The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 17, 1892 · Page 3
Get access to this page with a Free Trial
Click to view larger version

The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Publication:
Location:
Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, August 17, 1892
Page:
Page 3
Cancel
Start Free Trial

Page 3 article text (OCR)

'•• THE tJPPM DBS MOINES. ALGON A, IOWA. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17,1892. STOttY OF A SIH. HBiEN B. 4IATHEB8. "But it has been yours," said Mad*n as for a moment the woman clung t/rtier as one to whom such clinging is BJ and sweet. "Nothing can take that ioy from you; it has lain in your arms; i* na3 loved you ' you have loved it" • "I diA love it," said the woman, almost in a whisper; "its little ways laid fast hold on my heart though I did not Vnow it; as Janet said, they came back nrt me afterward like a tune of music, thit you don't heed much at the time, hut lust drops into your mind bit by bit afterward, out I was proud, and I wouldn't let her see that I loved it. I'd tarid her away for hours together that I might take care of it myself; and it got to know me, nnd would smile up in my face just as if I was as good as any other mother; but when Janet asked if she might take it to her home for a bit, She paused a moment, shuddered away from Madcap, thenwentonagain: »I wrote to her that very night to come back; but the days passed and she didn't come, and I was too proud to go after her to fetch it, especially when any day or hour now I might hear Janet's step on the path, and one night at dark! heard it and ran out. "Think of it," she cried, her eyes seeking Madcap's with a despairing hunger in their depths. "One moment to have your child in your mindaZiuc, as you have always known it; for your heart to leap up as at the sound of its coming—to feel it but a hand's breadth away, to run to it, and to be met with empty arms and one little word— dead! Nothing warm, living, real, that you could clasp to your breast, but a name, n nothing—a word behind which his living body is hid— dead! She took me to a grave and said it was his; dead— dead—but never wsnt there again; it was my living child that I remembered —that I wanted—not my dead one!" She covered her face with her hands as at that moment a bird overhead commenced to sing—and there are moments when a snatch of song will paint to a poor wretch her misery in such colors as neither feeling nor thought have ever had power to paint it for her yet. "And was there no one to be kind to you?" cried Madcap, the mother-heart m her throVibing in passionate response to this bereft woman's misery. "Your husband, even ii' lie did not love it- some men do not love children— could not he comfort you?" "Mv husband!" repeated Hester, shrinking away, a scarlet flush over- aprnad.ir,' her pale face. "I thought you knew— I have no hnsband." A ' hard IOOK overspread her features, and the shamo in her eyes seemed to draw a momentary veil between the two hearts ilui pity had so closely drawn 'together. A moment— no more— and Madcap, rnneml> n ring only that here was one wiio hud ueen a mother and was childless, leaned forward, and, stealing a gentle arm round that bowed neck, kissed the poor lost woman on the cheek with a kiss as warm— as real, as though in blood, heart, and life they had been sisters indeed. For a moment Hester did not speak; then, seizing Madcap's hand, she bowed her head upon it, and burst into the first tears she had shed for years— such tears as spring from that fountain '•whose home aiid source is the bosom of God." "Are there many in the world like you?" she said, looking up. "If so, it is no wonder men leave women like 018 - " "Try to tell me," said Madcap gently: •"you have suffered so much. God will forgive you." "I loved him," said Hester in a whisper: "lie didn't deceive me;he never said that he would marry me." She pressed her hand against the throat, whose workings for awhile prevented speech, then cried out as one from whose crushed heart a spark of rebellion'-is painfully struck— "God sells us love at the price of cruel tortures; men, the world, chance, nature—all are against us, and for each happy hour we pay with anguish— and I was happy— I'd sin and suffer it all over again to be as happy as I was then; though I did not, even know if the name I called him by was his own, or