The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on December 30, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, December 30, 1891
Page 3
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THE UPPER DES MOINES, ALGONA, IOWA; WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 30,1891. LOVE'S VICTORY. *T BKRTHA M. OLAT. it was nc.tttnt s.lie wished for it at r-r.rc. She did not love Sir Oswald—tlietr jiature.- weretoo nntrgoni-ti'.: tor that; but she did hot wish— indeed, sV- was incapable of wish- lug—that his life should be shortened even lot one hour. She only remembered that in the course of timo this graml inheritance must be 1 fipr«. i «>,v slie would help those artist-friends ol her lather'sl Whnt order- she would give. tUein, what pictures sin would buy, wluit. encouragement she wouli! .givetonrtnnd literature! How she would foster geiiinsl I'nw she would befriend thr clever'nnd srlflo I .poor ones of .the earth I The beautiful momilight seemed to grow fairer, the blue, sfarry'licavens hearer, as the grand and gracious possibilities of her life revealed themselves to her. tier heart grew warm, her soul trembled with delight. And tiien—then there would be something dearer and fairer (Iran nil this—something that conies to every woman—her birthright— something tliat would complete her life, that would change It, t!-.nt would make music of every word, and harmony of every notion. The time would conieNvhen loVe would liiul her out, when the fniry prince would waki- her from her magic sleep. She was pure and spotless as the while lilies standing near her; the breath of love had never passed over her. There had been no long, idle conversations with young girls on the subject of love nnd lovers; her heart was a blank page. Hut there came to her that night, as she stood dreaming her.mnlrteil drcamsamong the (lowers, nri. Idea of how she could love, and of what manner of man he would be who should win her love. '' Was she like Undine? Were there depths in her heart 'and soul which could not be ftenched until love had brought them to light'. 1 She felt in herself great capabilities that had never'yet been exercised or en lied into notion. Love'wbuld'complete her life; it would be the sun endowing tho flowers with life, Warmth, and fragrance. Wlintr:,manuer of man must ho be who would wake this soul of hers to perfect life? She had seen no one yet capable of doing so. The mind that mastered .hers must be a uias- ter-mlnd; the soul that could bring lier .soul into subjection must bo a grand soul, a j ust soul, noble and generous. Ah well, the moonlight was fair, and the flowers were fair. Soon, perhaps, this fail- dream of hers might be realized, and— - CITAl'TEH XVII. KK.lhCTKD. : A shadow came between Pauline and the moonlight, and n quiet voice said: "Miss Dnrrull, 1 am so glad tcf find you here, and a.lone!" 1 ooking up, .she saw Aubrey Langton standing by In r side. Aubrey's fair, handsome face w;:s Hushed, and there was the fragrance of the. wiiie.-cnp about him, for the gallant captain's courage had fulled him, and IIH had to fortify himself. He had seen Miss Dnrrell .go into the conservatory, and he understood her well enough to be sure that she ha.l gone thither in search of quiet. Here was his opportunity, lie had been saying tn hi:::.seh'all day that he must watch for his opportunity. • Here it was; yet his courage failed him, and his heart sank; he would have given anything to any-one who"-would huve undertaken the task that lay before him. There was so uiuclvat stake—not only love, but wealth, fortune, even freedom—there was so-much to-be won or lost, that he was frightened. However, as lie said to himself, it had to 'be doiie. He went back to the dining-room • and poured out for himself a tumbler 1 of the baronet's generous old wine, which made his heart g o\v, and dilVusird wiirmth.throngh his ; whole frame, and then ho went on hisdifli- V, cult errand. He walked quietly through the '/ conservatory, and saw Pauline standing at : the door. He was not an artist, he had nothing of the pout about him, but the solemn beauty of , Unit-picture did touch him—the, soft, sweet } moonlight, the sheaves of white lilies, the nest of daphnes, and that most beautiful face raised to the starry >ky. Ho stood, for some riimites in silence; a dim perception of his own nmvorthiness came over him. Pauline looked as though she stood in a charmed circle, which he almost feared to enter. Then he went up to her and spoke. She was startled; she had been so completely absorbed in her dreams, and he was the last person on earth with whom she could identify them. "1 liujio I hiivo not slartled you," lie said. "I am so glad to lind yon here, Miss Darrell. There is something I wish to say tiryou." IVrhapH lhat beautiful, calm night-scene had softened her; she, turned to him with a smile mom gentle than ho had ever seen on her face before. "You v.