The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on March 30, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, March 30, 1892
Page 3
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TgEOTPEK MS MOtNES; ALGOiSfA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY, MAfcCH 30, 1892* J tiirT'll1"""-''*^- : " «;-~—^:-^t^--^^^,..-'-~i .-!--. ..--^.^ ,^->:^.i...;;..,-^.::,,.^,,.., .'- . „,-,-_. --^ :v -SS^^.^J^^.^i ;-i..;^..,--,,,^ ^4-* ..'-.^..-^ -,.,,-., <-.-*-...-—....^..v.t.^- ...... ^. ;..= :>Vi,i-_.,-...._.....i: ......ti .-..:.. Mi- !...-. a,. ._i-^ .;.. 4.i L -~ ..- .-*,.. -:>?..>- »..,^~^._.__, ^-^.-^.-^... ^-^f.--.. A- .—- £-1 .•.—*.- .„,£, ..... J .-....< A STORY OF CASTE. It pic CHAPTER I. large) splendidly furnished room, ied wltli curtains of rich lime and vel- enriclied with golden-framed mirrors inding front floor to ceiling, sparkling crystal 'chandeliers; a few inngnili- Icturcs on the walls, statuettes, books, ieately-tlnted vases, fresh flowers, and ty rich or rare delight the eye could ih for lavishly displayed and tastefully ' nged. ch was. the drawing-room of Sir Ar- tr Worthiiigton, Baronet; anil his daugh- 'and only child Florence to give the lin- ig touch 'of beauty to the splendid e, while she reclined in her velvet and ed choir j a book idly held in her hand, :ch she vainly tried to read, or thought read, a weary expression on her fair irician face, which lacked warmth, klnd- 'iss, content. What was it? Something •red its perfection. Her fovclicnd was and white as marble, her brows were ly and delicately penciled, her large k gray eyes full and bright, but yet ut- 'y devoid of tenderness, her lip* were and soft; hut yet cruelly cold-looking. de unquenchable and relentless, was .j.jnped on every feature of the fair young Bj§e, love of self displayed in every fold of "I rich silken robe, in every detail of her feful and costly toilet. Such was Flor":e, only child and heiress of Sir Arthur >rthington, Baronet. she had been Utterly spoilt and Indulged fen her birth, which made her motherless ; "" the full tide of fatherly affection which ght to some extent have compensated for the great loss her childhood had itained, was long withheld, because she is a girl. For many years she seemed to v the power to discover the secret path ich might make her companionable to father; but, as Florence developed in ,uty, and acquired accomplishments, Sir •lair's fatherly pride and affection for daughter were kindled, and he began to' gine a possibility, though she was a tighter only, that she might become the 'p of a tottering house, if the fates were ipitious, and she was undeniably its or- nc nt. ut in the meantime Sir Arthur could help discovering that his daughter was t extravagant, lie could grudge her filing; but money was" far from plentiful Ithhim; and her luxuries and splendors ed him sorely. iliss AVorthlngton throw her book on to ittle table at her side, and looked across a iccess in the drawing-room, where an- :er lady was also seated, enjoying the pe- sal of a French novel. She was no longer pn^, and, although Countess of Haven, feS\ people thought her pleasant to look Upon , yi'he noise of the falling book attracted ier ladyship's attention, and she glanced ipross the room to where her niece was jefttcd The Countess was Sir Arthur Woithington's only and widowed sister, *nd, ior the time, Florence's guest, so it behoved her ladyship to show some in- tercst in her young hostess' movements. — 3he closed her own book with reluctance, her inert nature and the overpowering bout )f the day making her easy-chair, the shady of the room, and her French novel iH t vei v pleasant to her. 'l^It might be endurable in the park by this time, aunt Margaret, .if one only had a iarriu^e. it is trying that papa, although It is the end of the season, should have taken it into his head to change the carriage ityd horses before wo leave town. I have wanted an open carriage so many days latch for besides the lieat and discomfort, ubiouglium is not the most desirable equipage to show oneself in," Miss AVorthington said Uetfuliy. 'J IK words roused the Countess from her no\c\ and her half-recumbent position. She till i ^ bur book aside, pushed the stool ini- patu ntly from under her feet, and raised llClsdl. •'>\Vlmt do you mean Florence? Do you tell mi that you are actually without a carriage?" ••;, '-To nil intents and purposes, mint Margaret. There is the brougham, and the use pf a horse from Bentley's, when J choose; but 1 hn v« been without n carriage and ttorses of my own for the last six weeks — lind just at the time when one wants them rjiost. Of course the brougham does well enough for night-work, but not to drive in Curing the day, I must confess papa is liot generally so thoughtless of my comfort; but he says I must manage now until \ : 'i f ' L e return from Thornville." "What reason has he given you Flor. |nco?" Lady Haven asked. ?