St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 29, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 3 February 1894 — Page 8

AT WAR WITH HERSELF. : ——— The Story of a Woman's Aténement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. ’ CHAPTER XXXVl—Continued. , “Do not doubs me, Paul,” she whispered. “My li‘e is so novel to me. ILet me enjoy it undisturbed for some time longer, ” | MO N e R

1p o was satisfied; he was beside himself with joy that she had voluntarily given him this little caress—she who Was so distantand reserved. Her manner had often puzzled him., He had no right to douby her, yet there was something s strange about her conduct, She seemed always as though she were trying to make amends to him for Something—ag though all her affection and kindness came from a desire to make atonement. He could not under- | Btand her. She had never wronged | him: it was not hep fault that she was the nearest of kin, There was no rea- 1 son wh{ she should accept Lim if she | did not love him, She had had offers | from some of the most distinguished men in Kngland, and had refused them for his sake. She must love him after all, but he wished thatshe would show her affection in a fashion that he could { better understand. He saw her oft.en' j Sehe Yade over from Wellden ao.n BB & i

& Rb b T s > strange kind o | B7 '\ Biascomed to dr e ‘ G N} araw nearer | ;.\,‘, ‘ s inner li N X \ S life ;‘.\:" \ < ‘ ‘ L - B l Vl_ v/ - > "‘_ 4018 g Fainst her | " 6d the e; but Gen- ‘ 1 ol gONo abroad, and he | g 0 Bl W .nat he should much prefer | L 8 daughter's residing withher friend | © during his absent e than keeping house all alone at Westtield. Ethel could 828 me &b . ahiection, therefore

Site 10 TORSORGIBY PRy T she remained. **** * * = One bright morning in September Le nie stood at the library window alone. The lilies were dead, the roses faded, and in their place great sunflowers turned their bright faces up-i sward, and tall dahlias reared their | heads with handsome flowers. '[ho‘\ leaves were falling from the tilees:| they lay, crimson, brown and gold, on | the cround: the wind swept them along. I L oo o plas ok Is A i

: and then moaned OvVol uil&== The fair face looking wistfully from | the window at the falling leaves had | changed most remarkably. It was not | less peautifuls but the brightness and \ radiance were gone __there was a worn look that did not belong to youth—the 1 Qyes were very bright, but there was | somewhat of fever in their brightness | —there was 2 flush on the peautiful | face, but it told more of unrest than of | health—there was tremulous movement about the white jeweled hands, a - sudden quivering of the lips, both tokens of a mind ill at'ea €. No one saw Lady Charnleigh without remarking the change. Miss Tem- : pleton had been from Kew t 0 spend the summer vacation, as she told the parents of her pupils, with the Countess of o ~ Coparnleigh, of Crown Leighton, and N when she had seen Leonie, she had o s oerien out iu wonder—--7 «rhis gay life dees not suit you, Lady e E e Aol

RLAtSDSB RWet T T Qe Nnangoit. A ' Onarnleigh; you ar Sad had long XA %#}%& kas though you AW T .\t res — gayely SOimd Yeechood W‘A}e gu‘l ho rest in ~ s s 2 pved, her surprise had ‘ creater still “Xou cannot sleep in the dark,” she I had said, one day, after overhearing a conversation between Leonie and her | maid: “you do not like the twilight: | you cannot endure to be left alone, you | crave for continual excitement as chil- ;‘ dren do for focd. My dear Lady Charn- | leigh, you give me the impression that , you are at war with yourself.” ; How the words had taunted her, | How.they taunted her still! They de- f scribed her state of mind as no other words could have done. It was not a tempest, not a struggle, but a continual warfare—and the warfare was seli against self. There was hardly a f " single moment, night or day, during | which her better, nobler, higher self | Wwas not erying cut in rebellion against [‘ the deed she had done. There was ‘ : hardly a single moment in which heart i or soul was free from that war. Sheff ; BEESEEE Carswri eAI R B g Te T S

srer oswagyoa Oy UHDUISe: 88 were the leaves by the wind. She would riss ‘one morning determined to write to Paul Flemyng, and fell him all—de- . termined to undo her great wrong—to ive up the wealth she was so unjustly Eeeping from him—to te honest, loyal | and true. The resolution would last until she went downstairs and saw the | magnificence that surrounded her, _i “l cannot give .t up,” the unhappy | girl would cay: “it is the best part of | my life. I could not endure poverty! after this.” | At other times, the memory of the lover she had lost would be so strong within her that she would be ready to | ; give up everything she had in the el only to sece him again. At such ; seßeoTTßees cn the name of " Faul"Flemyng: she avoided seeing him when he came; she went out into the | green solitude of the woods and called by name him whom she had sent from BEIN with a lie:. No wonder that 41 |

