The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on April 6, 1892 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, April 6, 1892
Page 3
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TttE UPPER PES MOINES. ALGOS A. IOWA, WEDNESDAY. APRIL PRIDE'S OONFLtCT. 1 ''.'. A STORY OF CASTE. Florence Wortliiiigton's blood boiled In jer vein'sj b'iit slio could not retaliate—she lOttld only endure as best slid might. "We must tell Mrs. Gilbert that Therese .as annoyed you; she. will never imagine in hat Way, and it will only give her greater !St to please yoii. is there any kind of ve- ;clo we can lmve> Florence, or must it be cub?" Lady lUVeii asked. Vf here. Is tlie brougham, and a horse _ oni tee'ntley's as 1 told you;" n'nd Miss Worthlngton rang the bell impatiently and jave the ardor. . "One word, Florence, before we start— We seem to be tolerably d'tietord on nil other points—have.; you invited young Carleton to your ball?" , . • Again .vblnsli deepened into scarlet on Miss AVorthlngon's ordinary pale checks, and she answered nervously— "I think so—it Would not be easy to ex- elude him, mint Margaret; he and*his sis- tors lire certainly our oldest friends, and wo visit N'i'llienvood noarly every year.'' ••Ithiaybe so, Florence; nevertheless hli sxclusion on this occasion would have been very desirable. Just now matters have •cached a crisis between yourself and Lord Hnrcourt—and a limn is too easily soared :roui bis intentions." "His love iniist be a very valuable acqui- lition then," Miss Wortliington could not iclp retorting* "You speak iW you do not think, Florence," Lady Uavcn answered. "Men are lot fond of having their amour propro wounded, and, in fact, he did allude in some way to young Cnrleton'H attentions— which, you must admit, arc rather marked —to your father the other day." "Did he presume to do such a thing?" Miss Worthington asked indignantly. "I scarcely know what you mean, Florence. Honorable men aru generally straightforward; and he certainly hinted to your father that ho was afraid of forcing hi» : at- tcntions whore he saw otli'crs than himself were at least privileged. He did it, most delicately; but he could only allude to young Carloton—and he might easily'imag- ine what ho did. Of course I know that jrou arc not Imprudent; but his lordship's fears will just now be easily aroused. Evry one must admit that Hugh Cnrloton is scln.iting enough to turn any ordinary s head—and lie has the excuse too of icing the youngest son of a poor Viscount; ut it would be too absurd if he were to magine any sort of engagement between on as possible. You must know that por- "octly well, Florence." Yes, Florence did know that perfectly roll; but the knowledge so far brought ier no comfort. "And when one string is useless, my ear, it would be too foolish to run the risk if breaking the other," her ladyship de- lared. "You must bo studiously cold to r. Onrlcton 911 the twcnty-lil'th, Florence, ou must force Lord Harcoiirt to see that ithci j s attentions are as nothing to you." Half an hour later Lady Haven and her ,iece Miss Worthington were deep in the ysteries of Mcdora's costume in Miss Gil- i't's handsome reception rooms. The fu- ious artist was only too delighted to un- .ertake the costume for the beautiful helr- iss—for the future Lady Jfurcotirt. She as delicately enlightened on both points iy Lady Haven. Madam Therese's short- omlngs were freely discussed and com- acnted on. Medora's costume being perfectly understood, und faithfully promised two days before the twenty-fifth. For tht time Miss Worthington's troubles ere scared away by the rustle of silks, >Bi»d the sights of delicate and brilliant col- |ors displayed artistically before her. She 're-entered' her carriage radiant, and even proposed for her aunt's pleasure a short en d'riye in the park in the hated brougham.— """ih'ey returned only in time to make their ite-diimer toilet, and to find that Sir Ar- luir had unexpectedly arrived in their ab. "Has lie lost nil, or gained enough to jffloiit yet a little longer in his present position!'" the Countess of Ravon asked herself ffcurfully while she languidly uscended the fotairs to her dressing-room. CHAPTKU II. Sir Arthur Worthington was a man just [past middle life, of slight frame, tall, and [aristocratic-looking, with what would have jbeon a handsome face had it not been so ihurd and worn, and with eyes too restless [and anxious, suggesting a brain tormented [with worry. Sir Arthur was, at present engaged In ckig his room restlessly, feeling eager and iirritabk', until the door opened and his [daughter Florence entered; then his face ightened and softened jvouderfully under :thc only purely Immunizing and unsollinli 'nfluence his nature know. spasm of pain and fear passed suddenly through his heart when his eyes fell up- jjpn the dazzling picture before him—tiie •adiant face, the tall, graceful girlish figure [draped in pule-uolored silk and lace. The ride in the young face was subdued into iirvelous softness as Florry eiune forward welcome her father after nearly a week's .bsunce. Her eyes were not keen enough note the overstrained cheerfulness in his 'greeting and the anxious fcveri.shness in iis face. "Why, Florry child, I wondered whith- you had down with <my lady the Countis*' ! You arc. so rarely out now in the day. f course you had my letter this morning?" te asked. «No, papa, I did not." «Thun thai stupid fellow Peters must uve posted it too late yesterday, or forgot- eii it altogether. 