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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1896-7-16, Page 6LIFTED BY LOVE ; Or, Row the Wharf Waif Became a Princess. P IDLISEED ST SPECIAL ARRANGE 155T, (CONTINUED) I was surprised -when I took in the breakfast that Morning to find the master sitting alone. 'I am afraid made- lnoiselle feels unwell this morning.' said he. 'She was ill yesterday, and last night she did not come down to wish us "good -night." See if she would like a cup of tea in her' room.' Then I went up, and finding your room empty and the be unused I called the master, feel- ing'that he must see this with his own eyes to believe it. He looked very grave, but less astonished. than I expected. He only, asked if I could tell whether any of your dresses was missing. I found that your hat and jacket were gone. 'That shows that she has gone out,' said the master. 'We shall know more when she returns ' He said that to put an end to my questions and went back to his breakfast as though it was quite natural you should go out and stay away all night. But when I cleared the things away I saw that he awl not eaten any- thing. 'He was working in his atelier when Mr. Kavanagh came; that was in the afternoon. 'Good morning, madame,' says he, as I open the door; 'is M. Gor- don here?' 'No, monsieur; he has not been here for two days, and that is droll because he has lately been in the habit of calling regularly to see mademoiselle every morning.' 'Dear me!' says he; 'this is curious; for example, I went to his rooms this morning by appointment and found that he went away last night and has not returned. He is not at his club, and, in fact, I cannot find him anywhere.' 'Mon Dieu: this is extra- ordinary,' says I. 'for mademoiselle went away last night and has not yet returned.'At what hour?' 'It must have been before you left.' 'How very strange!' says he. 'Why the hall porter at the chambers says that a Young lady came to see Mr. Gordon last night about that time. and from his descrip- tion it might have been mademoiselle. But, of course, it couldn't have been her, for they went out together arm in arm, and 31. Gordon had a large portmanteau with him.' " "A portmanteau!" I exclaimed. "The portmanteau in which he took away many things that belonged to him, for when his rooms were searched they -were found all in disorder from the has. ty preparations he had made for a long journey. But I have no need to tell you that." "No, no—I don't want to hear any- thing about myself. Tell me about Ta- ms." • Ah, my poor master! That killed the joy in his heart, for look you, he loved you more than you could have be- lieved—more than I knew, perhaps :more than heknew himself. He was no longer merry and cheerful as he had been; he did not sing when he came from his atelier. And the house was as if some one lay dead in it. It melted one's heart to see him sitting alone at the table. He would have your cover laid, and we spoke as if you were coming back soon. But for my part I felt that there was more unhappiness to come —that Providence had sent this warn- ing to prepare us for still greater calam- ity. That was something more than 'superstition and the fancy of an old wo- man. Before the end of the month a second warning came. The master's work was destroyed for a second time." "The group of statuary?" "Yes --tile beautiful group that he had toiled at so long and patiently. It was in the kiln. The master saw the fires lit and stayed in the pottery till past midnight watching the burning. I was sitting up. for he had eaten no dinner, and ' I had a hot supper to serve. 'Well, Iron =Dieu: he had scarcely seated himself at • the table when we heard a terrible crash. and a boy running in from the /pottery cried o -at that the kiln had fal- len in." "Had it fallen in by accident." "No, for when the ruins were cleared away traces of dynamite were found. "When M. Kavanagh saw it. ee said: -"The mark of the czar's hay is here. This has been done by the an po- lice."'They have not beaten me yet,' replied my poor master, and chat very slay he began to model the group again. 'Then that good M. Kavanagh prayed •him to abandon the attempt, or at least •to turn his efforts in some new 'lire', tion, lest worse misfortunes should fol - ;low. I heard him say one day: "These warnings are not to be mistaken. Next time these agents of the czar—these •hired assassins—may he ordered to de- stroy not your work, but you.' 'Yes, that may be,' answered the toaster. 