The Advocate, 1887-07-14, Page 24
New Words to Auld Lang' Sr"' boy with a weak, vacillating will that had
Como. bring ,the soul filled breaker now, already brought Wm. into trouble.
wfl drinit to other years„ Mr. Huntingdon Was thinking about lord
To friendships hallowed by It /mug sYlio,"
And loves embalmed in team Bartle Gower as he rode away that spring
To loves embalmed in tears,my friend. morning, while Nea waved to hinifrom the
Where only smiles once shone, balcony; lia had looked pp at her and
And call thorn still our OWD." Wailed, but as he turned away his thoughts
wesi drink the loves of other days
were very busy, Yes, Lord Bertie was a
NVe'll think upon the grass hid mounds fool, he know that—perhaps he would not
Tho silent, sacred spots own as much to any one else, certainly not
-Where tier the heads of cherished ones if Lord Bartle became his son•in-law—but
Bloom Moo " for-get-me-nots."
we'n chink to the dead and absent ones he was well-bred and had plenty of good.
To friends we used to know; nature, and—. Well, young men were all
To many tt. hand that chtsPed, our own alike, they would have their fling, and he
Beloved, of long ago. was hardly the man to cast a state at
We know not which shall fall asleep them. Then he was a good-looking fellow,
Tho first, whose call the first shall be, and girls liked him ; and if Nea laughed at
Whether my tearsr forme. you shall fall, .
lum, and said that he was stupid, he could
or you bend ove
We only know that each can say soon convince her that there was no need
Here slesPs a heart truth called its own, for her husband to be clever—she was
Crod keep h pure and happy still, clever enough for both; he would
in sight of sslis white throne,
like to see the veith the
—Lizzie Petit Outer fnBomo JOU7ltai.
S LovEs
Nea's will. The girl took after him in that
SIR HUGH'
;Teceleapttaighad
of himself, man, who could bend
nature—poor
Susan,
mother's
. soft
who had loved
him so well.
Lord Bertie needed a strong hand; as
his son-in-law, Mr. Huntingdon thought
that he could keep him in order. The boy
was certainly in love with Nea. Ile must
come to an understanding with him. True,
he Was only a second son; but his brother,
Lord Laveson, , was • still a bachelor, and
rather shaky in his health. The family
were not as a rule bong -lived; they were
constitutionally and morally weak; and
the old Earl had already had a touch of
paralysis. Yes, Mr. Huntingdon thought
it would do; and • there was Groornbridge
Hall for sale, he thought he wouldbuy that;
it should be his wedding gift—part of the
rich dowry that she would bring to her
husband.
Mr. 'Huntingdon planned it all as he
rode down to the city that morning, and
It never entered , his mind what Nea
would say to his Choice. His child belonged
to him. She was part of himself. Hitherto
his will had been hers.True, le had -denied
hey nothing"; he had never demanded even
trifling sacrifice from her; there was no
fear that she would cross his will if he told
her seriously that he had set his heart on
this marriage and he felt no pity for the
raotherless young creature, whe in her
beauty and innocence appealed so strongly
to his protection. In his strange nature
love was only another form of pride; his
egotism made him incapable of unselfish
tenderness
Nealittle knew of the thoughts that filled
her father's mind as she watched him
fondly until both horse and rider had dis-
appeared.
It was one of those days in the early year
when the spring seems to rush upon the
world as though suddenly new born, •when
there is all at once a delicious whieperI and
rustle of leaves, and the:sunshine permeates
everything; when the earth wakes up fresh,
green, and ladtm with dews; and soft
breezes, fragrant with the 'promise of
summer, come stealing into the open
windows. Nea looked like the embodiment
of spring as she stood there in her white
gown. Below her was the cool green garden
of the square where she had played as a
child, with the long morning shadows lying
on the grass ; around her were the twitter-
ings of the house -martins and the cheeping
of sparrows under the eaves; from the
distance came the perfumy breath of
violets.
Such ,days make the blood course
tunaultuously through the veins of youth,
when with the birds and all the live young
things that sport in the sunshine, they feel
that mere existence is a joy and a source of
endless gratitude.
" Who so happy as I ?" thought Nea, as
she tripped through the great empty rooms
of Belgrave House, with her hands full of
golden primroses; " how delicious it is only
to be alive on such a morning."
