The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on February 24, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, February 24, 1892
Page 3
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WEDNESDAY. FEBRUARY 24. 1892. s VICTORY, •T MBTHA It OIO.T. itUne." he cried, "you cannot meaft t i to me. 1'afn ho coward, but I wool face death than your rejection." ih It Was that their eyes met;'and tha he saw in hers • was a revelation >"Thenext moment he had clasped he IS heart, and was pouring out a torrent o mate words^-such' words, so tender ( sc ijj, 60 full of passion and hope, that he grew pale as she listened, and the beau figure trembled. have frightened you, my darling," h Jffl suddenly. "Ah 1 do forgive me. I was III mad with joy. You do not know ho\ "i¥e longed to tell you ,thls, yet feared— i,Mew not what—you seemed so far abov •jfcweet. ,. See* you are trembling now I as cruel as a man who-catches In hi acds n white dove that he has tamed, an 'Ins It by his grasp. Sit down here ani ft, while I tell you over and over again, Ii fashion, in every way, how 1 lov sun never shone upon happier lover those. The golden doors of Love" £ jiaradise were open to them. "t v'titi never knew until now,-" said Vane • ! i %OW beautiful life is. Why, Pauline, lov 1)1 lithe very center of it; it is not money o tank-it is love that makes life. Onlytc 'think, mv darling, that you and I may spen , ,every hour of it together." , She raised hur eyes to 4 tho fair, calm heav ens,',and Infinite happiness filled her soul to ' j dVjSrliowing; a deep, silent prayer ascettdei ./.Hrisfp'oken from her hoart, /^.Suddenly she sprang from his side with a I I«tflrtled cry. Wf^VOh, Vane I" she said, with outstretched '• hands, "1 had forgotten that 1 am unworthy f'l can never marry you 1" ft/'/ Ho saw such wild despair in her face, sue! nsudden, keen anguish, tliat he was half start |MM? and kneeling by her side, lie asked: T'«'"Why, my darling'. 1 Tell mo why. You i.^Patlline," he cried—"you not worthy of me ^Mfcdailimr, what fancy is it—what foolisl >^ld<Sa—what freak of imagination? You are 1 jthejnoblest, the truest, the dearest woman ii VJthO'Wliole wide' world! Pauline, why are Won weeping so? My darling, trust me—tell fsfcine." '•^Sho had shrunk shuddering from him, and ,--had burled her face in her hands; deep, bit- >/terfiobs came from her lips; there was the ''I'Very eloquence of despair in her attitude. i ,f'J,'Pauline," said her lover, "you canno '(Shake my faith in you; you cannot make me ' think you have done wrong; but will you • ,try, sweet, to tell me what it isV" i Be never forgot the despairing face raisec ito bis tho shadow of such unutterable sorrow in tho dalle eyes, tho quivering of tlie pale 'lips, the tears that ruined down herface- was such a change from the radiant, happy girl ot but a few minutes ago that he could hardly believe it was the same Pauline. '!'He bent over her as though he would fain •kiss away the fast falling tears; but she Shrank aoni him. ; "Do not touch me,..V;me!" she cried; "I anl ( not worthy. 1 had forgotten; in the hap• plness of loving you, and knowing that /ras beloved, 1 hail forgotten it—my own -deed had dishonored me! We must part, for i I am not worthy of you." f'He took both her hands in his own, and ' his influence over her was so great tliat even In that hour she obeyed him implicity, as thpugh bhe had been a child. 1 "Yon must let me judge, Pauline," he said, gently. "You are mini! by right of the .prpmiso you gave me a few minutes since the promise to be my wife; that makes you mine—no one can release you from it. By virtue of that promise you must trust me, -and tell me what you have clone." i He saw that there was a desperate strug- , «le in her mind—a struggle between the pride that bade her rise in rebellion and leave him with her secret untold, and the love that, bringing with it sweet and gracious humility, prompted her to confess all 'to him. lie watched her with loving eyes; as that Btiuggle ended, so would her life take Its shape. Jie wiw the dark eyes grow soft with good (thoughts; he saw tho silent, proud defiance ^die ont of the beautiful face; the Jlps quivered, hweet humility seemed to fall over her ( and infold her. *y "I ha"o done a cruel deed, Vane," she paid—"an act of vengeance that cuts me-oil the loll of noble women, and dishonors fy Still keeping his hold of the white hand, jrte said,— : $ "Tell rno what it was—I can judge far bet- f er than yon." It seemed to her fevered fancy that the jfong ot tho waves died away, as tlious:)] they |yvere listening; that the wind fell with a low jtjisigh, and the birds ceased their song—a si- |lenco that was almost terrible fell around her '4—the blue sky seemed nearer to her. 2i> "Speak to me, Vane!" she cried;"! am ''frightened!" 