T B oT ol (i, vg, O ot eS Sa AAO PR CEDRY. R ERRS f : radiant face grew worn-looking, and | that the bright eyes lost their clear ; light; no wonler that sweet snatches | of song and sunny laughter were no ; longer heard. | Lady Charnleigh stood watching the | falling leives. The wind no longer | wafted to her rich, warm gusts of per- | fume; it was wailing over the dead | flewers. i “My life was virtually over,” she was f thinking to her-elf: “this world has no | more to give me. [ have lost my lover: } Dor spring nor summer will ever bring | him back to me. Some time, sooner or | later, I shall marry Paul Flemyng., 1| shall live and die Countess of Charn- | leigh. Ishall live and die one of the | fairest and richest women in England. | ‘But my life will not have been a happy | one, though I have my heart’s wish ! granted to me. Oh, if I had never i found that will, or if, on finding it, I had but acted lovally, Bertram would ] have been mine, and I should have ben f happy!” | sShe had made her:elf believe that in | & short time she should forget all that was unpleasant and enjoy her wealth l as she had been wont to do. She had believed herself capable of growing ) hardened inher sin; but the consciereco | she had done her best to trample under foot seemed to grow more vigorous in l its opposition day by day.

[ “Tam at war with myself,” she said, . “and peace will come to me never more, | Was the prize worth the sin? = Too ! late! It is tzo late now. I cannot ' change what I have done. I musttake wmy life as it ccmes, and make the best I oF 1.7 , So through the autumn and winter she did her best to drown all regrets, | Even Lady Fanshawe, who enjoyed gayety as much as any one, was almost i astounded. There was no ce :sation to her young relative's dissipation; balls, | fetes, charada nartios A oy >

L ArOH P R b o eB OE DREIIGS, - | archery meetings, croquet parties, pic--7 | nies, every variety of amusement that )| it was possible t) imagine, followed - | each other in rapiq succession. No ) | day passed without some kind of enter- | tainment. T eonie seemed to diead ’ ‘ only one thing, and that was time and | | ! leisure an thought. ' | Lady Fanshawe and Miss Dacre had | ! grown tired of asking each other what ? . had come over her. Kthel thought | ! she had been deceived in her first esti- ' | mate of her character, She secmed | to live only to kill time, and not to | j turn it to profit. Even those who | | shared her hospitality began to tztlkt - of her and say that it was sad to seco ‘ one so young giving up her heart and | soul to the pursuit of pleasure,. 2 Paul Flemyng was the only one who ’ J saw no faults in her; he made all al- | ] lowances. It was but natural, e said I [ };O himself, that, on suddenly findine | 1 st il ORI TR -e -

herself po:sessed i ol T S ‘d ) . TR SRR ALARS Efet‘xlth, she Shoul((i [‘ fl]mos‘t lmp()m,dua ’ Spring calue o oo .\.,. oo sasdianl pana Tady Fanshawe should go early to Tondon. The Duchess of Warminster \ had invited Leonie to gpend some time | \ with her in her boautiful villa near ‘ the Thames, and ghe had joyfully ac- ‘ ‘\ cepted the invitaticn. ‘ P AThe ghost that haunts me at Crown \ | Leighton will stay there,” she gaid to | | \ herself, “and T'll be happy again.

