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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1896-4-23, Page 2LIFTED BY LOVE; j1otu the Wharf Waif Became a princess. PQSLisnSD BY 5PEcr,L ARRANGEMENT. He.carried out his instruction admira- bly, placing his cab where I command- ed a perfect view of the steps leading to the club door and leaving just sufficient space for other cabs that came and went to pull up easily in front. A good many visitors, went into the Pantheon. I saw them distinctly as they walked up the steps in the light that came through the open door, but a long time passed before I distinguished any face that was known to me. It must have been after 12 o'clock when Kavanagh's brougham pulled up in front of us. No one got out of it, but I identified the driver at once as the man whom I had seen waiting outside Grandison chambers, and I fancied as he slowly got down from the box that he cast the same sus- picious glance at the hansom trot tie had cast at me that night. The drifting rain had bedewed the window in front of me, completely ob- scuring the glass except at the extreme edge, where a projection of the cab sheltered it. Through this narrow space I watched the man with eager ex- citement. Stamping his feet .as if for warmth, he began to walk up and down the pavement, and I noticed that every turn he came a little nearer my hansom, casting his ferrety eyes at the window, as if to pierce the obscurity. This ma- nceuver did not escape the observation of my smart driver. "How long are they going to keep us here, mate?" he asked when the man had stamped almost within touch of the cab. "I don't know. How long have you been waiting here?" "Oh, long enough to wish T hadn't got the job. What's on?" "A concert or something." "Then we may make up our minds for another hour or more of it. They don't turn out of these clubs before 2. Got a light?" A match was struck, and a few more remarks were exhanged, and then, the stamping of feet fading away. I ven- tured to raise my head just as the man was stepping up to his seat on the brougham. His curiosity was satisfied. The time dragged painfully as I wait- I ed in feverish suspense for some fresh development of the drama which I felt was being played close at hand. Visitors came out in twos and threes; cabs were called—there must have been a string of them behind us—the street was quite animated for a time; then there was a strange pause, and the next men who came out stood on the steps looking in, as if something unusual was taking place there. Suddenly one ran down and opened the brougham door. Fearful anticipa- tions of some impending calamity agi- tated me to such a degree that every ob- ject danced and quivered before my eyes. But I made out a group of men slowly descending the steps, as if they were supporting some great weight, and I distinguished among them Kavanagh's light overcoat. "What is it?" I forced myself to call through the tube. "Only a gentleman in liquor, miss." replied the cabman in a jocose tone. Reckless of the consequences, I push- ed open the window that I might see more clearly. At that moment Kavan- agh was stepping into the brougham, and the next I saw the helpless man lifted in after him. The light fell upon iris face as it dropped backward. It was Taras! "Follow that carriage wherever it goes. Keep close to it," I cried, recov- ering my senses under the same influ- ence that had paralyzed them. "Right you are, miss," replied my driver, gathering up his reins, and as the brougham turned into Regent street we fell into the strings of vehicles close behind it. What was to be done now? I saw no other course but to follow the brougham to Lambeth and hold myself in read- iness to act with rigor and discretion in whatever contingency arose. It was not until we had gone a •considerable distance that I began to doubt whether it was Kavanagh's intention to go to Lambeth. Fixing my eyes on the brougham, I had taken no notice of the streets through which we glassed. When the length of time that .had elapsed since leaving Burlington street aroused a suspicion in my mind, I found that the houses on either side of the way were quite unfamiliar to me. "Where are we?" I asked through the tube. And when the man answered, •`Can- non street, miss," I was no wiser than before. But soon after this we came into an open space, where I recognized the dark outline of the Tower. Then I knew where .iwe were and saw with horror that we were approaching the place where Taras before had fallen into the hands of his enemy. If they got him in the Mariner's Joy again how could I save him? I had noticed, with growing anxiety, that the brougham had greatly increas- ed the distance between us after leaving the more crowded thorough- fares, a fact that I had attributed to the greater strength of Kavanagh's horse and not to the particular artful- ness of my driver. This loss of ground now added to my terror. In the laby- rinth of streets beyond the mint we might lose sight of the brougham and never overtake it. "Can you go no faster?" I called. "Faster? I should think so! I thought you just wanted to keep the parties in sight without sorter lettin 'em tumble to it." "No -no! Go on quick -quick!" A flick of the whip doubled our pace. 