'if jHe drew tier nearer lo him. ;-^"lt is only fancy, my darling. When one ,'has anything weighty to say, it seems as "Chough earth'and sky wore listening. Look s ji^t me, think of mo, and tell me nil." :'} She could never remember how she began ^er story—how she told'him the whole his- jfcory of her life—of tlie happy years spent •With her fnllier in tho Hue d'Orme, when 'she love art and nature, when she •Jfearned to love truth for its own sake, and villas brought up amidst those kindly, simple- fjh.earted artist friends, with such bitter scorn, utter contempt of all conventionalities •of her keen and passionate sorrow when ^er father died, and Sir Oswald took her 'j^ome to Darrell Court, telling her that her ;piiht life was at au end forever, and that even $he mine she had Inherited from hor father injiust be changed for the name of her race— %>w after a time she had grown to Jove hor ,home with a keen, passionate love, born of *<ptyde I'l her race and In her name—of tho jjerce battle Unit raged always between her ,gturn, uncompromising truth and the worldly ,'jjjjlish Sir Oswald would have had her ac- ijk'JShe concealed nothing from him, telling Mn of hor faults as well as her trials. She ,ga,ve him tho whole history of Aubrey Lung§ 's wooing, and her contemptuous re-jec- i of his suit. ,- „ 1 was so proud, Vane," she said humbly, fttHeavmi was sure to punish me. I surround- myself, as it were, with a barrier of pride, irn, and contempt, ami my pride has been light low." 'lie told him of Sir Oswald's anger at her .isal to marry Aubrey, of her unejo's threat ,t he would marry and disinherit, her, of scornful disbelief—there WHS no incident ; and then she came to the evening Sir Oswald had opened the box to take J thy diamond ring, and had spoken before pin all of the roil of bank-notes placed t'Tluit night, Vane," she said, "there- was iti'imge unrest upon me. 1 could not sleep, javo had the same sensation when the air been overcharged with electricity bwforo »rm; I seemed to hear strange noises, my •t beat, my fiiuo was Hushed and hot, y nerve seemed to thrill with pain, I ioU the window, thinking that thu cool night air Would drive the leVer irom my brain. , "As 1 sat there In the profound silence,! heard, as plainly as I hear myself speaking now, footsteps—quiet, stealthy footsteps—go past my door. . "Let me explain to you that the library, Where my uncle kept his cash-box and his papers, is on the ground floor; on the floor above that there are several guests-chambers, Captain Langton slept in one of these. My uncle slept on the third floor, and, in order to reach his room, was obliged to go through the corridor where the rooms of Miss Hastings and myself were. "I heard those quiet, stealthy .footsteps, Vane, and my heart for a few- moment* beat painfully. "But the Durrells were never cowards. I went to my door and opened it gently. I could see to the very end oE tho corridor, for at the end there Was a large arched window, and a faint gray light coming from it showed me a stealthy figure creeping silently from Sir Oswald's room; the gray light showed me also a glimmer of steel, and I knew, almost by Instinct, that that silent figure carried Sir Oswald's keys in its hands. "In a moment 1 had taken my resolve; 1 pushed my door to, but did not close it; I took off my slippers, lest they should make a sound, and followed the figure down stairs. As 1 have said before, the Darrells were never cowards; no dread came to me; 1 was intent upon one thing—the detection of tho wrongdoer. "Not more than a minute passed while I was taking off my shoes, but when I came to tho foot of the grand staircase light and figure had both disappeared. I cannot tell What Impulse led me to tho library—perhaps the remembrance of Sir Oswald's inoney being there came to me. I crossed tho hall and opened tho library door. "Though I had never 11 keel Captain Langton, the scene that was revealed to me came upon me as a shock—one that 1 shall never forget There was Captain Langton wit! my uncle's cash-box before him and tho roll of bank-notes in his hand. Ho looked up when i entered, and a terrible curse fell from his lips—a frightful curse. His face was fearful to see. Tho room lay in the shadow of dense darkness, save where tho light he carried shone like a faint star.' The face it showed mo was one 1 shall never forget; it was drawn, haggard, livid, with bloodless lips and wild, glaring eyes. "He laid the bank-notes down, and, going to the door, closed it softly, turning tho kqy; and then clutching my arm in a grasp of iron, ho hissed rather than said: " 'What fiend has brought you here?' "He did not frighten me, Vane; i have never known fear. But his eyes were full of murderous hate, and I had an idea that he would have few scruples as to taking my life. '"So, Captain Aubrey Langton,' I said, slowly, 'you area thief! "iou are robbing the old friend who.has been so good to you I "lie dragged me to the table on which the money lay, and then I saw a revolver lyin; there, too. 