Daily News, Franklin, Johnson County, 12 October 1889 — Page 7

???*#& W$'

$:¥ fine hi^ happiness to hi* heart. but it .seemed to I*: brimming out of his very eves, and his face was so smiling thai

M: two young girl* who sat directly acriw fp the aisle giggled, surmised that he wa "on hi* way to hi* wedding, lint. he wax not. Oh, no! Robert ary seldom thought of getting married, i,| although he would have liked a wife, and a daughter. perhaps*, to lavish bin money ujKin, lie tenderly loved his widowed mother and his beautiful sister Mollie. but !n* almost envied bisyounger brotliei

''v'2S

A ILUOAit Jdl liNKY.

Mr. Robert Curv. bachelor. nested Ii'im in the high-backed seat of .the W«t I Shore railway car. and tipping his silk hat over hi* ey«s, fell into a delightful soliloquy. Yes. it was delightful, for he had lw*n away aliout five yearn, and it made him feel very happy to think that be a so near home again. Five years before. Air. Cary. then a comj»aratively young man, liad gone Went with the llood of jw-ople who were in search of gold. And anion# them all he was on of the most successful, having acquired an immense fortune.

Yes, he hw rich, and he was happy, and a# the train which bore him toward horn#" Kp'l along. he could searcejy con-

Fred. who. they had written, had U*en married for a year, and had the cute*'

little gill, which looked like her Uncle Rob. That watt three year* ago, and the little girl must lie quite a young lady by I this time, He wondered if she could talk yet: a girl It year* old ought to talk, and he shouldn wonder if tht could hay Uncle Kobert. 1"* he would like to see he lb- hail never wren the mother vet, and In* wondered what she wan like. But he would nee them all be for- long, for thev were to meet a» mother's un her birthday, hieh occurred the day after to-morrow.

Thu.- ran the thoughts of Mr. t'ary until the ear stopped

action with a

jolt which sent hi:-* «ilk hat into the seat dire. tly in front of him, and into the laj ,,{ a lady, who bunded it bark with *mile which fairly won the he-art of tht bachelor, who had not noticed

Ik-fort'

hat a pretty little woman she wan. lir thanked her for restoring his hat, and wan alKiut to lean bark in his seat again when he noticed a bundle of dry good all curled up on the Heat In'sidc the pretty lady. It did look like a bundle of dry goods, but he soon discovered that it waialive, yew, a real live little girl, and oh mo pretty! She had the loveliest golden hail and the sweetest red lips he had evei *,cen, So thought Robert Cary. and jUmt w*auted to take the little dear in hi* arms and kin* her. (if course he could not do that: but he did bend over thf hack of the neat and Hay: "Poor little girl, how tired you are Have you come far. madam

Yen. sir. all the way from New York,' the lady answered with another sweet ..utile, "and I know that Klsie is very tired. Hut we ore now within a few miles of the end of our journey,and then we will l»o no happy. Klsie luw bilked aUnd going to grandma's for ever mo lung. Poor dear, how tired she in!" "And are you going home too. just as 1 uui'f" inquiml Mr. Cary. "Ye*, at least, to my hmhand'x home, I have not leen there for over two years now, and they have not tfeen Klsie Htnce she was a Utby a few months old." 'How very glad thev will to see her and her mamma. 1 have not been home for live yearn," "Oh, that is a long timw but I think greeting is all the sweeter the longer wo have tn*eu separated from our loved iiih«h, Huid the lady. "Yett, I have no doubt of it. At that rate I nhould feel very happy. And 1 do I do not think I ever felt happier in life." I By thi.i time the little girl wa* wide awake, and rising in the wat she said:

Hum

oo' seen tny papa?*

"No, my dear, I have m»t. do not know him." -f "Your }mja in at grandma's dear. I have uo doubt. Yen see. »ir. my huMxuul wiu» obliginl to visit lioston on i»u»ittesw a few days ago. and as that city is near his home he decided to go there, leaving

RWie and me to travel alone, "I see. And you are not afraid, you and little KUio?** 4 "Oh. no. sir! 1 am quite used to travel, and really enjoy it.