| "Only that the carriage was too old fash- Ipnod for me and too heavy for the horses ^-which of course it was; and then papa Is tired of grays, and wishes me to drive fjark bays for the future." I "But at least lie might have left you the grays until the bays were forthcoming," kady Haven remarked, with apparent rea- sbn, and also with a meaning expression on lifer face. $ 'She did not dare give utterance to what was passing in her mind then, or she could hjtivo told her niece that her chance of driv- jjjg bays now or at any future time was a yery remote one. She had little doubt on IJie'subjcct herself; and she had less a few jjiinutos later, when Miss Worthington's (»wn maid brought her in a note on a salver. fe"Why are you here, Marie, instead of Pudson?" her young mistress asked. fcf, "Because one of Theresc's women brought i|io note herself, ma'am, and says she's been Jjpld to wait for an answer. 1 thought it Ijjjight bo about your dress, and that you flight require mo." t|"Jt is not — and there is no answer," Miss jjgforthington replied coldly. Andthosor- § 'nt withdrew. Hut the note appeared of some impor- icc to her nevertheless, for she read and it several times, Hushing deeply the Lady Havens' eyes were fixed in- y on her niece all the time. What is it, Florence?" her ladyship nt length. She guessed too well, al- Jhough she asked to be enlightened. ^'Simply a piece of impertinence on the Pjivt ol'Thorese, auiiti.'but it is ncverthe- }g!ss annoying. It is worrying too of papa. |,,can't understand him," Miss Worthingtou jjtddod, somewhat incoherently. §"\Vli!it has it to do with your father, Florence?" I "Why only this — Thevoso 1ms been tor- pcnting me ever since Christmas to settle niy account. 1'apa allows mo only throe jJjj\uuU"od pounds a your for my pin-monoy, jjnd lie has not given mo a fraction since |png before Christmas. Every day I ask Kim for u chock, but ho always puts me oil' $yitli some excuse or other; and see how an- Ijpying it is now, aunt Margaret — and Miss jyorthingtou's voice betrayed that tours jjyore near — "Therese actually declines to gpmnionuo my dross for the twonty-lifthun- Jess I send her forty or llfty pounds on ue- r unt.'" Has she written impertinently?" her la- .yship naked. actually in words, but in matter iOrtalnly; there is the note — redd it; and iss Worthtugtou rose quickly and bunded to her aunt. '-It is too annoying — wiul ia pa especially wished me to have u new r«ss> for. tUo tweuly-flt'tli, aiid also should be a handsome one. I have iiever tnown him to take so much interest in my appearance before—in fact lie chose the dress liimsclf; and now what am I to do? Possibly I may not SOB papa again until the be|jnning of the week." «Is Lord llarconrt Vcrnon coming on the twenty-fifth?" Lady Raven asked abruptly. "Yes, I think so," Miss WortMngton an- swcrcd, and again reddened vividly, "Well, you must have a dress,* child— there is no doubt about that," Lady Haven said; but it is a bad business, I fear," she added, almost as if to herself. "Why a bad business, aunt Margaret?— it Is provoking but I do not see that it is more. Of course papa Will give me a cheek twice over for the amount If I ask him. Jt Is only that he is always so dilatory about money matters, as you know." "I know indeed," Lady llaven answered rather grimly; "but something must be done about your dress, Florence;.the twenty-fifth is little more than a week off, and dressmakers are all so busy at this time of the year. What had you ordered?" "Oh, a most elaborate dress t But I will never go again to Therese; some one else; Therese has made her last for me. Papa himself chose it—and it Is so rarely he takes any interest in my dress, at least ns to its details. He seemed to think t would look so well as Medora; but I am afraid it will be a costly dress" —and then she began to describe to the Countess the combination of gold and silver tissue, delicate satin, and lace necessary for its production, "A costly dress indeed, eliildl No wonder Therese has declined it I For her own credit she imist send it home perfect, and at no slight expense. She may really well demur, as slid evidently thinks payment for it may he indeliniti'ly postponed; and there is a considerable sum in arrear," her ladyship declared. "What do you mean by payment being Indefinitely postponed?" Miss Worthington asked haughtily. I have never been in arrear with her before! Even papa has always been content with the way I have managed my own affairs. It is simply papa's dreadful habit of procrastination which is putting me to this Inconvenience now. Papa could write me twenty checks, If he liked," Florence averred. "Keally I don't know what is the best to be done now," she added. "You see this is no common dress; and I don't know any other person to apply to. But Therese at any sacrifice, shall never make mo another!" "Have you no money, Florence, with which you