The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on May 4, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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OTflBft BES MQINflS., , IOWA, WEDNESDAY; MAY 4, 1802* CONFLICT, A STORY OF CASTE. CHAPTER. VII. "What do 1 think' of Florence? Is she not pretty? But is it pride or- sorrow that She is filled with?" were questions that were poured eagerly into Philip Carrington's ear on the day after his arrival. . .(What do I think of .her, Ethel? AThy, ' it is early for me to think anything; and surely it cannot be my province to speculate about our high-born lady-cousin." "Oh, but it is!" Ma'ud declared, her brother's opinion always being the cue for her own; and on this occasion she hoped so earnestly that Philip's would be what she desired. . "Well, if I must tell you something, Maud, I will tell you that I think the young lady very charming, though a little cold perhaps, very proud and sclf-contaln- cd; of her -beauty there cannot be two opinions." . «Do you think that it is pride that is her besetting fault, Phil?" Hthel asked: she had her own misgivings on the point. «.Yes 1 think it is," Philip answered slowly; "but it mutters little, child; we elmll soon cure her of it when sbe has been with iis a little longer." Days and weeks' passed in Flercncs Worthlngton's new home. Siimnwr was fading into -autumn: the long lingering evenings in the old fashioned garden were gradually subsiding -into others scarcely less pleasant, but spent within doors, over Wlliards, music, needlework, and reading. There were evenings when Florence would decline to take part in any of tho family pleasures— when sbe would sit with (lushed face bent down persistently over fancy work, repelling all her cousins' advances, and when the chief culprit, Philip, would appeal-perfectly blind to her changed manner, and would meet her always on ner own ground, ready in a moment td be either friend or foe us she chose. But Flor. ciice often found that, when they were foes it was she who had to make the first concession to be friends — worse still, she felt 'herself utterly miserable until they were so. There were times when she was often stung to the quick because Philip's laugh was so constant and mirthful, and his ulue eyes so bright and mocking. Then she would sit apart in stately silence until lie had provoked her into quarreling with him again. In spite of all wranglings she found herself anxiously awaiting the evening meal, which nearly always brought witli it the society of her hated cousin Philip. Her letters to her aunt, who was now in Kice, were anything but frequent; still in some of them she must have betrayed a secret happiness; for Lady Haven wrote back rather fully to her niece, congratulating her upon her good sense in being able to conform so cheerfully to Ijer present life while it should last, but tir. gently advising her in no way to untangle herself irritriovably with bnr new relatives so that she could not easi.y withdraw from • close intimacy, should Klie be called up. on to do so upon any future time. They were most estimable people, Lady Haven wrote, and worthy of all consideration and gratitude; but still under her guidance, a little time hence, there could be no reason why Florence should not make a match suitable to her position — a position which might exclude relatives who were engaged in trade. Above all things she warned her against any sort of entanglement with her stup-co'tisin Philip, though she felt sure such advice must be quite superfluous, as Florence's good taste and breeding must preclude such a possibility. With a curling lip Florence read the letter. "They are sentiments worthy my most estimable aunt," she said to herself, while she tore tho letter into a thousand frag. taunts. It had arrived at a time when Florence and Philip were not good friends. He had offended her by reading her heart too clearly, and more by informing her that he knew perfectly well that the arrival of Mr. A rues, brewer, or John Hastings, tea- broker, both passable English gentlemen, or their .si.stors, girls quite her own equals in refinement or education,- was always the signal for her to keep herself in close seclusion in her own room. She had pleaded her heavy mourning, but her haughty and silent greetings to her cousins' friends had betrayed her to Philip, and he had taxed her with coldness and unsociability on the previous evening, even presuming to enter her own sitting-room for the purpose, They wore all below in tho full enjoy- mint of the piano and the billiard-table, while Florence was sitting in solemn grandeur in her room, an open book on her knee, but her ears listening to the