The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on October 21, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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THE UPPER DES MOINES, ALGONA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 21,189L ONICA. A STORY OF THESE TIMES. Mr. Desmond, seeing it, grasps the situation. "I am hungry," ho says; nivl I hope, nm think, the gentle lie will bo forgiven him "Wo have had nothing in the luuiso all day but bread, and that is not appetizing." "There!" says Jloniea, turning to Kit will sparkling eyes; "1 told you he wouldn't like bread/' ''But," goes on Desmond, with a view to ninking her future happier, "to-morrow al •Will be right again. We know of a few faithful people who will smuggle us in all we may require. So do not be unhappy abou me m;aiii. Sweetheart, what n terrible weight yon hav.> been carrying!" "It is a line one, isn't it?'' says Kit. "Bu give it to mo now, Moniea," taking the cake from her, "while you talk to Brian; whei yon are ready to come home, 1 can give it tc him." . So saying, this inestimable child with di.ms herself mid Monica's offering to r distance, and j rotunds for the remainder ol the interview an absorbing interest in some •Wild flowers growing near. "I have only a moment to stay," sayp Monica, nervously. "I shall be missed; and now 1 have seen you safe and unhurt," witli n very sweet smile, "I shall be able to sleep, Hut all day long I have been haunted by timid thoughts," she sighs. "I doubt it was a sorry day for you, thai first one when we met," says Desmond, remorsefully. "1 have brought: you only trouble. By and by you will regret you evei knew me." "Do not say that. I have no regrets,— onol Eren if—if—we oiiiinot be—" red- onitig vividly, "more to each other than we re now, I can still be happy in the thought „ -lat you love me and are near me, and that lean sometimes, in spite of eucrj/n?ic—„ with a recklessness that sits'very funnily upon her—"see you." "But we shall be more to each other, Mon- lea," says the young man, earnestly. "We shall be all in all to each other. No human being has the right to separate two hearts for t,1io sake of n mere whim." "There are sn many things. But now, i deed, I must go, Good-niirht." "Good-night, my. own. But I shall go with you as far as the boundary fence." "No, no, indeed I" "But indeed I shall;" and of course helms liis own way, and parts from her and 'Kit there, and answers her parting injunction "to take care of himself for Her sake"—this last very low—with a lingering lover's kiss, and watches the two slight Jigures with a b'eating heart, until they are out of sight. Then, picking up the cake, he goes back again to where Mr. Kelly is still awaking him. CHAPTER XXVI. "Well," says Kelly, "was it Miss Beresford?" "Yes, and her sister. I saw them back to the boundary fence, but they would let me go no 'turther. It was rather " "What on earth have you got there?" says his friend, sticking his eyeglass in his eye, and staring with bent head and some suspicion at the mysterious thing in Desmond's arms. "This| ho! ah 1 yes." Then, desperately, 'Kelly, if you laugh at it I'll never forgive r yon." JNlr. Kelly drops the eyeglass and looks af- icteil. "My dear fellow, do I ever laugh?" he says. "Well, it—it's a ailiel" says Brian, who (in spite of the warning just delivered to his friend) is now indulging in wild mirth and can scarcely speak for laughter. "She —Monica— heard wo were boycotted, and, thinking wo were starving, the dear angel I she brought this up herself to us.' "Desmond, I'm ashamed of you/' says Kelly, who has not moved a muscle of his face. "Such an action as hers culls for reverence,—not this unseemly gayety." "Jt's not the action I'm laughing at," says Brian, still convulsed; "it's tile calse. The action is divine—the cake hot!' 1 Hero ho sinks upon the garden-seat again, as if exhausted, and dries his eyes. "I see nothing to laugh at in that, either. It seems excellent cuke, and, as you say, 7iot," says JSIr. Kelly, prodding it meditatively rlth his linger,—"a merit in a cako of this sort, 1 should say; and nicely browned, too, as far as I can see. I can see, too, that it is quite the biggest cake 1 ever made acquaintance wilh. Another merit! Did she carry it herself all the way?" "All the way, poor darling;! and just because she, was afraid we should b.; hungry." Mr. Desmond's laughter has subsided, and ho now looks rather absent. "It quite weighed her down," he says, in a low tone. "Poor child I I said yesterday, you remember, that I thought her one of the nicest girls I have mot. The eakohas finished me. 1 think her now thu nicest." He says this with a cheerful conscience. Between girls and widows a due]) margin lies. . "But what are wo to do wilh it?" says J^rian, regarding the cake, which is now lying upon the garden-seat, with a puzzled expression. "Say a repentant tenant—no, that sounds like tautology—say