-iuit to tell me something—I am ready to listen, Captain Langton. What Is it?" He came nearer to her. The sweet, subtle perfume from the. flowers at her breast reached hiin; the proud face that had always looked proudly on him was near his own. ^lle came one step nearer stlll,niid then Pau- Jlpe drew back with a haughty gesture that seemed to scatter the light in her jewels. "I can hear perfectly well," she said, coldly. "What is it you have to toll me?" "Pauline, do not be unkind to me. Let me come nearer, where 1 may kneel at your feet and pray my prayer." His face flushed, his heart warmed with his words; all tho passionate love that he really felt for her woko within him. There was no feigning, no pretence—it was al reality. It was not Darrell Court ho was thinking of, but Pauline, peerless, queenly Pauline; and in that moment he felt that he could give his whole life to win her. "Let me pray my prayer," he repeated. "let me tell how dearly I love you, Pauline —so dearly anil so well that if you send mo from you my life will bo a burden to me, anc I shall be the most wretched of mrn.". She. did not look -proud or angry, but merely sorry, lier dark oyes drooped, her lips even quivered. "You love me," she rejoined—"really love me, Captain Langton?" He interrupted her. "I loved you the first moment that 1 saw you. 1 have admired others, but 1 have seer none like you. All the deep, passionate love of my heart has gone out to you; and, i; you throw it from you, Pauline, I shall die." "I am very sorry," she murmured gently "Nay, not sorry. Why should you be sorry? You would not take a man's Kt'e, anc hold it in the hollow of your hand, only to fling it away. You may have richer lovers you may have titles and wealth offered to you, but you will never have a love truer 01 deeper tliah mine," There was a ring of truth about his words, and they haunted her. "I know I am unworthy of you. If I wer* a crowned king, and you, my peerless Pau Jiue, the humblest peasant-, 1 should Choose you from the whole world to be my *wife. JJut I am only a soldier—a poor soldier, have but one treasure, and that 1 offer to you —the deepest, truest love of my heart, would that I were a king, and could woo you more worthily." 1 She looked up quickly—his eyes were drinking in the beauty of her face; but then' wsS something in them from which sin shrank without knowing why. She would lave spoken, but he went on, quickly: "Only errant my prayer, Pauline—promise Sobemy wife—promise to love me—-and 1 will live only for you. I will give you my leart, my thoughts, my life. I will take you * bright sunny lands', and will show you ail ;hat the earth holds beautiful and fair. You shall be my queen, and 1 will'be your hum- jlest slave." His voice died away in a great tearless sob —he loved her. so dearly, and there was so much at intake. She looked at him with in- inite pity in her dark eyes. He had said all that he could ihink of; he had wooed her as Bloquently as he was. able; he had done his best, and now he waited for some word from lier. There were tenderness, pity, and surprise In her musical voice as she spoke to him. "I am sn sorry, Captain Langton. I never thought you loved me so well. I never dreamed that you had placed-oll your heart In your love." "I have," he affirmed. "I have been reckless;! have thrown heart, love, manhood, life, all at your feet together. If you trample ruthlessly on them, Pauline, you will drive me to desperation and despair." "I do not trample 0)1 them," she said, gently; "I would not wrong you so. I take them up In my hands' and restore them to yon, thanking you for the gilt." "What do you mean, Pauline?" he asked, while the Hush died from his face. "I mean," she replied, softly, "that I thank you for the gift you have offered me, but that I cannot accept it. I cannot be your wife, for I do not love you." lie stood for some minutes dazed by the heavy blow; ho had taken hope from her gentlo manner, and tho disappointment was j almost greater than he could boar. | 'It gives me much pain to say this','' s-lie continued, "as it gives you to hear it; pray believe that." •'I cannot bear it I" he civ'd. "I will not bear it! I will net believe it! If is my life, I ask from you 1 , P.iidiui 1 —my life! You cannot scud my from you to die in,despair!'' His nngu'sh was real. iml. feigned. LoVe, life, liberty, all were at• sluku. He knelt, at her feet; he -covered her white, jeweled hands with kisses and with hot, passionate tears. Her keen womanly instinct told her there was no feigning in the deep, broken sob tliat rose to his lips. "It is my life!" he repeated. "If you send me from you,,Paulino, I shall be a desperate, wicked man." "You should not be so," she remarked, gently; "a great love, even if it be unfortunate, should ennoble a man, not. make him wicked.'' "Pauline," he entreatedj "you