The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on May 18, 1892 · Page 7
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

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1BE tPPER MS MOINE& ALGONA. IOWA, WEDNESPAY V MAY18. 1892. A STORY OF CASTE. Amnnir Florence's Into troumes, pcrnaps So Wt ' ind becn th ' e Statc ° f P - KliV^^vWsin. She might not whh , Inave her present, home; but, having ac, only tinder some pressure, and oriu-Uy> she might not be able to re. should her uncle and aunt take for teranted that her visit was at an end, and Ker legitimate home ready to receive her. Snproportion at her chances of remaining •Wmed to grow prrrarious, so rlld her de. fan to stay gain Mrcngth, until Rome time* (tliouiiiit of IciiAiiis; lier present homo '.intolerable to IMTJ but at last her • were set at rest. On the arrival of irir IMven's letter, the Oarrington's wcro •ail clamorous in their desire that she should Iremftln with them at least some time long- r if sho must lcllvc them cvcntual| y> on ip'r aunt's return to Kngland. , "vniv, Florence, my dear, I thought Ivour homo wns to bu with us for good?" Ijicr uncle told her. I ,/Wc cannot spare, you, yet, dear," Mrs. ICftrrln»tortstiiil; a:ul Florence knew how l.lncnre licr.au nt ahvuys was. I «Tt is impossible. Florence. \ou must I write to your gruiHl lady-aunt und tell her 1 01, c,umot go," s)."Mt Ethel declared. «AVhy, Florence, you have promised over lend over again yon would not think of saving us yetl" Mn-.iil told her. All remonstrated with her but rhilip, I nnd he remained silent, eating his breakfast the while unconcernedly, but watch- tair lier. Florence IVU with intentness. , |or the first time in her lilb her con- I science, love, and prido pained her equally. I She knew her own heart now, and the I knowledge little pleased her. She had I learnt tluit her HIV must be one of lasting naln, which her pride would never stoop I low enough to rescue her from; and her I conscience whtsvicivd faintly that, now f that the power lay hi her own hands, she should Khun tho lovo she did not mean to accept. II ml^ht. 1m hers to take or leave, f K!IC etio.-e. l>;it never to play with. A shadow, sho thought, had fallen on , i'liilip Oarrington's bright face when the subject of her leaving them had been first mentioned; ImlhU voice alone was silent in urging her to stay. This did not escape Ethel's observation, and what sho noticed she rarely let pass. ' "riii'.i;i," s'.ie said, "you are the only ! one of us wlm does not usk Florence to [ «Uy." i "I have,lint, little faith In my power to I influence your cousin, ICthcl—that may be : tho reason," ho answered gravely; and Ethel looked amazed. The words sank deeply into Florence's I heart. If she had pride, she knew he had I far more; she full, eoiiilunt too that ho would i never hog for her love. He knew her pride, I and would subdue, it utterly or leave. Sho 1 might bu n Uaronet's daughter, the nicue of a OonnUMw; but slip must stand on an equality with liim.self ere lie sought her baud. He had gauged her pride thoroughly, and that seemed to hurt her more than all besides, and to make the barrier be. Uveeti tliein quite impassable. "\Vlwt sbo did not know was that ho had the advantage on his side, lie knew what her feelings wcro toward himself, andtliatshe was striving against them, while she could only think lie liUed her; and the uncertainty tormentc-d her. His alternate coldness and omprossemcnt Itept ho. : r lovo and pride always on the rack She would never accept his love, nevei marry him she told herself; but still she could" not leave him—at any rate, not just jet—n little while hence she would. Hlie had decided upon her answer to Lady Haven—her mint and cousins should prevail. She had indeed promised that she would ! help them with their Olmstmus party—:i pleasure they always looked forward to.— She dreaded the long journey to Nice, anc she cuulil not break lier word. She wotik avuil herself of her aunt's kindness two months later, she wrote to the Countess lUvcn, to her hulyoliij..' indignation. "Tier mother's blood has prevailed," Lady Mcddiwes declared. "You see mother, she has decided for her tradesmen kinsfolk, and perhaps it is belter; it will at leasi rid us of some trouble. She would not be a yoiing lady easy to control, and I cloubl t her ways being our ways." But Lady Haven evidently had a sofi place in her heart for her nieee. She hat eared for her brother as much as it was ii her nature. to care for any one in the world; and her conscience pricked her a little that she had thrown oil' his child ii her first great sorrow, and driven her un der Influences which sho had becn unusec to, the very novelty of which, to a young - girl, yielded a certain fascination. But I' Florence's refusal to accept her cousin's invitation was rather decided, and Lad) Raven had