could content her for the time? Surely it might be wiser to do that than to quarrel with her under existing circumstances." "The sum total of iny riches at the present time, aunt Margifret amounts to about seven pounds. I don't think Therese would thank mo much for that. Besides, she shall work no more for me 1 The moment papa returns I shall insist upon his giving me a check for the whole, and rid myself of her at once. I can never stand impertinence like that. And I did not like her manner the other day." Lady llaven apparently did not, on the present occasion, see affairs in the same light as her niece. She was silent and her face betrayed some annoyance or perplexity. "Are all arrangements made for your ball on the 25th, Florence?" her ladyship inquired. "I think so-" "Who provides the supper?" "Morton—this time." "I thought Bunter provided the last?" "Yes, last year he did; but it seems that papa has hud some unpleasantness with him, so this year lie has arranged with Morton. Ho will do as well, I fancy." "And who provides the flowers, and arranges them?" Lady Raven asked. "Willson or Williams—I forget which But they seem quite efficient and are anxious to satisfy us; at least so papa says." "I thought Fuller was your florist?"— Lady Raven asked again, with a meaning look on her face. "He has been hitherto," Miss Worthington answered; but papa does not seem to have been contented with him either. For this occasion he made arrangements himself with Williams." "Are you sure they are made?" "Certain on that point, aunt Margaret. Williams has been here himself to see the rooms and staircases." "Are you equally sure that Lord Harcourt is coining?" "You seem really very anxious on his lordship's account," Miss Worthington rejoined, with assumed carelessness; "but I can set my inind at rest on that point. I have his written acceptance. I can tell you also that papa has lately seen him, and he has been polite enough to express interest in my costulne, and suggest that ho should wear a companion to it." A more hopeful expression passed over Lady Raven's 1'auo as she answered— "It seems a rather suspicious suggestion for his lordship to make, Florence, docs it not? It' you are to bo Medora, he intends to play Conrad, I suppose it will suit him too." Florence laughed uneasily and reddened. "It seems to me rather as if ho will be destined to play Conrad without a Medora. My costume for the occasion appears to bo falling to the ground. I will not—no I will not," Miss Worthington, declared vehemently, "assume any hauknoycd, common costume—any kind of peasant or flower girl's dross! They are always so stupid and monotonous. I detest a dress that any girl can wear! Mine must be a recherche one, if I wear a costume at all. It is most provoking about Thereso 1 And it is not only for this ono occasion; but after her rudeness, I can never go to her again, although she has suited mu so well." "1 tell you candidly, Florence, I think you will never go to her again," Lady Raven said oracularly. The tone of her voice made Miss Worthington look up. "T. do not understand you, aunt Margaret." "No, my dear, I dare say not. And perhaps I am wrong in wishing to enlighten you; but yet it seisins to mo scarcely wiso to let yon bo walking perpetually over a mine that is likely to explode at any moment." "You arc still more enigmatical," Miss Worthington answered, with a little mora haughtiness in her voice than she generally favored so important a pursonagu its the Countess of Haven with. "It is extraordinary to me, ii'lorance, that you appear to remain in such complete ignorance yonrscll'. 'Kverything 1 have seen in yourhonso lately—every thing yon have told me to-day—only proves to mu what 1 have feaml for several years past. Your father is on tins vurgc of ruin, Ho has weathered tho storm many times below; but 1'tVar his resources avc pretty nearly exhausted now, and his relatives tired of lending what he will never be able to return." A scarlet Hush dyed Miss Worlhington's beautiful fact 1 , and faded again as quickly U«r hands wcro pressed tightly together, as if she wore trying to restrain any emotion which her aunt's words culled forth, "For goodness sake, don't faint, child! To manage your affairs with miy amount of cleverness you must exert a}l you,! 1 courage, aM I tUiuU yo,u Uuve a f,«iv Hhure, 1 ' But Miss "Worthington had entirely re. covered her ordinary Self-possession—at least outwardly. "lam certain you are wrong in all you imagine, aunt Margaret. You were always prejudiced against papa, and have not shown the best taste, I think, in trying to make him appear in the worst light to me." "You may take ih had or good part what' I have said to you, Florence," Lady Raven answered carelessly; "but I am only trying to treat you as a woman, and to prevent mi inevitable blow from falling on you too suddenly. My imagination, as you term it, has nothing to do with it, my prejudice less. I speak from facts and what I know; and you will do better, my dear," she said more gently, "to make a friend of ue and avail yourself of my experience jinn to quarrel with me. Your father's gambling propensities are incurable.