St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 12, Number 23, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 4 December 1886 — Page 1

VOLUME XII.

TELE ANONYMOUS LETTER The Stonge History of a Scrap of Paper. CHAPTER 1. A COTTAGE IN THE WOODS. “Steady! steady, old boy! Now, then, one, two, and away you go.'’ These words are followed by a rush through the air, a sudden splash of mud and water, and a howl of dismay. “Ha, ha, ha! Oh, Tom, old boy, what a looking animal you are now; oh, this is too much, ha, ha, ha! “That’s right, laugh, laugh,’’ replies the other, as he crawls out on the bank and mops the muddy water from his face. “It’s funny, ain’t it? but 111 be hanged if I can see it. Here we are away out in the woods, the Lord only knows where, hungry, and now Im wet as a muskrat, and yet you sit there and laugh as though you had a reserved seat at a six o’clock dinner.” “Well, well! Im sure I m sorry. Tom; but you did look so funny sprawling out there in tne mud and water. Pull the boat up closer. I have no desire for a similar experience.” “Wouldn’t think it so funny if it had been you,” growls Tom, as he hauls the boat up through the lilies and the weeds, and his companion jumps ashore. “Where do you suppose we are. anyhow, Dick?” “In the wilderness of Judea, or some other blooming neck o’ the woods. There must be a cabin near at hand, for I am sure I saw smoke rising not far from here, as we were coming down the creek.” “Well, let's tie the old craft up here and take out guns and skirmish round until we find it. These wet clothes are just anything but comfortable at present. ' While the boat is being secured I will take the opportunity of more thoroughly making the reader acquainted with the two characters mentioned. They are boon companions—sworn friends, tried and tine—Dick Hargrave and his chum, Tom Warner. Dick is the younger, being scarcely twenty-four; tall, well-proportioned, light hair, blue eyes, a curly mustache, handsome as a picture, and a heart as light and full of rollicking good humor as ever beat. The other, Tom, is shorter, heavier, ^ood lookin , but not handsome —a man who loves ease and hates anything which resembles labor. These two are spending their vacation in the wilds of Pennsylvania, where the forests yet remain dense and heavy. They had been camping out three days, and now, as the fourth was drawing to "a close, they were far from their little cabin, floating down a small though turgid stream. Suddenly Dick’s keen sight had discovered smoke rising above the trees at the right, and i. was decided that they should land and ask for shelter until morning. Tl.e stream was shallow near its shores, and the boat could not be pushed far in with both aboard. So Tom, grasping the rope, sprang for the shore, with the results mentioned at the opening of this chapter. The boat now being attended to. the two friends, with guns thrown carelessly over their shoulders, are trudging on. hoping that they may soon com? ur on some hospitable woodman's camp- Tom, with eyes cast down, looks the picture of dismay; disgust is written upon every feature. Dick, who has been observing him. can no longer restrain his mirth, and he breaks into a peal of laughter. “Tom, Tom, old man, brace up! Yen look as if you were going to a funeral. Do you suppose any man would take such a melancholy looking individual as you into his house? Why, it's enough to make a rock shed tears to look at you.” “Guess if you had your trousers sticking to you like wet blankets you wouldn't feel so funny. I mean to quit this business, Dick. Pittsburgh is good enough for me. If you want to stay in this outlandish country and be eat up by mosquitoes nights, j and half drowned in muddy water betwe n times, you can. I’m going home as soon as I can find my way out of this wilderness.” “Now’, Tom, would you go back home as soon as this, and have all the fellows laugh at you?” “Don’t care about the fellows. I know’ it's a sight more comfortable at home, getting your three square men’s in good shape, than it is out here. Call this fun, do you. huh!” They had proceeded some distance now, and the surroundings were beginning to look more pleasant. The sod was green and soft, and clear of brush, and just beyond could be seen a clea ing, and still further a beautiful little lake. Suddenly, Dick grasped his friend s arm, saving : “Hush!” Clear and distinct as the tones of a silver bell came the voice of some invisible songstress. A voice, such as would cause one to forget his surroundings, forget himself, and only wish that such sweet music might go on forever. Scarcely daring to stir, they listened, tearful if they moved the tones might cease. Wafted' on the summer breeze, it cam A , now’ loud and clear, now soft and low. sweet as a lullaby, and finally died away bke the last sweet rays of sunset. The song had ceased, but, for a moment, neither spoke. Then, wit r a sigh that seemed to come from the inner- i most recesses of his heart, Tom s lid: “That's worth the ducking, Dick. Heavens, but ’twas sweet! I’d give my ears to have seen her as she sang.” “I mean to see her Tom, for if I am not i mistaken, we’ll find her, when we find the I cabin we’re in search of. Ah! now I see ! it; What a cozy little nest, suuggled down yonder in the clearing. Come, Tom.” No need to ask Tom to come; he has roused himself into an energy that surprises even him. Before them is a pretty little cottage, half covered with vines, and in the doorway sits a young girl, caressing a huge mastiff. She is fair as a lily, the exquisitely poised head is surmounted by a wealth of’jet black hair. Her dress is of some dark ma'erial, plain and soft. It clings around her well-rounded figure. She notices not their appioich until a warning growl from the dog at her feet causes her to look up. A startled cry escapes her as she rises, and a soft glow of color comes into her cheeks, which only enhances the superb b au'y of her f futures. “Down, Bruce,” she says, as the animal makes a threatening movement toward our friends. “Pardon us for intruding.” Dick says, as he advane s, hat in hand, his eyes shining with ho est admiration. “We have wandered .m parts unknown to us and, I fear, have lost our way. Tl o smoke from your cot age attracted u< h jo. Loping we might find fomo Nimrod, like ourselves* who would take pry on us.” The young lady bows slightly, and there is just a suspicion of a smile tv on her face as her ^aze rests upon the woful Tom. His face is streaked with mire, and his hightop boots and i eatly lit t ng pantaloons are plastered with mud. “I'm sire my lather will make you welcome,” she says; “we see few p ople here, and he is pkas dto meet brother sporfsinen.” Hei voice is soft and clear, and Las a

