Walkerton Independent, Volume 28, Number 1, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 19 July 1902 — Page 6

<><‘-¢\<.\<w~ D ELd PP DOODIOPRPIOOP .o \ : 3 |1 E astoverCourt House i/ i i | | b ] A STORY OF ; === 006TT AMETICAII lfl? 3 ) = o= | | 8 /ol = ‘i E ———— !, ""‘ .IE_QZ'TJ I@Eggr,L‘ BY @ ' W"g ‘fiv = 3‘»?3; HENRY BURNHAM BOONE $ | LAT i KENNETH BROWN 3! ‘*j\_ ff/;;’fi/; /Lf!;’;“u{:;; {‘4 Copyright, 1901, by Harper & Brothers. A ‘ LA NSRRI R N T g Do e see eA e eg A A A O& &

CHAPTER V. It was dawn when Carrington rode into the stable yard of his own plantation, Maude had taken on overseer, laborers, and mules with the place, and by the hay shed stood Morris, the ovérseer. scanning each forkful as it was carrvied to the mules’ stables, lest a wisp should remain on the ground. His watch was tn his hand, and as the last negrg marched to the stable, forkful over shoulder, he closed it with a snap and went to the corn house. There, in a file; they came A %&‘?fl‘r-hg}kew.. “Whege's yo' hamLT e S i i to 8 Ooff 11 Ris erere? with

T GL TR eeßey BLA W RCELS fi ~ seen. “Dum "&enegro _answered, ~ sullenly, pa%?‘ ears in the hollow -of his arm. Morris’ worn notebook came out, and, pulling a pair of spectacles from his pocket, he laboriously entered the charge. Hugh accosted him as he struggled with the intricacies of penmanship, and they went to the cutting room, or feed passage, together. It was quite dark inside, and the cheerful sound of teeth in the corn and the rustle of noses in the hay and the stamping of greedy feet greeted them. Morris, with the lantern, made the trip down the long line to see it any mule was off his feed. Mr. Maude joined them, clad in unimPpeachable breeches, white shirt and careZully blacked field boots., They went the round of the stables. Maude was a thorough horseman, and he made critical examination of all the hunters for any sign of strain. Then the big bell in the yard sounded, and the hands came from breakfast to the stable for their teams, Morris, watch in 2and, stood by the door, and at the minute cried, “All out!”” The twenty-one mules tramped forth, with their plough gear dangling from the hames, and the] day’s work began. “Anybody been here. Maude?” Hugh’ asked, over the breakfast table, i “Lucky you asked. Old Henry \vas" here yesterday. Said he must see you.” “H’'m!” Carrington muttered, ] “And two men drove up here the day |, vefore,” Maude continued, between dips | inte his egg. “They looked like shopkeep- | . ers or that class. I told them you were | 1 mot here, and they as good as told me 11 Hed.” I

Aunt Mandy, a before-the-war depenAdent, and the cook of the establishment, -came in at this juncture, “There’s a feller tying his buggy in tront, Mr. Hugh,” she said, briefly, Carrington gave Maude a covert look and slipped from the room. His tenant’s face expressed no emotion, Aunt Mandy ushered in a soft-voiced Virginian with bushy whiskers, “Hugh in?’ he asked, taking a chair. e Maudeanswercd—{urming wway ‘from ‘the table. . & “Hugh's a good feller,” said he of the bushy beard, and he stared into the fireplace. “He’s got a little in debt. The truth is, he’s too unsystematie, He ain’t business-like, and so I had to come out with this here levy., I'm sorry to do it, | but then it's my business.” The visitor seemad in no hurry. After a long time he arose. “Where ’'re the mules?” he vawned. “I believe the law requires me to see them before I levy. Hulloa! who's this?” Two men came in at opposite doors. The front door opened upon the red face and white head of Mr. Henry; from the inside door came Carrington, nonchalant and smiling. “Morning, everybody.” called Hugh. * Henry drew Carrington aside, while the sheriff blinked at the fire, “Will you pay this execution,” the lawyer demanded, fiercely, “or shall 17 “You may, if you like,” Hugh answered, with a laugh. He stepped up to thei sheriff. “Let me see your little bill,” he | said. - !' The sheriff groped uncertainly in his | pocket as he sprawled in the chair, but | without success. ‘“‘Can’t find,” he mur- | mured, and went sound asleep, | Hugh pulled a lot of papers from the | sleeper’s pocket, picked out the right one, i and returned the rest. He glanced over it and struck a match. l “What are you doing?’ eried Henry. “Settling the execution.” Carringtonl replied, gayly. “The excitement, you see, ends in smoke.” “Do you fancy that ends it?’ Henry asked, angrily. | “It ends this,” Hugh said, pointing to the ashes. “Come and take g walk, my esteemed tutor in the noble game of poker, Sorry my friends interrnpted your breakfast, Maude, If the baby wakes, give him his bottle; and if he seems very feeble-minded, try to trade . him out of old Chunk, who has a running | VG T DERRA R L. Se IS iy T T e

