ME UPPER DES MOINES, ALGONA, IOWA, WflPNEDAY, SEPTEMfeEft 9,_ 1891. MONICA. 'O:d Browne's girl can't owe bur father fhttcli," Disuiond is say ing apropos of some- "iingboth lost and go.no before, so far as lolly and Mrs. Hirrick are concerned. 'About a hundred thousand pounds," says ayne. "She is quit; 1 a oateh, you know. 'o end of money. The old fellow died a inrngo." "No, he didn't; he demised," says Kelly, merging from obscurity into the light of lonversatioh once iiiore. "At least, so the : papers said. There is n tremendous differ* ;ence, you know. A pour man dies, a rich inan demises. One should always bear hi mind Unit imporiimt social distinction." "-w, i "And the good iiia;i! Whntof him?" says *?!?fr Desmond, looking at his friend. "What fc V 'does Montgomery say? 1 ' Vf "Yes, that is very mysterious," says Kelly, ; •- "with bated breath. "According to Mont\ -. * gomery, 'the aood man 'iimier dies.' Think oftlmtl tfcucr dies. Ho walks the earth 1 J f01 ever, like a superannuated ghost,-only 'tawfuller." ; "Have you ever'soon one?" nsks Olga, leaning forward. "What? a man that never died? Yes, lots of'em. Here's one," laying his hand upon bis breast. "No. A man that never will die?" "How can I answer such a question as that? Perhaps Ilonayne, there, may be such a one." "How stupid you are 1 I moan, did you ever meet a man who couldn't die?" "Never,—if he went the right way about it" ' K "Then, according to your showing, you jjtevo never seen a good man." Sho leans VJacic again hi her chair, fatigued but satis- , 'fled. '.'I'm afraid they are few and far between," says Ilermin. '"Now and ngaln they have appeared," ,ys Mr. Kelly, with n modest glance. "Perhaps I shall never die. 1 ' •"Don't make us 'more unhappy thali wo - need be," says Mrs. Horrlck, plaintively. "How sad that good men should bo so , scarce 1" says Miss Fitzgerald, with a glance she moans to bo funny, but which is only dull. "Don't make trite remarks, Bella," says Mrs. Bohun, languidly. "You know if you did meet one he would bore you to death. The orthodox good man, the oppressive be, Ing we read about, but never see, is unknown to me or you, for which I, at least, ' am devoutly grateful." "To return to old Browne," says UHc;"ho wasn't good, if you like. Ho was a horrid ill-tempered, common old fellow, thoroughly without education of any kind." "He went through college, however, as he was fond of boasting whenever he got tho chance." "And when he didn't irot it he made it." "In at one- door and i it at the other, that's how he wont through Tr.nlty," says Mr. Kelly. "Oil, how I hated that dear old man, and 7ioio he hated me!" "You admit, then, the possibility of your being hated?" says Mrs. Herrick. "I have admitted that, ever since—I met— you! But old Browne bore mo a special grudge." 'And your sin against him?" ''I never fathomed it. Tlie atrocious io of be.ing a young man, 1 principally, I Once, I certainly locked him up in wine-cellar, and left him there for ours, under the pretence that I believed m to be a burglar, but nothing more. He .aite disliked being locked in the cellar, I liiink. ' It was very dark, I must admit. But I'm not afraid of the dark." •'That's a good tiling," says Madame O'Connor, entering, "because it will soon envelop you. Did any one ever see so dark an evening for the time of year? Well, I do I J think that fire looks cheerful, though it is $ warm, lias Mary Brown; 1 comedown yet?" I "No. Come here, .Madame; hero's a cozy I seat I have bucu keeping sacred for you tlie past hour. Why have you denied us the light of your countenance all this weary time?" "Get out with you now, nnd your fine compliments to an old woman!" says Madame, laughing. "If I wero.your sweetheart, Owen, I'd nover.bolieve a word out of your lips." Mrs. Herrick, laying down her knitting, raises her head, and lo:>ks full into Kelly's eyes. As she does su, n smile, lovely as It is unexpected, warms all her statuesque face into perfect beauty. "And this to me]' 1 says Kelly, addressing his hostess, and pretending to be blind to Mrs. Herrick's glance. "All tho afternoon I have been treated by your sex with the most consummate cruelty. With their tongues they have been stabbing mo ns\yiili so many knives. But yours is the unlund- est cut of all. It is, in fact, the—or—carving-knife!" "Oh I here's the ton," says O'ga, In a pleased tone. "Madame, please let me pour it out to-night?" "Of course, my love, and thank yon too." " Vnd may I to-morrow evening?' nsks ica, with childish eagernesanud a quick rni blush. * Whose flftrs are youn? as ever. "I was only eonj fclnrhvj; as tr> whether your cousin Mary had a little lamb," siys Mr. Kelly, sronially. "The old Mary had, you know. A dear little animal, with its T.ecco ns white ns snow; And everywhere Mint Mnry wont Tho Inmh wns sure* to po.' Yon recollect, don't you? What, does Miss Browne do with hers? Has she got it upstairs in her room, now? Att?r all,—though the idea is swoally pretty.