C OUNTy St. Job JniepenbenL

frank and cordial ring which thrills Dick strangely. Tom is averse to being left entirely out, and now advances, and with his i gaze equally divided between the canine j and its fair mistress, remarks: “I hope yon will pardon my appearance. ; I had the misfortune a short time ago to ' lose my footing as I leaped from our boat, and fell into the jig—l—l should say the—the creek.” There is such a comical, foilorn look upon his face, that involuntarily the others burst out laughing. That little laughter seems to work wonders, for from that moment all feel more at ease. “Allow me to introduce my friend and myself,” remarks Dick. “This is Mr. Warner, and my name is Hargrave. We are j both from Pittsburgh, enjoying a vacation in the woods, ostensibly for the purpose of slaying whatever game may’ come in our way; but, I blush to own it, our record as marksmen is not the best.” “And I,” the y oung lady’ smilingly replied, “am Miss Claudio Haymond. I love the woods, and sometimes come with father on bis usual hunting expeditions. He spends his time with gun and dogs, and I with my sketch-book and flowers. And now, if yon will be seated here on the veranda, 1 will see if my father has returned.” And bowing gracefully she retires through the doorway. A moment later her voice is heard calling: “Chloe! Chloe!” “Yes, Missy Claudie, I’s heab. What is it, honey?” comes the answering voice in unmistakable African dialect. “Has father returned yet?” “No, honey; lut I link 1 beam the dogs near by, an’ I ’low’ he ain’t fur oil’.” Then followed a conversation in tones too low to be understood. “Tom, old fellow,” said Dick, “I think our lines have fallen in pleasant ways, eh?” “It's an ill wind that blows no good. She's a stunner, Dick, sure as my name is Warner. Why, every time she turns those black eyes on me, my heart takes a twotwenty gait.” “Jove! what a pretty little place this is. How neat and tasty. An ©asis in the desert, so to speak.” CHAPTER 11. AN OLD FRIEND. Faintly from afar comes the report of a gun, echoing and re-echoing through the valley, and the deep baying of a hound, intermingled with the louder echoes, awakes the somber silence of that vast and trackless wilderness. Hardly have the sounds died away ere they are again taken up by human voice. In clear, strong tones it comes like a bugle call, “Leaheho! Leaheho!” Sweet and musical it sounds, the low and high notes equally distinct. Nearer and nearer it comes, until at the edge of the clearing he appears. A tall, strongly built man, swinging along, his dogs following close at his heels. A gray, grizzly mustache covers a firm-looking mouth, and a pair of sharp but pleasant eyes peer forth from under shaggy brows. Dressed in a light gray suit and heavy leathern boots, lie looks every inch a man, intelligent, strong, and graceful. With gun slung over one shoulder, and a huge fox dangling down from the other, he comes whistling along. “Hello! Claudie, little one,” he cries, as his daughter runs to meet him. “Just look at that,” holding the fox up. “My dogs and I have chased him half a day, and ■enly succeeded in bag ;ing him a few minutes ago, just beyond the clearing. What do you say? Visitors? The dickens! All right, I’ll see them in a moment. Here. Don! Here, Sport!” and whistling to his dogs, lie disappears behind th * house. “Father has just arrived,” Miss Haymond says, a moment later, to our friends, “and will see you presently. He has been off on one of his regular tramps. It is the height of bliss for him to race over the hills with his dogs.” “Yuu have a delightful little place here, Miss Raymond,” remarks Tom. “It is ■ refreshing to see a home like this, after camping in the woods as we have for the last four days.” ‘ Yes, we find it very pleasant here, though at times a trifle lonesome. Ah, i here he is!” she exclaimed, as a step is heard near the door. “Father, let me introduce you to Mr. Hargrave and Mr. Warner, of Pittsburg. They hive been hunting in the woods for a few days past, and this evening lost their way and discoveied our little cottage.” I “Glad to meet you, gentlemen,” as they rise and shake hands. “Got lost, eh? Well, that’s not to be wondered at in this wilderness,” l.e remarks, with a genial, welcoming smile. “Hargrave, did you say? And of Pittsburg? I was at one time well acquainted with people oc that name, who have since gone to Pittsburg. Surely you cannot be the son of Richard Hargrave? ’ “That is my father’s name,” responds Dick. “Is it possible you are acquainted with him?” “In my younger days,” replies the other, thoughtfully, “ho was my dearest friend. And his son is thrice welcome.” “And his son’s friend also, do you not mean, father?” “Yes, yes. Certainly. The latch string of a hunter’s cabin will always be found on the outside. But come, we must go inside; it’s getting dusk, and Chloe’s temper is not the best when supper is kept waiting.” And, as they rise and ente-i, Dick and Tom cannot conceal tbeir admiration, for within everything is arranged for comfort and happine s. It is as if in that brief space of time they had crossed the thre-h-I old which divided the wilderness from civilization, barbar.ty from refinement. A neat and pretty little room is this they have stepped into. Indeed they had almost expected to see bare floors and bare walls, but i here were carpets, pictur- s, books, an'easel j with a half-finished picture of a pretty" lit< ! tie lake heavily bordered with trees, a I guitar, and bunches of sweet-smelling arbutus filled the air with their delightful perfume. And here were evidences of a hunter’s skill. The antlers of a deer, nailed to the wall above the door; curious birds, stuffed, and standing in differen’ positions, 1 some as if ready for flight, others regarding ! some Unseen o-bject. I All these the two young men observed ■ with surprise as they entered. I “And so you are the son of Richard I Hargrave,” began Mr. Raymond, regardi ing Dick intently. “Yes, now I see the re--1 semblance; it is, indeed, striking. You , have the same features—the same honest ; blue eyes. It has been a long time since 1 j last saw your father, Mr. Hargrave. It i was before the war, and we were clerking > in the same office in New York City when : the war broke out. I enlisted at once, j Richard had a widowed mother depending i on nim, so he stayed at home, though I । know* he longed to join us. That was the ■ last I saw of him. though I have heard that I he has been a very successful business ■ man.” “Perhaps Mr. Warner would like to remove some of the evidences of his unfortunate (rouble, father,” interposed Miss : Raymond. i “ Thank you,” said Tom. “I would, in- ' deed.” “Ah! I beg pardon. Come into my room, i Mr. Warner. He < onduett d Tom into an adjoining ’ room, from which he emerged a few min- ' utes later, looking much better. i “And now. gentlemen, ve will adjourn I to the supp-r-tab!e,” Raymond observes, I in obedience to a sign from lis daughter. And thev are 1 d on through into an-

