The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 1, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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THE UPPER Dm M01NES. ALGOKA* IOWA, WEBNESpAY, JUNE 1.1892, A StOBt OP CASTE. r,,wjjy, Florence, you nrc alone, arid in L dark! Uow dull you must Ijcl is Ummli still in the store-room below? lias £ I'"'? bcciviioirto yet?" Kllrol «:iid, all to'd us lie should bo homo' , ar jy to.ny 1" Maud Added; and Florence, felt her cyos fixed meaningly upon her* e She tried to answer Indifferently. «Your brother 1in« been in for a few minutes only, And he said he should be late at business to-night.; he went ixwhy to tell mint Olarn hlhiself." How thankful {he felt for the dark rooin, lighted only by '^.(Jli, how tiresome! The Hastings arc coming in, and it will be so dull without lilm. Are you sure hn has gone?" Kthol i<I i;ii:iU.s»—t am not quite sure," Flor. ence imsworcd. Plio was o;ily l.oo sure; but Ethel hasten- ed'bcloiv, to return, a few ininiites later, with a much longer face. «0li, Maud, I am vexed! Mamma tells me Hint Phil says a busy time has sudden- lycomo upon him, and ho will be very little at homo for the next fortnight. It is HO tiresome! I hate tho house without him; and T know be is going to Rugby for two or three weeks," and Kthel's bright face clouded, betraying the real disappointment she felt. i<lt ni.ny not bo so bad, Ethel, Phil rarely Kiays ;i way so long, even when lie thinks lie must, llowevcr, we must make the best of it." Maud's thoughts were traveling In one direct inn only; she bnlleved she saw a motive I'm hri 1 brother's absence. i..VnU It U ashaine, Florence, that you have decided to leave us so soon, as mamma tell us," went on Ethel. "AVe quite believed you would always stay with us; and now it seonis your coming to us was only a visit. Ju.st as we have got fond of yon, and you have become used to us, you are going away for ever—for I don't suppose that we shall sec much more of you." «0h, Ethel, don't say that! I should be grieved to think so," Florence answered. «I can never forjri-t how kind you have been to inc. It na" lircn the happiest time of all my life!" And Miss AVorthington suddenly burst Into tears. "Ethel, you should not be quite so brusque, chilil." wild Maud; and then, turning to Mlns AVorthington, she asked, «Why cannot you slay with us, Florence, if you are really happy? You know we wish you to do *o," «Not more than I wish it, Maud," answered Florence. "But you see aunt Haven has, or, I suppose, ought to have tho first claim; though you maybe certain my life with her will not be BO pleasant as here. Who knows, if you will receive me back again, but T shall come?" Florence added more bri^hHy. "Lady Eavon nearly always goe.< in me South of France in tho autumn—will you have me back then?" It was a new idc:i to her, and gave her a sudden thrill of relief. The girls too brightened at the thought. "i'ou know wo will have you back only too gladly, if you arc content to come; but I doubt if that will bo finely," said Maud. once more tasted the fashionable world, I quiet homo will suffice '•When you have pleasures of tho scarcely think bur for you." "Are your dissipations so very delightful, Florence?" asked Ethel. "It always seems to me as if one must get tired of them. I am sure I should." "And you are right, Ethel," said Florence. "Hut, you see, I have lived amongst them all my life, iinlil they have become part of my witiiiv, as it wore. Ncvcrthe- less, the happioM time that I have ever had," she repeated, "has been here with you." "And yet you leave us?" interrogated Maud. "I am following my fate, I suppose," Florence answered sadly. The days pas.-inl quickly; they were gliding into weeks, and three had fled. — Florence began to count the hours, and to find herself listening intently for steps which rarely came now. Thrice had she Been Philip since he had asked her to be his wife — twice for a few moments before them all in the sitting-room, once for a moment on the stair.-, on the day lic,.wus preparing to leave Condon, when ho bade her good-bye, and when all her pent-up love for him seemed concentrated in its fullest strength. Hut it availed her little— and his words were cold and formal. Shu noticed that he looked ill and worn, and heard the others remark tho same, adding that it was duo to overwork. Miss AVorthinytcm had decided her own fate; but she did nut find it easier to bear on that account. NIC. was almost sure she could detect a shade of coldness, or rather disappointment, in her aunt's manner towards her, and !e;-s freedom in that of the girls. Shu full that they suspected what had really happened; and slio began to wish now for tin; last few days to pass. She was sure she would sufl'cr loss in another house, where everything would not remind her of her lost happiness, the truest and