T e ¢ o thana Pullman—eand® éan | 1y nmpn. too L T TR, 8 R e g ,_,T "~ Hugh must have managed to restar’ the luwyer’s temper, for the latter was all jokes and lazy good humor as they came out from behind the stables into the big pasture field where Maude was trying to coax a big chestnut gelding into | a humor for jumping. | “He’s in the sulkiest mood possible,” | Maude said, reining up by them, and; holding a stirrup on the toe of his boot | from which dangled a broken strap. | “Nice leather one gets in America, isn’t | it? Whoa, you fool! This fellow is the | best jumper in the string, but he's deucedl.\';hard to school.” Henry rubbed his eyes, and stood off from the horse to get a better view of him. “Well, if that isn’t Buckinghan, the colt that cost me near a thousand dollars, not to mention ruining my temper for life. Jump! If you want himh to jumpj, just turn him loose t'other side of a fence from a cawnfield.” “Unfortunately, they don’t have cornf"nv‘!.l}_i on the other ~iyh~ of 2 [rl'\'r‘?'}nlwg. I.ooks better than when I got him from Terry, doesn’t he?” . Maude got another stirrup strap and put Buckingham at the jump again, four feet and a half of stiff rails; and this time the horse, coming at a good gallop. cleared the wood by fully a foot, hardly changing his strid *T declare that’s zood colt I raised,” Henry said. Then, turning to Carrington, he went on: ‘“‘Hugh, you're more kinds of a fool than any one T know.” “There’s one kind I am sure you know I'm not, though.” | “What's that?’ asked Henry, incau-L-tiously. *“Your kind,”’ laug Hugr. “I believe he's right,”” Henry said to

Y YIVYVVIVVIVVVVVVVVVVVV VIV b | himself, as he rode away. *I know l“ paid for those cowpease last smnmvr,l which are on my bill from that sto’kecp- ‘ er again.” _ GHAFTRR VI, k After Henry was gon® Carrington rode over to say good-bye to Mrs. Tazewell before taking the train tfor Chicago. ‘ She had wondered for some days at his absence. She had missed him. Her\ household interests were few, and riding alone was a bore. Fairfax had mno intimates of her own sex, and had passed the time since Hugh’s last visit reading T PSSR Bcssnovel, taking it up

| and putting 1t 4 wmls, anc | Dever quite sure or ner piace. Siic—veug ‘| mot & woman of intellectual resources, | “I suppose Yyou came to get the check for your tobacco.” she said, as he en- | tered the drawing room. “Here it is: ‘Pay to Fairfax Tazewell'—guess for how much.” “Fifteen?” “No! Seventeen hundred and eightythree. Looks as if you might stave off your creditors a little while longer, doesn’t it?” “So it does,” Hugh answered, carelessly, folding the check in his pocketbook. “Have you heard from your husband lately ?”’ Mrs. Tazewell stared at him in surprise. “What an extraordinary question! What possible interest have You in my

B O R LsSR L T husband’s letters?” “Tt occurred to me it might be the proper thing to ask,” Hugh said, politely. “I've never done it before.” “No, I don’t believe you have., Well, since you ask, I have heard from him quite lately. He is lecturing to young men on ‘Success in Life,” or ‘Life’s Suecesses,” I forget which. He has an audience which he describes as the bone and sinew of our country. I suppose they are greasy mechanics and overdressed clerks. He seems to like it; I can’t for the life of me see why.” “I'm afraid the general receives little home sympathy in his philanthropic schemes,” Carrington suggested. “He expects none,” answered Fairfax. “I leave all such poses to my esteemed niece, the daughter of the major, I believe she instructs a lot of negro girls in S R R U 2

| the usages of pelite society, or has classes "|in French and embroidery, I forget ' | which.” | “How has Miss Nannie Tazewell incurred your ladyship’s displeasure ?” | Hugh spoke calmly, but a spark of an- ; ger was in his eyes, “A dowdy little backwoods girl, with | boarding school Vere de Vere manners. { I met her in town a few weeks ago, at a { friend's house, and tried to be agreeable 1 to _her—thongh 1 admit I ~kadn't-recog: | nized her at first.” \ | “And she did not respond to Your kind|ly patronage—that is, after you did see her?” Hugh asked, blandly. “She was extremely disagreeable, not in what she said, but in her manner, She was a regular penny-a-liner duchess. What is wrong with you, Hugh? You are very dull. I have not seen you for a week, and you are as prosy as a caller on a day-at-home.” “I’ve been up all night. It doesn’t conduce to brilliancy.” Loyalty was a Carrington trait. Hugh felt that he owed Fairfax much. They were intimate friends. She had sympathized with him in such troubles as he cared to share. Her companionship had ‘been his chief pleasure, and her house his sanctuary when pressed by his creditors. Her name had covered his consignments of tobacco. She had never been inquisitive about his affairs., If she had any knowledge of his consuming pasi sion for the dollar for the dollar's sake, | she made no reference to it. | Carrington’s feelings towards Mrs. | Tazewell were a curious compound, He } had spoken quite accurately when he told | Miss Tazewell that he was fond of her | aunt in away. There had been few occa- | sions when their intercourse had verged | towards the sentimental. Only once, on ' a moonlight night, with the ring of their | horses’ hoofs on the hard road, and the Ibenuty of the softened landscape steal- j ’ing into his heart, the thought of the ; ;lonuliness of his own life without her ' made him forget all else. He told her } then that he loved her, that life without | | ‘her was not worth while, The restive- |! ‘ness of her horse had prevented other | demonstrations. She had gently rebuked | him, but had not been offended; and their | : intimacy had continued as if his wild | words had never been spoken. They had ) been uttered on the impulse of the mo- : ment; he had had no ideas beyond the expression of his feeling; and he knew | afterwards that he would have been sad- | !