1 wrote you a line in ood time purposely that you might expect io. How well you are looking, my darV " ho wild suddenly, the sight of her euuty raising hi* sinking spirits—if sho ad only known in what way! ' Ho seemed nervous and distrait, and ^lorence also, her aunt's late conversation eturning vividly and painfully to her mind. "Ho\v is all going on for the twenty-fifth, lorry? Everything settled, I hope, dear not a hitch? I mean our ball to be a irilllunt climax to a brilliant season. All right, dear?" he asked, fancying he saw shadow on her face. "Ye.s, papa, I think so; you settled ev- rything, you know before you left." "1CVUH to Medora^H dress, eh—the most Important tiling of all? It should be pcr- 'eetion—and will be, if you have kept ex- ctly to Hunt's picture. We must have a rivuto dress rehearsal. Florence, I don't ncy I shall see much of you on the occa ion." But an unmistakable shadow had 'alien now on Miss Worthington's facc : hich her father saw. "What is wrong, Mid? Hag Therese made a mess of it?— •ut there is time to rectify it yet." "Tlierese lias not blundered in the way ou think, papa; what is more she la not naking my costume at all." "Thereso not making it, Florence 1 What lo you mean?" Sir Arthur asked quickly "Only this, papa dear—Therese has been ery anuoyiug and impertinent. And Miss tVorthington's face flushed again and shad- wed more as she recalled her aunt's words her mind. And then a great pity came nto her heart for her father. It is not neb, papa dear—nothing of consequence, ud aunt Mareavet has kindly helped J»e out of niy difficulty, or JUnrtora-s dress would hat;c failed entirely," she added iglitly. "Be more explicit, Florence," Sir Ar- ;hur said irritably; but ho knew too well what was coming. "You know I have asked you many times ately i'6r money; but you have always forgotten to give me some. And! owe The. •ese quite a hundred pounds—perhaps nore; for I think it must be nearly two years since I paid her entirely, and accounts run up so quickly," Miss Worthing, ton said thoughtfully. "But I have sent a check when I could. And now she has written mo an impertinent note, declining to fill any more orders until her account is settled." . 'Hang her impertinence 1" Sir Arthur broke out angrily. But leave her to me, my dear. Give me her account, and I will settle it. Of .course you will not go to her again* It is provoking if she suits you-^though I suppose there are others as good. But what have you done about your cos. tume? There is no time to be lost." "Aunt Haven came to the rescue, as you were away; and she has taken me to Mrs. Gilbert. There need be no fear about my dress," Miss Worthington said. Even Sir Arthur, in spite of his sublime inaifl'erence to feminine attire, had heard of so celebratRd an artist as Mrs. Gilbert; and ho knew she would not fall short in any way—therefore on that point he felt considerable relief. ••It is n, most extraordinary piece of good nature on 'my lady the Countess's' part—I never knew her guilty of a similar one before. All is well that ends well, Florence. Bii* what have you done about the picture? Did Therese return that?" "We have had to do would not send for it; but you know it was almost the same as the one in our illustrated Byron. I have taken that to Mrs. Gilbert; and as we drove -to her, aunt Margaret suggested my buying a colored print at Albert's. But Mrs. Gilbert seems perfectly competent. She says sho understands the costume entirely—and I am sure she does. Her only anxiety seemed about my jewels and the string of pearls; and I told her we would choose what we thought would do from the two old-fashioned strings of poor mamma's. So I must have them from the bank; you know they have been there ever fitncc before we went to Dcimville three years ago. I wanted to ask you about them before papa, but have always forgot, ten." "Those emeralds and rubies of your mother's are too old-fashioned and heavy for you Florence," Sir Arthur answered quickly. '-You must have some strung pearls and jewels that, arc more Oriental-looking —crescents and stars, and that kind of thing. I will attend carefully to that part of your costume myself. I will see Barton —we