'The wheels were tired with rubber, but as the clatter of hoofs grew more audi- ble to the driver of the brougham he turned and looked back. We were near. Edough thea for rue to .distinguish his hollow cheeks and cavernous eyes, and I think he must have recognized me, for he used the whip freely andincreased his speed. Turning the angle by St. Katherine s ' docks, I saw Kavanagh thrust his head from the window and look back. For a time the race seemed equal, but I observed that the brougham did not gain on us, though the driver used the whip far more freely than my Man. But the terror of Shadwell was still before me. t called to the driver: (.Quin you get in front of the car- riage and stop it?" He said he would "have a try at it, anyhow," and with another cut of the whip he shot on and ran wheel to wheel with the brougham. I stood up, and (railing out caught'sight of Kava- nagh as we passed the open window looking across the recumbent body of Taras, his face livid in the light of our lamp. In another minute we had passed, and pulling in sharp toward the pavement forced the driver of the brougham to draw up. Then by an- other rapid movement my man turned the hansom so as to completely bar the road, and both vehicles came to a stand- still. "What do you want?" said Kava- nagh, meeting me in the road as I sprang out of the hansom. "Taras!" I cried wildly, brushing past him. "Taras?" I cried again as I step- ped into the brougham by the open door, with a fearful foreboding that he was murdered. But his hand was warm, and in re- sponse to my repeated cry of agonized entreaty he opened his eyes dreamily for an instant. Now that I knew he lived my fears gave place to feeling of exultant joy and confidence. I was there by his side, and his enemies would have to take my life to separate us, and with '. this delicious assurance I felt almost in - I different as to what might follow. Presently, whoever, as this eostacy sub- sided I began to take notice of what was passing outside. Kavanagh was explaining the affair to a policeman, who had seen the finish of the strange race from the gates of the London docks. I could not catch what he said, but his tone was offhand and conclusive. "You wasn't no more asleep than what I am," broke in my driver from the top of the hansom, and his words were strikingly sharp and clear after the low murmur of Kavanagh. "You put your head out of the window before we reached the mint, and you must have seen well enough as you weren't going to Lambeth that way. You spoke to your man then, and instead of turning round to go back he did all he could to get away in the other direction. You'll just take my number, if you please, con- stable," he added, swinging himself down from his seat. "The gent'in there has been hocused, I'll take my oath. And there's a whole gang of 'em in the job— the driver there, this party that plays the swell and a couple more of 'em in Burlington street. We've been watch- ing the whole plant for four or five hours—ask the young lady inside—and don't you be had by no kid about falling asleep and driver making a mistake. I shall give my evidence if anything goes wrong, mind." "All right, cabby; all right. I know my duty as well as you do," returned the policeman, and coining co the door of the brougham he asked if I had any charge to make against Kavanagh, At the same moment Kavanagh ap- peared at the other window, and speak- ing rapidly in French said : "Be careful, as you value your friend's life, I warn you that if you make any charge against me, or• even mention my name, Taras will be a dead man within a week. I have only one wish, and that is to get Taras home safely to Lambeth. You shall have every assurance you re- quire that I am acting in perfect good faith." Then he added in. English, that the policeman and the cabman, who had come to his side, might hear: "Stay with your friend. My man shall drive you home to Lambeth. I will take the seat outside. You can rely upon the protection of this cabman He shall follow, and we diverge one step from the direct road to Lam beth bridge stop us as he has stopped us already, and you can then give me in custody on the charge of conspiracy and abduction. Once more," he added, speaking again in French and with impressive earnest• ness, "I warn you that this is the only means by which you can save Taras from certain death 1" Fearing the confirmation of this warn- ing even more than a fresh act of treach- ery, I consented to this proposal, my friend the cabman promising that he would not "give 'fm half a chance" of playing false. CHAPTER XXL KAVANAGH CONFESSES. The movement of the brougham at starting aroused Taras from his leth- argy, and he made an effort to shake of sleep, but with a long drawn sigh his head dripped again the next minute. I drew him toward me, and with his dear face pillowed on my shoulder I