must unsay those words. Think that you might learn to love me in time. I will be patient—1 will wait long years for you—I will do • anything to win you; only give me some hope that in time to come you will be mine." "I cannot," she said; "it would be so false. I could never love you, Captain Langton." He raised his face to hers. "Will you tell me why? You da not reject me because 1 am poor—yon are too noble to care for wealth. It is not because I am a soldier, with nothing to offer you but a loving heart. It is not for these things. Why do you reject me, Pauline?" "No, you are right; it is. not for any of those reasons; they would never prevent my being your wife if 1 loved you." "Then why can,you not love me?" be persisted. "For many reasons. You are notatallthe style of man I could love. How can yon doubt me? Hero you are wooing me, asking me to bo your wife, offering mo your love, and my hand does not tremble, my heart does not beat; your words give me no pleasure, only pain; I am conscious of nothing but a wish to end the interview. This is not love, is it, Captain Langton?" "But in time," he pleaded—"could you not learn to care for me in time?" "No, I am quite sure. You must not think I speak to pain you, but indeed you are tho last man living with whom 1 could fall in love, or whom I could marry. If you were, as you say, a king, and came to me with a crown to "offer, it would make no difference. It is boiler, as I am sure you will agree, to speak plainly." Even in tho moonlight she saw how white his face had grown, and what a sudden shadow of despair had come into his eyes. He stood silent for some minutes. "You have unmanned me," ho said, slowly, "but, Pauline, there is something else for yon to hear. You must listen to me for your own sake," he added; and then Aubrey Langton's face Hushed, his lips grew dry and hot, his breath came in short quick gasps- he had played a manly part, but now he felt that what ho had to say would sound like a threat. Ho did not know how to begin, and she was looking at him with those dark, calm eyes of hers, with that new light of plty/on her face. "Pauline," he said, hoarsely, "Sir Oswald wishes for this marriage. Oh, spare mo— love mo—be mine, because of the great love I bear you!" "1 cannot," she returned; "in my eyes it is a crime to marry without love. What you have to say of Sir Oswald say quickly." "15nt you will hate me for it," he, said. "No, I will not bo so unjust as to blame yon for Sir Oswald's fault." "He wishes us to marry; he is not only willing, but it would give him more pleasure than anything on earth; and ho says—do not blame me, Paulino—that if you consent he will make you mistress of Darrell Court and all his rich revenues." ' ' She laughttl—the pity died from her face, the proud, hard expression camo back. "He must do that in any case;" she said, haughtily. "lam a Darrell; he would not dare pass me by." "Let me speak frankly to you, Paulino, for your own sake—your own sake, dear, as well as mine. You err—he is not so bound. Although the Darrell property has always descended from father to son, the entail was destroyed fifty years ago, and Sir Oswald is free to leave his property to whom ho likes. There is only one imperative condition—whoever takes it must take with it the name of Darrell. Sir OsVakl told me that much himself." "Hut he would not dare pass me—a Darrell —by, and leavo it to a stranger." "Perhaps not; but honestly, Pauline, he told me that you were eccentric—1 know that you are- adorable—and that he would not dare to leavo Darrell Court to you unless you were married to some one in whom he felt confidence—and that some, one, Pauline, is your humble slave hero, who adores you. Listen, dear—1 have not finished. He salt nothing about leaving the Court to a stranger; but he did s-'ay that unless we were married he himself should marry." She laughed mockingly. "I do not believe, it," she said. "If he had intended to marry, ho would have done si, years ago. That is merely a threat to frighten me; but I inn not to bo frightened. N< Darrell w;is ever a coward—1 will not be coerced. Even if 1 liked you, Captain Langton, 1 would not marry you after that threat." HB was. growluv ties Derate nuw. Ureal drops stood on ids brow—his lips WPVP so hot and tremulous that lie'could- hardly move theni. ' '•.