—I think there might be certain places into which it would be. awkward to linve. even tho whitest lamb trottine after one. Eli?" 'Tsuppose Miss Browne is rich enough to Indulge in any vagaries that may occur to her," says Bella Fitzgerald. "There's nothing like money," says Olga, With n sigh; at which Lord Rossmoyne looks hopeful, and young Konayne despondent. "Like leather, you mean," says Owen Kelly; "that's the real thin? to net hold of," "Some people would do anylliin-j for money," says Miss Filzierald, with a spiteful glance in Olra's direction. ."They would sell themselves for it." Here she turns her cold eyes upon I'onayne, who is standing, ereel, handsome, but unmistakably miserable. "They could hardly sell themselves for a more profitable article," says Olga, with a fuip shriu of her soft shoulders. "So Uicy think. Cim<n9, wo know, was, and is, all-powerful." "Oh, no," says Olga, with a little silvery laugh; "you forget) my dour B'Un. Head I'You may, indeed, my pretty one; and I ipe it won't be long before you pour me .it my tea in your own house." ^'Monica laughs, and kisses her, and Desmond, who is standing near them, stoops over Madame O'Connor and tells her he would like to kiss her too,—first, for her own sake, and secondly, for that sweet hope of hers just uttered. "Not a bit of it," says she, In return, In a tone as sprightly as it was twenty years ago, though too low for Monica to hoar. "Your first and second reasons are all humbug, Say nt once you want to kiss nie because you think this child's caress still lingers on my lips. Ah ha I—you -seo I know moro than you think, my lad. And hark you. Brian, come here, till I whisper a word in your ear; I'm your friend, boy, In this matter, and I wish you luck, though Priscllla Blake kill me for it; that's what I want to say." "I couldn't desiro a bettor friend," says Brian, gratefully. "And where on earth Is Mary Browne?' says Madame O'Connor. "She is such I nice girl, though hardly a Venus, Owen, my dear, I want you to take her down to dinner, and to moke yourself charming to Jwr." "I shall be only too pleased," says Mr. Kelly, faintly; and then he sinks back In his chair and covers his face with his hands. "We were talking about Miss Browne's father: he was quite a millionaire, wasn't he?" says Lord liossmoyne, who is standing at the tea-table beside 0!ga. Ha is a very rich man himself, and has, therefore, due regard for riches in others. "He was,—and the most unpleasant per- _»u I ever met In my life, into the bargain," 4JHwy8 Madame O'Connor, "i'm sure the life *pe led that poor Maryl—J never felt more relieved at anything than at the news of his leath." •I feel as if I could weep for Mary," says iJr. Kelly, in an aside to Mrs. Herrick, who takes no notice of him. "I wonder if she has got a little lamb," he goes ou, unrebuk- ed. "What about the lamb?" says it up again, and you will see that Croesus was mice conquered by Cyrus. What .became of iiis power then?" Her laslies enver her eyes for n moment, and when she lifts them again they are-fixed on RonayiH'. By some coquettish art she (iives him to understand intliis single glance that ho is Cyrus, Lord llossmoyno Crcusus. He can conquer this rich lord if ho will. "How Idle you are, Mr. Ronayiiel" she says, aloud. "Come here directly and help me. Yon know 1 cannot do without j/our help." There is the mo-it delicate emphasis possible upon tho pronoun. Obedient to her command, he i.'om?s, n.s Uossmoyno. armed with the cups, crosses the hall to Tlermia and M'IFS F.t/i-nriilil. "Did your eyes speak true just now?" he asks, bonding over her under'pretext of helping her willi ilr.<cups. "What is tr::!!i'.'" asks she, in turn, >vlth a swift upward glance. "Who knows aught of her? She lies buried in a deep well, does she not? Who sliait drag her forth?" She smites, ye: in a somewhat constrained fashion, that assorts ill with the inborn self- possession that as a rule characterizes hur. She glances at him hurriedly. How young nnd Imndsomo and earnest helooksl How 'till of tendercst entreaty I There is, too, a ,ouch of melancholy in his dark eyes that lever came to tiiu birth (she is fain to uc- viiowlcdgo to herself with a pang of re- norse) until that day when first they looked on her. Ho loves hcr.thn-t she knows ;bntllossmoyno oves her too; and though Uonnyno'a rent roll is by no moans to bo despised, still it, counts but as a small one beside that of Jossmoyne's. And Hennia is right! a title is of uso in the world; and nothing is so lasting or so satisfactory as a respectable book tit one's >anker's. A'good match (Ucnnia again) is ,lie one thing to b'n desired; it covers all sins. Advice such as tliis coming from Mrs. ller- :lclt is thoroughly disinterested, as the late .ameiited Mr. Herrick, having behaved to icr like a brntc during their mercifully short married life, had died in the odor of sane.ti- ;y, leaving her '.