purest she bad ever known. Florence's preparations for leaving were all made, and acting under her daughter's ailvico, Lady Haven seemed inclined to receive her niece into her home with all fitting honors— she showed no signs of treating her as a "poor relation." Twice had her ladyship's carriage called at the Oar. rington's— once to bring excuses that slio was too ill to eome herself, tho next time to ask for Florenei's presence for u ooupjo of hours to make arrangements for her re. turn, iler ladyship's own maid had also been several times to make the necessary arrangements for the removal of Miss AVortliington's wardrobe. Lady Raven seemed to have, forgotten nothing; she even counselled Florence to give her cousin's suitable parting gifts. The time was e.omu at last; and Lady Haven's carriage;, with the imposing dark bays, stood at the Uarrlngtons' door. I3o- foru entering it, Florence returned to her room for something slio had forgotten; «»d, leaving it again, she saw Philip, • breathless and excited, standing on the threshold. "Florence," ho said, "it has seemed to me many times since, that I was hard with you a month n;»>. Of course you must study your own hii;ii>iness; but lot us part as friends at least— we may never meet "gain. I so feared I should not bo back in time." jj j.s word.* were low and his face was very while :;nd set. "Uood-byo, Florence! Think of us 'sometimes— forget what I may have said to torment you — your favorite expression, ho added smiling a little; "and, if you over want a, friend, do not forget those you leave to-day — you htm. For a moment his lips were pressed to hers, her arms wore elincine; round Mill, and he clasped her tightly'to him. '•Florence, you will stay? You retract your refusal?" he asked "breathlessly, his face lighted up with sudden rapturous hope'. "My darling you are going to give me happiness? Vou will stay—you love me?" he said his voice trembling with passion revived, his arm holding her fast. • "Yes T love you—t love you with all my heart and soul," she confessed passionately; "and I shall till the last hour I live! t can never love again t I never have be. fore!" she admitted without a thought of shame or fear, without caring to hide the pain she felt. •'Ah, Florence, you give me life. Repeat What you have said again and again," he ctied pleadingly. "You will stay with us? You will be my wife? I will not hurry you, dear—I will not force your answer now; but you give mo hope?" "If I could—ah, if I could !" she answered through her tears. " She felt his arms relax their pressure at her words. "If you could, Florence I Have you simply raised the brimming cup to my thirsty lips to dash it from me again? Are you playing with me? You tell me voluntarily that you love me? Your next words convey a doubt. What can I think? You love me, but you will not marry me—your pride forbids—you give me no hope in the future?" "I do not say that. If it were so I should die; I could not bear the pain," she said vehemently. "Ah, Florence, you bid me hope, but your future must not lack the brightness you pine for, the splendor you cannot do without! AVell, be it so," be said sadly.— "What you yield me so grudgingly I must try to be thankful for. The future liowev- cr rests with yourself—remember that. I cannot persecute you. You may bo sure that a month hence I shall do so no more than now. I shall stiller a good deal at your hands," lie added, his face blanched, ills eyes, ordinarily so soft, aflame, "because I have confessed my weakness—for it is weakness. I love you—only Heaven knows how well-;—and you leave me thus, simply with a shadow of a hope. But even that shadow gives me life. Wull, be it so," he went on sadly. "I shall wait and try to have faith in your sincerity. In your heart, Florence, 1 have little yet—it is so hardened by pride, Ah, I know, I know!" lie added,"seeing that slie made an effort to deny this. "Give mo time, Philip. I shall be true to you, brllevo'ine!" she told him, and clung to him again, and then in another moment she had torn herself from hi) arms. * Her grief seemed beyond control as she kissed the girls and her aunt, who were waiting for her in the hall. She drew clown her veil, and in a second was safely sheltered in Lady Haven's carriage, her eyes straining to catch the last glimpse of Philip Carringtou's face as lie watched the conveyance that was bearing her quietly from his sigh I:. To a certain extent she had satisfied her selfish love. She had made the future seem less gloomy and hopeless, she had given herself somu hope; nevertheless at that moment she feared her own power to sacrifice herself. She could even wonder which might prevail, her love or her pride. There seemed endless comfort in tho thought that there still remained a link binding her to her love; but her pride might snap it. traction she felt her to be amongst her