The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on March 16, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, March 16, 1892
Page 3
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THE tJPPEtt UES MOINES. ALGONA. IOWA WEDNESDAY, MARCH 16.1892. AND HOME. DEB OAK TOD DER TIKE. [ don'd tos prenchlng voman's riglidte, „. Orhn.vdltii; hkedotj jtTnil I I (hex to see nil beoples e Shnst Rondcntecl mlt dhelr lot; fBiit I value togondradlct dot ehnp Dot n ariedlM leedleshoke: A voman viia der Rllhglnir vine, Und man der shturdy oak " . - ,f, sometimes, dot mny pe dfuej , . Budl, den dime oudt of nine, 11 flnd me ottdt riot man himself | Van peen der gl(ii£lng vina: , ! Uml vhen hues friends dhey nil vas gone, i- Und he Vni* shntt "tend proke," sDotV vhen der voman sliteps right in, " Und peen her ehttiidy oak. |.fihust co oupto d«rpase-pnll gronndts I Und see dliose "shurdy oaks," All planted roundt upon der seats— • Bhust hear dher laughs und sbokesl . Dlien see dhoee voniens aider tubs, > Mlt glothcs out on der lines; I Vhlch vas der shturdy oaks, mine frlendtc, J.; Uud vhich der gllnglng vines? Vhcn sickness In der householdt comes, Und veeks und veeks he shtays, \ Who vns Id flghdts him mltoudt reidt, Dhote veary nlghdls uud days? Who lieace und gomfort'alvayu prlngi, Und cools dot fcferrd prow More like Id vas der tender vine Dot oak he gllngs to, now. "Man vanls bndtleedle here pelow," l)er b»et von time said: "Dhere's leedle dot man he don'd rant," 1 dink Id means Inrhied; Und vhen tier yearn keep roollnc on, Dheir cares und drouules prlngiug, Be vants to pe der shlnidy oak, Und, also, do der glmglng. Maype, vhon oaks dhey gllng come more, Uud don'd so shturdy peen, Der clinging vines dhe> haf some ehance To help run Life's masheen. In hell uud sickness, i-hoy and pain, t' In calm or ehlormy vvuuher, , "Tvuu heddher dot (those oak« und Tines eddher. arperV Magazine. Should alvays glmg togeddher. Ila IfABM NOTB8. IFeed well but waste no fodder, 'ruit is cheaper than medicine. To get more eggs keep the hens warm. ?lf we do not eipecr our cattle to lose jsh during the winter, we must give them good shelter. jThere never WPB a time when so much (fas being done in the interest of intelli mt agriculture as now. If any of the sheep are not doing well /separate them from the flock. They will "") better. The same is tiua ot any limal. ,,,,.,.„., Now that the cows are in the barn m»t pjicf the time see that they have free access S§&> sah when turned out or else give them ||a regular ration in the feed box or ||marjger. |f| ; ; During the winter evenings in a good pastime to siudy I've stock. The experiencrE ||||of others can be studied froom books and gipaperp, and the practical value of advice i^ahd observation tested at once. ffjlt Chilling or_ freezing cream has been !;;|;i: found to be ir jurious to the grain or bodj •pi>|jjjjf the butter as well as the flavor. The ^|Mecbanical effect of fret zing cream is ffifefabout the same us s-alding. Mte; cip: Graft cherry and plum trpes during tins month, as they cannot be defeated ior sflate grail ing, as is done with apple trtt s fglteach trees are budded, not gralted and ||pe bark should be filed awund the bud <|<jlrefullj. Many bud-«fail to grow, owing |i,to too much hurry and carelessness. "ftvf .• .j. \VIiat Innt-cibJDo. '•'** see the annual loss of agricultural cls in this country by the depreda of insects estimated at 10 per cent. »JBut what doi-s this menji? Tukine the o* our fai m produ ts at the fig-tires , S3 800,000, it me.ns that these liitle ;>.•; pests di-slroy every )p;<r products worth <r the snug little turn ol 838,000,000. ....;i;v'(V'i''. Turkeys. ;,,^,:..»te|rb.e best i-uccess in raising tnrkpys i& ^Kjtojput the young turkeys yvtih a turkej i'-w'JSwi. She underloads their nature and ! 'fifpjquirerneiita much betler than . the C.;'!'.<j|iicken hen. A turkey hen and a chicken fSJiejpi may Le set on tuikoy eggs at the time and all the batching given to turkey. Sije will be able to care for or twenty easily. ertlJlzluff Treos. hos> proven tbat while trees qB: which stable manure wan used wt-rt |f*i'lj|pltby and vigorous, Yet they were Hhort £0$:iyed, while such ks were fertilized by ' were equally vigorous an<J fur more ]e. The conclusions thus forced upon thut heavy application of potash b me made healthy trees, -while 007 amount of nitrogen led to the yel other diseases. Ensilage tu StnckB, Scotch or Eoelish practice of stack- hay and then aubjecting it to presi-ure ;$«|pjft weight s or by windlasses, drawing to- illptejher by e) a'.ns or ropes attached to cross- ^|||||iber8 under and over plank floorings, ytUJgems to be successful there, but is noi »(||pj£pted to this country with its V'lrioblf |;|§jjijjj«iite and extremes of temperature. Ex- ||ajfyiments made in Mmsichutetts showed | SfiiW' c k 1° 68 i" spoiled ensilage—in one CHSP ||i§|srly two-thiid-i of the stack; and this glwftstage, even if much less, will doubtless PlOIpet the cost of a good silo, Gentleman. saya the Early Luinbs. 