-.nnplete mistress of nil Iiis ;ncrinous weall.)i, nnd quitu free to make a second nuirrlngn of her own choosing. With her (Olg:i), however, tho case is widely different; she is Indeed without in- cumbrannes so far as children may so be termed, and she 1ms sufficient means to enable her to get her gowns and things from Paris, but there her independence ends. As she runs over all this hurriedly in her mind, tlie desire for riches grows upon her. Yes, there is certainly a great deal of good in liossmoyne, besides his income; and perhaps a solid sternness is preferable to any airygaycty of manner (this-with an irrepressible leaning toward the "air.vgayety"); mid—and.—what a pity it is that liossmoyue is not Ulicl •I will," says Uonaynq, alluding to her last remark, in a low but determined, tone. "Olga, tell me that I am moro to you than Kissmoyne." "Tho boy you nre I" says Olga, with an adorable smile that readies him through the flickering Hashes of tlie firelight. "The baby I" He is bonding over her, and with a lig-ht caressing touch she brushes back tho hair from his temples. "In a year, nay, in a mouth, once ws are separated, you will see some other face, newer, more desirable, and forget yon ever cared for mine." "If I confd believe that, I might find peace. Yet, for all that peace could give me, I would not so bolievo it. lam yours forever, boy though you lUu-in mo; and, yet, is one ever a boy again when one has once truly loved?" How often have you truly loved?" with an attempt at lightness that is down-trodden by tlie intensity of her regard. "As often as i have seen you, Nay, more' than that, every moment siiico 1 first saw you; because, night and day, whether absent or present, I have been yours in heart and soul. Oh, Olga, why will you always press mo backward? Am I never to be nearer to you than I am now?" "I don't see how you could conveniently bo very much nearer," says Mrs. Bohuu, with a soft laugh. "After all, I suppose I come under the head of either madman or fool," says Ilo- imye, sadly. "You are everything to me; I am less than nothing to you." "Is Lord Bos.smoyne to come under tho head of 'nothing'? How rude I" says Olga. "i never thought of him. I was thinking only of how hopelessly I love you," "Love I How should sncluv baby as you grasp even tlio mean ng of that word," says Olga, letting her white lids droop until their long laslies lie upon nerclu;el> like shadows, while she raises her cup witli iiulolent care lo her lips, "Do you really think you know what it means?" '"i'l.edrei.elul joy. nlways that flits so yorno, Ail tliie monu 1 by Love," quotes he, very gently; after which he turns away, and, going over to the fireplace again, fl.ngs himself down dejectedly at Monica's feet. , "Are you tired, Mr. Eonayne?" says Monica, very gently, Something In his beautiful face tells her that matters are not going well With him. "Tired? no," liftins? his eyes tu hers with a smile that belies ids words, "It is good of you to ask, though, 1 wish," earnestly, "you would not call me 'Mr. Itonayne.' I can't bear it from any one 1 like. Desmond, tell her to call me Ulic." It strikes both Monica and Brian as peculiar that he should appeal to the latter as to one possessed of a certain Influence over tho former. It strikes Miss Fitzgerald in the same light too, who has been listening to his impetuous entreaty. Seeing there is something wrong with him, something that might be termed excitement In his manner, Desmond whispers to Monica to do us he desires. "Ho is unhappy about S'.miething; let him feel yov, are hb Iriend," he says, iu »low tone. "Come a little further from the fire, Ullc, -a little nearer to ine."sav» Monica, in 9 tone ol shy friendliness, "and I think yon will be more comfortable." He is mere than grateful, I think, though he saj-s nothins, only he moves a cood deal closer to her, and lays his head aaainst her knee in a brotherly fashion,—need I sfty un- relmked ? Something in this little scene sends the blood rushiiig with impatient fervor through. Olga's veins." But that she knows Monica well, and that the girl is dear to her, she could have hated her heartily nt this moment, •without waiting to analyze the motive of her dislike. As it is, she gives tho reins toher angry spirit, nnd lets it drive her where it will. She laughs quite merrily, nnd says some pretty playful thing to Lord Rossinbyne that all the world ^can hear,— nnd llonayne, be assured, tho first of all. Desmond, with a subdued touch of surprise in his eye?, turns to look nt her. But the night has darkened with sullen haste,— tired, perhaps, ot the day's ill-temper,—and standing as IIP dues within tho mastic circle of the firelight, he .finds n difficulty In conquering the gloom beyond. This makes his gnze in her direction I he more concentrated; and, indeed, when he has separated her features from the mist of the falling