'One word,' he hissed, 'one whisper above your breath, and you shall die!' "i know my face expressed no fear—nothing but scorn and contempt—for his grew more livid as he watched me. "'it is all your fault!' he hissed into my ear; 'it is your accursed pride that has driven me to this 1 Why did you not promise to marry me when my life lay in your hands?' "I laughed—the idea of a Darrell married to this midnight thief 1 " '1 told you I was a desperate man," he went on. '1 pleaded with you, 1 prayed to you, I laid my life at your feet, and you trampled on it with scorn. 1 told you of my debts, my difficulties, and you laughed at them. If i could have gone back to London betrothed to you, every city usurer would have been willing to lend me money, lam driven to this, for I cannot go back to face ruin. You have driven me to it; you are the thief, though my hands take the money. Your thrice-accursed pride has ruined mo'l' " 'I shall go to Sir Oswald,' I said, 'and woke him. Yon shall not rob him I* " 'Yes,' he returned, '[ shall. I defy you. 1 dare you; you shall tell no one.' "He toolc the revolver from tho table and held it to my head; I felt the cold steel touch my forehead. "'Now,'he said,'your life is in you'own iiamls; you must take nn oath not to betray me, or i will lire.' "'lam notiifraid to die;l would rather lie than hide such sin as yours. You cannot frighten me; 1 shall cull for assistance.' "'Wait a moment,' he said, still keeping ihiitcold .steel lo my forehead, and still keeping his murderous eyes on my face; •listen to what 1 shall do. The moment you cry out 1 shall lire, and you will fall down dead—I old you 1 was a desperate man. Before any one has time to come 1 shall place thu bauk- lotes in your hand, and afterward 1 shall tell sir Oswa (I that hearing a noise in the II- 3rary, and knowing money was kept there, I laslened down, and fmdlng.a thief, 1 fired lot knowing who it was—and you, being lead, cannot contradict me.' " 'You dare not be so wicked!' 1 cried. " '1 dare unything-J am a desperate man. 1 will do It, and the whole world will believe ne; they will hold you a thief, but they will julieve me honest.' 'And, Vane, I knew that what he said was true; I knew that if .1 chose death 1 should die in vain—that I should ba branded is a iiiiet', who had been shot in the very act of steal ing. "'I will give you two minutes,'he said, and then, unless you take an oath not to betray me, I will lire.' "1 was willing to lose my life, Vane," she •ontinued, "but I could not bear that all the vorld should brand mo as a thief—I could lot bear that a Darroll should be reckoned imong the lowest of criminals. 1 vow to you t was no coward fear for my life, no weak Iread of death that forced the oath from my ips, but it was a shrinking from being founil lead there with Sir Oswald's money in my land—a shrinking from tho thought that hey would come- to look upon my face and ay to each other. 'Who would have thought, vith all her pride, thafshe was a thief." It vas that word 'thief,' burning my brain, that conquered. "•You have one minute'more,' said the lissing whisper, 'and then, unless you take lie oath ' ' '1 will take it,' 1 replied; '1 do so, not to savo my life, but my fair name.' " 'It is well for you,' hw returned; and then ho forced me to kneel, while lie dictated to me the words of an oath so binding and KO fast that 1 dared not break it. '•Shuddering, sick at heart, wishing I had risked all and cried out for help, I repeated it, and then he laid the revolver down. „ '"You will not break that oath,'he said. The Durrolls invariably keep their word.' ''Then, coolly, as though I had not been present, he put the bank-notes into his pocket, and turned to mo with u sneer. " 'You will wonder how 1 managed this,' he said. '1 am a clever man, although you may not believe it. I drugged Sir Oswald's wine, and while lie slept soundly 1 took tho keyts from under his pillow. 1 will put them back again. You seem so horrliiud that you hud better accompany mo and see that I do no harm to the old, man.' "He nut away tho box and extinguished the light As we stood together in tneaense gloom, 1 felt Ills breath hot upon rny face. " 'There Is no curse a man can invoke upon the woman who has ruined him,' he sa,id, 'that I do not give to you; but, remember, 1 do not glory in my crime—1 am ashamed of it.' "In the darkness I groped my way to the door and opened it; in the darkness we passed through the hall where the armor used by warriors of old hun'g, and in the darkness we went up the broad staircase; I stood at the door of Sir Oswald's room while Captain Langton replaced the keys, and then, without a word,,! went to my own chamber. "Vane f i can never tell you- of the storm, the tempest of hate that rasped within me. 1 could have killed Captain Langton for having extorted it. But there was no help for it then. Do you