ac- seek far to find truer ones." She had been nervously fastening her glove while ho spoke ; and when he had finished she turned with sudden passion- passion held back, controlled until it mas- tcred-rund tlirow herself upon ids breast, «liugt«g to Mm convulsively, while Iior tears rained down, She might console Uev- eelf.but; she recked little Uow she tortured cit.wTKit xir. Brighton was beginning to fill for the short Easter •season. The lines of carriages were becoming less attenuated on the King's Road. The spring sunshine was giving brightness to tho changing sea, and winter chilliness was turning into spring freshness. Lady Haven, who in tact and nianoeu- vring was unapproachable, suddenly discovered that her strength failed bora little, that her system required bracing after her long sojourn in the enervating climate of Nice, and that she must be '-setup" for the summer season in town. She also believed tho best way to break the link between her nioco and the last six months was to leave London behind them for a while. All might then begin afresii. Besides Miss \Vorthington had lately lost her roses. There was a languor and a restlessness and an apathy about her which her aunt began to read aright. Lady Raven refrained from asking any questions about her niece's late life; she guessed much, but she preferred to remain partly in doubt. Moreover, she constantly praised the Uarrington's for their goodness in all ways, tho girls especially for their sweetness and refinement. She even volunteered the suggestion that at a future time their warm friendship might bo renewed with advantage to both sides. In this way she felt that she could soothe any lingering regret or soreness in Florence's heart, and stillo feelings so often roused and irritated by unconcealed objection or dislike; but she lost few chances of pointing out tho difference which must always exist between their sphere and her own, while she carefully respected Florence's utter silence, She. noticed her flushing face when tho post, though it was rarely, brqught her news from her cousins—her glistening eager eyes while she read it; she noted also her fading color when she asked if there was a letter for her and was told there was none. Lady Haven took ways and moans—justifiable in her own eyes, doubtless, for her conscience was clastic—of finding out that the letters came from tho Misses Uarring- ton, and that they were harmless in their contents; bettor still, they were rare in coining. With that she was content. Florence herself began to think that tho past six months must have been a dream. She had lost much of tho brightness which had dawned upon her, and in its place seemed to have gathered all her old haughtiness, with more apathy; this, however, was not displeasing to her aunt, especially Us she found her niece wonderfully dooile, and apparently anxious in all ways to fall in with her views and plans. Florence was miserable enough; but her unnhappi- ness was half hidden under a mask of pride and apathy. The days as they passed were not unpleasant to her. She tasted a little of her old life, and found the taste not bit- tor though there was none of the warm, glowing sunlight she had before so pleas- iiutlv revelled in. Lady Haven and Miss AVorthington were occupying Lord Haven's house at Krigh- ton—which he often allowed his mother to do when she was so inclined—and her la- dvship's barouche was hired for the season. But it rolled along the parade none the less easily; and Florence, reclining InyigU- tily be-idc hor aunt, with tho Irish sea- breeze fanning her face, was not a little pleased at the notice her relative's equipage or her own beauty attracted. The Countess of Raton's plans were all admirably ai ranged for some monthsi to come. IJriniiton wa-. getting rather lull, and her UdH.lp found friends enough, to make the evenings pass pleasantly; and «inionr8l.e found uot a little compensation for her trouble in the admiration ?h"t vioionc^ beauty excited and the at- . , Miss WorthiuKlon did not succeed very well in putting "from hrr the hist day nt Fulham;,but she rndeaiored.to forget the ('act that, nii'e herself had forced a link bc- tvri;pu herself and Philip which could not honorably be broken on either side. She thought of the past only \vilh dull aching pain: and she believed also that between her life and his there must remain the barrier of caste, and that only submission to lior fate, as she chose to call it, was left to lior. ****** 'Qnenfternonn In March, as Lady Haven's carriage slopped before her house, a horse. man rode up quickly, and was welcomed by Lady Haven with considerable eagerness. ills voice brought back a rush of old painful memories to Florence; and turning round suddenly, her eyes fell upon Lord l!iivcoiirt. lie was oil' his horse in a moment, imdnt her side. Her hand In any sort of greeting she