where he went when he left me alone, as he often did. Sometimes it would come to me, like the grip of a cold hand on my heart, that one day he would kiss ma for the last time, and 1 not know it —till after. He'd been gone from mo a month, the longest time he'd ever stopped away, aiid I'd just made up my mind to tell 'him something I'd known a long time, but feared to tell him, ror he hated anything that interfered with my love for him, when I heard his step, and my heart dried up in my bosom, for something told me that he'd come to Bay just due Word— Good-by. And he "aid it; standing before me with a look that went past me, for he saw only the other woman beyond— he spoke of the money he had settled on me— all as if I were miles away. I who had been so near to him as it might be yesterday. And however honest she might be, she could be no more honest than I was when he met me first— the world might count me bad, but he knew better than that, and she could love him no more faithfully than I did. 1 think the one Poor kiss that I coveted, but was too Proud to beg for, wouldn't have harmed her if she had been as good a woman as you. are, and my baby was born upon hia father's wedding-day." , And did he know?" cried Madcap, her heart on lire with pity for the •woman, with condemnation for the man. ."Who was to tell him?" said Hester. My father never knew with whom I had fled, nor did Janet, my foster-sis- l er. To her— when she came at my summons I told nothing, fearing that her wild love for mo would impel her to some lawless deed of vengeance upon J l »i, anil it did, only the punishment tell upon me." And so he never knew," said Madcap, looking str light before her; "and Perhaps she believes him to be good, and loves him." „ '.'Men like him are always loved," eaul Hester. "I heard of her once. She young-little more than a child. I k she must ba something like you; her hair had sunbeams in it, they "ou are better than I am," cried sm," said Hester B aa V , to his friend, that I ™ & or tel1 her ' an(i I kept my word. When he begged and prayed with me neverto letthafknowl- edge darken her life, something good seemed to come into my soul.. I said to myself, 'I'm a wicked woman* but I'll do as much for her as a, good one eould have done, and I won't break her heart.' Only when I thought she might have ' got children like him, I felt toliate her. Hark!" she cried suddenly, "don't you hear children's voices? They're coming this way!" and she sprang to her feet, a great light of eagerness and love breaking out on her features. "Perhaps— perhaps one of them may be like what my little baby would have been if he had lived to grow up. I've looked for him so long," she added wistfully, "all the world over, I think; I'd never found anything like him yet." She parted the boughs and looked out. Dody and Doune came dancing through tne shadows hand in hand, their voices preceding t'lem as they came. Doune was impressing on Dody that the latter did not understand riddles, and therefore was not competent to propose to their mother; but Dody maintained a contrary opinion, and pleaded to be given a trial. "Though to be sure." he added, with a shout of glee, "mummy'll never guess it!" Suddenly the boughs were thrust aside, and Hester, stepping out, ran to the startled children, and down she fell on her knees before one of them, and hugged him all up together to her breast, then put him from her, gazing wildly on his features, then pushed the clustering hair from his brow, and caught one of his little hands and twined it round her neck, then dropped her brow on his soft neck. "My child," she cried in a voice of rapture—"it's my child come back to me from the dead!" Dody stretched his arms toward Madcap. "Mamma!" he said, scared by Hester's wild look and feverish clutch; she loosed him and looked up, a gleam as of heaven shining athwart her face. "Do you liearV" she said; "it was not my baby that Janet drowned in the pool—eyes, lips, hair, all are my child's; she told mo a lie, but I'll forgive her, and he knows his mother." "Mummy," cried Dody, once more struggling to escape, while Madcap, fearing to permit the illusion to continue, yet dreading to awaken her from it, knelt down beside the poordistrauht woman and said: "It is not your little baby—but you shall love him as you will—and he will you." Over Hester's face a look of awakening came—slowly