The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 12, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Wednesday, August 12, 1891
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THE UPPER DES MO1NE8. ALGONA. IOWA, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 12,1891 I', \ MONICA. LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS "Arrah, nivcr mind wiut I said, ncushln," Bays the younger Mrs:l>aly, with an emphatic wink." ": niv 'twas only to keep him in ordher a bit. 1 s.tid it at all at all 1 But 'tia young he N vi't. the rrathur." "I'cr/y young. Oh. Mrs. Daly, Zoo/,-.at baby i See ho\v shr is try!UK to tret nt my hair!" Monica is beginning in '•' delighted tone,—ns though to have one's hair pulled out by the roots is the most enchanting sensation in the world,—when suddenly her voice dies away into silence, and she herself stares with great open violet eyes at something that darkens the doorway and throws a Shadow upon the assembled group within. "It is Desmond 1 "Ail 1 come in, Mtslhi-r Desmond," says Mrs. Daly, hospitably. "I'm glad 'tis company I have before ye tho day. Maybe twill coax ye to come ngain. Where have ye been this week an' more? F.-.ix, ye were so long In comin', I thought 'twas angry wid me ye •were." "Nobody is ever amjry with a pretty woman like you," says Desmond, saucily. "Oh, now, hark to him!" says Mrs. Daly, Inuithlng heartily. "I wonder ye arent ashamed of yourself. An' is the ould Squire hearty?" ,, , , "He's as well as even you could wish him. How d'ye do, Kit? Won't you come and speak to me?" He has been afraid to shako hands with Monica up to this, but now she turns suddenly toward him and holds out to him one slender fair hand, the other being twined round tke baby. She docs this musingly. He grasps the little snowy hand with al- itt,10st senile delight, and holds it for—as long •Tas he dares. During this undefined period 'he tells himself what a perfect picture she is, with her clear, pale, beautiful face, and her nut-brown hair, and tho tender sweetness of her attitude, as she bends overtho smiling baby. Could any vaunted Madonna 'be half ns lovely? At this moment a growing contempt for all the greatest masterpieces of tho greatest masters permeates his being and renders him weak In faith. "Won't ye sit down, thin?" says Mrs. Daly. Being a woman, she grasps the situation at a glance, and places a chair for him close to Monica. "What's tho matther wid ye to-day, Misther Desmond, that ye haven't a word to give us?" "You otutht to know whit I'm thinking of," says Desmond, r.m-pUug the chair, and drawing it even a degree closer to Monica. "Faix, thin, I don't," says Mrs. Daly junior, her handsome face full of smiles. A love-affair is as good a;; a saint's day to an Irish peasant; iii'id hciv she tells herself, with a glance at Mo..lea, in one ready-made to her hand. "I'm thinking what a lucky man Daly is," says Desmond, promptly. "Oh, git along wid ye now, an' yer blarney!" says Mrs. Daly', roaring with laughter; whilst even ilrri. MuSoneythe dismal, and the old granny in the corner, chime in merrily. And then the'visit conies to a close, and thoy all rise and hid Mrs. Daly and tho others "good-by;"'and Miinica, mindful of his late "affliction, bestows a soft parting •word upon the subdued Paddy. And now they aro all in tho open air again, and, turning down the boreon that leads to Moyne. It is Dcsmond'sway aswell " Y as theirs, so he ammibii.iies the girls with, .A out rein ark. ;» {?'' "What brought you to see the Dalys, to' day'. 1 " asks Monica, suddenly, without any ulterior meaning beyond the desire of making conversation; but to Kit's guilty soul this question seems 1'r.iu»-ht, with mischief. "Oh, I often go to sue Daly. I want him to come fishing with mo to-morrow; he's the best man about here for that, and trudges behind one for miles Avithout complaining." "Poor Daly!" "Well, I hope you enjoyed your visit today," says Kit, blithely, glancing at him mischievously from beneath her broad hat. "There was a dnuvback," says Brian, unthinkingly. "I went there full of hope, and, after all, she never offered mo any of your pudding!" Tableau! Kit's agonized glance and Monica's questioning eyes awake Mr. Desmond to a knoAvledge of what ho has done. "How did you hear of Kit's pudding?" asks Monica, looking keenly from Brian to Kit, and then back again. "Oh!—tho pudding," stammers Desmond. "There! don't commit yourself," says Monica, in a tone Hint trembles. "Oh, Kit!" Botli culprits are afraid to look at her. Does the tremble mean tears, or anger, or what? Perhaps horror at their duplicity, or contempt. Is she hopelessly angered? Then a suppressed sound reaches their ears, croaiimr a fresh panic in their breasts, Is she positively nlmlitinj with indignation? Cautiously, anxiously, Ihey glance at her, and find, to their everlasting relief, that she is rronvulsed with laughter. "When next you meditate forming a brilliant plot such as this," she says to Kit, "I think I should look out a more trustworthy accomplice if I were you." "Catch me having a secret with 1dm again," says Kit, now Ir.