«I

M» go ove'darv! SJU

little Klsie,

reaching out her arms to the stranger. Mr. Cary took her on his knee, kissing pretty ml lq*H.

Me like 'oo. "'said the child.

4 you? I like you. U»o. my lear," he replidl. t)o UHk like my pa|Xi." "Ikiir

Yes," w\id the mother, you do re inl»lc my husUuui. btit I am sttrpriml that Klsle nhouhl notice it."

Just theu. without a moment's warning. came a terrible eraah. The car was thrown from the track, and Mr. Cary 4 uurnd himself lying some distance away, /,4 on a «*ft grass plot, stunned and gwiUy

Unvildennl, but unhurt. He gathered himwlf UigtMber tuul lookol arouml for his uew ac|uaintanct^, but could see nothing of them. There were nmny sojoe badly mangleti, others only Iightly injunnl, and ."•ome, like himself, unharmed, Tln**e who were unconvclou^ U»ing oarritnl to near fa^mhouses, for the accident had oecurml iu a farming c«untry. aud there were aeveral bouMUt in the vicinity. Un».«hiug the airt fmm hfa« tine bmadeloth trtni^ns, Mr, C^ary looked #nuul for his silk hat. tie found it near by. the top crushed in. looking very forlorn indeed. Still, it was better than no and so the bach•I eh.»r smoothe*! it as much as poswiWe and put it upon hw Iread. lie *m aliout ro olYer bb a^btantx' to any

ho might

in need of it, when be ht^ard a plainUv* itttle erv: "Mamma! Man»ma!,

Iooking around, lie jaoon fottnd j*xr UitJe Klxic, who wa* tying held firmly V»etweeu two Imge leaJn*. unabJe to reloaM htwlf. \Vj:h some difficult? Mr. Ciiry sxuveeiinxi in removing the bean**, and lif etl the child in Im arm*. "Where's my mamma,~ *He wailed, linking to her benefactor. **I do not know, my dear.* U« iub* \v«?r*d. "We will find her."1

"Tse hurt my foot!" she cried, the tears rolling down her cheeks, I want niv mamma."

Taking off, the little shoe. Mr. Cary found that the child's foot was badly brui-ed. Wrapping his handkerchief carefully arotmd it. he carried her to a near farm-hon^e and left her in the care of a kind. plea.*i tit-faced woman, and then returned to the K'eiie of the di*as ter in search of the mother. But she waf* not to be found. All search was in vain, and Mr. Cary returned to the farm-house in great perplexity. "You may leave the child here until h»»r relatives are found. said the woman, "and I will take the lest of care of her.'

But he preferred to take her to his own home, for Klme clung to him, legging him to take her to "mamma.

And so, in a short time, when a train came along, Mr. Cary and hi* little charge went on board and were soon fly ing toward Canton.

In the meantime where was the child's mother? When the accident occurred »he wa« thrown from the car and l»ecame unconi-ciotM. Upon recovering heptfdf in a spotless white

Uhhefound I.

with a

kind, pleasant looking lady liendingovei her. Where a in 1?" she a-ikcd feebly. "You are Kife.r anvvered the lady, "but you must U* quiet. You are Imlly shaken up. but 1 trust not seriously in jurel. "No, 1 am not hurt, only bewildered. What has hapfened? Where is my child?" "Child r"

Yes, my little KUie. Isn't she here?' she cried wildly. "No, we have not seen her. AVc found you only aUiut an hour ago: it is afternoon now. and the accident happened alxiut 10 o'clock ihi-* morning. Anothei train came along at noon and most ol the |uws4Migers left on it. "Where was lr"''cried the mother burying her face in her hand-. "You had fallen intoachimpof bushes near the track, ami lay there unnoticc I for some time, until my husband found you and brought von here. "Oh, my child, my Klsie: Where if she?" cried the distressed mother. "Can you not find her

The woman tried to comfort her, say ing that her husband would go in search of the child at once. He went, but no one knew where Klsie was. though an old man said that lie had seen a tall, handsome gentleman carrying a little girl with golden hair into Farmer (ireen'rt house. Mrs. (ireen was interviewed, and told what she knew altout it, saving that the gentleman and little girl had been at her house, and the former had been in search of the child's mother, hut being unable to find her had departed on the noon train, taking the little girl with him. She di«l not know where they had gone, only that they had taken the eastern train.