3v«ry season there are periods when ly lambs bring from 10 to,15 cen's per ind, weighing about 50 pounds earh is means from $5 and more for a lamb, im greater than can be obtained from wool of two ordinaiy sheep, ano a»er th>»n the price of a common adult £f. Wdile every farmer may not sue- cl in netting early lambs jet lie can n a month's time in growth by ju lie and careful feeding, in addition tu the k supply from the ewes. Applying Manure, 4flThe mode of appljinsr manure depends ropn the kind of s>il. Hea\y c'ay land fiat has a deep subsoil. He<ivy cluy land r , f >: , r p!k has a deep subsoil of clay .will hold S|| 'he manure for years, because it cannot !|feiil'£ li8 'ly carried down by the rainp; bu 1 ;f^pia*K n t sandy soils the soluble portion- f|0oEthe manure are carri'd <ff .ijt'i*'*; 1 \ttff\VQ it. nnn V» A n v.t.•.«•». M*'.i.n rl t... It. >re jt can bo appropriated by the jjg plants. This may be partial ly (jded by applying only a portion of the lure in the spring, and applying an- it portion latter in the s -abon, work- it well into the soil until thoroughly ^ with it. Orchard OniB* with Clover. Jt one one of toe 04o „ a farmer present said: "I recommend that more attention be gi'-en to toe production of orchard grass. When I sow clover I alwajs sow orchard graiss with it. It pays well and clover will do for pasture for horFes, Cattle and swine^ Tbe orchard grape is a vpry valuable adjunct in a clover field. If you intend tutting the clover for hay, the orchard grass is still strong:, and will etand a great deal of clover. It helps the clover and I can make a better quality of bay. "I don't think, BB a rule, that farmers generally sow a large variety of grasses. We can have a great number and variety of grasses growing, have more pasture, keep the ground nil occupied and give it variety ot feed. 1 have timothy land and blue grass land. The proper time to sow orchard grass is when the weather gets warm in the spring, I can get a better stand along in April to tue middle of May. If sown alone ufe two bunhels of seed to the acre. When I BOW clover I use about half a bushel." Early Vegetables. Much of the pleasure as well as profit of a good garden is lost if it is not early. To have vegetables only after they have been long in the market and are no longer a rarity is the easier wiy, but the extra labor requ'/ed to get them early is better paid than meat that the farmer does. To secure many kinds of early vegetables a beginning must b« made before the soil is fit to work out of doors. Hotbeds need to he atartud by March, and at this time the rapidjy lengthening dayi make it comparatively easy to give plants sufficient air, and insure hardy, btocky growth after transplanting to the open ground. Corn Growing. Mr. Amos Davi&, of ( Illinois, says: I plow all btubble ground in the full as deep as possible. Thr last of April or early in May I cultivate with disk harrow or cultivator acroEB the way it was' .plowed, then start a good heavy harrow ahead of the planter. In depth of planting, 1 am governed by the warmth of the ground. 1 harrow once at least 'before the corn gets through the ground. "When it is about-3 to 4 inches high, I commence with harrow and give_ it two good b'arrowirigB. I then, with Daily Spring tooth cultivator, cultivate twice each way, just deep 'enough to throw the loose dirt over, and cover the grass and weeds that may have started. '1 be first cultivating is the time to get the corn clean. I prefer picking sped while gathering corn, foi 1 can then get the choicest ears. Dry on n platform and pltcsinagood tight box until planting time. Separate the tips from the re<-t of the par. Plant 2 to 3 grains in a hill, 3 feel 6 inches each w»y. THE HOUSKHOLD. The Soul's Farewell to the Body. BLLA WIIEELBU WII.COX. So we mnpt pait forever; and althoiifih I lonu have beat my wings and cried lo go, Free from ynnr narrow l.iniilnu control. Forili into i-puce, the true home of the soul. Yet now, yet now that honr Is drawing near, I pallet; reluctant, finding you HO ilnar. All joy* nwiin mi» in HIM return ot Ood— Mum joii, my comrade, molder in Hie sod? I was.voiir cnptive, yet yon were my fla^e; Your prisoner, yel ohnrilence you gave To all uiy eiirnrvi viifhe- and coiinn>iml,«. Now to il.e worms 1 leave ihote Milling hands. That tolled for me or held the books I rend, Tlmse fert tlmrlro i wiitre'er I wished lo tread, 1'hoee iinns iliat clasped my deur ones, and the UIVHHt On which one loved and loving heart found rest. Those lips through which my prayers to God have men Those Hie» Hint weie the windows lo my prison. From the«e, all these, Dt-utn'u Alltel bids ine i-ever: Dear Comrade Body, faro thee well forever. 