would have withheld; but, n « lie aided her to alight, she was perforce obliged to touch his arm. She took cure that the touch should be tho lightest possible. "Need 1 tell yon the pleasure it gives me to see Miss Worthtngloii again?" his low voice, said, half to Lady Raven; and then to Florence he added an earnest, inquiry after her health. Her face was Hushed healthfully by the fresh sea air. Her eyes were bright as stars, with a more subdued expression than when he I rail last seen her; but at a glance he perceived it only intensified her beauty. Tho little heart that his lordship owned went, out again quickly to his cx- liancee, with a craving for the old time, which was trebly dear from being lost to him. AVlth little more than a monosyllable in reply, and with her head erect, and her face defiant, Florence swept past him into the house. Lady Haven lingering behind a moment to express her pleasure at seeing his lordship again, to ask when he had returned to England, and to ascertain the latest news he could give her of her daughter, whom she wtts sure lie must, have seen. "Lady Meddowes lias been so very kind as to entrust a little parcel to mo fo'r you — a piece of china — a small cup, I believe — which she says you admired at Nice. I arrived in London only two days ago, and came down here only last evening. Tonight I am engaged; but may I have the pleasure of bringing your parcel to-morrow evening, Lady Haven?" his lordship asked. "Of course — at any time that best suits you. AVo shall bo delighted to sec you," Lady Raven told him; adding, "We receive a few friends to-morrow evening at nine — quite a friendly gathering. Perhaps you will join us then?" Ills lordship was only too pleased to avail himself of the invitation. After a few more gracious speeches on eacli side, his lordship mounted his horse and rode away. Lady Raven, on entering her drawing-room a few moments later, found Florence with flaming cheeks and evidently pent up indignation. "Aunt, you will never subject me to meeting that man whom I loathe so in, tensely — for whom you must know I can have only contempt?" sho cried passsion- ately. Lady Raven was rather taken aback; but she was always wise in her tact, Florence wa.s preparing herself for defiance, and expected a very different reply from her aunt. "Of course not, my dear child. There is no reason on earth why you should be subjected to any annoyance from Lord Vernon ; we are not likely to sco much of him I think." Florence was disarmed, and there was silence between them for some minutes; it was broken at last by hor ladyship. "I own, Florence, my pride, would be more content were you able to meet and trout ilia lordship as a stranger; but if it is really painful to you — to your feelings, I moan _ to be thrown into contact with him which 'I can well imagine it may be, by all means let us avoid him." Florence was amaxed at her aunt's gracious manner, her excessive amiability ; but the words had taken effect in a way that also." Florence, took them, marveling the while at her mint's extraordinary interest in her Adornment. A Imimont later she felt Mck at heart, as she remembered the last flowers that had been given to her—dead now, but still hidden away in her dressing-case. They had been offered to her by one not of her caste, but with loving thoughts, the like of which she might never have again. Those flowers did not lack beauty in her eyes even now, withered and broken as they were; and they were hidden away because she dare not look at them. She hated herself for the false step she thought she had made in tier Hie, and because she had descended from her throne to dire for one low-born and beneath her. Hut her punishment was bitter enough, she knew, whatever her fault might have been. Tho crimson flowers were nestling in her hair and on her breast; her beauty was perfect enough, the mirrors told her— she read the same truth also in the eyes of all her aunt's guests. And she had been working hard too for their pleasure. She bad been singing some, low sweet English songs with her well-modulated voice; ahe had played accompaniments for others; while her aunt—not a little content at sec- ing that she might safely leave the enter- tiifnment of hor 'guests in her niece's hands was in the full enjoyment ol her whisU table, which she loved so well. Presently Lord llareourt Ye.rnon was announced, For a moment Miss Wortliiiijrlun's heart seemed to stand still, and her presence of iniud deserted her; but it was quickly re. (•.tilled, and her role assumed. 