CHAPTER XXXViI. Peo lein [.ondoa made the same remarks about Lady Charnleigh as her neighbors in the country had madie. Gayety and pleasure welv delightful i but it ‘was possible to have too much of both, and the young couatess went ‘quite to the extreme. Did she ever { rest? Did she ever slee)? Her days | and nights ceomel tobo oreling round t of gayety: she danced, sang, acted mos ‘gloriously in private b eatricals anc e . did everything excep

ORI e e Y N reflect. \ s The season was half over when tho Duchess of Warminster insisted upen | ] Lady Charnleigh’s paying her pmm-‘-ised visit. | “1 saw you at the opera last night,” | gaid her grace, “gnd although you ‘. talked and laughed s 0 gayly, 1 th wight | youlooked very tired,and not at all well. | They tell me you load the gayest of lives in London—a week at the villa will do you good. Life is not so hurried there.” “It is not quiet, 1 hope,” returned | Leonie, quickly? dthere is nothing { | dislike s 0 much.” . “My dea Lady Charnleigh, forgive f me—remember 1 am old enough to be 1| your mother—but 1 would not counsel i | you to gpeak often in that fashion; you mean no harm, but such words do not v | sound well. No, we are not quiet—1| that is, there is a large party always Le T e e ey RINNSOE

st.&ying Wié{-lseli?’ :;x&) e P e e " leaving Tady > <as(d 188 Dacro, who had declined a like invitation, in the London maunsion alone. Lecnie found lite at the Duchess’ villy gay enough and pleagant enough: no one over interTered with visitors therc—egel ¢ n» did just as he or she liked: and one Sunday morning, when Icoiie awoke, the ! world around lcoked so fair and bright | that she decided upon a ramble th rough | the woods. As a rule, she hatel and dreaded solitude, but to-day heart and | soul desired it. She said to herself that she would go out away from the world of men and women t, where | the green bouchs waved in the wind, | and the birds sang of peace and of love. ; She wandered through the Ods— | how far she did not know: she walkeqd fast, memory and funcy both busy with that terrible past which she could | never undo. She wandered over the | rich clover meadows past the hedces all covered with hawthorn, past pretty limpid brooks that :ang f Heavon's great love for men in making earth so | S PN ™

fair. She came to a narrow giean lane, ’whel'e wild flowers grew in rich pro- | fusion; there was a rude stile at the { end, and when Leonie reached that she ; stocd for some moments lost in admiprai tion. | There was a broad path that ran { through the clover meadows, and the | path was bordered by tall, stately eim | trees, it led to the most picturesgue l'village that she had ever seen: and ‘ there, at the foot of the hill, stood an llold gray church, the tapering spirog and the arched windows of which were | covered with ivy. There wasa guaint, I old-fashioned gate standing open, as | though inviting all to enter: within | were green graves where the dead slept in that beautiful summer calm. As she stood watching the tranquil loveliness, the bells began to chime. Never while life lasted did she forget the solemn beauty of that hour. Tho | birds were singing around her, the | Pl XL G igis o G S P S L T e e

1 2eEn UOVEEeA Over the rich cloyer: the | | bright-winged butt-rflies sought the | | wild roses, the sweet western wind ! t came laden with the rich odor of haw- ! Eth«:ru, and above all was heard the | | sweet chiming of the Sabbath bells, It | was all so fair so calm, so sweot, :0 | ‘ like a glimpse of the far-off heaven. i that the girl stocd still and felt the | solemn, beautiful calm stealing over | her. ! l How long was it since she had knelt } | at her mother’s knee and learnt her | | simple prayers? Ixalted in rank, how | | long was it since she had risen in the | | morning and said one word of prayer— ; | since she had offered one word of 5 | thanks to Heaven ere she had retired | | to rest? How long was it since she had | ' ceased to read the grand old Bible | stories? Sha had done nothing right, | . nothing good, since she had bartered | ' her soul for riches and her love for | ’ luxury! They were going into church now, gray-haired men and little children: the sweet, simple faith of her childhood | seemed to come back to her as che watched them — the time. recurred when she had believed with a child’s faith that if she was good she would go to heaven. "Was there any heaven for her, her hands laden with theft, her soul stained with dishonor, with fraud, with untruth?