F-lsie's mother was greatly distressed, and quite unable to resume her journey until the next morning, when she left, resolved to go directly to her husband's home at Canton, where she would (ind him, and they would Hearch for El«ie. Aud thev would find her. for (.Sod wan too merciful to separate her from her darling, so «he thought: and with an earnest prayer for help in her heart, she went to the little station, sad and perplexed, but full of hope.

Canton is a pretty town about twentyfive miles from the city ol Boston, and in a neat little white house on the principal «trcet lived the widow Cary and her daughter Mollie. a pretty girl of 18, It wa«* tfie day U?fore Mrs. ('ary's birthday, when they were to have such a grand home gathering, and dainties of all kinds had Uh'u prewired. Mr. Fred "arv had already arrived, and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his wife and child. "1 thought they would surely come today." he said. "They were to start ye*teulay, and should have U?en here lust night. "IguetH they are safe. Fred: do not worry. said his mother, who was always hojx'ful. "I hojw so: has the train come yet?" "No, but it is about time," was the answer.

Shortly after the omnibus-from the train drove up to the gate. "Why. there is a gentleman aud little girl getting out, said Mollie, Who can it be?"

NoUnly knew until the dwr waa opened and KoUut Cary walked in with little Klsie in his arms. "Robert!" cried Mrs, Cary. springing to her son's side, Is it you. my boy "Ye«. mother, it is indeed, your longlost boy. You did not expect me. did you?" he said, kissing her more than once.

Then he kiascd Mollie. and was turning bis brother, when he noticed that Elsie was clasped in his arms. "l*»pa. where has 'oo been?" cried the child. "Why."cried Robert, amazement, "Is this your child "It is indeed, my dear little KLsie. Rolx But where is my wife—do you know? Tell me!** he cricd, hta fat* white as death.

I do not know." answered the bothei then proceeding to relate the story of th accident.

I cannot describe the scene that fol lowed. Filled with cruel anxiety. Frev. Qur and his brother departed on the afternoon train in search of the lost one, while those at home prayed fervently for their sucopsk.

W*hen Mrs. Cary entetvd the tram which ?Jh» *uppowd would bear her to her friend*. *he ww quite uucortscioua that it waa bound west instead of going eo»t toward Canton. But presently the tamm of the statk*» be«»n to sound familiar to her. and al*e asked the conductor: %,

Arc we not nearing t^a*iton "No. nmilam, we are goin| west," be tittwml *oiuit«ft is east. •What?" «b« cried. "You are gttng directly from Canton, not toward it, was the answer, which carried dwmay to the heart erf the lady, «Oh. dear. I a« to bewildered and fall of trouble that I took the wronf trais.

f. "4 *3L1 ilrlbilil

•r\

What shall 1 do?** she cried bursting into tears. Why. you can get off at the next station and go back, swered kiniUv.

the conductor an

And so it happened that Mrs. Cary war

tb,t Ita. Cary had left wveral houre be-

til another train came from the west, and then started back. It was the same train which Mrs. Cary had taken on bei return, and she was in the car directly in front of the one in which her husband and his brother were seated, little dreaming that she was so near them.

When the train stopped at Canton the brothers alighted and hastened up the little street to their mother's house, ho ping and expecting to find the lost one there. But they were again sadly disappointed—she had not yet arrived.

Well, 1 am almost discouraged,n said Fred, sorrowfully. I don't know what to do."

We will find her yet," said Robert. But how do we—we know she is a— alive?" wept Mollie. "Hush, Mollie,r said the mother, weep ing also.