Alas for that happy spring -tide, for the
joyousness and glory of her youth. Little
did Nes, guess as she flitted, like a white
butterfly, from one flower vase to another,
that her spring -tide was already over, and
that the cloud that was to obscure her life
was dawning slowly in the east. •
Somehow Nes went home not quiM so
happily that day; a tlim consciousness that
things were different, that it never rested
papa to play with her, oppressed her
childish brain; and that evening Nea
moped in her splendid nursery, and would
not be consoled by her .toys or even her
birds and ;kitten. Presently it came out
with floods of tears that Nets, wanted her
father—wanted him very badly indeed.
"You must not be naughty, Miss Nea,"
freturned nurse, Beverly, for she was rather
eut of patience with the child's pettishness;
"Mr. Huntingdon has a lot of grand people
to dine with him to -night. The carriages
will be driving up by and by, and if you are
good you shall •go into one oft the best
bedrooms and look at them." -But Nea was
,not to be pacified bythis ; the tears ended in a
fit of perverse sulking that lasted until
bedtime. Nes would neither look at the
carriages nor the people; the lee and fruit
that had been provided as; a • treat were
pushed angrily away; Nea would not look at
the dainties, she turned herflushed face aside
and buried it in her pillow. "I want papa,"1
she sobbed; as nurse pulled down the blind
and left her.
That night, as Mr. Huntingdon crossed
the corridor that led to his bedroom, he
was startled by seeing what looked like a
mass of blue and white draperies flung
across his door, but as he lowered his
candlestick he saw it was Nea lying fast
asleep, with her head pillowed on her arms,
and her dark hair half hiding her face.
" Good heavens,' what can nurse be
.about I" he exclaimed in a shocked voice,
s he lifted the child, and carried her back
to her bed. Ne4 stirred drowsily as he
nsoved her, and said, "Dear papa," and
one warm arm crept about his neok, but
she was soon fast asleep again. Somehow
that childish caress haunted Mr. Hunting-
don,and he thought once or twice how
pretty she had looked. Nurse had assured
him that the child must have crept out of
bed in her bleep, but Mr. Huntingdon did
not feel satisfied, and the next morning, as
he was eating his breakfast, he sent for
Nea.
She came to him willingly enough, and
stood beside him.
"What were you doing, my dear, last
night?" he asked kindly as he kissed her.
4' Did nurse tell you that I found you lying
by my bedroom door, and that I carried
you back to bed ?"
"Yes, paps; but why did you not wake
me? I tried not to go to sleep until you
came, but I suppose I could not help it.
" But what were you doing ?" he asked,
in a puzzled tone; "don't you know. Nea,
that it was very wrong for a little girl to be
out of her bed at that time of night ?" But
as Mr. Huntingdon spoke he remembered
again how sweet the childish face had
looked, pilloveed on the round dimpled arm.
"1 was waiting to see you, .papa,"
reviled Nea with perfect frankness ; " you
are always too busy or too tired to come
and see me, you know, and nurse is so cross,
and so is Miss Sanderson; they will never
let me come and find you; so when nurse
"Came to take away the lamp I pretended to
be asleep, and then I crept out of bed, and
went to your door and tried to keep awake."
"Why did you want to see me, Nea?"
asked her father, more and raore puzzled;
it never entered his head that hisonly child
wanted Mao and longed for him.
"Oh," she said, looking up at him with
innocent eyes that reminded him of her
mother, "1 always want you, papa, though
not so badly as yesterday; Colonel Ham.
bleton was playing with Nora, and Janie,
and. Nora said her papa was never too busy
. to,play with thern, and that,made me cry
a little, for you never play With me, do you,
papa? and you never look up when I am
; Ifsbeaving from the balcony, and nurse says
, #3ion don't want to be worried with me, but
,that is not true, is it, papa?'
•1,,ts 41 No, no!" but his conscience pricked
- kim as he patted her head and picked out
A' crimson Teach for her. There, run
raway, Nea, for I am really in a hurry; if
, you are a good girl you shall come down
and sit with me while I have dinner, for I
shall bcsolone to -night ;" and Nea tripped
Away happily.