-r fears are appeased, turning wrathfully upon Desmond. "I qnitu forgot ill; about it, I did, indeed," exclaims lie penitently. "Forgive me this time, and I'll promisa never to do it again." "And I'll promise you you sha'u't have tho chance," says Kit, with fervor. "Why Avas I to be deceived?" says Monica. "I think I have boon very basely treated. If you, Kit, desired a clandestine meeting with Mr. Desmond, 1 don't see why I was to be dntAVii into it. And it w;ts a stupid arrange forgiveness upon his. She smiles Sweetly, but with some timidity, because of the ardor of the glance that ansAvers hers. Taking her hand with an impulsive movement impossible to restrain, Desmond presses it rapturously to his lips. Drawing it away from him with shy haste, Monica Avalks on in silence. "If I had written to yon, and not to her, would you still have been horn to-day?'' asks he, presently. "1 think not." "That is a cruel answer, is it not?'' "Would you have mo belie my nature?' 1 asks she, with quick agitation; "would you have me groAv false, secret, deceitful? My mints trust me; am I to proA-e myself unworthy of their confidence?" "I am less to you, then, than your aunts' displeasure 1" "You aro less to me than my conscience; and yet " With a violent effort, that betrays IIOAV far her thoughts have boon traveling in company with his, she brings herself back to tlie present moment, and arecollection of the many reasons why she must not listen to his wooing. "Why should you believe yourself anything to me?" in a voice that quivers audibly. "Ah, why, indeed?" returns he, bitterly. There is such pain in his voice and face that her soul yearns toward him, nnd she repents her last words. "I am wrong. You are something to me," she says, in a tone so low that he can scarcely hear it. But lovers' ears are sharp. "You meiitn that, Monica?" "Yes," still lower. "Then Avliy i-.iunot I be7m<7'cto you? Why am I to be domed a chance of forwarding the cause In w.iich all my hopos aro centered? Monica, say you will moot me somewhere—soon." "How can 1'.'" she says, tremulously. Her A'oice is full ol tears. She Is altogether different from Ui^ coquettish, provoking child of last night. "You forgot all 1 have just noAV said." "At least tell me, then," says he, sadly, "that if you could you would." There Is n pathetic ring in his tone, and tears rise to her eyes. Can anything bo so hopeless as this love-affair of hers? "Yes, I would," she says, almost desperately. "Oh, dnrlinir-- ... . . man Avith passion. Ho holds her bauds closely, and it.oks Into her troubled eyes, and wishes he might dan- take her into his arms and, pressing her to his heart, ask hei to repeat her woids again. But there is something In the calm purity of her beautiful face that- ivpe.is vehemence of any sort; and ns yet- a.i.ioug'n tho dawn is near—lies love has not declared itself to her own soul in all Its strom.?!h. "I have at le-^t one consolation," he says, at last, cnlliir.r to mind the quietude that surrounds Moyue and its inhabitants, and tho Avithdrawal from society that has obtained there for many years. "As yon aro not nlloAvod to we me,—except on such rare occasions as Hie present Avhen the Fates aro kind,—you cannot at least see, nn\i (me else, -often, Hint is." "Meaning? " "Kyde." She laughs a little, and then colors. "Aunt Priscilla has asked him to come to Moyne next Friday," she says, looking at tho ground; "she is giving an At Homo on that day, for him and Captain Cobbctt, She says she feels it is a duty to her queen to shoAV some attention to her servants." In her tone, as she says this, tliero is n spice of that mischief that is never very far from any pretty woman. "He is to be invited to Moyne,—to spend an entire day Avitli you!" says Desmond, thunderstruck by this last piece of IIOAV.S. "Oh, no [only part of it," says Monica, meekly. : 'It Is just as bad. It is disgraceful I Your aunts are purposely encouraging him to keep you away from me. Oh, why," Avretch- odly, "should this unlucky quarrel have arisen between our house and yours?" "Well, that's your fault," says Monica. "Mine?" "Your uncle's then. It is all the same,' unjustly. , _ "I really can't see that," says Mr. Desmond, very righteously aggrieved; "that is visiting tho sins of tlie uncles upon the neph- OAVS Avith a vengeance! Monica, at least promise me you Avon't bo civil to him." "I can't be rude to him." "Yon can. Why not? It will keep him from calling again. But I daro say you want him to call again," says Desmond, angrily. , . At tliis moment, the gates of Moyno being in sight, and those of Coolo long passed, Kit, suddenly appears on the top of a high stone wall, and calls gayly to Desmond to come and help her to alight. "And now go away too," she says; 'you aro forbidden goods, you know, and AVO must not be seen talking