little hope of altering hei niece's decision. Florence had promised the OaiTingtons' to remain with them over Christmas, and shit intended to keep her word. She was disinclined for the long journey to JN T iee just then,and with all pos Bible gratitude fur her cousin's kindness slio was most of all disinclined to accep lier hospitality. With her aunt, on her re turn to England, it might bo clill'erent, did she still wish for her society. All this La dy •Haven might tell her daughter or not aa she chose, hut the result was tho same Florence chose to remain with the Our ringtoiiH 1 for the present. Lady Haven wrote again to her, cnlarg Ing upon the folly of her decision, and re- niitrking on passant that she thought i early days for her in her deep mourning to oe even contemplating taking tiny part ii tlio Carrington's Christmas festivities, no to speak of the injudiciousness of idontl tying liersidf with people whom it might be most inconvenient to know in time to come. The last remark of her aunt's struck home, and deeply Florence felt its miserable worldly-wisdom aiul truth; bu Florence had decided beyond retraction and, if she had to decide again, she knew her choice would be the same. Maud and Jithel were wild with deligh »t their cousin's decision. To them ho Pi'illo had been always veiled—to them u least sho had been uhv/iys sweet and loVJnj M it, was iu her better nature to bo. AVitl them .there could be no question of ine quality or pride; she reserved that for th( Wily one who she felt to be, not her equa certainly, .Init fur, far above her. He Pleasure in the present was dimmed bj her aunt's reproach that she had forgottei her mourning, and .this she confided, t •Matul, • "i dq not ace that you need take it. to houri," her cousin said. <'lt is not neces- wrily wrong bee.uusu your mint tells you '* '»• I believe r*e ought not to nurse grief too milch.' Hcsidos, you uro really in your own home—it is not like seeking Pleasure abroad; and, if you did that, dear, to please us all, 1 cannot see the harm."— A»d then Floruncc was content. "So you have at hist decided that you will honor my mother and father's homo With your presence fora few month's longer, «ls» \Vorihlngtoii,' 1 1'liilip said mockingly, Out, on raising her eyes to his, she saw uu- Jiustttkuble signs of pleuburo iu his face, t»« i his compensated u little for his words, •U do not, soo why you ulwuystttke pleas* we iu laughing ut wo Mr, Ourviugtou." «U$ an«wo»^i „.!.,..,.,.. t( ^ 0tay 8e mfrt,ly, foe* .ause it gives me pleasure; ana your mother and father have kindly asked "nicy" "And the pleasure is not even spoilt by •our being compelled sometimes to remain n the same house with 1110?" "Yes, it N-,!' slip answered quickly; but you are often absent, and I spend a good deal of time in my own room"—this half iu Jique, half in earnest. "Forgive me if ] do nol believe always vhat you say, or rather what you wish mo 0 believe, Miss Worthingtoii," her cousin .old her. His words wcro vague, but she rtseiited iliem, and turned from him contemptuous- y; yet his voice had power (o arrest her. "Florence, let there be a truce hetwreu us," he resumed. "Leave off trying to iiirt me, nnd T in return will leave oil' tor- nentlng you, if it be that .1 have tho power." "I never try to hurt you, 3Ir. Carring- 011," Florenco returuod thinking how lit,le slip was enabled to annoy him. but how successful IIP was in tormenting tier. "Then you succeed without trying—I confess It unreservedly. -'I.el there be a .nice between us, I beg ugiiiu. At least 'or Christmas let mo be the same to you as ;ho others!" By this timn he bad'one of her hands in lis firm grasp, his earnest eyes wore fixed nteutly upon her scarlet face. This obnoxious plebeian cousin, could at will cal 1 orth blus!,"s almost tears, which had been >eyond.the. power of Lord JIarcourt Ver- 1011, her afllanccd lover, or of Hugh Carlo, .on, and the knowledge maddened her. She ,ried vainly to withdraw her baud, oven ,hough she loved too well the pressure which retained it. Florence, you have told me many times von hate me. I own to you I do not bo- 'icvc that; but I may be tempted to bc- Ifive something else—something your pride night sorely dislike—if you persist in this unnatural reserve with me." Ills words maddened nnd yet enchanted, her, they were so virtue, but yet so sweet to her. •'Now is there a compact, of good fellowship between us?" be asked. "You are foolish to imagine there should not be. HotV could I separate you from tho rest if I would?" "Well, then, I will not imagine it—I will believe,, Florence, that we arc the firmest friends in the house; and in confirmation 1 will ask yon mice more for a proof, as I have asked you many times before. Never call me 'Mr. Carringtun' again—my Chris tian name is far shorter and easier; and, as your cousin, I have a right to ask that you should call me by it. Uo you understand?" he nskod earnestly. "It is a i'i;;lit 1 do not. acknowledge. You are not m.v i.