— Where is he at this moment? What is he doing?" Florence bent her head and covered her eyes with her hands. Pride was the curse of her birth, the poison of her nature; and she fait that it was to he bitterly hurt. It was struggling now with still stronger, deeper feelings, which she was trying to restrain with superhuman strength. "Hotter take what I say to you in good part, Florence, my dear, and let me aid you as far as I win," Lady Raven repeated. "Aunt Margaret, I cannot, think my father would blindly lead me into all this ulditional extravagance and expense if, as you think, bo is on the verge of ruin. This ball, as you know, which he persists in giving will cost him at least three or four hundred pounds." "it will cost some one that, any way, Florence; but it is I fear your father's last and dearest stake, and just, what I wisli to consult you upon; and you must listen patiently to mo. First, I appeal to your good sense. Why has your father employed Williams instead of Fuller? 'Why has he Bfivnn orders to Morton instead of Bunter?" "I really cannot tell you. Ho is sure .to liave some good reason." "Well, I can tell you, Florence—because both Bunter and Fuller are pressing him for many hundreds when he lias not many shilling. lie tells you they'are inefficient; hut he would find it difficult to make me believe that they are." "Why should he persist In giving a ball at such a time?" "That is a reasonable question, my dear, and the answer is a most important one, above all to yourself. I have had some painful conversation with your father lately, hitherto kept from you by his especial wish, not to distress you unnecessarily; but the time is come now when yon should be told. He is very fond of himself, is my brother—very," Lady Raven said, with a curious smile—"and ho cannot deprive himself of his own pursuits and amusements; b'ut still he has a soft spot in his heart, Florence. lie has a strong love for you?" It was rather an extraordinary statement to make to an only child; but those who knew Sir Arthur Worthington best would have wondered least. He had only one soft spot In his heart or nature. Something very like tears shone In Florence Worthington's anxious eyes, but they were driven, back and she looked calmly enough into her aunt's face. "I have never doubted papa's affection for me, aunt Margaret; but I cannot understand what you are saying to me, and I wish you would bo a little more explicit, or else keep silence altogether." Some instinctive feeling seemed to possess Florence Worthington that the ground she now shared with her .aunt might soon be cut from under her feet. "Well, I will be more explicit with you, Florence. You shall not complain. I only wish the day were a little cooler one for our argument. It is frightfully hot, is it not? However, as we have no carriage, we cannot take a drive in the park, which I must say I should have preferred doing," Lady Raven said with provoking coolness, "But now let me be us clear with you as I can, Florence. Acting under my advice, your father intends this forthcoming ball to be the great crisis in your life." Miss Worthington looked amazed but kept silence. "Lord Ilarcourt lias almost proposed to your father for your hand. He probably thinks you an heiress; but that is his own fault, and—happily he has gone almost too far to retract with honor. He is evidently deeply struck with your beauty; and this ball must bring affairs to a crisis in all ways. Your marriage, Florence, must be hurried on, your father's difficulties warded off in some way—Heaven only knows how. As Lady Ilarcourt, my dear, your position may be a tolerably easy one; your father must retrench abroad as best he can," Lady Raven declared. "And Florence Worthington be sold to the highest bidder," the girl herself thought bitterly; but yet the thought was sweetened when she remembered that the bidder was a lord, and that he could place a coronet on a brow well worthy to wear it. "From all you teach me, it seems in our station, that one's own feelings count for littles," she said aloud. "Feelings, Florence! For Heaven's sake, do not give way to sentiment, or everything will he lostl All depends upon your courage and good sense, my dear, and I do not think you are going to fail us in either," Lady Ravon said more, soothingly; and then she added, "All we must think of now is to avoid scandal of any kind, and try to our utmost to keep the credit ol our house untarnished. Oh, Florence, your father has been the first of his name who has ever—nay, unceasingly tried to dim its brightness! His first folly was his nyirriage—I mean no slur on your mother's iitRnc, poor dear! Her ambition did but