happy voices in the apartment beneath her. "Florence, I have come to fetch you. — "Call insist you shall not remain up-stairs BO long by yourself; it is not good for you, cliild," Philip Carrington declared, standing close to his cousin — lie had run upstairs so lightly that she had not heard his "up, and was a littto (lurried at his entrance. "Come Florence," he said, taking "old (irmly of one of her hands; "we are longing for the pleasure of your society. J^ome, dear," he pleaded, still clasping her hand. "You know I er—J'jtnei—every one out me. A own mat, but lor your own sake. Florence; I cure lit- tie. If people will he so 'difficult,' I always think it best to let th-mi follow their own sweet inclinations until they find out their nu>(.!ilc fi which they nearly ahv.-w.s (to late" ' though P er '" ! 'PS not until too Florence's eyes were (lashing lire. "I am grieved to be such a trouble In t he house" she said steadily. "You nre all too kind. You should leave me alone, ana not heed my coining or going in any "You are saying now what vou do not really mo..,,, or think, Miss Worthington,»' Her cousin answered. "Come, Florence," ho said more lightly, after a moment's at- lence, <<do not be unyielding now. Slake them all happy below by joining them. Mv dear mother, bless her!—is so tender-hearU ccl.that she. keeps tormenting herself about you incessantly—bless her!—Maud too Mliol just now has a counter-attraction," uo added, laughing. "You are uomlnirt-u. Ah, Florence, I see I have prevailed i" But he spoko too quickly. "Indeed you have not I I was not think, ing of such a thing." "Shall I tell you why you will not come downstairs to-night, Florence—though perhaps you will never forgive me if 1 trol her overbearing temper," Lady Mod- dowes told her mother clasping her little Son rt'nd heir to her breast. Arid so it was that Lady Haven wrote rather more warmly on the subject to her niece than she hail hitherto done. *..'•'# * * * • "Will She come with us or not, Phil?" Ethel asked her brother eagerly. "Am I to answer you as you wish, Ethel, or as I think?" Philip replied. "I have no Idea what you mean, Mr. Cnr- nngton. AVlint reason can you .impute to me, except the one I have already given my deep mourning?" •» "No Florence; that Is not quite the reason," I'lillip said. "It is Shall 1 tell you the real truth, Miss "Worthington? It is always best. It Is that you do not con. slder our visitors—hay, ourselves—quite on the same footing with yourself. You feel your pride a little hurt by the contact, Doubtless you have always'been accustomed to a different sphere; but in some unaccountable way we are all fond of you, and that should make you overlook our many shortcomings. AVe are all tradespeople, indisputably; but still you are related to us by blood-ties; and surely we do not overwhelm you with our business concerns, he added quietly and—for him—nervously Florence listened with ^'flushing face, and eyes so full of tears tlml she dared not raise them lest some should fall and betray her indignation at his reproaches That he bad dared to read her heart so plainly filled her with a burning pain: and yet blent with it was a latent feeling-of pleasure at the unmistakable interest he hud betrayed. "You have no right to say such things to mo, Mr. Carrington 1 I ha\ u never said or done anything to make you accuse me in this way! It would bo impossible forme ever to feel grateful enough for the kindness I have received in this house, from the first day I came until now." Florence said quickly, in u low passionate voice. "If I am wrong in what'I have said, Florence, forgive me, I pray you," Philip Curringtou entreated, again putting bis hand on hern; "if I am right, then lay it to heart, and try to make the best of us to like us a little, as we like you." "I think you are very unjust and disagreeable, Mr. Carrington," Florence rejoined taking refuge in anger, the only thing left for her. "Do you? I am sorry, and must try in some way to retrieve my character," Philip said laughing bis ordinary light laugh and rising. Then, as if something suddenly struck him, he sat down again. "Florence, why is it that you never call me by my Christian name? Do you dislike it or m'e? No, I do not really think the latter," he added, seeing quick alarm or denial in her face. I see no reason why you should do so; but it seems to me as if it must be easier for you to call me 'Philip' than <Mr. Carrington,' which confounds me with my father. Will you try once?" her tormentor asked. "You are not really my cousin, Mr Carrington," Florence answered perversely. "Am I not? AVell, that never occurred to mo before, Florence. My mother and sisters have been real mother and sisters to me; I could not for a moment look upon them as aught else; and, without your ou- lightening me, I must Imvo looked upon their relatives.as my own. For their sukes, Florence, give me a little bit of consulship —the least little bit," he asked pleadingly, his gray eyes bent mercilessly upon her face. "Yes, you will, I see. Ah, I had nearly forgotten!" ho said suddenly, drawing from his breast-pocket a long parcel.