St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 18, Number 5, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 20 August 1892 — Page 7

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. i * J^LLiyLta CHAPTER Vil. A MORNIXG 11 'F. Brian saw Margaret returning, and j (tutting down th? book h ; ha I been try- ; ing to read, he went in“o the hall to meet her. liepressing her nervousness ; at his unexpected appearance, she [ paused as he came up to her with the I words: “You have been to long, Margaret, i Did you enjoy your visit so much.' Why ' didn’t you let those people wait, and . give me just a little of your company. 5 I haven’t much chaiice. I am going away to-morrow.” “To-morrow?” Sho grasped her raised ■ skirt more tightly, but no further comment escaped her lips. Taking this for indiffercn e, Brian continued, alter a brief pause: I dare say I shall never see you again. Os course you will not regret that, but be- i fore I go, I shou d like to know that you forgive me. If you only knew how I j have suffered' If you could realize how I still suffer, you woul 1 be kinder. It ‘ is so hard to lose all, Margaret.” “Have I been so unkind? lam sorry, j Have I not told you th it I regret, ’ with a bitterness I cannot express, the -conditions which make me mistress here? If there is any way ” He interrupted her with passionate reproach. “You do me injustice. Do you suppose I was alluding to the money? I hate the very’ mention of it. I leave it out of the question. I am thinking of you.” She tapped her foot with her riding whip, and despite the effort to control her countenance, an incredulous expression passed ovi r it. “Yot don’t belere me,” he cried passionately. "Well, I deserve that at ycur hands, but truth is truth. The very sight of your kindness to others maddens me. I see l ow they art favored, and I remember your hardness to me. I envy’ the very* children who speak to you as you pass. They can be happy without your love. I cannot. You need not look your dislike, I feel it. lam destined to offend you so much since I saw you in that place, where only my evil fate led me, that I feel no sacrifice could be too great for your sake.” “Isn’t the sensation a novel one?” she asked, steeled to hardness by som > inward remembrance. I believe we agreed to leave me out of the question.” Br an ground his heel with an exclamation of impatience. “It is useless to hope,” he answered bitterly. “Y< u “i' a4 if von will, but do not show such contemptuous indifference.” “It is not charitable to Irate. and forgetfulness does not come so easily as we might wish.” “No,” he replied, stung to rejoinder. “I have something to remember, too.” She paled perceptibly. “You are generous,” was her passionate answer. “Now perhaps you will allow me to pass.” “Ah, no! Margaret, not yet. I can’t see you go from me so. Forgive me for what 1 just said. I meant nothing. I spend half my time in regretting what j has gone before. I cannot stand your anger. Why is all the gentleness in your nature turned against me only?” “I do not know,” she answered, half | absently, while her face softened visibly. “Have you anything to ask me?” j “Nothing that you will grant; unless, ; ■perhaps, it is permission to ride with ' you to-morrow. ‘Will you allow me that ; pleasure?” “Iride early,’’she answered with hesi- ; tation, “but if you care to forego your morning nap I have no objection.” “Thank you. Y’ou will see how gladly I’ll forego that morning nap.” “I really didn’t expect to see y< u,” i Margaret confessed, when they were I both in the saddle next morning. "I 1 thought ” “How could you doubt me?” he inter- ! Tupted, with some reproach. “I am only too happy to take advantage of th s last j chance to spend a little while with you. | I’ll soon be out of your life entirely. I j find it hard to tear myself away. ” He sighed. His sigh was echoed 1 close beside him, but Margaret’s face j was impenetrable. “What a glorious morning,” she remarked rather irrelevantly. * “We shall ! have a delightful ride.” “Are you so fond of riding,” he asked, I noting her high color and Hashing eyes. I “Passi nately. I feel so light-hearted when lam in the saddle. An hour like | this is particularly inspiriting. I love I the coolness and the restful quiet, and I love the fresh morning air.” “You love the night air, too.” Her face flushed at the words. “I suppose you heard me in the garden last night?” she said, bending her head with the pretext of untangling her horse’s mane. “The night was perfect, and I couldn’t withstand the temptation. I hope you will not speak of it to Miss Hilton. She may begin to . worry her deir head about me, when really I was only nervous and wakeful.” "And you adopted that plan for woo- : ing sleep? Couldn’t you have found a J more prundent and more effectu d ’ one?” “I hate prudence,” she broke in. with ’ a suspicion of impatience; “in fact, I j revel in imprudence,” “I’ve had ample proof of that,” was j his tranquil reply. “Why didn’t you let ; me play Eseulapius, if only to vindicate j my diploma, you know?” "The idea didn’t suggest itself to me, I and I don’t believe I’d care to be ex- ! perimented on, anyway. A diploma ! asn t a guarantee of ability, you know.” : “No one can accuse you of kissing the j blarney stone,” he returned, rather . grimly. “Sometimes I begin to fear ' you are too truthful.” “No one can be th it. There is The ' Cedars. No one about. I suppose Col. ! Barton is an old friend of yours?” “If knowing me since I was knee- ' high to a grasshopper implies friend- ; ship, he ami I must be first-rate chums, j I uon’t fancy I’m an especial favorite i