little for her," "I thought mamma's marriage was a love-match':"' Florence asked quickly. "A love-match? Well, I suppose it was —at least on her side, poor tiling! But her love must have been sorely tried when she found that her husband was ashamed of her—that all his friends looked coldly on her. She was not of us," the Countess of Raven said slowly and with emphasis. "But surely she was a lady? I have always heard that." ' •'.V lady, Florence? Well, she certainly never misbehaved herself in any way— shu always conducted herself with tin most modest propriety during her short married life— i must say that," her lad) declared magnanimously; "but she was a chemist's daughter, Florence, that is wlial she was, child, if, yon have never knowi before—a chemist's daughter," shu repeated, "without the excuse of a penny-" There was certainly a look of something, very like horror on Miss AVorthington'i . face as she listened to the humiliating statement—a look which did not escape her aunt's observation. "1 never knew that before, aunt ret. I only knew that my mother was/"as you say, not one of us; but I had no Idea she was a tradesman's daughter. Was il generally known?" Florence asked. "No, I don't suppose that people troub- bled their heads much about your father^ wifo, child, when she was not brought im mediately under their notice—especially as there was up scandal attached to her uamo to make It interesting; had beou, tUou, with, Uci- beauty? sjif mvo become the rage. Who can, tell, In Ms strange world we live in? But, as it was, she was a poor, faded flower, child, »nd bloomed and died in her short solitary 'rnmlcur. Ynur father had not long in- lerited when he married, and was, of course, better off than lie has ever been since. He certainly took his young wife's death to heart; possibly he took to gam- Ming to divert his mind." "Was my mother so very beautiful?"— Florence asked, with a little more than ordinary interest in her voice, her mind, in spite of herself, dwelling upon the sweet :e she hud never seen, the sweet voice she had never heard, but often yearned for. «Yes, rny dear, she undoubtedly ws» very beautiful; but she did not assert her jea'uty sufficiently—it was hot in her to do that; still I must say, poor thing, she had ono of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen. She was like yourself, niy dear, only vou lack her sweetness of expression, and, nstead, you have a more patrician stamp from your father—so you see that you are :he gainer on the whole, Florence," Lady Itaven declared. "Had my mother no relatives?" "Relatives? Yes, my dear, an endless lot of sisters and brothers, I think. They pretended not to like her marriage, and I :nust say they have shown good taste in lever obtruding themselves upon us in any way." "I don't suppose they have felt much Interest upon that point." "Perhaps not. Your aunt, I remember, wrote once, and asked for you to be taken to her house—a house of business perhaps. She had most probably a strong curiosity to see what her high-born niece was like; but happily you were then in my charge, mid 1 of course did not allow such a thing. I sent her a polite note however, saying we should he very happy for her to see you in your own home, whenever she chose." "And she availed herself of your gracious permission. I can remember her coming several times when 1 was a child, but not at all lately, or for many years past." "Yes, she came a few times, and saw yon In your nursery, and probably satisfied lior curiosity and conscience—she has never repeated her'visits. But wo arc wasting time, Florence, and there is little to lose.— The most vexatious question is about your costume for the twenty-fifth, and how it is to be procured." "My interest in the subject has very nearly evaporated, aunt Margaret; if we are on the verge of becoming paupers, as you have painfully forced me to believe, it is difficult to associate oneself in any way with such grand festivities," Miss Worthington declared. "You art) foolish, Florence, and showing the < white feather', for the first time in your life. Believe me, my dear, all will go well enough—it only wants managing with tact and courage. A few months IHMICC, when you are Lady Ilarcourt, you will laugh at all your fears.. Your father is in difficulties pro tern.; if he had a million given to him to-morrow, he would probably be in them again a week hence—with his gambling propensities, nothing can hinder it. In spite of yourself, my dear, you of course complicate his difficulties and anxiety— and it is with yourself we now have to deal. Once let your marriage be safely decided, and nil will go well. The difficulty about your dress is a bagatelle. Is there no one, Florence, but Therese that you can trust?" Lady Raven asked. "~So first-rate artist certainly." "Well, I must take the risk on my own shoulders then; the scheme is mine, and I must do my best to help you