her arm relaxed, and Dody ran to clutch his mother's neck, while with his little soft hand he patted her cheek and kissed her fondly. "Mummy," he said, "dear mummy." "He calls you mother, too," said Hester slowly; "but he is mine, mine- speak, or I shall so mad," she cried, seizing Madcap's arm; "is he not mine?" "No," said Madcap gently; "he is my child—it is a chance resemblance that has misled you." "A chance resemblance!" cried Hester in a terrible tone; "he is either my child or my child's brother—and you are his mother? Oh! it is impossible- he is mine, I say. And who are you— what are you—that you say you are his mother?" For a moment her eyes seemed flames that drank up Madcap's tears of pity— "His father then—is—must be " "My husband is Mr. Eyre," said Madcap, feeling as though Hester's eyes beckoned her over a Hideous precipice, at whose base life, love and happiness must needs be shattered for ever more. Neither had perceived Frank approaching with steps that devoured the distance, but at this moment he reached them, and seizing Hester by the arm, lifted her from the ground, and without a word dragged her away. "Poor ooman," said Dody, looking after the;a; "I hope he won't hurt her. Wonder if that's the one daddy punished the othar day, eh, mummy?" "Mother," said Doune, returning from a prolonged chase after a yellow Abed in tne spring. O %ht-rollcn wind, blow me hither The vfllco of her tnlken, Or bring: vrom her feet the light doust She do trend In the spring. He shivered in the warm air as she stirred, and sighed. What was he going to say to her?—how should he meet her eyes? he asked himself, as with a long gasping breath she lifted, herself, and gazed around. I suppose that two drowning friends, shipwrecked from different points of the compass, and for a moment tossed Up by the waters face to face with one another, do not in that moment either feel or express amazement or gladness at the meeting; and to Madcap it was not strange that Frank should be here —with the old resistless impulse of affection toward him that had never left her, she stretched out her hands, crying, "Oh, Frankl-Frank!" "Madcap." he said, just as simply, and kneeled down beside her; and so, for a minute, they looked in each Other's pale faces, and then a sob broke from one of them; but it was not Madcap. _ "Why are you so sorry?" she said, her hand lying cold and still in his. "Then it is true—I was not quite sure —there are so many men in the world, but now I know; and you must not be sorry for me—but for her." She drew her hand away and put it to her head, trying to remember. "Something came to my mind as my senses were slipping away," she said. "All love is lost save upon God alone. That was it. It was a strange thought to come into my head, was it not? I have been very happy." Sh at Frank, but his butterfly, "we've got ariddle to ask you: •What's a cat got, 710 other animal's got?' " "Not none," cried Dody, dancing about with delight. "Oh, she'll never guess it, not never!" Their voices pierced her heart, she looked down at the two little upturned faces without a word; she seemed to see three, not two, and the father of all three was— was - " "She can't guess it," said Dody's voice, sounding in her ears as from a great way off, "don't you see how hard she is trying, and she can't? Why, mummy dear, kittens, to be sure!" CHAPTER IX, "I want to take up my cross and follow the true Christ— Humanity; to accept the 1'iiots as they are, howover bftlor or severe— to be a student and a lover, but never a lawgiver. "Mummy's falleded asleep!" said Dody in a tone of awe, as Madcap sank to the ground, and lay, with closed eyes, against a clump of wood-sorrel no whiter than the face it partly hid. "Mustn't wake her up, eh, Dooiiy?" "Of course not," said Dpune.with decision; and a bee moth sailing by at that moment, the two boys instantly gave chase, and were led such a dance after it over hill and dale that they not once think of their mother for a full hour. Madcap lay so still that a bird hopped upon her shoulder, and a butterfly rested for a moment in a stray sunbeam on her hair; her ears were dull to the distant shouts of the children as to the footsteps then approaching her, and beneath Frank's eyes she rested unconsciously as though she were indeed wrapped in that slumber which knows n °So V wo 1 ulii she look, he thought, when —when— with