think 1 did wrong in taking it?" "No. my darling," he replied, "I do hot. few girls would have been so brave. You are a heroine, Pauline." "Hush!" she said, interrupting him. ''You have not heard all. I do not blame myself for acting as I did. 1 debated for some time whether I ought to keep the oath or not. Every good impulse of gratitude prompted mo to break it; yet again it seemed to mo a cowardly thing to purchase my life by a lie. Time parsed on—tho wonder all died away. I said lo myself that if ever any one were falsely accused, I would speak out; but such an event never happened, and not very long after, as you know, Sir Oswald died. 1 did not like living under the shadow of that secret—it robbed my life of all brightness. Captain Langton came again. No words of mine can toll the contempt in which I held him, the contempt with which 1 treated him; every one noticed it, but ho did not dare to complain. Ho did dare, however, to oiler me his hateful love again, and when I repulsed him in such a fashion as even ho could not overlook, ho turned all his attention to Lady Darrell. I am a wicked girl, Vane—now that tho light of your love bus .revealed so much to me, lean sec how wicked. I have told you that I had sworn to myself to be revenged on Lady Darrell for com< ing between me and my inheritance. I have seen more of the world since then, but at that time it seemed to mo an unparalleled thing that a young girl like her should marry nn old man like Sir Oswald entirely for his money. 1 told her if she did so 1 would bo revenged. 1 know it was wrong," Paulino continued, humbly; "at the time I thought it bravo and heroic. Now I know it was wrong, and weak, and wicked—your love has taught me that." "It was an error that sprang from pride," lie said, gently; "there is nothing to part us." "You have not heard all. Vane, 1 knew Captain Langton to be a thief—to bo a man who would not scruple at murder if need required. 1 knew that all the love ho could ever give to any one he had given to me, yet She paused, and the sad face raised humbly to his grew crimson with a burning blush. "Oil, Vane, how can t tell you tho shameful truth;' Knowing what he was, knowing that he was going to marry Lady Darrell, I yet withheld the truth. That was my revenge. 1 knew he was a thief, n cruel, wicked slanderer, a thoroughly -bad man, yet, when one word from me would have saved her from accepting his proposal, 1, for my vengeance' sake, refused • to speak that word." Her voice died away in a low whisper; the very sound of hor words seemed to frighten her. Vane St. Lawrence's face grew pale, and stern. "It was unworthy of you, Pauline," he said, unhesitatingly. "It'was a cruel revenge." "1 know it," she admitted. "No words can add to the keen sense of my dishonor." "Tell me how it was," ho said,more gently. '•1 think," continued Pauline, "that she had always liked Captain Langton. 1 remember that I used to think so before she married my uncle. But she had noticed my contempt for him. it shook her faith in him, and made her doubt him. She came to me one day, Vane, with that doubt in her face and in her words. She asked me to tell her If I knew anything against him—if there was any reason why she should doubt him. She asked me then, before she allowed herself to love him; one word from me then would have saved her, and that word, for my vengeance' sake, I would not speak." "It should have been spoken," observed Sir Vane, gravely. "I know it. Captain Langton has no honor, no conscience. He does not even like Lady Darrell; he will marry her solely that he may have Darrell Court. He will afterward maltreat her, and hold her life as nothing; ho will squander tho Darrell property. Vane, as truly as tho bright heaven shines above me, I believe him to have no redeeming quality." There was silence for some minutes, and then Sir Vane asked: '•Tell me, Pauline—do you think that Lady Darrell would marry him if she. know what you have just told me?" 1 am sure she would not. She is very worldly, and only lives what one may call a life of appearances; she would not marry him if she knew him to be a thief—she would shrink from him. Elegant, polished, amiable women like Lady Darroll are frightened at crime." "That one word ought to have been spoken, Pauline, ,out of sheer womanly pity and sheer womanly grace. How could you refuse to speak when she came to you with a prayer on her lips?" "The pride and thirst for vengeance were too strong for me," she replied. "And to these you have sacrificed tho life and happiness of a woman who has never really injured you. Lady Darrell and Captain Langton are not yet married—are they, Paulino?" "No, they are to be married in the spring," she answered. "Then listen to me, my darling. This marriage must never take place. Your silence is wicked—you cannot honorably and conscientiously stand by and see Lady Darrell throw herself away on a