1 coto my inheritnnce and tro With j y ilnit only Ihe freed mill can kuow; Vet In my spirit uiuideiiiit'b i II-IIBI I may comeilmes puusu nuur yuur sacred dust. Cure your anger by silence.—Arab Proverb. The man who buries his talent buries himself. lo him (haf knoweth to do jjood and doelh it not, to'him it is sin." Whatever tends to make men good Christains alto mukrs them good citizens. He who can plant courage in a human soul is tLe Lest pb>sician. They a?e never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts.-Sir Philip riidney. The worst thing aV-out some business men's failures is (he f lilure of com-cienoe. Th re are some people who think the music never amounts to much except when they play first fiddle. Something happens every day to serve as an excuse for the man who does not do his very best. Perfect charity is DO mask for wilful misconduct. Perfect charity will condone and pxtenuatw wrens- doing, but never sanction it.—Divinu Life. This world is a school house, in which -oa B children go to school to learn lea- sons for which they will praise him throughout all eternity. Wh»t We Read. What we rp«d is a matter of importance asani'ans of character-training. How we rei.d, is a matter ot hardly Ira* import,- ancn in the same direction. A man may read no c^relesnly or so fuperficially a« to Bet little harm from bad books, and I ttle gain from pood ones. Ard, as a matter of <»ct, it is rrtly now and then that nny perRon po reads as to get the g(vd ha •raerht to from the best reading. While Kaving a care as to what you read, do not Forget to consider how jou read.—S, S Times. Hunbuild* mui Wives, A good hnsbund makes a eood wife. men can no : ther do without wives ior with them; thfy are wretched alone m what IH called single VefsodnesB, and 'hey make their home miserable when hey get-, marriedi they are like Temkins 1 firg, which could not bear to be loos« and iowled when it w«s tied up, Happy iacbplora are happy busbanda, and a riippy husband is the happiest of men. A well mHtched couple carry a happy life between them, aa the two spies carried* h« cl"8^«r of E»ohol. T'lfiy are a braes o'hud of Paradise: Thisi- fine arithmetic The wagon of care rolls lightly along is hey pull together, and^when it drags a ittlo heavily, or ttera's a hitch anywhere, hey love each other all the more, and so ighten the labor.—John Ploughman, How I wns Educated. My simple story is told. If there is any entj '0 which it offers, it if, I think, of the importance of the family life to giving the impulse to iute'Jlcctual growth, Education ia like religion in many reepeots. It if so in this. The children of a household erow most eafiil. and naturally in the religious life, no" when the parents are always talking about it, and forcing it upon them, bii when the atmusphete of the home is so full of religion that they do not think o living any other lif J. And, in the same way, where parents make their children sharers ia a true intellectual life posses sed by themselves, and make the housi full sf the sense of the blessednees t. knowing, the minds of Jthe children wil surely be awake to knowledge, and will educated as the years go on. My own mind was awakened in this way. Th years of manhood have not done for fii all that 1 could have wished, or all tha they may have done for many others; bu the impulse given me in my early hoax made me rejoice in the. waking of my own mental powers, and whatever I ma; accomplish, or fail to accomplish, to thi view of others, I have found so much de light in this working, and in obssrving it thrt I shall never intellectually go to sleep And so my answer to the question, "How 1 was educated," ends where it began. ' had the right mother.—Timothy Dwigh' in the Forum. A HOMANTIC LOVK STORY. A Conffrcifttnan Waited For the Baby to Grow Up. Congressman Gates of Alabama, with his fifty-five years and only one arm, has i romantic story that surrounds the loss o: the other arm. During the war he servec in the Confederate army, and it was before Richmond that he received the wounds that necessitated the amputation of his right arm. At this time it was that Gates was obliged to lie off on sick leave while he recovered from his injuries. He was received into the bouse of a southern fam- ild anU was nursed by the eldest daughter. When he pulled through, Gates felt that his life had not only been saved by her, but that his future happiness was in her hands. The young officer told his story, but this young nurse did not favor hi! suit—whether because she thongbt it wa 1 pressed simply, from gratitude, or whether she did not return his affections, is nol told. Gates was too weak to return to his command, and between fretting over his rejected suit and at the delay in his return to the front, was in a most unhappy mood. One day when more despondent than ever, the mother looked up and said laughingly: "Never mind, captain, you just wait for so and so," pole ting to the baby in the cradle she was rocking. ''You can have her by and by." The captain laughed. The baby began to grow to girlhood, and Gates was interested in all she did. When she became of marriageable age he reminded the mother of her old promise, made over the baby's cradle. There was no opposition to the match, and the couple are unusually happy. This accounts for the difference in age, at which many people have wondeftd. Mrs. Gates is a pretty woma-j, with southern grace and hospitality, and very devoted toherhus' band.