'If I do not yield, the czar will have me killed perhaps, but the disgrace shall be . on his side, not on mine.' And he shook his head to every argument, . working on to the last. Ah, how he ,worked! One could see that he had nothing else to live for, my poor mas- ter. • "But that was not for long. It seemed as if the czar knew his intention and had resoflved to strike the blow before the work could be finished. One night '—only a fortnight after the kiln had 'been destroyed—they came to the house, the assassins, and rang the bell. They must have known that I had gone up to bed, and that Taras himself would an- swer the ring" -- She broke off suddenly as the sound of :wheels on the drive reached our ears. `Taras had returned, and she went out to receive him, leaving me still in ignor- ance of the calamity that hal befallen `him. CHAPTER XLII. • WHAT HAD BEFALLEN TARAS. I would have sprung up and retained Mere Lucas to learn the worst and end my suspense, but fear unnerved me and ,made me powerless to move or act. The carriage drew up before the door. I heard Mere Lucas' voice, and then Ta- ras spoke in reply. I could not catch his words, but them was nothing in the tone of hisvoice to indicate that appal- ling change for which I ,had been pre- pared. What had the men—ICavan- agh's agents—done to him that night when they called him to the door? Had they inflicted such injuries as to deprive him: of his reason? That was the great- est calamity I could imagine. He was in the hall now. Every word he spoke was distinctly audible. "Oh. there was plenty of time," he said, "we had nearly a quarter of an hour, to wait before the train came in, The air is soft this morning. Spring has come 'again, mother. I will go in the garden till lunch-time." There was nothing in this to signify mental derangement; the only thing that struck me was that he spoke with less decision than of old, that there was an accent of dependence in his. tone. And I observed that the sound of his footstep was not the same. At one time I should•have.distinguished it from a thousand, now I should not have known it for his. It had been firm and light and quick, now it was slow and heavy and shuffling, like the step of old age. Mere Lucas went out with him intoo the garden at the back of the house, passing so near the room where I sat that I heard the rustle of her skirt. Did he need her support that she accompan- led him step by step? What had they done to him? Was he maimed for life? As their voices faded away, suspense became intolerable. I stole cautiously out of the room and along the passage leading to the garden at the back. Ap- proaching the door, I perceived Mere Lucas coming alone across the lawn to- ward me. She saw me and raised her finger to bid me be silent; then, _stop- ping she glanced back, raised her two hands and let them fall in pity and beck- oned me to advance. I went as far as the door, and there on the threshold I stopped spellbound. Ta- ras sat on a garden seat on the opposite side of the lawn, his hands folded idly on his knee.' It was strange to see him, of old so nervously active, sitting mo- tionless without a book, a paper or a sketchbook in his hand—with nothing to occupy his eager mind, but it was not that which made my heart stand still. His face was turned directly toward me, and yet he took no notice of me. I moved forward a step, stretching out my hands involuntarily, and still he sat unmoved and motionless. Then I knew what had befallen him—what those hired villains had done that night. He was blind; they had destroyed his eyes. My emotion was to deep and terrible for tears. I could only stand there clasping my hands in an agony of pity. The tears were running down Mere Lucas' cheeks as she calve to my side and laid her hand in sympathy upon my arm. She would have led me away, but I shook my head, refusing to pa, "He will sit there like that tor hours," she whispered, "listening to the birds.' It is all he can do." Silently I crossed the lawn and drop- ped upon my knees before him, awe- stricken by his passive unconsciousness, his helplessness and the calm, sad resig- nation in his noble face. In that sweet presence no bitter feeling could enter my heart. But when I left him my soul was stirred with vindictive passion, and a great craving for vengence upon the remorseles viliian who had wrecked the life of his friend possessed me. I vowed that Kavanagh should be brought to ac- count, that he should suffer as he had made Taras suffer, and that if justice refused to punish him then my hand should strike the blow. This burning passion sharpened my wits, whipped up my flagging energy and re -animated my courage, The ne- cessity of secrecy was more evident to me now that it had been hitherto. "You will not betray me to any one in the world'?" I said to Mere Lucas. "Is it possible, my poor friend?" she asked. • Is it likely that I should ex- pose your misfortunes when 'myself am chiefly to blame for all that has befallen you? Besides, you forget that I still love you, my dear. Nay, I will do any- thing in the world to help you." "Could I stay here?" 1 asked