— "Sue hero, Florence; I heard you admire tho white-rose perfume that Ethel makes use of so extensively, and I have brought you some. I am afraid I must confess to you," lie added slowly, "that I have manufactured it myself expressly for you; yet never sec any one in my mourning, it would not bo right even if i wished it; and Heaven- knows 1 uonot!" she said excitedly. 1'liilip droppi/d lu-i- hand, but drew a •will 1 i-.iuse to uur side. "Florence thu time for that excuse is Past, or we should respect your wisi» j you know wo should even now if it concerned »j>y but old friends like John and Amy -Hustings—almost our own family. That .J^usu cannot hold good; and, if you pur- it, you will give them n nervous about coming so often, and pain not a little, which 1 am sure you would not wish to do." "-No; 1 certainly do not wish that, Flor. en «e admitted. "Vet you must inevitably do so, if you Persist in your present determination. You «lould remember too tlmt in « t'uw weeks lllc y will almost be your own cousins, as we m-i!.» ' A'l'.is last bit of information was not « 0 reeable news for I'Moroncii; she told her° 01 'she had no wish to increase the num. UB »'ot her low-born relativos." 'Mr. Uarrington, please do not ask me to "Wo down stair*; will, my wmil be only a cloud upon , ntr — ll «d indeed 1 am happier he..,. ' i our inourning is scarcely heavier tban Amy s Cor i l{il! mother," I'hilip said. , ,, S>0 ," U! porsons feel their losses diil'ereut- J J> l< lorunco answered coldly. ix " "-i could have taken'the loss of a your amuse- ere/' oilic.r to heart more than poor Amv did, I m;,'> pump told her. "Conic, Florem^, t lo tills unsouiableiioss. U<t me down. Como to please me, will v, i us ? I usl < vou >" he pleaded in a low dote t , i Wlw dtinjjuruuslyswcut, bending i.MM h ° ! ol , lg(Hl to y u>ld -5 but tll<! ),„,, T mpusSttbl ° to who know?, but that I have-taken especial pains with it on that account? See—I have spared your feelings by discarding the business label and not availing myself of the ordinary essence-bottle; I have even put the perfume in a passable ornamental one; and I hope you will use it and forgot where it camo from." Mr. Carrington con. eluded laughing. Florence felt that her cheeks would nev- or cool again. Prido urged her to reject his present, and yet she yearned for it— perhaps for another reason than its own sake—as it lay on the little table close to her hands; but he did not wait for her answer. '•Well, good night, Miss Worthington. I have been encroaching unwarrantably upon your solitude; but I am so thoughtless," And in another moment be was gone. "She has had a lesson, mother," he said on his return to the room below. "Poor girl, she will not come down-stairs tonight; but I think she will another time." Florence remained alone; she was heart- sore, and angry with herself for things she had said, but perhaps more angry with Philip. Had ho asked her only once again, she knew she would have yielded. As it was, the happy voices below, and Philip's mellow laugh and voice, which she heard srfplainly amid tho rest, gave her many heart-burnings. "Let us have the truth of course, you, silly boy! Do you think Florence will come with us?. It will be so much nicer if she i.lofes. Do ask her!" "No, Ethel, I cannot do that; sbe snubbed me a little too plainly the last time My feelings will not stand it again." "Just take it for granted that she Is coming, and don't ask her at all," commonsense Maud suggested. . «Maud is always right," said her brother- "It will be; by far the best plan." "And we have dined earlier on purpose," Ethel remarked. The matter in question was not very important; nevertheless the peace of mind of several persons seemed rather deeply in. volved in it. Miss Worthington, with a Hushed face and wildly beating heart, was pacing her own room; and Philip Carrington was caring very much more than ho chose to show. Periodically at his chain, bors he gave an entertainment to his sisters and their friends, the chief pleasures of which must have been the novelty of the »cene and the amusements, for the guests wore allowed to dabble in a few slightly dangerous experiments in chemistry, under the watchful supervision of their entertainer. On Mils occasion unusually elaborate preparations