through with it. I suppose that Mrs. Gilbert could undertake your costume?" her ladyship asked. Miss Worthington's face brightened, for Mrs. Gilbert's reputation as a Court dressmaker was too well established for her ability to bo doubted. "But will she not think it odd to be asked ut the last minute, as it were, to undertake my dress?" "Not if I take you,-Florence—she made my last Court dress, and your cousin's also, which was certainly a success; and I" —her ladyship laid groat stress on the pronoun—"have a weakness for paying my hills. If you ever have a chance as Lady Ilarcourt, you can repay me her account; if not, one must do something for one's relatives." TO BE CONTINUED. FARM AND HOME. THE WANDER. BT OHARLE8 MAURICE CRATTON. Controversy vs. Discussion, There is a wide difference between religious controversy and religious discussion. . Controversy is contradiction. Discussion is examination. The one is intellectual pugilism; the other is co-operative study. The purpose of the one is victory; of the other, truth. The two are immediately distinguishable from each other by the_ spirit they each manifest. Controversy is angered by opposing truth, and seeks to minify or pervert it. Discussion gladly recognizes an opposing truth and reconstructs for its reception. Discussion is modest and never self-seeking. Controversy is loud and sometimes unscrupulous. — The Interior. Tale Bearing, The tongue is a little member, but mighty for mischief or for good. The bible devotes a good deal of space to the proper use of tne tongue. The tale bearer is a contemptible character. Tne evil that may flow from his words is se great that the bible has something to say about him. Communities have been disturbed, reputations blasted, and churches wrecked by this mischief maker. An eminent preacher says: "Tale bearing emits a threefold poison, for it injures the teller the hearer, and whom the tale is vocate. the 'person concerning told." — New York Ad- Ever With Us. Men and women, you brag sometimes how you have fought your way in the world, but I think there have been helpful influences that you have never fully acknowledged. Has there not been some influence in your e&rly or present home that the world can not see? Does there not reach to vou from ;among the Canadian or New England hills, or western prairie, or from English or Scottish orjfriati homes a cord of influence that has kept you right when you would have gone astraj, and which, after you had made a crookad track, recalled you? You want a very swift horse, and you need to rowel him with sharpest spurs, and to let the reins lie loose upon the neck, and to give a shiut to a racer, if you are going to ride out • of reach of your mother's prayers. Why, a ship crossing the Atlantic in si* days can not tail away from that! A sailor finds them on the lookout as he takes his place, and finds thtun on the mast as he climbs the ratlines to disentangle a rope in the tempest, • and finis chem swinging on the haismoek when be turns in. W&v ept b> frank fl»d aOKnow« ledge it—the jp8(< pf u,$ woujd long »go baye been da^ljed to pjL§qe8'.had not IO11H 8UQ JflViH'™ Vinvt^£i^a£fta«)«lwv nvi^ ls He came into town RS the sun went down, An old man bent and gray, wltt ,,.„,.„„„ _.„„-• with a weary pace And watched the cnlldern at play, And hli wan face lighted up with a smile, As he clacked low in hit glee, As the urchins sailed their ehlogle boats On a muddy malnlature sea. "And what are you playing, my ladf" he said To the eldeit of the group. "We are Balling Bhlpu," replied ihe lad, Ashe launched a tiny sloop. "When we gel big we're going to go A long, long jonrney away, And travel around the big round earth, And Bee all the world some day." "Alas I my lad." the old man said, "Once 1 was young like yon, And longed to Bee this great, wide world, As you boys wish to do; And when a man I wandered away O'er many a land and tea, But wherever I went I could not ttnd The place that suited me. "I've wandered east, I've wandered west, And yet wherever I go, I think of ray home In that country town, And my friends of long ago, And wish myeelf at the old fireside, Upon my mother's knee, As when a hoy I used to dream Those dreams of the sounding aea." The old man brushed a tear from his eye, And arose and went his way; The children watched him fad* from sight, And turned again to play; And the aun shown down on that country town And lighted the tall church spire, While the western cloud-line hovered o'er Like K tea of Crimean lire. You may winder out, you may wander west, Till time and uternlty meet, . O'er many a land, o'er many a sea, You may plod with weary feet, But whatever the clime, -wherever tlie place, Whlcherer the Ida yoa roam, You still will long for tne old flre»ldo, And father ana mother at home. —Sunday Inter-Ocean. FARM NOTES. When it can bu donel the ewes that are to lamb should be kept in small lots by themselves. Calves