could scarcely wish our journey to end. When we drew up at length at our house in Lambeth, Kavanagh came to I the door, took the latchkey from Taras' pocket and after lighting the candles in our living room came back to hue. "We must lay our friend on the couch in the sitting room," he said, and turning to the cabman, who had sta- tioned himself in front of us in evidence of his continued vigilance, continued: "Can you give me a hand here? There's a man to hold your horse's head." With no pretense at disguise, he called Drigo by name, and the man came from the foot of the bridge where I had last seen him and silently placed himself in front of the horse at Kavanagh's bid- ding. "He will not waken before midday," said Kavanagh in French when Taras was comfortably disposed on the couch. "The sleeping draught I gave him is perfectly harmless. You can see that he is not in the least ,,pain,, poor old chap!" The tone of affection in which he spoke was not less astonishing than the open- ness of his confession. The audacity of his hypocrisy astounded me, and yet as I looked at him bending over Taras with those soft, feminine eyes I could find nothing in the expression of his face to belie his sentiment. "I must speak to you before I go,". he continued, raising his head and looking me calmly in the face. "The cabman shall wait outside till I go, or in the room with us if you prefer it." "I'm not afraid of you," I replied. He bowed, and going to the outer door told the cabman to back his cab and wait there where he could hear if he were called. Then he told the driver of his brougham to return to the mews and bade Drigo go with him. These orders I heard distinctly as I sat on the stool beside the couch where Taras lay. Kavanagh returned to the room, leav- ing the door open, and seating himself on the couch by Taras' feet he leaned forward and said gravely: This is the second time you have de- feated my plans for saving the life of our friend.. Yet I took every precaution that a man could take, short of confiding my purpose to you this second time." And if you had done that do you think I should have helped you? I asked fiercely, "Yes, I believe you would. I set a man to watch and you, , a d thought that enough"— "And so it would have been, if I hadn't found means to getaway without his seeing me," I said triumphantly. "Whether I overrated his ability or underrated yours matters little now," said he with a shrug, after regarding me in silence for a minute. "I ought to have told you all. Withyour help we must have succeeded"— "In what?" "In. getting Taros safely away. At this moment he might have been on the steamer waiting for him on the river and on his way to Russia. I could only look at him in speechless astonishment for a time. Then, doubt- ing whether I had rightly caught the sense of his words, I said: "You think I should have consented to such a thing as that?" "Yes; If I had shown you that it was the only way of saving his life. Under- stand this, the czar has said that Taras must be silenced—that means that he must be taken back to Russia, where he will be prevented from publishing works offensive to the czar, or that he will be secretly assassinated, for it is hopeless to think of restraining him while he lives here in freedom. I have done my utmost in that direction. I made it im- possible for him to burn the group of statuary until Gordon undertook to build a kiln for that purpose, and it was I who destroyed the group the day be- fore it was to be cast. Yon know now that it was the hand of a friend, and not an enemy, who did that." "You call yourself a friend, who did that?" I exclaimed. ' "Yes and you would do the same if you perfectly realized his position." "Destroy what he has made—the work so dear to him? Never!" Would you rather that he himself should be destroyed?" He paused for an answer, but as I found no reply to make he continued: "Unfortunately, nothing is to be gained by it, or it should be beaten down again. He has said that he will carry the work through, though he have to stand by it with a revolver by his side from first to last." "And he will!" I cried. "I was as fully convinced on that point as you are before I abandoned the idea. No, there is no other alternative. He must go back to Russia." "He would rather die." "But we woald rather that he lived. And surely if the means of preserving him were offered you—if another opportunity of removing him should occur"— I will not listen to you," I cried with indignation as I started to my feet. "Nothing in the world could persuade me to join you in this shameful plot." "For heaven's sake, be reasonable, my poor girl!" said he in a soothing tone. "You have seen those pictures of prison life and fancy that Taras would be exposed to such cruelty and hardships as are represented in them. You are altogether mistaken as he himself would tell you if you asked him. His rank alone secures him against ill treatment, The czar is not unmerciful. Imperial interests compel him to take strong measures. His hostility toward Taras is tempered