Ve S SBTR R S A e P e R W T g G N BRSNS i v embarrassed had she apswared in tha L Hugh, on this spring morning, watch»¥YA&WDl. 55 she sat so cool and impassive, with one arm leaning on her desk, began to wonder if she cared for him at all. In her haughty beauty she seemed almost incapable of loving, however much she ' might inspire love, and a perverse spirit | moved Carrington to try to find out if indeed she was fond of him. It was a - poor setting for romance, the bright sun:shino shedding its commonplace, practical light over everything, . “I am going away,” Hugh said, rising ' and standing by the mantelpiece. *I came to say good-by.” . “For how long?’ She had become a little paler, but spoke with a nervous attempt at lightness, Something in the intensity of her eyes made’ Hugh draw a quick breath. Did she care, after all? Perhaps it was better not to know. His stupid perversity. so stupid it was almost fatality, made ' him continue. *I don't know,”’ he said, slowly: it may depend on you. Do you remember what 1 told you a year ago?” She nodded ever so slightly, “You have never answered,” he continued. He knew that he was aecting: he was placing her in a false position, no matter what she said. The cruel side of his nature, which cared little for suffering in man or beast, kept him on. *“I suppose it is the innate coquetry of your sex. You do not want me, nor want to let me go. I relieve your boredom in a measure, here where there is nothing else to amuse you.” I Her head, nsually so proudly erect, was bent; the voice, often so cold, was very { low. *“You are mistaken, Hugh, but yon may go.”’ Something of the same feeling that had

possessed mim a year before came oved Carringten. Fairfax was very beautlful. He felt the absurdity of healing the wound safter giving the thrust; but he knelt by the chair and took her hand. She drew it away gently. *I car ot explain,”’ she said. “Yes, tell me,” he urged. She answered, looking straight before her into the empty fireplace: “It is all very well for you to say you love me, and I believe you. But the ceremony that made me a wife is to me a sacred one, although I no longer love my hushband. 1 cannot be false to my troth, false to my honor, and yet—and yet—l love you.” | She began guite calmly, but ended brok- ' enly, her head sinking forward on her ¢ hand. ‘ ‘ Hugh made no attempt to comfort her. He was too wretched to do anything except stare, as she had done, into the emp|ty fireplace, and inwardly curse himself l‘ and his work. The sunshine shone in at ' the windows, and the birds sang in the ‘ trees around the house, making the contrast to the scene within the drearier. “SO.” she said, raising her head, and making no effort to conceal the tears on | her face. “I have told you all, and now vou know.” . l Carrington did not speak, and she | gseemed to find nothing strange in his miserable silence. After a little time she went on: “If 1 could do as I liked— But we have always been an honorable race, and I will not be the first to leave a stain on it—no, nor on my husband’s name, either. Oh, Hugh, tell me I am right. I must be right. Help me, Ho™ ! it is so hard to do alone.” | And Carrington comforted her

| | such words as he could find, e ."' y return, egrees he led the conversation back to everyday life, and when he mounted his horse at her door l she came out on the porch and called good-by to him withou’ any trace of unusual emotion. Hugh had five long miles of thinking between his house and the station at Eastover Junection: and afterwards in the train the discordant jar of the wheels was in tune with his own thoughts for miles and miles on end. He cursed his own stupid vanity to the limit of his vocabulary, while at the same time feeling an increasing tenderness for Fairfax, confessing her love for him and yet firmly clinging to her standard of honor, It lifted her to a plane above what she had ’ ever before occupied in his thoughts, \