had been made for the reception of Florence. Philip had given her tho. invitation himself, and had been but little .itimiyrd by her ub«tlmi(c refusal. Her temper lnul 'been .i|l;rntly rallied beforehand, wliich'wa." ratal to her :u-< • t.ance, lu spite of her yearning wildly tn Moreover, Florence ' had unluckily received a lo'ng letter from Lady Haven that morning, full of njost aristocratic arrange, meats for tho future—plans that should disentangle Florence courteously from her objectionable relatives. Miss Worthlngton was trying hard, though rather vainly, to force herself to believe that, low as her fate had lately dragged her, she had not yet fallen so irretrievably as to condescend to accept any hospitality or amusement at her cousin's hated shop; but she knew too well that in her heart she would have given anything that she possessed to see Philip's chambers and private rooms, to receive pleasures from hands she was learning to love too well, whose lightest touch would sometimes thrill dangerously through her whole frame. The way to yield, now however to please herself, was not made sufficiently easy to her. Had Philip himself asked her again, urged her enough, siie would have gratified her burning desire by graciously yielding; but he had done so on the previous occasion, when she cared less and would not be prevailed upon, and now his invitation was not repeated. In vain Maud took it for granted that she was coming with them that bright af. ternoon—nay, she even urged her—while pretty Ethel pleaded—pleading which few could have resisted. Florence waited like, a spoilt child for words that did not come, for a sweet voice that was dumb; and her persistent refusal became almost tearful with vexation, the girls thought at their persistence, and they ceased to urge. The time was at hand, and they were all on the point of starting for Oxford Street and the dreadful shop, their pleasure not a little spoilt by their cousin's unsociable- ness. Florence tried to settle down to answer her aunt's letters, but was almost in tears as she saw the girls pass her door, nodding their good-bye on the way and promising not to be late. Then there was a moment's lingering in the hall, and Philip ran up stairs for something he had forgotten. An irrepressible impulse brought Florence to her door as he was hurrying past, and he stopped. Her eyes were tearful and her voice was tremulous; she was little used to self-denial, and it tried her sorely. "Philip, may I come?" In another moment she had broken down, and was turning away. "Wonders will never cease," thought Philip, following Florence at once into her room. Again his hand lightly touched her waist, and this time it did not seem to degrade her as it had done before. "May you come, Florence? therein, bade her amuse herself with a sight she had never seen before from such an elevation—the busy street below; and Florence was as pleased as a child. "I had ho Idea your rooms could be like these," she said, amazed. "Had you not?" her cousin asked, stooping close to he.r. "Xo, Florence, I can well imagine that. You thought I lived, .When in my own home, in some little dark shop—is not that the case?" he asked laughing. Florence, was recovering her spirits and answered bravely: "Shall I tell you the truth? I did think so." "And were properly disgusted, cousin. I shall not wonder if you have a few more favorable discoveries to make yet—if you care to do so." "I am afraid yo« will not like papa's pluoo so well Florence," Ethel said—"it i« much less grand; but then you know he hardly ever lives there, which makes all the difference, while Pnilip is often here for a week at a time. When we are out of town, papa has only one little parlor behind bis shop; you must pay him a visit there one day, just to sec it." "We must let her down by degrees, Ethel, and not frighten her too much at once," Philip said, his eyes all brightness and fixed mercilessly upon Florence. "You are not very generous, Mr. Carrington," she answered nervously, and, rising as she spoke, followed the girls into their brother's other room, which somewhat resembled the first. Then the Hastings party arrived, and soon afterwards tea was served, at which flowers were not lacking, for Miss Worthington's gratification and the time passed away quickly. "Let us walk home," was the petition of all some hours later, when a splendid moon was discovered to be shining, the air being somewhat frosty. Ethel had good reasons for wishing to walk with John Hastings, and Maud desired the companionship of her friend Amy; there remained only Miss Worthington, whose aristocratic habits had unfitted her for such exercise, Philip looking dubi. ously at her