night, he still finds it impossible to pierce the impenetrable veil of indifference that covers her every feature. His gazo thus necessarily prolonged is distasteful to lior. "Brian, don't keep staring nt the teapot in that mean fashion," she says, playfully, yet with a latent sense of impatience In her tone. "It. is unworthy of you. Go up to Mndamo O'Connor nobly, cap In hand, and I dare say—if you ask her prettily—she will grant me permission to give you a cup of tea." Desmond, recovering from his roverlo with ti start, accepts the- situation literally. "Will you, Madame?" he says, meekly. "Do." His tone is of Ihn most abject. There is a perceptible tivinliling about his knee- joints. "Is this the 'air noble'?" he says to Olga iu nn undertone. '-Have I caught It?" "You'll catch it in a minute in real earnest, if you don't mend your manners," says Madame with a laugh. "Give him his tea, Olira, my dear, though ho doesn't deserve it," "Sugar?" says Olga, laconically. "Yes, please," mendaciously. "Then you sha'n't have even one lump, It only lo punish you for your misconduct." "I thought as much," say.s Brian, taking his cup thankfully. "Fact Is I can't bear suirar, but. I knew you would drop It in, in an" unlimited degree, if 1 said the other thing. Not that I have tho vaguest notion as to how I have misconducted myself. If I knew, I might sot a watch upon my lips." "Set it on your cj/es," says Olga, with meaning. At; Iliis moment a light footfall is heard, and somebody comes slowly across the hall. A merry tongue of firo, naming upward, declares it to be the plain Miss Browne. Mrs. O'Connor has just passed into an adjoining room. Olga is busy with her tray and with her thoughts. Mrs. Herrick, partly turned aside, and oblivious of tho approaching guest, is conversing in low tones with Lord Hossmoync. No one,, therefore, is ready to give the stranger welcome aud'put her through the ceremony of introduction. Awkwardness is impending, when Monica comes to the rescue. Her innate scn.su of kindly courtesj conquering her shyness, she rises from hoi seat, and, going up to Miss Browne, who has come to a stand-still, lays her hand sol'tli upon hers. "Come over here and sit by me," she, say.s nervously, yet with Mich a gracious swoot ness that the stranger's heart goes out U her on the spot, and Brian Desmond, if it bo possible, falls moro in love with her than ever. "Thank yon," says Miss Browne, pressing gratefully the little hand that lies on hers; and then every one wa'koa into life and says KOindthimv civil to her. Five minutes later the dressing-bull rings, and the scene is-at an end. • >•: nay i nt: I hope, unless it be !» >our .ivantaire. Yon are playing n silly irame, •']'!):' world would be lost unless it had n •i 1 to <tiort with now and then." i',,.t \vh\ .s.miiid unit bt'tho oiifU>i>.iittU'r > it pleasures'. 1 " •'\Vlm.uioretiltitiv'? Iain tired of h ->ar-.. ;, i u ap;l> Hint ""I'd 'silly' l;i inc. morn- ii. noon. ;:i|il uijilit." ••It is too late to believe it possible that mi and I should quarrel," said -Mrs. Heri*'K. in n peTH-etly even ton. 1 : "so don't try o iM tip an imaginary grievance. You ;t>o\v yon nre dearer to me than nuythimr >n earili. after the children." "Well, don't- "fold me any more," says Dlirn. coaximrly. "I never sooid; 1 only ivason." "Oh I but that Is so much worse," says >lirn. "It-means tho scolding, nnd n lot norc besides. Do anytli list but reason with inc., my dear llerniia." "I will -say that I think you are Ihrowinu; yourself away." 'Where? Over the balcony?"—willfully. "I assure you, you misjudge me; I am far oo great a coward." 'You nre not too irretit a coward to contemplate tin 1 coinniUtinn' "' >' much more •serious bcttec. To-night his attentions wore especially marked, nnd you nllowed thi'in." "I can't think what you menu." "Will you deny that Mr. Ilounyne paid you very marked attention to-night?" 'Mnrkedl Where did he- make his Impression, then? He didn't j>l»ie/i me, If you •an Hint." 'Of course you can follow yoitr own wishes, dourest, and I slmll neither gain nor lose; but. It does sucm ft pity, wlien you might be n countess nnd have tlie world at your feet. 1 know few so altogether titled to till the position, nnd still you reject H. You arc pretty, clover, charming,—everything of the most di'sirable." 'Am 1?" Shu slops into the drnwlng- room, mid brings herself by a swift, step or two opposite a lingo, mirror lot into one of tin- walls. Standing before, it, she surveys herself leisurely from head to foot, and then she. smiles. "I don't know about thcclover," shosnys; "but 1 am sure I am pretty. In town In.M season—do you remember?