reared on skim milk can readily be made to make a very satisfactory growth. If fine cut bones are baked and then fed to the fowls, the nutritive value of the food is greatly increased. To make good grafting wax take one part tallow, two parts beeswax, four parts resin. Melt all together, and thoroughly mix. Remember that if tile are laid in a E oorly graded ditch they will be likely to 11 up to the water level and so diminish the water carrying capacity. Don't let tiles be covered before you have seen them. The farmer who contrasts his business unfavorably with that of tbe shopkeeper in town would do well to make a computation of the cost of all his country advant ages and see what he would have to paj for the whole[at market prices. Fence Corners. When plowing or cleaning fields for spring operations,a most important matter is to clear eut the fence corners. This should be done even if it entails an extra job_ after the plowing is done, as it is such sources from whence come most of the crops of weeds and seeds which spread over the fields and cause endless labor throughout the entire growing season. The Caeh Basis. A farmer who had been in the habit oJ running accounts during the year and paying in the fall with the proceeds of the dairy, counted himself lucky if he made both ends meet. He resolvea to try a new plan, for one year at least. . Accordingly he hired a sum of money at the legal rate of interest and began purchasing for cash, with the result that in the fall he found that he had enough money to pay his debts and a nice little balance of $200 to place on interest. Since then he runs no more accounts. The sooner every one gets into the practice of doing business on a cash basis the better it will be for all. Mildew of the Gooseberry. The claim has been very generally made and as generally accepted as correct, that our native varieties of the gooseberry are mildew proof, but according to a bulletin of the Michigan Experiment Station, when applied to the plant in open culture, it must certainly be taken with grave exceptions, since even the Houghton, which most nearly approaches the native type, rarely, in open exposure, wholly escapes a partial loss of foliage from mildew; while Smith and Downing, with such exposure, very generally, in mid summer, lose all save a few of the terminal leaves of each shoot. True, says the authority mentioned, these two varieties, usually called natives, may, from certain of their pecu - liarities, not unnaturally, be suspected to possess a strain of foreign blood. Be this as it may, they certeinly are too English in this particular. Wheat for Fowls. Whole wheat grains contain more of the material for_ making eggs than any other single grain. If the hens are kept in warm quarters, or while the weather is warm, wheat is, therefore, a profitable feed for laying bens. It may not be the best exclusive feed. No feed is best as exclusive pf all others, but wheat comes nearer to it than aay other grain. Judging only by analysis, wheat bran might be deemed to furnish all the material elements found in eggs. But the fact that the grain is more difficult of di&es- tion than than the bran makes its better as food for poultry. The gizzard of fowls needs to be exercised. Wheat grain gives this exercise, and in this consists its superiority. Uee Buzzlngg. Full sheets of foundation in sections are preferred by nineteen out of twenty-three replied to queries in the American Bee Journal. " It is told in Gleanings in Bee Culture that a colony of bees may exist for fifty days or longer. In garnts they have been known to live -for many years withoui swarming. But it should be understood that the individual bees and queens live no longer than tbe average—the coatjuu ance of the colony dependent; upon the in fusion of new Wood. At tj$ Qhip beekeepers' convention, " diferenf kjnds of comb Coat of producing honey was discussed at the Colbrado state convention. One member said four cents per pound, but others said eight cents and yet another member put the coat at 10% centi pe? sound. Items on Apple Culture. A nurseryman, in remarks before a meeting of Wisconsin horticulturists, said: "1 do not believe that a crown graft makes a hardier graft than any other cind of graft. Now I want to say a good rord for the Walbridge; it is a good bing for us in northern Iowa. We have rees of that variety there that are twenty years old, and they are bearing good crops of apples. I want also to speak a good word for McMahan's White; it is a good tree." An orchardist at the same meeting remarked: "I want to say a few words ibout the Walbridge. In our locality it s bearing well, ana has been for several rears. It is far ahead of the Ben Davis in lavor, and is one of the best apples we lave. I have about twenty trees top* worked on the Transendant, and the Wai>ridge has done the best of any that I lave top-worked on that tree. 1 ' Making Batter. I