From that day people noticed a change
in Mr. guntingdon ; he began to take
interest in his child, without being demon-
strtitive,lor to his cold nature demonstration
was impossible; he soon evinced a decided
partiality or his daughter's society; and
no wonder, as people said, for she was a
most engaging little creature.
By anal's, she grew absolutely' necessary
to him, andlhey were never long apart.
Strangera wenld pause to adrairethe pretty
child on her'cream-colored pony cantering
beside the dark, handsome man. Nee,
always presided now at the breakfast table ;
the dimpled hair& wonld carry the cup of
coffee round to her father's chair, and lay
flowers beside l his plate. When he was
alone she sat bele him as he ate his din-
ner, and heardia Out the ships that were
coming isorothethe ocean laden with goodly
freights. Nett grew into a beautiful girl
presently, and then a new ambition awoke
in Mr. Huntingdon's breast. Nea was his
only child --with shch beauty, talents and
wealth, she would". be a Metall for an earl's
son ; hie heart *oiled wall' pride as he
leoked fit her ; he/began to eherish dretinol
CHAPTER VIII.
MAURICE TRAFFORD.
I have no reason than a woman's reason ;
I think him so, because I think him so.
Shakepeare.
Before noon there was terror and con-
fusion in Belgraye House. Nea, flitting
like a humming -bird from flower to flower,
was suddenly startled by the sound of
heavy jolting foot -steps on the stairs, and,
coming out on the corridor, she saw strange
men carrying the insensible figure of her
father to his room. She uttered a shrill
cry and sprang towards them, but a gentle-
man who was following them put her
gently aside, and telling her that he was a
doctor, and that he would come to her
presently, quietly closed the door.
Nea, sitting on the stairs and weeping
passionately, heard from a sympathising
bystander the little there was to tell.
Mr. Huntingdon had met with an accident
in one of the crowded city lanes. His horse
had shied at sonie passing object and had
thrown him—here Nee tittered a low cry—
but that WAS not all.
His horse had flung him at the feet of a
very Juggernaut, a mighty waggon—piled
with wool bales nearly as high as a house.
One of the leaders had backed , on his
haunches at the unexpected Obstacle ; but
the other, a foolish young horse; reared,
and in another moment, would certainly'
have trodden out the brains of the insensible
man, had net a youth—a more boy—
suddenly rushed from the crowded footpath
and threw himself full against the terrified
animal, so for One brief indent retarding
the Movement of the huge waggon vvhile
Mr. Huntingdon was dragged aside.
It had all happened in is moment ; the
next Moment the horses wore plunging and
rearing, with the driver Swearing, at them,
Anil the young man htta sunk on a truck
white at; death, and faint from the pain of
his sprained anti and shoulder,
" is he ?" Cried Nea, impetuously,
" what have they done with him ?"
Ile Was in the library, the butler interested
her. The clotetor had promised to areas
his Shaelcler after he had attended to Mr,
Huntingdon. No, his nlietress heed net 4,a)
*Bed her father's door against her Was
now standing on the threshold; and Nett
forgot everything in her gratitude and joy
as he told her that, though severely injured,
Mr. Huntingdon was in no danger, and
with quiet and rest, and good miming, he
would soon be himself again. It would all
depend on her, he added, looking at the
agitated girl in a fatherly manner ; and he
bade her dry her eyes and look as cheerful
as ,she could, that she might not disturb Mr.
Huntingdon. Nes. obeyed him; f3he choked
down her sobs resolutely, and with a strange
paleness on her young face, stole into the
darkened room and stood beside him,
"Wall, Nea," observed her father, huskily,
as she took his hand and kissed it ; o I
have had a narrow escape; another instant
mid it would have been all over with me.
Is Wilson there ?"
" Yes, papa," answered Nea, still holding
his hand to her cheek, as she knelt beside
him; and the gray-Intired butler stepped
up to the bed.
"Wilson, let Stephenson know that he is
to get rid of Gypsy at once. She has been
a bad bargain to me, and this trick of hers
might have cost me my life."
" You are notgoingto sell Gypsy, papa,"
exclainsed the girl, forgetting the doctor's
injunctions in her &slimy ; " not your own
beautiful Grypsy ?"
" never allow people or 'animals to
offend me twice, Netts "It is not the first
time Gypsy has played this trick on inc.