At that very moment the door wa» opened softly, and the little woman whom they all loved so well flitted in, and with a cry of joyr fell into her husband's outstretched arms.

The next day wjis the birthday ol Mother Cary. and of all the households in the land. I do not think there could have I'eeu one more full of happiness and thankfulness than this of which 1 have written.

How queer it \v u," said Mrs. Fred Cary. "that the kind gentleman ol" whom Elsie and I thought so much was my own husband's brother!" "And we never dreamed of it—strange, Um!m

said Robert. "If we only .d!" Yes, if we only had—but we didn't, bo it is just as well," she replied.

Ess, it's dust as well, saiit little Elsie. And so it was.

Kfturned Good for Kvll.

Sitting in the rotunda of the Alexandei hotel of this city yesterday, says a Louisville letter to the New York Sun. Proctoi Knott told this story: "It was the most remarkable scene 1 ever witnessed. It occurred during my early manhood, when I was attorney general of Missouri. Robert Stew ft was then goveror of that State. One day I was in his private office when he pardoned a steamboat man for some crime. What it was I have forgotten, but that does not matter. The man had been brought from the penitentiary to the governor's office, lie was a large, powerful felltfw, with the rough manner^, of his chws. "The governor looked at the steamboat man and seemed strangely affected. He scrutinized him long and closely. Finally he signed the document that restored him to lilwM'ty, but before he handed if to him he said: You will commit some other crime and be in the penitentiary again. 1 fear.' The man solemnly promised that he would not. The governoi looked doubtful, mused a few moments, and said: "'You will go back ou the river and be a mate again. I suppose?' "The man replied that he would.

Well, 1 want you to promise me one thing." resumed the governor. I want you to pledge your word that when you are mate again you will never take a billet of wood in your hand and drive a sick boy out of a bunk to help you load your Itoat on a stormy night.' The steamboat man said he would not. and inquired what the governor meant by asking him such a question. "The governor replied: Because some day that boy may become a governor, and you may want him to pardon you for a crime. One dark, stormy night, manv years ago. you s:opjeOI your boat on the Mississippi river to take on a load of wood. There was a Ixiy on Ixxird who was working his passage from New Orleans to St. l^uiis. but he wjls very sick of a fe\er and was lying in a bunk. You had plenty of men to do the work, but vou went to that boy with a stick of wood in your hand and drove him with blows and curses out into the wretched night and kept him toiling like a slave until the load was completed. I was that boy. Here is your pardon. Never again be guilty of such brutality." And the man. cowering and hiding his face, went out. As I never heard of him again I suppose he took care not to break the law."

T1»* riom Toll.

It was. at a party given in the country at the house of a most pious family, says the Boston Courier. A worldly minded niece luul come for a visit, and it was felt that something should be done to entertain her, even at the expense of the sober traditions of the family. The neighbors had. therefore, been gathered together in the parlors to entertain themstelve* in a house where cards or dancing would be consiuervd sinful and the most innocent amusements frivolous. By the time supper was announced everybody was bored almost to death, and they filed into the dining-room with a grave and melancholy air. as if they were being led to execution. When they were within and ?*ndy to begin, the voice of the old family parrot was heard piping from tame unseen corner: ^1, -Let as pray."

An old man in North Carolina, who had lived ail his life witnout even seeing a railroad, recently got on a train, and before lie had traveled a mile he waa thrown off and kdled. Yet on the other hand, accorniug to a writer in "Scribnet's,*

tuaR

might travel 31.000,000.000

mile# befone being killed,

TfeMv dms ornaments ar* enjuoefod 6ow*re in their natural colors, with diamond paved petals.

TERRE HAUTE DAILY NEWS, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1889.-SUPPLEMENT. 7

WHERE TBF. I'.IV. E WEST Tft

And Who Stoic It After the Young Editor AC rote It. The total depravity of inanimate things 'has been proved, deiined. catalogued, and

a a a a a

acc€,p{p1.