—Washington Post. DUEL BETWEEN TWO GIRLS. They Fire Blank Cartridges and Then He- sort to Pulling Hair. A Hermeweell, Kansas, man from the Cherokee strip tells a remarkable story of a duel between two girls, which he sajs took place recently, at a little settlement in the northwestern part of Texas, just south of the line of No Man's Land. The two girls had at one time been warm friends, and lived together on. a claim which Lad besn taken up by one of them. Their houfie was built on the line between two claims, and the girl's were thus complying with the Jaw and improv ing two homesteads at the same time. All went well with them for some time, but at last there came betwee<ithem a, coolness which arose over the attentions of a bright young cowboy, who&n manner ao iinprestoti both of the girls that they de- sirtd to have him pay his attention indi vidually and not collectively, .'.'alters grew from bad to worse and it did not. tuke long for the young fellow to flnd out how matters stood. As be did not particularly care for either girl, but went to see them purely for past time, he not only instigated further animosity, but told his friends, who helped matters along until tho girls became bi ter enemies. Things got to such a pitch that at last the girls had an open rupture, and, according to the cade from the country, they agreed to fight a duel with revolvers. Both girls were good shots au<l the matter looked serious, but the seconds took matters in hand and arranged that the pistols should have blank cartridges. The girls were to walk ten paces from back to back and then turn and fire until their pistols were empty, or until one fell. Everything came off according to the pro- gramme and the girls firud six shots, the la&t being at a distance of only a few feet. They tnen realized what had been done to the pistols, and dropping the weapons rushed at each other and indulged in a hair-pulling match which was so severe that their friends were compelled to part theru. When they found that the young man had instigated the duel, they both turned upon him ;iiid gave him a beating and then became fast Meads again, The test of the wire gum system which recently took place at Birdsboro, Pa,, definitely lifts this system out of the rf-aim of experiment—at least so far as moderate calibres are concerned. It shows that the 5 inch gun, made of segmental tubes, wire wound, cannot be exploded by any amount of powder that can be got into its chamber. When Uncle Sau?. can sit on the breech of an American invented and American made gun and defy the world to -produce its tqual this country will have won back a uood deal of its former uava.1 prestige. It looks as though the wire wound gun will toon give Unclf S im 'hii opportunity. STltUCK IT 1UCH, Montana Mau Win* » Fortune and a Wisconsin Lad v. MILWAUKEE, March 10.—Mrs. Emily Ludington Rountree, of Carmel, N. Y , torm?riy of Milwuukee, and Victor. E. lull, of Helena, Montana,, were married at Santa Cruz, Cal., on March 1.' The bride, who is a sister of the late James Ludtnglon, is a very bright and intelligent lady. She is quite wealthy. Her nhare of Mr. Ludiugton's ettate was about 980,000, and she possessd a small fortune btfore he died. KOVAL UKl'UOUATU. Grandson vf PolauU'* Ruler I* M H«ree- Ihlef. PfMovMT KISKO, N. Y., March 10.— Princu loan Z 'Inetik, graudeoa of the king of Poland, w»u arrested tooay '" ' he had stolen. LOVE'S VICTORY. •T MtRTHA X. GLAY. "Xour lite, my darling,* he said, "your beautiful bright life, your love, your happiness, will all be 8acr..lced." "They must be. You see, Vane, she clings to me in her sorrow. His name—Aubrey Lanxton's name—never passes tier lips to nny one else but me. Sho talks of him the night and the day through—It is the only comfort she has; and then she likes me to be with her, and soothe her, und she tires so soon of any one else. 1 cannot leave her, Vane—it would shorten her life. 1 am sure." He mane no answer, one looueo. no at him with tearful eyes. "Speak to me. Vane. It is hard, 1 know- but tell me that I am right." "You are cruelly right," herepjied. "Oh, my darling, it Is very hard I Yet you make her a noble atonement for the wrong you have dona—a noble reparation. My darling, Is this how your vow of vengeance has ended—in the greatest