with profound respect for a political adversary of high attainments and unimpeachable honesty. In Russia Taras will be treated with the utmost consideration and kindness. He will be allowed to live where he likes, and the only restriction put upon his liberty will be with regard to the propagation of revolutionary ideas, and this restric- tion will be but temporary. The coun- try is ripe for revolution, and in a short time the present government will be overthrown, and then Taras will be free. On the other hand, if he is not conveyed to Russia, his fate is death. Can you hesitate in choosing which lot shall be his?" "It isn't for me to choose, nor for you. Tell Taras what you have told me and let him decide. He is not a fool or a child that we should take his guidance into our hands." "He is a child in some things—in sim- plicity and recklessness. Suppose he chooses to face the danger of assassina- tion, as probably he will ?" "What then? You will not find him unprepared nor me either." "It is not with me that you will have to teal next time. but with one whose purpose is unbiased by friendship." "Friendship! " I said through my clenched teeth, feeling that I should strike the man for the blasphemous use of a word so sacred to my heart. "How dare you speak of friendship? Do you think I am an idiot to be fooled by a lie? What proof of friendship have you given—you, who have done your utmost to injure the man- who trusted you?" "Not my utmost. Another pinch of powder in his glass, and Taras would never have awoke again." "If you did not kill him," I said, de- tecting, as I thought, an expression of cowardice in those soft eyes. "it is be- cause you dared not." His silence confirmed my suspicion, and I continued hotly: "One thing is certain --you dare not try to do it now." "No," he replied quietly, "I dare not even try to save him again, I fear. Then he rose and walked across the room, seeing the hopelessness of per- suading me and the increasing hostility his words provoked. "What shall yon do when Taras wakes?" he asked as he turned and came back toward me. "Tell him everything—all that has happened, all you have said." He nodded, as if this NI -ere no more than he expected, and took another turn • across the room in silent meditation. As he seated himself again in front of me he said: "We should be friends, having one object in common. The hope that an- imates us both is only to be realized by joining forces and acting in concert. You doubt my integrity—truth-sincer- ity. I will try to prove it by a confession which places me at your mercy. I put my life in your hands: At a word you can destroy me as surely as the Czar can destroy Taras. A stronger proof of sin- cerity no man could give, and all I ask in return is that you will hear 'me patiently and judge me without pre- judice. "I'll hear what you have to say at any rate," said I. He stepped to the door noiselessly, looked out into the passage, and coming back seated himself still nearer to me, that he might drop his voice to a tone which could not be heard outside. "I am a nihilist," he began, "a mem- member of em-member'of the Baine secret body to which Taras belongs. In the service of, this society I obtained a post in the ministerial bureau at St. Petersburg*, where every movement of the secret police came under my observation. By these means I was enabled to warn mv. society of any action about to be taken against suspected members. You un - stand rue?" "Yes: you were a kind of spy on the police." (TO HE CONTINUED( THINGS A CENT WILL BUY. The purchasing power of a cent never was so great as it is to -day. Pennies are always in demand at the Sub-'preasury, and often there is a penny famine there A Journal reporter has made a capitulation of all the things lie could think of which a copper will purchase. Doubtless there -are many others. Here is his list:— A top, A kite, A doll, A clam, An awl, A lemon, A badge, • A favor, A pickle, A -carrot, A gimlet, An apple, A bodkin, A banana, A whistle, A nutmeg, A hat pin, A key tag, An orange, . Akey rim,. . A cigarette, • A jewsharp, • A clay pipe, A shoestring, A salt cellar, A pen bolder, A corset lace, A roll or bun, A lead pencil, A rubber ball A roll of tape A needle case, A postal card, A can opener, A slate pencil A screwdriver, A cake of soap, A paper collar, - A picture nail, A cup of coffee, A little sponge, A tin teaspoon, A dozen cloves, Aball of twine, A handkerchief, A. dried herring, A palm leaf fan, A Union Jack, A pocket comb, A paper of pins, Au Laster card, A drinking glass, A small tin cup, A rubber eraser, A tallow candle, A brass thimble, A crochet needle, A stick of candy, A pocket mirror, A postage stamp, A very bad cigar, An elastic garter, A stoneware cup, A sprig of garlic, A sheer of music, A crayon of chalk, A ball of popcorn, A spool of thread, A box of matches, A stick of incense, A Bermuda onion, A string of beads, A. large safety pin, A. pencil sharpener, A paper of needles, A bar of chocolate, A perfumed sachet, A Japanese napkin, A shoe button hook, A mantel