—my hair created quite n furor, it is so peculiarly light, liver so many people wanted to paint me. Yos, it was all very plcayiint." "Do you think it, will bo as pleasant to live hero all your days, nnd find no highur ambition than tho hope, that your ponies may be prettier thnn Mrs. Su-and-so's?" "Do you remember that fancy ball, and how the prince asked who I was, and all tho rest of it? Ho said one or two vej-y pivlty things to me. Ho, like yon, said I was charming. Do you know," naively, "Ihave uover got over tho feeling of being oblliiwl to any one who pays mo a compliment? 1 nm obliirfid town now." To be continued. FARM AND HOME. TIIK OI-1> IIOMK. tt stands upon the hill-sldo, n? o'er It, with Ilifl tall olmo Thn homoRlpiul, wllh the lilac? by the door. And the quaint, old-fn»htoned garden. jjcntly ^opine down before II, t eoc It just nf in the days of yore. I remember how the mnslilnn fell across Ihn golden Beyond the wooden door-Mop, old nnd worn: And how the piiminer cloudlet* cnnl. their quickly lleetina ahmlmvs On dlslnnl Ili'ld!" of niftllni?, ripening corn. In tlii> ple»s»nl roomy kltrhen 1 »i>i> my fnthor ("Ililnf.-, Wllh leal liar-coveted hlbln open wldo; While my cwoel-fncod moihor UKUMI*, an fho lays nwo.v her knitting, And rock? tho old red cradle by hat side. Threo. brown eyed;illlle children, wllh tangled KoliK'ji tttisse*, When ovcning prayer In »lmple words In paid, Conic cliiulnii round her neck wllh lovlne, soft Then merrily go tripping off to bed. 0 happy yenrs of childhood, with thouphu «o trno nnd loving. And sweet nnd guileless days so full of resit Our old henrlH lov'n to linger, nfter nil our yeiirn of £ ml clntp fond mom'ry'n picture to our breavt. Shall wo ovnr In Hint country, the bright nnd irlarloua heiivon, Win buck the simple Innocence mid biles We knew, when in our childhood, In tint donr home nt even, Wo received our nngel mother's good-night kiSS? -Selected. FAHM NOTKS. old week in October. Hundreds "f trials hare been made at the same place, in order to determine the relative productiveness of smooth as against bearded and whife na against red wheats; but (he differences in the yields of these different classes hare been so slight as to indicate that nnder similar conditions one kind is about a« sure as another. On re of Currnntn. Cut out anit burn all old olack stalks, thin out young shoots and suckers; then tie the stnlks together with a stout peice of twine. This puts them out of the way so you can get nround them better: it is also a sort of protection from _wiaa and stin during winter. Spade with a fork around the roots loosening the soil to the depth of three or four inches, removing all weeds or grass. Take great pains to get outnvery spear of bluo-graps for it is a greater nnomy to the currant than nil the worms nnd bugs in the world. Work in a liberal supply of manure, well rotted cow manure is the beit; cultivate between tho rows, then cover ground with sorghum befjaase, slough grass or straw. Cut tho strings_ us r,oon as growth starts in the Spring, spinkle three or four quarts of wood ashes nround each hill, tell all your neighbors you have got a new kind of currant, larger, brighter colored, moro prolific than anything ever befors herd of, nnd ask them to come around about tho Fourth of July and see them. They will bo sure to agree with you. SHE ATE MATCHES. Mr*. Ilonry Ituy Employs nioniiM of Suicide. Strung* CHAPTER XX. Dinner has come lo an end. Tho meii are Still dallying with their wine. The women are assembled in the drawing-room. Olga, having drawn back tho curtains from UIB central window, is standing in its em rasure, looking out silently upon tho glories of the night. Forth; 1 storm liusdiett away; the wind is gone,-to sleep; the rain has sobbed itself to death; and now a lovely moon is rising slowly—slowly—from behind a rippled mass of grayest cloud. Fioin out the dark spaces In tho vault above a few stare are shining—tho .more Irilliantly because of the blackness that surrounds them. Tho air is sultry almost lo oppressiveness, and the breath of tho ro.-:es that have twined themselves around the railings of tho balcony renders the calm night full of sweetest fragrance, Even as she gazes, spell-bound, Iho clouds roll backward, and s'.ars grow and multiply exceedingly, until all "tl:o floor of honvon Is thick inlnid w.th pmlnos of bright go'd," Madame O'Connor is talking to Miss Browne of certain family matters interesting to both. Miss Fitzgerald has gono upstairs, eiiher to put on another coating of powder, or else to scold her long-suffering maid. Her mother has fallen into a gentle, somewhat noisy snooze. A sudden similar thought striking both Monica and Mrs. Ilerrlck at the same moment, they r'.se, and make a step toward tho window where Olga is standing all alone, Ilermin, laying her hand on Monica's arm, entreats her by a gesture to change her purposa; whereon Monica falls back again, and Hernia, going on, parts tho curtains, and, stepping into where Olga is, joins her un nviled. "Dreaming?" she says, lightly. "Who would not dream on such a night 88 this? the more beautiful because of the miserable day to which it Is a glorious termination. See, Jlprmia, bow those planets gleam and gliiter, as though in mockery of us poor foolish mortals down below." "I don't feel a bit more foolish than I did tills morning," says Ilermia. '.'Do you, dear? You were giving yourself a great deal of credit for your common sense then." ' "Common sense,—worldly wisdom,—how I hate the sound of all that jargon I" says Olga, petulantly. "Let us forget we must, be wise, if only for one night. The beauty of that silent world or flowers beyond bus somehow entered into me. Let me enjoy it. 