'Her nut-it'* advice should be followed to the letter, and by ne.it.lierlookor word should Lord Vernon be more to hor Minn an ordinary stranger. She held out her hand to him unflinchingly, though she vouchsafed not the, faintest response to his grasp. Her eyes met his unfalteringly, and her voice, was unchanged in tone. His lordship seemed inclined to grow sentimental—hn loved through his eyes, and they were, quickly rc-da/aled by tne old brightness. Miss Worthjnston was like. ice. and as bright and cold; but never bad she seemed to him more fascinating than at tills moment. She met his lordship's advances with gaymy, but it. was a gaycfy which seemed to hold him up to ridicule before the other guests and which hurt his pride and chafed his dignity. Plainly she would see him, meet him, speak to him, all without the least apparent remembrance of past times. Sir Arlhur Worthlngton's .shortcomings had been forgiven—hushed by his friends, or, better still, forgotten; so Lord Harcourt Vernon found himself wondering whether his dignity would be hurt, his social status towered, if ho vouchsafed to take, his former fiancee back into his good graces. At all events Miss AVorthington was worthy of study, and this might occupy his .lordship's leisure pleasantly for some time to come—certainly until his mother might be consulted, and some decision arrived at. The guests were gone and Lady Raven and her niece alone. The former wa.s radiant, the latter a little fatigued after the efforts she had been making to entertain her aunt,'- fi'iends. TO BE CONTINUED. FARM AND HOME. "AVERAGE." PEOPJ-B- MAT B1I.KT PM1TII. The gcnias soar* far to the fountain That feeds the snow-cap In tho tky; But thongh our wings break In the flying, And though our soulsfalnt In the trying, Our flight cannot follow so high; And the eagle swoops not, from the mountain To answer the ground bird'u low cry. The world has ft gay gnordon ready To liafl the fleet foot In tno race; But on tho dull highway of duty, Aloof from the pomp and the beauty, The stir and the cfmnce of tho chose, Are tollers with Btep true and steady, •Pursuing their wep.rleome pace. Fnlfe proweFs find noisy Insistence Mny capture the garrulous throng, But the "average" Intlicr nnd brother, The liome-keeplng stetcr nnd mother, Grown eentlo nnd patient nnd strong, Shall lenrn in the fnet-nearlngdlstanco Wherein life's awards have been wrong. Then here's to the "nvernge people " The mnkers of home nnd Its rest; To them the world turns for a blesslmj When life Its hard burdens ia pressing, For etay-nt-homo henrtB are the best Birds build, If they cnn, In the steeple, But snfer the eaves for n neat. —Harper's Bnzar. FARM NOTES. Young Pigft. If you have more yovng piga than the clover pasture will well carry, try getting some of them nicely fat and' market them for roasters wbe;i they wht-igh about 12 or 15 pounds. They will sell in any large town or city, and bring you considerable more than you could obtain in any other way. Seeds Falling to Germtniite. A frequent reason forjthe failure of seeds to germinate is that they axe buried too deep. Another, that the soil [above them is too loose. Cover lightly, in proportion to the size of the seed, and firm the soil well afterward. Failures that come from not'doing the work correctly ara often blamed upon seedemen. Give the poor seeds man a chance. Give Corn the Best Land. Give the corn your best land. You cannot have soil that'is too strong or rich for it. Ciopsof small grains may grow too rank, lodge and go to waste on laud too rich for them, but corn will not, and it will only use as much of the fertilizing elements m it needs, leaving the rest in the ground for future crops. Hop Growing. . The business of hop growing is rather speculative :'n nature, as prices vary enormously from one season to another. Large crops mean low prices, and small crops high prices, but one year with another, the business pajs extremely well. If jou go into it take your vesy best land, manure heavily, ra ; sa as good crops PS you can, and take your chances on the price, horses started by patting their beads as If nothing was the trouble that tbedhver cared for, and then quickly seizing the no8(- and giving it a sharp twist. The pftin occupies the animal's attention wholly and the driver gets into the wa«on picks up the lines and the horse starts at, the command.—The Farmer s Voice. Country Road*. TLe farmer does not take into consideration the extra expense he incurs in hauling loudd over our poor [roads. From reliable sources it is learned that a ton can be moved on a good macadam road with but forty pounds power; therefore it is easily seen how much greater amount of work a team will do_ on such roads. In England horses do twice as much work as in America because of the better roads there. In New Jersey in one county, Where only forty miles of such road has been built, the value of land has advanced enough to pay the whole expense without increasing the rate of taxation. In [Ohio, where the system has been adopted, the farms adjoining have increase $10 per acre in value. In Indiana, where macadam reads have been built, there is a hirare increased demand for buggied and wagons. In short-, in every locality where these improved roads have been built, there has been an increase in the value of property. The opposition to the expenditure of money to make better roads does not come from the cities which would have to pay nearly all the expense, but from the iartnerg. Both country and city would be naturrtlly benefited by improved roads, and each chou'd bear its share of the burden of taxation. THE nOUSKHOL,!