thief." You have clone a grievous wrong, Pauline. You must make a noble atonement." Something like a gleam of hope came into her eyes. "Can 1 atone?" she asked. "I will do so if 1 know how, even at the price of my life." "I tell you, frankly," he said, "that you have done grievously wrong. When that poor lady came to you in her doubt and perplexity, you ought to have told her at least as much of the truth as would have prevented tho marriage. But, my darling, tills shall not part us. If I teaeh you how to atone will you atone?" She crossed her hands as one praying. "I will do anything you tell mo, Vane." "You must go to Court, and you must make to Lady Darroll tho same ample avow- 81 you have made to mo; tell her tho same story—how you vowed vengeance against hor, and how you carried that vengeance out; and then see what conies of it." "But suppose she will not believe we— what then'."' "You will have (lone your best—you will at least havu made atonement for your secrecy. If. with hvr eyes open. L uly Darrell mtirrlus Captain l..angton after that, you will have nothing to blamo yourself for. It will bu luird for you, my darling, but it U the brave, right, true thing to do." "And you do not hate me, VaneT" "No. I love you even better than I did. The woman brave enough to own her faults and desirous to atone for them deserves all the love a man can give her. Pauline, when you have done this, my, darling, may 1 ask you when you will be my wife?' 1 Slie sobbed ont that she was unworthy— all unworthy; but he would not even hear the words. ' "None the less dear are you for having told mo your faults. There Is only one •word now, my darling, to keep in view; and that is, 'atonement.'" She looked up at him with happy, glistening eyes. "Vane," she said, "1 will go to Darrell Court to-morrow. I shall never rest now until 1 have done what yon wish me to do." So far had love redeemed her that she was ready to undo all the wrong she had done, at any cost to her pride. But love was to work even greater wonders for her yet (To be continued.) YEAK8 DO NOT MAKE OJjD AGK. Where There Is Vigor of Mind and Body There Is Youth. Sir James Crichton-Browne has enumerated instances of long-lived persona possessing: all their faculties unimpaired and opened up a subject full of interest, and which even the large space occupied by Ms address did not allow him fully to develop. It seems a physiological law that the functions of the body ^ust be kept in exercise in order to maintain I heir efficiency, and it is as true of the body as of the mill or any other machine that it will rust ont from disuse sooner than wear out by employment. Tho fact is constantly observed in persons engaged in commercial pursuits who retire at the age of sixty, and then fall into rapid decay, while professional men remaining at work pieserve their vigor, often for another 20 years. It is a sad thing to see the nerve centers decay, with a corresponding weakness of body and niind, but it is still sadder to witness, with a wrinkling of the skin, a corresponding shrinkage of the bruin, allowing vanity and some of the weakly passions which had been kept in suppression to come again to the fore. .How different is the spectacle when the organ is kept in its integrity by constant use, and the mental faculties preserved in all their pristine force. We have only to look around and to see our poets, bishops, judges, ministers of state, and medical rnen long lived and still in mental vigor while workiner at their respective vocations. Very remarkable, too, is it that, as Sir Jaines Crichton-Browne observed, the freedom of language will remain as good as ever; an illustration of this was observed but lately in a discussion on the London university questions, when two of the inobt logical and well-expressed speeches were made by octogenarians. We can at the presant time point to statesmen and lawyers of great age still before the public; as not long ago we could see Lord Palwerston, Lord Brougham, Lord Lyndhurst, and others. In former times we may remember New-ton living to be 85, while Sophocles .is said to have lived to be 90 and Plato not much short of this.. It ia clear that hard work does not kill. The toil, however, must be genial and diversified. The man of business often has no occupation besides his bread-winning, whereas a medical man has a variety of subjects to interest him. A speaker at the recent international congress showed by experiments upon school children when three or four turns in arithmetic wer<j given in tuccession that each sum showed an inferiority to the previous one, both in correctness and as regards the time in which it was completed. The one faculty employed was gradually exhausted, a fresh piece of evidence showing the necessity for diversity of work. In the treatment of persons with mental trouble or worry, the very worst method is to rely too much on what is