The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 22, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Wednesday, June 22, 1892
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.'I. . y... • THE PEPEft MS MQINES. ALGONA eJtNE 22,1892, AStOBf OF CASTE Kit is no. jest, Lord Hal-court, and I nave HA excuse toofl'er you—except that you nmv have afforded im; :i precedent for my Suet," she wont on quickly. «I havo ," !c( l to like you, T have tried to force my»elf to fulfil my promise; but 1 cannot—I dislike roti too much," she said dosporate- i;! dWchavp not one thought in common; I cimnot believe that yon have a spark of nffcction or even esteem for mo. You cannot have, when you rcmcmboi- tho terms of oiir engagement. .Ami you do not come to me even with clciiii hands and a pure heart, bad it |M '°" cvt!l> so c "' t ' a onc - ^ c —I know," she added, .reddening deeply j "do not try to disabuse mo of my knowledge. That you should bo so taxed by my lips is, I know, most painful. But, at any rate, Lord Ilarcourt, you are a gentleman in the conventional souse of the word; you will not try to deny what I accuse you of. Help me rattier to break this engagement which can bring us no happiness." Every trace of color had vanished from his lordship's face, leaving it unpleasantly <il think your conduct hoth unwarrantable and disgraceful," said his lordship. »I will not accept your decision now. Your aversion to tiie cannot have arisen BO suddenly. And by what excuse can you clear yourself in the eyes of the world? J)o you imagine for one moment that you will not bo utterly disgraced in society as tho victim of a twice broken engagement. AVhat construction can be put upon your conduct?" Not a wor.d was said of his rejected love, of his grief at the bare thought of losing her, of his sorrow at her broken faith. Sho noted this keenly,little; as .she then iieedod what he cared or tliouglit, or what the world might say. She knew herself now, anil she know also that she could not saeri- licc her whole life's peace for ambition.— Slic had tried; blither strength, happily, had Tailed. «Mlss Worthiiiji'ton, 1 will not sillier this insult at ymn- ir.i'id" '.'' Lord Jim-court do. dared passionately. ".My reputation is something lo me, If you do not value your own. YoureondiK-l isiiniirecedonted, and you shall not throw me oil' with so little courtesy 1" Uut .Miss \\'orlhington raised her eyes to his without being one whit abashed. «].)o you threaten me Lord Huruourtl I admit that my conduct is to be condemned because of its .ingratitude; ncvortliolns I cannot marry you. More, 1 confess to you that 1 should wrong you too deeply if I did. Von may say anything, everything, you can think of, detrimental to myself—I will deny nothing; but my freedom I will have." (•What excuse have you to oiler mo, Vlorcnci'J" his lordship asked still white with rage, •• \Vlia; can have so quickly changed your IVelings towards me during the last two days—your pretended all'ec- tion for moy" .'Slop there, Lord Ilarcourt!" she cried quickly. -'On your honor, have I ever revealed the slightest regard for you? Did I not toll you, on our engagement being renewed, that I could never love you—tii^t I submitted to your wish only to gratify my o»'ii ambition? Kuvv men, I think, with any self-respect would have paid so dourly for so poor a prize. That your oll'or called for deeper gratitude I admit—and I know to the full tiio honor you have dono me, and hew ill I havo requited it; but i repeal, I cannot marry you!" "And I refuse to accept your decision now, Miss AVorthinglon. I insist upon your taking time to think over your mud- ness, to consult with Lady Raven—though I well know what her ideas will bo." "Whatever time you give me, Lord liar- court, my decision must always remain the same. 1 cannot marry you," she repeated. "The only excuse my conscience linds for mi' in my own eyes is that, though your pride may he -.orely touched, your heart is not. All, l.onl llarcoiirl," she said more giMitly, "you might once have earned my deepest gratitude at least, and my heart liuve followed in tho train!" lie started and looked at her Intently, his face still wliitf, Ms brow angry and lowering. "Yes, Who could tell? In all my trouble, in what you doomed my disgrace, when tho world wus very hard for me, you left mo pitilessly to my fatu; you throw me back my freedom hut too easily!" She saw that the shaft told. His lordship's face flushed slightly. •'All this is idle recrimination, Miss Worthington. I repeat I will not take your dismissal to-day, or even at all. Girls of your ago are often seized witli some sudden fancy, of which their minds are happily as easily disabused. At all events you shall have time for reflection; I decline your dismissal to-day. Later I may seo your aunt; but until to-morrow