must biro for the occasion. It would be a thousand pities to run the chance of spoiling your dress by not having exactly what is required." The idea of appearing in borrowed finery seemed distasteful to Miss Worthiugton, and her face betrayed what she felt. "It is constantly done, child—done for all the Drawing-rooms," Sir Arthur said. Ask your aunt if I am not right," he added. "We must try to make out a list of what you require—half a dozen armlets at least, and unlimited strings of pearls; they would all eost a larger fortune than mine, Florence," he said with a sigh. "But it is getting liitc, dear, and I have not broken my fast since early morning." He did look tired, and faint and heart wearied. "Send your aunt k> me for a few minutes while you dress—I don't suppose you will be long." "Ten minutes will suflice to-day, papa; I don't imagine you will care for my making an elaborate toilet, as we shall be alone. But there is nothing wrong, is there," she asked, hesitating a moment, and laying her hand on his shoulder—"nothing wrong, papa, that you want to see aunt Margaret? Tell me instead, if there is," she begged earnestly. "Wrong, dear? nothing that I know of— what could there be but that I want my dinner? Tout va bien—all goes well, I should say. But one word, Florence dearest"—and he detained her as she was passing him. "Has your aunt spoken to you about Lord Harcourt? Tell me, dear." Again a scarlet (lush passed over Miss Worthiiigton's face, and she answered hesitatingly— "Yes, papa; she told me to-day that there was some understanding between his lordship and yourself—provided I should bo inclined to receive his attentions," she added haughtily. What a world of anxiety there was in Sir Arthur's face 1 How tightly he grasped her hand 1 "You will do that my darling—it is the dearest wish of my heart? It will be a princely match for you, Florence. Answer me, dear," he pleaded anxiously; don't keep me in suspense. You will not be mad enough to throw away such a position? What could you wish for more?" But Miss Worthington had no intention of throwing away such a chance: it suited her pride exactly—that it suited her heart as well she could not say. Sho knew that it would remove a mountain of difficulties that her aunt had lately piled up before her—and she was at least heart-whole. But her instincts were always truthful, and with her father she could feign least of all. "It is all as you say, papa, perhaps; but" —and she hesitated painfully' "But what, Florence?" "I have seen so little of him; beseems to me almost a stranger," she could not help eaying. "Is that all Florence? Must you <keep company with your young man' for weeks before you decide that lie will suit you? That is rarely done in our station, Florence." He well knew her weakness. Nor is it what I mean, papa. It Is onlj .is I tell you. Lord Harcourt seems al most a stranger to mo. I doubt if I have seen him six times," she saiA. "But it is always so in our sphere, Flor ence. Suitable marriages are arranged by competent people—they do not arrange themselves, us in the lower classes; there is too much at stake. If you tell me that his lordship is really distasteful to you, darling, Heaven knows I will not for the whole world force your inclination or make you wretched. But, Florence, all my iiopes are centered in you to keep up the honor of our house by your beauty, dear You cannot inherit my title, and," Sir Arthur bit his lip angrily—"the bulk of al my money must go with it—I cannot touch it. And, oh, Florence, I urn miserably poor dear—cruelly poor!" Florence had never seen her father so Moved. Had her heart been softer than li was, it would have ached for him. As ii was, she felt strangely moved—moved enough to feel inclined to make more than « littte sacrifice on her own part. <•! will try to do all you wish, papa.— Nothing is settled yet; but I will not thwart your wishes." "That is my darling girl!" he said thankfully. "Once let me see you settled safely, and iu your proper position, and I shal bo content. For myself, I must get on us I can; but, I could not bear to bee you debarred from luxuries pr comforts which »r* essential to you," "Do you fear thritf" Florence asked, dls- nayed. 