sacrifice a woman could make." , "Y our lovo has saved me," she said, gently—"has shown me what Is right and what Is wrong—has cleared the mist from my eyes, But for that-oh, Vane, I hate to think what I should have been I" "I wish It were possible to glvo up tlw appointment," he remarked, musingly, "1 would not havj you do It, Vane. Think of Lady St. Lawrence—how she has worked for It Remember, It Is your only chance of ever being what she wUhes to see you. You must not give It up." "But how can I leave you, Pauline?" "If you remain In England, it will make but little difference," she said. "I can never leave Lady Darrell while she lives." "But, Pauline, It may be four, or five, or si* years before I return, and all that time I •hall never see you." She wrung her hands, but no murmur passed her lips, save that It was her fault—all her fault—the price of her sin. . "Vane," she said, "you must not tell Lady Darrell what you came to ask me. She must know that you are hero only to say good-bye. I-would rather keep her In Ignorance; she will be the happier for not knowing." Was ever anything seen like that love and that sorrow—the love of two noble souls, two noble hearts, and the sorrow that parting more bitter than death brought upon them? Even Miss Hastings did not know until long after Sir Vane was gone of the sucrL.ce Pauline had made In the brow endeavor to atoue for her sin. She never forgot the agony of that parting —how Sir Vane stood before them, pale, worn, and sad, impressing one thing on them all—care for his darling. Even to Lady.par- rell, the frail, delicate invalid, whose feeble stock of strength seemed to bo derived from Pauline, lie gave many chargqs. "It will be so long before! see her again," he said; "but you will keep her safely for me." "I almost wonder," said Lady Darrell, "why you do not ask Pauline to accompany you, Sir Vane. For my own sake, I am most selfishly glad that you have not done so —I should soon die without her." They looked at each other, the two who were giving up so much for her, but spoke no word. Sir Vane was obliged to return to London that same clay. Ho spoke of seeing Pauline again, but she objected—it would only be a renewal of most bitter and hopeless sorrow. So they bade each other farewell under the lime-trees. The bitter yet sweet memory of it lasted them for life. Miss Hastings understood somewhat of the pain H would cause, but with her gentle consideration, she thought it best to leave Pan- lino for a time. Hours afterward she went in search of her, and found her under the limes, weeping and moaning for the atonement she had made for her sin. CHAPTER XI.II. I-ADY DAIWELL'S WILL. Two years passed away, and Sir Vane 8t Lawrence's were rapidly 1m- prnvinu 1 ; his letters were constant and cheer- uiP—ne spoi;e always ot the time when he should come home and <;Iaim Pauline for his wife. She only sighed as she read the hopeful words, for she had resolved that duty should be her watchword while Lady Darrell lived—even shou d that frail, feeble life last for fifty years, she would never leave lier. There came to her chill doubts and fears, dim vague forebodings that she should never see Vane ag.iin—that their last parting was forever; not thnt' she doubted him, but that, it seemed hopel....< to think ho would wait until her hair was gray, and the light of her youth had left her. Never mind—she had done her duty; she had sinned, but she had mado tha noblest atonement possible for her sin. Two years had passed, and the- summer was drawing to a close. To those who loved and tended her it seemed that Lady Dai.-ell's life was closing with it Even Lady Hampton had ceased to speak hopefully, and Darrell Court was gloomy with the "shadow of the angel of death. There came an evening when earth was very lovely—when the gold of the setting; sun, the breath of the western wind, the fragrance of the flowers, tho ripple of the fountains, the song of the birds, were all beautiful beyond words to tell; and Lady Darrell, who had lain watching the smiling summer heavens, said: "I should like once more to sea the sun set-, Pauline. 1 should like to sit at the window, and watch the moon rise." "So you shall," responded Pauline. "You are a fairy queen. You have but to wish, and the wish is granted." Lady Darrell smiled—no one ever made her smile except Pauline; but the fulfillment of the wisli was not so easy after all. Lady Hampton's forebodings were realized. Lady Darrell might have recovered from her long, serious illness but that her mother's complaint, the deadly inheritance of consumption, had seized upon lier, und was gradually destroying her. It was no easy matter now to dress the wasted figure; but Pauline seemed to have the strength, the energy of twenty nurses. She was always willing, always cheerful, always ready; night and day seemed alike to her; she would look at her