ornament, A stoneware saucer, A child's story book, A scrapbook picture, A trashy boy's novel. A small Frankfurter, A piece of sandpaper, A handful of peanuts, A gloss of buttermilk, A small pad of paper, A white lawn necktie, A set of hair crimpers, A slab of holey -pokey, A 6 -grain quinine pill, A yard of coarse lace, A newspaper wrapper, A package of hairpins, An oyster on the shell, A bar of chewing gum, A patent "pants" button, A ball of "piping" cord, A package of toothpicLs, A toy bottle of cologne, A religious picture card, A Christmas tree candle, A. glass of sterilized milk, A square of court plaster, A square of emery paper, A yard of narrow ribbon, A choice tomato in season, A card of hooks and eyes, A vanilla bean for perfume, A bunch of "soup greens." A Bridge ticket (some day), A sheet of blotting paper, A half-dozen collar buttons, A. tinplate "for a good child," A cake of stain -removing soap, A wire and bristle pipe cleaner, A cuttle fish bone for the bird, An envelope and sheet of paper, A very small glass of ice cream, A. scowl from a "holdup" beggar, A variety of mechanical puzzles, A sheet of brown wrapping paper, A glass of lemonade on the street, An extra tune from the organ grinder. A PHOTOGRAPHER'S DON'TS. Don't practise expression and so succeed in disguising yourself. Don't bring a friend along to pose you. Trust to professional rather than amateur skill.. Don't, if you are an amateur, try to in- struct an artist of 30 years' experience how to make a successful photograph. Don't grow angry if you cannot break the business rules of the studio because they do not happen to meet with your ap- proval. Don't tell baby that birds and monkeys will jump out of the side of the gallery to amuse him. His disappointment will make him cross. Don't bring the entire family along to keep the child in good humor. The artist can do that much more easily,and the baby is less likely to become nervous. Don't tell the photographer that you are the worst subject in the world to photo- graph, and never had a successful picture. Itis a stilted remark resulting front a spe- cies of egotism, which simply means that no camera has ever yet succeeded in pro- ducing the beauties that you see in your- self. -Philadelphia Times. NOTHING BUT LUCK. Good luck is the twin brother of hard work. Luck walks while work rides in a car- riage. Luck pictures a dollar, while work earns it. Luck dreams of a home, but work builds one. To trust to luck is like fishing"with a hookless line. Luck is a disease for which hard work is the only remedy. Luck longs for a dinner, while labor THC DAIRY Pasture Grasses. For permanent pasture it is necessary to use such grasses as form a close, coin- peet sod and which, at the same time, are perennial and not easily killed by tramp- ing. Of course, the nature of the soil has to he taken into consideration. However, a permanent pasture of bluegrass and white clover may be made on almost any kind of land, and they are especially well adapted to upland soils. Where it is de- sired to convert low-lying rugged lands into permanent pastures, alsike clover and redtop may profitably be used with the bluegrass and white clover. In such oases it is advisable to sow only a few pounds of the mixture to the acre and al- low the seed to mature and remain to re- seed the land. Prof. Shaw of the Minne- sota Station, in his book on "Grasses," gives a mixture which he claims will be found approximately suited to average conditions in states east of Michigan. It is made up as follows: Orchard grass four pounds, meadow fescue three pounds, tall oat grass two pounds, tim- othy two pounds, meadow festal' two pounds, lucerne five pounds, alsike clover three pounds, white clover two pounds, yellow clover one pound, making a mix- ture of 24 pounds—enough for seeding an acre. On a very moist subsoil, lucerne should be omitted, and the quantities of alsike and white clover correspondingly increased. Orchard grass, oat grass and the foxtail have hardly been tried suffi- ciently to establish their worth, and three or four pounds of bluegrass could perhaps be profitably substituted. A Milking Device. L,,e air is swarming with flies, bring- ing a return of the vexations with which milkers are .all so familiar. The plan does not mean that one has to hitch the cow by the tail to hold her while he milks. The devioe is designed to be used in the stables to keep the cow's tail out of the pail and out of the milker's face, which is usually the second place she wishes to put it, It is made of a small piece of hickory, with a long, deep notch sawed in one end. A clinched nail or screw keeps it from splitting further. The long hair or brush of the tail is slipped between the prongs, and the ring is slipped over the ends, thus securely fastening it. The ring is fastened to some part of the stick with a string long enough to permit its being put in place readily. Strapped to the upper end of tire stick is a snap into which is slipped another ring at the end of a small ' rope attached to the wall behind the