I shall give yon time for tliouglit." Ho would have liked to say <fropiMilanee," but something In Florence's fiico prove n ted him from saying it. "Lord Ilarcourt, bi'lievc mo, I am sincerely gtatcful for tho honor you would do me, the pationco you HIT willing to show mo; hut I can never marry you," she returned in clear calm tones, beyond all mistaking, not a shadow <>T tenderness on her face. "A man is not so easily repulsed, Miss Worthington, when ho has so much at stake. J will not accept your decision to-day; and therefore I abstain from expressing my opinion on your conduct." Lord Ilarcourt Vornon know perfectly well that tiie woman ho would gladly pay so high a price for to grace his title, to sit at the head of his table", to wear his jewels, to make his curiosity patcnfc to tho world, was slipping from his grasp. Sho had boon hold by no ties' of tenderness, no sympathy; there had been but littlo forbearance on her noble lover's part. It had simply boon a worldly engagement; and the sacrifice, with all its splendid accessories, had fallen far short of the true happiness Florence craved for, and know might be hers. Her courage and powers of endurance hud •Riled her, oven to gratify her pride and ambition. Sooner or later she must have woken her gilded chains she know, for they were Intolerably heavy and galling.— olio \yiw reckless us to what tho world ""gut suy or think. Sho tliouglit only of °»« haven, where all her shortcomings "i ght be pardoned, whore she might find K'HaUsfylnjr happiness instead of glitter- Aliss AVoniilngton felt dazed; but she grasped two facts witli the keenest sense of relict. Lord Ilarcourt Vornon was gone, and her freedom was gained. * * * ' * * * The Countess of Unvcn shut herself up "i a Uiu-koned room and refused to bo com« tea, refused to sen her niece—but only Hiierslie hud exhausted all her powers of I'u-suasion accompanied by threats and at- nipts ui coercion. Nothing however £ "'led. Miss AVorthington was of age, '»« entitled to assort her freedom, und uut ' d WHo equal to tho task. She hud . ""own hur ambition to the winds, and In iin,i .1 Ulia WttK'U a determination to «»a the path which wight load to a happi- ' Vtlil!l >' kttdj ««veu taxed her with atUude, with lw \vicfced obstiu> ' " cy, wanner ,,.„;,,, ,.„„„„„„ VOMU uvltli dishonor, and told her that she was dH graced forever iu the world's eves. Plor enco cared little. She did really <,.,«, though for her mint's deep and bitter di« appointment, nixl grieved very much when she saw how she'took the disappointment to heart. But she also thought of eyes to which she might bring sunshine and hap- pincss. She thought of little else now.— She condemned herself utterly, but felt that her sins might be forgiven. She, had been blind, she told herself,ami now could see. She had been a slave to pride and ambition, and had at last broken her chains, and was soaring upwards in the free air beneath a sunlit azure sky. \Vnx ever bliss like hers? she thought wildly. But the joy was a little dimmed by fear. She turned with=ickoning loathing trom all the rich silks, the priceless laces, and costly dresses now heaped.recklessly together, but which had all been gathered with studious care, with infinite ta.stc and lavish cost. She was free, though so dazed as yet that she dared not spread her wings in flight to the haven she so craved for. Lady Haven would not see her, would not listen to a word from her lips, but bade her leave her house and take refuge with her low-born kinsfolk who had been her ruin. Lady Meddowcs sought refuge in contemptuous silence, varied sometimes by a few words of withering sarcasm, of intense disgust, at her coli-in's wicked folly and disgrace. He.r ladyship lingered lov. ingly over tho many cases of costly trinkets and Jewels which were placed iu Uor charge to pack and return to Lord liar- court Vernon and the various donors. She displayed their brilliance often and needlessly in Florence's presence, hoping to give her a parting pang at their loss; and she sighed audibly over each case as she closed it for the last time. But Florence seemed utterly hardened. Sim knew their powerlessnes.- in bring a thought or breath of happiness; and she believed she could never see a glittering stone again without associating it with the most unhappy part of her life. And Philip Carrington? Had she tried her power over him too recklessly? Would he be too hard to win again? Sin; tliouglit not. But she knew all pleading now must come from herself, and her hope was a little blent with fear. OIIAPTKU XVIII., AND LAST. "Mistress and the young ladies have been gone two days to Eastbourne, and Mr. Philip is abroad; lint master will be homo some time to-night." So Miss Worthington was informed, as she stood once more, with sinking heart, in the hall at Fulham, greeted only by a housemaid, who seemed in no way loath to welcome her. though the girl's bright eyes grew still rounder and brighter in wonderment at the unannounced arrival of the important Miss \Vorthington, who rode generally in a Countess' carriage, and must be almost a Duchess at least, from all she had gleaned regarding Florence's movements. "I suppose I can stay, Lizzie—at least to see my uncle?" Florence asked, smiling in spite ol' herself. "And Lizzie, seeing a mountain of ha.