••." r "Be reasonable, Paulino. Sir Oswald meant what he said. He will most certainly many, and, when yoti.see yoursejf deprived of this rich inheritance, you will bate your folly—hate and detest, it." "I would not -purchase twenty Darrell Courts at the price of marrying a man 1 do not like," she said, proudly. "You think it an idle, threat—It is not so. Sir Oswald meant it in all truth. Oh, Pauline, love; riches, position, wealth, honor—all lie before you; will you willfully reject them?" "I should consider it dishonor to marry for the sake of winning Darrell Courts and I will hot do it. It will be mine without that; and If not, 1 would rather a thousand times go without it than pay the price named, ami you may tell Sir Oswald so." There was no more pity—no morp tenderness hi the beautiful face. It was all aglow with scorn, lighted with pride, flushed with contempt. The spell of the sweet, moonlight was broken—the Darrell spirit was aroused —the fiery Darrell pride was all ablaze. He felt angry enough to leave her at that moment and never look upon her again; but his position was so terrible, and he had so much :;t stake. Ho humbled himself again and again—he entreated her in such wild passionate tones as must have touched one less proud. . "1 am a desperate man, Pauline," he cried at last; "and I pray you, for Heaven's sake do not drive me to despair." But no words of his had power to move her; there was nothing but scorn In tho beautiful face, nothing but scorn in the, willful, passionate heart. "Sir Oswald should have known better than to use throats to a Durrell I" she said, with a flash of her dark oyes; aud not tho least impression could Aubroy Luuglon make upon her. He was silent at last In sheer despair. It was all over; he had no more hope. Life had never hold such a brilliant chance for any man, and now it was utterly lost. Instead of wealth, luxury, happiness, there was nothing before him but disgrace, He could almost have cursed her as she stood them In the moonlight bui'orc him, A. deep groan, ono of utter, uncontrollable' anguish escnped his lips. She went nearer to him and slar'led back in' wonder at the white, settled despair' on his face. , • • "Captain Langt:o;i," she said, quietly, "I am sorry—I am sorry—I' am indeed sorry— that you feel this so keenly. Let mo comfort yon." He appealed to her again more passionately than over, but-shc interrupted him. "You mistake, mo," she said; "1 am grieved to see you sutler, but I have no thought of altering-my mind. Lot mo toll you, once and for all', I would rather dio than marry you, because 1 have neither liking nor respect for you; but your sorrow 1 cannot but feel for." • "You have ruined me," ho said, bitterly, "and the curse of a broken-hearted man will restujion you!" "1 do not think tho Darrclls arc much frightened at curses," she retorted; and then, in all the iiiagniliconco of her shining gems and golden-luied dross, she swept from tho spot. Yes, he was ruined, desperate. Half an hour since, entering that conservatory, he had wondered whether ho should leave it a happy, prosperous man, Ho kno\y now that there was nothing but blank, awful despair, ruin and shame, before him. Ho had lost her, too, and love and hate fought fiercely In his heart, lie buried his face in his hands and sobbed aloud. A ruined man! Was over so splendid a chance lost? It drove him mad-to think of it! All was duo to the willful caprice of a willful girl. Then he remembered that time was passing, and that ho must toll Sir Oswald lhat ho had failed—utterly, ignominiously failed. He wont back to the ballroom and saw tho baronet standing in the center of a group of gentlemen. He looked anxiously at tho captain, and at his approach the little group fell back, leaving them alone. "AVhat news, Aubrey?" asked Sir Oswald. "The worst that 1 can possibly bring. She would not even hear of it." "And you think there is no hope either now or at any future time?" "I am, unfortunately, sure of It. She told me in plain words that she would rather dio than marry me, and she, laughed at your threats." Sir Oswald's face flushed; he turned away haughtily. '•The consequence bo on her own head!" he said as he moved away. "1 shall make Elinor liochel'ord an otter to-night," he added to himself. The captain was in no mood for dancing; the music and light had lost all their-charms. The strains of a beautiful (lerman wait/ till- cd the ballroom. Looking round, ho saw Paulino Darrell,In all tho sheen of her jewels and the splendor of her golden-lined dress, waltzing with Lord Lorrlmor. Her beautiful face was radiant; she had evidently forgotten all about him and the threat that was to disinherit her. Sir Oswald saw her too as ho was searching for Elinor—saw her radiant, triumphant, and queenly—and almost hated her for the grand dower of loveliness that would never now enhance the grandeur of tho Darrolls. He found Elinor Rocheford with Lady Hamilton. She had been hoping that the captain would ask hor to dance again. She looked toward him with a faint smile,-but was recalled to order by a gesture from Lady Hampton. Sir Oswald, with a low bow, asked if Miss Rocheford would like a promenade tbrougli the rooms. She would fain have said "No," but one look from her aunt was sufficient She rose in her quiet, graceful way, and accompanied him. They walked to what was called the white, drawing-room, and there, standing before a magnificent Murillo, the gem of