to you, under pain of death." . , , .. "Good-by," says Desmond, Avith alacrity, Avho is, in truth, sulky, and undcsirous of further parley with his beloved. "Good-by, Miss Bc-r. sford." "Good-by," says Monica, shortly. "Wo shall see you again soon, no doubt," says Kit, kindly,' in her clear, sweet treble. "I think it very improbable," returns lie, raising his hat gravely and taking his departure. "Now, Avhat have you boon saying to that wretched young man, Monica? ' says Kit, severely, standing still in tho middle of the road, the belter to bring her sister, beneath tho majesty of her eye. "Nothing. Nothing that any reasonable being could object to," declares Monica, with such an amountof vigor as startles Kit. "But of all the, ill-tempered, bearish, detestable men I ever met in my life, he Is the worst." Which unlooked-for explosion from the gentle Monica has tho effect of silencing Kit nannsnme young Konayne in ;...:•;" :.:.-.•>. Mrs. Bohun, who is in one of her most mischievous moods to-day, lias taken it into her hontl to snub T,i>rd Knssmoyne nnd be all that is of the sweetest to Ulic Ronayne, a proceeding her cousin, Mrs. Itorriek, regards with dismay. Not so. however, does Bella Fitzgerald regard It. 'She. tall, and with n wou!rt-bo stately air, walks through the grounds at Lord Kossmoyne's side, to whom she h»s attached herself, and AN ho, ftnitt- (fa mta'-C, makes himself as agreeable ns he can to her. considering how he is imvftrdly raging at what lie Is pleased to term Olgn's dis- crnct'ftil behavior. Miss Priscilla has now been seized upon by Madame O'Connor and carried on" for private confab. " And you really 7»inst let her como tons for a week, my dear," says Madame O'Connor, in her fine rich brogue. "Yes, now, really I want her. It Avill be quite a favor. I can't withstand a pretty face, as you well knoAv; 'tis a weakness of mine, my dear, and she is really a pearl. Olga Bohun is talking of getting up tableaux or some such nonsense, and she wants your pretty child to help us." "I should like her to go to you. It is very kind of you," says Miss Priscilla, but with unmistakable hesitation. "NoAV, What is it? Out with it, Priscilla I" says Madame, O'Connor, bluntly. Miss Priscilla struggles with herself for yet another minute, and then says quickly,— "That young man Desmond,—will hcbo staying in your house?" "Not if you object, my dear," says Mrs. O'Connor, kindly; "though I do think it is a pity to Ihwart that affair. He is a nieo and as pleasant a young fellow as I kiiOAV, and would make a jewel of a husband; and money-say what you like, my dear Priscilla—is allways something. It ranks higher than revenge." "There is no revenge. It is only a Just resentment." "Well, I'll call it by any ntimo you like, my dear, tint I must say " "I must beg, Gertrude, you wlllnotdiscuss tills unhappy subject," says Miss Priscilla, with some agitation. "Well, I won't, then. There let It lie," says Madame O'Connor, good-hmnoredly. "And tell me, IIOAV, it 1 come over to fetch Monica on Monday, will she bo ready for me?" "Quite ready. But AVC have not consulted her yet," says Miss Prisrilla, clinging to a broken reed. "Olga is talking to her about it. And if shu inent, too; IAVO is company, three trumpery 0 I know, if Iliad a lover, I should prefer—" for the remainder of the walk, "Monica!" says Kit, indignantly; but ^Twt^v Monica only laughs the more. CIIAI iiiu JI.Y. "It is mu turn no\v, you know," she says. "It is quite tho loveliest old place in the "Kit had nothing to do with it; it Avas all world!" says Mrs. Bohun, in her soft plain- my fault," says Desmond, laughing too. "If* tivo voice, speaking very enthusiastically. you must pour out the vials of your wrath | "We ought to bo more than grateful to you, on somo one, let it bi; on me." "Yes, give him a good scolding, Monica," says Kit, viciously, but with a lovely smile. "I am going to pick some ferns for Aunt Pen; when I return I hope I shall find that recreant knight of yours—I mean mine—at the point of death!" At this she flits away from them, like the good little thing she is, up a sloping bank, and so into the fields beyond, until Desmond and Monica are as much alone as if a whole sphere divided them from their kind. Dear little Kit 1 When her own time conies may she be as kindly dealt with 1 "You are angry Avith me, still,—about last night," says Desmond, softly, "and, I own, Avith cause. But 1 Avas miserable when I called you a coquettx 1 , and misery makes a man unjust. I wrote to Kit this morning, —I Avas afraid to write to you,—and she Avas very good to me." "HoAV good?" plucking a leaf from a brier, as she goes slowly— very slowly—dowu the yoad. "She brought me i/nu. Do you know, Monica, I have been as unhappy as a man can be since last 1 .saw you,—a whole night and part of a day? Is it not punishment enough?" "Too much for your crime," whispers she, softly, turning suddenly toward him and letting her great luminous eves rest with dear