friend of yours, I am sure.” “Why are you sure?” “Because no one can help being. Y’ou | have the faculty of making everybody | love you, and old men are no more proof I against it than young ones. It has । proved unfortunate in my case, but he jof course, is more favored. I’ll begin j to wish myself old presently. “‘Thou shouldst nd have been old I before thou hadst bom wise!’ You ! should take that saying to heart. As to i the Colonel, he has won his r ght to my j respect and esteem. He has been my i most helpful friend in times when I most I needed help. He is quick-tempered, to |be sure, and expresses his opin.on wdh- ' out scruple, but I know him to be upi right, honorable, and true as steel. I’d ' trust him forever.” “He has a stanch champion. I wish you had half as good an opinion of me. Speak'ng of his temper, he and grand- : father never agreed.” “I should think not," was the warm : reply. “A warm-hearted, generous man j like the Colonel could never admire the hard, cold man your grandfather was. ; I wonder he could breathe the same atmosphere with him.” “He was your grandfather, too,” tomarked Brian, rather meekly. "I don’t care to acknowledge the rela- ■ tionship. Please don’t speak of him. I ■ commit sin whenever his name is mentioned, and that necessitates after penance. Talk of something more agreeable—do. ” “With all my heart. I was never in ■ love with him myself. He was forever quoting that abominable saying, which I don’t believe was in the Bible, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ for my espei cial benefit.” “Well, I dare say he had reason,” was : the ready response, accompanied by a I flash of humor so like the old Margaret I that he began to imagine himself in ! S’conset again. “Y’ou haven't a like objection to Colonel Barton, have you? i Tell me why you are not a favorite with him.” j “I don’t know. Perhaps I imagine it. I dare say he doesn’t consider me half so worthless as you do. Who would believe that so fair a face could hide so hard a heart? I The tone, as much as his words, vexed i Margaret. Her eyes darkened and her voice took on a sharper intonation. j “We will discuss neither my face nor ! ray heart, if you please.” ' She gave her horse a sharp blow, , vhich sent him into a hard gallop. ; Then, with the quick repentance which ' always followed such outbursts, she pulled up quickly and waited for Brian to join her. This he did with an air of ■ . injured dignity. “Don’t look so dreadfully doleful,” she called out with an attempt at lightness. “Really you give me the blues. Are y< u hungry? I’m perfectly ravenous. If we ride a little faster we’ll be home in two minutes.” , i “I don’t want to be home in two minut s. I wish this ride would last forever. No, of course you don’t; you are thinking of your breakfast, but I Oh, Margaret, I wish you wouldn’t trifle , .with raw dparesX_f»-elings." “And Twish younadn't sucli a queer way ' of coming in with unexpected remarks, j You haven't the least idea of the fitness of things. I’m hungry, and I’m going j