the Darrel collection, Sir Oswald Darrell, made Elinor Rocheford a quiet offer of his hand and fortune. Just as quietly she acce'pted it; there was no blushing, no trembling, no shrinking. He asked her to bo Lady Darrell, and she consented. There was very little said of lovo although his wooing was chivalrous and deferential. He had secured his object—won a fair young wife for himself, and punishec the proud, defiant, willful girl who had laughed at Ills threats. After some little time he led his fair companion back to Lady Hamilton. "Miss Rocheford has doiie mo very grea' honor" ho said; ''she has consented to be in; wife. 1 will give myself the pleasure o waiting upon you to-morrow, Lady Hampton, when 1 shall venture to ask for a happ; and speedy conclusion to my suit." Lady Hampton, with a gentle movemon of her fan, intended to express emotion, iinir mured a few words, and tho interview was ended. "I congratulate you, Elinor," she said "You have secured a splendid p osition; n girl in England could have done better." "Yes," returned Elinor Uoclieford, " ought to be ticketed. 'Sold to advantage;" and that was the only bitter thing the young girl ever said of her brilliant marriage. Of course Lady Hampton told the delightful news to a few of her dearest friends; and livso, watehin5 P.uiline Dnrrell that night n tho splendor of her sir.tnd young beauty, tie sheen of her jewels. ;inil the irliltorof her •ieh amber dress, knew her ri'ikn was tided, hei' eh -.nee of the inlicritaiico irons 1 . rUAl'TICU XVI11. r.\ri.iSi-: ";:r.KA'ir.xs VI:MIKAM-K. "Pray do not leavens. Miss Hastings; I wish you to hear what 1 have to say to my lieee. if you will consent to remain;" and <ir Oswald placed a chair for the gentle, tmialile lady, who was so fearful of coming lann to her willful pupil. Miss Hustings took it, and looked appre- lenstvoly at the, baronet. It was the morn- ng after the, ball, :iml Sir Oswald had sent o request the presence of both ladies in the ibrnry. Pauline.looked fresh and brilliant; fatigue- nut not alVeotod hoi. She had taken more .wins than usual with her toilet; her dress was a plain yet handsome morning costume. I'hcre was mi truce of fear on her eonute- lanee; the threats of the previous niisht had mule no impression upon her. .She looked calmly nl Sir Oswald's Iliisheil. agitated face. "Pray be seated. M ss I) mv'.|." lis said; 'it is you especially whom I wish to see." Pauline took a eh:i':r aud looked at him with an air of great ntteution. Sir .Oswald .unu'd Ihe dmniMitd pin: >>:i his linger. "Ami to iinilei-i i .nl. Miss Din-roll,'' he nskcd, "that you refused Captain Lanuton nsl evening!" "Yes" she replied, distinctly. "Will you permit me to ask whyV he con- limed. •'IJeeauso 1 do lii.l. love him, Sir Oswald. 1 nay even go further, and sny 1 do not re- spocj. him." » "Vel he is a gentleman by birth inidoduca- llon, handsome, most, agreeable in manner, levoled ID yon, nnd my lrleii!l." "I, do not love him," she snid again; "and lie barrells lire too I rue a race to marry within! love." The allusion to his race pleased Ihe haro- lol, in spiteol' bis linger. "Did Captain Langton give you to undcr- "liind the altorimlivi' 1 .'" nsked Sir Oswald. Did he tell you my resolve in ease you should refuse him'.'" Shu lauglio,! n clear, ringing laugh. In which there, was a slight tinge, of mockery. Slight though it was Sir Oswald's face Hushed hotly as he heard it, "lie told me that you would disinherit me f i did not marry him; but I told him you would never ignore the. claim of the last living Darrell—you would not, pass me over, mil make u stranger your heir," "lint did he tell you my intentions If you refused him'. 1 " Again caine the musical laugh that .seemed :o Irritate Sir Oswald so greatly. "lie talked some nonsense about.yourmar- rying," said Pmillnc; "but that of course J did not believe." "And why (lid y-itt not believe it, Miss DaiTCll'."' "Uecause 1 thought it you had wished to marry you would have married before, this," (To be continued.) Siimll Sivoot: Courll'HlcH. Life is so complex, its machinery so indicate, that it is imposHl'jlo that the wheels should always move smoothly without friction. Thero in a continual straining of every nerve to gain and keep .1 place in this ovcrcrowJed, busy world. What wonder if in tho hurry and pushing ,he rights of others ore trampled or completely ignored, when every individual is in such haste that tinie fails for the "small sweet courtesies oi life!" But if. is she little offices of friendship— the encouraging smile, the appreciative word, the thought for our preferences, the ivoidance of our prejudices—which make life easier, and which lessen in a marvelous degree all its worries and perplexities, For nothiner prevents friction so perfectly as tho exercise of what wo sometimes disdainfully call the minor virtues. As ihough one should be endowed with