called rest, meaning thereby leaving the patient without other employment than to brood over his sorrows. True rest to the mind is only to be obtained by the occupation of other faculties roueed into action by new sur roundings. There is no reason why old age should not be as bappy and as enjojable as any other period" of life. If old persons be asked as to their consciousness of age they will all with one consent declare that there exists nothing of (be kind. An old person has a knowledge o£ his age the same way as his friende; he eees it by looking in the mirror; by remembrance of past events, or the loss of contemporaries, but ho is not constantly carrying about with him the conviction or feeling that he is old; he is thus still able to occupy himself in the business and pleasures of life. Buffon spoke of his green old age as one of the happiest periods of his life, although the kind of pleasures then experienced are, of course, different from those of youth; and even when decay comes, and a man is becoming free from the re- inernbraHce of all earthly things, then, as Kir Jamos Paget says (and no mental activity by continued work), it maybe so ordered on purpose that the spirit may be invigorated and undisturbed intbe contemplation of the brightening future. Another writer, speaking of old age in reference to the disease of au eminent barrister, also maintained that the highest faculties are kept keen by constant exercise, and the bram vigorous by constant action and reward. The understanding has often been in the highest perfection in quite advanced old age, and that has been the best period of human life. Itis t be time when the rage and storm of passage have died away, when the jealousies and cares of a career have ceased and beea forgotten, when memory lingers upon all that is bright and charming in the past, and when hope 'scatters her most glowing tints over the ff- 1 ' ' " ' ' the words himself. FARM AND HOME. JESUS OP Mir sotrr,. "Jesus lover of my soul, ' Let me to thy bosom fly, While the rnglng billows roll While the tempest (till Is high." Carelessly H little child, In sunshine, nt her play, Lfyilnp; nong and sweetly smiled, On a joyous April day. Sang with merit In each others eye; "Jesus, lover of my eoiil, Let ma to thy boaom fly" "Hide me, O my Saviour hide, Till the storm of life Is past; Safe into tho hitven gnlno; O receive my soul at last." Sang a maiden- with a face Free from look o! earthly care, With a form of faultless grace With a wreath of golden hair. Sang with heart by grief untried Sang with no rcitretfiil past; "Safe Into the llaven guide; O receive my soul at last." ' 'Other refuge have I none— Hangs my helpless soul on Thee, Leave, ah I leave me not alone- Still support and comfort met" Sang a mother, while the bowed O'er lier bnby as itlny Wrapped within Us snowy shroud- On a dreary autumn day. Sang of hopes forever flown, Sang of eves that could not see: "Leave, ah, leave me not alone- Still support and comfort me." "All my trust on Thee Is stayed All my holii from thea I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing!" Faint and weary iu the nice, In death's winter-evening gray, With a sweet angulic facp, Dreamed a woman. Far away, As the feeble iwlllulit fled, Angels seemed with her to clngj "Cover my defenceless head With tho shadow of thy wing!" "Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom lly, While tho raghist billows roll, While tho tempest still i« high I" Ah I how soon our hopes decay; Wo must suffer and endure Strive nnri struggle at* we may, Life is short and death Is Hiiro. Wo may hear the anthem roll Th rout; h Ihe starry realms on high, "Jesus, lovnr of my soul, Let mo to Thy bosom fly. " FABM NOTES. The quality of the food has much to do with the quality of the milk. Sugar beeta require a cooj climate, mellow soil, slight summer irrigation ant a dry fall to.reach perfection. Keep the cattle out of the way of wind and storm. A little extra care in protecting the stock will find sure return ii growth and milk. ^Blanketing a horse in the stable makes his coat short, and sleek. This makes him look more valuable, and is easier to kri him clean than a long- haired horse. A heavy drain on the farm is the carrying of stock which does not pay. If men wish to keep old horses and eows for the good they have done, it is all right, bul the form should not be charged with the expense. Don't be nfraid to try_ new methods in farming. Experiment is the forerunner of progress. Often a farmer possesses the latent power to'succeed, and only needs a nev/ departure to turn the tide of his fortunes. fast approaching future, or, in Is of Sir .1. Crichton Browne "We are able to see in old nge glimpses of the truth that its chief glory consists not in thereniernbrane of feats of proweas, nor in the egotistic exercise of power, but in the conquest of peevish weakness, in the brightness