eagerly, seized with the unreasoning desire to live again under the same roof with Ta- ras and watch hien day by day, even if I might not speak to him. "To be sure, my dear," answered Mere Lucas gladly. "There are half a dozen spare rooms, and the master has begged me again and again to have my cousin, Mme. Leroy, down. here. Who is to know you are not my cousin? Why, truly you may stay, Mlle. Judith will not be back before Saturday afternoon, That gives you two whole days," "Na more," I said, with a sinking heart. "Why, my dear, you may stay longer if you think it would be wise. But look. you, mademoiselle, Judith has sharp ei'es, and when one looks at you closely it is clear you are not so old as your'gray hair. And mademoiselle has feelings like any other woman, so you can't ex- pect her to look kindly on you, even if she consents to stay in the same house with you." I saw how unreasonable, how imprac- ticable my idea was, but for all that it was not easy to abandon it. My heart was wrung, not with mere womanly jealousy, but with a sense of my terrible loss. It was dreadful to think that an- other had taken may place in Taras' heart, and that I could do nothing for him, nothing whatever, at a time when a woman's love and sympathy were needed to brighten his long days of darkness. And my grief was not lessened by the reflection that I had lost all that was dear to me in trying to save him. At such a time one cannot feel that virtue is its own reward. This was Wednesday. I promised that I would come again that evening or the next day and then hurried off, eager to see Mr. Pelham and learn what chance there was of sending the money to Siberia. My heart misgave me as soon as I entered the solicitor's office. He was not nearly so eager to get me into his inner office as he had been the day be- fore, nor so smilingly confident as when we parted, and there was a depressing absence of enthusiasm as he closed the door and slowly seated himself at his writing table. "I have seen Mr. Lazarus," he began, crossing his legs, clasping his hands on his knee and gently twiddling one thumb round the other, and I regret to say that he firmly declines to move in this affair until he receives the cash." -But did you tell him that the money would certainly be paid?" "Yes, madame, I spared no pains to convince him on that point. I even went so far as to assure him that the order was as safe as government stock, and that I would guarantee the payment of a liberal bonus in consideration of the advance." "What did he say to that?" "Well, madame, he very pertinently asked why, if I were so very sure of.ob- taining this advantage for him, I did not avail myself of the chance and advance the £300 on my own account." "Ali, we never thought of"that." "It certainly had not entered into my calculations," observed Mr. Pelham, with a serious shake of the, head. "Can't you advance the money?'." •I asked entreatingly. "I could, of course, but there aretwo or three serious objections to that pro- ceeding. One of these Mr. Lazarus pointed out in his particularly clear and businesslike way, He said he had very little doubt about the genuineness of the affair and knew that the money was to be employed in assisting the escape of an exile from Siberia. 'But,' said he, `the escape may not be pulled off, and then where are -you?' Obviously, if Mr. Gordon does not return, he cannot pay the sum advanced on his behalf—either capital or interest." 'We must find some other means of raising the money." "Exactly the words of Mr. Lazarus— a most sensible man of business, and reallytquite anxious to do what he can. 'Here is is a telegram form,' says he; 'I have only to write the address and one little word on it and send it with three or four shillings to the nearest postoffice and in less than an hour perhaps the ex- ile may be on his way to London. That one little word shall be written and sent the moment I see the necessary indis- pensible £300.x„ "Cannot you help me?" I exclaimed in desperation. "You mentioned another name in our last interview. If you would authorize me to apply to any one—any friend who might advance the amount" -- He paused, but I made no reply. My thoughts were already turned in the di- rection he indicated. It seemed as if I must tell Tarns at all hazards. Might I obtain the money from him without ex- posing Gordon to the risk of rearrest at the frontier? The cloud that, darkened my mind suddenly broke, and brighten- ing with a ray of hope I started to my feet and said: "There is a friend who will give me this money. I will ask hien for it my- self." CHAPTER XLIII. I name MYSELI' KNOWN TO TARAS. I returned to the Grange that even- ing. Mere Lucas, though she could not conceal the change in her sentiments to- ward me, did her best to make me feel at home in her sitting rooni and supply all my physical requirements. For the first time she permitted herself to sit down to table with the, and we shared the same dish that had come from her master's table. There was significance in this. In her opinion I ranked no long- er in social distinction with Taras and Mlle. Judith. "Fill your glass again. my dear," said she. "The master begrudges me noth- ing, as you know and when I told him I expected Mine. 