet is not this a somber view O: lite and all it brings! Thank Heaven, tae bryrht waves still ars blue. And still the throstle sings! And oh! belora love's conquering tang Death's vo.ee s.nks qu:te away; For li'e is short, but love is long. And death is He r , but love is strong. And Love shah win the day! G. Barlow, in I'ageant of Life. MlRlAM. lesoflaflierlsiM. By Manta L. Crocker. CorrRicrrr, 1SS. CHAPTKU XXn. Costtwued. "When are you going back'' he vent ured, eyeing the toe of his neatly polished hoot, and, doubtless, hoping that I had not read his secret. In a few days," I answered; "iliriam -sent mo to the Hall en an errand, and that is why I ant here I came to visit friends elsewhere. But did you -wish to send tvord to your cousin, or tverc you contemplating a trip'"' He looked at me fcr a moment as if my cvords had put a new idea in his head. Then he said : ''If ycu will wait, madame, I will write a note, providing you will be kind -enough to give it her: that is' and he he-itated, "if she still remembers me!' I looked at him. How could any one for get that face, I thought. Then I said: "Oh ! certainly, she lemcmbers you, ilr. Per cival. I have heard her speak of you quite often, and I know she would be slad to get a line from you." He raised his eyes once more, and a slight Sush came over his face which left it almost paLtd, while I fancied a soul-mist dimminp. t"no?e ciurious et-es. He grew visibly aci tated, but calming himself with an effort ne said: "If you will pieaso to sit down on this seat and wait for me 1 will indict a few lines to my cousin Miriam!" I sat down on the rustic seat, old and mosi-irrown. while he drew forth pencil and Ioeket d.ary from an inner pocket of his coat, and, tearing a leaf from the book, "wrote to Miriam. I watched him with a curious interest. Wouid Miriam be glad to get this letter? I was sure it would be a letter into whose hort length would be crowded the passion ate thoughts of years. I believed that Miriam would waken from her morbid, help leas grief after its perusal, and I watched the firm, snappy hand trace words 1 was positive were of poetic fire with much the v same ieer.g? o: caaness tnat one sees a Txraon prepared which is to gi ve great relief " to a suffering friend. I had made up my mind, and accordingly I thoueht best not to mention my meeting Allan Perciva. in the park to Percy or An ciL They, to say the least, would be curi ous, and perhaps might ask questions which 1 could not answer and do justice to the con fidence reposed in me. Sc. trc-tin? that they had not seen Allan, I thrust the letter to Miriam in my pocket and entered the house. They had not seen Allan, and I counted myself lucky in es caping all chance of being interrogated, for my visitor of the park had enjoined secrecy tipon me in tae matter of his identity and his message to Miriam. Said he: -'Keep this meeting here that is, the identity of the individual you chanced to meet a profound secret as far as this side the water is concerned. I ventured here .-cause it was my father's home until driven from it," and his eye took on an angry, agonized gleam which made me shudder in spite of myself. "Ah ! here, too, i a Perdval." I thought, and the look in his eyes reminded me of Miriam. "1 presume," he began, after a pause, "I ought never to have come here; it fills my oulwith hate to look about me and re member my father's story, and also that of 1 rjCI f? . . - - . I WATCHED HIM WITH A CTTMOCS INTEBBST. Cousin Miriam. But, after all, it is quite lucky forme, because I have met you, her inea-2. by coming " His face speedily regained its former pleasant expression and a yearning hope supplanted the dark look of revenge which had so awed me. 'Yes," I replied, it is a stroke of Provi dence: you were to meet me and I am to carry your message to your cousin." Doyou believe in that theory!" he asked, an odd puzed look on his face. "Certainly I do," I answered, -and you will, too, by and by." 'lam almost converted to your doctrine now,'' he laughed. Then, after wishing me "bon voyage" and reiterating his desire that Miriam saouid get the letter from my hands only, he lifted his hatand bade me good-bye again and walked away toward what used to be the deer park, but now a rather neglected close. One morning not long after this decidedly romantic interview in the old, deserted Heatherleigh groands I found myself ready to leave the Hall. Pecgy, who had either ttrtnvu tired of coaxing me to prolonc my visit or presumed further pressing was useless, which, indeed, would have been, brought Miriam's portrait from the gallery, and, wrappins it care fully, with many a caress and crooning Vord of endearment, gave it into my care. T mnsidered this cuite a feat to get pos session of a portrait from this old Hall, and J Jr -.."