[ She had hardly Tooked at the sous side of the question before; by now that it was brought bafore her she stood, a; it were, face to face with!h own soul, with its dark stain of erim 3 and she turned, shuddering, from it i In the whirl of dissipation she hag kept such thoughts at bay: in this swect, solemn time, when the Sabbath bells were chiming, she could Bot evade them. The conscience she hgd 80 long deadened cried loudly at last= Leonie dréw her veil tichtly over hep -ISR I, A-

D g O T S ! face and entered the churech; it was not | like'y, she though to herself, that any ~one here would lecognize her; she i was only a visitor, and might never see the place again. After morning prayi ers the congregation sang a sweet old [ hymn, a d then a white-haired minister stood up to preach. He was not, ! e'ojuent, he was no grand orator, but | his lips had been touched b divine ' fire. He spoke from the deptfi,s of his . heart, and his words touched the hearts 'of others. He spoke on a common theme: he told his simple hearers that no one who persisted in sin could ever go to heaven. Such plain, earnest words, 80 true, <o strong, no one who heard could eve pr forget, L.eng before he had finished, the fair, stutely head was bent, and tears | flowed like rain from the wearied eyes, No hope, no heaven! Was an carthly | crown to be weighed in the balance with an’ ateinal onald Ahesd ek

YWAavil « - it th:‘:;,l SO S e i a discem should ~'= —= SE row here _if Jussusie thatth » ginavou jy 80 | U oreay, Spe did no onr punishment | G tn this world. Here ghe ecould keep |y her ill-gotten gonds, here she could en- \ joy the wealth for which she had given i i so much; but the justice of that other |. ‘wm-hi was inexcrable. She wept. and || ‘the tears of pain caused by an awak- || ened conseience were as the coo.ing dew to the thirsty flowers. Sudden'y she raised her head and caw that most of the people had left ; ‘ the church, and that the white-haired .‘minM'-r stood in tae vestry alone. | Jmpul.ive as gshe had ever been, ; 1 [ ¢ nie rose and went to him. As one ¢ | in a dream she saw a little square room ¢ + with the branches of a laburaum-tree = waving against the window. she | turncd 10 the minister neither then { | nor afterward did she learn his name. ¢ “You ote @ truthful, earne=t man,” 1 | she said «and 1 want to ask you about t | a soul that '« in trouble—will you Bfe f swel mer’ - X 2(i Aty ‘-“\\\'t‘l‘.“ 110 Iroe-

«To the best of my PONE @ lv',it'll. q «Thus it was—where it happened matters not,” she hegan. SOMO time |1 since there were two ¢lgimants for & i large property —one a man, the other & f girl, The girl, by the chief judges in | 10 land, was pronounced next of kin, | and a3 such s’wocudrd to the inher={ itance. Whgh' sho had enjoyed it} lonr ehough' to appreciate its value. she found a will, DY which the late owner left all to the M ‘What was she bound to do?” “Give up the inheritance to him, most certainly,” replied the minister. “But she cculd not she could nofi'g back to poverty and privation she could not give up the wealth and huxs | ury. She kept the will and determined '| to marry the man whom she had deé | franded _did not that meet the difli- . | euities of the case?” she con nued,

2 ELEL A3 A A g SRR N 3 2 [ that ‘way. Steak to me —tell me, was not that encugh" % | Lo’ he said, “that was not enough , —either to satisfy the law of man or the law of heaven.” | She c'asped her hands with passion- | ate eagerne=s and d. ew nearer., | “But do you not .ee that by marrying | him she gives him the property just as | though sae had put the will mto his { hands?” | N 0 ".he U}"_('{'ft‘fi: Tit would be l"llt! left-handed justice as er all—not pure and perfeot. The sin of theft and fraud—of injustice and dishonor—w.ul t still be upen that girl's soul.” { “Would there be h pe of heaven for [ such a soul?” she asked. | “I cannot--1 dave I.t say: I should not like to die with the same stain upon | my conscience, ” ih" You aie § good iaan,” she said, turning away, “pray for & soul in Pain | Before he could answer her she had gone; but all day ana .q nicht tho-e words rang in his ears “poay for g soul in pain.” |TO BE CONTINUED. |

i — , : l Uncle Sam’s Prisoners. | _There a e now about 1,500 individu- | als, rentenced for violations of the laws {of the United States, scattered about | in forty odd penitentiaries in various | paris of the eountry. The government | sadly needs more prisons. It owns at | bresent only five penal establishments —two penitentiaries in Washington State and Utah, and jails at WashingI ton City, Portsmouth, Ark., and Sitka, Alaska. Besides the:e it rents a few | jails in Indian Territory and Okla~ ’ homa Territory. The institutions | mentiorel being insufficient, Uncle | Sam is obliged to make u<e of those belonging to the States. A bill was passed by the last Congress establishing three federal prisons big enough to accommodate 1,500 guests, but t neeessary clanse appropiatine money to build them with was omitted from | the law by accident.