*t fifty miles further from her des- »Kv»vk stand* nn irs al tination than when she started. At the next station she was obliged to wait an hour before a train returned. She after ward declared that it was one of the most miserable hours of her life.

Fred Cary and his brother Robert went we^t as far as the station neai} where the accident had occurred, and epuceived aud established for the special upon making inquiries were informed

fore, saying that she was going direct to thought! Alas, tlare is no puni-hmeufc Canton. And so the brothers waited un-

store

for them.

Our venerable and loveable friend. Mr. —we had nearlv written his name, which,

in his present sta^te of mind, would ha^e

been our unpardonable offense. Let us call him Mr. Goodheart. Mr. Goodheart earnes his modest, placid, useful way with hi» pen. He writes for his bread and he eats that bread in well-earned peace and a noble content. Why should inanimate things conspire to vex such as he—he who loves all things Ijecaust* all things are but attributes of that great Whole which the wisest and the lest of men have learned to love?

Mr. Goodheart. iu hi-, study the other day. had written an article forgone of the public prints—an artiele covering live pages ot niMiii'la pajK-r. When he had reached the end he began to read it over. Page one was all right, two required a slight interlineation, and—where was page threeKverv piece of paj»er on the I desk a.s scanned and—w here was |«ige three? "Strange!" said Mr. Goodheart. unruffled but jo:°plexed. lie looked ujMin the floor, into the waste basket, unue the rugs. "Wei!, well." he said. lie searched behind the clock, under the chair-cushions, lctweeu, behind the paintings on th wall. "I vum. he remarked, and wa-- a little irritated, just a little.

He .-at down to think. Jle tried to think perfectly calmly. Had anybody been in the riMm? Yes: Mrs. G.i dheart had come in and .-oftly Ui .eil him. and gently stroked his silvery hatr as was her wont be lore going Iroiu the house. "Maud," said Air. Goodheart to his daughter, "has mother gone out?" "Yes, pupa: to market." answered the young lady from the foot of the .Man's.

Mr. Goodheart concluded that his wife must have taken page three with her. "Yet," he thought, "it is so unlike her to take anything from fiiy desk!"

When Mrs. Goodheart returned she said she had taken nothing, and she was verv. very sorry he had lost anything. "It might have become entangled iu the fringe of your shawl, said he. "It might," she answered, "but 1 do not think it did. 1 am sure I should have noticed it and—" "But my dear wife,"—-when Mr. Goodheart speaks in that tone he is controlling himself—"you were the only person who came in here, and page three is gone."

There was a terrible logic behind these two clauses. One was a major premise, 'the other a minor. A syllogism seemed to complete itself with a conclusion that

Mrs. Goodheart was the only person who could have taken page three. "Have you looked in your pockets?" she asked, quietly, but hopefully. You might have put it there. "My darling wife," he answered—and the more the epithets of affection im-. proved the more penetrating his eye bo-

cume

•i

Nofxi.lv doubts that a tack on

a bed-room car}**t always stands on its head that 'a chair in the liark always moves to a jjositiuu where a bare shin cannot mi-v-. it: that a pin in a pretty youn.^ lady's belt always pokes its point awav out at the moment s-lie takes (lie reins to do the driving down the dark street: thai, in short, there isa diabolism

and

amuicment^ of things without

Tllins,

„.ilhiml

souL, H«rrib!e

aiK

Jlv darling wife, that is absurd..

Of course 1 would not put it into my pocket." She began to open his coat. "I tell you it is ridiculous to suppose I would put it into mv pocket.

But she tiK)k from his inner breast recess all the papers it contained. "I f-upi-ose you will not lx? assured," said he, "unless I turn all my pt»ckets wrong side out," which with terrible irony he proceeded to do.makingthe most extravagantly minute inspections. Then he sat down and placed he toe of his left boot behind his right calf and pulled at the heel until the l»oot came off. "What are you doing, dear?" aked Mrs. Goodheart. jwrtly frightened, partly saddened. "I want lo assure v6u." said he. while his eye gleamed. "I want to assure you, if it is |Hssible to do so, that I did not. in a fit of abstratioii, put page three into my sock aud as he began to roll down the top of that garment Mi's. Goodheart suddenly It ft the room.