Miss Blake, for letting us see it." Miss Priscilla reddens with suppressed satisfaction, but say,— "Tut tut, my dear! It is only a funny old-fashioned spot, after all," in quite an offhand manner. It is Friday,— the Friday,—as tho Misses Blake have been thinking of it for days, in fear and trembling, as being tho date of their first hospitable venture for many years. All the Aghyohiilbeg party, and the men from Clonbree Barracks, and some other neighbors, are strolling through the SAveet antiquated gardens of Moyne, hedged Avitli yeAVS fantastically cut. The roses, Avhito and red and yellow, aro nodding their heads lazily, bowing and courtesying to the passing breeze. The stocks and mignonette are filling thu air with perfume. Tall lilies are smiling from distant corners, and the little merry burn, tumbling over its gray bowl- ders through tho garden, is sin-ing a loud and happy sung, In which tho birds in the trees above join heartily. The lazy hum of many insects makes one feel even more perceptibly how drowsy- sweet is all the summer air. Mrs. Bohun has IIOAV flitted away Avith Monica, who in her white gown looks the prettiest flower .of all, in this "wilderness of sweets," with the tall, infatuated Kvde and site's the, girls she lool;s, she'll bo glad of a change, and the chance of. a sweetheart," savs Madame O'Connor, gayly. ' * * * * * * "What lovely lilies I" says Mrs. Bohuti, standing before a tall Avhile group. "Oil,-don't!' 1 says Owen Kelly, who has joined her und Monica. "Whenever I hoar a lily mentioned i think of Oscar Wilde,and it hurts very much." "I lilce. Oscar Wilde. Ho is quite nice, nnd very amusing," says Olga. "I wonder if I could make my hairgroAV," says Mr. Kelly, meditatively. "He's been very clever about his; but I suppose somebody taught him." "Well,*! think long hair is dirty," says Mrs. Bohun, Avitli an abstracted glance at Ronayno's lightly-shaven head. Then, as though tired of her sweet role and of its object (Ronayne) nnd everything, she turns capriciously aside, and, motioning away tlie men with her hand owl a small froAvn, sits down at Ilermia llorrlck's foot and plucks idly at the grasses near her. "So we are dismissed," says Kelly, shrugging liis shoulders. Monica lias disappeared long ago Avitli the devoted Ryde. "Your queen has her tempers, Ronayne." "There aro few things so cloying as perfection," says Ronayne, loyally. "I entirely agree Avitli you,—so much so that 1 hope Providence Avill send me an ugly wife. She—I bog your pardon—Mrs. Bohun does pretty much Avhat she likes Avilh you, doesn't she?" "Altogether what she likes. She's boon doing it for so long noAV that I suppose she'll go on to the end of tho chapter. I hope it Avill bu a long one. Do you know," says tho young man, Avith a rather sad little laugh, "it sounds of course rather a poor thing to say, but I really think it makes me happy, being done what she likes Avith?" "It is only to oblige a friend that I should seek to understand such a hopelessly Involved sentence as that," says Mr. Kelly, wearily. "But I have managed it. You're as bad acasens ever I came across, Ronayne, and I pity you. But 'pon my soul, 1 respect you too," Avith a flash of admiration; "there is nothing like being thoroughly in earnest. And so I Avish you luck in your wooing," "You're a very good fellow, Kelly," says Ronayno, gratefully. In tho mean time, Olga, tiring of tearing her grasses to pieces, looks up at Ilermia, "How silent you are!" she says. "I thought that was what you wanted,— silence. You have been talking all day. And, besides, if I speak at all, it Avill be only to condemn." "Nevertheless speak. Anything is better than this ghastly quiet; and, besides, frankly, I need not mind you, you ICIIOAV." "You aro flirting disgracefully Avith that Ronayno boy." "What harm, If he Is a boy?" "He is not such a boy ns allthat comes to; and if you don't meun it, you aro overland to him." "He's my baby," says Olga, with a little laugh; "I often tell him so. Why should I not bo kind to him?" "Oil, if you are bent on it!" "I am bent on nothing. You do run aAvay so with things!" "1 think you might do bettor." "I'm not going to do anything," says the AvidoAV. She throws off her hat, and rufllos up all her pretty pale gold hair with impatient lingers. "Oh, if you can assure mo of that!" "I don't want to assure you of anything." "Sol thought. That is why I say you might do better." "I might do worse, too." "Perhaps. But still I cannot forget the.ro was AVolvcrhampton last year. A tltlo is not to be despised; and ho was devoted to you, and Avould, I think, have made a good husband." "I dare say. lie Avas fool enough for anything. And Hiked him, rather; but there Avas something in him—Avasn't there, IIOAV, Hormia?