-uiisiii—t will never call you anything'," -lie answered perversely. lie hurt^ier' - vide, constantly by persistently placing li'h'.r'H'lf upon an equality with hei in all way. "\\ T <:\\, Mease yourscll then," bo sait lightly. l)o not'call in'eNjanything; tome that will be far preferable to Olr.'Onr- rington.' JNow'shull I tell you, Florence what you perhaps will scarcely believe?— It is in j(.,!ir power, if you choose, to be very selli-H to your aunt, undo, anc cousins. Thoy.havc the bad taste to be lieve that limy cannot have too niuclr me—they would even like, me to be always with them; my father looks for me in the evening an much that 1 give up man; things to ',j.: with him then—even business and that i; i:ot a little for me to resign.— And yet; ;i have, kept me leu days from my home: it may be in your power to ban ish me ninny more. Away from you, '. snap my lingers at your perverseness; on with you—well, I confess it pains me, and I do not ciiounc to bear it. .Now you know that in the home that it has pleasexl you to adopt you can, if you will, deprive me of my rightlVI place." • He con!'?«sed then that she possessed some powrr over him. Her heart was beating strangely with pleasure hitherto unknown, mid something for the time soft, encd her. "I do nuL wish to keep you away; it is your abse;:ro i resent," she said; and her hand wa^ .•••till lingering in his—loosely held now..'nit still there. "Ah, Florence, will the day ever come when J (ian "believe that? I daronot think so," lie sniii. "Pride stands lirst With you; but I tell )uii it shall never wreck my happiness—1 .ihull meet you always on your own ground. Do not forgot that." intarily for its cause: it had still to pass lirougb some purifying lire. She shranK instinctively from mixing with her aunt's guests. She had always kept herself soon[rely from all their visitors that, she scaree- y know who they were, but she could im- 'gine; an/1 she felt degraded at the bare bought as her aunt Haven told her, of dentifying herself with them. She was disgraced in her own eyes by accepting ucil incessant kindness, from people whom, n her heart, she must despise. One only vas excopted—and, alas, he could not bo separated from the others! Moreover, he icemed to read her heart closely. Philip Carrliigton was not a man to be ovcd lightly. He had dared to raise his eyes to one who was perhaps beyond his •each, and he, meant to woo her until she yielded; but, should she still flaunt her iride, lie would force himself to forget icr. Mean while, as he drank in the sweet- icss offered to him, tho sunny light deepened in his gray eyes and smiles hovered over his lips. He coveted the prize, nnd je would try hard to win it; but pride was deeply rooted in his nature also. * « • * t> * » No one would have known the Miss Worthingtoii of a year post. Her chucks were now flushed to the line of it rose, her eyes sparkling and brilliant, her dark hair was tangled and fell almost to her waist— worse still her dainty hands were soiled, and wcro grasping long ivy and holly wreaths. To crown all, she was mounted, it seemed precariously, on a ladder and was weaving wreaths-with artistic taste round the pictures and,glasses of the Carrington's drawing-room. How happy she wa?, nnd how fair she looked, as she keenly enjoyed her tirst labor! "A year agol Sho w.otild not stop to think; but yet some thoughts forced themselves into her mind. A year ago the splendid rooms in Portland Place were being decorated fora heavy. Christmas dinner, where mirth would be the only thing lacking. Then she had languidly given orders to professional artists, and criticised their successful efforts, only to Iind trivial defects. It was dill'erent now. Maud, Ethel, and Philip were all in council with her; but they did little else than admire. "Look, Kind, and tell me if this long wreath must droop lower. I am too near to sec," Florence said; and she drew backwards from her insecure position to try to note the etl'ect. Philip had been anticipating exactly what' now happened. Florence, not very expert in climbing ladders, lo&t her footing ; and,but for Philip's strong arms would have fallen heavily to the ground. As it was, she was held safely enough, her head lying on her cousin's upturned face, her hands clutching recklessly at his breast, her face, aflame. He hold her only for a moment, and she felt—she was nearly sure —her cousin's moustache brush across her forehead, llcsentful, frightened, and ashamed, she struggled from his grasp; but her resentment was disarmed in an instant. She saw his hand covering bis face. She did not =ce he was smiling. "I have hurt you, I um sure!" sho cried, and she grasped bis' wrist, shaking it petulantly.' "Flurenc.e, ho.