As the hours went by, the vibrations "| of the train lost their jarring effect and - | became soothing, and he began to take a more philosophic view of it all. lair- ' | fax and he had been quite happy in thelr ' | companionship, and the future certainly | held as much as the past. Their tastes " | were similar, and her house was but | three-quarters of a mile from his own. ' | Besides, he had his yearly pleasure of | & trip to New York and the sight of the | contents of a tin box, all his. Could he ever care for any one ('uough to mle him forego his love of accumulating, of | adding little by little to his hoard and | never spending? Pondering this, he fell asleep in the uncomfortable seat of the day coach. He smiled grimly at his own parsimony in denying himself a sleeper that he might save the three dollars, His last conscious thought was the question whether any one else knew him as well as he knew himself, (To be continued.) CHILDREN'SS PRINCELY INCOME. Musical Prodigies Receive Sums Fit for Great Business Men. | The concert stage has proved a gold l mine to several musical prodigies, among the. lm-est—eéwhcmfl-{’epiwi Rodriguez, the marvelous boy pilanist. Five years ago he first saw the light at Ferrol, in Spain, and at the age of three he could play any air from memory which he had once heard. He has received very little regular musical education, yet last season he was being paid at the rate of SSOO to SI,OOO a night i for his recitals in Paris, and has just contracted to give a series of tifty performances in the United States at $750 apiece, so that it may be safely argued that by the time he is old enough to go to school he will have made a fortune that wouild turn many 4 wealthy city merchant green with envy. At the age of 10 Josef Hofmann was earning $15,000 a year. He studied under Rubinstein and toured through Europe, giving concerts in all the principal citles; but, sighing for a larger income, he crossed the “herring pond” and gave fifty-two recitals, which brought him in a profit of $60,000, and quite lately he retired to finish his education. Another marvelous youth, Otto Hegner, made a fortune of $150,000 ere he was out of his 'teens and then retired; but, weary of doing nothing, he began to teach music at enormous fees, which aggregate the respective total of $50,000 a year. ! The most successful child actor was undoubtedly the late W. H. Betty, nicknamed the Child Roscius. He went on the stage at the tender age of 8, and at 11 was starring at Covent Garden Theater, Loncon, and throughout Britain. So great was his popularity that for more than a year he made S3OO a night, and at 16 retired with a sum of $200,000 to be educated. Five years later he reappeared, but his popularity hadme -SO ne-very wisely vanished into private life again and lived on his early acquired fortune. Italy is justly proud of her boy sculptor, Victor Righetti, who was making the enormous sum of $20,000 per annum when only ten years of age. Although not yet out of his 'teens, he is making a larger income than any other ‘ Italian sculptor. while some of his most recent work has been mentioned in the same breath with Michael Angelo. Willie Hoppe, of Cornwall Landing, N. Y., is the cleverest billiard player for his age that ever lived, and, although { he has yet to see his twelfth birthday, Ihis income has averaged $350 a week { for some time past. He has toured | through Europe and defeated such masEtm-:\' of the game as Bert Taylor, Bur- | roughes and Voscono, who is said to ve | the finest player living. At “'""”.le's } Academy, Chicago, recently, his 1“-‘7'11‘ | pst averace was 83, making an unfin- | ished run of 156 at 14-inch balk line.— { St. Louis Republic. | . e = 7 ’ A Reversal. | OWhan those boys went into business | rivalry Jim had dollars and John had | cents.” L SAnd now 2’ | “Well. Jim wouldn’t advertise, and now John’s got his dollars and Jim’s : oot sense.”’—Baltimore News. | When the Test Came, [ Mprs. Muggins—Had you known your | husband long before you married him? ! Mrs. Ruggins—No, not until after we | were married.—Philadelphia Record. i

s R DR A TRO TP TR, —ip-e‘&; 1 T ) ofe Vg ’ rL Bt i, | Y s@“ | | e = + ($W‘ \V* = / P ‘{\‘ - N PR ‘\!!"‘R l | o‘ y L) L i An - T s : Regiigy t troughs agutomatic Tank Valve. 5 causes falf 8 the flow of water into | and trou il tanks is something which I the watefrhers more or less am.\'iety; the tank, f ' In the plan as jllustrated, { water, tis Ripe enters no.u"th‘e top of ¢rom rustl. ich places the valve out of Such.a VR ¢ relieving it of all danger hard\;’“m ¢ the collection of sediment, neare .ve may be bought at any the Vi store. The pipe may enter gtill s« ° bottom of the tank and if in its is kept clear the device will can its purpose. Another point +” r is that, if desired, the valve | sed just as effectually when ts one-fourth full as when v brim. : 't half of the long, jointed ecting the valve and float I 1 “"”Tt 3, WATER PiPE = aw*m—J T . AT DD ML= 3

floue attached to it. the has a ShOl* the latter having a numupper end /s in it. By having a hole ber of hol' half of the jointed lever in the uppipin, the angle at the joint and using %ed at will. Making it as can be chaflsible will necessitate the large as fted near the top of the float being he valve is entirely closed, tank before hsing the angle the valve but by deerdi, while the flont is still | will be elosbm, A sealed can or bot- | near the bo 00d float. A board or ,tle makes soon becomes soaked,