'ifo, dear, not actually—not immediate* Bttt 1 have grciit liabilities, Florence, —mortgages and other troubles hanging vcr me, happily beyond your powers of omprehenslon. Now go, darling; you mVe relieved my mind of a load. Send •our aunt to mo for a few moments, and hen let, us have dinner—it is now within few hilnutcsof the time." ****** The interview between Sir Arthur Vorthiiigton and the Countess of Raven vas characteristic enough—fear of impend- ng consequences on one side, and little ove on either, but with a tolerable out- vard show of the convenances of society rom both. Brother and sister though they vere, they were but little alike in appearance. Sir Arthur Worthington, in spite of lis unfortunate propensities, inherited the refinement of his aristocratic father; while ady Haven inherited all the plebeian attributes of her mother, a cotton-spinner's vldow. But courteousness between broth- cr and sister was never wanting. With studious politeness the Baronet greeted his sister and led her to a chair near his own. "Tell me quickly, Arthur, what bod lews you have! Florence has just fright, ened me to death by sending me here. Let me know what other fearful catastrophe nay be hanging over otir doomed heads I" icr ladyship said hurriedly, apparently in ;reat anxiety. "Thank you for your sympathy .Margaret; but happily there is nothing fresh to communicate; you know the worst—in 'act, I have had a stroke of good luck since I saw you. I have won a clear live bun. dred pounds in ready money, which I have lere in my breast-pocket," Sir Arthur said touching- his coat as he spoke. "If you wish for all my confidence, Margaret, I may as, well tell you that I have lost another two thousand to Bulkely. But he is a good fellow; he has added to the arrears, and awaits a speedy reckoning for the whole r—may ho get it! However, he is a gentleman, which is a comfort; and he shall not lose eventually, I am determined. But this five hundred pounds in ready money is worth everything td me. With care it may almost tide me over Florry's marriage. If I had had it only a fortnight ago, I might liave trebled it." "Or lost it," interposed his sister. "Ah, well, that of course one cannot know!" her brother answered. But my principal reason for wishing to see you now, Margaret, was to express my gratitude to you for the tact you seem to have shown with Florence. I am sure I could not have managed her as you appear to liave done. She is as docile as possible.— What have you told her? Anything or nothing?" the Baronet asked. "I have told her as little as possible, but enough to show her the necessity of falling willingly into our projects. And I must compliment you on your daughter's good sense; few girls would be prepared to act as wisely as she promises." "I hope you have not made her over-anx- iouB about my affairs, Margaret?" • "Not at all. Ji have only shown her the necessity of acting wisely instead of fool, islily, Arthur. It would have been cruelty to let her wander blindly into some fool's paradise, as to which she must a little later have boon desillusionnee," The Baronet looked bewildered. "Trust a woman always for seeing farther than men, Arthur. The few days I have been with you have made plain to me what months might have hidden from you," the Countess declared, and then went on— "Florence was just beginning to imagine herself in love with Hugh Carleton. llap, pily the reality had not been quite arrived at; but I have only been just in time." "I think you arc right, Margaret; and I thank you from my heart. But I think al so that Florence seems inclined to apprc. ciate her brilliant prospects; she certainly inherited our family specialito—pride," Sir Arthur remarked. "Yes, she evidently has enough of that —and pride may be a very desirable quality ; at the same time, experience has taught me, brother, that it generally contrives to have a fall where one's own inclination is concerned. It seems often powerless for one's good, though of course very edifying for others." CIIAPTKH 1TI. Strings of carriages reached from one end of i'ortimin Square to the other. The London season was drawing to a close, and but few houses for reception: so that, amid them all, Sir .Arthur Worthiiigton's mansion shone with undimmnd brilliancy The evening was very sultry, and the windows were thrown open wide to admit as much air us possible into the rooms; but they were, artistically draped with lace and silk to shut out tho vulgar gaze of the London mob gathered outside in the vain hope of picking up a few crumbs of the pleasure which seemed scattered with such a bountiful hand within. It was an old story. A man on the verge of ruin was lavishing hundreds in an hour on a crowd of people whom ho would never care to see again, and who would probably be his most censorious critics eventually. Sir Arthur Worthington was risking all'upon his last and dearest stake; he had an excuse which hundreds lack. Lord Harcourt Yernon, dazzled, but not yet quite vanquished by Florence Worth, ington's beauty, was on this occasion—by the uddititonal lustre her loveliness borrowed from her splendid Eastern costume, the intoxicating music, the enervating perfume of flowers, the sweet food on all sides offered to his vanity—to be utterly subdued and led into captivity beyond all possibility of escape. Amongst the whole host of fair young aristocrats—peasants fron all nations, mimic queens from fairyland, snow-fairies, ice-fairies, goldenhaired