a remorseful tenant brought it to you." "That wouldn't do at all." "Then say you found it in the garden." "Nonsense, Kelly! they don't yrmo. Think of srmething more plausibJe." "Give me time, then." As ho speaks ho absently breaks off a piece of the cake and puts it in his moiUh. Desmond, in quite as abstracted a manner, does likewise. Silence ensues. "I think the idea was so sweet," saysDes- mon-l. presently, his thoughts being (usthey should be) with Monica. "As honey and the honeycomb!" says Mr. Kelly, breaking oil' another piece, with a far-oil', rapt expression. "She said she couldn't bo happy, thinking we were hungry. Her dear heart is too big for her bcdy." ''Her cake is, certainly," says Mr. Kelly; here he takes a third enormous pinch out of it, and Desmond follows his example. "I didn't toll her we had had our dinners," says Brian. "It would have taken the gloss off it." "Off this!"' pointing to the smoking structure between them. "I don't believe it." "No. the deed." Another silence. "It's a capital cake," says Mr. Kelly, pen- sJvely, who has been eating steadily, since the tirst bite. "After all, give me a good, sweet, home-made cake like this! Those bought ones aren't to be named in the same day with it. There is something so light &ud wholesome about a cako like this." "Wholesome!" doubtfully; "Idon'tknow about that. What I like about it is that it is hot and spongy. But, look here, you haven't said yet what we are to do with it." "I think we tiro doing uncommonly well with it," says Kelly, breaking off another piece. "But what are we to do with the remains, provided we leave any, which at present seems doubtful?" "Keep them, of course. You ouarht to. ent.'' "Yon aro right.; no one shall touch a crumb of it save you and me," says Mr. Desmond, as though inspired. "Lr.'t us smtiirirle it up to my room and keep it there till it is finished." "1 feel as if I was at school airain with a plum-cake and nchitm," says Mr. Kelly. "Well, come ami follow me wun it 'now, and distract my uncle's attention if we meet him." "To my room or yours?' 1 insinuatintrly. "To in Hie,' 1 firmly. "I'll take the ereatestcaroof it, if you like to trust it to me.'' with what Kit would certainly have termed "an obli/dnir air.' 1 "I don't doubt you." fs.ird'oliie.illy. "But certainly not. It was given to me, ami 1 feel myself hound to look utter it." "Pity wo can't l:av - il potrilioil." snys Mr. Kelly, thoughtfully. "Then you mlgnt hang it round your neck as a trophy." "At this they both laugh, anil finally the trophy, after much difficulty, is satisfactorily stored away. ###*## Jt is a forliiiiiht lalori ami desolation has overtaken Monica. Hrlan has passed out of her active life, has ceased from lhat seeing and heariiit: and that satisfactory touch that belong to a daily intercourse with one beloved. Only in thought can slio'timl him now. lie has gone upon that Ihrealened journey to those detected estates of his ill Wostmeath. t-he had uoiie down to the river-side to bid him farewell, and had been calm, almost, careless, throughout the Interview,—so calm that the youmj; man's heart had died within him, and n latent sense of hope deferred had matie it siek. liut just, a I the your last she had given way, and had lluiuj herself into his embrace, aiid twined her anus round his neck,—dear, oliii!iiii:r arms,—and had broken into bitter weepiier. And— "Don't b:' lorn;, l-ritml don't, be lonyl" she had si.bbed. wilh deep onllvaly, :iud with such a lender passion as had shaken all her siendi r frame. So they had "kissed anil ki-sod" and, parted, And Desmond, ihoiii,'li sad as man may be at the thought that he should look ii]iou her face no more for four lona; weeks, still loft her with a gladder heart than ho had over known. Her tears wire sweet lo him, and in her grief ho found .solace for his own. And, indeed, as tho days Hew by, they found (ho pain of absence was elicekeiod by dreams of the reunion that lay before them; and each day, as it was born, and grow, and died, and .so was laid upon (lie pile of those already gone, was a sad joy to them, and counted not so much a day lost as one gained. "We take no note of time but from its loss." This loss in the present instance was most sweet to Monica and her lover. To them Time was the name of a slow cruel monster, whoso death was to be desired. And now the monster is slain, and to-day Brian will return to Coolo. She has promised to meet him at tho river but, the relentless Fates are against her, and who shall interfere with their woven threads? As thouii'h some vile imp of their court had whispered iu Miss 1'riscilla's ear the whole story of her forbidden attachment, she keeps Monica in tlio morning-room wilh her. copying out certain recipes of a dry nature, lhat could have been copiett just as well to-morrow, or next year, or ?icw.r. As the lio.ur in which she ought to meet her lover comes and goes by, the poorehild's pulses