Mr. Goodheart never swears—not out loud—but we do believe he would have gone to the window and jronounced a silent benediction ufwn the army of Flanders if that famous liody had just then happened to march by.

It will be conceded by everybody who earns his bread by the sweat of his pen that Mr. Goodheart was in uo humor to reproduce page three. Reproduction of one's own lost manuscripts is, at best, the most difficult, as it is also the most unsatisfying, of all literary tasks. It is worse than drudgery: it islai»or in which all the faculties must take part while none i„ the least assisted by tliat greatest of all inspirations, interest But page three had to be reproduced. Mr. Goodheart gnawed his jvenci! savagely, rumpled h» hair, yanked his paper around, smashed an innocent little baby bug with his paper weight, and waa altogether a most unlovely, unloving man as he tugged at hi# memory and grabbed at his reason and glared with his mind's eye at his work. Of course, when the new page three waa complied, it was'not satisfactory to him. The one, he was sure, had said what it had to say in so much better forml But the new one had to do.

When it was done Mrs* Goodheart came eottlv into the study jUer eyes were red, but she came with a pleasant amiie. "Have too found the page* aheasked* smoothing down his hair. "Jfo I have rewritten it, after a £a»»lon. The article ia spoilt* though. I might as well thro* the Warned thing into the fire.

It has mined this day for

rv,.

.|f

"There, there." she said soothingly "perhaps it is all for the best." "Humph?" You know that half-snort-ing sound a man makes when he wants to express something between incredulity and disgust. Mrs. Goodheart gathered up the pages—one. two. three, four, five. "They are all right now," said she. and folding th?m. jerceived there was writing on both sides of the last sheet. "I thought you always wrote on only one side of the paper," she said. "Soldo." "Oh! Then this is othing useful on the back of this sheet?"

Mr. Goodheart looked. Jt was page The ex

mi,fl- lhp_

verv ?^„Ble. Tl.b

totally depraved sheet of paper had turned itself upside down and Mr. Good heart had written page five on the kick of page three. Mr. Goodheart saw it all,

with an awful deliberation:

Well, I—will—be"Tut. tut. tut." said Mrs. Goodheart, with that firmness which always calls a man back to himself, ""ion irusi not ajudy Shall not swear."

In the street car. coming down town, Mr. Goodheard read the article twice— once with the original }»age three and once with the other.

After all. said he to himself. 1 think perhaps the rewritten page is the belter of the two." and he drew his pencil and obliterated the original page three while over liis mind there huvered a vague, hadowy suggestion—for he was optimistic now—that possibly then* is great and good purpose in even the total depravity of inanimate things. [Willis B. Hawkins.

Narrow Ksrape of Wizard, "I was once a professor of magic or the black art. remarked a middle-aged man to a friend. "It was a great many years ago, when I went toTexa*. 1 was quite young aud out of employment. A traveling sleight-of-hand performer called the Fakir of Siva engaged me to help him iu his business. 1 assisted bun in various ways, astonishing the natives with optical, delusions, but my most important tint was to allow anybody to shoot at me with impunity." "It was rather risky, wasn't it. allowing strangers to shoot at you? "Ordinarily there w:is no risk at all. The bullet, which looked and felt like lead, was made of a comjiositinn that burned up as soon as the powder readied it. Hut on one occasion 1 came very near losing my life. "llow did that happen?" "We were at Weatherford. There were several urge herds of cattle there en route for Kansas, and the tow was filled with cowboys. When the |eiformance opened in the second story of the town hall, the audience reminded me of a battlefield. Every cowlxy was buckled to two revolvers, and some of them wore three. At last my time came. The Fakir of Siva introduced me to the audience: "'This gentleman." he said, "is the celebrated Professor Amandus. the great wizard, who is the only human ljcing in the universe who is absolutely bulletproof. "I smiled a very superior sort of smile which 1 had studied for such occasions. The professor then produced a large and dangerous looking horse pistol, which he loaded carefully with a huge charge of powder. He next brought out a bullet almost as large as a pigeon's egg. which he passed from hand to hand. This :us then dropped into the pistol anil rammed home. The Fakir invited anyone iu the audience to take a shot at me. The cowboys tumultuously selected one of their own number by the name of Jim to be my executioner. Jim took the pistol, but expressed some dread that the law niight hold him responsible for»he consequences. He was as ured both by the Fakir mid Professor Amandus, which was my stage name, that lie would l»e exonerated. Jim brought the pistol to bear on me. aimed, and fired. I smilingly held tip fbe rial lead bullet which I kept oil hand for that purpose. 1 su]jHie Jim was surprised. Never in my life did 1 see such a stupidly perplexed face on a human being. Then begot mad. and slammed the charmed pistol down on the magic table, pulled out his own revolver, and, saying 'Catch that, professor,' blazed away. I heard the bullet whiz past my head. The second bullet went through the window a few seconds after I did. There was more room on the outside than in the inside of that hall. Fortunately there was deep sand on the outside and I was not hurt.