when tho proposition was made. "It will be impossible for Florence," he urged; "she would be half dead before we got a quarter of the way." And then he saw uiinlistakahlo signs of disappointment in her eyes. "You would like to walk with the rest, Florence—is it so?" Her face brightened like a child's. "AVell, you shall try, ut any rate; we can easily find a cab when you have had enough—you and I cer- taialy, if the rest like to walk best." TO BE CONTINUED. FARM AND HOME, IK OLJ) AGB. Written on my El^lity-ievonth Birthday• BT DAVID DBDLET FISLD. What id It now to live? It le to breathe The air of heaven, behold the t>lea6unt earth, The chining rivers, the inconstant sea, Sublimity of mountains', wealth of clouds, And radiance o'er nil of conntlegr stars. It IB to sit before the cheerful hearth With groups of friends and kindred, store of books., Rich heritage from Ages fast, Hold sweet communion eoul with soul, On things now passed, or present or to come, Or iniise alone upon my early day§, Unbind tli" scroll whereon'U writ The »tory ot my busy life, Mistake* too often, but successes more, And consciousness of duty done. It U to Bee with laughing eyes the play Of children sporting on the lawn, Or mark the eager strifes of men And nations, seeking e»ch and all. Belike idvnntnge to obtain Above their fellows; Bnch U mnnt It IB to feel the pulses quicken as I hear Ofgreat events near or afar. Whereon my turn perchance The fate of eenarationn, ages hence It Is to rest with folded arms botlme«, And so surrounded, eo susUtine& Ponder on what may yet befall In that unknown myiterlous realm which llei beyond the range of mortil ken, ft here eouli Immorlal do forever dwell; Think of the loved ones who await me there, And without mourning or Inward jtrlef, With mind unbroken and no fear, Calmly awuit the coming of the Lord. —The Independent. work they cause a marked decrease in weight. Sulphur, or salt, sprinkled in hu»ked corn, will tend to drive the insects away. The best remedy for prain insects is bi- sulphide of carbon, For this ''quarantine" bin should be built and the grain treated in it as gathered. The amount of bi-sulphide needed raries with the tight* ness of the bin, but, as a rule, one ounce of bi-sulphide to 100 pounds < of gr&in. is sufficient. As the bi-sulphide is explosive, all lights from matches, cigars and the like sheuld be kept away until all odor from the fumes has passed oft. Insects in mills should be treated with bi-sulphide, beginning in the basement and going upward. To destroy all insects in the spring with bi-sulphide in or near the er-apty pranary wil! tend to decrease any datnago done the next fall and winter, FARM NOTBS. Cooked Food for Hogs. It may be an open question whether it will pay all farmers to feed cooked food to their bops, but there is 110 doubt but what cooked food will make more flesh than uncooked, because a larger proportion will be digested and assimilated. The Conutrj Road*, expense of Ihe maintenance THEY PLAYED DIXIE. III. succession, with - now (,uouk her that perhaps , u (glit be too great u to. expect," Jio wild, laughing NOojn.0, th.eu, C'JIAl'TKU V Days passed in quick few events to hrcalc their monotony; nevertheless they wore all fraught with pleas, uro to Florence; and in after-years she could have counted each one separately, each one as a liri^ht drop in the fullest cup of happiness she had ever known. Letters which now arrived from tho South of France began to 1111 Jliss Worthington's mind with vague alarm rather than pleas, lire. They announced the possible return to England of Lady Haven some months before she was expected, and they also hinted that on her return Lady Haven expected her niece to be enchanted to share her home. "After all, she is poor Arthur's only child," Lady Haven justly remarked to her married daughter. "I must try to do something for tho girl which may enable her to make a decent match. At the worst, if we do not agree, she can but return to her mother's relatives. Her popr father's shortcomings will be forgotten l^ynoxUea, son, »nd, with lier beauty ami birth., elie should, wnAw juy ch.a,peroju»so, something-" ' Do I hear rightly? My dear child, <Yes' a thousand times. You had nearly spoilt all my pleasure—mine, dear—do you hear:"' he asked, bending close to her. "Why did you leave it to the last? It is the merest chance we had not started." "You never asked me," Florence said like a spoilt child, as she was. "Not this time, Florence—your refusal was a little too decided the last. But I shall know now. Your <No' always means <Ycs' for the future," he said laughing "I will never take your'No'again, remem. her that," he added earnestly. "Now get ready