hands, and say: "Oh! Elinor, I wish I could give you one- half my strength—one-half my life I" "Do you? Pauline, if you could give me naif your life, would you ilo so?" "As willingly osl am now speaking to you," she would answer. They dressed the poor lady, whose delicate setiuty had faded like some summer flower. Sho sat at the window !u a soft nest of cushions which Paulino had prepared tor her, lier wasted hands folded, her worn face brightened with the summer sunshine. She was very silent and thoughtful for some time, and then Paulino, fearing that she was dull, knelt in the fashion that was usual to icr at Lady Darrell's feet, and held the wasted hands in hers. "What are you thinking about, Elinor?" Pauline asked. "Something as bright as the sunshine?" Lady Purroll smiled. "I was just fnncjing to myself that every blossom of that white nuvgnoliu seamed Jiky a finger beckoning me away," she Bald; "and * wus #iluMu« also IJ'QW full of misita '" ir, ir.d J:L-.V plainly tney can oeseen Wnen we come to die." Pauline kissed the thin lingers. Lady Darroll went on. "I cnn see my own prcnt mistake, Pauline, I should not have marriiMl Sir Oswa d. I had no love for him—not the least in the world; I married him only tor position and fortune, i should have tiikcn your warning, and not h.-tve come between your uncle nnd you. His resentment would have died away, for I am quite, sure thnt in his heart he loved you; he would have lot-given yo-, nnd i should havn had a happier, longer life. That was my mistake—my one gtrnt mistake. Another was that 1 had a certain kind of doubt about poor Aubrey. I cannot explain it; but I know that 1 doubled him even when 1 loved him, and I should have waited some time before placing the whole happiness of my life in his hands. Yet it seems hard to pay for those mistakes with my life, does it not?" And Pauline, to Whom all sweet womanly tenderness seemed to come by Instinct, soothed Lady Dnrrell witli loving words until ohe smiled again. "Pauline," she said, suddenly,' "1 wish to communicate something to you. I wish to tell you that 1 have niiide my will, and have left Darrell Court to you, together with all the fortune Sir Oswald left me. 1 took your inheritance from you once, dear; now Ire- store it to you. i have left my aunt, Lady Hampton, a thousand a year; you will not mind that—II comes back to you at lier death." "1 do not deserve your kindness," said Paulino, gravely. "Yes, you do; und you will do better with your uncle's wealth than 1 have done. I have only been dead in life. Myhenrtwas broken—and 1 have had no energy. I have done literally nothing; but you will act differently, Pauline—you are a true Darroll, nnd you will keep up the true traditions of your race. In my poor, feeble hands they have all fallen through. If Sir Van« returns, you will marry him; nnd, oh I my darling, I wish you a happy life. As for me, I .shall never see the sun set again." The feeble voice died nwny In a tempest of tears; nnd Pauline, frightened, made haste to speak of something else to change tho current of her thoughts. Hut Lady UarrcJl wns right. She never saw the sun set or tho moon rise again—tho frail life ended gently as n child falls asleep. She died the next day, when the BVUI was shining its noon; and her death was so calm that they thought it sleep. She was hurled, not in the Darrell vault, but, by Pauline's desire, in tho pretty cemetery nt Audleigh Royal. Her deatlt proved no shock, for every one had expected it. Universal sympathy and kindness followed lier to her grave. The short life was ended, nnd its annals were written in sand. Lady Hampton had given way; her old dfe- Hke of Pauline had changed into deep admiration of lier sweet, .womanly virtues, hci graceful humility. "IrYnny one had ever told mo," she said, "that Paulino Darroll would havn turned mit as she has, i cou.d not have believed it. The way In whirl) she devoted herself to my niece was wonderful. I can only say that in my opinion she deserves Darrell Court." The legacy made Lady Hampton very happy; it increased her income so handsomely thnt she resolved to live no longer at the Elms, but to return to London, where the happiest part of her life had been spent "1 shall come to Darrell Court occasionally." she said, "so that you may not quite forget me;" and Pauline was surrinsed to lind that she felt nothing snve regret at parting with one whom she had disliked with all the injustice of youth. A few months afterward etin.o, a still prcat- er surprise. The lover from whom Miss Hastings hrul bi;on parted in her enrly youth —who had left England for Russia long years ngo, unrt whom she had believed dead—returned to England, and never rusted until ho had found his lost love. In Viiin tho guntlc, kind-hearted lady ]iro- tested that she was too old to marry—that sho had given up all thoughts of Jove. Mr. Bereton would