| saume s s ! Married One Hundred Years. | The twenty-fifth anniversary of a | marriage is a silver wedding, the fiftieth is a golden wedding, the seventyfifth is a diamond wedding, but what is the one hundredth? An impossible thing, cays the learned editor, when the question is referred to him. Yet | such a wedding is actually reported as | celebrated not long ago in the town of | Zsombolyl, Hungary, where the vener- ' able couple have long been allowed a | pension in recognition of their great ' age and their fidelity to each other. ! The marriage of this aged pair is duly { and officially recorded as having taken { place in May, 1793, at which time, ac- { cording to the record, they were of | marriageable age. As in Hungary at ' that time a bridegrcom must have ' reached the age of 20 and a bride that | of 15, the pair must now be at least 120 ‘ and 115 years old. Tuw highest pressure used to drive a - water wheel is claimed by a valley near Grenoble, France, where a turbine ten feet in diameter has been operated since 1857 with a head of 1,638 feet, A flow of about seventy-five gallons of | water per second gives a force of 1,500 horse power. Do NoT force others to bear the bure den of your song. 5

8 & 59 T 2 i ROME AND THE FARM. | ‘%, x_EPARTMENT MADE UP FOR“ =42 OUR RURAL FRIENDS. 1 14 —_— | ;4' B i Sweet Potatces May Be Kept’in | -:. r—Econnln_\' in Good Farm Build- | ,_".' Make ¥riends with Your Horse— L'y Notes, Etc. | e— ‘ y f;: Heeping Sweet Potatoes, | | V 8 have been marketing sweet po- | ges for about two months, and are | nltly through with them now, as t'f'drouth gave us a very short crop, hielß the price has averaged $1 a ;l, they have given a fairly good pRa Since I have learned how to ke sweet potatoes through the wintegand have prepared a vlace for thig, I tind them my most protitable crd@ We have a barn cellar, made ragioof by a cement fionr, and by linj@ with tin the two sides of the cellmwhich have a board partition. ’Th Jartition is made by setting up eigh *799@ )studding and hoearding ( : RN hie - mla 00l . :)v?t lIN Jo dog "o"dul; -‘:“gu,.‘f‘.&{”"{,,fi% \Y i s’"’3_ AP ATy S'";£ ,‘ . 2 e G A e eRR o e

& gamcan be Kept ali winter without ~ "™¥at, providing you have a large UM g them, but to keep a small QUALEERY (100 or 200 bushels) fire heat will , be pecessary. i ‘@ e cellar should be a dry one, not o 0 8 seep. Wwe enter ourson the level at oug, o s'de, and it is not more than "h‘: g feet deep at the deepest part. The ‘potatoes ar: picked up as fust as dug and taken at once to the hins in t'he cellar. We would not take the pob tges in when wet from rain or a ttal:: dew, but "do not try to cue at all in the sun, as has been ;?3? mmeaded. We handle them caresorhi 80 as not to bruise them, and ash swe pick them up. ‘The merCima @ble ones are put directly into £ ;Bl baskets, and we dray them on A carel to the celiar and empty them ! brufl liy, so that they will not be % i,‘)ud. Thevy are put in bins about denle” five feet wide ard the same -| s and we prefer to have two or

? 8 hundred bushels in a bin. i"'- heat and go through a curing . ess which insures their keeping ‘aimproves their quality, and all K 8 IS necessary to insure them to b through the winter is to keep nftemperature between 50 degrees “') degrees. Tre potatocs themfli will give n!T heat enough to fl ) gt bere there is a large quanti y oM. together, but with a small MIGILY it is necessary to bave some icial heat. In my celiar we do BDy a kerosene lamp that holds | @€ quarts of oil; we can ra'se the | @verature ten to fifteen degrees in I@ort time with it. The smal: po- ’ which are used for sprouting IPt into bins Ly themselves. 1f ‘. toes lot we exp ct the shrinke I be 10 per cent. or wmore, and |