—something positively enraging at times." "I suppose, then, your fancy for young Ronayne arises from the fact that there Is notldno in him," says Ilermia, maliciously; "that's'his charm, is it?" Mrs. Bohun laughs. "1 don't suppose there is very much In him," she says; "that in itself is sucli a relief. Wolverhampion Avas so overpowering about those hydraulics. Ulic isn't a servant, certainly, and i don't think ho Avill over set the Liffey afire, but he is 'pleasant too to think on.' Now, mind you, I don't believe I care a pin about Ulic Ronayne,—he is younger than I am, for one tiling,—but still I don't care to hear him abused." "1 am not abusing him," says Ilermia. "It Avas you said ho was no servant, and would be uniikely to set tho Liffoy afire." '"For which we should be devoutly grateful," says Olga, frivolously. "Consider, if he could, Avhat the consequences would be. both to life nnd property. Poor young man! I really think Government ought to give i>:i a r<ciiaiuU bscr.use he cun't." "And what about- all tho other young men?" asked Ilermia. And then she yawns. Here Monica—who has been absent with Mr. liydo for the best part of an hour—comes up to them, nnd presently Terence, with tho TiUgeralds, nud Miss Priscilla nnd Lord Rossmoyne. "1 hoard a story yesterday I want to tell you," says Terence, gayly, singling out Miss Fitzgern'id and Olpi, and sinking upon the grass at the former's feet. He Is sneli a hnmlsiime merry buy that he is a favorite Avith all the women. Miss Priseilla stands near him; (lie others are all conversing together about the roming plays at Aghyo- hillbes. "It is about tlie curate,"says Terence, gleefully. "You know, he is awful spoons on the ugliest French girl, and tho otherday he Avauted to run up to Dublin to get her a rimr, or something, but " "Now, Terence, dear, surely that Is not the way to pronounee that,word," says Miss Priscilia, anxiously; "such a vulgar pro- nunciation—'bu-ut.' HOAV you drawled it 1 How ugly It sounds—'bu-utr Now put your lips togei her like mine, so, and say 'hut,' shortly. NOAV begin your story again, and toll it nicely." Terence begins again,— vcm good-humor- edly, thinks Olgn,—and hits almost reached the' point, when Miss Priseilla breaks in again: "Ninv, not so fust, my dear Terence. I really cannot follow you at nil. 1 don't even uudeVsland what you are at. Gently, my dear hoy. Now liegin it. all over again, and be more explicit." Hut the fun is all out of Ton-lire by this time, though Olna is so convulsed with tauirhlor that it mlsihl have boon the best story on record, which somoAvhatastoulshes though it consoles Terence, as when his funny incident Is related in a carefully modulated voice, and Avilli a painful precision, it strikes even him as heiug hopelessly uninteresting. However, Mrs. lloluin certainly enjoys it,-or something olso., perhaps': fortunately, It never occurs_to Terry to ponder on the "something else." "Ilermia, Olgn,'ronu' now, my dears. You can't slay here for orcr, you know," cries Madame 'O'Connor's loud but cheery vvilco. "It is nearly seven. Come, 1 tell .von, or the Misses Hlake, our good friends here, Avill think we mean totake upour residence at Moyue, for good." "Oil, now, Gertrude!" says Miss Priscilla, much shocked. But Madame O'Connor only laughs heartily, and gives her a IHllc, smart blow on the shoulder with her fan. Olga laughs too, gayly, an.I Ilermia lets her lips 1 urt with one of her rare bill perfect smiles. IfsholiUes anyone besides Olga und her children, It Is bluff and blunt old G.'rlrudr O'Conuor. One liy one they all walk aAvay, nnd presently Moyue is lying in the dying sunshine, in ail its'quielmle, Avith never a sound to disturb tlid' calm of coining eve but tin- light rustling of the rising breeze among the Ivy- leuvesthat art! clambering tip its ancient; Avails. KH and Terry aro in-dnors, Iniuhing merrily over the day, nud oongrtiliihitlng themselves upon the snreess it hns rerlaiuly been. FARM AND HOME. TUB «AK1)KX OK YKAtlS. EUNKST W. SIU'KTI.KFF IS rONnnKOATtOX.U.IST. [ entered tho Ix'Jititlfnl Onrdon of Yours In the springtime of long ago, Thrmeli hcinvn the Mri-ows, nk iirofe In pnponnts of cloud white n.« snow. The sunlight fell soft n<nhe moonlight at evi>. And the tilulit wn.« fair ns tho day. Anil I thought there was nothing on onrth that conlil grieve. Hut Hint nil tin- swof-l world must be Ray. I was only n child In the Harden of Yours, Anil my hopos worn In bloom with tho rose, Anil the' mnslo of llfp rniiji in chimes In my curs From tin- dawn of tho dav to Its closo; So I nlnved with tho butterflies, enroled wllli the birds, Anil rtrenmod with Iho stars while I slept, The language of life wns my mother's kind words. And Into Ood'« bosom I crept. lint I learned, ns I grew In Iho Clnrdon of Years, A lesson of mournful snrprlso— t learned with the hopes of the world that wore fears, And I found thero were sorrowful eyes; I found Iho henrl wenry In many n brenst, And I flaw that to many a homo, Where love, hud Invited some radiant guest The Angel ol Sorrow hail come. I found, In the beautiful Harden ot Yearn, I, too, had n cross 1 must bear: Itnt whenever 1 looked for (lod'n smile through my tears I found my llfo'n rainbow was there. And one day I chanced tho Wise Hardener to meet, Who taught mo what love should have known, That be who from sorrow lends others' worn foot Slmll fliul path* of pence for his own. And now (•rainier still IH Iho Clnrdeii of Years Than in th ' ' Whoso menu Than In'thn old sprlusftlmo sublime, morles fall like a curfew that cheers From tho far-away towers of time; For blessed Is ho who Forgiving as lin him shall life's sorrow abates, ^jrglvon; For him shall life's nngol, through death ono' Iho gntos Of that Harden Ktornnl called lloavon. NOT.KS. 