truth, and yet, lacking delicate insight and cir- lumspection, wound with sharp noodlo pricks tho sensitive hearer, ffo do not iare to be constantly reminded of our fail- .ngs. "Faithful are the wounds of. a 'riend," but friends too often show a fondness for tho scalpel, and lay bare our pot weaknesses in a truthful but exceedingly uncomfortable fashion. FARM AND HOME. PAPER VS. WOOD. Paper Kuplclly Taking the Place of Wood for Manufacturing 1'urpoHOK, Paper is fighting wood in the manufacture of paper boxes, buckets and oven packing cases, and HO perfect is the manufacturing process that in many instances nothing but the wonderful difference in weight can afford a clue to the presence of paper in tho manufacture. Paper packing cases are indestructible, apparently, and the saving they effect in freight is enormous. Thousands of dollars aro already invested in this comparatively now industry, and anew company with $1,250,000 capital has been organized to introduce paper-boards into other lines. Experiments have been made with buggy wagons and other things where lightness is needed, and paper floorings in lieu of boards will soon be heard of. It is easy to render the material fire-proqf in course of its construction, and this is an additional advantage that is highly appreciated. A SOFT AX9WKB. A Dapper Iilttle Dude Taken Down by a Clever Itouug Woman. A pleasant-faced young woman and her husband took their seats at the hotel table opposite a dapper little dude fresh from the center of the highest civilization, says the Detroit Free Press. During the meal the husband requested tho little man to hand something and all he received wan a cold, rude stare. He was mad in a minute and about to make a few remarks when his wife laid her hand gently on his arm, "Don't Henry," she said reprovingly. "Don't pay any attention to it. You know you shouldn't expect to find everything in such a little package." The other people at the table snorted and the little one left the room. AT WANK OK HAY. F. S. 1)1'1NTK1!O. The mountnlns lift ngalnnt the fky Their wild, majestic symmetry: And I have calneil n pen* tlmt ("hinw With purple, as the fun drrllues. Here dally nm I come, to innje, Where from the \.-orlrt no voice pursues; To bnild the towers where fancy dwell?, Anil rear unstable cttldcls. Katr friend! beneath appears to me, Not to the eye of f nntRcy. Nor In a dream, though dimly still, Your form upon a lower hill. I fee yon through the twilight air, Calm as an anjjel rapt In prayer. With eyos that, Itttnil Irom below, I)i Ink In the mountain^ sunset glow. Yet are ydur dreams more sweet than mine; Heyond the faint horizon-line, In holler visions, yon trod Amid the mysteries of Hod I What nnlo me Is vagun and dim, IB clearer to you by Him Whose beacon fires forever shine, To fjiildo yon by their light dlvlno. To yon Ihese solemn hills of stone 1'hi'h- myftlo miracles make known; For you Hie moaning ol the trees Hath more, limn langungc of Ihe bretv.el Yon hear the heal of unseen wings, You mark tho spirit beekonliigs; And through the sonndn of tall aud ntrtfe, SSIeal echoes of a purer life! Sweet drenmerl I'n/.lng up the slope, Like one who holds not vainly hope Thai In tho purple, ere effaced A hint of heaven may be Intend. My piayer for you, If I may pray, Is that, where'er ypnr footsteps stray, Uod's perfect glory shall disperse., The shadows of (he uiilvernel And so, In silence, looking down , Upon the low hill H leafy crown, 1 send you from my hanut above, Jly benediction and my love I —•The llomo-Maker, KA11M NOTKS. Do you eiijoy all your food without milt? How about your stock ? Oats and corn ground together make a good ration for colts nnd calves. Follow the -bee's exumpli) and in your cure of honey and ccmb don't lot anything go to waste. If well fed, pigs that aro six or HUVOII months old will make nicer meat; for thn farmer's table than that which is older. Turnip j are good green food for the fowls in winter, nnd a Into sown crop will bo large enough by fall to bo stored for winter use. The quality of the wool you Noll dominates tho price received, and good wool will not. grow on stnrvntion rations anv more than meat. Some people are losing faith in the pto- COSH of ensilage, but chiefly tuoso who have never given it a fair trial. At all events silo gives a grateful change to corn fodder, nnd other substance, wastes no food principle, and makes il acceptable to stock which tiro ef a Hiimcncas. OllUlllH. If you wish to have a patch of largo onioiiH next your lay oil a plot of ground, CQvor it with threo inches of: immure, ami on the on tho first warm ilay that, such work can be done spado the/ plot, mixing the manure well into the soil, and broad cast a mnail quantity of limn over Ihe surface. In the spring spado tho plot a^ain, ruke it. down fine and plant it to onion ants. Tho result should bo largo onions and plenty of them. To l'r«vont Swarming. Tho great study of tho beo-kooper iH how to keep the bens from H wanning. Aol- ony tending out a H war in in the Noanon of honrij.flow means almost entire cessation of honey gathering in tho hivo for some days; and possibly no more will be stored in tho sections that uoaBon. Hut by proper management of tho swarm that goes out, one may got considerable comb honey. Ono wny is to hivo tho swarm in frames, having only a strip of comb foundation about ono inch wide in each, which insures straight combs if the hive is level. Thon place a case of sections above, and when they are about half filled, raise them and put pnother under, and so keep them storing honey beforo they have much broods to feed.