home just as fast as this horse will ; carry me.” With these somewhat defiant words ■ she galloped off, and Brian, to give a : more forcible expression to his sense of : injury, followed at a snail’s pace. When he arrived at Elmwood he found Margaret divested of her riding habit awaiting him in tne dining-room. He i pretended not io see the smile with I which she greeted him, and during I breakfast he maintained a moody silence, which awakened in Margaret a half-grave, half-amused interest. ' "A thorough baby,” she commented, leav ng the table when the meal was 1 over and going into the garden, ap- | parently to look at her flowers, in reali- | ty to be alone with her thoughts. j She walked for an hour in the fresh : flower-scented air, and when she rei turned to the house her nervous rest- * lessness was so marked that Miss Hilton was both surprised and pained, but i she wisely forbore remark. Even when, a short time before luncheon, Margaret I | stole up behind her chair, and, placing ' her arms at ut her neck, said, rather , । querulously, "I am so tired of the ortho- ; dox way of eating, Miss Milton. Shall : we have our lunch under the trees?” she i । contented herseh with answering: “Do as you like, my dear. I think it 1 ' will be very nice, and appetizing.” j “And a change,” added Margaret. I ! “How Ido want a change. A horri 1 dis- j j position to have, is it not? Never to be i satisfied. I don t know how you put up ; with me, when I find it so difficult to put ’ j up with myself. ” “Sit down, my dear, and I will tell j you,” was the quiet reply. “Some other time,” said Margaret, j quickly. “I hear Cousin Brian. He would prove an interruption. Besides, ; I must see to our picnic, you know.” She was gone when Brian entered the j rcom a second later. He noted her absence, and his look of j disai pointment reflected his feelings. I "I will send him to her presently,” ; mused the old lady, calling him to sit beside her. CHAPTER VII. A STRANGE PROPOSAL. Margaret was standing in a veritable । shower of sunbeams, when Brian, act- ! ing on Miss Hilton’s hint, found her under the trees. “How perfectly charming,” he cried, i gazing, not at the temptingly spread j table, but at Margaret, whose lovely ' face seemed to gain new b auty from ; her surroundings. “What a delightful ■ surprise you have prepared for us. I feel hungry and almost happy. "You have a peculiar way of express- ! ing yourself, Cousin Brian. Are hun- ' ger and happiness associated in your j mind? lam glad you can laugh. Dole- . fui people give me the blues, and grim looks are not in keeping with this bright; sun.” "Neither is my heart, for that matter. I I have so much to make me miserable, i Y’ou, everything to make you happy.” “I,” she echoed, with a slight tremor, j “I make my own happiness. ' I don’t know how you manage,” he ; returned gloomily. “I never get what I want. ” "Then why not be satisfied with what; you get? It is much more phiiosoph- ; ical.” "Howe^i you speak so lightly,” he I said wi:k fbrupt warmth, “it maddens !