..it.. :nM -svf.lt 111 wffr ijjgp 4 .T-r 'rV 7 vs I showered my unfeigned tlrf on Peggy's oevotea ceaa in consequence. "I will do all in my power to get her to return, if only lor a year's visit," I prom ised the two aged servants at my leave taking, and intend to keep my promise good. 2ot for worlds would I prove false to those old Irish dwellers at Heatherleigh by not trying to persuade Miriam to come back, if for nothing else than to see them. Hark! what is that! Oh, it is the ting, ting a-ling of the bell for luncheon, and Gladys expects my cousialy presence in the pleasant little breakfast-room shortly. Cousin Gladys' luncheons are something famous for a suburban cottage, with their delicious cake and fruit arrangement, to gether with their smattering of cold meats, and flanked with spiced wines. She is in high glee this week, for we are to take a little run up into the dear old Cotswold hills, Gladys and I. and she is chipper as a bird in consequence. I shall enjoy the trip, to be sure, but the secret of Allan's letter and the pleasant knowledge of having met him eclipse all the happy anticipation I might feel in a ran among the Cotswold hiiur I find myself lost in speculation as to what Miriam will do and say when I give Allan's letter into her hands and tell her I met him accident allynot providentially at Heathcrleich. "With such weighty secrets in my posses sion from both sides of the water, no won der I am beginning to feel myself a person of uncommon imoortance. And the letter and portrait in my keeping, either of which is worth a ransom to the owner, I presume, make me feelmore like an ambassador than simply a guest. It seems to me tnat my com ing to see Gladys has lost its identity be come, as it were, a secondary object or ex cuse for the grander possibilities. Ah! here comes Gladys. I expected as much. 1 have kept her waiting too long for her busy, bustling nature, and she has come to see if I have gone to sleep in this cozy nook or turned a deaf ear to her luncheon belL A -week later finds me making ready for the return voyage. . ceaptei: ran. "We have been having an outing, Gladys and L We have taken that little run up the Thames for which we were booked some time. Gladys, having some friends in London, and .visaing to see them also, we spent a couple of days there. From there we start ed for the delightful country trip. It would have been more to my liking to have gone in midsummer, but the summer was past, the opportunity bad gone by. and the upper Thames bad been left until now. Iso matter; we found ourselves at the Great "Western Paddington station one fine morning, with lunch-hamper in hand. Gladys remembers the lunch item, if nothing else, en route forTaplow. Away we roll out of the big city and across the quiet peacefulness of a beauti ful stretch of country. Tne fields, however, were unfortunately rather brown and bare, it beine too late in the season for field dais ies or bright and blooming hedge rows. It seemed to me a kind of solemn, quiet loneli- ! ness pervaded the landscape, and I ceased to look from my compartment and shut my eyes to the outside glimpses of the real world, busying myself in delvinc into the impossible and perhaps possible, ideal world of my own. An hour's ride brought us to our destina tion by rail. From Maidenhead we were to go by boat to Marlowe. There a friend meets us, and we go winding away across the country again to Oxford renowned old Oxford and from there to a little nook in the hills miles further on; Gladys' old home, you know. I do not know that I have time to tell you of all the beautiful landscapes, wooded parks, soft, hazy meadow stretches, still green and inviting, and tbe thousand other lovely visions which will be green in mem ory for many a long day. But I wish to say that our ride oa the Thames from Maiden head to Marlowe was one round of delight ful surprises and enjoyable diversion. There are many picturesque scenes on the banks of this old, much-sung, much-painte'd river. "With its numerous locks, weirs, lovely old mills and hospitable inns, with its pictur esque scenery of wooded heights and hand some and ivy-wreathed, ivy-crowned churches and country seats, "old Father Thames" is remembered as a very genial friend. 2fo wonder the artist raves; no wonder the poet strikes his sweetest, grandest num bers along his banks. 2?o wonder, I say, no wonder! Oxford beine on the flow of the Thames also, I regretted very much that we had not had time to boat it further; but neces sity knows no compromise with inclination. and Gladys must go by another route. Days and days it would have taken us. Giadys said, to have gone up the river to Oxford, aud of course it would, wncn we come to take into consideration the classic windings of the stream. "Well, I am sure I missed a great deal of beauty and loveliness, but it can not be helped now, nor could it have been. Gladys' old home nestles in a bright little nook among the hills, and a beautiful little country residence it is, situated on the banks of tbe Thames, but not the great river we left behind us at Marlowe, or Ox ford, for instance. Uo: a quiet, silvery, unpretentious flow just below the garden, where we stood and watched birds of migration pass over our heads in the pray of the