—Ex. A Beautiful Iteupoiiue. During the convention of the World's and National Temperance Union held in Boston, a meeting of great power and enthusiasm, when it was announced that Misg Frances Willard was re-elected president of the National society, and also of the World's Christian Tmnperance Union, a telegram announcing the fact was sent to Miss Willard'B aged mother at EYUBS- ton, III. At a subsequent session the following beautiful response was received by telegram: ''Your message gratefully received. As one who stands upon the shore, and sees the lifeboat speed to save, and all too weak to take an oar, I send a chew across the wave." rid of them in the best wny possible. And the pood that remain phoulct be fed and cired for in the best manner. Smnt In Wlicnr. American Agriculturist, Smut in wheat is n parastic fungus of a ow degree. The spores, which answer the ilaoe of seeds in higher orders of plants, re in the form of a minutp black dust, nd these aro pcatlfred over the field in the MS*, straw, chaff, also adhering to the otind grain after it is gathered, and may e sown with it the following year; and ?hen conditions are favorable these smut porfR germinate, their thro»ds penetrat- ng nil parts of the growing plant and ulti mtely producing smutty wheat again, imutty grain may appear in dry ns well as n wet seasons, nnd tho nbundance of smut n the whentfielda of ,\ locality inay be due o the continuous cropping of particular elds with wheat, oats, or some closely ,llitd grain. To prevent smut a system of otution of crops should be adopted and oed wheat be soaked for a few hours in a olution of sulphate of copper, or in H weak rino nuule with common salt, for the pur- iose of killing any smut spores that may o on tho grnin. A good way to prepare seed wheat for owiun is to dissolve, one pound of sul- )hr,t,o of copper in two gallons of water, or n this proportion for any quantity re- niri'd. The wlient, should be placed in ubs or casks, tilling up to within three or our incliPM of Uw top, then pouring in tho olnUon until the grain is well covered, 'ho wheat, is then to bo stirred thorongh- y, and should any whole smut-grains onio l.o tho surface they have to bo skim- noil off. After so.iking for an hour or wo tho liquor is to bn dial nod off, tho rain spread out on a lloor and dusted nth dry lime or wood ashes, after which t is to bo .?own as tuna!. Hut Ions for Milk. ExporiinontR to determine tho valtto of urious rations for milk production ( bavo leen in progress at tho Iowa Experiment station, tho results of which have been ccorded in Hullotin 14, ThoexpcriuiontH xti'iuluil over a period of IS montliH, the ow being weighed and the milk ttistod at nlervuls while the different rations wore icing fed. This experiment indicates hat corn meal fed with corn foddor, or om ensilage, results in tho more rapid iccrunso of milk, and its fat, and solids, han (he advance in the period of lactation inUilics. That corn meal fed with Hor;hum ensilage results in very rapid de- rease in milk fat and solids, and that tho ombination is not profitable. That corn teal fed with roots and clover hay is pal- liable and gives good results. That the ubslitution of bran and oil meal for half he amount of corn meal resulted in a narked increase in both quantity and uality of milk, increase of quality being von more marked than increase in quiui- ity. That good pasture can bo Bubstitut- d for part of grain ration. That farmers vho food corn exclusively may Inivo better iolds, belter suslaiuod, by also using lover hay, oil meal and bran, or other ilbuininous feeds.