'Yes. I do think, I'euelope, they all enjoyed Ihemsi-lves," says Miss 1'rihcilln, in 'high gler-; "and your elaret-cup, my dear, Avas superb." But Monica-lias stolen away from them nil. The strange restlessness that has lain upon her all day isassertingitself with cruel vigor, and drives her forth into the shadows of the coming night. All day long she has struggled bravely against it; but, now that the en forced necessity for loveliness is at an end, shu grows dreamy, dMnilln, and fouls an intense longing for solitude and air. Again slio walks through the IIOAV deserted garden, where tho lloAvers, "earth's loveliest," aro drooping their sweet heads to seek their happy slumbers. Past them she goes with lowered head and thoughts engrossed, and so over the lawn into Uie AVOOI! beyond. Hero Coolc nnd Moyne are, connected by a high green bank, that in curly spring is studded and diamonded with primroses ami IIOAV is gay with ferns. Not until she has reached th'is boundary does she remember how far she has come. She climbs tho bank, and gazes with an ever-growing longing at the cool shade in tho forbidden land, at, tho tall, stately trees, nud foxgloves nodding drowsily. It is a perfect evening, and as yet the god of day—great Sol—riding the heavens with triumphant mirth, as though reckless of tho death that draweth nigh. Shall ho not rise ngain to-morrow morn in all his aAvful majesty, and so defy grim Mars? It is, indued, one of those hours when heaven seems nearest earth, "as Avhen warm sunshine thrills wood-glooms to gold," and "righteousness and pence have kissed each other,' and Nature, tender mother, smiles, and all the forest deeps are by "a tender whisper, pierced." , , , Conscience forbidding her, she abstains from entering theso coveted Avoods, and, with a sigh, seats herself upon tho top of the green bank. "Monica!" says n voico close to her, yet not close to her,—mysteriously, far up in mid-air, right over her head. She starts! Is the great, woods peopled Avilh satyrs, ouphs, or dryads? To be continued. If the tomato vinos arc too thick to admit BiinRliphi and air cut away BOIUO of the branches, or rot may npponr in tho fruit. The director of the Ohio experiment station would like to combine eight hours work and two hours study in lino of each day's work. Tho boys ho thinks should bo hired by tho month. The summer season is very trying on hogs that tiro confined in pens with no shade. Corn should bo fed very sparingly at this season, or omitted altogether. Keep the trough full of fresh water. Tho Swedes arc put with still another device in the dairy lino, according to tho llural New Yorker, which is called the butter accumulator. It is attached to tho bCAvl of the cream separator. With a flock of sheep, a dairy or a lot of thrifty hogs to fall back upon, a farirer may endure storms, droughts and early frost with more composure than ho who had no livo stock to supplement his cultivated crops. llolalo tho crops in tho garden as well as in the fields. Do not grow peas or cabbage on the (.'round occupied by such crops last year, but change all crops to new plats, or to pints occupied by some other crop tho previous season. Rotation is a very important matter in agriculture. Sluulo for J'oult.ry. For shade in a poultr yyard, if a quick- growing tree is required, the plum or peach should be preferred. It will bo profitable to produce fruit and eggs on the pie tree after it is a do/en or fifteen yeara old. but is an apple tree after that time because it had begun to be one before that lime, and all the way from the start. Bn Honest. The motto of Dr. Cnyler ought to be written in letters of gold—"No one was ever lost on a straight road." It is the crooked road that leads men to trouble. Honesty in business makes a. soft bed to sleep on. A dying man referring to his property, said: "It is not much, but there is not a dirty shilling in it." Men have made piles <if money, but how much dirty money will judgment find in it. la your money clean money? I/et honesty be "0 and ()"— out and out. He that walketh uprightly walketh surely." The man that cheats and defrauds and takes short cuts will sooner or later ayuo to grief, and ho ought to.