Marguerites with real or borrowed tressea to their feet—Lord Harcourt was to find but one pearl of price; und truly there was one whose all-powerful beauty, whose subtle power to charm, and whoso radiance surpassed all the rest. Amongst them all there was not one that in beauty, grace, or animation, approached Florence Worthington, So all thought and admitted who were not blind- ed by vanity or envy; so best of all knew her father—and it brought comfort, ye.t some pain, to his weary heart; so decided without hesitation Lord Harcourt Yernon, as he bent over the bright young face so eagerly uplifted to his own, as he drank in the softness of her dark eyes, that were conscious of their own power and beauty and of the admiration they attracted; so knew, beyond a doubt, Florence Worthington herself. Her rich brown hair was gathered back in thick tresses under a silver veil and twined with strings of pearls; the delicate-tinted silks she wore were broid- ercd with gold and silver and fastened with jewelled stars, the fair throat and rounded arms lucleu with shining pearls and glittering gems. Well indeed had Mrs. Gilbert fulfilled her promise. Miss Worthingtou'e dress was indeed perfection, its <|fieut most dazzling, suiting its wearer's style of beauty to perfection. ^Florence knew this well herself, und it gave additional brightness to her eyes and a softer tenderness J4ps. q,'hero was no doubting ber power; she jya? waiting far Lord Harcourt was her shadow—and no mean one, in his Greek dress, which ae- corded well with his slight well-knit flg- iire, his straight dark features. Possibly, without his title, Lord Harcourt might not so easily have found the way to a beautiful girl's heart. She might have found his face too expressionless, his grey eyes too dull, his smile wanting in sweetness and sincerity, his words lacking true sympathy With herself or others; but Florence! seoin. ed to find no shortcomings in his lordship. Lord Harcourt knew that he was the most envied amid all the brilliant gathering, and the knowledge pleased him not a little.— His head too was turned by the evident empressement with which the beautiful Medora favored him with her unmistakable preference. Hugh Carloton, in his Cavalier dress, might well hide his diminished head and pace the conservatory in solitary and impotent anger, biting ills tawny moustache viciously, but all the while his heart aching sadly. He knew that for him the die was cast—he had never had much hope, still, with the persistent hopefulness of youth he had hitherto revelled and been content in the sunshine of Florence's smiles. Only once this evening their oyns d met, and he had noticed that Florence's had dropped and saddened under his reproachful gaze; but it was all over now—the next time their hands met he would probably be forced to offer some conventional congratulation upon her engagement to Lord Harcourt. For himself, he had long known that the prize was be. yoml his grasp, unless Sir Arthur should smile upon his suit and give her a dower sufficient to enable them to marry; and this he had long been hopeless about, being more than suspicious of the baronet's ability, oven were ho really inclined. Just now Hugh Carlcton's heart wad very sore and lie was trying hard to bear his disappointment philosophically.— Nevertheless the cup was a bitter one, and doubly so on this occasion, when ho saw Florence's sweetest smiles so freely lav- islied upon a man whom he sure sho could not really like; but Hugh Curlcton's nature was a generous one, and already a soupcou of contempt for Florence's worldliness and ambition was beginning to lighten his disappointment. There was a pause in the dancing, and Miss Worthington. leaning on Lord liar- court's arm, ascended the flower-banked staircase. The heat was intense, and every one seemed to be seeking vainly for a breath of fresh air. It was one of tlioso sultry evenings towards the end of June, when the atmosphere seems laden with the full heat of summer. Many of the guests assembled at Sir Arthur Worthingfon's had purposely waited in town for what was expected to be the most brilliant bull of the season—perhaps with an instinctive feeling that it was the last and brightest they might ever attend there. The music resounded in most so- ductive strains; the (lowers languid in the heat, seemed to breathe out their sweetest perfume; the myriad lights shone upon bright-lined silks and satins, brilliant jewels, and brighter than all, fair young faces enlivened with pleasure, vanity, and excitement. Lord Harcourt led his partner from the refreshment-room, and escorted her up the grand staircase to a conservatory lighted only by a single lamp and crowded with fresh ferns, with a small trickling fountain. This at least promised some coolness; and as the dancing bud recommenced, it was now deserted, which