not hear of it, and Pauline added her entreaties to his. "But i cannot leave you, my dear," said Miss Hastings. "You cannot live all by yourself." '•i shall most probably have to spond my life alone," she replied, "and I will not have your happiness sncriticcd to mine." Between her lover and her pupil Miss Hastings found all resistance hopeless. Pauline took a positive delight and pleasure in the preparations for the marriage, and, in spite of all Unit Miss Hastings could say to the contrary, she insisted upon settling a very handsome income upon her. There was n tone of sadness in all that Pauline said with reference to her 1'gture which struck Miss Hastings witli wonder. "You never speak of your own nii'rriaMro," sho, said, "or your own future—why is it, Pauline?'' The beautiful face was overshadowed for a moment, and then sho replied. "Jt Is because 1 have no hope. 1 had a presen iment when Vane went away, that 1 should not see him again. There are some strange thoughts always haunting mo. If I reap as I have sowed, what then?' "My near child, no one could do moretlmn you have done. You repented of your fault, and atoned for It in the best \vnv you were able." But the lovely face only grew more sad. "1 was so willful, so proud, so scornful. I did not deserve a happy life. 1 ntn trying to forget all the romance and the Jove, alfthe poetry of my youth, and to live only for my duty." "JJtit Sir Vane will come back," said Miss Hastings. "1 do not know—nil hope seemed to die in my heart when he went away. But let us talk of you and your future without reference to mine." **#*#*» Miss Hastings was married, and after she had gone away Paulina DarreU was left alone with her inheritance at last, XUII. B7IAJJOW OF ABSENT LOVE. Six years had passed since the marriage of the gove/ness left Miss Darrell alone. She heard a/'soiistnntly as ever from SirVaue; he hay 'lade money rapidly. It was no desire to make a fortune which ivay, but the fact that in the part try where he was great danger longe/ kept/ oft!' line Uriel donu iiw.iy with tlic out nnd ill-drained farm-houses, and in tlicir stond pretty nnd coiniiioillor.a buildings had been erected. She h;i<l fought a long and lierce battle with ignorance and prejudice, and she had \vnn. She had established schools where children.' •were tatiidit. lirst to ho good Christian^ and then good citizens, and whore itiel'til knowledge was made nitich of. S'ui had erected almshonses for thu poor, and a Hittreli where rieh and poor, old and young, could worship God together. The people about her rose up and called her b.'essed; tenants, dependents, servants, all had but one. word for her, and that was of highest praise. To do good seem* od the object of her lil'e,nml she had succeeded so far. No young queen was ever more popular or more beloved than this lady with her sweet, grave smile, her tender, womanly ways her unconscious prnndcur of life. Sho made no stir, no demonstration, though she wis the head of a grand old race, the representative of an old honored family, the holder of a great Inheritance; she simply did her duty as nobly (us she knew how to do it. There was no thought of self left in her. her whole (mercies were directed for the good of others. If Sir Oswald could have known how the home ho loved was i/ntvd for, he would have been proud of his successor. The mill Itself, the park, the grounds, were nil in perfect order. People wondered how It wus nil arranged by this lady, who never seemed hurried nor talked of the work sl,.j did. Pauline occupied herself incessantly, .for the bright hopes of girlhood, she felt, were hers no long- r; she had admitted that the romance, the passitm, the poetrv of her youth were nnfurgottcii, but she tried to think them dead. People wondered at her gravity. She had many admirers, but she never showed the ioast partiality for any of thorn. There seemed to be some shadow over her. and onlv' those who knew lier story knew what It was —that It was the shadow of her absent love. Sho was standing one day in the library alone, the name library where so much of what had been eventful in her life had happened. The morning had been a busy one; tenants, aircnts, business people of all kinds had been there, and Pauline felt tired. Darrell Court, the grand inheritance she had loved and in some measure longed for, was here; she was richer than she had ever dreamed of being, and, as she looked round on the treasures collected in the library, >sh« thought to herself with a sigh. "Of what avail are they, save to make others happy?" She would have given them all to bo by Vane's side, no matter how great their poverty, iu> mutter what they had to undergo together; hut now It seemed that this bright young love of hers \vns to wittier away, to be- heard of no more. Bo from the beautiful lips came a deep •igh; she was tired, wearied with the work