a groan he covered Ins face for lie knew that Madcap was not of those who could live on with all her idols shattered around her. He folded his arms on his breast, and all the love and longing of a lifetime- all the bitter scorn and hatred of the long-buried sin that had reached forth ts lean talon as from the grave, to destroy the innocent, burned in his blue eves as he stood looking down upon the Btlll face, whose rounded beauty had taken new curves of nobility, that, alasl Sme suddenly to no I'"" 1 "" ^"" ance save by the touch or death bitter puiisrs of heart-break. not awaken her-let She looked up wistfully eyes were bent on the ground as he stood before her. "I always said that I should die young," she went on, in a voice as like her own as a white-throat's song is to a blackbird's "and I was sorry—but that was nothing. And so he stayed away so long, because—because and that is why he did not ask me before he went; and Lady Betty was right—and —and no doubt he loved her once," she added, below her breath, shaken out of her torpor by a sharp headlong spasm of that jealousy whose fierce pain makes a woman humble, and shows her to her own heart helpless at the feet of her master. "You love him, Madcap?" cried Frank, as one who speaks against his will. She dropped her head on her hands. "Love him?" Ay, she loved yet—love as we must love, as we do love for evil as for good, and the deeper the sin, so it be not against ourselves, the more closely we cling to the sinner: we loved him in his honor—shall we thrust him from us in his shame? But to the woman who has always looked up, that moment is a terrible one when she sees her other self laid in the dust; and realizes that henceforth she must love him, not for that better part that might live foyever, but as a human living clod that, even while she clings to it, may be resolved into nothing, and so escape her, "But I will give'him back to her," she said, scarcely above a whisper; "I will learn to live without him. Only I must get away before he comes back; and you will help me, Frank? She will forgive me, perhaps, when she kuowa that I suffer too." How strong in the thought, how powerless in the action, is this same will that does not take into account human flesh and blood, habit, duty, nothing that we know and hold on by! Even in "chat moment of renunciation.human feeling gripped Madcap fast, and asked what life would be without him? Love cried out that it starved, and would be fed; the shadow of sin cleared from that beloved face, and left only Mm— that indestructible something that she loved. She said to herself that she would be dumb, deaf, blind, imbecile; but to his side she must creep and cling. The man's wrong-doings seemed far away, the man most near in that moment of stromr impulse toward him. "Why do you not speak for him?" she said, looking up with some of the old Madcap lire kindling in her eye. "You loved liim once, and ho loved you, too, though he was dishonest to you—but I made him that; he would have spoken for yon— he would have told me not to believe it." Frank turned suddenly, and across his brain there flashed one of those wild ideas that have stamped a man ere now as hero or madman—a moment, and he had adopted it as one of those forlorn hopes that, by splendid courage or. audacity, have now and again been pushed to a victory that has reversed every law of likelihood. He drew his breath hard, and said— 'You have been very was years omer man i; it was a man's folly that you cannot be expected to understand," he went on, almost harshly; "and for God's sake, Madcap, spare me the recital of it." "A folly,", said Madcap, into whose heart every word of Hester's had cut deep; "you call it that. Frank, you promised me that I should be happy; are you telling me a. lie?" "Ask tin- village," he said, "the whole county even—they will tell you if 1 have lied or no." "But the resemblance," she cried, with no blush of shame—in the supreme issues of life the bastard omoti-.u iinds no place, "the resemblance to her own child that she saw in mine." "She is almost insane on the point," he said, "and beholds a fancied image in all she looks on." "But she spoke of my wedding-day,'' said Madcap swiftly. "When I—broke with her," saiil Frank, still in that hard monotonous voice, "I told her that I was going to be married: she must have found out yoiu name, and thought that you