/. The True Mensnre of I/lfe. her aunt intended they should. "I liuve no feeling in tho matter, aunt Raven; you know yourself that my engagement was one of convenience. I never cured a featlier'n weight for Lord Yernon —in that I did him wrong, and for aught I know ho may have had tho tact to discover it; but no one can deny his execrable taste in accepting his dismissal as he did without an effort at explanation or to ascertain boyond doubt the state of my feelings." "There Is reason, and good reason, in all you say, Florence; but my pride would be, my dear, to show his lordship that ho was nothing to me, to meet and treat him as an ordinary acquaintance. That is only my idea; you have a right however to follow your own Inclinations—and be sure that I shall not try to coerce you in any way. 1 only fear t'.at by avoidance and expressed repugnance ho may imagine that you havo some deeper feoliug left for him; but I may bo wrong. Let us forget his lordship—ut any rate for the present. We aro not likely to see him again, and it is getting late. I promised Mrs. Audleigh that we would bo with her early to-night, and we shall both b« bettor for a little rest before dinner—this air always maUes me feel so sleepy. Edwards shall bring some tea to your room—go de«,r." Lady Raven know, well that she had placed herself upon very advantageous ground for the encounter she fully intended to enter into. Florence wont gladly to her room to brood over past wrongs and her present pain. She tried to console herself by writing a long letter to Maud , Carrington, and thus to catch a breath o* tho atmosphere that, in spite of herself, she loved too well, and which seemed to revive her so refreshingly, Lady Raven had certainly changed very wonderfully during the past year—and tho change was a marvellously pleasant one. So thought Miss Worthington on the following evening, as she stood before hor dressingiglasi?contemplating her own faultless figure, arrayed for her aunt's friends in a black silk dress, beautifully made by Mrs. Gilbert, and draped with black lace to Boften the still indispensable crape; but her white arms and neck looked fairer stall for the sombre contrast. She loved dress, and she had always been used to tho best garments that money could buy or debt allow; this dress however—a now one which she had just donned at Lady Haven's request—was too costly for hor own purse to have purchased. Lady llaveu hud ordered it for her from Mrs, Gilbert a ie\v weeks before, and Miss AVorthlugtou'u glass told her that the beauty of it could not bo doubted. Edwards, her aunt's maid, had been hovering over her toilet for the last hour, and had loft her only a few moments before. When tho girl again appeared, she entered with her hands iilled with crimson roses and lilies of the valley. «My lady's love, and she has sent you these to brighten your dress a littlo," Edwards told Uer. "Abrahams has just brought iu spme fresh, flowers fov the rooms, nnd her ladyship desired hint to bring y9U some oriinton »n<J white pn.es A Girl's Room. The girls of the household should hava cheerful ro ima, where they may receive their 'girl friends and feel a pride in playing the hostess. Says a writer in the New York Tribune: Such a room i.ead not be of a large siz?, but it should be daintily and neatly furnished. There is no better wny in which you can educ ito a girl to be neat and orderly than to give her a properly furnished room, and require her to take_ proper care of it. In this way she receives her first lesson in thorough housekeeping, and acquires habits of order and neatness. The pleisure a girl takes from such a room as this, and the influence it exerts toward making her a womanly and domestic person, should in themselves be strong enough arguments to indues a mother to sacrifice some of the showy Sittings of her parlor in order to provide comfortable rooms for her giib, It s'aould above all things be thoroughly neat, sunny and cheerful, and should ba the girl's privn'e room, and all the belongings should be her personal property. It should be her daily duty to keep it in thorough order. A. Sublime Poem. The sublimest poem of antiquity is impersonal, yet written in the Hebrew tongue. The book of Job, the life-drama of the man of Uz, towers with no peak near it; its authorship lost, but its fable associated in mind with the post-Noacbian age, the time when God discoursed with men and the stars hung low