of hope, and in the discrimination of happiness around, '•Depend upon it the boat anlheptic against senile decay is an active interest in human affaire, and those keep youug lontreet who love most," In the same key did Oliver Wendell Holmes, the laureate of old uge, sing when some ladies lately presented him with a loving cup in bin 80ch year: .Better love perfume tu the empty bowl Thau wine's napentlio for the urlilng gout; Sweeter than song ihat ever poet BUiif, it makes the old ueuct youui;! —Bukiab Medicol Journul, Fair, words break- words marfy u on«. never u bone, foul Feuding Grain. It is true economy to feed grain even to animals' that are not fattening during the severest cold. Grain furnishes more heal and thus keeps the animal comfortable. It is not possible for stock to eat enough of straw, timothy hay and coarse fodder to maintain thrift in the coldest weather. They have good appetites. But their stomachs cannot hold enough of bulky, innutritious food, when so much of it is required to keep up animal heat. Putting on the Bridle. Take great care when you are either taking off or putting on a bridle, especially to your young horses. If you hurt his mouth once hn fectrs you will do so again, and his Attempts (o prevent your doing this, often make it very inconvenient to you. But if you use proper care he will soon learn to render you valuable assistance by holding his head exactly as you wish him to. • The Clover-Uuy Worm. The clover hay worm is frequently reported from Ohio, Illinois, Missouri pnd the more southern states. The eggs are laid by a small moth in stacks of hay. These worms hatch from the eggs and feed upon the dry hay, transformirg to moths again in June or July. Insect Life says that new bay ought never to be stacked in contact with old, and the worst infected stacks are those wbich have been pjaced upon the same piles for successive years. Wien practicable it is well to build the stack on good rail ventilators with an air passage underneath. It is also well to salt the I ay two or three feet from this bottom. Fertilizers In the Garden. It _is a suhjeat for discussion whether fertilizers or manures .should be used in the garden. Commercial fertilizers are free from seeds, and carry no impurities to the soil. Manure on grain or in orchards is serviceable with less injury than in the garden, or where the crops, or roots grow a short distance above ground. Fresh, unrotted manure is certainly very, fitting material for a garden, but it is of course, changed in cotimoeition before the plants mature. The difficulty is that manure sometimes contains matter that has been thrown on the heap from diseased persons or animals, and for that reason it is considered bettor to haul it to the fields than apply it to the garden cropa, Ifolgtein COWH. That a cow can he made susceptible of improvement in the quality of her tnilk, a fact that is denied by some of the scientific people, in spite of all examples and experience to the contrary of their belief, is most clearly proved by the history of the Dutch or North Holland cows, com- trionly called Holateins. These cows were first imported bv Mr. Chenery, of Massachusetts, in 1852. And it may be remarked in passing, that witb these cows was imported the injurious pleuro-pneu- inonia that has cost us so much inoney since it was brought across the ocean. These cows were at first noted for Lheir large milk prodiut and the little butter the milk contained. Tho cow was a ppcciiU milk cow used in Holland for the making of a p.)or cheese of extraordinary hardness. So hard were these cheeses, that being round in shape and of convenient, size, they were wed at ihe' siege of Copenhagen by 'tho fleet which was defe»4'«g the harbor in tlie place of cann,ou balls, the stock of which -had The flinty cheese on njasta or d,eck. of pn,e oj the enemy's ehipa flew into fragments, and like a bursting shell, killed and wounded great numbers of the enemy. So great was the loss of lifa that the attacking fleet quickly withdrew and the siege was raised. Now this cow, which then served her country so well in a pinch, has become one of the richest butter cows in existence, and her milk, instead ot a beggarly 2J£ per cet. of fat, nowcontains nearly twice as much. Some of them have surpassed noted Jersey cows ia the weekly yield of butter, and three pounds a day ii not an extreme yield for the best of them. How have these cows been improved if not by feeding?