quickly, or the Hastings party will arrive before' us. They are coming—you know that?" he said half fearfully. "Oh, yes, I know that!" Florence answered nervously; and 1'hilip Carrington turned away, his pulses throbbing, his eyes seemingly opened to such a sudden (lash of sunlight as nearly dazed him. No longer need he repress all his yearnings, all Ins feelings, as lie had hitherto done. What if he had mistaken his cousin from the tirst, if her pride had only been reticence—a spoilt girl's coijuetry? "Uirls, wait I" he shouted. "Florence is coming?" In their surprise Ethol and Maud ran up stairs to know the truth, and found .Miss WorUiington nearly dressed, her crape veil drawn tightly over her face. "Why Florence, what made you change your mind so quickly," Maud a'sked, with some reason. •'localise she knew we wished it," Phil- Ip answered with unusual shortness, A few minute* later they wuru all out in the ('resli tuitiimii air, Florence's hand held tightly under hur consul's arm, a little shame, a little iiervou.snts.-, and a groat deal of happiness in her heart: but site soon ('(Hind herself tajldng animatedly with the others, though sonu'tiincs wondering curiously what her cousin's chambers could bo like. In her heart she knew, let them be what tliey might or whore they might, they were I'hilip Carrington's and taut fact alone must make them endurable.— They walked on until they were tired, or rather fancied Florence might be, and ^lieu took a cab to Oxford Street, within a stone's throw of the park; and presently Flprouce found herself deposited in front of some imposing-looking premises not a shop. She followed-her cousins up to tho third floor, whore Philip producing his latch-key gave entrance to n room which astonished Miss Worthington not a little. It was a large handsome sitting room, furnished as luxuriously as any bachelor's sitting-room could be, with a deep crimson carpet, pajj and ytreobt velvet eU,iiivs, rich, yep oui> twins that draped three large windows, and easy chairs, plitljn, a/tej wheels' An Incident of the Last Day of President Lincoln's Life. . Although a quarter of a century has elapsed since the death of Abraham Lincoln, every incident in regard to the character and life of the martyr president is still read with great interest I first saw him when I wa§ a clerk in the bureau of military justioa. in the summer of 1864, says a writer in the National Tribune. He came in •to see Judge Holt in regard to the case of a private soldUr who had been sentenced to death for desertion, and whose sister had come in to plead with Mr. Lincoln for her brother's life. The judge sent for me and told me to get out the record, and for an hour he and the president discussed that case, Mr. Lincoln exercising more the ingenuity of a counsel for the defense. When they had finished and Mr. Lincoln came put of the judge's room he said: "I think, Mr. Holt 'you can now make recommendation upon which I can safely act, and I will have some good news for that poor girl" The next day the judge made a report recommending that the sentence be disapproved and that the man b« restored to duty. This was approved by the president and the soldier was •aved from an ignominious death. I remember how forcibly it struck ma at the time that the president of the United States should personally interest himself in behalf of a private •oldier whom he certainly never knew, and who was but one of hundreds of thousands of those who were in the field, but his great and sympathetic nature had been touched by the appeal of the man's sister, and he determined to look into the matter himself. I remember the day on which ho was shot very distinctly, and I sup. pose that I heard the last speech that toe ever made, that is, in public, I bad been over to the treasury department and in going back I went through the white house grounds. Some procession or other, I don't horses and mulei in America during the periods of enforced idleness on account of impassable roads is estimated at eighty millions of dollars a year, and with hard, smooth country roads not half the present power would oe required to draw loads. Value of the Breed. The real value of a breed is the production of eggs or meat, and the greater the reputation of a breed as a laj er or market fowl the greater the demand for it by the people. The measure of weight or production rests with the breeder who builds year by jpar to improve. Feeding; Whole Corn. No kind of farm stock 'excepting sheep and poultry will degest whole corn without greater loss than the miller would take as toll for grinding. Where cattle are fed •whole corn it is the practice of western farmers to turn in store hogs, which get a