WALKERTON, ST. JOSEPH COUNTY, INDIANA, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1886.

i । : other pleasant little room, where new surprises await them—surprises which seem ■ to please Tom immensely, for his coun- ! tenance lights up at once. A modest but well-appointed little dining-room; a table covered with a snowy cloth, and well laid with everything to tempt a modern epicure. And as they are seated around that dainty, well-spread table, Dick thinks he never had the pleasure of sitting down to such a charming evening meal. He almost forgets his hunger as he glances at the pretty hostess, gracefully turning the tea into the cups. Tom's hunger is genuine, however, and is not satisfied by a glance from a pair of bright bla k eyes, and he unblushingly accepts the second helping; । and as the meal progresses they all grow meriy over the recital, of Tom’s misfortunes. Good-naturedly he takes it, and adds his laughter with the rest. Standing at a respect ml distance, ever ready to attend their wants, is me colored woman Chloe, her black face shining and her arms akimbo, and when the others laugh o’er something said, her heavy lips are paited, and the large white teeth stand out in strong contrast with the color of her skin. Indeed, ’tis a merry party that surrounds this evening table. Formalities are not thought of. Mr. Raymond is an impulsive, genial man, and ere the meal is concluded he has decided that while the young men remain in the woods they shall remain as his guests, and later, when they retire to the little parlor, extends a generous invitation to remain with him, and adds: “We have a lovely lake near at hand, well filled with fish, good boats to row’, and plenty of game around us. And we will try and make it pleasant for you while you stay. ” “I should only be too delighted, Mr. Raymond, to linger about this, pleasant place, but I fear we might inconvenience you.” And hero Dick glances toward Claudie. “Not in the least,” she responds. “We are prepared at any time to entertain two or three friends, small as our house appears. And we shall be pleased to have yon and your friends stay.” “Then,” says Tom, who is afraid lest this ; golden opportunity may in some way be lost, ' "we will accept your kind invitation with many thanks.” Ah, Tom, I am afraid your thoughts were lingering o’er the supper table, then. “I propose that we retire to the veranda and enjoy a smoke. The moon is coming up, and the evening is delightfully warm, ” says Raymond. “And, Claudie, my dear, tune up the guitar and sing something.” Tom and Dick at once add their entreaties to that of their host. They are both anxious to hear that lovely voice, which so entranced them but a short time ago. And as they retire to the open air, and light their cigars, (•'laudie takes up the guitar, and gliding out on the veranda, seats herself at her father’s feet, and lightly touches the strings. And w hat an evening it is. The moon rises high above the trees like a huge ball of tire, casting weird shadows here and there, and the silence is unbroken except by the soft, musical notes of the guitar. j There is something solemn, something | grand, in this silence (hat cannot fail to I impress on-\ The huge trees, standing like jso many specters round about, till one j with awe. ’Tis a scene that in after years , Dick loved to dwell upon. She touches the strings lightly, once or I twice, bringing out harmonious chords. I And then like a nightingale her voice rises, 1 clear and sweet, thrilling the listeners to ' their very souls, tremblingly at first, but I gather.ng strength ns sh ■ proceeds. A pretty bal'ad, lull of harmony and love, ; and to Dick, at least, it seems as if the j angels of heaven might bo lis ening. The ' pale rays of the moon linger lovingly about } her, caressing her dark hair, and Dick gazes at her with a sort of reverential awe. i Then as th > last tones fade away, a silence ■ falls upon the little party. No one thinks i of applauding; their appreciation is too deep lor that. ■I At last Mr. Raymond speaks. “Now, Claudie. sing that song; the one I Chloe loves so well. That Southern song.” “But, papa, every one may not long for such music as I am capable of executing,” she replies. “See! Mr. Hargrave's cigar j has gone out. 1 know he is longing more for that than for my music.” "Ah, don't say that, Miss Raymond,” i said Dick, in a grieved but rather passion- ' ate tone; “you surely would not do me such - an injustice.” And so she sings again. A song of the sunny South. A pathet c ballad of slavery days. And ere she has sung the first verse through, a rustling sound within the room ! attr.ic s Dick's notice, and dimly through ! the darkness he sees the negress, Chloe, I stand ng there, her hands clasped, listening [ intently to the sweet music. And so she । stands like a grim statue, until the last i words die away; then turns and like a ghost of dark: ess vanishes. And so their first evening is spent, and when later on they say adieu, and pass into the room allotted to them, they feel as if indeed it w >re a bright oasis in this deserted wilderness where they had wandered. “Dick!’ says Tom when they are alone in ' their apartment, “our lucky star must have । directea us to tins spot. How fortunate, and how odd that we should run across an old friend of your father's out here. I