'Leroy he bade me fete you. " Presently she left rae to 'answer the dining room bell. She returned with the coffee service, her under lip raised and rueful misgiving in her face. "He wants to see you," she whispered. "'Tell Mme. Leroy,' says he, 'that it will give me great pleasure if she will come in and talk to me,' I begged him to excuse you, as you have a headache and are not fit for society to alight, but I do not see how you are to get out of it to -morrow. We ought to have thought of this beforehand." "I have thought of it. I want to speak to him." "Mon Dieu? I didn't think you had grown so hardy, Look you, you will have to mumble your words finely, or he will know your voice, and then what will happen." "If he cannot forgive me, I must bear it," said 1. "But whether he forgives me or not I am sure he will never tell any one of my disgrace, and that is all I fear." "No, that is certain. You can count upon his saying nothing about You to any one as surely as you can rely upon my silence. Nevertheless it's as good as confessin'r everything, to make yourself known tolliim. However," she added,. with a sigh of satisfaction, "thank God, there's your clothes, that I brought away from Lambeth, upstairs in the press, and all your linen as sweet and clean as hands can make them." Clean linen and a neat appearance wore vey much more in accordance with her views of true repentance than sack- cloth and ashes, and I doubtif she could have felt genuine respect for any one in such a way worn and bedraggled condi- tion as mine. Soon after breakfast the next morning she led sue into the dining room where Taras was sitting, and having hastily introduced me as her cousin, Mine. Leroy, she as speedily withdrew, leaving me to take the consequences upon my own shoulders. After begging me to be seated Taras said: "We would have sent a trap to the station if we had known you were com- ing last night. It is a long way from the station. I hope you feel better this morning, madame." I had intended to disguise my voice, but my heart revolted against deceiving Ivy dear, stricken friend, and, after a moment's hesitation, in my natural voice I answered "Yes." At that one word, faint as it was, he started, and turning his head slowly toward me—for he had mistaken my position in the room—he faced me. For full a minute he was silent, his closed eyelids quivering as if in conflict with -the instinctive effort to penetrate the eternal shroud that hid me from him. •Mnie. Leroy?" he said interruptively, with emotion in his voice. "Yes." He bent his head to catch my response, and there was another pause. "You have come alone, Mme. 'Leroy?" he asked. ""i es." "There was no friend you cared to bring?" ..No." These faltering monosyllables must have betrayed me, even, if he doubted the evidence of my voice, but the belief that I wished to remain unrecognized was sufficient to withhold him from dis- covering his knowledge: “You are going to stay with us, lime. Leroy'?" the asked. "No; I think of leaving this after- noon?" I stammered. Le made no reply, but a look of pain came into his face, and I was silent, too, not having the courage to tell him why:. I had come. But he must have Con - eluded that I was in trouble and in need of help, for presently,drawing some un- opened letters from the'inner pocket of his coat, he said: "These letters cache last night. Will you open thein and tell me who they are. from?" They were from sympathizing friends in London. .I read the names and ad. adresked.sses to him. "Have you opened them • all?" he "Yes." "I hoped there was one from a friend —a dear -friend of bygone days -from whom I have been hoping and expecting to heap' by every post, • Do you mind looking through them again. I.understood his motive in giving me the letters now, and seizing the oppor- tunity I asked him if it was from a, poor woman ie distress that he expected to hear—a nameless creature who dared not show her face. "It cannot be my little friend," he said sadly, "She would not fear me. We were comrades, she and I, and should be still—companions in adversi- ty. To think that I could judgeher harshly is to judge me yet more harsh - "She does not fear you, but she dreads those who have less charity." ' "She is in trouble, you tell me. Can I help her?" TO BE CONTINUED. THE FEAR OF THUNDER, Safest Place Dor i age Stories. is in the Rouse. WI'here There isNo Draught. "Electric