IR ually be some rotten BEs but in 1562 my loss fro rot B Bss than 1 per cent. and this TRMbout 3, as the land was in such frder that we bruised the potainore than usual in digoing — s . Brown, in Country Gentlea ks e 7 .v'*'*tf Change the Routine, ‘Melement of surprisc in even thandrum alairs of every-day life oflls the prosaic into the more sotfpisfying uncertainty a’cut will to be, and the excitement thigtered is that flue line tnat kegl €ver on the alert, ever expec Bt The housekeeper., in the roud® Os threc meals a day and the nec@®y washing, swe ping and baking Wident to the running of a wellreg@ided menage, thinks, perhaps, thudle element of surprise shouid pot'® introduced into the clockworlߥstem, lest confusion be the resuf Here is just where the mistakdPaierin” the endcavor to

»;e;c:fpi‘-fn*'iifln of detail affairs get ingdarut and order Leconmes monot gpotis and tiresome. Thetamily does aot dke to feel that on Wednesday it will 3it down to corned beet as surel; as itwill dine on roast turkev on ] sund@y- Only the other day we lheari 4 wife say to her husband, I +*Wihat shall I get for dinner?” and the reply came straight {from the man's heart: ‘I don’t care so long as 1 do not know what iv is going to pe.” 7 Thig sentiment is universal; beans that are unexpected are more relished tham‘gerrapin and pheasant talked and d about for days before hana BB Gry the menu, and hkewise vary rrangement of your rooms. o PRects tired looking at pictures an airs always in the same spot.. Urec)pe eqt_er intg the new regime

wit? s oteration and good sense or the T fe to produce a surorise may resuMili Something not as acreeable | as g nticipate |. Do not throw | the a@@isc into confusion cvery day in | order §§ obtain a new arrangement I{in fu shin,o:s, nor do not eschew en ? ‘ the sensible meais, well | serlils ) that have heretofore been the statiby in your daily menu, but cont ouM on ein a while to strike the key@hte of variety, tor it is likewise théfeynote of domestic harmony. ‘8 Restoring Exhausted Land. Mased to b: the prictice when fcE@@ ty was too much exhausted by CISEEing to let the land lie idie tor a fell 2ars, allowing it to grow up Wikl ywhatever nature was pleased to CI. eit with while resting. This Wasthe way that the soils original te lity was stored. [t was aslow ¢88; and after returning to the SB’ tor.thousands of years all that it &N v, a comparatively short term of M Ipping with the most exbaustive Yo p®will leave it too barren to be el Wworth cultivating. Yet in andll’ CaSes this exhaustion was more terdPrCot than real. Theelements of avallLY Were in the soil, but in un~“Wlable forms, Instead of leaving b

nature unaided to restore fertility ! the process may be hastened by man’s i co-operation. Leguminous plants like clover, peas and the like, derive a large part of nitrogen fro n the air. They are also the plants which decay most readily, and therefore make the bestv fertilizer. A single crop of ’; clover grown to maturity will put { land in condition for cropping better ‘tthan five or six years with the surface left naked except as nature cov- ’ ers it with weeds. In the South the |¢ w pca largely takes the place of clover as a recaperative crop. 1t will grow in land too much exhaused te take a good catch of clover. It is therefore best to use as a beginning, sowing clover after the surface soil has teen tertilized and relying on clover roots to penetrate and deepen the subsoil. Eceonemy in Good Farm Buildiags. Good farming implies warm shelters for stock in inclement weather. ‘ Wiarm stables prevent loss of flesh and vitality from cold or wet weather, ) and at the same time enable the - "armer to eflect the greatest possible . #wing of animal excrements for maLlllO k eLAL ) 1 :l'u'f;‘t': J%M‘MM&&LM; Hars