had married me—not Mr. Eyre." Madcap fell on her knees, covering her eyes. "I can't take it," she said, "this grea happiness; it is as if I had stepped ovei your dead body, to get it back again husband, dear love, forgive, forgive me," she whispered in a low cry whosi intensity bore the weialit of a praye and a blessing in one. She had forgotten Frank, who stood at a little distance, looking down on that half-hidden face upon whose mouth a smile had Wnxort too lioly, And lel'ttliu lips praying. Suddenly she looked up and saw him standing apart—downcast, and pale but with so much nobility and braver} in his face as ill befitted the charactei he just then filled. Frank—who had never lied to her— ARM AND HOME* if.IK cvrtn 11V LBI'HIA MAY 1IUVAXT. The birds nrn Pins'in;: .itlM :i* sweetly As they snug n yenr n«'o: Thu sun i= slimiiiiv.just as brliflitly, But tlu llowor" nve \vlilspering low To Ilii! grasses all around Uicm.'" AsUlhV wluil hns I'linnifcd me so; Kor T Irrad the self-same pathway. Will! dim eyes »nil foolstqis slow, Thai. 1 hail trod so li:i|>py-licurieil, Ouu short year ngo. "Shall 1 tell tlioe, liltlo flowers, What hns wrought this chunge in mis? When 1 passed those pietisant hours III these nooks pcrfiilitcil l>y Iliee. Cunning Cupid clotlied in rupture, Stole my heart and lied away, And has sinee dolled recapture; I'm in seareii of him lu-ihiy. Have you seen liim little daisy, AVitfi his bow and giHU'il ilnrl? Oh! il almost drives me era/.y AVhen I think of my lost heart. Whither, whither 1ms he wandered? IHushing rose, can not yon tell? Gazing shyly from your easement, Uy tliorn-eni'talns guarded well? Won't yon tell me, little violet, With your pure and modest face, Ilnvo you seen my heart and Cupid Pass' your lowly dwelling plaee? "YesV" Then 1 must follow, follow: Cupid's Nemesis I'll be; Over hill and over hollow, Till he returns my heart to me. —Sunday Inler-Oeean. Eau Claire, WU. whom she had never known but as hei faithful friend and sweetheart—aftet all 'these years to come back and stand face to face with her thus. She passed her hand across her brow looked at him, then a\vay, then back again, crying out from her very heart, for her own happiness made pitiful,* "Oh. Frank-Frank " lie knew all the question contained in that cry, and stood silent beneath it, motionless as a carven image of de- She had come close to him; he felt as ilioiifj-h lie were a wretch thrust out into hell, and yet nble to look u]\afc the star-lit skies ol! Heaven, as lie slowly lifted ins eyes to her face, on which was a great'light of pity, and trembling joy. "Frank," she said, and he turned suddenly toward her, wishing that this moment, in which she looked and spoke so kindly, might last forever, "you were so young then—you did not know—but now you will repair the wrong you did her—she has suffered so much —and she loved you.'' "What do you wish o£ me, Madcap?" he said. To be Keep your wittering troughs scrupulously ck'iin. Take time by the forelock ami always bo In readiness for the next work of the farm. Sudden starting of loads imd slipping when tlio roads nro Icy, cause more spavins than everything else combined. | Sheep iv.sU»r« to the soil n larger ', proportion of tho elements they tuko ! from it In grazing than do any other stock. Milk and croam are very susceptible to odors and should not be kept iu cellars where there there is anything that will eont.fuuiiHi to. If farmers would study the many ways Unit clover can be made 11 paying crop they will sow a larger acreage next year than they have been doing. Field peas may be sown In August, and mature sufficiently for feeding. Hogs can be fattened on them quickly and cheaply, and the improvement of. tlie soil Is no small item. , of C. 1). Smcad in a pica for more succulent food for sheep: Each year this country Is becoming more nnd more' a mutton .CT<nv!nir country, and the f.lieep that nro being kept nre of the English breeds, winch have been roared for over n century on turnips and man- golds during tho winter, aiid if we are to maintain the health of these sheep and keep up their brei-rllng propenslt-. lea we must to somr extent follow the Knglish methods of feeding. England feeds bui sixteen bushels of grain to her animals, \vlille we in America feed forty-seven bushels. England hns the reputation of producing the finest mitt* ton in the world, and her flocks