Let Stephenson see to it at once. I will
not keep her, Tell him to let Uxbridge
see hot, he admired her last week ; he likes
Spirit and will not mind a high figures and
he knows her pedigree."
" Yes, sir," replied Wilson.
"By the by," continuedMr. Huntingdon,
feebly, " some one told me just now about
a youth who had done me a good turn in
the matter. Did you hoar his name,
Wilson ?"
"Yes, papa," interrupted Nea, eagerly;
"it was Mr. Trafford, one of the Junior
clerks, and he is downstairs in the library,
waiting for the doctor to dress his
shoulder." •
• Nea would have said more, for her heart
was full of gratitude. to the heroic young
stranger ; but her father held up his hand
deprecatingly, and she noticed that his face
was very pale.
" That will do, my dear. You speak too
fast, and my poor head is still painful and
confused ;" and as Nea looked. distressed
at her thoughtlessness, he continued,
kindly, " Never mind, Dr. Ainslie says I
shall be all right soon—he is going to send
me a nurse. Trafford, you say ; that must
be Maurice Trafford, .ts mere Junior. Let
me see, what did Dobson say about him ?"
end Mr. Huntingdon lay and pondered with
that hard set face of his, until he had
mastered the facts that had escaped his
memory.
"Ab, yes, the youngest clerk but one in
the office ; a curate's son from Birmingham,
an orphan—no mother—and drawing a
salary of seventy pounds a year. Dobson
told me about him; a nice, gentlemanly
lad; works well—he seems to have taken a
fancy to him. He is an old fool is Dobson,
and full of vagaries, but a thoroughly good
raan ot business. He said Trafford was a.
fellow to be trusted, and would make a
good clerk by and by. Humph, a rise will
not hurt him. One cannot give a diamond
ring to a boy like that. I will tell Dobson
to -morrow to raise Trafford's salary to a
hundred a year.''
Papa," burst from Nett's lips as she
overheard this muttered soliloquy, but, as
she remembered the doctor's advice, she
prudently remained quiet ; but if any one
could have read her thoughts at that
moment, could have known the oppression
of gratitude in the heart of the agitated
girl toward the stranger Who had just saved
her father from a horrible death, and whose
presence of mind and self -forgetfulness
were to be repaid by the paltry sum of
thirty pounds a year "Papa," she
exclaimed, and then in her forearance
kept quiet.
" AhVeit, are youthere still 2" observed
her father in some surprise; " I do not
want to keep you a prisoner, my child.
Wilson can sit by me while I sleep, for I
must not be disturbed after I have taken
the composing draught Dr. Ainslie ordered.
Go out for a drive and amuse yourself;
and, wait a moment, Ness perhaps you had
better say a civil word or two to young
Trafford, and see if Mrs. Thorpe has
attended to him. He shall hear from me
officially to -morrow; yes," muttered Mr.
Huntingdon as his daughter left the room,
a hundred a year is an ample allowance
for a junior, mom than that wail& be
ill-advised and lead to presumption."
Maurice Trafford' was in the library
trying to forget the pain of his injured arm,
which was beginning to revenge itself for
that moment's' terrible strain.
The afternoon's shadows lay on the
garden of the square, the children vsere
playing under the acacia trees, the house.
martins still circled and wavered in the
sunlight.
,Through the open window came the soft
spring breezes and the distanthum of young
voices; within was warmth, silence, and
the perfume of violets.
Maurice closed his drowsy eyes with a
delicious sense of luxurious forgetfulness,
and then opened them with a start; for
some one had gently called him by his
name, and fora moment he thought it was
'Still his draft, for standing at the foot of
the coubh was a girl as beautiful as any
vision, who held out her hand to Elm, and
said in illO sweetest voice he had ever
heard:
"Mr. Trafford, you have saved my
father's life I shall be grateful to you all
my life."
Maurice was almost dizzy as he stood up
and looked at tho girl's earnest face and
eyes brinamitg over with tears, and the
sunlight and the violets and the children's'
voices seemed all confused; and as he took
her offered hand a strange shyneas kept
him silent.