Lord Harcourt quickly discovered. Something in Florence Worthington's better nature still struggled for ascendancy. She was, despite herself, Instinctively feeling that there might he degradation in selling oneself for money, even though the buyer were a lord. "They are, playing a delightful waltz; let us go back to tne room that wo may have one turn before it is over," she'urged, using gentle force to draw his lordship with her to the ball-room—Lord Harcourt was an excellent dancer, and she too loved dancing. •'No, Florence"—for the first time her mime, passed his lordship's lips, and sbo know her fate was approaching—"let mu beg you to stay here a little while instead. Look ut those tempting chairs in\der the orange trees and close to the fountain. Let me pray you to rest here fora little," Lord Harcourt pleaded. TO BE CONTINUED. FARM AND HOME, A MAN'S to FREAK OF AFFECTION. Pennsylvania Girls FurnlHn a Parallel the McmphlH Cane. ALTOONA, Pa., March 31.—Last night Miss Emma Fox shot and killed herself with a revolver because Mif-s Spate, wiih whom she had fallen in love, refused to return her affection. The young ladies are both of cood parentage and well to do. Substitute for Hutch's Bill. WASHINGTON, Maich 31.—The House Committee on Agriculture will report a substitute for the Hatch anti-option bill and similar measures. It is understood the suhstitute will be acceptable to the boards of trade. IfJTO AN OPEN SWITCH. Five Trainmen lludly Hurt In a Wreck Near 1'rlncoton, Ind, PBINCETON, Ind., March 31.—A terrible case of negligence occurred on the Louisville, Evansville & St. Louis railroad this morning. A train going east at a rate of twenty miles an hour ran into an open switch at Becks' siding and dashed into some freight cars. The engine, with nine cars, was completely demolished. Pol- lowing are those injured: JOHN ROSEJTBDRO, engineer, bead out and •boulders crushed. PETK DELANEY, fireman, head and face badly out. HAKUV CRAKES, conductor, body rolled and bruised; not seriously. T. J. ROBERTS, brakeman, head and face badly cut, legs and arms terribly crushed. W. O. WRIGHT, rear brakeman, uead and face badly cut; back, both legs and one urm mushed. Be la also internally injured. Telegraph Operators May Strike. WICHITA, Kan., March 31.—All tbe telegraph operators on the St. Louis & Bun Francisco railroad were pledged last night to hold themselves iu readiness to strike on April 1 if tho demaudt of the Order of Railway Telegraphers in the matter of reinstatement of $. M. Groome were not complied with by that date, o CunvrotaluUny Jllsiuurok. BERLIN, March 81.—Prince Bismarck- is already beginning to rooolvo telegrams and lettoi-H congratulating upon the Bovonty-Boveuth ot hiw birth, which wiU morrow. lie ul«o I gland at the bar of yonr pure woman's gonl,' Condemned in the cause that yon plead; Jly only defence la the simple request That you'll judge me by motive, not deed, For remember that man's bnt a child In the dark Though formed by (lie hand from above; He will lull many tlmee, but«halt walk forth at last In the sunshine of Infinite love. So I'm boldened to answer yonr question BO fair. And give you "A man's Reply"; That for the prize of a trot woman's love 1 am ready to live or die. You ray that the man who gains your love Must be brave, and true and good; In anewer that she who wins my heart Must be a type of true womanhood. Yon say that yon look for a "man and a king," A very prince of tho race; I look lor a king and a generous heart, And not for a queenly face. Yon require "all things that ure good and true, All things that a mini should be;" I nek for a woman, with all that Implies, And that IB sufficient for me.. You ask for a man without a fault, To live with here on earth; I Hskfor a woman faults and all, For by faults I may judge of worth. I ask for a woman made as of old, A higher form of man, Ills comforter, his helper, adviser and friend, Ag iu the original plan. A women who has an aim In life. Who llnds life worth the living; Who makes the world better for being here, And for others he; life is giving, I will not require all that I have asked In these Hues so poor and few; I only pray that you may be all That God may make of you. For yonr heart, and life, and love, Aru tacred things to me; And "I'll Blake my life" that I'll be to you Whatever I ought to be. FA11M. NOTKS. ' t CuttluE». Cuttings of currant and goo-ieberry may be made in the fall or spring—about six inches long—and firmly imbedded in mel lotv soil at a slight angle so that the top of the cutting will be about even with the top of the Boil. Milk for Tonne Animals. Milk is the natural and, therefore, best food for very young animals. But after they get old enough to take other food, it should; as rcilk does, in the kind of nutrition required to build up frame and make growth. Oatmeal is better