good living, and will sometimes fatten on the undigested corn voided in the drof- pings^ Even the hogs, if they get much of this half digested corn, will void pieces of corn that have gone through them without affording any nutriment. The Old Cow. Corn beef does not sell well in the markets, but if the fattening has been rapid, its quality is often much better than its nnme. An old cow, so long as her teeth are good, has generally good digestion, andean be fattened, with proper feeding into beef that will be good-for home use if not to sell. Bones for Trees and Grape*. If bones are pounded in'o small pieces deposited round the trees and grape vices, and chopped in witL a hoe, they will show good results for years, as they slowly give up their particles. This is better than having them dry up and decay upon the surface of the ground, where they are useless. • Save and utilize all the dried bones. Rotating Cropi. * Rotation of crops assists in preventing insects. By depriving insects of their natural food they are lessened in numbers. Potatoes should not succeed potatoes on the same land, and the rule holds good with many oth^r crops, some crops being omitted from the list altogether, and their places supplied with crops entirely Jdis- tinct, should occasion r_equire. Rotation also prevents loss of fertility of the soil to a certain extent. Sprint Feeding;. It would be poor policy to feed a horse through the winter, and then let him starve to death just as the working season commences in the spring. It would be just as bad policy to winter a colony of bees through the winter, and then let them starve to death in the spring, and while the loss of the bees would not be so great the principle is the same. Feeding bees in the spring requires great care. II fed carelessly, or any gets spilled by accident, robbing will be very apt to result, and if robbing once gets started, there is no telling where it will end. The best way to feed bees is to take out a comb that is empty; or which has no brood in it, and fill with syrup of sugar, two thirds sugar and one-third water; put the comb in a pan sufficiently largo to hold it and pour the syrup in. When one side is tilled as- full as it is possible to fill it, turn it over and fill the other side in a similar manner, then insert the comb in the center of the hive, and if it has been well tilled that hive is provisioned for a week. Some make a practice of feeding a small of quantity eacu day.to stimulate brood rearing. This is too much trouble unless there is some special object in view, such as the rearing of drones by some one who wishes to rear queens early. THE HOU8KHO.LD. Speak Nae III. •ELECTHD. Other people lure tbelr fnnlta, And HO have you as well; But all ye chance to see or hear Ye have no right to tell. If ye cannot upoak o' good, Take care, and Bee mid fee) Earth ban too much o 1 woe, Ami not enough o' weal. Be careful that ye mako nae strife, \V1' medllng tongue and brain; For ye will find enough to do If ye but look at hame. If yo cannot Bpeako' good, Oil! dlnrm Bpenk ut nil; For there la grief and woe enough On this terrestrial ball. If ye should feel like picking flnwi, ' Ye better go, I weou, And read the Book that tell ye all About the moat and beam, Dlmm lend a ready ear To gOBMip or to etrife, Or perhaps 'twill moke for ye Na sunny thing of Ufa. Oh! dlnna add to others 1 woe, Nor mock it with your mirth; But (jive ye kindly sympathy To suffering OUCH of earth. Merit wins at lasb, but it may take years of patient waiting. The measure of our success is in proportion as we satisfy God. If you look at the top side of a cloud you will always see something bright. Look straight up and you will always see sunshine. It is never dark in Heaven. He who prays for a blessing should be careful to keep himself where it can fall on him. "He that followeth after righteousness' and mercy findeth life, righteousness aad' honor." Be courageous and noble minded; our own heart, and not other men's opinions- of us form our true honor. — ;'chiller. The Carr»ut Worm, When the currant worm first began its ravages, the price of this fruit, went suddenly so high thit those who learned the knack of saving it by nsing hellebore made enormous profits. TLe price of late years has not been so high, but high enough to give a good proft aa compared with ordinary farm crops. The currant is more easily propagated than any other — — I-- «-«WMW»W*« w» WVU«*| A UVU * . «. » il* I ij Vi know what BOW—for in the days j U8 t £ • ' u , cuttin & planted now will bf a iniinwinrrtK^ *oii ~f m»i._* j _* ^ J Ju" living bush a year hence, and if cared for following the fall of Richmond and the lurrender of Appomattox processiona were constantly going up and down the avenue in Washington—had gone up to tha white house, and Mr. Lincoln was on the porch making a speech. Just as I reached the crowd I heard him Bay: "Now I want to say a word to the band. There is a tune that I have always liked that is called •Dixia' It hain't been played mufb, on our side ot the line, but I think We have fairly conquered the right to play It and I want the band to nlav •Dixie,'" v ' The band played "Dixje," the orowd cheered, the procession inarched away, and I went back to my office in the Winder Building, .'