evening lignt, while the brisk breeze went by and sighed itself to death among the hills. The house itself is also ivy-wreathed every thing is ivy-wreathed, or ivy crowned, it seems to me, in merrie old England as well as the more pretentious neighboring residences; a low-eaved, many gabled affair, with solid masonry and heavy wooden shutters. A little, wooded park and an antiquated-locking summer-house at the back, where Gladys and I found rich purple clusters hanging invitingly along the rafters of a broken-down trellis belong ing thereto. In the front a pretty, well-kept garden. where, doubtless, in summer the display of old-fashioned flowers was something novel for an American to behold. Bat in the rem nant of its former glory I took but little satisfaction, although the display of great clumps of thrifty marigolds and crimson beds of late geraniums made it a warm, rich-looking picture. Bat the best part of the visit there to re member, to my mind, was the warm wel come we received from the matronly-looking English lady in charge. "So glad to have you come," she said, smoothing out her apron of blue and white checked linen and handing us each a chair while she talked. In five minutes' time I felt perfectly at home" at Spring Brook, so named from a clear, gushing fountain bubblingdown over mossy bowlders near the house. "Hi ham so wery buy hin the kitchen, ladies, hand if ycu wouldn't mind to to sit with me there, why. Hi could wisit with you to much better hadvantage.' she said, after a little, with a bridle of her head and a sort of apologizing smile. Certainly we would sit with her there, and forthwith we sat and en ioved her so ciability while she baked and finished to a bus her bread and a couple of spring! chickens meant lor as. She kept no help, ao she found it necessary to be at the helm, company or no company. And such a bright, genial hostess one hardly ever meets as did the honors of Spring Brook farm. And now, how pleasant the recollection of those sunny hours chatted away beneath the weather-beaten gables of the pleasant, deep-windowed kitchen. I can almost see myself rocking softly to and fro in the old fashioned rush-bottom rocker, and listening to Mrs. Grey's kindly voice, or fancy my self 'cuddled up in the deep chintz-covered arm-chair by the window, watching her busy with her work. But that is, too, among the past, and the twilight settling over the downs over there, and the dark, restless waters beyond, re mind me that it is evening once more in the suburban Hastings. The great arms of the windmill look very distant and hazy, like unto a ghost in the air; and I hear a few rooks chattering, and perhaps quarreling, in the elms at the back of the cottage. Gladys will soon light the lamps, and then I will feel obliged to go in doors and leave the twilight; mysterious and indistinct as it is. how I love it! It puts me in mind of Joaquin Miller's rest, por trayed in his excellent poem, "The Rest of theGrave." There Gladys has lighted up the chande lier in the rosebud of a parlor, and the soft light from the colored globes falls over a piece of statuary fair as Undine, and slants like a halo through the glass doors this side And I can see from where I sit, here in the delicious, shadowy Bight, cousin flitting about the room, and note the sweep of her crimson gown, fehe is trying to be giaa ana happy to-night, fori am to start for home to-morrow, and she does not desire to leave Sifiis" t WHERE WE 8TOO ASV WATCHED THE BIRDS OP MIGRATION" PAss. any unpleasant impression on memory. I know she is heart-sick, however, and un derstand her dissembling. My luggage is ready for an early start; Miriam's picture is nicely packed for a safe transport, and Allan Percival's letter to her is safe in the bottom of my trunk. The Stanleys, with whom I came over, are back to Ecclesbourne and will be ready to morrow, so there is nothing left for me to do than to join them. I am loath to part with Gladys also; and I do my share ot dissembling and for the same reason. I am so anxious to present Miriam with her much-desired portrait, however, and to place m her hand the cousinlylover-like. I venture epistle, that my separation from my cousin's cheery com pany will not seem so bitter. But, after all, I mind me with a pang that it is those left behind that ever feel most sorrowful at parting. I shall go in now and Gladys and I will sing,4Auld LangSyne" togetAeronce, more. as we had planned, before !' must go. I fancy we shall see the words through mists before we get half way through the soar, and perhaps break down and finish the rest in tears. 