" I have heard all about it," she wont on
"1 know, while others stood by to
terrified tomove, you risked your own life
to protect my father—that you stoOd
between him and death while they dragged
him Out from the horses' feet, It was
noble—heroin ;" and here Nea °leaped her
hands, and the tears ram down her cheeks.
of her future that would have amazed Nea. Tao= Wilson .a wf thnt (Pah; 'olet oraki4 S°1110Y IMy lib, Poor impetuous child"; "" hardly
A Certain young nobletnan had ,lately itixniorloiornicetoNe: II -holed earn iflaignoesit the Idf civility t he • top
co wordso cvliy a ipo Otia
made their s.equanitance, nonu-
some Simple young felloW, look a& NVilSon spoke, "What if he Were the father had diottsted, andwero to supplement
wall v6r,,Y etv meffeeng het fitthar should make the thirty pounds Per annum, `` officially
moderato allowance of brains' indeed; in hihTiortimo old she would go and thank a r 6a f, 8 1 1 6 1 kd t the
1VOT tiro y, B 00 O a
7:214 heart 1\lr' liuntingd6n kn6w that 7-4ra him. But 'there Waste tirne for this for Young man in his shabby oat, she ranst
Bertie Gower wail Merely tt foather-brafned the sk,md grovo„looking doctor who had )111aVe remembered that it was only Maurice
Trafford, the junior clerk—the drudg,e of •a
mercantile house.
Nesowned afterwards that Bhe ha
forgotten everything; in after years she
confessed that Maurice's grave young fac
came upon her like & reVfliation-
She had adtxtirers by the score--th
handsome weak.rnindedLordBertie amen
them—but never had she seen Ouch a fax
as Maurice Trafford's, the poor curate'
son. '
Maurice's pale face flushed up under th
girl's enthusiastic praise, but he answere
very quietly:
" I did very little, Miss Huntingdon
any one could have done as much. How
could I stand by and see your father',
danger, and not go to his help ?" and then
as the intolerable pain in his arm brough
back the faintness, he asked her permissio
to resetit himself. " He would go home,'
he said, wearily, "and then he need troubl
no one."
Nea's heart was full of pity for him
She could not bear the thought of his goin
back to his lonely lodgings, with no one t
take care of him, but there was no help fo
it. So Mrs. Thorpe was summoned witl
her remedies, and the carriage was ordered
When it came round Maurice looked pp in
his young hostess's face, with his hones
grey eyes and frank smile find said good
bye. And the smile and the grey eyes,
and the touch of the thin boyish hand
were never to pose out of Nea's memory
from that day.
* * * * *
'The shadows grew longer and longer in
the gardens of the square, the house -martins
twitted merrily about their nests, the
flower girls sat on the area steps with their
baskets of roses and jonquile, when Mr.
Huntingdon laid aside hts invalid habits
and took up his old life again, far too soon,
as the dootors said who attended him. His
system had received a severer shock than
they had first imagined, and they recom-
mended Baden-Baden and perfeot rest for
aome months.
But as well might they have spoken to
the summer leaves that wore • swirling down
the garden paths, as move Mr. Huntingdon
from his usual routine. He only smiled
inoredideusly, said that he felt perfectly
well, and rode off every morning eastward
on the new grey mare that had replaced
Gypsy. .
And Nea flitted about the room among
her birds and flowers, and wondered some-
times if she should ever see: •Maurice
Trafford again.. While Maurice, on his
side, drudged patiently on, very happy and
satisfied with his sudden rise, and dreaming
foolislryouthful dreams, and both of them
were ignorant, poor children, that the wheel
of destiny was revolving a second time to
bring them nearer together.
; (To be continued.)
;Hiavy Damages for Slander.
A peculiar slander case has just been
tried at Pictou, N.S. The plaintiff, 21ra.
Jas.. Brown, of New Glasgow, claimed
$10,000 damages from R. S. McCurdy, of
the same town, for words imputing' to her
looseness of character, spoken by the de-
fendant under the following circumstances:
One Leindberg, an artist, some months ago
requested permission of the defendant to
place a picture of Mrs. Brown on exhibi-
tion in his store window. Shortly after a
fellow -citizen, Fraser, informed the defend-
ant that the picture was that of a woman
of sullied reputation. McCurdy,at once re-
moved the picture and when the artist
called for an explanation expressed his
opinion of the plaintiff's character in vig-
orous terma. For Using this language the
action was brought. The plaintiff is a de-
cidedly pretty blonde, and her manner and
appearance as she detailed the history of
her happy married life were calculated to
make a favorable impression on the jury.