throb and her heart heats violently. Kir, has gone to the village, and so cannot help her. All seems lost. Her eyes grow largo and dark with repressed Jongim 1 ;, her hand trembles. "There, that will do, dear child; thank you," said Miss I'riscilla, uratoi'iiHy, folding up tho obnoxious papers and slipping them into the davenport. Jt is now quite half an hour-past tho timo appointed by Desmond in his letter. Monica, rising impeluonsly, moves toward tho door. "Is the writing at an end?" Miss Penelope's voice comes to her from the other end of tho room, with a plaintive ring in it. It easts despair upon the hope lhat is kiiuHiu.tr; afn sh within her bosom. "Dear, dear! I'm so glad! Monica, come to me, and help me with this wool. It has got so onttuigledtliat; only bright eyes like yours," with a loving smile,"can rescue it from its hopeless stale.'' This is just too much. A great lire kindles in her b"iiuliful eyes; the spirit of defiance seizes on her .gentle breast; her Jips iniivor; her breath comes from between them with a panting haste. "Yesl she will go to him, tho will 1" .She rises to her feet. Just at that moment thednor is llunsr wid'J open, and Desmond enters iho room. CHAl'TKK XXVII. O:io moment of coma ensues. It fs an awful moment, in which nobody seems oven to breathe. The two Misses Blake turn into a rigidity that might mean stone; the young man pauses irresolutely, yet with a sternness about his lips that bespeaks n .settled purpose not to be laid aside for any reason, mil that adds some years to his sure. Monica lias turned to him. The tamj'led wool has fallen unconsciously from her liands to her feet. Jlcr lips are parted, her eyes wide; she sways a little. Then a soft rapturous cry breaks from her; there is a simultaneous movement on his part and on liors; and then—she is in his arms. For a few moments speech is impossible (o them; there seems nothing in tho wide world but lie to her, and she to him. Then he lifts her face, and looks at her ioug and eagerly. "Yes, I have found you again, my love,— at lust," ho says. "Ah! how long it has seenud!" whispers she, with tears in her eye.';, A terrible silence fills tho room,—asilonc : that grows almost unbearable, until at length it is broken by Miss Priscilla. Jk-r voice is low, and hushed and broken. 'Monica, why did you deceive us?" she says. There is reproach, agonized disappointment, in her tone, but no anger. To those poor old women tho moment is tru'/ieul. The, child of their last years—the one Ihiug they had held mo t dear and sacred—has proved unwortliy, Ins linked j lersolf with the opposition, has out r.*d lao ists of tho enemy. Tiiey itro <;ii;t.i 0.11111, .bough trembling. Their -ii f Is loo yr-at 'or tears. But they st-ind lo lether, anil hero is a lost and heart-broken look about .hem. Monica, seeing It, breaks away from her over's restraining arms, and, running to Jiss Priscilla, falls down on her knees bo- 'ore her, and, clnsplm; her waist with her oft, while arms,'bursts into bitter tears. She clings to Miss Priseilla; but the old ady, though her distress Is very apparent lands proudly erect, and looks not at her, >ut at Desmond. Tho tears gathered slowly n her eyes—tears come ever slowly tollies*.: vhose youth .lies far behind—and i'all upon he repentant sunny head; but the owner ihows no sign of forgiveness; yet 1 think ihe would have dearly liked to take Iho weel sinner In her arms to comfort and for- 'ivo her, but for tlio pride aud wounded eel ing that overmastered her. "Your presence here, sir, is an insult," he says to Desmond, meaning to be stern; ut her grief has washed away the incivility of her mtle speech aud has left it only vasnifiy repronclilul. Desmond towers ms head before her gaze, ami ivfr tins from answer or explanation. A :;roat sorrow for the defeuselossness of tlfir sorrow has arisen in his breast for these old aunt", aud killed nil moaner thoughts-. I think he would have felt a degree of relief if they had both fallen upon him, and said hard things (o him, and so revenged themselves in part. Monica is sobbing bitterly. Not able to endure her trief, Desmond, going oven to the feet of Miss Priseilla, tries to raise her from the ground. But she clings oven moro clos.'lyto Miss Priscilla, and so mutely refuses to go to him. A pang, a sudden thought, shoots through him, and'rendors him desperate. Will they be bad to his poor little girl when ho is {roue'.' will they scold her? "Oh, madame," ho says to Miss Priscilla, with a break in his voice, "try to forgive her; bo gentle with her. It was all my fault,—mine entirely. 1 loved her, and when sho refused to hear me plead my cause, and shrunk from me because of tlio unhappy division that separates my family from yours, and because other reverence for your wishes, 1 still urged her, and induced her to moot mo secretly." "You did nn evil deed, sir," says Miss Priseilla. "J acknowledge if. I am altogether to blunt: 1 ." says Desmond, hastily. "Sho has had nothing to do witji it. Do not, I beseech you, say anything to her when I am pone that may augment her self-reproach.' 