'Rough sea," said the captain, and I seek my cabin. Miss Stanley, pale as death, seeks hers also; by this time she is prone on he r cot wishing for every thing but death and an unruly digestive apparatus. I am lucky; I am not disturbed by the rolling of the ship, but I chose rather to tumble about alone, if I must, than to fall sprawling on deck or trip up a fellow passenger in trying; to keep my equilibrium. "While 1 sit here on the side of my trunk I am thinking of two faees left behind me on England's sunny shores. One is the face of Cousin Gladys, of course, as she bade me good-bye. with hot tears trickling down her white cheek. It is a memory that brings a lump into my throat and a sinking down of the heart- The other face is that of Allan PercivaL I met him on my way to the wharf, and he waied with me down to the pier. "You are off now," he said, and his face was something to see. A strange, yearning, hopeful expression lighted up those beautiful eyes as he gave me bis hand in a last good-bye. And I knew that he at least was glad to see me so. "Why! Because a part, perhaps the whole, of his life-happiness depended on the message I was to deliver. Sometimes I half believed that Miriam will put '.iiis message in the grate and shut her heart against all the advances of the light of )cve. It would, doubtless, be just like her to mope out her existence sorrow ing for Ihose that need it not. I havs had letters from her in my ab sence, and I judge from their tone she is very homesick to see me, and to get her por trait. "I have Arthur's and the baby's picture hung up in my room," she wrote, where the sunset can linger over the be loved faces, and I yet lack one more face to moke up my trio." "Well, she need not wait long. But the sea grows calmer; the heavy, threatening clouds are breaking away and the sunlight is glinting through. I go on deck. I wonder if this sudden change to fair weather is a forerunner of a happy change in Miriam. How I wish with all my heart, as I cling to the railing for the ship still rocks like a cradle that I might be the nappy medium of bringing both ihese friendless orphans together in a grand reunion of love. I fancy I can do this by diplomacy, somehow. "Well, wait: we shall see if it be possible. cHAPa"KK xsrv. A glorious morning; the air crisp and clear; a calm, blue sky, with an occasional white, airy cloud floating ldgh and quietly, as if no storm had ever entered within its realm, and a bright, smooth sea. Such is the loveliness of the autumn day that our voyage came to a close, and the Lady Clare hove in sight of New England's blessed shores. America ! Oh ! for our delight ed vision. "We came on deck to congratulate one another on the safe and altogether happy transit, to cheer v.p and be glad, as only hsme-coming souls are. Some one says: "Sing Homc, Sweet Home,' " and forthwith we find ourselves re solved into a blending of song and chorus concert, Poor Howard Payne! He per haps never felt as we do; certainly not when he wrote his memorable verses which we so gladly sing. Ho; but we can not afford to be sorrowfully inclined to-day simply because he was unfortunate. It grates a little on a sympathetic chord ,P "-iiSfcji - i where in our make-up to say this, jet it is true. "We put a newer, sweeter pulse into the music: we are all glad to get home, espec ially arc we glad that it is an American home, and there is no inclination even to sigh, unless it be from sheer satisfaction. It's all very well to talk of the pleasures of an "ocean trip" and the grandeur of the voyage, but we found it monotonous enough after the first day out. Perhaps for young persons given to being very sentimental or inclined to flirtation, the hours between shores may slip off "satin shod." but to those having too much practical sense far either the one or the other, I should say time drags. "Well, here we are, and we glide into the waters of the bay, our ewn little ifarragan sett. There are plenty of friends at the pier awaiting those on board, and again the handkerchiefs are waving, but this time in glad recognition and not tearful pood-bye. But, as I said when I started, I have no friends to bid me welcome only as a "fellow citizen," as the politician says, and so I come ashore alone. The Stanleys are met by a pretty turn-out, which whirls them away rapidly to their fine residence on Blecker avenue. Here goes a clustering lot of steerage passengers, strangers in a strange land, by the look of them. Finally, here I go, a very eager woman, with multi tudinous bits and sizes of luggage. I signal a cabby, and after a few minutes of "boss ing around" I am tearing away, too, toward home. The dead leaves drift, the aster peeps out from the sheltered sooks by the roadside, and the half-naked hills come to sightas the city recedes. Yes, the dear, familiar hills at whose feet nestles Bay View cottage. A turn in the road, we pass a stone wall and come to a cold, bare-looking hedge, and there just beyond lies the dearestlittle spot on earth to my heart. There is the cottage ! 