'How sweet the moonlight sloops upon tiiat bank'down there! Watch It. Can you see how the roses quiver beneath its touch, as though stirred by some happy dream?" "It Is indeed a perfect night I" says Her- mla, looking at her in some surprise. There is a suspicion of excitement In Olgu's manner—arising, as It were, from tho desire to hide one emotion by the betrayal of another —that strikes her listener as strange. "How softly the air beats upon one's face!" says Mrs. Bohuu, leaning a fittle forward. "The night is, as you say, perfect. Yet I don't know what is tho matter with me; the more I feel the loveliness of all around, the sadder uiy heart seems tu grow," "What!" says Hjrmia, lifting her brows, "am J to learn now that you—the gayest of all mortals—have at last succumbed to the insufferable dreariness of this merry world?" "You run loo-fust. I am ti little perplexed, piU'hups; but I have not succumbed to any- tuinir." , Sept. 1.—Mrs. Henry Roy died at the German hospital at. r i o'clock tills morning from poisoning by phosphorus. She lived with her luisbtind at 415 Dearborn uvoiuto and for some' unaccountable reason tried last Wednesday to kill l-.erscif by eating matches. Phosphorus though a virulent poison acts very slowly and t.he ell'ec.ts of hur' effort to kill herself .did no u become apparent until yesterday afternoon, when she became terribly ill. She was at once removed to tlic (icrmnn hospital- for treatment. Dr. Freer bad her case in charge, but owing to tlic length ol time the poison had been in her system he could do nothing, und she died in great agony. The woman was 2-1 years of age, and no reason for the act can be assigned. The coroner will hold an in most over tho body at '1 o'clock this afternoon. ITS LOSS INCALCULABLE. Four pounds of corn or twelve quarts of skiintnilk will maktj one pound of growth in a hog. Shade, fresh water, and green grass each day will help out tho egg crop and give health and happiness to tho fowls. The biggest yield of wheat recorderod in this country was eighty bushels to tho aero. 11 was raised by a farmer in salt Lake City some years ago. One advantage with ducks is that they rarely stay away from homo. When night approaches ducks usually make a start for home. But turkeys, will go to roost wherever night over takes them. More hens die from neglect than .ill other causes combined. Because they are comparatively small and individually not of great value, but little attention is paid to their cojifort and brnlth and they die and are forgotten. The testimony from all sensible herdsmen is: Make the bull earn his board -by working. This is better for the bull, bet•ter for the slock ho gets, ahd if properly ringed arid strapped, safer for tho man who handles him. Do not forgot sulpher from tho mixture when you salt your cattle. It will cool und purify your blood, and probably save them from having a distemper or bloody murrinn. "Sulpher is tho only remedy 1 have everfound," says W. W. Ilobson, in one of our exchanges. A Mew Clovor. The Philadelphia Times describes a new clover sown for trial near that city which may bo worth investigating. It has a long head of a rich veruiillipn color. It is said to grow very rapidly in that climate and the lirst crop matures tho seed. It was introduced from Italy. Scones or Dovtintutlon I'ronniilfid by the Itcccnt niikola I'ralrlo t'iro*. FAUI.KTO'N, S. D., Aug. 31.—It will bo several days before tho full effects of the awful prairie lire of Friday nignt are reali/ed. So far no loss of life has been reported, but the loses of property are incalculable. A man who had driven over a space of forty miles of the burned country described it as stretching like a black pall as far as the eye can reach wit out seeing • a greon blade of grass, but now and then seeing a Held which was protected by a cautious farmer by plowing around It. Keports of loss are feared on all sides. OVERPOWERED THE AOENT. An Armed Man Hubs tbe Vui'ltli: at Nolsoii, IS. C.,of $2,000. WINNIPKG, Man., Sept. 1.—At Nelson, It. C , an armed man entered the Ca- diad 1'nciflc station and after binding the agent opened the safe and secured $3.01)0. lie also robbed a passenger who was waiting for a train and mad« his escape. A Hank ICubbur Ljrncliud. KANSAS CITY, Mo., Sept. 1.