anticipate a very pleasant time while we ! remain.” “Why, Tom. what a changeable, and ex- ' ceedingly frivolous old fellow you are getting to be”. And Dick’s eyes sparkled with meiriment. j “I don’t understand you, Dick.” And I Tom turns from the open window in I wonder. • “If I remember rightly, you told me this I afternoon, that as soon as you could find | your way out of this blasted wilderness । you should return to Pittsburg, and now' ! you speak of anticipating such a pleasant i time w'hile you remain.” | “Don’t chaff a fellow, Dick.” “Say, Tom,” said Dick, throwing himself at full length on the bed, “if I were you । I’d brush up my clothes a trifle more. ’ Those clothes look bad.” , j “That’s one of the inconveniences of • living in civilized society,” groans Tom. [ i “A fellow has got to be eternally brushing I and fixing up tounake himself presentable. I Sometimes 1 almost wish I had been born I a heathen in some warm country where i clothes were unknown.” L ; “Well, I never! You are getting too ; lazy for any use. Whew! What an infer- : ■ nal dust you’re raising.” t j “Say, Dick,” pausing with brush susr pended in the air, “I’ll bet a box of choice [ havanas that ’fore we leave here you’re , dead in love with that little black-eyed > witch down stairs.” [ “Nonsense. What stuff will you be > thinking of next, I wonder?” But he colors t deeply. 3 “That’s all right, my boy. I used to bo j susceptible myself, when I was your age,” - and Tom swells with the superior wisdom ■ of his eight and twenty years. 3 “There, I guess I’m all right now,” surveying himself in the mirror, “and now for ■ bed—l’m most confoundedly tired.” Dick throws his half-smoked cigar , through the open window and prepares to retire. It is late in the night when sleep at J last comes to him, and his dreams are • i fanciful and vague-—sometimes of home, but often wandering through the woods, 1 | and ever a sweet face by his aide, a pair of , ' dark eyes gazing tenderly in his«—the face • i of Claudie. - | [TO BE CONTINUED ]

DOOMED TO A SLOW DEATH. The lipaches Not to Be Tried—Changed Conditions Will Exterminate Them. News comes from Florida, where the recently captures Apaches are in prison, that Geronimo, the bloodthirsty chief of the band, is suffering from a lung affection that is extremely liable to turn into hasty consumption. In that event nature may solve a problem that the administration is puzzled over. What to do with Geronimo is a matter that is sorely trying the w’its of == ==== - « GERONIMO. the high officials at Washington. The j people of Arizona are clamoring for his scalp. Under the terms of capitulation it appears that Gin. Miles promised the old fellow his life. Here is where the rub comes. Geronimo is a half-breed Mexican, and ie about 50 years old. He was captured and adopted by the Mexicans when a mere child. His health at present i is said to be very delicate. [WnßhiDKton special,| The fate of the Indians captured in the Miles campaign is practically settled. It i was not decided w hen they were first sent Bast whether any of them would be tried for crimes or not. The I‘ri sident has examined the ease very carefully, and has come to the conclusion that life confinement for all of these Indians in Florida, where they can do no barm, will be the ■ most thorough punishment which can be visited upon them. As a matter of fact, the five Immhed Indians transferred to Florida have been sentenced to n Im. cring death. They have been brought up in the mountain countries, accustomed to i fret dom in tin pure, coll air of high altitudes. Their confinement in tie warm climate of Florida will simply result in their dying off like t-o many sleep. Experienced army officers do not think that there will be one of them alive at the end of the next live years. M COSH AND ELIOT.’ The Presidents of Princeton and Harvard. Preside' ts McCosh md Idiot, of Princeton and Harvard Colleges, have been i brought quite promim ntiy before the public lately, on acco.unt of the unpleasantness growing out of Hanards 250th anniversary celebration. New Jersey - famous ! educator conceived that a grave indignity was inflicted upon him on that occasion, and in a state of dudgeon turned his back

JAMES M’COSH. I upon the University halls long before the conclusion of the exercises. Correspondence has passed between the two distinguished men of letters, and, so far as public protestations, explanations and apologies go, the trouble has been smoothed over in a manner satisfactory to both. Faithful likenesses of the men are herewith presented. James McCosh, Princeton s President, is a Scotchman, is 75 years old, and was educated in the famous schools of Glasgow and Edinbmgh. Charles W. Eliot, President of Harvard University, is a native of Boston, and is

CHAKLES W. ELIOT. now in the fifty-third j ar of his age. Jie was prepared for college at the Jioston Public Latin School, and graduated (A. B.) at Harvard in 1843. Johnny says he is his mother s canoo, and she is always able to paddle it.—Jlw--1 chant Traveller.