\os being piled in the hall, wisely imagined that the "staying" meant at least for the night. "•-• "Oh, yes, miss! But you cannot have your own room to-night, because that is all done away with. Miss Ethel's is all ready, if you would not mind." * Florence would not have minded occupying the leads themsplves, so that she could bo within the magic circle—the haven she had once so dreaded and now so craved for.* Its charm even softened her keen disappointment that more than a few hours' absence lay between herself and Philip. She knew now she might not see him again for weeus; but the very flowers in the garden had seemed to nod a welcome to her as she passed them, and the walls to smile down upon her, while the bright sunshine glorified all the old familiar objects, reflecting the radiance back into her own heart. The hou.su might be deserted, but Florence found no loneliness in it. "Master will be sure to come, miss, tonight," said the girl, "but perhaps not till late." 'When he came, she would tell him all bet- tale faithfully and fearlessly, Florence decided; and she did not dread his verdict. Once more Miss Worthington seated herself In'her own especial chair near the window, where she might dream her daydreams for the next few hours, while Lizzie prepared tea for her. Once more her eyes fell upon the long garden path between the roses, where she had passed down with such an aching heart, whore she had so often listened for Philip's quick linn step, and the well remembered click of his latchkey. Lizzie brought the tea, placing it upon a little table near Florence, and adding a few words of consolation for her loneliness. Still Miss Worthington dreamed on, until her dream scorned turned into reality— For a moment her hopes fell quickly, and sharp fear came instead. She rose to tiy— she knew not whither—and then she stopped. Philip Carrington should have been on his journey to foreign shores when Florence's eyes saw him once more between tho rose-plants, when once more she heard his Well-known step. She wondered if hot- brain deceived her. "Was it Philip or his wraith? And then he itood before her. She half crossed tho room to meet him, and then stopped, afraid. She saw no welcoming love awaiting her, only keenest wonder. "Florence!" His voice expressed no joy. If she was there bodily, then only fresh qualms of conscience must have brought her to torment him again, to disturb his peace, when peace seemed near, it was intolerable, ho thought, lie would not brook it. A lid then his eyes softened involuntarily as they rested on'her face; but his greet ing was not encouraging, "Florence," he said, "what on earth has brought you back U> an empty house) 1 iH had only guessed you worn here " "You would not have come—I understand. Thank Heaven you did not know I" she said. "Philip, hear mo. 1 have coino back to stay for good—always—for ever- ill some corner, if you will lot me," she added, humbly enough. "Has Lord Ilarcourt Vornon jilted you again?" lie asked in quick cold tones. Her pride was hurt. "Philip, I never thought you could be so ungenerous!" Ho knew he had been unkind; but ho did not come nearer to her, he gave her no aid in her distress. Putting down his hat, ho began his old pacing up and down the room, but at some distance from her, "Lord llarwurt has not jilted mo; but I have jilted him, That is the diilcrence tliis time," she told him. "And why? You seem to take great delight in trying to destroy men's happiness. It docs not seem to mu a, pretty pastime," ho remarked. There was no sign of yielding yet upon ^ l «Jf C y«u care to hoar, 1 will tell you all briefly." She' was close to hu»;«wh,and resting upon his arm, her face bent down and crimson. "Philip, I jilted him be- cause'I could not live my life away from you. Does that confession content you?— While humbling my pride, will it, satisfy your heart?" she asked, her face still turned away. "I have tried so hard to do what I have hrou asked. T haye prayed for courage to fulill tho brilliant destiny offered to me, to gratify my old ambition; but I could not. It was too sickening.