produce tho largest yearly lamb crops of any nation In the world. When we bring these sheep here too many of those into whose hands they fall either neglect them find starve them, or else they put them wholly upon dry food nnd grain during the winter, mill so fatten them find fever Uicin tiud constip.'ito them that If they don't die with tho disease they full to breed us they should and to bring forth a strong, healthy offspring. Our native merino sheep m.'iy stand this dry winter feed- Ing better, but the best, results possible nre by no means reached by following this custom. Aittumtt ())• .S';»'Oi(7 Cnltn, Tho unprecedented bad weather this season has caused many farmers to breed few mares. The dull market for poorer grades of horses has also checked breeding. It is -probably the worst HetiHon that stallion owners hnvo had for 'M years past. Many farmers may now realize that in many cases It is far better to raise autumn colts. Thoso having comfortable barns should certainly give tho experiment a. thorough trial. .Since many mares nre needed for work In 1.1>.o spring and early summer months, It Is a great advantage to have them in foal at that time. Tho light work In coel weather better enables the mare to suckle the colt, which, is in turn benented by an abundant supply of milk. More thought Is required for winter management, but the Increased advantage of frequently handling the colt has its compensation. • Then after weaning In the spring tho rapid growth mado when grass is a part of the food Is of much importance. Considering the general neglect In spring breeding it is only n wise business policy to endeavor to save six months time by prompt ntt.ont.lpn to breeding within the next, throe months.—M., In O. J. Farmer. her hands clasped tightly to, her gra ees flashing. "I bate, her; eyes think flashing. I should wish - M$ K» l/i&S&.S^i^A the He would her sleep on; ay, not awaen er- , e a most wished forever-tor it could not be Madcap who would struggle back to life' M "leap, whose step was music IO mo, • aul : lv/ '*n, ,„„ ,..,,« suns i me— the the fullness of whose woman's life was and whose glance was sunshine Knded in- e tn.th and honor of the gailieloved. How many years ago was it that he had seen her tripping her, and he1 ' " O , Madcap, and, please, God, you shall be happy still. My dishonor will not break your heart; arid it was not a very long misery for you, after all." For a moment he took her little cold hand in his, then loosed it, and stood apart. "Poor Frank," she said, with the ghost of a wan smile, "you would make me happy if you could. I think you would even give your life for me; but cannot give me this, dear; no one, not even he, can make me happy now." "Can I not?" he said; and moved yet a little further away. "But at least, Madcap, lean tell you"— he paused, and went paler than she— "the truth." "No," she cried, her face flaming up; •that is his affair, not yours." "No," he said, and in the ring of his voice there was less of entreaty than command: "it is mine." Madcap looked up; this was a new Frank who stood before her,— no boyish sweetheart, dependent on her will, but a man as strong to love, ay, and to sin, may be, as Mr. Eyre himself, "Madcap," he said, and his voice was as one who spoke by rote, "there are other men in the world besides Mr. Eyre. Can't you think that it might be some one you know, some one you called your friend?" Madcap's arms fell to her sides, she hardly seemed to breathe as she gazed at him; then, like a shipwrecked mariner, who at the eleventh hour sights land, she flung them high above her head, and "It was Harrington Eyre!" she said. For a moment there was a dead si- lience, broken only by the shrill whisper of the grasshopper-lark in the meadow hard by; then— "It was not Harrington." Something in his face struck her; she seized his arm, and looked up in his face, feeling herself violently snatched back from the verge of so awful a joy as brain and heart might not well endure. "O! Frank, Frank, it was you?" He looked down on her without a word. His sweet little Madcap, who had vexed his heart full sore, but who had never worn any but kinds looks for him yet,— to whom he had never lied; if ever he had any poor hope of shining y his d of jt —this was the end." "It wast* boyish infatuation," he said, resolutely on, sines in Tillage Is Manure. A year or two ago we published