• ' t. Ullt^Ikl. Mrs. Yorgor—Do you know. Mra. Pou-i-by, that your hiisbuud tells everybody that you uru a dreadful scold. Mrs. Peterby—I know all about it, but he don't really mean it He calls me a Xantippe, hoping that somebody will call him Socrates, but nobody OM don* it yet,—Texas Sift- g bush a year hence, and if cared for will bear liberally thereafter. The work of paving the currants with hellebore is a trifle if attended to in time. But as the fruit depends on the leaves, the hellebore mu«t be applied as »oon as the worms appear, _ It is best used wten the leaves are wet with dew, but a solution of hellebore used when the leaves are dry is equally effective. Caring Bumsund Bacon, n expart in the important branch of domestic economy of curing bums and bacon, advises to pack the nwat in » swf et, clean cask, and cover with brine made as follows; Take half as much water as will cover the mt>at, and put- in al! the salt it will dissolve; add the other half of thfe water required, with two quarts of molasses and a quarter of a pound of saltpeter for each hundred pounds of meat. In six weeks the meat will be ready for smoking. It should be bung in the smoke-house for a day or two before the smoking begins, in order to dry off. In warm weather a dark The Joy of Early Sprint. "Happiness in this world, when it comes, said Hawthorne, "comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads a wild-goose chase, and is never attained." The simplest joys are the truest—the most abiding. The joy of early spring days must reside partly, perhaps mostly, in tho heart of the beholder himself. Be sres what he brings to the scene; and it requires but a few gleams , or_ reflections of his own soul on the great mirror of the outward world to awaken and glorify the picture there.—Hartford Times. What Make* us Wine. 'Tis not the food we swallow that does us good, but. that which we digest and assimilate. Just so it is not what we see and hear, what wo read and recite that which we retain and incorporate in mind, heart, life. Work Its Own Reward. . All noble work is consecrated work. It involves sacrifice, self denial, pain; it r< quires endurance. It may be wrought in obscurity, and over its victories no song of triumph may be raised. But if tho worker love it and his toiling is hallowed bv sincerity;, by generous impulse by unselfish devotion to others' wellfare the work will be its own reward.—Ha. per's Bazar. _^ An Odd Superstition. Two girls sat drinking coffee in • ladies' restaurant, One of them had just put the cream in her coffee and was about to stir it with a spoon when the other suddenly cried out: • •Don't touch it, Kate! Don't dig. The Sacred Plant* of tue Druids. The Druids held many plant* •acred, a* for instance, vervain, selago, mistletoe, and, among tree* the oak and the rowan. There is. J think, no serious doubt as to tha, Identity of any of these except the) »econd (aelago), wfeiob Is generally thought to fee flu oJwlj ino|B, 0»k ....,_- „ „„ turb it for the world! Try and take pmoke-house is necessary, to guard Hgainst I It up without breaking it" flies. As soon as the meat is sufficiently "What is itP" usked smoked, which is largely a mutter of taste, each piece should be enveloped in a strong paper bag, fastened securely, so that no insect can get-through where it is tied, and hung in a dry place. insects in Stored Grain, the other, •tarting buck in alarm. ••Why, don't you see? There's money in it. Look at the piece o! eilvei- floating on your coffee!" The other looked and saw a round white spot about the' eiza of a quarter floaung on her coffee. > -Slip your spoon under it and takf grain |he south 'receive consderation, These are foe Angumis grain moth, the black weevil and the red grain beetle, The transformation apd, habits of these , insects are abjout the sapne The erg* are It's a'l gone." jie grain, • 00$ befoj^nd get money that you don't expect if you disturb it in taking it out the charm will be broken. Oh, poor Kate! You won't get any jnonpy, .fjte Th0 two fajr heads nf>dded in eym. • fix an^

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