1 lie looks with appoalingeyes n'tMiss Blake, bis hand on Monica's shuulder, who has her face hidden in a fold of her aunt's gown. "Sir," says Mi<s Priscilla, drawing herself tip, wilh a touch of old-world grandeur iu her manner, but a sad tromulousness in her (one, "my niece has been wilh us now for some time, and we have dared to hope she has been trrajed in iKvordunco with tiio great love we fool for hi r." "'I'lie j/rcft/, love," cehoos MHS Penelope, gently. Though deeply dislro-sed, both old ladies aro conscious of a subdued admiration for I he young man, because of (ho tenderness of his fears for his beloved. "But if," says .Miss Pri-cilln, with n mournful glance at tlio preK.y bowed head, —"if N/IC thinks we have failed In our lovo toward her, as indeed it may be, by your finding il necessary lo ask us to treat her witli kindness in HI'H trouble,—wo can only say to her that we re.gi'el,—that we " Hero she breaks down, and covers her sad old I'aeo with her trembling hands. Monica springs lo her foot. "Oh. auntie!" she says, a world of lovo and hope, reproach 'and penitence in her voice. She throws her arms round lioraunt's neck; and, Miss Priiwilla clasping her iu turn, somehow in one moment, the crime is condoned, mid youth and age are met in a fond embrace. "Go, sir,-" says Miss Priseilla, presently, without, lifting her eyes. There is so much gentleness in her time that the young man is emboldened to ask u question. "You will permit me to come to-morrow, to—lo—plead my cause'"'he .says, anxiously. Miss Priscilla hesitates, aud a pang of a|>- prohension rushes through her heart, lie is almost, ill despair, when Miss Penelope's voice breaks the oppre-sivo silence, "Yes. Come to-moivow," sho says, pressing Mis-; Pri-cilia's arm. "To-day wo aro too tired, too upset. To-morrow let it be." "1 thank you, inndiime," says Desmond, humbly; and then ho turns to go, hut still lingers, wilh grieved eyes fixed on Monica. ".Monica, you will give me one parting word?'' he says, at last, as though tho petition is wrung from him. Still hoMiiig Miss Prise-ilia's hand, she turns to him. and raising her other arm, places ii.Wlly round his nock. Holding them lioib tons, she seems the embodiment of the spii'it that must in the end unite them. Her position compels her to throw back her head a little, and she smiles at him, a sad little smile, but bright wi.h lovo aud trust. "Not a piirtlni.i word," sho says, with a sweetness so grave as lob 1 .' almost solemn. "You \\ iil bo true to me'. 1 " say.s Desmond, reckless of listeners. lie lias hisanns round her, and is waiting lor her answer witli a pale, earliest f.iee. .Something in tlio whole scene touches the two kindly oldmaids'v.'ith a souse of lender reverence. "Until my death," says the, girl, witli slow distinctness, laying her ho.id aisiinst the *.'.ray sleeve of his coal. A great wave of color—bom of emotion and lovo Unit is stroii'ror than the grave- sweeps over his face. He sloops and lays his lips on hers. When he is gone, Monica turns suddenly upon .Miss Priseilla. "Do not say a word to mo I' 1 she cries, feverish y; "1 could not boar H-'iiow. I may have done wrong, but I am not sorry for it. I love him. That should explain everything to you; it mcansuHlomel Nothing can alter thai! And 1 will have nothing said,—nothing; aud " ".Noiliing shall bo .said, dear child," says Miss P. uelope, gently. "Kverything shall be as yi-u wish with regard to us. Can you not ti ust us (o spare you where we anif "I am ungrateful. 1. must go and think it all out," says Monica, stonily, pressing her hands against her head. >Sho turns away. A little cry breaks from .Miss Priseilla. "Oh! not without kissing us tno, Monica!" she says, in a broken voice, holding out her arms to her nioce. Monica throws herself into (hem, * * * * * * * Long and eager is tho discussion that follows on tho girl's disappearance. The two Misses Blake, side by side, arguo (with what, they erroneously term dispassionate calmness) the case just laid before them. "1 don't know what is to lie done," says Miss Priseilla, at length; "all I do know is that, for her sake, consent will bo impossible." "And what is to be said to him to-morrow? Jf(! looks so earnest, so—full of her. What, is to be said to him?' 1 ".io his uncle looked at her mother," says Miss Priseilla, with terrible bilteriiess;"aml what came of thai? Js this young man to steal from IH our best mid dearest—as ho did? Be linn, Penelope. For her sake crush this attachment bol'oro the lickloncs.3 that if ill his blood assorts Itself to break her hc:iit." "i fear it will bo broken either way. Ho struck n o as being a very attractive young man, and—but that would b.' impossible in vim in' l.'is name—a very lovulite young man." .