ing fa feed reqrr e v@‘u e x g - will go far toward paying rent on the - structures. Good economy requires | that the farm buildings be built of - sound, sebstantial, durable materials, ~and that they be well built. Then - the cost of repairs will be reduced to a minimum. The farmer’s dwelling - should also be well built of the best materials, and so conveniently ar'ranged as to make the housework as light as possible. This is a question ~of economy as well as a question of justice to the weaker sex who are ' part of the working force ot the farm, The farmer's dwelling should be well 1 ghted, well ventilated and well sewered, so as to preserve the health and eficieney of its inmates. and the idea ol veauty should have full effect in the location and architecture of the farm dwellings and all of its environments, including its ornamental grourids, kitchen, and fruit garden and orchard. Pet Your Horse. Most horses will eat sugar, and all after having it a few times become very fond of it This isß a habit which is worth while to encourage, for nothing so educates the horse to familiarity with his master as togive him lumps of sugar from the hand. A great part of the value of a good Lorse is his intelligence. There is no better way to cultivate this than to feed the horse with the kind of delicacies that they are most tfond of. The Arabs pet their horses by feeding dates and flgs, and vhe animal thus petted soon learns to obey his mas- . ter’s will in every particular. Fegin with the young colts by putting lumps of sugar with their oats. The ! sugar will give them shining coats,as it is very fattening. It also gets rid of any worms, if there are any in the colt’s stomach. The worms are very fond of the sugar, and they eat so heartily of it that they loosen their holds on the intestines and are carried out in the excrement. ‘The only l caution needed in giving sugar to horses is that it is not proper food ! for animals that bave hard work, though alittle as a condiment will do 1 no harm even to working horses. | The Champion Corn Husker, Probable the largest amount of corn husked in one day was husked by .lames Snoke the hired employe of an Illinois farmer. It wason a piece that yielded 160 busheis per acre and Mr. Smoke husked 16! bushels. It was the Dent corn, of course, and the stalks were uncut, so_there Was no tving up of corn stalks to be done as in EBastern husking When Dent I'eorn is left standing until frost has peeled the husks from the ears and left them exposed on the stalks the husker has only to go through the tield, break off the ears and throw them into a basket or wagon. It is a very rapid way of harvesting the } corn, but, very wasteful of stalks. | This husking of 141 bushelsin eleven | hours is not better, considering the | conditions, than Eastern huskers | | have done with flint corn.—Culti- | vator. e | Dairy Pointers. . FEED the cows as regularly as you milk them. | WueN frost glitters in the stable : the cows will be poor before the | springtime. | IrF you want to make the straw | stack benefit the cow, put some of it | under her for bedding. | | LgT the cow frisk in the open air | once in a while: continuous stable life is not good fcr her. { HAY green in color and sweet in | taste is the only quality thatis fitted { for a cow in milk to eat. | BzAury or color does not make . the worth of the cow.but the amount |of milk she yields and its quality ‘ measure her value. | 1t is no 2asy task to make winter | dairying pay, and you must depend | more on brains than brawn to have it | return a profit. i Do Nor kick the cow rerause you "are angry; go and kick the barn door or the milking stool instead until you recover your senses. A few lessons will break you of the kicking habit. | ' Tuordairyman who permits his corn fodder to get partly ripe or frost-bit. ' ten before he cuts it up 1s the same | man who never gets around to do his ' having until the grass is mature. . A NERVOUS cow is preferable to a ' stolid one. The chances are that ' she would give more and better milk | than her dull, mopish sister. There | are degrees of mental development even among cows. Intelligence often | acompanies profitableness as a milk | yielder

R S N R SR S A S T NPT . T & : THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. THOUGHTS WORTHY OF CALM REFLECTION. | A Pleasant, Interesting, and Instructive Lesson, and Where It May Be Found— A Learned and Concise Review of the Same. Beginning of the Hebrew Nation. TLe lesscn for Sunday, Feb. 4, may be found in Gen. 12: 1-9, INTRODUCTORY. It is well for tke Sunday schools of the werld to unite in the study of Abraham. He is the world’s lepresentative man of God. Not one faith alone reverences him. He is honered alike by Christian, Jew, and Mohammedan. Two names designate him among the children of God: “The Friend of God,” and the “Father of the Faithful.” Thte one links him with deity, the other with humanity. though always remain- ‘ inc a man. He is not like other pergsonages of world famre, half-man, halfGod. Abiding clearly and distinetly in the flesh and sometimes with fleshly perror, he vet stands fo:th as one who . 1] 08 POUIIDA-U3Aq JOUL S V{ Sel Al s LIBRLEL, -eIL sR e I.A‘:l - ,“ lfi