— You always came between me and it. Will you trust me once more?" she said; and she looked at him in fear. "Ah, Florence, how can I have.confi- dence in you? If you knew bow I loo have prayed and struggled to forget you, and hate you until I began to think I had succeeded!" "But you have not—you have not!" she cried joyfully, glancing at bis face and reading in bis eyes the old tenderness. Unce more her face rested upon his breast, her hands upon his shoulders; but still his arms did not enclose her. lie felt that liis happiness might vanish at a word. "How can 1 trust you, Florence?'" ho said, ''You have played with me so recklessly. How do 1 know that you are not here in some sudden caprice, to indulge your fancy for a. last good-bye? Perhaps you are married even," ho added quickly. "If you think that—if you can always think so badly of me Yes, I am married 1" she broke oil' in real anger. "1 have come here in sudden caprice to indulge my fancy in a last good-bye." And her head was raised, her hands left ills shoulders. But the words proved efficacious. lie caught her in his in-ms iiml held her fast. "1 begin to breathe again, Florence, now that 1 sec you once more delimit, i perceive the truth—the. reality seems more possible.'? Ho turned her face forcibly towards his own. "Look straight into my eyes and confess all." '•Yes, 1 will," she answered bravely. "I love you, Philip, with all m> heart—I al- .ways have, and shall until J. die. And, if you send me from you now, 1 will creep back again, or I will die. I will not live," she declared lirmly. His lips sought hors, bis arms held her fast. She knew she was forgiven. Was ever happiness like hers? she thought. The only'reflection marring her bliss was the knowledge that she had cast it from her for so long, that she bad lived in a poisoned atmosphere when there, had been an earthly paradise awaiting her. "So after all you have rejected the Prince to marry a very ordinary mortal? Are you not already beginning to repent, Florence? But who can tell? Princes are sonietim.cs powerful. May he not come back,, ajid. carry you oil' by force?" "If you permit it, I will go.""No, my darling, 1 will not. You have placed yourself in my Ni.ands now. You are no longer free." And how she loved her serfdom. She bent down and pressed her; lips to his hands. "Philip be generous!" "Can 1 be?" he asked. "What is it, child?" "Lot my old past be dead. It is so sickening to mo in thought. Otherwise you will spoil all my present happiness." "Are you quite free from it, Florence? There is no tie to call you back. The Countess of Uavcn has no power to eomo down upon us and carry you off?" "Poyr aunt Margaret! She says she has washed her hands of mo—that she can never get over the disgrace, and will never sec me again." "And will my love compensate you for. that?" "What do you think?" she asked. "My darling with a little patience on my part,a little perseverance, 1 think that it will." *»***» "Will wonders on earth novel- const 1 ?" Mr. Carrington thought, when he entered as he imagined, his empty house that evening, and found his son, who should have boon across tho Channel at least, and bis niece Florence, who ought to have been Lady Vornon, seated .together, and evi- do.ntly very happy. Noting the old brightness in his boy's face lie was very thankful. "Father you must begin your holiday to-morrow—I insist," Philip said. -'Wo must both take Florence down to Eastbourne to join my mother and the girls." And Mr. Carrington did not demur. * * *- • » <K * The autumn passed and Christmas came again; and in spito of Ethel's declaration that cokl weather rendered brides so hopelessly ugly, there wore two at Fulham who passed the ordeal with tolerable success.— Ktbol said that sho should escapc'woll,'be- cause no one would look at her while Florence was near—a sentiment that her brother fully shared. Whether John Hastings thought so noone asked; b,u,t Ethel scorned content. Mrs. Philip Cari'iiigton's pride had so fallen—or risou-^rthat sho insisted on living for a timo in \\w husband's '(chambers," uloso to his laboratory, in dreadful Oxford Street. "It will be so nice to think that Philip will .Jiover bo away from me!" she told thorn all. And her anticipation proved correct. The Countess of .Haven't* resentment against her nieoo did not subside for some years; and it was Florence's only grief in her sunny married life, iu all other, respects unclouded—for Lady Raven had been good to her iu many ways. But when Florence's little son arrived—not her firstborn—and she was duly informed, ago doubtless had softened her heart or her pride, for her ladyship came sometimes and tried to forgive nor niece for her -'Ibl- ly." Florence was living then in a charming villa at Fulham. "And lie might have had a coronet waiting for him, my dear," her ladyship told jior, while sho watched tho child cooing and laughing on his young mother's knee. "Thank Heaven ho has not, aunt I I should have hated him, I do believe," "Well, my dear, it may all be for the host; it was your fate, I suppose. Your husband is certainly one of the handsomest and nicest men i have over known. Oddly enough my mind misgave mo the (irst moment 1 saw him. I wonder now how yon resisted him so long." So thought, so wondered every one when Philip Carrington was near. Kvon tho Couiitesa of Haven hud to confess as much. TUK END. FARM AND HOME. FARMER I'OMPKINS AND THE CT- A HAH1> BLOW. Auotlier Hurricane Willie Fooling: Arouud iu Iowa Wrecks Farm BullUlugs. WATBULOO, Iowa, June 16.