cow. When the milking is finished, with one hand slip the lower ring off the prongs and the whole will drop back against the side of the stable, and the tail be free. Small ropes, with rings at the end, are fastened along the back of the stable midway between two cows, one answer- ing for both. The fastener is unsnapped and moved from ring to ring as needed, finis is valuable not only as an aid in fly -time, but as a cause of additional cleanliness, which at some seasons is the greater benefit. Profitable Cows. It is a fact, not appreciated by all, that a great many cows maintained in the dairies throughout the country are of such inferior character that they do not pay for their, keep, and a correspondent of the Country Gentleman, in referring to this fact, takes some pains to present it in such words that people will under- stand it; and so he goes on to say that if these inferior cows constitute but 10 per cent. of the total number of dairy cows, it requiring three acres to maintain a cow their presence is tantamount to a lose of six acres to each 20 cows kept in a dairy. There is no French or Italian or other incomprehensible tongue or "foreign ac- cent" about this statetrnent. On the con- trary, it is the plain English of it, and everybody ought to be able to understand it. Would there be anything lost if these cows were sold to the butcher and these six acres of ground"turned out" to grow up in weeds? Certainly not; and the farmer would be ahead just the labor he bestows upon the six acres and the care cg the cows. Indeed, he would be better off to the same extent, with taxes besides, it he were to sell the cows and give away the land. But the farmer is, fortunately, under no necessity either of permitting the land to grow up in weeds or of giving it away. He can devote it to some other useful purpose in the way of raising crops, or he can procure better cows and devote it to their maintenance. And when the character of other stook comes to be examined, and the results ex- pressed in plain English, it will be found that there are other animals besides dairy cows which barely pay for their keep; that there are lots of cattle calculated for beef, and a good many mares, and sheep, and swine maintained upon the farms which give no adequate returns for their keep, and that their maintenance means a great many acres, perhaps in some cases as much as one quarter of the farm, put to no profitable use and yielding not a dollar of return. There is nothing like getting these things into plain- language so one can understand just what is meant. But if one does not understand them at first a little' study and reflection will disclose the real meaning. And nothing can be plainer than that an un- profitable animal on the farm 'means the use of so many aures and so much labor thrown away; that the substitution of better animals would bring profit from the land andcompensationfor the labor put upon it. A Term for Waste Basket. According to Hotten's Slang Diolton- ary, the word "Balsam" is printers' slang for matter kept in type about mon- strous productions of nature, etc., to fill up spaces in newspapers that, would bo otherwise vacant. The term halaam-box has long been used in • Blackwood as the name of the depository for rejected arti- cles. Evidently from Numbers xxii., 3Q, and denoting the "speech of an ass," or anystory difficult of deglutition not con•- tained in scripture. Hotten's book was issued in 1859, and this term, which was undoubtedly in common use then, has goes out and earus one, since vanished. Training a heifer. A man who is fit to have charge of dairy cows never "breaks" an untaught heifer to milk—she trains her. The former word implies the exercise of brute force, which should never be used with dairy cows, and least of all with the timid young things which are just having their first experience in maternity and lacta- tion. The writer of this had two young heifers, which had their first calves with- in about a week of each other. The en- graving shows how they were taught to stand still and be milked. The yard was inclosed by an old.fashioned rail fence, and when the first heifer came in she was enticed by a pail of feed into one of the angles. A light rail was then slipped into place just high enough to hold her there. She had always been accustomed to kind treatment and handling: so, after a lit - tie patting on the head, neck, side, and below, the work of milking began by reaching under the rail. Of course she was frightened and indignant at first, but she was held where she could do no harm, and soon learned that she was not to be hurt. After two or three such les- sons she stood perfectly quiet behind the rail to be milked, and in less than a week she would stand unrestrained in any part of the yard while the milker sat down on a stool by her side and per- formed the milking. When the second heifer came in, she was given the same treatment, and soon no two cows in the herd gave less trouble than the two youngsters.