me to hear you. What has philosophy to do with misety? Are you always happy? Do you never know the meaning of regret?” “I wish you’d be more careful,” shi said with assumed anger. “You are sitting on the en t of the table cloth, and I shouldn’t be surprised to see every dish in your lap next. I winder why men are so awkward.” “And I wonder why you are so heartless. Your mind is taken up with table cloths, while I Oh, Margaret, how you hurt me!” Annoyed at the drift of the conversation, Margaret made no pretense of answering, but kept her eyes fixed upon the house in the hope of Miss Hilton’s appearance. Noting her indifference, Brian cent nued in the same passionate strain. “Whyaie you so bitter and scornful? Why do you delight in torturing me’ Have you no heart? You can not realize my longing, and you will never sympathize with me. I am tired cf being spurn id and despised. I have somu pride, and I’ll not stay another night under your roof. I’ll go this afternoon; then you’ll be rid of me.” “And if I don’t wish to be rid of you so soon?” she questioned with an effort. “You told me you would stay until tomorrow, and I hope you will keep your word. Besides, I wish ” She hesitated. “I wish to talk with you,” she concluded with another effort. “I shall be in the library at 3, or half past. Will you come to me there?” He looked at her in some surprise, ; but her eyes were turned aside and sho was busying herself with some arrangement about the table. “Your request is law to me,” he answered in a low voice. “I am always happy to do something for you.” ; “And lam always ready to appreciate ! your effort,” was the quick reply. She turned away with a sigh of relief. Miss Hilton had just left the house, and was approaching them, so there was no further excuse for a tete-a-tete. At 3 o’clock the same afternoon Brian entered the library to find Margaret seated at a table drawn close to an open window. From her position she could see the wealth and beauty of Elmwood, spread like a map before her Its acres of : woodland, timbered by magnificent । trees; its broad extent of orchard, clothed in a wilderness of bloom, and | its terraced garden sloping to the river, winding among the uplands, and reflect- | ing sparkling vistas from a chain o! । beautiful hills. Further away lay a broad sweep of undulating land, with the village in the foreground, and beyond many a neat cottage, smart in its coat of paint, or pretentious mansion, crowning a convenient eminence. Further still, the smoke curling from the quiet farms ly- ! ing under the enchantment that distance lends. From this picture Margaret turned ! with a sigh, to encounter Brian’s inquir- | ing glance. “You are punctual," she said, with a half smile. “Will you set down, please?” ! He took possession of the chair indi- ; cated, noting meanwhile that her face : was unusually pale and her voice unnaturally quiet. Wondering, yet expec- | tant, he waited for her next words. "You intend leaving Elmwood to-mor-j row,” she resumed, after a pause that ; had been embarrassing to both. • “Yes,” W{is the answer, given with sunie WWfdir. "1 do not Wlgfl I'd ll!l‘lUlA* upon you longer. I cannot stay on from daj- today, making myself more unwelcome and incurring only your contempt. i My sin is past atonement in your eyes. ! I can offer no excuse that will satisfy you. I have no hope left, and to-mor-row when I leave ” “Mhere will you go’” she broke in, : with a repressed earnestness unon her face. ' " here?” he repeated. “Heaven only j knows. To the devil, probably.” She laid down the paper knife she had । been handling half absently, and regarded him fixedly. "I hope you will do nothing so foolish, she said m a low voice. "It is not i manly to give up in that way. I have not called you in here to quarrel with you, nor do I want to rake up old troubles; but Ido want you to under- - stand that, while I acknowledge a certain deception on my part in concealing my name from you, I do not hold you i ; excuse I thereby. I had a reason for ■ doing so, a very wise reason, as things have since turned out. Had you known I was your cousin instead -” “I could not have loved you better,” he broke in with impulsive earnestness. " You must do me that much justice.” (to be continued. | The First Soup. The exiles who took refuge in London at the time of the French revolution met the poverty and the hardships of their lot with much courage. They never begged and it was often difficult to induce them to accept the funds subscribed for their assistance. The women did not accept the partially worn and soiled clothing of wealthy and charitably inclined ladies, as most women of their condition would be glad to do, but managed with the cheapest materials to dress neatly and tastefully. Their necessities developed an inventive spirit. The records of the London patent office at the beginning of the eighteenth century have on every page such names as Blondeau, Dupin. Cardonel, Gastineau, Leblond, and Courant. How ingenious they were in utilizing the most unpromising of materials is shown by their invention of a now famous dish. M hen the London butchers slaugh- I tered their beef they were accustomed to throw away the tails with the refuse. The French women had the bright idea of buying them, since they could get them for next to nothing, and making soup of them. And thus they gave to England the popular ox-tail soup, which loyal Englishmen now consider an essentially national di<h.—Youth’s Companion. Knives shoul I never be put into hot water, which injures them, first by loosening the handles, ami next by spoiling the temper of the steel. Wipe them first with a damp cloth, and then rub on a j smooth board which has been previously j rubbed with a scouring-brick or knife- I powder. The latest invention for Ihe saving of life at fires is the “emergency dress.” It is a woman’s idea. It consists of a dress something like that used by submarine divers, but much more simple. The suit is in two pieces and madj from asbestos c'oth.