—Reports have just reached this city of a disastrous hurricane which passed through the northeast portion, of the county early this afternoon. The farm of General A. 0. Fuller, twelve miles north of here, was visited and every biiijding wrecked. As tar as heard from no lives were lost. There is much other minor damage throughout the county. Iu Mills' p!a district in Texas Antony (dem.) is.e'eoted over Barker (proh^lj,^'•- i'« >''WiVf' JOHN KENDHICK BASCiS. A feller cftine out here to-day 'n' showed a book to me; One - at I'd surnly oiighter have—twelve parts, 'nd one was free. Ho paid ez how 'twas sure to tell me all I'd wanter know, 'N' called the thing iwpyclopee -or euthln' kinder so. " It seemed a pretty fine old book—a rog'lar sort o' prize— Ontll I ast him questions, when I seen he'd told ma lies. "Tells ev'rythlnel'' says I. "That's good—!u fac', sir, that's the best Kind of book I ever seed, but think I'd like a test Before I buy her. Lerameeeel What does the volume sny About the prospects of the comln' year for onts V hay?" I Ihenght he'd flop for latighln' when I nsl the feller that. 'N' when I net hlin "What's the juke!" he looked almighty flat. "It don't prognosticate," says he. "That ain't > the p'lntT" says I. ''What I'm a'astln'you is will tho blame thing prophesy?" 'N' then he turned the pages quick, 'n' showed me lots o' stuff About Egyptians, and a squib about an Earl named Duff. Bnt when I aet him if it tol* a cure for later bugs, lie said Ft didn't, but It had a history of rugs I 'Nd I'll be denied if that there book he said would tell so much Had anything on any page I'd ever care -to touch; 'N' then—haw I bawl—I chucked that pert young swindler from the place So quick ho hadn't time to take his smile down off bis face; 'Ndaftnr him I threw his bog 'n' twelve-part Cy- clopee— My great-grandfather's almanac was Rood enough for me I —In Harper's for June. FARM NOTES. Raw milk digests in a shorter period than boiled uiilj hence iniflc for young stock should not be boiled, but warmed. For the small farmer, sheep are not only buitable, but wit good management can be made a very profitable stock. Give your fowls plenty of oyster shells, lime and cinders from coal asnea, and you will not be bothered with soft selled eggs. Be careful of the young colts. A little care in selecting proper food for them will pay good dividends. Ensilage or roots do colts great good. Fruit trees nicely and carefully pruned when young do not need much pruning when size is attained. The tree butcher can usually be told by the size of the limbs he cuts away. Horses that work and are getting their whole living from the stable will do well if they can run in a lot at night, if no ac counts is made of the grass, in the way of diminishing the grain ration. Grafting. Grafting is an old art too much neglected. It ie an easy way to speedily change the character of an unprofitable tree, and to give it value a^d beauty. It is also an easy wfty tp, got many varieties of fruii; from a, few trees. Nl|> oft' Useless Branches, Watch your plants when growing a<5 tively, and when you see a branch starting out where none is needed nip it off. Do not let it grow for weeks and then cut it off, because by so doing all the vitality of. the plant which went to the production of that branch is wasted. Shelter for SUeep. A shelter for sheep to run under is more necessary for these animals in wet weather during the spring months than it is during the severe cold of early and midwinter. Now their fleeces are heavier, and if wet, will bold moisture longer. Sheep with young lambs ought always to be kflfjt warm and dry. A chill shrinks their tailk, and. by inducing cold, injures both fleece and lamb. How to Train the Colt. A colt should never know how much strength he has until he knows how to use it. If he once runs away he is never a sale horse afterwards, and while he may to all appearances forget it; there will come a time when he will do much damage. The harness for breaking .ind driving colts should be extra strong" and heavy. The reins and bit, especially, must be stout enough for all possible emergencies. A straight-bar bit is good enough for a steady horse, but it cannot be depended on with fractional animals, There are numerous kinds of bits that are easy when a horse is steady, but so made as to bold the horse