—American Agriculturist. Whey B atter. lb is well known that considerable butter tat la carried away with the whey in the process of cheese making, amount- ing to about one-fourth of one per cent, or more on the average. Since the separ- ator has shown. that fat may be more fully extracted from milk in the process of butter making, the possibility of tak- ing a part of the fat lost in whey has oc- curred to Dr. Babcock and been put to test by the Cornell Experiment Station. Bulletin 85 of this station details the re- sult of the effort to secure the lost fat as far as possible by the means mentioned. From 1,000 pounds of whey,- it is stated by the bulletin in question, 2.57 pounds of butter have been taken. The very small "amount of fat in the whey made it difficult to secure it at the first opera- tion, so by readjustment of the machin- ery a further portion of the fat of whey was taken. Time whey was run through the machine before it was cold, and as It was slightly acid In this condition it was ready to churn at once after it was re- duced to the proper temperature. While it can be separated at a later period, it was found that a better butter with a finer flavor, was the result of taking the fat very soon after the whey was pro- duced. Its churning was very quickly and easily done and formed a butter that went into the market on the same condi- tions as ordinary butter. Indeed it is claimed that the dealers were not able to detect in all cases the difference between this butter and that of new milk. The anther of the bulletin, Prof. Wing, esti- mating from the number of cows devoted to cheese making, concludes that 4,776,- 599 pounds of butter are lost in whey that may be retained when the separator is used; this would amount in round numbers to one million dollars. He does not estimate for us the oust of the butter thus saved over and above its feeding value for swine. The matter is of some importance and constitutes one of the rhoubtfnl details in the advancement of the art of butter and cheese making. Linseed 'ileal for Cows. The Wisconsin Experiment Station has repeated a former series of experiments whose object was the test of the relative value of linseed meal when compared with corn meal and wheat bran. The cows were given in round numbers, 40 pounds each of silage, 7.8 pounds of bay, and 4 and a small traction pounds each of oil meal, corn meal and bran. The bran, corn meal and the oil meal were so fed as to determine the relative influence of each. Few of our readers would oars to follow out the details, so we jump them, with the final summing up, which shows that. the lot receiving oil meal ate 4517.6 pounds of dry matter during the feeding period, and that 100 pounds of dry matter produced 59.3 pounds of milk, containing 3.04 pounds of fat. The lot receiving corn meal ate 4408.7 and gave 63 pounds of milk, containing 2.84 pounds of fat. The lot receiving wheat bran con- sumed 4619.5 pounds and gave 61.9 pounds of milk, whish contained 3.11 pounds of fat. The oil meal gave 7 per cent, more fat than the corn meal, while the corn meal gave r, per cant. the larger yield of milk. Corn meal 'beat wheat bran by 2 per cent. In milk yield, while in its turn wheat bran outdid oil meal by 4 per cent in milk yield. It also contained 2 per cent.' more fat than the `milk from oil meal. Wheat bran gave 9 per cent. more fat than corn meal. This latter fact is rather surprising. On the whole, the cost of the oil meal considered and the above yields, if the value of the manure is excluded the oil meal is not an econ- omical food for cows. Observant readers will at once note the fact that the yield of fat was quite out of proportion to the yield of milk. This change is apparent throughout the tables presented by Prof. Woll, who makes the report. The number of the globules varied with the foods. For oil meal and corn meal the average was 200 for .0001cmm., for corn meal and bran there were found 164, for wheat bran and oil meal the 4 number was 167. The relative size of the globules stood as 262 for the first foods, 284 for the second named combination, and 317 for the last. We Invite attention to the fact that oil meal is much richer in protein than the other foods, yet noth- ing in the results would indicate that this fact bad any favorable influence. Cheese Factories of Ontario. An exchange gives a lengthy review of the Ontario report in relation to, its cheese factories. This report shows that: "In all there were 1,011 factories making $9,441,247 worth of cheese, and with an average of 54,880 patrons, to whom $7,931,022 were paid. Iii the past twelve years the average has been 799 factories, making $7,132,329, and with 43,7768 pat- rons. Monthly statistics, for the cheese factories are '.given, the remark being made that the milk is poorest for `chees making purposes in June,and gains rap- idly as the season goes on. Creamrry sta- tistics are given, showing returns fur 'fished in 18'4 by thirty-ninep ublio. creameries, making butter worth $221,c 605, the average price being 20,94, and the average number of patrons 2,814, 'There are 115 creameries in all."