FARMING. Modern Enyl-ish Dairy-Eeedhig, The fo.lowing from one of the most careful dairymen of England in relation to the fee lmg and care of milch cows corresponds nearly to tho practice of the best and most successful dairymen in the United States. It will bo no cd that in England as in tho United States the craze lor cooked food is not participated in by practical men. The writer delaros: I know’ of no food for summer equal to grass grown on sound, newly limed or wellboned land, with an allowance of feed made from home-grown corn or maize. Oats, beans, peas, wheat, barley, and wheat-bran are all good, and arc better mixed together in such proportions as tho state of tho pastures and the condition of tho cow indicate. The extra food in the form of corn, meal, and bran, should consist chiefly of crushed oats and brain. For winter keep I have found good hay, sound swedes grown on good land—and without being forced by artificial manures—maize, meal, and crushed home-grown corn and bran to answer well. Good oats straw is far better than poorly secured hay. Crushed oats, carrots, and sweet upland hay produce first-class butter in winter. I prefer carrots for dairy cows in cold weather to any other root. Whim the land is too strong fo'r roots, sweot ensilage may, with advantage, be used as a substitute. I think it better not to give breeding cattle, except for a few weeks after calving, cooked food. 1 believe that the digestive pow’ers of a cow largely fed on cooked food become impaired, and though she may yield more milk m tho winter she will not thrive so well in tho p stures in summer. In-calf cows and heifers should always be pastured separately from those which are not in calf. J'ho cow-house should be lofty an 1 well ventilated in the roof, and should hive a southern aspect, and should bo on rising ground. Iho stalls for a pair of 1,250-lb cows should bo fully eight feet wide, otherwise, when heavy in calf, thev might not get sufticien’ rest. Tho floor should slope a little, so that the wafi r may readily get away, but the | cows should stand on grat “d wood n plat- I forms, raised in front about three inches, ami | 1 ohind about four inches from tho ground, j By this arrangement the cows stand and lie on i a level surf ice, and less straw is required for I bedding. Cows should be groomed daily when ! housed, and should be turned out for water and exercise m winter twice daily. In ie atiou to the grooming’ of cattle it ' should b > remembered that it is not necessary ! when cattle and horses are kept in yards and , she !s Animals exposed to the weather are I provided with a scurf which collects outside | the skin, forming a blanket, as it were, to protc' t them from the changes of weather. In the ease of animals kept in stables, however, | which do not get cxerc.se, th • careful e’e tiling . o the skm by th ■ brush is most important, ' „po ■ ally in nnleh cows.— Tcibune. Fec<n>i{) I‘oultru. To feed poultry in the proper manner, with food best a lapted to th or .v.mts, is one of the secrets of success m the poultry business. Ti e m irlcc is always w tl supplied with a gred variety of grains and ditTerent kinds of foo l tor poultry, that are off red at reduced p;*.c s, b cause of a quality that renders them i unfit lor oilier purpoies, thus implying that anything is good enoti th to feed to poultry. This is a great nvstake, for while a him may iv forc'd to eat almost anything, very tew animals fe 1 tho result of bad food quicker than a he.i, especially a laying hen. Bad too 1 w ll reduce the tiumbcr of eggs ut once; a id if it di a not cause a permanent injury to I the hen, it will require some time, with the I est of care, for her to recover her former condition. Even corn tli.it has lieon heated ho that a -mill poitioiof it ih damaged, should iiev. rle tv I to laying hens. Many hens ar ■ injured bv ie 4 ng th m poor s waps, and also partially dwy'd swJI; becaus ■ hens will eat such tilings, it i- no < v lienee that th >y are of ally be i lit. What >v >r meat is fed out to to il*r, should be fe I while sweet and fresh; ; ur«? water is also very desiruble. In the .'are of poultry it should Is 1 the effort of tli kt • per to teed each day no more than will i e cab'ti up clean G'! ‘re night, especially of lo'd that is t > )x‘ moistened with water. While it is well to feed a great variety of food, an < ITo: t shotihl be made to furnish the proper piop.trtio i of each variety, so that all shall i e < at n up clean; if a mistake be mule, and it is lound at night that ther ■ is a surplus of c v ei < kind >f so >d. it should be taken away, anti di* n -xt day a le<s amount give i. \\ hen it is found that tho laying hens are tung t"o fat, h ss corn ami more oats ml shorts si: mid I e giv n. S>me breeds of hens t.il. on fat more readily than others; therefore it is Iw-t, if I 't-siGe, I ■ ke p each breed separate, ho that they can be fed in a maim t to keep them in a pr.tper eondit.on. In ftng young chicks tare should bit tak ■ n no: to teed very finely ground mea 1 , ami particular efforts .shouhi be mult not t > lot ihe food remain be'ore the chi. ks long enough to get sour. It h the mod natural tor chicks t uat see ls unground, s >. as a rule, the food that is g.vtm t .cm s’i utld b ■ small se d< until tht v are large enough to eat who'e corn. Millet sc d ma >es an excellent food for young chicks. Wuen c orn i i given it should bo only era k- d - nail enough for the chick t > eat it; tine ground cornmeal should never b‘ given to young chicks uuL hs mixed with shorts. Cropn on Small Areas. Many of the large crops per acre which are reported are grown on very small patches, and iho crop from these multipl ed by the number required to make a full aero. A single hill of potatoes may thus be taken, and this multipli d bv 4,S(>O, the number of lulls on an acre at t re ■ feet distance apart But results thus obtained are of little value. Taking a quarter or at least an eighth of an acre is a much b iter test.