-ass .Miss Penelope, timidly. "Penelope," says Miss Priseilla, with such a sudden and awful amount of vehemence as literally makes Miss Penelope jump,""! am ashamed of you. Whatever wo—that it" (slightly confused) "|/ou may think about that young man, please keep it to yourself, and at least lot me never hoar you speak of a Desmond in admiring terms." .So saying, she stalks from Iho room, and drives down to Ihe village to execute u commission that lias been hanging over her lor a fortnight, and which sho chooses to-day to fulfill, if only lo prove lo tho outer world that sho is iu no wise upsot bythonl'lcrnonii excitement. Yet in a very short time she returns from bur drive, and with a countenance so di s . tin-bed that Miss Penelope's heart Is tilled with fresh dismay. "What is il? ' she says, following JHiwj Priseilla inlo her own room. "You liavo hoard something further; you have STOU—" "1't-H, I Jiavo aiwuh-lin—yowg Desmond," say* Miw Prtecilla, with an, air of mxeh mL Eiiitnii. **lf. \vnu -tnuf sinful.!.^ * ! IH villttirfl On my way Home; ami lie was carrying a li;tl hurt child iu hU arms and he was hushim. it so tenderly: and-and the little mie wa lookiiu up in his laee-aml he kissed il and ll'/ii/ isn't b ' a' 1i::d irirln-il youir nun?" cries Miss I'riseilla. in a fronzy o d.sp.tir. bursting into tears. ntAPTUli XXVIII. Iu the morning, a certain amount- of con strain), prevails with every on*. Kir is.nl course, aw.ire of all thai has lupivii >d. a;u of the day's expected visitor for Monica wh" has refused to come down tobr 'aklV and who is as unsettled and ifiiserahle a> siie well can be. Kit has espoused her causi con (iniiirr, and is (I need hardly say) roadj for open war at a mom.'iil's notice. ' she has indeed arranged -a plan of action (hat wil bring her on I lie baitle-liold at a critic il mo tin-lit lo deliver a speech culled from somi old novoN in her room aud meant to rodiici b.ilh her aunts lo annihilation. When breakfast is over she disappears Ii study her pail afresh, and the.Missis lllnl.'c, too, separate and gn lo their own rooms, witli an air of careful uiieoiicei'ii, (hat would nol have imposed upon a one -year bah. 1 . When again they reappear, they -,eejn do- J !r.uis of avoidi'r;- each other's glauees, whereupon it o. curs suddenly lo everybody (lull thi'j hnvo lio'h put on iheir very best, silk .'owns ami lace cups, and have in fact got themselves up with elaborate care to receive—a Jii-xiiiinnl! No wonder they aro ashamed of themselves I 81111 keeping up Iho outward symptoms of supreme indifference, they seat, themselves in the drawing-room, Miss Ponolope attacking her knitting with tremendous vigor, whilst Miss Priseilla gets apparently lost in the pages of "Temple Bar." Monica, slitl- inr in presently like a small ghost, In her clindhg white gown, slips into a seal in the window thai overlooks t)ioaveiiiio,nnd hides herself and her pretty anxious face behind tho lace curtains'. An hour glides by with aggravating slowness; and Ihen a sound of wheels upon tho gravel makes Monica's heart beat almost to suffocation. Tho two Misses Blake, suddenly, forgetful of their role of unconcern, start from I heir scats and go lo the window where Monica now is standing. A brougli- hnm aud pair of horses drive up to tho door, and a young man, opening tho door, springs to tho ground. It Is Desmond. "To come hero in a close carriage I" ways Miss Priscilla, with much contempt. "Isho afraid of catching cold, I wonder? I never hoard of such foppery in my life." "Ho is not a fop," says Monica, Indignantly, and llioii she catches sight of her lover's face, and something in it awakes within her a prescience of coming evil. Then the drawing-room door is thrown open with rather unceremonious haste, and the young man, entering, goes straight, lo where Miss Priscilla is standing,merely taking holding of Monica's hand as he ivaehos her, but, addressing to her neither word nor look, lie seems greatly uglia'.ed, and alto- gel her unlike the man who stood here yes- iorday and almost delinl them. His I'tiee is very pale, and full wf honest grief and in,11... ..,, To bo continued. tatlon. KVKCTHie' KAIL.WA YS. Vroftrcss IVTiiiIo In Tholr 1'riiullciii Working: During till) lAtttt Oi'Ciuli'. Only twelve yours bave elapsed since the first crude sujjfijestions of tho practical working of an electric railway were iiituln, and four yours ago u list of a, do/.en would comprise every such road hi tho world in even passably successful operation, whatever tho method of application. Tlio first large coininfirciiil electric railway was, after mil ii y dilliculties mid discouragements, opened in the early part of 1888 "at Richmond, Va., and since that demonstration was made, tho_ industry has grown until there are now in operation or under contract, on the general lines laid down at Richmond, not less than 850 roads in the United States, Europe, Australia mid Japan, requiring more than 4,000 ears and 7,000 motors, with more than 2,600 mile* of track, a da'ly mileage of nearly 500,000 miles, and carrying nearly a. billion passengers annually. Fully 10.0CO people aro employed on these roads, und there has never been an authenticated report ofjtlcalh on acfoiinc of tlio oloclrio pressure used. Over 850,000,000 aro in vested in this industry in this country alone.