—One of the desperadoes who robbe:l tho Corder (Mo.) bank yeslerdtiy afternoon, wai captured late last night about twenty miles from Corder and about half of the stolen money was found in bis possession. lie gave his name aa Andrew Murrell. It is reported that Deputy Short IT Jackson and < ity Marshal Dean, who bad the robber iu charge and were talc- ing him to Lexington, the county seat, were met by a mob of enraged citizens who overpowered them, took their prisoner and lynched him. The other rob* ber is being closely pursued, And MUo SHU Mve*. Some years ago a baby girl was bom to a couple in Virginia and the fond parents gave her in baptism the following name or names: Annie Adella Amanda Amelia Jane Ilosina Malvina l<'it/.allen. For short they call her Annie Adelia Amanda Amelia. _ if Wouldn't Give Up III* Tobucco, PEORIA, 111., Sept., 1.—James Iloult- ban met Charles Meek late last night and asked him for a chew of tobacco, In the altercation which ensued Meek stab tied Houlihan through the hand and twice in the buck, inflicting very serious and probably fatal wousus. |>o< lor* lUntl Not DrluU. ATLANTA, Oa.. Sept. X--The senate of Georgia yestorpay passed the house bill disijuuHfyin'j nnvsic.ians addicted to drink from i/be prat ice of their profession. It will be signed by Governor Nortb.cn as soon M it lac Now Jlro«(lH. The claim given to nil the now breeds, that "they are perfectly hardy," is more or less true. Breeds are made by various crossings, and is a well-known fact that those crossings, this mingling of bloods, is what give life, health und strength. Cross-bred fowls are always hardier than the pure-bred—that iH,Jpuro-breeds after they IIMVG passed into tho fanciers' hands, and are receiving the. first lessons in fine clothing and graceful maneuvering. Tho Doliiluo Shoo]). The Delaine merinos that are so larurely bred in and about Washington county, Penn., deserve the attention of sheep men generally. These are more easily handled than are most other fine wool breeds, being free from wrinkles und having only a sufficient amount of grease to keep the wool in a bright, healthy condition. The rams weight at maturity from 160 to 180 pounds; the ewes from 110 to 140 pounds. One breeder there has 800 head that shear un average often pounds. They are an ull-purj-ose sheep, having plenty of wool on good mutton carcass. Fail ri6». If you are going to raiFe some fall pigs, give the breeding sows clean and comfortable quarters, with the liberty of a yard large enough for .moderate exercifo. It is not well, however, to let them run among tbe horses and cattle. They should have generous and plentilul rations of bran and other muscle-forming foods, but not much corn nor meal; Skim milk, bran, oatmtal boiled to a thin gruel, etc,, are the proper things for them. A good deal of the final success will lay in Parted, and this keeping the sows tion. getting tho pigs well can only be done by in the very best condi- A Typloul Suuar Iteet. A typical sugar beet is conical in shape, smooth in its external contour, with a white, solid interior, weighing about one pound and having a content of sugar of about 24 per cent. If you wish to expeii- ment in growing them, wo would suggest that you send to tbe department of agriculture for seed. Then, a» you succeed in growing beets that are apparently close to this type, send them to the department for analysis. The result will indicate tbe j>n>peete_for attaining success with the industry in your region. It will require about 250 factories of the capacity of those now in operation in California and Nebraska to supply our own needs, so there is room for a wide distribution of these, and there in a wide extent of our country adapted to this industry. The Wheat Seeding Season. As we approach the wheat seeding season a resume of the careful experiments of tbe Ohio station may prove of value. These have been carried on for nine consecutive years, and cover the amount of seed per acre, the depth of which to plant, and the time of planting. The amount of seed used has varied from two pocks to ten peckd per acre. The highest average vield has been obtained, by sowing seven pecks of eeed, but this has been followed very closely by the yields from sowing flve pecks, so closely, in fact, that the increased yield did not much more than offset tbe additional amount of teed. In five teasons out of nine better results were had by covering the seed from one and a half to two inches deep than by placing a greater or leas amount of soil above it. The highest yields have been almost uniformly produced bv sowing either during tae last week in September or the fim Tho Cnmlti); Corn Crop. There are great possibilities iu tha coming corn crop. The corn surplus states arc looked upon as the great corn reservoir by the people in tho eastern and foreign countries. The butter makoru of Rnropo need our corn to warm up thoir cows and tone up their turnips in butter and cheese making. We may just an well add it to corn fodder and clover hay hero