-is laughing at yon," her bouRiu told h'er; and then Florence saw that ho was, while she was almost crying herself. • "How dare you?" sho exuhniimcd. Ho always hud power to torment her, and she almo'sl bated him for it. "ITow dare, 1 what—catch you when you fell? Well it was pro-sumption on my part, Florence, was it not? I have road somewhere," Philip said gravely, "of a Spanish Queen, whose horse was carrying her swiftly to destruction—to touch the Queen was death in 'those .days. Well, a common herdsman perilled his life—doubly you see, for lie caught her Majesty in his arms as she was falling to certain death below— The Queen was very magnanimous—she actually spared his life, in spite of his 'contact with her Majesty's sacred, per- CltAI'TKli X. The diiys ' rolled on quickly, much too quickly for Florence. It seemed now an understood thing that her visit, extended by two months, should terminate then— Christmas was pust—the happiest Christmas, Florence thought, site had ever spent, in spite of painful recollections. She never asked herself tho reason, and could scarcely have answered had she done so; but she had basked in the sunshine of a true home for the first, time in her life, she Had rev- elled too in the brightness of Philip Car. rington's almost uninterrupted society; she bad lacked none of the comforts which were so essential to her nature, though perhaps a few useless luxuries were omitted; but she no 1 , or missed them. Sho hud had many good wishes and kind presents- amongst the latter, a plain gold hand bracket from Philip Carrliigton. In her jewel-box were n dozen handsome bracelets, mementoes of old times; but none of these bad given her one-tenth the happiness which she felt when'the simple golden cirulct clasped her arm for the first time. She bad accepted it with but little outward s!:ow of pleasure, beyond a bent head, blueing checks, and a few wliis- pored nervous words of thanks. But Philip knew, when he always Haw the. bracelet •hilling on lirr wrist-4o'ften bidden, pushed back under her muslin cull', yet, always there—without words to toll him, how much it w;ii prized. lie had been doubtful whether she would take it from him, and gave it lightly, saying— _ «It is a porte-bonhcur I bought in Paris for Ethel; so if you do not like it, lean still keep it for her; but, as it is, she i.s no loser, I think"—nor was she, for he had bought her one of treble its value. "Ihe Idea pleased me." Florence's hand grasped it eagerly enough, if her words were thankless. Sho held her wrist towards him that he might clasp it on, and it always stayed there. Letters often came from Nice disapprov- in" Florence's present conduct and.censur- ing her for sacrificing alt her pride and throwing aside so lightly all her old ties for new ones; and especially for thinking in her present heavy mourning of joining in anything so utterly incongruous and frivolous as the contemplated ball at Ful- uum. All this was quite beyond Lac y Haven's comprehension. If her ladyship failed to draw her niece from her evil ways, she effectually succee,>d In spoiling 1'loiv dice's first simple pt&.Jure. The unpru- deuce of identifying herself almost pub- liclv with people so much beneath her own "totlou was, In Lady Haven's eyes, beyond all censure. Apart from her ovvn secret pleasure, Florence could not deny that there were germs of truth and worldly- wisdom in what her aunt said. CouUl she have separated Philip from the herd and placed him in her own worid, how Iwppy »he would b«vo beonl Her VM18.* vet d*«v euourta to »uff« voJ- In former times she liaa niwnys revelled in the knowledge that sho was the centre of attraction iu any gathering. Now, in her sombre dress, her want of sympathy with the rest, she felt herself eclipsed; but she had not much to fear, although sho did not know it. Her black velvet dress, exquisitely made, and cut square at the nock, with fulling elbow sleeves, suited her l.i pisrfccliwi—at k-a-tl so thought 1'hil- ip Carriuglon when she met him on the Stairs, lie was laden with three large boil- Hiiets—ime lit' them pure wiiile, wiliiuut a tinge of color. "Take which you like tbn best, Flor. once—you arc to choose: nnd 1 eon Id not, tell whether you might not object, to color." She took the white one, and tho best, with sparkling eyes. "And these belong to it also," be said opening n mysterious littlo box and displaying two splendid white camollns. "Just the very things I longed for. How good you arc!" And good she felt ho was. "Am If" ho said, laughing. "I shall remind you of what you have just told me during our next quarrel." Tho evening passed, as such evenings usually do, much too quickly for tho young folk who loved dancing. Miss Worthlng- ton did not iind her aunt's guests, at least, outwardly, very objectionable. Sho did not mix much witli them, it is true; but then she did not dance—her