than corn for young pigs. Young chickens should have milk and graham cake, alternated with cracked wheat. Calves, after being wean ed from tnilk, can be made to grow rapidly with a very little oat meal, scalded in hot water, with a little milk added. Pop Corn, From 50 to 60 bushels of 40 pounds each of pop corn may be raised on an acre, with good culture. Tbe price ranges from two to three cents per pound, sometimes a little higher. Seed may be obtained of any seeds- man, but it is often more or less mixed. II requires a good soil, well-worked, and il must be kept until it is nearly a year old before it is marketed. Mice must be kepi from it—any taint ia ruinous. It may be planted a little closer than the larger field corn. The variety known as rice corn is among the best. Exercise Horses. Horses should never be entirely without exercise. Even when not at work every day, they should have enough to do to cal upon the nutritive organs to furnish the waste necessary to keep the anin:al in health. If there is no waste of nutrition it si_ ply remains without change, and is therefore, ot no account for strength or activity, i'at some times remains thus. Muscle or strength never does. A. fatten ing animal may remain for a long time •without change. But an animal that is valued for its strength must be growing stronger or weaker every day. Preparing Land for Corn. When preparing the land for corn it is best to broadcast the manure as the corn roots spread and feed over the whole surface. The coarsest kind of manure may be used on coin land, as corn is a grors feeder and will be appropriate any kind of manure. To give corn an early start ap ply a full of a mixture of ten parts lane plaster and one part nitrat? of soda, scat tred over each hill. This will cost bu little and will push the young stalks aheac until they are capable of feeding on the menure applied. Fowls lu Confinement. Many persons keep fowls in conflnemen for want of space and much better manage ment must be given in order to avoid dis ease and over-fat condition, says no les an authority than PH. Jacobs. If thi flock is small and table scraps should be made to answer and work. It is much better to have them hungry and eager to scratcl for any extra allowances, the princtpa food being chopped grass, or some kind o bulky material. One of the essential re quisites is not to permit the hens to bi idle, but compel them to scratch fo: something than to overfeed them and thereby destroy their value as egg pro ducers. Nutriment in Cheese. It is not so generally known as it ehoulc be that cheese is the concentrated nutri meet of milk, which is itself the most per feet tfood for the young. In makinf cheese, rennet is used, which makes i mote digestible than the natural curd o the milk made thus without rennet. It i for this reason thut eating cheese is every where recognized as u natural help to di sett ion. It taxes the digestive powers o the stomach, and then by tho rennet tba itself contains helps to digest the fooc Milk disagrees with many with whom mi all piece of cheese, increased as it can bo eaten •without bad consequences, woul leauh in permanent increase of digestiv power. nt plan of breeding the best they hard, nd FO endeavoring to rjerpetunf.etbn most aluable qualities of their stock, instead f the poorest. In no line of stock does ood breeding have a surer effect upon ur profit*, and if a man cannot breed a ood mare he had best hot breed any. Rotten Diiofel. Now that duck raising is increasing in ipulnrily the merits of tho various breeds ire being* more generally discussed, One writer think* that, a9 a breed for "all pur- ose," the Rouens may be considered as lie best. They aru large, splendid layers { large, nutritioiis eggs; good eating (as II ducks are) and one of tho most, bcauti- ul of their class. The Rouen resembles onsiclerRbly the miU 1 Mallard of our lakes nd rivers, with which nearly all arc familiar; they are Buppot,ed to have orig_itt- ted from that breed. The drake partipu- arl; calls fourth admiration, having a rich luish green bend, salmon or dark chest- ut breast, bluish-dun body, and deep lack, back, with wings barred with green, rbite and black. What more beautiful r more striking combination could be magined ? They nevertheless come under be head of utility, some considering them be most profitable of tbe duck family. Breed tbe It was the general practice not ver v Ion if ago, aud widely accepted as the cor rect method, to breed any mare that was not good for any other use. II she was nd or tricky she would still do to ^ 1801$, find to^bji preotio, ft Ja,r*ely •T_i3ir- - .T^- =••*- -i • T-r-- — , T ?*r f " •* * » T ' /. r d»e th.e; great flumbey w poor horses (ha ....... ,..._.,.