. v o ‘egain to-day. POINTS IN THE LESSON. Noah—Ab:aham. Alike intheir acceptance with Cod, they stand in marked contrast as respects Ged's message to them. To Neah: ‘Come thou and all thy bouse:” to Abraham: “Get thee out from thy father's house.” United for service, separa‘ed for service—the “come” and the “go” of religious worshir. “Unto a land that I will shew thee.” The shewing was future, but the get-ting-out, that was a present duty. It is God’s ylan of :alvation. Fir:t, obey, then see and fecl and enjoy. Scme of us are :aying, “Afier be has shown me then I wil goout.” But we must go out to be shown. We must get on Calvary to sce Olivet. Tkere is no other way. “Thou shalt be able-sing.” Blessed Abraham. Five times here the word “bless” cecurs; sszven times in succession blessing is promi-ed. It pays to serve God. “Ble sed are the undefiled {single-hearted) in the wav.” Says the third Psalm in its grand conclusion. ““alvation belongeth unto the Lo:d.” Thut is God's part-to save, to bless. “Thy blessing is upon thy people.” That is my part—to be blessed. Why n-t take what belonestous, through grace. “In thee shall all tte families of the earth be bles-ed.” Certainly, as the apostie sags: “They which are of faith are blesscd with faithful Abraham.” But also the whole world. Every living man to day is reaping undeserved fruits from Abraham's planting. Through him the Bible. the Sabbath; im due time the Gospel. and its Ch:ist. Indeed. America itself is one of far Abraham’s gifts to the world. “And the Canaanite was in the land.* He is still in the land: hence large room for heroic faith. “Then builded he an altar unto the Lord.” Abrahamic pre-emption. ILord give us more of it.—“ And Abraham journeyed going on on still.” Same word again as “get_ jempmems cut.” He kept on going, he kept on ob>ving. O for the gift of continuance! Here is the perseverance of the saints. HINTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. Revival times with the last lesson, revival times stil. Why not go on thus? The lesscn of Noah gave special opportunity for an appeal in behalf of the unconverted of our classes and households. (“Come thon and all thy house into the ark.”) This first lesson from Abraham’s life prompts us to speak of the opposite duty of separation for Jesus' sake, and the appeal may be to just a single one frcm a i who'e family or community, “Get thee ! out frem thy country and frem thy kindred.” Let the voice go forth. Undoubtedly it is an exhortation that needs to te made in this age of sinful confcrmity. Just now a young ' man has been saving to the writer, “O | T can’t ilive a Christian life. There are | too many swearing men about me in , my. busine:s.” As if a Christian were | to expect aid froem those who walk i after the flesh. { “Is this vile world a friend to grace, | To help me on to God?» i Non-conformity is the watehword. And what an opp rtunity some of us l have for its effective utterance! Paul | gives us a very clear note at this point. | “Be not conformed to the world. but be ve transforned by the renewing of ! your mind, that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect I will of God.” Transfermed souls are God’s finger points of light, and the greater the surrounding darkness the more brighly shines the light. “How far your little candle casts its light! So shines a gcod deed in a naughty “'-‘orbid. » Abraham's .cnming' cut was very like that ordeal with us all. He had something to leave: he had somethino better to find - as led by the Spirit of God Geikic gives us some legends from the Abrahamic literature. The b v, Abraham, says the story, came out and gazed at the earth and sky. “Who made it?” he asked. Leoking up at the heavens, he saw the sun ani prostrated }'xin}sclf before it. But at even the sun said: “This was not the Lord.” Then the mo'n and stars came cut, “Surely,” taid he, “the mcon is the Lorl of ali, ard the stars are the host of Lhis servents.” Presently these also sank and faded frem v'ew and he listened to a still smali voice that told of the ar at unsecn, Creator and Ruler of all. To him he cave instant fealty. Then came the conflict with the idclatry about him. It was splendid, it was proud. To one coming to bay cne of the idol gods manufactured by his i f:ltl!Cl‘. Terab, Abraham. the lad, said, “Your are older than your God; you are 70 and this Cod was made vesterda}:. ” That was plain speech. Next Lesson—“ God's Covenant with Abram.” Gen. 17: 1-9. Newspaper Wit. LUMBERMEN are not necessarily loggerheads. i A‘ GROSS cutrage—finding it a few packages short. IF some of our heads were not so bie our hearts would grow faster. - WHEN the hunter seeks bruin he prefers to do o on bear ground. : NOT even a canal horse would ever get ahead if he didn't have a pull. _THE morey a man tucks away in his “iuside pocket” may be lcoked upon as vested security.