'Half in light and half in shade," as the poet Tennyon says. I '-an never bring my self to say "Lord Tennyson." Shades of the vine! No! His wreath of deathless roses and lilies and laurel didn't need the tinsel and pomp of -ye Lord." not to my Ameri canized way of thinking. But here is Bay View cottage, and d'Eyncourt, Lords and ioets are alike for gotten. Cabby assists me in with my lug gage, I pay hm his charges and am once more in my own domain and square with the world. But where is Miriam, whom I expected to fly out joyously and greet me with a cry of joy! I ask myself the question with a strange foreboding of evil stealing over me; then I noticed something I had not, in my unlading cf the cab and gathering together of my traps, noticed before. There was an unusual stillness about the cottage, and through the half-open door comes a smell of medicine. Can it be possible! Yes, Mir iam is "very ill," so Maggie says, as she comes tiptoeing out to meet me. 1 leave my luggage forgotten on the little porch and follow the maid into the house with a great pain at my heart.' I feel dumb and dizzy with the anguish of disappoint ment and fear, but I manage to ask how long Miriam has been ill and if sho is dan gerously so. She has been ill for two weeks or more and is at present faltering between life and death, so Doctor Cushman said last evening. A neighboring lady is upstairs with her installed as nurse until I shoul'' return to make further arrangements. lTO BE CONTINUED. I A WOMAN'S COURAGE. How a Flacky Girl Vanquished a Crowd of College Students. It was in the autumn of 1SS that the Dartmouth College sophomores, having just got over being freshmen, decided that the new freshmen were rising above their places in a way that was intolerable, and that a concerted' system of hazing must be inaugurated to even things up. One of the chief objects of sophomoric wrath was Gil bert Smith, a big, good-natured fellow, who calmly refused to recognize in a sophomore any thin g superhuman. This Smith lived in the large farm-house on the road to Lyme. A few of the more daring sophs got to gether and voted to raid the farm-house and instruct Smith a little. It was a black, chilly night when the band of regulators crept up the Lyme road toward the Smith farm-house. It was as black in the house, except one window, from which a light gleamed, as if to welcome friends instead of enemies. "With no par ticular compunctions, however, the sopho mores, after drawing over their heads masks made of shirt sleeves, stamped up to the porch and without knocking filed into the sitting-room where Jennie Smith sat reading alone. Any one who has ever seen a shirt-sleeve mask will understand that the fiendish sight made the girl's pretty eyes fill with terror. But while asking what they wanted in as steady a tone as she couid command she knew what the answer would be. "Where's your brother Gil!" was the gruff chorus. ""What do you want him for!" "To teach him better manners," came the sepulchral reply. "He is sick in the next room." said the girl, pleadingly. "You would not touch a sick man, would you!" Had the expletive "Rats 1" then been in vented the students would have used it unanimously. As it was they in various other ways expressed their conviction that the sickness was an invention to shield the big freshman, and they proceeded toward the chamber door with the evident intention of opening it. The young girl, with blazing cheeks and flashing eyes, went over to the door and stood there to bar the way. "Stop!" she commanded, with both arms uplifted, as if to ward off the whole world from the sick man within. The students, still disbelieving the story of illness, though thoroughly admiring her bravery pressed a little nearer, and one made at if to open the door. Quick as a flash the girl caught a big cavalry saber from the wall where it hung and lunged savagely at the masked figures. This time they fell back, but not before the cloth over the face of the foremost was dyed with blood from a cut in the cheek. This ended the hazing, for the boys valiantly begged her pardon and marched back to Hanover lost in admi ration. The husband of Jennie Smith, who was not Jennie Smith, wears a saber scar on his cheek to-day. 2. Y. Press. The Evolution of Journalism. In the "evolution of journalism" the big dailies will gradually drop the sensational reporter, with his gory subjects and his epileptic style, and will substitute for him the intelligent correspondent, trained to know what the people want to read and how they want it written. Ten years hence it will take a mighty big crime to be worth a column in a daily paper, and the space thus surrendered from the horrible will be much better filled by the readable. Statistics show that very few women are afflicted with stammering. nd some philos opher comes to the front with tins as an ex planation of the comparative rarity of fe male suicides. So long as a woman can use her tongue without interruption she will sot willfully let go her hold upon life. AGRICULTURAL HINTS. PRINTER'S INK. Its Valu? to tbe Breeder and the Necetsity for Cuing It. "There is no use in talking about it. no man can succeed as a breeder without the most liberal uso of printer's ink.' That is what we heard fall from the lips of an old and successful breeder the other day. This is truly one of the oc cupations where it will not do to hide your light under a bushel. The reason for all this