—Forum. A Ill-own I UK A iici-iloli.. While admiring, in a Paris ftludio, a picture of the funeral barge limb bore the body of Robert Browning .through tlie streets of V e "ieo to the s!earner that transported it to England's Valhalk, a woman, whose criticisin hut] boon solicited previous to tho artist's shipment, of tho canviiH to English etchers, related this pononul incident of tho groat, pool: "1 was traveling in Italy. There were few tourists in my compartment All were absorbed in books ar rovery till towards tho dote of what bad been a long, tiresome day. Then it was that Uie elderly gentleman who sat by my sido wilh- out removing his eyes from Iho landscapes iiiiido u comment that invited conversation. " 'You ii.ro fond of poetry?' lie snid at length, with something in the shifting splendor of tho Italian skies evoked from mo a Byron couplet. " 'Oh, yes,' I replied wilh my usual enthusiasm. 'I lovo pools ui;d poolry.' "The old gentleman rejuvenotod. Together wo browsed on Parnassus, and never will bo forgotten {lie thought, tho imagery, that flowed in a continuous stream from his lips. "'Who are your favorite pools V ho asked, abrupt.lv. "J niimed them, und without further comment quoted my favorite poom—a Portuguese Sonnet. When I had finished ni> companion resumed his post at tho window, and did not design to nolice mo iigiiin. ,'1 was much discomfited. Hud 1 given offence? "Before reaching our destination 1 von lured to say: '1 suspect, sir, lhat you do not like Mrs, Browning's poetry?" "The dark, soulful nyes of the stranger turned pitifully lo mo, and, in a voice that was almost an echo, ho said: 'Mad- urn, that sonnet is the sweetest, and its singer the most precious, gift life has given me, Sho was my-wife.' Udu Rose MoGabo. Oliliii|;« of Never sleep in clothing worn during the day, and let that worn at night bo exposed lo the air by day. Throe pints of moLlure, lilted with Iho waste of tho bod.v, are given off every twenty-four bourn, und ntoslly absorbed by clothing. Exposure to the air and sunlight purities the clothing and bedding of tho poison which nature H trying to get rid of, and which would otherwise bo brought again into contact with tho body, BloluU. The hcul-oouductiug qualities of the metals range about us toilowgt Silver. ICOj copper, 78.80i gold, : H.flQj -™- ff -- I'luniiuum, 38.87s uuaum ' 87.#L&,1''"'' " FARM AND HOME. HKTWKKX T1IK tlATKS. JOIIS OKKKNI.KAF WIIITTIKIt. Bel worn lhi> irntpn of Mrtli unit ilcnth An old flml Fitlntlv pilgrim psssoit, With look of ono who vvltiionnptli The lon^foiiu'ht £cw! tit lust. "O tlion \vliopo reverent tt>et Imvo found Tlio Master's footprint In tliv wny, Anil \vnlk thereon «•< holy (trailml, A boon of thee I prny, "Mv luck \vonM borrow lliv excess, My feeble fnlth tho stteiiBth of thine; 1 neoil thy soul's wliltp •nlnlllnccH To hlilo the MnhiK of inliio. "Tho trnco nml fnvor elco denloil Mny well honrniiteil for thy dike." So teinptoil, doubling, sorely' Ineil, AyoiiiiRer pilgrim S|mUo. "Thy prayer, my con. trnnscomls niv ulft; No power Is mine,'' the fai;i> replied, "The minion of n soul to lift. Or Ftnln of sin to hide. "Iknve'er the ontvvnrd life limy poom, Knr pnrilnnliiH »nii'o «e nil must pniv; N-i man his brother cnn rodeem Or a soul's r.-msom )my. "Not nlwnyx up' Is growth of ponil; Its yours Imvo IOHSOK with their i-nln; Amiinfl some evil youth \vllhstnod Its Imiiils limy Mrlvoln vnlii. "Wilh deeper voice limn miy speech Of niorlnl lips from mnn lo mini, Wliiil oiirlh'H unwisdom nniy nol leach The SSphll. 01,ly cnn. "Millie llioii thill fml.v (,'nliht lli'tin mvn, Ami, I'oliinvlm; whore II lends Iho WHV, The known shall Inppo In (lie unknown As Iwlllphl into dny. "The best of enrlh shall sllll ronuiln, And henven'H elenuil years shall prove Thill llfn mill (lenlh, unit Joy nml pnln Are ministers of love," FAltAI MOT1CS. Weak fences spoil many a cow. Pu not, IVoil hogs on dusty ground. Breeding n sow too young stunts hoi growth iiii(l development. While specks in butler cnn be traced to tuinperntiire too high or lo skimming-loo close. Grass is tho most important crop on the farm, and serves not only to provide n supply of food, but. it is also a renoi-ntoi of tho soil. While it is iil ways best lo push the fat- .lining, there is nothing gained by feeding stock at any timo more than they will cat up uloiiu. Jt always pays to food poultry .