REAL RURAL HEADING WILL BE FOUND IN THIS DEPARTMENT. JPropagati ng Trees by Du<hlin£ — Treatment of Milk Fever— Influence of Climate and Blossoms on Honey—A Home-Made Poultry Brooder—Agricultural Atoms. How to Bud. Many trees are propagated by budding, which is done from the middle of July to the first September when the bark lifts readily without splitting, says Farm and Home. Seedlings of the presents year’s growth are generally budded, although one

and two-year-old trees may be worked. When budding young stocks they should be carefully prepared by trimming off al! lower branches and leaves for three or four inches from the ' ground. The material lor tying may be the fiber obtained . from the mats that come around Russian iron or the | fibrous bark of the basswood. This is cut into lengths of ten to twelve inches and separated

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FIG. I. into thin, smooth bands onefourth of an inch wide. Cotton warp, obtained from cotton factories, is used extensively. The material must be such as will not shrink when wet or expand or loosen when dry. The budding knife must be sharp with a blade rounding at the end, as shown in the illustration. Some use an ivory blade to lift the bark. The conditions for success are, 1, the stock must be in a vigorous growing state so that the bark will peel easily; 2, the bud must be well matured: 3, the knife must be sharp; 4, the work must be done rapidly: 5, the buds must be firmly and evenly bound in place. When everything is ready the first thing is to prepare a lot of bud sticks, as shown in Fig. 2. Shoots of medium size are selected, taking

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care to get only those* that have but one leaf to a joint. Tne leaves are cut off as ' shown, leaving about one-f o u r t h of an inch of the stem. These sticks are the growing wood of the

present year. fig. 2. fig. 3. fig. 4. Make a cross cut about two inches from the ground, then a longitudinal one on the north side of the tree, so as not to be injured by freezing and thawing. At the same time raise the bark a little, as shown in Fig. 3. A bud stick is then taken and a cut is made through the bark about one-half inch above the bud, taking onl^^er^nmpomo!ToiTne wood. The length of the cut must be varied for the different kinds of trees, say one-half inch long for peaches and 1 inch for pears, cherries and apples. The prepared bud is shown in Fig- 4. After the bud is cut the lower end Is inserted under the raised bark of the stock and pressed down. When the bud is in position, as shown in Fig. 5, it is tied by holding one end of the band in the left hand, placing

, it against the stock, and winding the other end over the . first so as to hold it while both hands are employed to bind the bud . smoothly and 7/ firmly. Wind first upward, I\l crossing above the bud, return

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. and tie below fig. 5. fig. 6. the b U( j as shown in Fig. 6. The most important point in tying is to bind the bark firmly and smoothly over the bud. After the trees have been budded a week or two, they should be examined, and if the growth is such that the bands cut into the stock so as to injury it, they should be loosened and retied or cut on the back side if the bud is well united. The Snyder Blackberry. The Snyder blackberry for hardiness and productiveness can hardly be excelled. It succeeds where other varieties have been winter-killed,and these characteristics make it popular. Its fault is in turning red after marketing, which injures its sale, i though not for canning, for which it can hardly be excelled. The Ancient ' Briton blackberry is said to be equally I hardy with the Snyder, and to retain its back color. Another variety, the ! Early Barnard, is identical with the Ancient Briton. Milk Fever. Most everyone who has many cows, 1 has seen one or more cases of milk fever and most dairymen have a fa-' vorite remedy for it; some of them are anvthing but sensible, says a stockman correspondent, and if a cow survives some of the treatments which I have heard advocated, it is because ihe has a strong stomach and won’t die if she can help it. The trouble usually comes on the second or third flay after calving, seldom later than the third, lut occasionally on the I first. It can be told by the presence of high fever; by the cow’s getting up and lying down, turning the head to the flanks, and, when further advanced, the head laid back on the side. Unless the fever takes a turn for the better death ensues in the course of a few hours. When you first notice that the animal is uneasy, then is the time to give her some attention, and a dose of Epsom

salts, about a handful dissolved In a quart of water, should be given from a strong bottle. Just hold up her head and pour it down her throat. If she does not quiet down in four hours, repeat the dose and if she has grown worse give her ten drops of strong tincture of aconite in a pint of water, and repeat this dose every four hours till she gets on her feat again. Care should be taken that the animal does not catch cold; she ought not to be allowed out of doors unless it is quite warm and dry for several weeks after an attack of milk fever.