—Patriot and Appeal. THE HOUSEHOLD. Be Thankful. EI'.INB. Be thankful I If the day bo dark or fair, And if thy path poem rough or smooth to tread. Altho' thy heart be glaa or dull with care, Thy Father's liana unwinds the tangled thread. For thin, be thankful I Be thankful If thy friends prove false to theo, Or If prosperity, with perverse mien, Iler favors on another showers free, Take heart I His eye tho Bjiarrow's fall hath Keen. For this, be thankful I Be thankful I If thy heart's hope be afar, E'en if thy prayer unanswered still doth seem, In Ills own time all things adjusted are, Ilopo out teem. , Ulu heart with endless lovo dotfc- . For this, ho thankful I Be thankful, then, ami labor faithfully. Lot cheerfully each dumb e task be done. Ho will thy direst trepidation see. Fear not! Hi» watch oiidiireH from suu to sun. For this, he thankful I ' Scotch Proverbs, Birth's good, but breeding's better. A gude woid is as soon fcaid aa an ill. Juko a pint and 'gree; tho law's costly. Ho is worth no weal that con bido no woe. Bo tho same thing that ye would bo cat 1 3d. Every man at forty is a fool or a physician. A dog winna growl if ye fell him wi' a oone. Far sought and dear bought is good for ladies. He that winna when ho may, shanna when he wadi The Sweetest HnpplneaH. ^;j My experience of life makes mo sure, of one truth, which I do not try to explain; that the sweetest happiness wo ever know, the very wine of human life, comes not from love, but from sacrifice— from tho effort to make others happy. This is as true to ine as that my flesh will burn if I touch red hot metal. — John Boyle O'Reilly. Treatment of Strangers. Isn't there a great deal to think of in this matter of I he treatment we give to strangers ? We, too often lo-e eight of the bible truth that we may entertain angels unawares. We forget how we would wish to be treated, if positions were reversed. And who can tell that positions will not bo rover jed? Man, with all his achievements, has never reached a stage of success at which he could calculate on tho morrow. Success by Sncrlfloo, Sacrifice is the indespcnsable condition of success. We must renounce in order to prevail. He then seeks his life losses it; he then loses finds it. One must sow in tears if he would reap in joy. Master and scholar have the same experience, that suffering is required in order to fruitfulnesa and victory. It is the furnace that purifies and renders efficacious; the spices must be bruised to bring forth their fragrance. Happy they who recognize that law of the divine economy, and are content to suffer if only they may be made to bear much fruit.— William M. Taylor. Kxtlni*ui8hli>g a Lie. "When thy find a lie oppresfing thee, extinguish it. Lies exist only to bo extinguished; they wait very earnestl> for extinction. Think well, meanwhile, in what spirit thou wilt do it; not with aatred, with headlong selfish violence, but in clearness of heart, .with holy zeal, gently, almojt with pity. Thou woulds't not_ rep lace such extinct lie by a new lie, which a new injustice of thy own were ;ho parent of still other liea; whereby the atter end of that busineps were worse than the beginning."— Carlysle. IVE1UL.S OF STAGING. A Rattle With Wolves mul Another 'With, IlubberH iuuDreum. W. S. Gidley» the manager oE the stage ine between Gillette and Buffalo, in Wyoming, has had many exciting adventures on the box. Perhaps thb worst—the one hat left him gray haired, he says—was a jattle with wolves iu the Bad Lands of Da- cota; Ho was driving six horses and had a "ull load of passengers. It was midwinter, .ntensely cold and with two feet or more of snow everywhere. A pack of wolves made a determined assault on the outfit. For ;hree hours it was a desperate battle for ife. No less than thirty wolves were shot .own. Finding destruction was almost certain, Gidley tied the lines to the brake, and, walking ont on the tongue, leaped ou he back_ of the "swing" horses. From .his perilous _ position, with the wolves mapping at him, he managed to loose the »atn_of leaders. The wolves took after ihe liberated horses and the coach wai brought into the station safely. The very nearest Gidley came to being tilled by road agents, he saye, was one night between Bismarck and Daadwood. The treasure box and express messenger were both full and tho night was pitch dark. He thinks that there was "not leaa ban $3,000,000 worth on tha stag;. Thia was more money than he had ever had in iis keeping at one time before and it uade hint nervous. He was suddenly Bought to a full realization of his danger by a stern coni- uand to halt, with the accompaniment »f clicking rilie and revolver hammers. Ie > stopped at otice and recognized by heir actions two of the worst desperadoes •vcr at large on earth. Tho highwaymen ook the gold, robbed the passengers, jound and gagged tuo driver and forced iis body into tbe hollow stump of a cot- onwood. „••.) ,].. The thieves s«t speculate on a )lan to safely set the boodle uwuy. He ieard somebody yell: "Oil, my God!" whole business hud been a realistic Iroiuu. He had fallen asleep and slid own into the boot of the stage where ho ut become firmly wedged iu'auioug 1 th« ail bags. The gag in his mouth was & \m chow of tobacco thafc wai nearly trangliua hivJi. Tu,e f voice that awaken-

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