•mfli'iionl- ly to fallen well bol'oro niarkeling. A few .lays good feeding will add considerably lo .heir weight. Farmers do not fully appreciate Iho value of wood ashes or they would not; soil them to soiipinon, but would spread them upon mowing lands or apply them to growing crops. They contain till Iho essential inorganic elements of plants. When a tree is to be (r.insphintod never cave more branches than arc wanted for mains, four or fivont most. Never grow i muse of unnecessary limbs to bo crowd- .ng, which must be cut out afterward, much to tho injury of Iho tree; remove them from tho bead at first ]f«<i<Uni; Poultry. It does not require as much food to keep i lien in summer an in winler, and when tho days aro warm one meal a day will inswer, giving itut night, if the hens liuvfi i range. Everything depends on tho mode of feeding. The great drawback is over feeding, especially in summer, which must bo avoidou. Tim . ,Sliin'|i. Dorset Horned sheep nro obiiriict.wist.ic- iilly prolific. An instance is mentioned of 48 ewes of this breed having produced no fewer than 105 IIUHUH from September 20 1890,_to May 22, 1891. The breed is increasing rapidly iu popularity. Old l.'riill, 'l'r««s. Cut down the old fruit trees that may bo jlantling in His pastures thtvt have pnssoil beyond their period of usefulness. Unless they are taken care o r they will become iicslu for the various fruit pests, and will in turn be tho nioiins. of populating your orchard with undesirable colonies. rriilfi:! tho Slump. If sheep aro left, where plowing is done, they will Ho in the furrow in hot weather, partly because this is cooler to Ihoni, ami •jitrtly to rid themselves of tides and other >of4s. Tho wool grows over tho dirt Unit is thin gathered, and diminishes its value lext season. It is boiler to provide a clean ,111 f for sheep to lie on, and protect their losfs in Kujninor by giving salt over (nr, so that they will hinear themselves in their ingenious to gut the wait. Out K cil fur Horses. hard at Tork will thrive boiler on cut feed mixed with ground grain than hey will where grain is foil whole. Tho saliva is moro readily brought into con- act with tho mass of food. 'Hence it digests with less exhaustion of tlio digestive organs, leaving more of the strength to go to work. A horse exercised only ^lightly may bo fed wholo grain, but oven hen part of it will come out undigested, iiul will do little good. This IK in ac- •ordaneo with the general practice of 'armors, who find it pays for '.cams work- ng hard to furnish them tho food Unit is nost easily digested. t- \Vlnlur SliM-on. ill many parts of the country tho hives ire well stored for winter, bill there are tlways some swnrnm light in honey which nust bo fed if they aro saved tor next •oar'* work. Sugar syrup, made by add- »!t 10 pounds wilier to 20 pounds granu- ated Himar, bring it to a boil anil llion idding f) pounds cheap honey, makes tho :houpe.st foeil for winter stores. Fifty enlf worth of Ihis feed will make light :olonies siifo for winter, nml tho iJeslitnto jnos are often those that produce the sur- ilus honey. Immunity us well us interest lemanJs that they Khali not perish for want of this Hiiinil expense. Apiarists hould nol wail until too'hile to do tins icocssary work of preparing bees for win- or, for now is tho time to got tho colonies oudy for effective work next year. J'ay- ng results can not bo got from bees that ouia oul just alive in tho spring, says 'arm, Stock und Homo, Tho colonies lut pay aro those which come out in tho pring strong in boos, und which sufficient tores to need but little tinkering. With hat cud in \iow,-unito all weal: colonies md make them strong iu bees and heavy u stores, and now is the time to do it with the least work aud secure t^e ' !', t^i> c.Usrity there l« no excous." '- tel&th soon taint*! are communicated to butter. It is well known to all chemists nnrl perfumer." Hut fnls and oils take up oaors with the greatest eiif^e, and this ohnrrtctpr- isiic is turned to use in the manufacttirs of perfumery. And this should be known to nil dairymen, for tuoir pioltction in the nnittiiiiemrut of thorream ami butter, and especially in regard to the choice of food for Hie cows. Anything whatever that has an odor or a alrniiir flavor in to bo kept strictly away from the butler. Indeed, it should bo Ih s business of the but- terinaker to proleet it at onco, us soon M it is in the the riuht slmpo for'dale, from all contact with tho air, ho-vi-ver it may bo More'!. Air-tight packages only should bt used, and those are to lie kept in a cool anil rather dump plaro. The Two Kliuln tif Illur <lrn**. It. is well known lo farmers in the west that then- nro two kinds of blue grass, 0110 the Kentucky blue grass, s-o-enlled, not because it originated' in Kentucky, but because it, is well adapted to that, region, as it is, in fact, to nil lime»toiie "--oils in tho temporal" noiio. nml I ho otlu r tho wiro grass, or little blue grass. Tho different-en between tho i«-o are the following: Tho Kentucky blue grass (pou pralensis), known in '.iMiropo mid tho eastern slates na June grass, has a round stein; the wiro grass, or little blue grass, n ll.it stem. The luller, while stiirtiii^ n few day* 'fii'licr in the spniiy (ban (lie former, ilooms nml ripens its seoil u month later. I'his JJI-UHS is shot-tor in the stalk nml \ioid9 much less loiayo. Prof. Pummel, to whom we hnvo forwarded specimens sent us for iilonlilioation, sayNof it: Wiro gru.