heavy dress, her mourning, she told everybody who asked her, debarred her from it; but tho bright drosses and brighter faces and the music amused her, if thoy also saddened her. Philip C'nrrtngloti scarcely loft her side. He danced a few times with those, who he thought had a claim upon his attention; he worked hard to make all the rest sociable with each other, and then ho gave himself up to bis cousin. Florence was in her most softened mood to-night—the mood in which bo liked her best; her beauty too was heightened by her ftveningdrosK; and, but. lor Philip, she felt herself almost alone amongst them all, while this clinging dependence of lier'^ian- nor gave her another charm In his eyes, if that we.ro needful. Tho evening WHS nearly spent. Many of the guests hud already gone, leaving thu room clearer and more pleasant for tho remaining dancers. There was a small slovo in one corner of the old fashioned passage, iind beside it sat Florence, and standing near her was her cousin Philip. The musicians were playing the "Wiener lilut" valso of Strauss. She loved music, and the strain Ill-ought her not a few sad memories. She kniMV well when she had last heard it, and lier largo eyes almost tilled with tears.. "Florence, grant mo a favor," a low voice said in her ear, and she turned round languidly. "Uanco this once, with mo there arc few people left, and they will not notice yon, or that it is 1,1 iu first time this evening." "I cannot—indeed I cannot! I «:ive refused all the evening," Bhe answered; but ho detected hesitation in her voice. «To please mo," Philip urged. TO BE CONTINUED. FARM AND HOME. .He spoke half in anger, half in fun, and she was listening, watching like a frightened child. A suddon impulse prompted her to reach out lier hand towards him ngiiin, and ho grasped it quickly. . "How foolish you are to say such things to me—I mean how good you were to save me, I might really have been hurt! And how silly I was she said nervously and incoherently and trying now vainly to loosen her hand from his grasp. "My presumption is forgiven, I see," ho answered lightly; "hut I forbid your mounting again. I might not be equally successful nor youoquully magnanimous.— You see I had been thinking for tho last ten minutes how to catch you, for I saw your fall was evident sooner or later. Per- 'baps it is an omen, Florence," lie said, laughing the laugh that angered her so ol- '. ten, that hurt her pride so sorely, and that touched her heart so deeply. * * * * * • « "There is an utter want of delicacy,Flor- cnce, iu your making any sort of public appearance in your present deep mourning. Your cousin ilarguret and myself are both •equally amazed at your wishing such a thing, or indeed for any gaiety, if, as you say, it is impossible to avoid it, at least you miist not think of dancing; but this surely 'I need not warn you about. Unless you iare strangely altered you will scarcely 'care, I think, to make an exhibition of your- .self with tradespeople." '• Thus wrote Lady Haven to her niece; and, though Florence crushed the letter 'indignantly in her hand, she'could not help ifeeling how deeply she would have sympa- 'thized a year ago with tho sentiments it contained. Her pleasure was spoilt, she told herself; but lier prido and conscience were alike unhurt. She knew her mourning was too deep for ordinary festivity, but her wishes had cheated her into thinking she could not avoid this. A compromise was just possible, she thought, and of that she would avail herself—sue might udorn herself as best she could, and as she secretly yearned to do, for adniiratioii, but she would not dance. She could hardly absent herself on the occasion, us her aunt had postponed tho yearly ball from Christmas to the commencement of the year just on her account. That alone must make her join in the fcs. tivity, and she also felt instinctively that thu Carrington's were proud of having her with them, of displaying their high-born relative, and her beauty—this sbo felt, though she scarcely-admitted it to herself. ****** Miss Worthingtoii could not discover '.one single shortcoming in good taste or ro- Jincment iu the arrangements inadu for the reception of her aunt's guest's. The girls' looked charming in simply-made white silk dresses, The.ro was no full band of musicians engaged for the occasion—which Florenco had always considered us indispensable for their own balls—but there was 0; grand piano of splendid tone, with an efficient performer, and a cornet to add effect to the dancing. Hut Florence could not help feeling that she was unsuitably attired for the occasion. "I look like a bird of ill-omou among you all," she told Maud discontentedly. ><| must Wdo myself in corners where I »n» not much Boeu, »nd happily, I »Uull uol ClniiHinoii Cookie-. One egg-, one cupful of suaw, one cup ful of molotiseg, one-half cupful