—Selected. I'lnisiint People. Some men move thiough life as a band of music moves down the street. Hinging out pleasure on every side through the air, to everyone far and near that^an listen. Some men fill the air with their presence anil sweetness as orchards in October days fill tho air with perfume of ripe fruit. Some women c'tng to their own houses like tho honeysuckle over the door, yet like it sweeten all the region with tho subtle fragrance of their goodness. They are trees of righteousness which ore over ^dropping precious fruits around them. There are lives that shine like star-bourns, or charm tho heart like songs sung upon a holy day. How great a bounty and a blessing it is to hold the royal gifts of the soul so that they shall bo music to somo and fragrance to others, and life to all I It would be no unworthy thing to live for —to make tho power which wo have within us tho breath of other men's joy; to scat- tor sunshine whore only clouds and shadows reign; to fill tho atmosphere whore earth's weary toilers must stand with a brightness which they cannot create for themselves, and which thoy long for, enjoy, and appreciate.—Selected. A Country Hoy Who Ooos to n Grout. City. When a bo> starts out from his country homo to try his fortune in a groat city, he needs most of all a good stock of principles with him. Ho must brace up his courage as if he wore going into battle, for ho is sun 1 to have a fight of it, and ho will need all his moral fortitudo to stand out against tho temptations which will wreck his career beyond poradvonturo if ho yields to them. What ho seeks ho cannot got except in the fierce competition which results from the btrugglo of many thousand to obtain tho ^uino prize, jf ho slips, there lire multitudes around him to take advantage of his mischance and to leave him far behind in the chase. Ho must, keep himself always in training, both will require every bit and every atom of prin- same location. Tho peach thrives wonderfully in the poultry yard, not only from tho constant manuring it receives from the drippings, but also because tho lions keep tho grass clown as fast as it appears. Puro lllooil. Native owes and blooded sires make a good foundation on which to build a serviceable Hock. Every one should decide for himself what pure blood ho will use, as being best suited to his section, locality and farm. Many choices might bo nmdo and many courses pursued in tho light of reason and common sense, and all bo successful. It would be hard to make a single selection that would others. be better than all Household Ifllltu. Never put salt on a steak until after it is cooked. A largo fire and quick boiling are great enemies of good soup. Black popper mixed with cream and sugar, will destroy flies. Red ants will not como where tar is, tho odor is enough for them. Pennroyal or sago tea is efficacious in removing ants from closets, pantries, etc. Shallow pans of water set about the house after painting will absorb the smell of paint. Rain water which is used either for drinking or cooking should not come in contact with load. Bits of camphor laid about closets which mice are wont to frequent will draw their visits to a close. Nearly all colored fabrics stain the suds used to clean them, and that without losing their own brightness. Quassia, infused in boiling water and sweetened with sugar is a poison for Hies, but innocent for human beings. Semi-porcelain may be relied upon, when used in making dishes to resist a greater degree of heat than any other va- viety. A little vinegar mixed with your stove polish will make the stove polish more brightly and quickly than the polish alone. Rub cold tallow from a candle onto an ink spot; allow it to remain twenty-four hours and wash as usual. Properly done, this method is sure. What to do with cold veal: Chop two cupfuls of cold boiled macaroni fine. Mix with it a beaten egg, and lino a t uttered mould—a plain one—with the macaroni. Inside this place the remains oatcold veal, chopped siaull, well seasoned rod moistened with gravy. Spread the macaroni. Recover the mould tightly, plunge it in a pot of boiling water and boil it an hour and a half. Turn out in a platter pour gravy or drawn butter over it, A Iliul Colt. Don't spend much titno or money on a colt that h.is a bad shaped head, no matter how good his legs and back are; hi- is mro to disappoint you in a bud place, and that is when you need him most. A colt that has a bad t'orohead has a mark that it can never outgrow and disposition is a thing that should be kept well at the front by horse breeders, whether breeding for work or speed. Drilling VH. llroitdaiiHt Suocllntf. The Dakota Experiment station, after a series of experiments conducted for tho purpose of determining whether drilling or broadcast sowing was best for wheat in that state, reaches tho following conclusions: 1. With the press drill germination is secured, however dry the season. With broadcast sfiedingu, surface moisture is necessary to insure growth. 2. Economy of seed by the drill method, Strong winds deepen the covering of tho press drilled while'they uncover the broadcast. 