Turn ips Exhaustive. The large amount of feed that can be grown on an acre in turnips makes this a very exhaustive crop. The* succeed ng crops will show this plainly, and unless turnips can be marketed cheaply it is hardly worth while to attempt growing them on a large scale. Eng.ish farmers make turnips a renovating crop, but they do it by fee .ing sheep on the turmp patch and g vmg other rich food in addii on. Stock Notes and Experience, At the Canadian Experimental Station it has been determined that lead ng timothy without much clover had a tendency to dry the flow of mi k in winter. A litter of pigs farrowed in spring or summer grow rapidly if at pasture, because the i green’food keeps the p g’s dig Ist. on good and enable! it to set full benefit from any other food that mav be eaten. The natural life of the sheep is shorter than that of any ether d mmstic amma'. Five or s x ye irs is too limit of tiie r pract cal usefulness, tnou'h valuable breeding ewes may be kept one or two vears longer. I'rof. Blount does not advise sowing timothy an I red clover together, since they do not r pen togeth sr, but advises the mammoth var e v as ripening nearer with the red clover. It niust be remembered, however, that the mammoth clover is not relished by stock, except hog , on account of the size of the stalks., it has com 1 to bo scarcely cultivated cast ot the NisH'ssippi. dim statem mt alleged to have been made by an Ohio dairyman is sensible. It is that wth warm, well-lighted, clean stables and wo 1-cured gra-s, supplemented with the cont nts of a good si <> and well-tilled root cellar, the comfort, heath, and profit of the cows shoul 1 be no more prob ematical in w inter than in summer. The following general rules will apply in the select o.i of calves t > bo raised for dairy cows: The bead shoul I not boover-large, tin neck Hun rather th in thick, an 1 the sum possessing a soft fee tint can only be ju Ige I by an expert Look to the eseut dic man I milk veins. These are as good ind cations ot character as the pc 1 gr e. A swine-br e lor says Iha' in wca ling pgs there s something more to ne eons d 'red t ian simply Uk.n: them away f om the r mother. Tine slmuld bo W'eaned gr >d:iil y, s > as not to got-any stunt or sot-bick. To take pigs awav before they have been taught tooatgivoß them a choc’; for at lea-t Ivo wo As. Fe ding them in a, sopir.ito plan to which they hive ace h will accustom thorn to eat ng. If manure is to bo used in th) orchard it should n w r be fr -sb, or such as will quickly form mt. That wlrch his bo n thoroughly composted, or w 11 d c mipo <cd, is best. Wood mo d, m.xc I w th l.nu and a he-', has been found excellent, and the better the manure in iinonoH of con I lion an I fro 'dom from decomposing matter the law dab Lty of the trees to msaaec.

UNION I“CIFIC REPORT. Large Increase in the Earnings oi the Road--Funded-Debt Statement. Tho report of toe Government Directors of th« Union Pacific Railway shows tmt the surplus earnings of the entire system, comprising 4,531 miles, for (hi nine months ended September 30, after deducting operating expenses and taxes, was $6,145,212. To this must be added income and profit from investments, land sales, etc., which brings the total income up to $8,118,020. From this must be deducted: Interest on bonds 53,887.813 Discount and interest premiums 67 121 Sinking-fund requirements, compnnj s bond 465,895 Interest on bonds of operat'd roads... 9>3,517 Land taxes amt land oxpeiises, Union Division ... 43,523 One-half of loss iu operating Leavenworth, Topeka and Southwestern Railway 11.721 Total S">, 29.KD This leaves a net surplus of $2,688,027, from which deduct $500,000 for Un ted States requirements, leaving a surplus balance of $2,188,027. Compared with the first nine months of 1885, the gross earnings increased $881,056, or 4.8 per cent. Tho passenger earnings increased $281,31'8 and the freight earnings $657,777. The mail earnings show a decrease of $8,710. the express earning! $8,663, and the miscellam ous earnings $10,625. The increase in operating expenses was sl,lß *,020, or 10 percent., of which $708,916 was for maintenance of way expenses and $153,890 for car expenses. Ou the average road mileage the gross earn- ' ings per mile rose from $4,075 iu 18b5 to $4,230 in 1886, an increase of $155, or 3.8 i per cent. The Pacific coast earnings, { which in ISSS represented 8.8 per cent, of i the total, fell off in 1886 to a point where । they repres nt but 7.4 per cent. 'lhe J earnings of the system from tr Otic interi changed with its branch-line system for ! twelve months were in gross $5,- : 220,938, or about 30 per cent. lof tho total earnings of the parent I company. As this traffic is done at less average cost than its other business, the net earnings from it are estimated at over s■>,- ' 000,00(1, or 50 per cent, of the total net I earnings. This is in addition to the net earnings of the branch lines themselves, after paying all fixed charges, which were $4,103,450 for the nine mouthsof 1886, and indicates the vital importance of the branchline system to the main system. The following is a comparative statement of the funded and other debts of the entire system Dec. 30. 1886: Funded debt in the hands cf the public 5147,406,233 : Ami Union l’n itic bonds in its treasury.... 579,170 Total funded debt 3117.987,153 Deduct cash resources 2,772.9 '4 Balance of debt SI 15,211. 16 Deduct land grant assets 29, 13.981 Debt in excess of land assets 5115,270,’>65 Miles of road '.'''M Debt i er mile 525,070 The mileage and debts of the Central branch and the St. 'Joseph and Grand Island Company are not included in this statement. KOBER! G. INGERSOLL. Portrait of the Noted Lawyer and Agnostic. i he convicted Chicago anarchists have latelv made a i unsu cessful eflon to enlist the s'rviees of Col. Robert G. Ingeisoll in the leg.il battle fortlyir lives. He has thus far declined to take part in the celebrated case, on the ground that he has not the tim ■to spare. Col. Ingersoll is a native of Dresden, N. Y., where he was born in 1833. When twelve yars old, he accompanied his par nts to Illinois, where he was edu-