of laru, one fpoonfu) each of soda, vinegar and dnncrnon. Koll tbin and bake quickly. naked Plum Funding. One quart of inilk, five crackers, three CPKS, ono-half pound of stoned raisins. Add sugar to suit fasfe, a JittJe salt, aad bake two boms Seive with sauce. Pea soup. Pour a quart can of peas through a colander. Put s qiart of aweet milk on to boil;'add the peas; put in a tablespoonful of butter; thicken wiih a t.ib eipooLful of fljur. Season with salt and peeper. . Bwlns Padding. One cup fine bread crumbs, two cups milk, three eggs, one tablespoonful butter, melted, one-half teaspoon salt; one- half saltspoon pepper, one-half poucd cheese, grated. Soak the crumbd in the Ihe milk, add the other ingredients, cover with dry crumbs, and bake in a quick oven till browned, Orange Jully. • Dissolve 1 package of gelatin in a teacupful co'd water; wnen soft stir in a teacupful boiling water, and one of sugar, the juice and rind of 2 lemons and of 4 oranges. Strain through a j >lly bag, and »et away to cool. When it begins to a iff r n add 6 oranges cut in slices und well sweet • ened. Serve with cream. Sally £.unc, beat three eggs into a pirt of warm milk, add a lump of butter as large aa nn flffg, two tablespoonfu'a of yeast, salt nnd flour .enough to make a batter as stiff as for muffine. R*ise the cake in an earthen baking dish, and bake it for breakfast in 'be same dish, without disturbing it. S< rve the cake whole, breaking «vpart at the table. Rhubarb Pudding. Prepare the stalks'as for pies; butter well the bottom of a pudding dish, then lay in buttered slices of bread; cover with rhubarb, sprinkle abundantly with sugar, then another layer of buttered bread, aid so on until the dish IB full. Cover £and steam while baking for half an hour, then remove tbe cover and brown. Bolls. Into a pint of milk put two tablespoonfuls of butter. Let it come to tbe boiling point. DiEsolve a cake of compressed yeast in a coffee-cup balf full of cold water. Sift two quarts of flour into a wooden bowl. Add one tablefpocm- lul of sugar, one tablespoonful of salt. Pour in milk and yeast und mix together, but do not add any more flour. DJ tbia over nignt. Koll out and cut and put into baking pan and allow it to raise until ready to cook it. Never lift the cover to look at it, because it chills the dough. A i'urlller. A pure mind is a purifiar. A high mind is an elevator and a, low mind is a debaser. The personal character of a speaker is in large degree upbuilt or wrecked by the character of hi* hearers. A distinguished critic says, truly, tnat "a mob is a dreadful audience for chafing and irritating the latent vulgarisms of the human heart." And where is the heart that may EO^ on occasion, be tempted to express a latent vulgarism or voice a suppressed paisioo? It is the willing hearer that makes the oc MBion—or makes the perfw manoe cany. And that hewer may be un individual— 48 it way be amob.—8. S. Times. It is net eo Hoion what a taan thinks eg what be. docs that wakes bis plaoa in the TINY TOKENS. Airrnon trjiKNown. Thnmurmur of nwntorfall A mile away, The rnptle when n roufn lights Upon n spray, The tapping of n lowlfthd etrenm j Un dipping boughs, The found of grazing from n herd Of gentle cows, The echo from a wooded hill Of cuckoo's call; Tho quiver through tho meadow grans At evening fall;: ; Too subtle are those harmonies For pen and rule; Such music Is not understood By any school. Hut when the brain is overwrought It, hutli a spell Boy on tl nil human (kill and power To inako It well. The memory of a kindly word For long gone oy, The f ineranco of a fading flower Sent lovingly; Tho gleaming of a sudden Bmils Or sudiien tear. The warmer pressure of the band, The tone of cheer; The biiBh that means '•! cannot epeak, But I have heard," Ths nole that only beara a verse From Ood's own vVord; Such tiny thlngi wo hardly count AB ministry, The glvera deeming they have shown Scant sympathy; But when the heart U overwrought, O, who can tell The power of Htich tiny things To make It well? j FAUM NOTES. It is chcuper to keep up the farm than to let it run down and then attempt to build up. The growing pigs will keep healthier if they can be fed where they can have the range of the pasture field?. The future value of the heifer aa a milk cow is largely tlelermined by the treatment given with her first calf. Exauiitie fences where they meet ponds and rivera so that cattle will not run around when first turned out. P?n^e up the winter roads now logging is over. One of the very beut and sinipliest remedies for cholera, either among the hogs or poultry, is carbolic acid, either iu slop or water. The lioney of the Malta bees is note_d for its purity and delicious flavor. This is clue to the extensive crop of «ulla (clover), from which the bees extract most of their honey. Com fort may be the rule for live stock nnd