8. In per cent, of tillering the broad- casted exceeds the pressed drilled. 4. Evenness of distribution, germination, growth and ripening are all points in favor of the press drill. 5. Economy in the cost of implements, abor and horse power favors the broadcast method. 6. In the past season's work the press drilled grain matures cprlier, and consequently received less inj ury from rust and hot winds, -i 7. The experiment shows that for our dry seeding time the press is the best. Conscience. The only safe and proper rule with regard to the individual conscience is to let it operate for yourself and no one else. God would never have given a separate conscience to every separate individual if he had intended that the same conscience should now and then do moral back'service for two or three. To full back once more upon a familiar feature for illustration. Consciences are like noses. It 4s just as unnatural for you to try to do another man's moral pricking with your conscience as it is for you to try to do another man's physical breathing with your nose. moral and physical, and wasto none of his resources, lie of his energy — „ ciplo there is in him will bo put to tho tost. He must bo prepared to help himself, for ho will get very liitlo help from anybody else. The first thing for a boy coining to a great city to do is to take pains to start with right associations. In every such tow.n there aro innutnorabln circles of society. Tho community is too large for everybody to know each other; and, therefore, it divides up into many circles, of common acquaintances, and in each of these tho members aro as well known to another as aro the inhabitants of a_ village. There aro good and bad, pvil in their influences and injurious in their tono and spirit, or salutary and helpful. Whore, then, shall tho country boy go for society? Tho host place is a church. In these days a city church is the centre of many social no less than religious activities. It i« a life of industry in which men and women engage, so that some* thing is going on ceaselessly, something to interest and to gi ;o scope for the ability of a young fellow, and to satisfy _his social instincts and demands. It h a community in itsself, and nobody can belong to it for any considerable length of timo and exhibit sympathy with its ambitions and projects without fitting into somo plnce where ho can display his capacities and win due consideration because of them, lie will make friends, and useful friends. He will have tbo social life and the social surroundings necessary for him. Ho should go to church from tho first and regularly, make himself known to tho pastor, and then, without putting himself Ice a hand in all the underaid- rorward, take i ings of the parish, ward will come. If ho is patient tho re- IJIK A Homily. Tho hinnhliiMt and frailest grainy buido, Tlmlovur tlie |WBiilni{ ImingoH HWiiyoil IH of DouiMy'u palace a groen arcudu. Altln to tli» uttm-moHt »tur» thut burn, A story lliu wisost may navur loiirn, Is tho tiny pobbluit tin) footnlei>n spurn. In uach liiiinun heart potential dwull. Hid from tin) world and Itself us won, Heights of heaven, abysms of hull. Tho core of tin) tmrth IH llory young, No inuttur what can bu tmlil or tiling, With u weary brain uml a walling tonguo. Soul I suit-pent In a narrow plot, Landing each morn for foimi fair lot, Bomo bounteous grace which thou Imstuot. Dull thou must be not to understand, Anil blind thou art notto see >.it hand Thy dreams by ruallly far outspanuod. For wonder lieu at thy very door; And magic thy fireside Bits before, And nmrvuls through every window your. Woven the wings of tho swift hours be. Of splendor and terror and mystery; Ono thliiK is needful—thu oyos toaoel —Cornhiil Hagaze. When to JJuyhi to be u Altiu. Selected. There is only_ one time to begin to be a man, and tha^ is before you get to be a man. You will be and do after you get; grown up, just what you begin to be and A» to to s apple IOWA ITEMS. Mincfcllimeous Mutters of Interest from tho lluwkttyo Stuto, Des Moineu, Aug. 5.—Tho state auditor lias issued a certificate to the Lamoni State bunk of Decatur county; capital slock $25,000; Robert Winning president and D. P. Nicholson cashier. The feeble-minded institute at Glenwpod, in its report for July to the state auditor, puts the average number of inmates for the month at 367. The Port Madison penitentiary had 400 convicts in durance vile last month, according to the report just filed. Muthius Wolfe Avas killed while blast ing at Eaiflfe Point. Ho tried to escape a falling bowlder and fell sixty feet, breaking his legs in eight places and crush ing his skull. Prof. John W. Gray of Phnt, Mich., has taken the priucipaliship of Gettingea seminary. The new building Avill be ready and school will open Sept. 7. Belt Brothers shoe store at Dubuque, was broken into Sunday morning. TJ}9 safe was pried open and $?25 taken. Dr..O, W. Memnjaii has,

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