Home-Made ISrooder. A simple arrangement enabled me to raise 600 chickens by the Ist of June. Its chief merit lies in the fact that any woman can make one who possesses a pine box, a mustard can, and an old ash pan. Take a light pine box 18 inches wide, 3 teet long, and 5 inches high; cut a hole in center of box the size of can, which should open at both ends, and from 2 to 3 inches in diameter, and 34 to 4 inches high. Insert can in hole, flush with bottom of box. Next, for a cover, get a light board one-third length of box; cover one side with : Canton flannel, and make a fringe of j some old woolen stuff around the sides 3 inches long. Set two boxes i or other supports on the floor, 2 or 3 inches taller than lamp you expect to r , j THE BROODER. use, and close enough together to I support the ash pan. I’ut the long ■ box on this and the cover which is movable on the center of box 1J inches of chaff in the bottom of box; set a lamp under the ash pan and the brooder is done. It will hold from 20 to 30 chicks until a week or ten days old, when they should be transferred to a larger brooder. The heat passes up through tin tube radiating out over the backs of the chicks, and, of course, is regulated by the amount of flame. Give them food composed of hard-boiled egg rubbed with twice the amount of stale bread crumbs, or stale bread just moistened with milk, and sweet milk that they cannot get into with their teet, and they will learn to eat and drink without assistance. Never let them get chilled, and change chaff often. — ‘ Aunt Patsy.” To Keep MUk Sweet in Hoi Weather. The milk dairyman is often at his wits’ end to prevent souring of the milk in the hot season when the moisture in the air causes the heat to become more than usually intolerable. To keep the milk sweet then, i every precaution must be taken. It ;is not a serious adulteration to add a small quantity oi carnonaiein S uu U) or potash, to the milk, to neutralize the slightly acid change produced in the milk by the heat and bacteria, and the small quantity required has no appreciable effect on the milk. The carbonate of soda in the milk is j changed into lactate, and the carbonic acid is uiven off, while the lactic acid is neutralized, and the milk is kept from souring. Dissolving an ounce of the soda in some of the milk • and then mixing the solution through । a forty-uallon canful, may save the whole from loss during times of ex-; I cessive heat. A Remedy for Poultry Eice. As there has been much said and : done in the way of a remedy for i perch lice, I wish to have a few , words to add in that direction. About two yearsago, while making soap our j lye overrun the grease. Having 1 about twenty gallons of good lie left, i and thinking it would be a good dose I for lice, I resolved to try it. I put the contents into a thirty gallon ket- . tie, filled the remainder with water । i from the cistern, kindled a fire under the same, and made it as hot as fire ■ would make it. I then seized a 1 bucket, and marched to the poultry' house, administering io their wants! with a pint tin cup. I first took out ; the roosts, piled them in a snug pile, j ! scalded them well, stirred them up, and scalded them again. Then, for the inner part of the house, I saturated every part where I thought a i louse could harbor, even the ground floor, and then shut the door to let it steam. \Ye iiad often scalded with j clear water only to be disappointed by their return in about one week, j Try the former plan, and you will j ‘•hold the fort.” —R. L. Bone, in National Dairyman. Gates Upon the Farm. Where there is considerable travel to and from lots upon the farm, i the time required in taking out ' and putting in bars would warrant i the use of gates instead, even if the j cost is more. There is another con-1 sideration, too, in the liability of i cattle to rub down bars and thus become unruly. (Jr even if the bars are let down for them to pass over, if ' more than one attempts to pass at a time one is obliged to jump over the . slant, and in that way they may learn the bad habit of jumping. Influence of Blossoms on Honey. Italian bees will work well if they have all the brood-frames that they can cover, but not small sections. They might work well in three pound or four pound sections, but such large ’ ones do not always suit the trade. • The Italians breed up quicker in the spring than blacks, but that is of no : use, as we never get any surplus from either race until September or Octo- i ber; then the white honey is gath- ! ered, and all the honey we get in the ! months of June, July, and August is, very dark-colored. Some bee-men j sav that buckwheat honey is all dark, I

but that is a great mistake; for somr years we have the whitest honey from, buckwheat. 1 think that climate and the kind of blossoms the bees work on makes a difference in the nature of the bees: for when working on chestnut, basswood and locust, the bees are very easily handled: but when they work on corn, ragwood, and golden-rod, look out for a fight; and the more honey they have, the more sr .e they will stand. -Ex. A Milking Stool. Front posts 22 inches high, 12

inches apart. Rear ] post 14 inches high; \ side pieces 18 inches J long. Rear post 2x4 r pine; front posts 14 » inches hard wood. >This is very light. Pail and stool can be carried in one hand.