and incessant care that the management of her estates entailed. She did not own it even to herself, but she longed for the presence of the only being whom she loved. She was bending over some beautiful ja- ponicns—for, no matter how depressed she might be, she always found solnco in (lowers —when she heard the sound of a horse's rapid trot "Farmer Bowman back again," she said to herself, with a smile; "but I must not give way to him." Sho was so certain that it was her tiresome tenant that she did not even turn licr head when the door opened and some one entered the room—some one who did not speak, but who went up to her with a beating hcartjaid one hand on her bowed head, and said; "Pauline, my darling, have you no word of welcome for me'. 1 " It was Vane. With a glad cry of welcome —aery such as a lost child gives when it readies its mother's arms—Che cry of a long- cherislied, trusting love—she turned and was clasped iri his anus, her haven of rest, her , safe refuge, her earthly paradise, attained at' last. "At last!" she murmured. ' But he spoke no wwt to her. His • eyes were noting her increased beauty. Ho kissed the .sweet lips, the lovely face. "My darling." ho said, "I loft you a beau-" tifnl girl, but I find you a woman beautiful beyond all comparison. It has seemed to me an age since I left you, and now I am never to go away again. Pauline, you will bo kind to me for iho sake of my long, true, tfcep love? You will bo my wife as soon as I can make arrangements—will you noli 1 '.' There was no coijuetry, no nft'cctlon about her; the light deepened on her noble face, her lips quivered, and then she told him: "Yes, whenever you wish." They conversed that ovenitu; until the sun had set. He told her all his experience sines he had left her, and slia found that he had passed through London without even waiting to sou Lady St. Lawrence, tso great had been his longing to see her. But the next day Lady St. Lawrence canu down, and by Sir Vane's wish preparations for the. marriage were begun at once. Paulino preferred to be married at Audlclgh Royal and among her own people. They toll now of that glorious wedding— e* the sun that seemed to shine more brightly than it had ever shone before—of tlie rejoicings and festivities such as might have attended the bridal of an empress—of the tears and blessings of the poor—of the good wishes that would have made .earth Heaven had they been realized. There iiever was such a wedding before. Every other topic failed before the one that seemed Inexhaustible—the wonderful beauty, of the bride, fche was worthy of the crown of orange blossoms, and she wore them'with a grace all her own. Then, after the wedding, Sir Vauo and Pauline wont to Oinber- leii:b. That was the hitter's fancy, and, standing that evening where r'lo had seen Vane, she blessed him and thanked him with gr.iteful tears that he had redeemed her by his great Jove. ***** There was a paragraph In a recent issue of the Times announcing that Oswald St. Lawrence, second son of bir Vane and Lady St. Lawrence, had, by letters-patent, assumed the name of Darrell. So that the old baronet's prayer is granted, ami the race of Dur- roll—-honored and respected, beloved and esteemed—is not to be without a representative. TUB END. 7 » tf ....»-•»» .* VIT ttu £,* vit ¥ Mltllj^Ufc ex![r \jthat, having been placed there in' 'j of trust, he could not well leave T a hopeless tone had crept into ) tie made no reference to coming „.. Pauline, so quick, so sensitive, ^.r-iit'this reticence the shadow of her own presentiment. Six yenrs had changed Pauline DarreU from a beautiful girl to a magnificent woman; her beauty was of that /wind' nnd I CONUKJSSEL) TKL.KGKAMS. The Bell lelephoriH directors have voted an isbue of $2,500,000 new stock on shares at par to each bolder of six shares. Peter Cardiff and Billv Keogh have been matched to fi^ht A^ril 26 for $1,500, at Portland, Oregon. ' Nicholas _ Greenback, pardoned a year ago by President Harmon on his promise to abandon polygamy, was arrested at Salt Lake Ci'y for pol)gamy. Ohio capitalists have consummated queenly kind that of itself is a noble dowry. ' negotiations for the pining of the natural Tha vnnra hiui t»it. n,i,i a ,i t n u 'm,,», i.».i . The years had but added to it They had given a more statuesque (?nico to tlie perfect figure; they had added tenderness, thought, and spirituality to the face; they had given to her beauty a clmrm that H had never worn In her younger dnys. Miss Danell, of Parrell Court. ha4 made for herself 9, wonderful reputation. Th.eie VW RQ estate ju, JJng\and gae O f the „<.])„ tt t Lake Shore into Salt L'»keCity. •'.;."" The AikauEas democratic state convention will rawt nt Little flocfe J-jne 15. , The New Jersey senate adopted & reao, lution ftwkiptf for ^eolp^ng of tt»e fair pp. Sundays

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