1 | block of wo pee its lifting power is | and in conset ed.—A. L. Williams, in - | greatiy dimir " |Farmand B¢ ' — ! e it Soil Washiug. ) To Prev to a greater or less ex- | Soil washin; on 75 per cent of roll- , | tent, takes pl rding to one writer. | Ing farms, ac the very best surface , | Where it ocet to the valleys, leaving | 801 lls washed ~ less productive clay | the bare and r \5 a certain portion of on higher land . kept under grass it 1 all farms mus ‘W steep inclines to |ls advisable t §or some form of | remain in blw ces furnish a good meadow. Suc ‘These will not only location for tn ¢t will tend to mod. prevent washii ffording protection ify the climate 1g the heavy winds to stock and ct year. In any case at all seasons o % exeellent sheep these slopes nd may be made pasture so that ‘ny that is under auite as nrofital e T )

WAL B 9 RO VERian «» necessary to culthe plow. Whe 4 good plan to plow ‘ tivate hillsides i mathis 3y | L yme instances it vent w . *hrow brush into may be necessa it down.—lnwa ’the gullies and Homestead. = sl Young Pigs, Feed Troug iles in feeding , One of the d chat each has a young pigs is s At the ordinary i fair share of the g 8 will drive the trough the stron, they fail to get ! weaker ones off up their growth. enough food to to accommodate A trough desig ’ight-cornered and ‘ eight small pig’ er. The sides slant Is made of inch the ordinary V , about as those istened in the midtrough. A spout | glop is poured, dle, into which ito the trough. To which runs dov tst construct a botmake this trou in diameter. Nail tom sixteen in around the bottom two-by-four pi vards for the sides, and use ten-in, .gely. No. 12 wire is nailing them s pe top and also around ESt“F‘led arour ,ut three inches down the outside, Nail stout braces from from fheomms =0 2 0 i ‘\ --—--o-—r’ X b U ’. ‘\‘ i % 3 il e I' §~~’ . ‘ A ; . : - ¢ - / ' B 4 - Y1 / ‘r--'-----{ . \ FESTSOUGH FOR I'% the center'put, about seven inches ( from the sot, 1P to every other cor- | ner of the tr mnaking four braces ; { and giving lfléfea(?h room for two : | ’ small pigs feed.—Fpdianapolis News, z ! "Vhat Pays? : ‘ The cows. many farms would be | considered fi-class producers if each |1 | cow’s produamounted to 200. pounds | of butter pe'ear, yet it is claimed by | some of thbest dairymen that 200 pounds of ber per year from a cow does not pay Those who aim to make the most bwr from their herds have | the standg up to 300 pounds per | year, ancdpme fix the limit higher. i .Every fa;fr can have the individual ' members his herd reach that iamount breeding for better cows every yea - Shd in the Black Hills, i Sheepmdare flocking to the Black { Hills sec of South Dakota. It Is lestim.‘lted at the wool clip for this 'season wlamount to nearly half a { million pfds of wool for the southgeru BlacHills districts. Nearly as i many Amrfra goats are going in. as | | sheep. 'Pse animals have tln'x}'ndl sbetter th} expected on the bul.fam! 'fgrass of |2 Hills ranges, and since i Angora vl is worth twice as much as i common 1 there is much money in , the Angc_ l 3 Wher f)rsc‘; Bolt Their Food. l ! Horses it are greedy and inclined | to bolt t food should be fed grain in a wid »>ttomed manger, and even‘ then it vell to place a few large |

S B S R ARTGT 5R B NU N KPR YT P2B R pebbtes in the bottom the size or a ) man’s fist or larger. This compels ;slowm' eating and secures better mastication. Propagating Grape Vines. To layer a grapevine to obtain new vines to set of some choice variety, let a branch run until there can be about six feet of it placed on the ground. Then pinch off the end, which will throw the growth into the buds along | the cane. When these are well under way place it in the soil about two or | three inches deecp in a trench ulmut; four inches deep. In a few weeks the | trench may be filled level with the surface. By fall there will be roots from every joint, and they may be separated from the parent stem and from one an- ]i other and transplanted where they are wanted. This is less trouble and more sure than growing them from slips, which should be cut in the fall after the leaves drop, and heeled in. The tops ineline toward the north, at some place where they will be sheltered and net molested during the winter. If wellripened wood of this year’s growth Is used, and one or two buds left above ground, with another below, most of them will be found to have rooted in the spring. If one has but a parent vine of a good sort, or can get the branches that his neighbor cuts off when he cuts back in the fall, he can soon start a vineyard at no cpst but a little labor.— American Cultivator. wue Tao"KNuws says that hot water at 140 degrees applied with a sprinkler will kill the worms and will not hurt }Pti plants. But be careful not to apply