when he tries to run. Thoughts fpr the Farmer. *. A timely matter for thought just now 1 is: How may the farmer make an experiment station of his own on his farm? Is there anything he wants to know of croos, feeding or other matters? Then let him test these things for himself. The great; question of surpassing interest is: How may the yield of the cro'ps be doubled tit the same cost as the present unsatisfactory product? Can it be done by better culture, more liberal or more effective fertilizing, or by better aeed? Every farmer who has sumciont intelligence to be dissatisfied with crops that make no profit for him may fix on the cause of the difficulty, whether it be small yield or excessive cost. And having found this he may-very easily set himself to work to try in a small way how it may be remedied. Take one crop, for instance, any one, corn or potatoes, Apply double the quantity of manure or fertilizers, and study how the method of cultiyation may be improved, : Keep thp soil always mellow and clean. At every cultivation apply a little more fertilizer, so as to keep the crop fully fed. If it is thought desirable to test the soil use different fertilizers to portions of the crops and note the results. climate and location. There are many sheep growing districts in America where one and all of these fodder plants can be grown 10 the greatest advantage, but farmers are slow in leaving the old rut. Rape can be cultivated almost anywhere, and I wonder flockmaster! 1 can resist the temptation of giving it a tiial. Hurry up, shepherds, and keep pace with the times, and provide for those charming Downs that you are importing and lavishing so much money on. Your atubbles will soon be bate, so in with the plows and on with the rnpe seed, and you will reap a golden harvest through your sheep (hat you never dreamed of. The sheep and bogs f kept per acre on rape in Oiepon seem sometimes to me incredible. What wool the sheep produced, and what lambs were to be found in that forest of foliugf! Ciosie folding is now very commonly practiced among the leading (lockmasters in Britain. The advantages of close folding when judiciously practiced are very great. It is moat commonly practiced in thone districts where Down »heep are kept and where the arable land h adapted to the growth of fodder or catch crops. I meat by catch cropi, rape seed, mustard, winter vetches, winter barley, rye, etc. Grow these instead of fallowing or allowing the ground to lie idle. Immediately after the crop is removed plow your land and sow one or all of these seeds and you will not only have abundant feed for all varieties cf stock as well as for sheep, but you will at the same time be greatly en- ricuing your land. The system is extensively followed in England; why not in America? Change of feed is one of the great secre_ts of successful sheep farming. When in Britain last fall I observed that among the celebrated breeders sheep wore being constantly, almost daily, removed from pasture to panture, always getting fresh keep and never allowed to remain in one inclosure till they had to be removed, which is the worst of all management. Others again, were allowed only as much space on grass or rape, etc., as they could eat of clean, being given a fresh patch daily, simply oy advancing the hurdles or wire netting. In this manner tho land behind them if manured and nothing wasted. Wherever this pursuit carried out at least one change is made in the sheep pasturage every day by taking them f orn their ordinany pastures to rape or vetches, then again returning them to the permanent pasture for the night. We all know that careful shepherding, plenty of change, liberal allowance of concentrated foods and a pood breed to work upon are tho chief points required in order to stcure success. I atn a great advocate of feeding young sheep on concentrated foods. When oilcakes with a good percentage of oil are usedin conjunction with some kind of meal there is room both for profit in tho animal's feed and also the improvement of the land upon which the cake and corn is consumed. So important is this subject of improvement of land by means of sheep feeding that it. occupies a very prominent place in sheep management, You must feed your sheep from the day the lambs can crunch cake and corn, and never forget "it is what goes in at the mouth that make makes them." The old theory that prime mutton can only be had from 3 and 4-year-old wethers has been exploded. Indeed 2 year-old weth- ers are now beaoaung rare. Nothing is more certain than that the age at which sheep can be fattened is being constantly lessened. It is thoroughly ascertaineu that a sheep from Us birth till 1 year old makes as much flesh as one double that age, provided the sheep be feil carefully, plentifully and methodically, and that there shall be no short commons in their rations. Remember the ewe as well as the lamb requires to have abundant feed and fresh pasture all through the nursing season. The maternal strains are very heavy, especially where the ewe is -nursing doubles. The drain of a healthy and rapidly growing lamb upon the ewe is so great that in many cases is entirely checks the growth of the wool.