__,. wj( .j^ £ oy 0 hqnje, upoi becaus he sol the Why Bee* Swarm— How to Hinder. As soon as a swarm issuep, mark the iarent colony, nnd tbe next day uncover he hive and introduce- a virgin queen by imply allowing her to run iu between the ornus. Thin will prevent after-swarming or the following reason?: It is a well es- abliobed fact that by departure of the old [ueen, the queenless colony depends upon ts queen calls for its future queen, ana as he first queen thus batched destroys alt he remaining queen cells, unless signaled by the "piping of a second queen, this lew queen will take the old queen's place, iencq there will be no after-swarming; tbe [ueen, if signaled, will leave with part of he bees, called an i.fter swarm. As the next queen batches, if signaled by a third, mother swarm will issue, and so on. By ntroducing a virgin queen about two days ild (which every bee keeper should have it that time), all queen cells will be de- itroyed by that queen, which will be mated n a few days, thus effectually preventing after swarming, and advancing brood earing from 10 to 15 days, writes a correspondent of American Bee Journal. Bees n such a state of queenlessness never de- troy a virgin queen introduced r.t the lop if the hive, not knowing whether Buoh [ueen came out of their own cells or not. Jolonies thus treated will not only diacon- inuo swarming, but if given sufficient ipa.ce, will not swarm again next reason. THE HOUSEHOl/D. The Shepherd Aud the l.amb». TUB ANUKI.UH, Upon the margin of a flowing river The eastern nhopherd lends hie timid cheep; Be calls them on, but they utand utill and shiver: fo them the ntreara seems wide and swift ana deep. lie calls them on, out they In fear are standing; lie calls them on, bnt on they dare not go; They heed not the voice of his commanding, They only hear the river'u fearful How. Then, from the nlde of one protecting mother, A lamb the shepherd takes unto Ins breast; And then he gently bonds, and takes another, And In hU arms the two lambs lie, at rest. They lie at rest, and ae he close enfolds them, He hears them safely o'er the river wide; The little lambs know well tho arm that holdi them, They nestle warmly and are satisfied. Then the fonfi mothers, with maternal longing, Look on beyond that river's fearful flow; They can but fol.ow, and, behind them throng- inir, Their fleecy comrades are in haste logo. Drawn by a love stronger than any shrinking, Their lambs they follow over any tide; They heed not now the (swimming or the slnk- Thev brave the stream and reach the fuither Bide. And while the tender shepherd kindly feeds them, They think no longer upon what halh been, lie gives them back ihelr lambs, und then he leads them By the sUll waters and the pastures green. So shall It be with yon, 0 weeping mother, Whose lamb the Lord hath taken from your sight; Tl» He hath done It—He, and not another, Your lamb lies In Ills urine, clasped close and tlglit. Across the stream your little one Is taken, That you may fear no more tta quick, dark flow, But thut, with steadfast heart und faith unshaken, You may be ready ufter It to go. This is the tender Shepherd's loving pleasure, To bless at once the little one und you; He knows that when with Him Is your best treasure, There, fixed forever, will your heart be too. HITS OP THINGS. The thruth has poor show in a, race after falsehood. Tho silence of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails. You shall be none the worse to-morrow for having been happy to- day.—Thackeray. Business dispatched is business well done; but business hurried is business ill done.—Bulwer Lytton. Knowledge is the hill which faw may hope to climb; duty is the path that all may tread,—Lewis Morris. There is always hope in a man that actually works. In idleness alone is there perpetual despair,—Uarlyle. Faithfulness to God. even in the most tryine times, only seems to bring out the true nobility of life that is devoted to his service. Look upon the bright side of your condition, then your discontents will disperse. Pore not upon jour losses but recount your mercies . — W atson . It is only truth which persuades without the need of presenting all its proofs. It enters BO naturally into the mind that, when one comprehends for the first time it seems like recalling a memory.— Fontenelle. Unkind Speeches. There are people who wound the feelings of their friends and neighbors by unkind speeches, and then attempt to justify themselves by decl .ring tha v . they always say what they think. This is their idea of on honest man. Of course one should not any what he does nut think, but it does not follow ttiat I e should always gay what he happens to think. COAL STIUKK. E»p«<sttM.U>Q« Thtt It Will Continue Aa* otlitr Fortul«ht. LONDON, March 81 —The strike of coal miners at Durham, which bfg<in WUroh 12, will probobly Jasi a f Theojal shipping trade m, Harbour ft»(4/ suspended,,

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