is simple enough. Suppose for a number of years you have been assiduously attending to your breeding business on your farm, saying nothing to any one through the press, attending fairs and sales perhaps, but not giving any one to understand that you possess the spirit of a leader in your line of busi ness, and what is the result? You become overloaded with live stock and. being forced to advertise, no one knows who you are, and those who are in need of the very animal you have to sell con clude that, as they never heard of you before, the chances are that you are a mere adventurer in the business, one who has bought up a lot of animals to sell again. Such we say is the very natural conclusion, from the fact that you were not known to the community cf which you are a part. Perhaps you are not a writing man and know nothing of the art of quill-driving. That amounts to nothing. If you have any ideas of your own. and it is a poor man that has none, they can readily be put in form by the editor of a good journal. IJut if you so much dislike writing as to refuse to do it under any and ail circumstances, then you must advertise the more, for the lack of this. Advertise you should do any way; even if it be but a small one, it should be in several journals, and stay there year in and year out. Keep yourself before the public. One good way to court public atten tion is showing stock at fairs. It mat ters very little who gets tht premium, your gain comes from the notice you get from every journal that mentions the fair. All such scribblers praise you, no matter what you have on exhibition. Then there is the advertisement of pub lic sales: of course the better the ani mals you have in the sales the more they advertise you, but you should get into those sales even if you come in at the tail end. "We know a number of men who have been handling fine stock for twenty to thirty years, always breeding and buying the best, but who have never succeeded in selling to a great advan tage, simp! because they have neglected the proper use of printers ink. Amer ican Dairyman. ABOUT SHEEP. More sheep are lost by dogs in all of the older States than b. all other causes. This is an unnecessary tax. A few days ago a Montana flock master received a draft for a little over 45,000 for his wool clip of this year. Oats is a better grain feed than com for ewes. It is not so heating and con tains more of the nitrogenous element so essential in building up the system of the young. Every flock-master must know by this time that it is a constant diet on dry food in winter that plays the mischief with the flock. If you have neither en silage nor roots, feed some oil meal. Com must be fed to sheep very spar ingly. Xot over a pound and a half of corn should be given daily to a good sized wether. But in addition it must hr ve plenty of nutritious grass or hay. .Many farmers in Western New York gave up the wool business as unprofit able long ago, but still keep sheep, and say that keeping the mutton breeds is one of the best-paying branches of farm ing. Sheep should not be compelled to feed at the same rack with cattle. They are liable to be hooked, and a vicious ram may sometimes do injury to cattle. Separate yards and separate racks are safest and best. Savins Manure. Successful gardening means a plenti ful application of fertilizers, and, in deed, there should be more attention given to saving manure on the farm than is now bestowed. Our land is mostly very fertile naturally, but manure does not hurt any land, and the time will come when either we or those who come after us must fertilize the land. But the garden needs manure, and we would raise the best garden crops. In the first place, we should have a barnyard that is fitted for saving the manure. If the yard is one that per mits all the drainage to run to waste we shall lose a good deal. The drainage should bo taken care of somehow, it being left to the individual judgment in each case as how best to do that- Then in piling up manure it is much better to put it into a fiat heap. If you pile horse manure on to a high, loose place fer mentation will be excessive and a vast deal of ammonia will be wasted. If it is put into a flapile the process of fer mentation can be regulated, for when it is too great the pile can be trodden down. That will check fermentation. Western Rural. A Practical Sacce-w. The Spreckles beet sugar enterprise in Santa Cruz County, says the San Fran cisco Call, has proved a practical suc cess, and the world is thereby furnished with another illustration of Claus Spreckles sagacity. This latest suc cess increases the business prestige of Spreckles to an enormous extent. He said the enterprise would succeed and was sanguine in the face of failures. He held that previous experiments had not been properly made and could not be considered as true tests. The beet sugar factory at Watsonville has been running two weeks, and a crushing of 350 tons of beet a day has yielded forty tons of sugar. The enterprise is highly appre ciated by