an wtlcle under the tibovu head which was based upon an exporiinent in progress nt the Kansas experiment station since 1880, In which very good crops were grown continuously upon the same land without manure or renovating treatment of any kind, and with nothing save an excellent soil brought j into lirst rate condition by repealed liar-rowings before seeding. In writing upon the subject we emphasized the importance of good tillage to such an Millet is ono of the best hay rations for the dairy, but it needs to be cut early, and cured In heaps, rather than oookod in tho sun. It thoii dons uot havo the effect on the kidneys that is | often observed, when the millet goto very mature before cutting. ,Cfieri/ Culture. Celery culture Is a much easier matter than people used to think. There Is no noert of setting the plants In a trench. Have the soil rich, start them on the level, and bank up as needed, only do not put much soil about them while the weather remains warm. It will cause rust. Now is tho time to plant. extent that some friend wrote us an I indignant letter inquiring whether the Homestead advised wheat growers to | abandon manure, rotations and reiio-1 vating treatment, and rely wholly oii| tillage. Of course we advised nothing ( of the kind; what we aimed at was to impress the fact that even the manuring was no satisfactory cure for a hastily nnd badly prepared seed-bed, nnd that no crop did its besl,whether on well manured or unmniiured soil, miles the land was brought Into good tilth before it was seeded. The Knu- sns continuous cropping, with nothing i to aid it but good tillage, gave yields woathel '' far beyond the average of the country and thus brought into prominence the importance of tillage. The incident is recalled to our mind by the receipt of intelligence that the Kansas station has just concluded tho harvesting of the twelfth successive crop of wheat on the samo land, without manure or renovating treatment, aii.. me yield Is thirty-one and oue- i'oui'th bushels. The first crop was Cltnt.t AY'rr/ Attention. From the present time through the season much can lie done if attention Is given at the right time to make young cions and new growths of all kinds hardy and well fortified to go into best' t uc coming winter. Suckers detract ' from the health of clons, nnd many clous which Incline to an overgrowth, which is often tho cnse where the wholo sap of a large limb Is thrown into a single scion as large as one's finger, nre much stronger at the lip If cut back once or twice before cold. 2'ont.i for Hoys. There is nothing on the farm that helps or hinders so much, as the tools used. To load a light slip of a boy with a heavy, clumsy, unhandy tool, Is to make a shirk of him at the start, (ilvo him a tool that Is just right nnd he will take pride in its use; he will put it in its place when done with It; use it with vim; do better work' I'HK IKfMK, Genius may be swift, but patience has the surest feet. Praise and doubt nro never found together in any heart. No man can look at the stnrs without wanting to live forever. The highest of all possessions is that of self-help. No man Is any stronger than tho weak spot iu his character. Faithful soldier, take courage, for "God defends the right." Christian love is the Christian llfo; without it that life canot exist. If there is anything terrible hi death It is life that has made it. so. If you do not wish to eat of tho forbidden fruit, then do not go near the forbidden tree. A o ici'l'ul .'tit' 1 : ", ij/JriH. in pmil health. All sad and melancholy feel- lugs should be dispelled at once. It usually takes two to make a slander—one to listen and the other to report. One is as bad as tho other. Mankind is always happier for having been made happy. If you make them happy now, you wil make them thrice happy twenty years hence In memory of it, . fieatiiff 'Hint Tell lily. '1 he more 1 think of it the more I find this conclusion Impressed upon me, that the greatest thing a human soul over does hi this world is to see something nnd tell what It saw In a plain way. Hundreds, of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. in her eyes by his constancy, b long faithfulness, this was the en sown in the fall of 1SSO, and tho yield quicker, nnd feel that he Is doing a was light, being estimated at nine good job. All bad Influences; are done bushels. Since then the crops