poultry it they are expected to do well. Good feed iind plenty of it, good treatment tind a mild temperature, would work revolution in tho pocket books of many complaining farmers. Spray lag Troex. Do not spray trees when in bloom. It is not nocessHry, aud the lives of tho bees and pollen bearing insects, most of. which are valuable friends of t o orchardist, are endangered. lt ; sof no little importanca to apply thoroughly a kerosene emulsion to the nude tops and Ihe bark of the stems •o destroy all halclung insects. Severa applications during the summer us well us winter, will give the trees a voaderfu vigor and thrift in bark and general appearance. Quality of Seed, Twenty two hundred years ago Virgil, who piobab'y did more to popularize agri cultura than any man before or since, wrole: ''I have found the seed to degene rate unless the largest and heaviest are culled out by hpucl." This is the true philoiopby of maintaining the qualities o: seed. The principal is truo an to stock Breed only the best. Plunt only the best Sow only the best. "Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he alao reap." Paul though city bred, knew a thing or two about farming. Breeding Stoclt. Nothing hurts a town worse than a boom. . A bjom is just as bad for a breed of live stock as It is for a town. When a boom is on, every male that has a psdi- gtee becomes a sirf) and every female, no matter how worthless, a clam. No breed that was ever formed is good enough to stand this. Farmers complaio against breeders for this utttr foolishness. How much wiser are they? When growing horses has paid two dollars where anything else paid one, every mare on the farm was put to breeding—the reault, a class of horses that are the inheritors ot tbe de- foe's of both sire and dam. It ia time now to weed out the truck. Breed no mare that is not Bonnd in every way and has a good disposition. Wuterlui; Horses. The horse's stomach is (he subject of a great deal of theor.'zing. We are told that he should never be watered after eating bscause, oring to his peculiar stomach, the rood will be washed out of it and into the intestines before the stomach has acted upon it. All the experiments that hava been conducted on this point show th'it as a rule it makes very little difference whether a horbe is watered before or after eating, but some men are so fond of theorizing that they prefer to hold to the theory even though the fact is known and the former is useful. Oa ninety-nine out of every hundred farms water is convenient so that tbe horses are always watered when placed in or taken from the stable, and this is the common Eense way.—Ex. Yield of Data. A teat of oats was made by the Ohio experimental station on bottom land tha 1 ; grew corn the year before. The varieties w<re divided into four groups: Those of the Welcome type, having a course, weak straw, with plump, heavy, wh.to grain; varieties. with open paniule and white grain, but the grain more piinled and lighter in weight than the Welcome; varieties having open panicle, but with black or mixed grain, and varities in which the panicle id more or lass one-sided, commonly called "side oats." Of tn& mixed sorts with open panicle, Monarch and Rust Proof yielded fou--to 11 bushels more than Welcome', and Black Russian and New R'd Rust Proof two to nine bushelb IBHP. Rust Proof was the only oue of these va- rjpties tl'atcq mllnd Z iz'ire in yield. The t-ide oafs ou>> idded tbe other kinds on theaveiage. The varieties of the Welcome tip) p'oduofd the heaviest grain, aver/gintf about 83 pounds per bushel against 30 pounds on the arerage for the kinds; but all yields were calculated in bushels of Siyound". Thn side oata had, us a rule, a much stiff ir btraw thaa oats of other type*, a.poinf greatly in their favor. most nutriment when in bloom. Properly cured hay is almost ns digestible as Brasses, but Ihe shrinkage in the weights of well protected animals during winter ia luffieient proof that hay is usually ranch nferior to grasses. The soluble part8 i of grasses are very easily washed out by rains >r even dews, leaving only difficultly digestible woody fiber.