the farmers of the Watsonville region and the people of the town, for the very excellent reason that it has de veloped one season of prosperity and in sured more. It is to be hoped'that Mr. Spr"ckles will look into other industries after he has finished with sugar. A man of his intelligence and force should not confine his attention to any one product. Sugar BowL BARREL HOOPS. Their Manufacture from Plaatiac the FoI to ShaTinc the Hoop. Assuming that the poles have been artificially grown, the first cutting will probably be made the fourth or fifth year from time of planting. If grown thick ly, as directed, there will be from 20,000 to 30.000 poles on an acre. Perhaps not more than one-fourth of these will be of sufficient size to cut this first time. The lengths required are as follows. For mo lasses barrels, eight-foot poles; for pork barrels, seven-foot; for smaller-sized bar rels, four-foot six inches, five-foot six inches and six-foot. Thegreatest demand is for the two longest mentioned. The poles to be manufactured into these lengths must be at least one inch in diameter at the top end. The smallest size mentioned need not be over five eighths of an inch in diameter at the top end. As a rule it will not pay to cut the poles until they have attained the larger size named, as the price is so low for these small sizes that it will be more profitable to give the timber another season's growth before cutting. The cutting should be done in lato autumn and winter, so that new sprouts will spring up to take the places of trees removed. A constant supply is thus kept up. Caro should be used not to injure the smaller poles in taking out the large ones wanted for immedi ate use. A small shop may be built at little cost ex pressly for making the hoops, as it may be wholly of rough lumber of a cheap grade. It should be m a d e tolerably tight, not to protect the workmen from the cold, for if he is fig. 1. the srLrr- industrious he will TEB- not suffer at this work, even with his coat off: but he must have a room warm enough to thaw the frost from his poles. They can not well be worked when full of frost, as the splitter will not follow the grain, and the knife works great havoc in shaving. A section of an old smoke-stack, four or five feet long, makes a good heater for this purpose. Set one end in a sand bed, as a precaution against fire on tho floor. Fit a top to it of sheet iron, in which a hole is made for the pipe to be attached. Cut a huge door in one side, through which mav be crammed whole FIG. 2. SHAVIXG nOKSE.. armfuls of the shavings and other refuse from the manufacture. Nothing is too green to burn in one of these heaters. Stand the poles up around the heater and against the walls near by, where they will get the full benefit of the heat. Put as many poles into the room in the morning as can be manufactured through the day, that they may all be thawed. Fig. 1 shows the splitter. The largest portion is a log or post about a foot in diameter and three feet long. This is placed within eighteen inches of the side of the room, firmly spiked to the floor and braced by a stiff stage from near the top of the post diagonally to the studding of the walL Fig. 2 shows the shaving-horse; 6 is in the bed-piece, or seat for workman: 3, table over which the hoop passes in shaving. It is supported by a block, 2, which holds it six or eight inches above the bed-piece. It is rounded at the lower end and firmly spiked at both bearings. The slot must be large FIG. 3. THE TTEfG-lLLCK. enough to allow the arm, 4, to play easily. One is a three-fourths-inch iron rod. eight inches long, to which an iron plate is welded, by which it may be at tached to the top front side of arm, 4 When the foot is placed against the treadle, 5, this rod or jaw is thrown down on the hoop, which may run the length of the table on either side of the arm. Cse a smooth round rod for this jaw. The hoop may then be slipped back and forth rapidly in shaving. The arm is swung on a three-fourths-inch bolt at 7. The construction of the tying-rack is plainly shown in Fig. 3." It has a head-piece, against which the but ends of the hoops are placed. The middle up right piece can be moved to suit the length of the hoop to be tied. The binder represented in Fig. 4 is placed with the rope across the rack, a lever hanging down on either side- After the hoops are placed in, this rope will be fig. 4. the bdojec under them, but on top of the side hori zontal pieces. When ready to bind swing the short ends of the levers up over the bundle; then lift up on the long and outer ends. This encircles the bundle. Lift up until the long ends stand up straight and together. Now cross and bring down with full weight; tie, change ends with bundle, and do the same again. A stout tarred twine is made purposely for this work. The tie should be mado about two feet from the end of the bun dle of the long hoops. Put fifty in a bundle of the greatest lengths, and oa hundred of the short ones. America Agriculturist. F i 1 ih n "'pyKMw fJS