- {lt at a temperature much higher than e | 140 degrees. The condition of the wind - | and weather at the time and the dis- > | tance the water travels from the sprin- " | kler to the cabbage all must be considt| ered. It is possible to cook the cabbage 3 | with water at 150 degrees, and it is * | possible to use water at 200 degrees ' | without damage. Paris green and Lon- | don purple can be successfully and ' | safely used in fighting cabbage worms. | The best way to apply these impalpa- | ble powders is to put one part of Paris | gren or one and a half parts of London purple to 100 parts of flour and dust it on. For this purpose a dust sprayer Is convenient. For small gardens an insect powder sprayer is the thing. There is no danger from these poisons, as the leaves dusted are not the ones eaten. They should not be used on plants used as greens.—Farmers' Guide. Keep the Cow’s Tail Clean. The simple device here illustrated can be used in nearly every cow stable to keep the tails clean and prevent the cows from switeh- il

ing during milking Ry time A piece of heavy cord, with a loop In each end, is fastened above the cow at a and the other end slipped around her tail as shown. When she lies down, this

will keep her tail out of the gutter and filth. When about to milk, hang the BT UCHI OF o 0 AD, Wity | will pull the tall above harm's way.— '| New England Homestead, Killing Peach Tree Borers. For the last eight years I have set | peach trees every year, and I never faii to make a thorough application of the tar. With an old paint brush I put it | upon the trunk of the trees before setting, spreading the tar from the roots up the trunk from eight to twelve inch- | es. I am careful to remove any borers that may be in the trees, as they come from the nursery. I keep in mind this fact that the coal tar will not kill the borer. deeply buried under the bark, but will prevent the moth from depositing its eggs at the base of the tree. The application of the tar must be made annually thereafter, being sure to finish the work before the moth begins to fly, which I believe is from June 1 to 15, usually. In making these annual applications it is necessary, to insure success, that the earth be re moved down to the roots. The bark from the roots up eight to twelve inches must be completely covered with the tar.

In case the tree is suffering from the effects of the shot-hole borer or fruitbark beetle, I know of nothing that is equal to the coal tar as a remedy. In case of mechanical injury to a tree the tar is better than any paint or wash we have ever tried.—O. J. Farmer., Dust for Melon Vines, Make some dry arsenite to dust on your melons and cucumber vines at first appearance of the vitora and other beetles, made in this way: Boil onehalf pound of white arsenic, one pound of salsoda in one-third gallon of water, until the arsenic is all dissolved. Take some quicklime and slake it with arsenic solution L{fe=, lima jo_a_nay. der, and it will take about a gallon of lime, perhaps less, to take up the arsenical water; then dilute this with more lime to make five gallons of dry lime and arsenic to dust on the buzgy plants Make dry Bordeaux for fungus by dis solving your bluestone in water, then, taking enough of the blue water to slake enough quicklime to make a dry, blue dust to shake on.—Fruit World. Tar Preparations for Mange. A bulletin from the Nebraska experiment station strongly advocates dipping with coal tar preparations to cure mange in cattle. The author claims that the liberal use of dips will lessen abortion in range cattle, which, hel holds, is often due to weakness resulting from mange. | Agricultural Notes. Muskmelon blight has become troublesome in some localities. In cultivating onions care should be | taken rot to work the soil to the bulbsl or to hill them. For late strawberry crops a northern exposure, clay soil and late varieties are recommended by the New Jersey l station. How long to keep a cow depends upon her work. Age should be given no consideration as long as the oid cows are giving a profit. ! All varieties of grapes may be propa‘gated by layering, and many, like Nozrton Cynthiana, Scuppernong and other lhard wooded aestivalis varieties, can- | not easily be propagated otherwise.

B T O S e S BB 7 T { HOW ro AVOID BALDNESS. Do Not Wear Your Hat Tcoo Tight Over Your Temples, The writer of this squibh hos much hair on his head. As a4 young man 1t was black as a crow’s wing, curly, the envy of rivals and the despair of imitators:” as a middle-aged man, iron gray, thick, luxuriant, with no disposition to grow less. How does it happen that this one individual is singled out | from all the rest to be the possessor of .80 much hair? Has it been the use ofi | hair tonics? Is it the result of frequent | indulgences in shampoos by the I;m*i ber? Has he been spending money for 1 some famous hair restorer? Nothing of the sort. None of these things has hapepend. It has been brought about neither by wise management nor hered- ‘ ity. This is the way it happened: The :h('ud upon which this luxuriant hair | grows is of long diameter from before ‘ backwards, but of short diameter from { side to side. That is to say a long, thin ‘i head, with rather hollow temples. This ' makes it impossible for him to buy a ,‘ hat that fits tightly to his head. His | head being so long, he is obliged to buy | a 7%, which is always too wide for his | thin head. He has probably never worn | a hat in his life that fit tightly over the | temples. ‘ Well, what has all this to do with lux--1 uriant hair? It has much to do with it. The temporal arteries that cvrs?s o - --»ea DIOOA TUN Up the side of the temples. The average person wears a hat that fits tightly over the temples. This constriction of the arteries and veins that supply the circulation of the blood and the nrocaiiro of tho hat sisne