-s is of little viilue. It. grows in illy, Merilo soil ami spreads I'nvly by its running routs (root stocks). U forms ilensn palohcs whore it grows, running everything else out. The stem is llnt- tonoil anil I ho whole plant is of palo color." \Ve ilo no|, rt'gtird the wire grass, or little bluo grass, as worthy ol cultivation. II, will come in ilself iu timo in soils adapted lo its growth where tho conditions aro loo severe for Die ordinary bluo grass to thrive. Tho bluo grass which comes in nfler tho prniriis have boon pastured off, all over Illinois, Missouri and Iowa, is tho genuine poa comprossa, or what is usually known as the Kentucky bluo grass. 'I'll 1C IIOU81C11OLI). Hiiro mill Tlioru. Al.iel! OAlltiV. Horn IK tin! sorrow, (ho nlfjlilnj,', Morn are tho eloinls anil the nluhl; Jloi-o 1» Ihe Kli'liiii.'HS, |l,e ilylnir, There uro Ihe life nml tho lljjht. Here Is the Cit'lliif;, Iho wiinllii)j, The Ton Hint no watchfully waits; Then.' urn Die hills t'wrliiHlnif,', Tho oily with Uie hcaiilirul gnU's. Here urn Ihe loolcs growing hoary, Tin) nla*s with Iliu vanlKhini; minis: There are the crown nml the (jlory, The IIUIIHD Hint IH nol maile wilh hands. Here IH Iho lon^'ln);, Ihe vision, Thi) hopes Ilial. en swlflly removi); There Is the hloxfoij fruilioii, The feaslanil the fiilhu'KM of lovo. Here nro the heart, Hli'ln^H n-tromlilo,, Ami hero Is Ihe chiiHioniiifr roil; There ate Iho KOIIJ^ nml I ho rymhtil, Ami Iheru Is our Kiilher un'il Uoil. Tru e lovo always does its best. Love llml is all talk is veiy apt to be considered all ivock. If il lie possible, as much as liolb in you, live pcuceably with all men. Have no business dealings with the man who never has a good word lo say for anybody. Thoio is a good deal of sollishncau in refusing to give because wo cim't doit in our own way. Bread cast upon the water purely as n business spcciiiutioii is liable to sink before ronching port.— Ontury MagaxiiiO. It would hn veil good effect on our con- duel, if wo always remembered lhat wo win prevent an aclion, but wo cannot prove.nl, (ho conn I'ueneeH to that action. Taidng spoiled apple butler anil crooked wood to tho parsonage, nml charging; full price for I hem, is a poor wnv of undertaking s:o lell tho liord that you lovo him,. but thero aro pooplo who try lo do it. ninny I.lilloH Multii Aliit'h. A sim.'lu uoo wilh iill its inihi.str*,', oner- ,'y und innumerable journoysjit has to per- orm, will not collect more than a tea- ipoonftil of honey in a single season, yet .ho tolal weight of honey taken from a single hive in often from sixty to one 'lundred pounds. A profitable lesson to man of groat results Irom united labor.— Herald and 1'resbytfr. Kill Miony til rnrjioMn. Nothing is moro beautiful in every-day ifo than a happy family circlo, where .hero is harmony of purpose ami endeavor or doing right. All progress ami improvo- nent in man depends upon mutual co- jperation and oneness of purpose. And .t is a sad state of affairs when these tjuuli- ics nro lucking in a household. Hut it seems to bo true that such is tho case noro often in (ho comparatively higher class. Knch member is so ingrossed in his own business that lie rarely has timo to iny particular ntleiilion to tho iniiiino lie- nils of u brother's life. Thry rarely 'knoiv''I'jicli oilier. In tho poo-w class t is different. Kvcry one is sincen ly in- .i.'A'Mod in every thoughl, every action of 'he others-, and is always ready to lend u ii'lping hand, and to share Iho griefs . well as the joys. Tho brother seeks to ii'lji tho sister over iho rougher places, unl the sister uses her influence to •woolen tho life of tho brother; (ho father •ounsjs and controls, ami the mother irij/hleim homo und Iho lives of all the IOUKeholll.~0. A. W. Kind WonU anil Divilw. "l''ulr wiiid« |jliiildi-n to ninny u In nil." If wo till know the actual value of a kind word ordo.d there would bo let's suffering in the world. If wo could but realize the inoiitiniublo good resulting from Ihe smallest kindness, how it penetrates into tho very depths of the human heart, illuminating one's entire JjeiiiK, cheering his spirits, brightening his life un-i beautifying all existence, wo would, many of us, givo tt|) our lives iii doing good to our ft't- low beings. Wo would make it our duty in lite to seek Iho suffering and strew their paths with iho faireslilorvers thill bloom— i hose of sympathy and encouragoment. Wo would seek to forgot our own troubles and anxieties entirely, and to givo all our attention to the lightening of Ihe burdens

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