have away with nnd the boy grows up with been carefully weighed. The acre set good habits because he feels good while apart for continuous cropping has pro- at work, duced 285.7 bushels during the twelve years. The period includes two complete failures on account of winter killings. For the entire twelve years, the average yield from the acre hns been 23.S bushels; for ten years In which wheat was grown It is an aver- ago of 28.57 bushels. Compare these yields with the entire country during tho twelve years from 1880 to 1801 Inclusive, which was 12.8 bushels, and some idea may be formed of how exceedingly well this acre of well-tilled, continuously-cropped Kansus land has done. The results speak volumes for tho staying qualities of the soil nnd in- cldontally for good Ullage. If anybody asks us, however, whether, because nearly twice as great a yield was obtained from this acre without manure or renovation as hns been harvested from the average acre In our entire wheat area, manured or unmaunred, wo therefore advise continuous crop- plug without manure, we are obliged to sny "no!" We do advise, however, that whatever else be done, good tillage be not forgotton or neglected. ,- Place a Yliti'l/ur 1'lu. teacupful each of water, sugar and viuagar in a porcelain kettle over the fire. When it bolls, stir in a tablespoonful cornstnrcU previously molsTened.and butter jthe size of a walnut. When well cooked, set it off, and a<ja half a teaspoonfu} P* extract, I4ne a deep nlej tin wltli a pie cru^t, p'pur ijj tfee mj&twe and JTornlest Cattle, By commencing the work of dehorning now and henceforth with all the calves, one would soon have n herd of hornless animals, and there Would be a much smaller record of deaths of valuable men by reason of the horns of treacherous bidls. Moisten tho raised spot on tho heads of young calves where the horn Is to appear, and rub with the end of a stick of caustic potash. This makes n scab and removes the horn. Stopping (i Runaway Horse, Professor Gleason, noted as to tamer and trainer of vicious horses, thus explains the manner of stopping n runaway horse by using nothing but a straight bar bit and lines. For instance, your horse attempts to run awny. Let him go for a distnuce of fifty y.-.rds, then haul In your Hues perfectly tight. When you get ready to give the command to stop, sny "Whoa!" at tho same time you pull the right-hand rein, giving n powerful jerk, and repeat tho word "Whoa." Don't move the left hand but do all tho work with the light. When you give the terrible jerk twist the horse's jaw to the right, and If you have the presence of mind to repeat the wcrd whoa at the second jerH of TUG lines, you will be surprised to find your horse standing still. I'll He nee, Patience is to nccomplish Its perfect work. It lins n great part to perform In what is to be done during tills life. There are times in which hard labor is to be done while waiting for an end which seems to bo long delayed. And this Is to bo constantly remembered, that tho true work of patience is a perfect one—complete, well-rounded and without complaint. Vm the man wh.q contemplates) the _._,— ... —ii— ttjer.i-s ^s, j| worJ4 of u#er$o,ce No I'inie, No time! How often wo hear this given ns a reason for some neglected duty—how often, perhaps, do wo give It ourselves! And yet, In most cases uo will would be the truer statement. Canon Kingsley in one of his sermons tells us of a man, now one of the most learned scholars iu Kngland, who Avns onco a village carpenter, and used when young to keep a book open before him on his bench, and thus contrived to teach himself, one after the other, Latin, Greek and Hebrew. Where the will Is, tho way wil generally be found. J'V«ie Your Worlt* Face your work. The exhortation, "Diligent In business," applies to every one. There can be success only by giving close attention to that which we undertake to do. With diverted attention or divided interest mistakes will certainly be made, opportunities will be lost nnd energy will be wasted. Withal there Is danger. The engineer must keep his eye on the track or disaster may come. The worker in the mill or factory may by Inattention be entangled ii} the machinery. The Christian worfc- er—uot careful, watchful 'and diligent— may also bring disaster ami loss upos

Get full access with a Free Trial

Start Free Trial

What members have found on this page