and send them tho dairy product. Why should tho western corn growers bo bowers of wood and drawers ol. water for tho farmers who pay rents to the foreign landed aristocracy? Our corn will go abroad to make beef, mutton, pork and poultry. Why npl. put it to thai uso hercV All tho conditions are favjrablo. Matters are being arranged so that our animal products go abroad nt fair rates, and on improving conditions. Look over the crop and see what the surplus will bo. Look over the Hocks and herds and seo how tho corn can bo advantageously fed at homo. A cow con.in,? in in tho fall has possibilities in her. Tho young hoifor usually thrown away as butchers' stock, and sold in competition with range cattle, if fed well,, ha-fpossibilities in her. Have her spayed when cool weather coine-i, and she will feed like a steer. If she is from a good milker by all means turn her into the dairy. Never get rid of young_im- maturo things while you live in tho midijt of untold bushels ot cheap corn. This feature of tho farm requires and demands our consideration. We are getting Bboup. Look them over, and unless they are registered and valuable tor breeders, turn off all that are four yoara old through the feed lob. Feed to finish. Do not rashly dispose of hull' fed animals. That is suicidal. No matter how much corn you have, it will pay to feed a little oil meal with it, or a hi tie oats or bran or clover hay. Feed which ev^r is haiidLest and cheapest. These things will enable tho feeder to finish quicker arid bettor. Why .permit the Europeans to take our albuminoid feeds across tho ocean? ^eed. liberally young horses that are designed for the market. Weight, sells in a draft or carriage horse, nnd wo can make it by liberal feeding. Oar young farmers and renters lose their opportunities in this direction. Uomomber that the best profits of the corn crop uro nmdo by those who turn it into something eloo of a high s^ding character. Thousands of men wait for our corn, and mako livings and fortunes out of it. Our iiiost prosperous farmers never sell this groat fiirin levenigo. Tho glucose, and starch, nnd alouol paoplo make immense sums out of western corn for which they would and some day will have to pajr a higher price, when we gather it and use it up ourselves. It can bo no pleasure, certainly, to sweat in a corn field to grow a product, that makes cheap whisky.- Western farmers do not usually drink whisky; besides all thi'J, wo are ( depleting our heritage for other people's benefit. There are millions in the coming' crop. Lot us make them—all of then.— Exshango. Uny-Ouwu Iu the Country, I do not think that it is ever real morning except in the country, writes Dr. Tul- mage in the September Lulies' lloaie Journal. In the city_, in tho early part of tho day, there is a mixed color that climbs down over the roofs opposite, and through the smoke of the chimney, that inakijB people think it is time to get up and comb their hair. But we have real morning in the country. Morning! "descending out of heaven like a bride adorned for her husband." A few moments ago I looked out, and tho urmy of night shadows were striking their tents. A red light on the horizon that does not make tuu think, as it did Alexander Smith, of "the barren beach 6t bell," but mure like unto the (ire kindled on the shore by Him whom the DiBciples saw at day-break stirring the .blaze on the beach of Genesareth. Just'now the dew'woke up in thfa hammock of the tree branohe.-", and the light kissed it. . Yonder, leaning against the sky, two great uprighU of (lame, croBsed by many rundlns of fire! Some Jacob must have been dreaming. Through thoie burnished gates a • flaming chariot rolls, some Elijah must be ascending. Morning! I wihh I had a rousing bell to wake the whole world up to see it. Every leaf a psalm. Every flower a comer. Every bird la chorister. Every sight, beauty. Every sound, music. Trees transfigured. The skies in conflagration. Tho air aa if sweeping down from hanging gardens of heaven. The foam of celestial seas pluxhed on the white tops of the spiran. The honeysuckle on one side of the porch challenges' the sweet-brier on the other. The odors of heliotrope overflow the urns and flood the garden. Syringes, with bridil blossoms in their hair, and roses bleeding with a very carnage of color. Oh the glories of day-dawn in the country I My pen trembles, and my eyes moisten. Unlike the flaming sword that drove out the first pair from Ed an, these fiery splendors aeem like swords unsheathed by angel hands to drive us in. UOUUBD. UU Wagon wa» Broken open ttt» V«ria Hou«e. SmcLDpH, Sspt. 4.—A Jew peddler's wagon was broken into at a farm house .three miles south of (own last night and gooda valued a f50 were taken. JU is thought to be the work of a traveling horse trader's outfit which was seen camping near by in the evening. No arrests yet.
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