What became of the Fakir of Siva "He crawled under the magic table and refused to come out until he saw a good chance, when, with a monkey-like motion he made for the wjndow on allfours and out lie went like an arrow from a

Ijow.

smt and I meant to do so much, ami Ml} see what you can do at painting. -{M«r much like doing if chant Traveller.

Parttp.age.—It

Cot'GH

We displayed more real

science in getting out of the window than we did in the regular performance. We listened outside to the performance the cowboys were giving for their own amusement. It sounded as if a battle was raging. We did not go hack inside. They yelled, fired off their pint Is, shooting out the light*, and having a little fun. They yelled and di.*clnim»-d any intention of* hurting us.

They merely

wanted to stir up the wizards. 1 have not been a wizard since." /r,

Knco«r«clns lll« Auibllion. "So. young man." said the pai n.er as he daubed a streak of sky on the canvas, "you want to be an artist, do you?" «. "Yes sir. v-"v-"Can you live on crackers and cheese on some days, ajad on nothing at other times?" 1 don't know I wvef tried. -Can you work from 8 o'clock in the morning until 6 clock at night, and never get tired and atop to rest?" "1 don't know- 1—I must say ICs doubtful." "Could you refuse an ofiVr to paint artistic signs for a brewery or cigarette firm, and go on fight ir.p starvation at short range with the soft end ©fa brash?" -Perhaps I might.

Well, you think it over, and if you feel certain of it, come around and HI

THE STOCK EAJSM.

Feeding Oats Unthrkshf.d.—If

the

high price of binder twine impresses upon farmers the advantages of feedings' uuthreshed oats, it will not be au unmixed evil.. By feeding the oats untlireshed we may stive both binding and threshing—equivalent to five cents per bushel: with actual gain in feeding value. The nutritive ratio of oat straw is about 1.80. while the nutritive ratio of a proper food for fattening cattle should be 1.10, for fattening sheep 1.9, and for work animals at labor or rest about 1.6. It is apparent that oat straw is deficient in the albuminoids, either for work or fattening animals. Two-thirds of the portein free conijxmnds must be waited when the straw is fed alone. The star-' vat ion of an animal fed straw alone is only a question of time. The grain of oats has a higher albuminoid ratio than is required for fattening or work animals. Hence, by needing the straw and grain together, we have a better ration than if fed separate. If we run the uuthreshed oats through a cutter, and moisteu the cut stuff, the grain, chaff and straw will be masticated and digested together.s owe have a leiter balanced ration, and one more easil. digested. The quality of the feed is improved by cutting the crop while the straw has yet a slight green tinge, and Wfore the graiu has yet hardened,