She related the insults to which she had
been subjected after the reports got abroad
through the newspapers. Pointed at and
laughed at on the streets of New Glasgow,
made the victim of unsought and offensive
attentions on the train and the recipient of
tickets to the theatres from unknown ad-
mirers, it was evident she had suffered in
consequence. The defence was denial, and
that the communication was made ,in good
faith and privileged. After being out a
short time the jury brought in a verdict
giving the plaintiff 34,000 damages.
The Reporters' Revenge.
The public do not know how much pubs
Ho speeches are " touched up " by the
reporters. Even the most accomplished
speaker, through excitement or want of
words, or because of interruptions, occa-
sionally 'ogee the sequence of his argument,
and repeats himself or breaks off before his
sentence is completed. When the reporter
writes out his report he is expected to
" mike sense " of it. One of our local
aldermen got out of favor with the reporters
by complaining that he had never said the
things placed to his credit or discredit. We
had no right, he maintained, to comment
on his speeches when we only gave garbled
instead of verbatim reports of them. So
the reporters,, who had put themselves to
some trouble to translate his disjointed
remarks into intelligible English, agreed to
report him verbatim next time. He never
wanted another verbatim report, and it can-
not be pleasant to him to know that many
of his friends preserve that one.L—St...Tanto,
Gazette.
4,
A. Man Shoots His Wife.
David Robb; of No. 63 Pearl street,
Toronto, was drinking hard on Saturday,
and being jealously inclined began to abuse
his wifeHe ,picked up a •32 -calibre re-
Volver and threatened to shoot, and his wife
fled through the back door to the woodshed.
Ho kept his word and took a flying shot at
her, sending a bullet (nestling through her
right forearm. He then sought the refits -
ng influences of a saloon close by to drown
h
3is murderous apasSiehs in the flosving bosvl.
3r. Cook was called and extracted the bullet
rona Mrs. Robb's arm. The would-be
nifirderer was arrested,
Some of Tiffirea sweetest girls wore taking,
• tour through the new 'Court Renee 'with
Celia ll'orbing, a Kenton belle, in tow. ' Wust.;
tike ono of those dating Renton girls, Celia ,
Valved tip to the marriage record and
luffea any young inan preeent to take out;
he papere and Make,lier Ed:Homan
Walked up and aecepted• the oliallenge.
Notice of it Was plilalisheci in the papers, !
mci it is imid'the young Couple drove over , 1
O Fostoria to got spliced in the evening.—
Marion MO Mirror. !
Shad have nearly forsaken thel Conuboti. I
tut
0:431Pg AND PA41314%
filossomasio Uinta for •44adors iutlie
1)11PirY.
A lEmcw conceded that ,oneile,ge is the
oheapept cattle hied that pan be produced
en the farm -
Fruit growers say that raspberries grown
for evaporating can be 'null more easilY
gathered by knocking the fruit off.
A great many weeds can be used, when
3ust coming up, as greens, such as poke,
lamb's quarter and danielion ; but it is
better to grow mustard and kale instead,
and plough under all weeds.
Experiments in the west show that one
of the best crosses of horses is the Pereh-
eron stallion and thoroughbred mare, the
malice combining the large size of the
sire with the activity and endurance of the
dam.
If the fruit coining to market were first
assorted in some manner the prices ob-
tained would be larger. It is better not to
pick the small fruit than to mix the berries.
Quantity does not pay as well as quality
and attractive appearance.
Pick out your breeders, says the FaTil&
Journal, the pigs with long bodies, broad
backs and deep, round hams, Select a
breed which has hair on it. A good coat of
hair counts on a hog as well as any animal.
It is a protection in summer and in winter.
In twenty days the eggs of one hen would
exceed the weight of her body. So of any
bird. Yot the whole of that mass of albu-
men is drawn directly from her blood. If
stinted in food, of course, it would limit
tho number as well as the size of the eggs.
Good butter coves will make a pounrof
butter to every 14 to 18 pounds of milk.
" General purpose cows " want from 22 to
31 pounds, and some cows would require
50 pounds of milk to make a pound of
butter. Average dairies require somewhere
about 25 pounds of milk to make a pound
of butter.