* Exposure to the sun \[so destroys the green color of hay. Instances are known where the feeding value of bay was reduced one half by rains and sun, even when well cocked. _ When hay s not spoiled in the meadows it is generally more or lees injured by the sweating >roces9 which usually takes place Jin barns and stacks, causing dust and mould which >roduce heaves and other diseases in lorses. To prevent this damage, stack lay around tall poles set in the" ground. These a;t as conductors to carry off hot vapors, and good, sweet smelling hay will reuult. These poles may be used during several ycnrs. Adopt a similar plan with ,he haycock. Force a pine stake with a deep groove on one side through the cooks >f well wilted hay, cover them with caps laving openings at the top. The hay will sure withoutjmould or dust, and will retain ts green color. The caps are inexpensive, and may be used several years in succession. THE HOUSEHOLD. If there MiouUl came n time, I'orclianco there may, When sudden III or danger Come Ihy way. Or tribulation siullo (hfno henrf, I then would be thy poluce, I thy stay, Thy rdfuge, shelter, comforter ulwajr, I would perform my part. A chelter enfn I'd Itp, When troubles emilo; And dry thy tears In bitter woe's depplte, I'd Bland 'twlxt theo And every pending 111, Thy triieBt friend— Thy gimrdlan angel Bill. So, i! thy dnrk hour conio 1 am iliy sluy, In Hplrlt I am with thee Night und day, JbViir not dear friend— Thy trial hour nhall bo The irueHt bond between My heart nnd theo. The bfist wny to reach the masses b to reir«"h them as individuals. The powers of the «oul grow in proportion to their use.— OiJiiam. The water without the ship may toss it bnfc it is l,l.io water within the ship which sinks it. Nothing is po encouraging to good luck as aneneigetic readiness to take advantage of it. Advice is like snow, tho softer it falls, the_longer it dwells, upon, and tho deeper it sinks into, the mind.—Coleridge. There is a p AVer in the direct glance of a sincere «nd loving scul which wijl do uioreto dissipato prejudice and kindle churity than tho most elaborate arguments. O.i! it is wondrrful, that God lets man into a copartnership with himself in the redemption of immortal souls. To work by tbe side of Jesm, and continue what he began, in culling men and women from the ways of death to the way of life, is beyond comuare the sweetest satisfaction that lit'i affords. No other experience ia comparable to that of realizing that you have had an humble part in bringing an immortal soul to God; yet this is what we are invited to do, and to enjoycintinually,. —Golden Censer. Good Manners. Never try to outshine but to please. Never press a favor where it seems un- dfisired. Never intrude ill-health, pains, losses, or misfortune. Never intentionally wound the feelings of a human biing. Ntver talk or laugh aloud in public plnces or on the street. DJ not usk another to do what you would not do under similar circumstances. Never omit to perform a kind act when, it can be done with any reasonable amount of exertion. " Do i»ot make witticisms at the expense of others which you would not wish to have made upon yourself. Remember that good manners are thoughts filled with kindnesi and reftue< ment and then translated into behavior. Ba rude to none; rudeness harms not even the humblest and poorest to whom it is directed; but it injures the exhibitors. A Bone of Life. These verses were written by a bright and charming little girl, not yet ten years old—the daughter of Fargeon, the celebrated noveliRt; her mother is the daughter of Joseph J< ffdrson. She has written other poems, and when not at play with her companionH she sits at her typewriter and improvises., these verses. Mr. Daly is happy .in introducing her to|&mericau readers; Only ft faded flower, love, Only a faded rose, Llvln r In bloom but yesterday, Now Inking sweet reno«e.' No'.v It Is wrinkled and old, love, Yesterday Irebli ami young, Yesterday sfngiiig u eonK of lite, But now tliu son); Is tlouo, Only a faded flower, love, Once 'twas u pride of mine, Nmv It's no more ijood In the world, No more its looks are line. Like a little old woman, lovo, Once light-hearted and young, Once 'iwus singing a song of life, But iiow the song is sung, Only a faded flower, love, Harmless, und fweet, und true, Sweet in bnh youth und womanhood, But now Us diiys uro ilnoiiL'li. Lcnric u ICSKOII from thin, love, ' I,earn it while von are young. Now you are tincing a fong of life— 1'i'etieutly 'twill bo sung. —Nellie Fargeon, 1 Making ttuUC H rH)|fB»7. ? FrQuvBullelio U of Io wa ftiper gtatio-u jt.ttppeara (h^ {ppsej opftt* "Now 1 don't know how it strikes you," says the Boston ,Tran<(ript, "but to me it is a Eubjiict of meloncholy consideration. A 'charming littie girl, not yet ten years old,' finding that the 'doll is stuffed with sawduut.' bitting at 'her typewriter' striking eut songs about her lessons of life, and all tne rest of it, when she should be tasking mud pies and playing tag and 'prisoner's base'—such genius : as thi? should ba nipped in the bud. The fewer Emily Shores and Marie Brtflbkirtneffj we have the belter. This aort of thing is unhealthy, and I would udvise Mr. Fargeon to put that typewriter under look aad key ana turn the young mis anthrope out to grass. He would not believe in encouraging such tastes in a girl of ten. He likes 0 'hildrea to be children, aad I fancy the for 1 'winds that blow over type God from jz mi's Bay and nope lively rompe with bov uncle would poke tier » cb»|4

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