—Orange Jiuld Farm- Poultry In Winter. •Poultry keeping in winter can bo made very profitable, but there are certain requirements lhat are essential to success, and unless you can provide Ihese you had better sell out or kill off your fowls and not stock up again until spring. Their shelter should bo warm and dry, with good ventilation. There should be a varietv of food, for a single item, no matter how good in itself, will not serve all the purposes of the fowl, Thero should bo wheat and oats for eggs, corn to keep up the animal heat, chopped roots or green food to help eut tlo variety and assist digestion. There should be dry dust stored away under cover to be used as an absorbent on tho floors, and ground shells to furnish lime from which they can manutacluro egg shells. These are not very expensive or burdensome things to provide, but it is the lack of them that makes winter poultry so often unprofitable. An I5n|{-Toater. To make an egg-tester to use with a common lamp, take a paslboard box about 7 inches long aud 6 inches wide and 6 inches deep. Out a hole in the bottom big enough to fit the large part of a lamp chimney through. Next cut a hole about the of an egg, but rather smaller, in ono end, so that it will be opposite to the lamp flame when the testep is slipped over the chimney, Now cover the box outside with any dull, 'black cloth, so that no light can gat through, and you are ready for business, flight the lamp, place the tester in position, and the egg over the oval opening in Ihe side. Turn gently an you look, and its condition will be clearly exposed to view. Keep Only t'jo Heat. It has been truly said that the regoneru tion of agriculture from its frequent de E ressions h most easily and surely effectec y producing the same amount of crops on a less area of land. The same principle should be applicable to the greater pron" from the live stock. If the same produc of milk or butter can be raa^e from ten good cows that is now made from twent; poor ones, the advantage is obvious. Anc this principle applies to all farm stock There are good and bad of all kinds, bu the bad p^redqanuates. To feed an unprof itablt animal through the winter is a se rious loss and should be avoided. This a good time for separating out the leap aad hungry, that never pay for their food from the profitable animals, and getting . THIS IIO'UaiCIIOM). Tho Shoplioril anil the Iminb. DAVID I1AUKKH. n the Hc.otl.lHh hlllx IIH n shciihurd strolled, On an nvo with his ancliint. H crook, le found a lamb thai wan chilled ami young, lly Ihe Hide of a purling brook. nd thro' four tin) liinib might bu fltrlckim nnd dlu, From IIH mother'H Hide might roam, le carried It up with a louder care, To a fold In II|H highland homo. M Id the dreary nights, o'er the craggy poakH, Through the winds, and thu storms, and the cold, Mm mother followed her captured lamb, To thi) door of thu tihophurd'H fold. Inco I had a lamb by Its mother's Hide, It WIIH artloBH, pure and mild; 1'wM Ih pearoHl lamb lu my own dear llock— Oh, the pale, lltlle bluu-eyed child I inl H Hhonhurd camo when tho aun grow low, lly a puth lhat him long buen trod, Anil ho carried my mini) thro' tho mint ol night, To Ilia fold In tho ni'jimt of Uotl. With a tearful oyo and blooding heart Wo must boar it and Btruggle on, And climb thai mount by tho Shonhurd'a track, To tho fold whuru our lamb haa gonu. Love is al ways a burden-bearer. Lovo that is not kind is the wrong cind. It is little by little that pleasure leads on to sin the heart that lets itself bo lulled jy its charms, Lovo docs nol boast of the battles it has fought, nor Hcratch its scais to make them 'ook biggur. Without the help of human love divine ove could never have been made known on earth. Thero ain't BO many vicious sinners an jheap editions of men with flexible backs. We have often regrets for hasty or ra»h wards, but never for words and acts of gentleness and love. Do not expect commercial payment for tho real benefits you may render mankind. Doing good is the great way of enriching character, . '' No harm to do this, and 'no harm to go there, you say. Well, that depends. The swill barrel is a good place for. a .rotten apple, but a very poor place for a soured one. How to lleml. What we read, is a matter of imp_orfc- ivnce as a means of character-training. How we read, is a matter of hardly less importance in the same direction, A man may read so carelessly or so superficially as to gut little harm from bad books, ana little gain from good ones. And, as a matter of fact, it is only now and then that any person so reads as to get the good he ought to get from the best reading. While having a care as to what you read, do not- forget to consider how you read. Two Klnda of Ownership. A wealthy"man displaying one day his jewels to a philosopher, the latter said: "Thank you, sir, for oeing willing to share such magnificent jewels with me. "Share them with, you, sir," exclaimed the owner, "what do you mean?" "Why. you allow me to look at them, and what more can you do with them yourself?" replied the philosopher. This recalls to mind what Titbottoin says in Mr. Curtis' 'True and I," as he is looking over the large estate of the wealthy and sordid Bourne. "Bourne owns the dirt and fences; I own the landscape!" We haven't been the passage for many years and do not quote in exactly; bat that un't necei- sary.—Selected.

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