After shearing ticks will emigrate from
the shorn sheep to the lamb • then is the
time to drive the ticks out Of the flocks.
Watch the lambs, says Famand Home, and
when the ticks have colonized them dip in
tobacco water. Twelve to fifteen pounds
refuse tobacco boiled in a gallon or two of
water, then diluted to make one barrel, will
do for 100 lambs.
Josiah Hooper thinks that if farmers
were aware of the value of the cutting back
process on their newly set trees we should
hear of fewer failures and seebetter-shaped
specimens. Peach trees a year from the
bud should have the side branches headed
back to short spurs and the leader severely
shortened; there would then be a fine
growth of young wood, and also a good root
development.
If we wish to form in our cow the habit
of quantity and continuity in milking we
must between the first and second calvings
exercise the utmost care to see that she is
net only provided with the food to give the
largest flow of best milk but that the milk-
ing tendency is at this period fostered and
encouraged by every reasonably available
means. At this time in the life of the cow
is this tendency fixed.—Rural Canadian.
To cure diarrhoea in fowls, take new
milk, say half a cup for each fowl, heat an
iron poker, or any suitable piece of iron,
red hot and scorch the milk with it ; give
as warm as the fowl can stand it. It is a
sure cure for looseness in calves, colts or
humans, and will check looseness in fowls.
Give it to fowls with a spoon ; let it run
doWis the roof of the mouth, so that it will
not get in the windpipe.
It is stated by the North British Agricul-
turist that in a gallon of skim milk there is
nearlya pound of solid food, almost chemi-
cally similar to the lean of meat. This is
the,flesh of themilk, and there is no reason
why it should not be eaten as a food, just
as meat is eaten, with the addition of any
kind of pure foreign fat; but, being mingled
with a liquid, the people are unable to
appreciate it, and rarely perceive the fact
that it is a food at all.
Give the breed sows the run of a clover
field all through the summer if possible!!
It is less stimulating than any dry winter
food, and will keep them in health with
far less fever than any other food we have
ever tried. The pigs, moreover, will soon
learn to pick at it and eventually make it
their staple food, giving them growth,
health, frame and size, and fit them for
the purposes of life, be that breeding or
fattening, better than anything else.—
Rum/ World
If the field be heavily covered with tall
weeds, and there be no other crop growing
thereon, broadcast ten bushels of lime over
the Weeds and plow" them under, before
they seed, as a green manurial crop. Allow
them to remain a month, then harrow in
two bushels of rye per acre, and plow the
rye under when it is three feet high, turn-
ing it down with a chain, and next spring
the land will be excellent for corn.
In their native bills it is said that the
Cheviot Sheep aro excelled by none. They
are as large as the Cotswolds, while the
mutton is considered better and the fleece
finer and closer. On good pasture the
fleece grows finer and sells for a higher
price than when the animals are fed on
coarse grass. Of mime the mutton is
affected to a considerable extent by the
qnality of the food, but if they can get the
same sort of feed as in their native home
their meat will be equally excellent.
A Writer in 'the Anzerican Rural Home
thus describes how he avoided potato bugs:
In planting potatoes I dropped a handful
of unleached ashes upon each hill after
spatting the ground with the hoe, believing
it would be disagreeable to the bugs when
they made their lint appearance, which is
the best time to fight them, as the first
ones that come do not feed upon the vines,
the slugs from the eggs being the real
depredators. AS a result / have found and
killed five beetles, when before I numbered
thousands upon the same ground."
IslIOUtv ithsi illibthitted to official in.
vOiatigation his System of heating buildings,
by Which ha is enabled' to transport heat,
withhardly any 1ei0j to instances tip to 800
Or 406 .yarcid, The inventer bernpletely
whites hig pipes p )noo,no of Air jaCittittif.
The pipet can be Iaid diadorgrotind or over,
head. At the entrance' of the Central pipe
a Jot of steam is placed, wIlicho acting ad
an injoetor, foes in air, Mid litiati the
atter at the attino tint°. The air drawn in
o obtained fromthe' first iholtet; and tlitid
d elevated hi tomperattria before it cOrned
ealitact With tile tdeara, By thiS itOttri4
great Odoileirly in fuel itt Obtained,