—William Watson in Breeder's Gazette. in flsing a man to a definite appointmen who bad nothing to do. Who are doubting men? Those who are hot doing real work. The man who goes out with his gospel to the slums and the alleys of London comes back a confirmed Christian; the man who takes out his little religious knowledge to the club, the play-ground, the festive circle, comes back wondering whether, after all, there is not something in unbelief. Both issues are natural.— Rev. Joseph Parker. THE HOME. Wordsworth. E. K. SILL. A moonlight desert's yellow sanda, Wbere, dimmer than its shadow stands A motionless palm-tree bare and there, And the great stars thro' amber air Turn calm as plauets, and the face Of earth seems lifted into space; A tropic ocean's starlit rest, Along whote smooth and sleeping breast, Slows swells just stir th» mirrored gleams, Like faintest sighs In placid dreams: All overhead the nignt, so high And hollow that there seem no sky, But tbe unfatbomod deeps, among The worlds down endless arches suiing. On moonlit plain and starlit sea, Is life's lost charm, trannil.ty, A, poet found it once, and took It home, and hid it iu a bock, As one might press a violet. , There still the odor lingers yet Delicious; from ronr treasured tomes Reach do-;vn your Wordsworth, and there comes That fragrance wbich no bard but he E'er caught, as if the plain and seu Had yielded tbelr serenity. Let him that thinkftth he standeth, take' heed last he fall,—Bible. ]STo man can do his best for any cause in whose justice he does not believe. Christ gives brightness and beauty, gladness and glory, to the whole circle of life and duty,—McArthur. It will help you to be charitable toward others, to remember that other folks have just as much mule in them as you have, Example and character teach as words never can. Words uusustained by deeds and with no character behind them are empty and powerless. "Bj about a minute,"—but that short time was enough to djfeat the purpose, and to disappoint the hope_. The op- -ortunity was gone, and witn it the privi- Positive People. There is a certain merit, and even char m, about positive people, though they are sometimes merely obstinate. Positive people have at least the merit of having opinions of their own; they may not be the bes^ opinions founded upon knowledge and guided by reason, but tbey are opinions, and as such are to bo preferred to the t uncertain, vacillating and weak expressions of mind of the good natured folks who eecapp the chnrgo of obsfcinaoy by agreeing with evreybody. The joke about the eleven obstinate jurymen H hot nil a joke. Sometimes_ the twelft.ti juryman who disagrees is right, and the eleven are without real opinions, and are obstinate on that account. It is a fact that obstincy does not accompany strength nnd clearness of opinion ,• it is more often characteristic of those who accept the opinions of others, and being incapable of reason cannot be convinced of their error. Positive people belong to another class. They are positive because they reason and settle in their own minds what is right. Even positive people can have their opinions changed, but the merely obstinate are immovab|e. There are, however, various classes or dispositions of positive ppople. Those who lire most generally recognized areagres- siyo. They express their opinions on slight provocation and in very positive terms, ve-yjofton making themselves disagreeable to others by the way in which theyjshoulder along against.all kinds of opposition, much after the manner of aggressive men pushing themselves to a front place through a crowd. Contrasted with these are the positive people, gentle of manner, who avoid controversy, listen in silence to opinions with which they do not agree, can scarcely be provoked to a defence of their own position, and yet, nevertheless, maintain themselves against the world. . The quiet force of this latter class often prevails where the more offensive tactics of their aggressive brethren fails becaus it arouses opposition. The martyrs of the world wno have established creeds or promoted reforms have been content to have commanded attention by their coolness and self confidence. Nearly all people act as sheep following a bellwether. Only a small proportion think for themselves and become leaders of men. Those who have opinions and aspire' to leadership should cultivate the graces of leadership. A party organized with great care by