in the empyrean. It is both epic and dramatis, yet embodies the whole wisdom of the patriarchal race. Who composed it? Who carved the Sphinx, or set the angles of the Pyramids? The shadow of his name was taken, lest he should fall by pride, like Eblis. The narrative prelude to Job has the direct epic simplicity—a Cyclopean porch to the temple, but within are Heay • en, the Angels, the plumed Lord of Evil, before the throne of judicial God. The personages of the dialogue beyond are firmly distinguished: Eiiphaz, Bildad, Zjphar, Elihu,—to whom the inspiration of the Almighty gave understanding,— and the smitten protagonist himself, majestic in ashes and desolation. Each outvies tho other in grandeur of language, imitation, worship, Con there be a height above these lofty utterances? fes; only in this poem has God answered out of the whirlwind, his voice made audible, as if in added range of hearing for a space enabled us to comprehend the reverDerations of a sup?r-humau tone. I speak not now the metive, the inspiration of _ the symphonic masterpiece; it is still a mortal creation, though maintaining an impersonality BO absolute as to affirm our sense of mystery and awe.—Edmund Clarence Stedman, in the May Century. Valuable HlutH. Ruu lamp_ chimneys in salt before wash ing them; it will brighten them. The right way to put snlt fish to soak is with the flesh side upward. In this way the salt settles at the bottom of the pan. Any one can add atretigth and weigh' to the body by rubbing well with olive oil after a war0i bath. Oil baths are parties larly beneficial to deiicate children. A sure cure for inflammatoiy iheuuia- tism is made by taking one ounce of put- ver zed saltpetre ucd putting it iato a pint of sweet oil. Bathe the jwta ftff.-oted. No wonder there is a demand for homemade jellies, when commercial jellies are known to be made from gelatine', and the cores und parings of evaporating' factories. It is said that a Paris lauudryman has discarded all eonps, sodas and boi}ing powders i he merely uses plenty p| w pud bojU d potfttof9, njjd can out eraplQying any ttlkal}, Food fov the Dairy, Prof. Roberts, of Cornell University, says that double as much food for the dairy can be raised, under like conditions of fertility, from un acre of corn, or rye or of alfalfa, as from an acre of timothy, orchard tfrass or blue grass. We believe this is a moderate estimate, especially so far as corn and alfalfa are concerned. The sooner dairy formers get into the way of growing the crops that yield tho largest possible amount of food the sooner will tuny put their business on a paying basis. Fertilizers. OQ a farm in a high state of cultivation, and on market gardens, it is common to apply fertilizer smore than once to the same crop. Progressive farmers should study this plan. Try a square rod with an application of nitrate of soda to potatoes" when six inches high, and corn with superphosphate at secDnd hoeing, and then weigh at digging or husking tima and compare with that only fertilized at planting. That which is worth doing, is worth doing well. Feed your crop and the crop will feed you, The Hereford! (or Bsef. Wherever the Herefords are known they are becoming more popular ai a beef breed, Their early maturity is a very strong point in their favor, and the;/ make a valuable cross upon native cattle. Tuey have also considerable ability as "rustlers," standing occasional shortnbss of pasture extraordinarily well, and this feature has made the breed a favorite on the range, where such accidents will sometimes happen. The Herefords are eminently a special purpose bree'l, and have never boen vaunted for their performance in the dairy, but it one wishes to.grade up their stock strictly for beef production, the)' could hardly do better than to introduce Hereford blood. rim.ir,TAMES IIAILRT, We llvo In dcods, not years; In thought*, not breath; In feelings, not In figures on the dlnl. We should count time by heart-throbs when ther beat For God, for man, for duty. He most fives Who thinks most, feela noblest, nets the boat, Life IB but a moans unto an end—that end Beginning, means and end to all things, God. - The best way to reach the masses is to reach them as individuals. Circumstances are beyond the control of man, but his conduct is in his power. One sin may be the entering wedge for every kind of vice. Avoid the first sin. It is hotter for a Cbristain to be going on to perfection, than to feel sure that he has attained it. A person looking at a painting which represented death as a skeleton armed with a scythe, said, "I would paint death as an angel with a golden key." If one is dressed in spirits, or a little ajir with the world in some way, let him go and do something for some one else. It is a sure cure for personal troubles.