J v. ... ; ; k rated and applied himself to the study of the law. He ran as a Democratic candidate for Congress in 1860, but was defeated. In 18 (2 he entered the army as Colonel of a reg inert or cavalry, and v,as taken prisoner, but was exchanged. Returning to civil life he became a Republican, and in 1868 was made Attorney General of Illinois. At the Republican convention of 1876 his speech, in proposing Mr. Blaine’s name for the Presidency, aroused general attention for its eloqm-uce. and since that time Col. Ingersoll lias been prominent before the country as an orator. His law practice is verv extensive and his fees large. It is said th it Stephen W. Dorsey paid him the enormous sum of $100,600 for his services in the Star-Route trial. .JAY GOl LD'S PARTNER. A Famous Speculator Ketires from Business. A recent New York dispatch states that Washington E. Connor, one of the most prominent si eculators in all street, and

1 'J’""-. r 7 * . jo/ ' / ■ ' .k ' / Z''-^'

for many years the confidential partner of Jay Gould, has retired from active business and will go to Europe for a season of rest and recreation. Though barely forty years of age, he has accumulated a very hand-, some fortune, and now prefers to devote himself to mana^ing his own affairs

rather than continue to discharge the arduous duties that devolve upon the head of an active stock brokerage house. “I sEF,”said Mrs. Follansbee, looking up from her pap r the other evening, “that they say Modjeska has a lot of perfect sticks supporting her this season.” “That is entirely appropriate,” replied the Colonel, with a diabolical grin. “How is that?” “Why, she is a Pole herself, you know.” Mrs. Follansbee was so indignant that she didn’t speak to him for all the evening. If a Mr. Brown marries a Miss White, and a son ’ of this couple marries a Miss (fray, and a daughter of theirs again marries a Mr. Black, what color is tbeir offspring?

NUMBER 23.

THE CASE OF STONE. Tha SHsper.ded District Attorney of Western Pennsylvania Will Not Be Reinstated. President Cleveland’s Reasons Therefor—The Correspondence iu the Case. [Washington telegram.] The President makes public the following correspondence: Pittsburgh, Pa., Nov. 18. The Hon. A. H. Garland, Attorney General: Sui - Ihavo rend the correspondence between the President and the Hon. M. E. Benton, United Stat s Attorney, connected with his restoration to office, in which it appears that he was suspended from ofli e for his apparent neglect of official duties iu making campaign speeches. I’resunmbly my suspension was ordered for the same reason. I desire, therefore, to state the facts in my case. I made but two speeches prior to tho receipt of the order of suspension-one at Butler in an adjoining county the evening of Oct. 1, and one at Kittanning, a town near Pittsburgh, the evening of Oct. 2. I did not leave Pittsburg for Butler until nearly 4 o'clock, Oct. 1. and returned the morning of the 2d about 9 o'clock. I left Pittsburg for Kit. aiming, Saturday, Oct. 2, about 5 o’clock p. in., and returned the same night. Bo hos the above dates the United States Courts here were not in session, except a short time in the morning of each day for ordinary motions. 1 was in attendance upon the courts during their sittings and did not leave the city upon either occasion until long after the court, had adjourned. Oct. 18 the United States District Court began its session at Pittsburg for the trial of jury causes, a I’otit and Grand Jury being in attendance. From Oct. 2 until Oct. 181 was engaged in tho preparation of causes for trial, and from Oct. 18 until Oct. 27, the date of the receipt of the order of suspension, I was engaged in the trial of these causes. Neither during this period from Oct. 2 to Oct. 27 nor at any other time did I in any particular neglect the duties of my office These statements mav be verified by inquiry of any officer of our courts. I feel it iny duty after reading the correspondence between the President and Mr, Benton to state these facts in justice tl myrelf, and respectfully request that this communication bo referred to tne 1 resident. I may also add that I did not think that making an oceaslona campaign speech to my neighbors, w hile not neglecting the duties of my office, would be a violation of the Presid nt s order of July 10, 1886. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, ' Wm. A. Stone. Executive Mansion, Nov. 23. Tho Hon. A. H. Garland, Attorney General: Dear Snt—l have read the 1 tterof the 18th inst., written to you by William A. Stone, lately suspended Irom office as Dist ict Attorney for the Western District of Pennsylvani i, and tho subject matter to which it refers has received my careful consideration. I shall not impute t । the writer any mischievous motive in his plainly erroneous assumption that his case and that of Mr. Benton, recently suspended and reinstated, rest upon the same state of facts, but prefer to regard his letter as containing the best statement possible upon the question of liis reinstatement. You remember, of c urse, that soon after the present administration was installed, and I think nearly a ve r and a half ago, I considered with you certain charges which had been preferred against Mr. btone ns a Federal official. You remember, too, that tho action then contemplated was withheld by reason of the excuses and explanations of his friends. These excuses and explanations induced mo to believe that Mr. Stone's retention would insure a faithful performance of official duty, and that whatever offensive partisanship he had deemed justifiable in oth r circumstances he would, during his continuance in office at his request, under an administration opposed to him in political creed and 1 oliey. content himself xvith a quiet and unobtrusive cn.oyment of his political privileges. I certainly supposed that his sense of propriety would cause him to refrain from pursuing such a pariisun course as would wantonly offend and irritate the friends of the administration, who insisted that he should not, be retained in office, either because of his personal merit er in adherence to the methods which have for a long time prevailed iu the distribution of Federal offices. In the light of u oetter system, and without considering his political affiliations, Mr. Stone, when permitted to remain in office, became a part of