is important that this

be properly chosen, especially for grow ing colts. If this is on very rich land, or watery, the grass will be to rank for the growth of tine, strong Innies, and linn enduring muscle. Colts grown up on such ill be pretty sure to be wanting in spirit, slow of movement and deficient in wind, so much so that when in harness if put up to a moderately fast pace—which can only be done by a moderate application of the whip—they breathe painfully, sv eat intolerably, and soon tire. The lest pasture grounds lor colts is such as is wdl dramed, or naturally rather dry., ami if it al»ounds with scattered rocks a foot or nvre in diameter. these art* not objectamablu. but small stones are. for ll:c tc running about are liable to s'.rike ou uunn to the injury of tln ir hoofs, witiir ib*\ avoid the larger ones and iwJia hi their cise. The g: ass on such huuU invent and tende". highly re'ished by I'.c and very nutritious. Glowing i., on such, especially if '.inn'.-- 1 to it. «i and legs and lionc* of ''ie h. !e

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come extra strong. m- re horv than common bone grown on c.niie sMce'd^nc pastuie. For cattle '!n.' pn: nf-ou ot lie so select in quality, for 'l .'.v will, do well on wet meadowsweet" the wa'*'is generally a little In-low »}•*. -.u^ace :t the soil, only occdMonallv overflowing for a few hours and then .Ujing off wVJ.

Hereditary Disuses

in the

Hor^k,

—The council of tht- royal college of veterinary sugeons of England wais desired by the royal agri•ultural society to give a list of the hereditary diseases in the horse, as a guide to le used by it and all other societies iu rejecting in their shows for prizes all such as were thus diseased. Circular letters were then sent out to 2,r00 members of the college for reports on this subject. The answers were: roaring, whistling, sidebono, ringbone, navicular disease, curb, bone spavin. bog spavin, grease, shivering and cataract. The council also decided that under certain circumstances all horses shall he rejected for breeding purposes that are affected with splint, springhalt, contracted feet, weak feet, bursal enlargements, such as thorough-pins aud wind-galls.

Remedy oi

Cow If the

cough arises from a cold, give flaxseed meal gruel in two-quart doses, three to six timefia day. Just before calving the cough should be relieved as speedily as possible. To the gruel may be added a tablespoon fill of I he following mixture: Comjxmnd sirup of squills four ounces, powders! sid ammoniac (muriate) one ounce, laudanum two ounces, molasses half a pint. Dose, a tablespoonful in every |Mrtion of gruel. The oowr should have grass, or hay thoroughly wet by pouring o\er it hot water. Roots or grass are loHt. Have a warm, dry, wellbedded box-stall, and blanket in cold weather,

Iltxi Crroi.ERA.—The more important points about hog cholera, which have bivit definitely determined by the investigations of 1 r. I). E. Salmon, chief of the bureau of animal industry, have been summed up in the valuable work just published by the United States department of agriculture, and may be stated as follows: 1. The disease is a contagious and infectious one. and may be contracted by a healthy hog from a diseased one, or from infected premises, and the coutagion may liecariied from farm to farm in various ways. 2. It is a bacterial disea*c, the genu having leen firnt accurately figured aud classed in 1895, and studied almost constantly since that time* 3. The germ is readily cultivated in various media, is transmissible to other animals than hogs, from which it may be -retransmitted to swine Mid produce a far tal form of the disease, 4. A fatal disease similar to hog cholera, which has been named "swine plague,n to distinguish it from the disease first met with, wa* discovered during the progress of these investigation*. It is also a germ dfaease,widely distributed and fatal, and may exist as a complication in outbreaks of bog cholera. 5. The disease may generally be prevented by isolation of the animals and by cleanliness

combined with

simple measures of disinfection. 6. Outbreaks of hog cholera are to be checked by separating the well from the diseased animals and practicing disinfection. 7. Infected premises may be made safe for the admission of new herd by disinfecting with lime or other disinfectants and allowing three to six months to elapse after the disease has 4i»ppeared- 8. Medicines have not been found to greatly influence the course of the disease, 8. In* occulaCcmhaabeen tested in almost every form as a preventive without satisfactory results. 10. Hog cholera to apparently identical with a disease which has recently been described in various parly of Europe.

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