men ofjdiscretion, careful to humor the prejudices of the members, though carrying the principles bravely may be stampeded in a day by the inconsiderate utterances of a positive man with the same ends in veiw who has not learned to bridle his tongue and is ready at all times to give expression to his radical veiw.s. Fog- itiyeness must be united with discretion if it is to be a real force, Obstinacy, as distinguished from, positiveness. may be concioered the fcuit of ignorence. It is not always easy to draw the lino of distinction but it may be traced b.v considering wheather the fixed opinion is or is not founded upon reason, The positive man may be^n. error, but he has knowledge of some kind and judgpmen to support hie veiws. Tbe obstinate man has nothing stronger than prejudice. He thinks this or that becaus he thinks it, and that settles it. It is an injustice to the I posiKve man to consider o? treat him us obstinate merely because one disagrees with MB veiws. He is worth talking to because he is, on the one hand open to conviction, though not easily convinced of his error and on the other may be convincing. And even though argument should fail and leave both controversialists of the Earne opinion-, each will be strengthened by the necessity of making a defense. It is a good thing to associate with people whose opinions accord with one's own; such intercourse adds positive strength to one's belief. But it is aliio a good thing to meet an opponent for the defense of one's belief adds to its strength or divelops its weakness. The man who looks at only one side of a question is never as strong in his faith as he who is obliged to combat op- posng yeiws, j ai P' le Bints for Sheep Bret tiers. Old, experienced flookmasters are usually guided by certain golden maxims, one being that variety in the feeding of sheep is indispensably necessary. Many of our most successful sheep raisers are those who adopt the largest series of fodder crops, not because seasons cause one kind to answer when another fails, but owing to sheep having their likes and dislikes no less than human beings. Instead of depending wholly on hay, turnip or silage, a.s some At), the sagacious and espenenced flpok«a.ster adis fo that cabbage, kohl-rabL tfc9%wd-}i,ea.ae4 fe^le, • No man has come to true greatness who has not felt in some degree that his life belongs to his race, and that what God gives him he gives him for mankind.— Phillips Brooks. Integrity. ' " ' » Integrity is the first moral virtue; be- neyolence thfl second, and prudence is the. third. Without the first the two latter cannot exist, and without the third the two former would often be rendered useless. . '•••• ludustryaud Faith, ' •:•'•-'. , The bu,sy rnau has more leisure tbain the wdole»t man. I have never had aiy dil- w arranging m 'Jnteryjew HE GOT HEIl. How »• Ugly Man Captured a Rich and Widow, When a woman who has weathered fifty wintars travels 1,200 miles with $31, 000 in her pocket to wed a penniless man whom she never saw, it is ill jesting to say that marriage is a failure. Such a woman is Mrs, Lena Benntt, who traveled from Hillsdale, Mich,, to Wilmington, Del,, to marry Charles B Cleaworth, a machinist, and mairy him she did at Campden recently, Two months ago Mrs. Cleawort'b, who has already burled two husbands, put a tempting offer in a metropoliten paper. It fell under the eyes of CharJs B. Clea-' worth, and correspondence followed. Photographs were exchanged but the groom-to-be was not pleased wsthhis own physognomy, and he transported the likeness of an Andonis fric n i. The )a!ter mat> euver bound the match and last week the wealthy widow arrived in the chief city of the Diamond state. She registered at the Western hotel, Fourth and^Orange streets, and learned that the object of her journey was at work at Trump Bros.' machine shops. When the pair first met at the hotel there were not the expected embraces, for the lady could not see in Cleaworth any resemblance to tho picture. No amount of: persuasion could make the coy widow believe that the pleader for hpr hand was the bonaflde correspondent until Cleaworth admitted that he had sent a friend's photo- tograph instead of his own. So deoieved was this rich. wife of two previous husbands that she began to pout; bnt the sympathetic actions of the prospective third protector won her over and she act- ally eaid she was willing to have the ceremony performed if he was inclined likewise, The next day the marriage was solemnized in Camden, N, J. and a brief honeymoon at Atlantic city followed' MEETS HIS FATE. Francis Altouiorauu, the Desperado, Shot ; and Killed. Ariz., June i6.— Francis Al, the noted bandit of Border, and .murderer of half a dozen or more men and , w§8 sh.ot aad killed yesterday i« '

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