Ty e Rt PR UDS LS. WL CUL. 4L UPOK | these blood vessels cut off in part the | circulation of the blood to the scalp. | This makes the hair unhealthy and in- | elined to drop out. Bald-headedness comes on prematurely. But in case of the long-headed person we are deseribing, no hat could be found that would fit tightly across the temples. It was no wisdom of his that preserved his hair, but merely the accidental shape of Lis head. He has always been obliged to wear a hat that touched the forehead and back of the head, but did not touch the sides of his head. This left the circulation of the blocd free to the scalp. Hence the bristling, rugged, healthy mop of hair on his head. Each hair stays in its place with the tenacity of a pine stump. A pound weight would not be sufficient to pull out a single hair. Now, if there is any lesson to be learned from all this, it is simply to avoid wearing anything on the head that presses the temples. This is probably the reason that women have a better growth of hair. It is rare indeed to see a bald-headed woman. It is very common to see a bald-neaded man. Women’s hats are worn as ornaments rather than for protection. They rarely touch the head at all. Men wear hats tightly clasped about the head, inter- ’ sering with the circulation of the scalp. This is why they are bald. They cught to be bald if they don't know any better. Doubtless they will continue to be bald in spite of this article or anything else that can be written. Round-headed men are bound to become bald-headed, simply,_Eamrmnas theiplinte hae sishtlyd

e. T e S v A B s i ee o to their heads.—Medical Talk. il G e My Friends and L My little low room is five flights high. And some might think that its walls are bare; But sweet communion my friends and I Have often held in the silence there; Noble, exalted, they come to me Fair as they were in the earth’s first bloom, Whispering hope for the time to be, These are my friends in the little low room. Shakspeare of Stratford. Bacon, Carlyle, Emerson dreaming his long, long dream, Dickens with sighs that are lost in a ’ smile, Milton—unblinded—the gods for his | theme; Goldsmith, weary no more nor lone, Chatterton, safe though the storm rides high; Byron unto his heritage grown— Royal companionship here have I, Homer, singing the song of strife; Virgil, at rest by a sun-kissed shore; Longfellow, chanting the “Psalm ot Life,”

S e A : Poe, wh? will leave me—ah, never more! " | Gentle Hawthorne of Salem town: J Whittier, thrilling ‘the heart .of the l free—- ' | One and all from my shelves look down, | Step to my side and talk to me. Kings in your palaces, here is more--Here, in faith, in a little low room — | Than regal state and golden store, | The crowd’s mad clamor, the cannon’s | boom. 1 Shades of the mighty come to me, | | Sit and chat as the hours go by, | ‘| Prophesy things that the soul shall see—- | And so we are happy, my friends and 1. | —Success. , } . As His Child Saw Him. A Prosssiceet req] estate man in Los Angeles had an experience a Itecv. ... ings ago that kept him guessing for a{ little bit as to whether he should feel complimented or otherwise. He was at home with one little daughter while his wife and another of the children were downtown. Darkness was coming on and the little girl was anxiously watching for her mother’s return. Her nervousness grew apace, in spite of the father's attempts at reassurance. At length the little one burst into tears, saying: i “I just can’t help it! I need mamma, and I must have her!” l “Do you do this way when your | mamma is here and I'm away?”’ asked , the father. : | “No, of course not,” replied the little | one. *’Cause then there’s some grown- ’ up person about the house.”—-Los AD-¢ oeles Herald. i linee=-Decp in Kansas. ! Eugene ¥. Ware, the new commis-} sioner of pensions, who. over the I;;ilz)@! of “Ironquill,” long ago established ivisi reputation as a wit and writer of verse, . has been much interested for years inl the condition of roads in his adop vfj: State of Kansas, i Recently R. W. Richardson, secretary of the National Good Roads Associa- | tion, who is preparing to take a ‘_:«;«_\d' roads construction train across the continent, said to Mr. Ware: : “How .do the farmers in Kansasj stand on the road question?”’ “Up to their knees,” was the reply.— | Philadelphia Post. .

R R 5 P BR TR PBO T TE—— N KPie ek oG k-t DY @ (OPAS ) a1 AN By NS “ e S bl ¢ 1 /‘K»;,,,{' "6,, _%‘Q\:“f: s ,f—:?*"’,iji_’ / 1/\ PN e, & v SR ?ES ’ . RNy The story of Mary Mac Lane is 100 in the shade.—Memphis Morning News. Tt seems that Bailey of Texas became intoxicated with the Indiana Beveridge. —Des Moines Daily Capital. That Indiana preacher who wants fewer marriages mnst have been getting rather stingy fees.—Detroit News, With the unfortunate consumer, it i never a strike or a lockout. It is merely a holdup.—Detroit Free Press. The principal difference between the genuine Panama hat and the imitation is about sl7.—Detroit Free Press. Uncle Sam’s Panama will cost $140,000,000 and he has never been suspect- | ed of having a big head.—Buffalo Times. . The cost of the coal strike approaches | a million a day. That is as expensive a8 | the war in the Philippines.—Buffalo | News. | If Mr. James Whitcomb Riley is “knee | deep in June” this year, he’s booked for a bad case of rheumatism.—Detroit Fre® : Press. l The wages of the man that rocks the i bfimt is rh.o sm-fl-rmr-wrga’m | the pay is more prompt.—Detroit Free | | Press. : Perhaps it is the coldness between Grover Cleveland and W. J. Bryan that has kept the weather o very near to frost.— Buffalo News. . W oE e . R Py ’ e il