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Pail is always level, most convenient for milking, and up out of the way of the cow’s foot. Stool is suitable for man or woman, and if the book is placed so as to let the pail hang immediately in front of or under top cross-piece,, it will not tip with pail full of milk. A Good Road Horse. One of the best and most pleasant ways of getting a good road horse is to buy a well bred and well broken colt, and bring him up carefully. Os course one must buy where he will get treated fairly, and must remember that everything in horse flesh is subject to accidents. But there is no safer way than to purchase a young horse that has been well broken and gaited, and has never been injured from abuse or over-driving. Produce for Market. There is nothing lost to the farmer by being careful in preparing his vegetables for the market. Clean, nicelooking vegetables are appreciated by the buyer, for which he is willing to pay, and pay well. Regarding potatoes, we heard a dealer remark that “when such a man brings them in I never care to look at them, for I know they are all right. His pota« I toes are always of good size, and smooth and clean as though they' bad ! been washed. Then there are others ! that have to be watched, or else I get badly beaten by inferior quality.” • That tells the whole story, if you ! want to sell and at a good price, and merit confidence by your acts. Wash for Trees. Prof. Cook recommends the following as an effective wash for fruit trees. It prevents egg laying and kills the newly hatened caterpillars !as they begin to tunnel the trees. Take 100 pounds of caustic potash, one barrel of lime,one gallon of crude ! carbolic acid, two pounds of white • ' I arsenic, or London purple, which is perhaps better and certainly cheaper, j and water enough to make 300 gallons of the wash. This will be suffi- ! cient for 3000 trees; snaller quanti- ‘ ties may be made in hku piuportion. । Apply the wash with a stiff brush i during summer. — Horticultural Hints. A tree had better be without limbs i than without roots. Moore's Early and Worden are two ; popular early grapes. Some claim that orchards should ' always be cultivated. Take strawberry plants from a j young and thrifty bed. Two or three varieties of grapes ! are generally enough. I The family always appreciates a | supply of small fruits. When you cut off black knot, paint i the wound with kerosene. With berries, as with everything । else, try to grow the best. Rest from bearing is good, but I generally manure is better. I Trees well thined out at the top are not so liable to mildew. In transplanting plants, have the ! roots lie straight and natural. Commercial fertilizers, judiciously I used, work well in the garden. Bogus Cider. A most artistically labelled and cap. : ped bottle marked “Pure Crab Apple Cider,” but bearing no manufacturer’s name, was sent to us for analysis. It had been sold at a high price by , a fancy grocer who is supposed to sell only the best and purest goods. The results of our analysis were as- , tonishiug. This “pure crab apple cider” was made of aldehyde, chloroI fbrru, acetic ether, valerianate of । nm.vl, tartaric acid, caramel and water with syrup to sweeten. There was । not a particle of apple in it and ten 1 gadons of it could be made for less than fifty cents. The taste was good. After satisfying ourselves what it was macle of, we tried to make some by a formula constructed upon the results of our analysis and found the result to be a most excellent tasting cider. Os course we shall not publish the formula; we are not in the business of furnishing such formulas. We are endeavoring to acertain where the genius who makes this “cider” holds forth that we mav call the attention of the Board of Health to him. Meanwhile look to the maker's name on cider.—American Analyst. A Leipsic journal gives a method which, it asserts, will prevent lamp chimneys from cracking. The treatment will not only render lamp chimneys, tumblers, and like articles more durable, but may be applied with advantage to crockery, stoneware, porcelain, etc. The chimneys, tumblers, etc are put into a pot filled with ’cold water, to which some common table salt has been added; the water is well boiled over a fire, and them allowed to cool slowly. When the articles are taken out and washed they will be found to resist, afterward, any sudden change of temperature.