— Boston Budget. Many Mercies. • No one's life is so sorrowful and wretched as to be without a great many mercies for which to thank God; and, taking the whole life into the account, we have far more mercies than sufferings. And even the sufferings may all be made spiritual mercies. • Bread Upon tho Watorg. There are too many people who will not cast their bread upon tne waters unless they ars assured beforehand that it will come back in a few days a full grown sandwich, all trimmed with ham, butter and mustard, rolled up in a warranty deed for one-half of the earth and a mortgage on the other half. Advantages of the Farmer Boy. The farmers' boys seem to b3 awakening to the fact that they can make more money by staying at home than they can by going to the cities. They are far better off on the farm, which in the future will be coveted by the people of the cities. At nreaent the boys of the country, if they will put into their work at home the same thoughtful study and energy which would provide them with a meager living in the city, can make a grand success of it, and eventually enter into a life of independent manhood they would obtain nowhere else. The farmer has most of the advantages of bin city brother, and besides living better he has the leisure to enjoy his books and papers which is not afforded in the city. Butter Making a Science. Buttermaking is an exact science. It is a chemical operation altogether and ia subject to the exact results of change in matter whiih aro produced < by certain decompositions ar>d recombination of known elements. But there are so many different circumstances—as temperature condition of the atmosphere, the condition of the cows, the precision of cleanliness of the food, the water and of the utensils of the dairy—any departure from perfection of any one of which will affect the results that the utmost care and skill of the dairyman are required to assure tho same results from day to day in the products. Balky Horses, The best thing to do with a balky horse is to fell it to somebody who has plenty of patience and to spare. There are various receipts given to start ft I- 11 — horee, but they all fail sometimes* may be stated, approver, thftt the "...„... can contemplate but one thing, at a time. (, > therefore, its thought can be drawn tfe? ' '" ' '" '""' ~ L ~~ L Something to Lean Upon. Keep yo_ur heart as you keep your vine, by providing a substantial and permanent, support; for the heart, like the vine,' needs something to lean upon. It only remains to be said that no human heart ever found a sufficient support but in God himself. Nothing elce will fill the heart of man, t Helpfulness. Progressive helpfulness is never vanity. The h&ppieit people in the world are those who think least of themselves and are always helping other people. A workingman who cares only ;for his wages and does not care to do good service for those he serves is a discontented workman, for he takes no interest in his work. We are *old of the Master that he went about doing good. That was characteristic of him; that is what he cime for and what he constantly did till he died for others. Therefore, his life was not vanity, and yours will not be if you imitate his example. Simplicity In Speaking. Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, lays down a cannon of good breeding in conversation which is worth keeping in mind. He says that he formed the habit of expressing himself "ia forms of modest diflilence," never using the words "certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give an air of poaitiveneia to an opinion," on subjects that may possibly be disputed; saying rather, "It appears so to me, or, I should thing it so, or so, if I am not mistaken." This habit, he said, was of great advantage to him in persuading people to adopt his views, and also helped him to gather much valuable knowledge which othei>- wise would have been withheld. For, as a rule, people do not care to impart information to one who is firmly entrench' ed in his own opinions. Young people are very apt to have a positive dogmatic way of expressing themselves, and should be trained to a moderate, as well as graceful, use of language. The use of slant* has a tendency toward the error which Franklin tried to avoid. PBOIC. LOKB, the Greek rifle shot, is attracting much attention by his feat of shooting a glass ball from his own head, The trick is performed by shooting at the trigger of a rifta held in a frame, with the muzzle sight d at a glass ball dangling by - •<•-!-" directly *over the marksman's a string head. To PBOBUCH two pounds of r*w_?ilk would recmue the entire silk obtained from 7,005 to JS.OOO worms-, allowing the percentage for 'death by disease and other causes IT is said that the hop vine is the best substitute for rags in the nmnfacturo of paper. T QO viw pulp ppaseBses gjeaj (eng1;h, strength, flexibility and

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