] Mr. Rockefeller is getting penurious. | The man has gi\'(} only $750,000 to the .| University of Ch%tago this month.-—De- . | troit Free Press. | Who is this man James Whitcomb ' | Riley who gets a Yale degreg? We nev- | er heard that he organized a trust or | founded a library.—Detroit News, No Eastern female college will accept Mary Mac Lane, we take it, until she swears off from cussing and some other things she affects.—Atlanta Constitution. It was unfortunate for Miss Stone that Mount Pelee turned loose at this particular time and made her a dead card for the magazine publishers.—Washingion Post. The Emperor William has never been crowned. But in spite of that he impresses everybody with the fact that he is a pretty lively king.—New York Evening Sun. If this boom in Indiana *‘literature” continues they will take to calling Indianapolis ‘“‘the Athens of America,” and where will Boston be then, poor thing?— New York Sun. Mrs. Nation may well claim to be “the most famous woman in the world.” She is the terror alike of the temperance people and the drinking classes.—St, Louis Globe-Democrat. There is as much real nourishment in one bushel of beans as in five bushels of potatoes. Herein is Boston’s freedom from anxiety at the advancing price of beef.—Buffalo News. Carrie Nation has just joined the Dovrieites. It is positively nauseous that a freak like this woman should have ocsupied so much of the public attention.— Memphis Morning News, ; Cable says that Emperor William opened his heart to Mr. Morgan Most imnWil sTRS o e ieo se M S T S

s ', . ._7 o e —Mmz opened his wallet to Emperor William.— New York Evening Telegram. It’s a sad season for the “weary Wil- . lies” who find themselves in Kansas and Nebraska just now. An army of 10,000 l harvest hands is needed to care for the wheat crop in those States.—Boston Her- - ald. t| The Indiana man who, having smallpox, went around giving it to all his enemies, displayed a sort of malice more - | common in the middle ages than in this tender-hearted period.—New York Evening Sun. - We don’t believe the King was dazzled by Whitelaw Reid and J. Pierpont Mor- , Igan. His majesty has met other dis- | | tinguished Americans, including Tod Sloane and John L. Sullivan.—Detroit 3 | Free Press. It is the opinion of many laymen, whether based on the facts or not we do ) | not know, that the real appendicitis *crime” comsists in killing people by cut- . ting into them when there was no need of it.—Hartford Post. The latest feature of injunction methods is where they have been used to re- | strain an employe of one Milwaukee com- | pany from entering the service of anoth{er. Is there anything an injunction cannot be used for?—Pittsburg Dispatch. New York’s independent butchers are | formulating their plans to proceed with the business of selling meat to the public at reasonable prices. They will have a fund of $1,000,000 to begin with, as shares are being rapidly sold.—Buffalo News. A Ringling elephant became so enrazzd with a hand organ that she smashed it to smithereens. We have often wished we had the strength of an elephant ourself. We shall go to see Jennie when the biggest show on earth comes to town. —St. Paul Dispatch. Gov. Longino of Louisiana must be glad he prevented that lynching at Hattiesburg. Another negro has confessed the crime for which Waiter Bankhead was about to be shot, hanged, parboi:; ‘might dictate.H\f.ingenuity of the e President Roosevelt is no lon& ’A‘ “hand-shaker.” This is all right. “. custom of allowing the public to shake ™ hands with the President is tiresome and & useless, and, as evidenced in the case of Mr. Roosevelt’'s immediate predecessur, sometimes fatal.—Buffalo News. With a new Panama hat, a Noxfolk ;jacket with scallops at the top, I}n~l the A ample pantaloons of the period, it muit be confessed that the young man of sash jon for the sumer of 1202 locks very unlike anything else that has ever appearled in the United States.—Syracuse Yost- [ Standard. | With all the criticism which has been [.f'mm-'hud at the lynchings in the United States, they have never been made occafg}c,m- of pecuniary profit. as was the case ’at Montreal, when tickets of admission ' to the execution of a murderer were open- | Iy sold at prices ranging from 50 cents |to $lO. The United States may be a ht- | tle wild and woolly yet, but it has some E sense of propriety and dec ney.—Buifalo : Times. _ i Among those receiving honorary de | orees at the commencement of Yaie Uni;A\‘P{‘:‘it‘f were Senator Lodge of Massai shusetts and President Butler of Columi bia University. doctors of law, and James ' Whitcomb Riley, master of arts. Har- | vard’s list contains the names of Presi- ! dent Roosevelt and Secretary of State iI Ixa—:: y received doctor of laws de 2 grees. o 2} John W. Gates may not kn w a corn planter from a sawbuck, but he does i know a few things ahout raising the price f of corn.