set my milk in open pans, holding about four quarts. I have never tried setting in deoo vessels, as I am told some recommend, but I dont think I would like bat way. In a small dairy the vessels would n jt be so easily handled as the more common milk pan, which can be more conveniently placed on shelves in the milk room. So far as raising the cream is concerned, I suppose we get about all there is of it in any system of seeing if it is kept it the right temperature until tit begins to gat a little sour. In cold weather cream will become bitter if it stands too long, ind this makes it necessary for one to keep it where it will form aj little acid in about 36 hours. On the contrary, in the summer it will sour too Boon unless it is kept in a cool place. I am very seldom troubled with the butter not coming when the milk is skimmed at the right time and the skimmings are well stirred together in the creampot. The churning should be neither fast nor very slow and should be continuous until it is finished. Where one stops a while to go and attend to some other work it often seems as though no progress had been made in churning. I seldom work my butter but once, and tben I do it very carefully so as not to get the buttermilk out without mashing the grain of the butter.—Mrs. M. Care of Farm AnlinaU. Economy of time and resources is called for on every hand. The farmer's brow must sweat from thinking and planning if his farm is made to pay. Yet with method in his "multitude of work," vast gains and savings result. It is not a saving to deny the calf a good share of the dam's milk; and nothing is conserved in withholding the oats,- bran and meal from tbe colts, calves, pigs and lambs, at least for several weeks before and after weaning. Everything under a year of age, too, requires some grain in winter, and especially in March and April. Corn and corn meal are desirable in these two spring months for a part ration. Guard against parasites. Often one may furnish a good variety and quantity of grain, and jet the young things, and old ones, too, seem to fail in flesh. Preventive agents are more desirable than cures; and these are usually found in some of the common condiments, such as salt, ashes, resin, etc. A knowledge, too, of the simple remedies for the common ills of the stock, enables one to check such disorders as diarrhoea, or constipation before serious results follow. Every 15-year-old boy and every hired man should know two or three different available remedies for these troubles. It is important to know, also, when an animal is out of condition, as many days' decline may thus be checked. It is wise to read up the symptoms of the numerous diseases which are common to farm stock and their remedies. Cyclopedias, dictionaries, and veterinary works should be found in every stockman's library. The best aids to successful care and treatment are the items one has learned thoroughly, and by familiarity has them 'constantly in mind. But in proceeding from memory only, one needs to feel pretty sure that he is right.—M. THE HOUSEHOLD. The Unexpected. BT JAMB8 MiNNINO BBONION. Hotalwaya does the iillrer-atraamtng aun His royal onward-coming first announce But oft, aa though to take by surprise, He eeuda hla roay meseosgere by stealth Around the globe the other way, and so I've seen them dancing on the western hill, Their shimmering silken robes wide-trailing o'er The purple-floored horizon, while at yet The stolid eastern cheek of gloomy night Betrayed no sign of near approaching day, So sometimes shines upon a darkened noul The joyous harbingers of light and life ; Prom unexpected sources comes the benlson Of solace, comfort, strength and Inspiration, And with them Hope and Talth • and Love revive, Diligence is the parent of science, and the dispenser of excellence. Those who are willing to do their duty need not look far for one who will delay. What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?— George Eliot. On the day that a man finds out that he is a fool he has become a near neighbor to wisdom. Gratitute for tha past, content in the peesent, and trust in the future, constitute the trinitpof hapiness. If wrinkles must be writenbn our brows let them not be written upon the heart. The spirt should never grow old. — James A. Garfield. The winter restrains, that the _ summer may have the needfuj time to do its work well; for the winter is but the sleep of summer. The truth cannot be smothered. It will come to light even though an effort be made to crush it. Men may lie themselves into money and wealth, but they cannot lie themselvea into heaven. tittle" Thing*, We are too prone to neglect the little things of life. It is a wonder, that this M trfte, but it is so. We plunge along for the greater gifts aud let the little affairs alone to take care of themselves, and they avenge t^teinselye? on us

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