the business organization of the present administration, bound by every obligation of honor to assist within his sphere in its successful operation. This obligation involved not only the proper performance of official duty, but a certain good faith and fidelity, which, while not exacting the least sacrifice of political principle, forbade acti e participation in purely partisan demonstrations of a pronounced type, undertaken for the purpose of advancing partisan interests, and conducted upon the avowed theory that the administration of the Government was not entitled to the confidence and respect of the people. There is no dispute whatever concerning the fact that Mr. Stone did join others who were campaigning the State of Pemisvlvania in opposition to the administration. It appears, too, that he was active and prominent with noisy enthusiasm in attendance upon at least two large public meetings where the sixieches won largely devoted to abuse and misrepresentation of the administration ; that he approved all this, and actually addressed tue meetings himself in somewhat the same strain ; that he attended such meetings away from his home for the purpose of making such addresses; and that he was advertised as one of the speakers at each of said meeting. I shall accept as true the statement of Mr. Stone that the time spent by him in thus demonstrating his willingness to hold a profitable office at the hands of an administration which he endeavored to di credit with the people, and which hail overl oked bis previous offs uses, did not result in ths neglect of ordinary official duty; but his conduct has brought to light such an unfriendliness toward the administration which he pretends to servo, and of which he is nominally a part, and such a consequent lack of loyal interest in its success, that the safest and surest guaranty of his faithful service is, in my opinion, entirely wanting. His com-se, in itself, such as should not have beeu ente; d upon while maintaining official relations to the administration, also renews and revives, with unmistakable interpretation of their character and intent, the charges of offensive part : sanship heretofore made, and up to tais time held in abeyance. Mr. Stone and others of like disposition are not to suppose that party lines are so far obliterated that the administration of the Government is to be trusted, iu places high or low. to those who aggressively and constantly endeavor unfairly to destroy the confidence of the people in the party responsible for such administration. While vicious partisan methods should not bo allowed for partisan purposes to degrade or injure the public service, it is my belief that nothing tends so much to discredit our efforts, in the interest of such service, to treat foirlv and generously the official incumbency of political opponents as conduct such as is here disclosed. The people of this country certainly do not require the best results of administrative endeavor to be reached with such agencies as these. Upon a full consideration of all I hate before me, I am constrained to decline the application of Mr Stone for his reinstatement. I inclose his letter with this, and desire you to acquaint him with my decision. Yours very truly, Grover Cleveland. Department of Justice, I Washington, 1). C., Nov. 24, 18.86. f The Hon. William A. Stone, Pittsburg, Pa.: Siu—l am dii'ected by the President to say to you that, after consideration of your letter of the 18th inst., he will not revoke or change the order heretofore made suspending you as District Attorney for the Western District of Pennsylvania. Very respectfully, A. H. Garland, Attorney General. Enough of a Good Thing. “Papa, just see my new dress,” said a young society girl, as she presented herself attired for her first grand ball. “Isn’t it too sweet for anything?” “Does it suit you, my dear?” “I just dote on it.” “If that is so, I should think that you would have had more of it,” said pater familias, after faking a sharp glance at the decollete costume. — Chicago Ledger. Somewhere among the daily news we recently read of an old lady, 103 years of age, whose motto through life iiad been “never fret.” That easily accounts for her longevity. “As A general thing the vitality of woman compares favorably with that of man.” As a particular thing we have noticed that widows invariably survive their husbands. — Judge. During the past twelve years 112 men have been murdered in the town of Edgefield, S, C.