storms are far less dangerous than the majority of people imagine," writes Edward W. Bok in July Ladies' Home Journal. "That a severe lightning storm is terrifying admits of no question, and will sometimes bring uneasiness to the heart of the strongest man. But the real danger is slight. The chance of lightning striking a house, for example, is not one in a million. Particularly is this true in cities strung as most of them are with electric wires. The greater dan- ger from electric storms is in ..the coun- try, and even there the danger may be lessened if the simplest and most com- mon-sense of precautions are exercised. The surest electric conductor is a draught, and if, when a thunder -storm approaches, it is seen that all windows and doors liable to occasion a draught are kept closed, the danger is at once re- duced to a minimum. If a woman is "caught" out in a thunder -storm the safest shelter is a house; the most dan- gerous a tree, particularly s an oak tree. It is a peculiar, but nevertheless a proven, fact. that the oak • is the most susceptible of all trees to a current of electricity. Over fifty per cent, of trees struck by lightning storms during one summer, the Government statistician tells us, were oak, while the beech tree was the least harmed, Therefore, the worst possible place of shelter in an eleetrio storm is under an oak tree, while by all odds, the safest place is in a house and out of a draught. * * The ac- tual danger (from an electric storm) is. in truth, not from the lightning nor the thunder, but from the nervous condition into which women allow themselves to fall. And this is a danger which they can avoid. A little calm thought and a few grains of common-sense will do it." An Unconventional Bird. Whether the. Bohemian waxing has acquired his name from a fanciful resem- blance in habits or actions to that class of artists and writers called "Bohem- ians," I know not; but certain it is, if the name has been thus derived, it is not in the least inappropriate. He is very irregular, and so capricious are his move- ments that his appearance has no rela- tion to season or weather, the question of a suitable food supply being the only controlling interest in his wanderings. i No district can count him as one of its regular inhabitants, but all places are fa- vored by an occasional visit. Where there are cedar berries, ripe cherries or other fruits he is almost sure to be present. Although not brilliantly attired, he is yet an unusually attractive/bird. His head is conspicuously crested; his whole body is of a soft and rich light brown, and his form is particularly neat and graceful. The name "waxwing"' has been derived from the rod appendages on the wings, and sometimes on the tail, which resemble bits of red sealing wax. The exact use of these appendages is not clear, but the bird is very fond of dis- playing them, and it may be that they are simply ornamental excrescences. He is very fond of company, and ex- cept during the breeding season large flocks are found near where their food is obtained. No conventional rules of so- cietyburden him, and he acts ever as if disdaining anything that smacks of con- servatism. In his actions are plainly no- ticed the joyous, free -hearted and gener- ous nature which undoubtedly has been the derivation of his name. Ho even re- fuses to accept the established manner of bird flight, and has invented one of his own. With all his pleasing actions and appearance he is,. a very poor vocalist; but as this is his only shortcoming, and his deficiency in this is' more than sup- plied by other birds, less interesting in plumage and habits, we can pardon the omission, and some may even,sey that this lack is really a blessing. The only note that ho is capable of uttering is a i simple lisping sound resembling some- what the word "peep," But this is totally unlike the note of any other bird, and it may possibly be that it is only another of his attempt -at original- ity. . He has not thus far succeeded in in- venting a new order of bird architecture, though his nest bears evidence of his, efforts in that direction. In the branch of an apple tree, at a height of about 10 feet, he deposits a mass of stems, twigs, rootlets and dry leaves, and weaves"them into a compact and firm structure. In" this nest the female deposits five eggs of a slate color, marked with spots and splashes of dark -brown and purple. He is a very obliging husband, and aids his faithful wife in the duties attending, the rearing of the young birds. The scientists have bestowed upon him the unpronounceable name of Ampelis garrujlus, and who is there who, possess- ing his other traits, would not feel elated at the possession of such a title. But the unassuming waxwing bears the name with commendable gravity, and if he feels the dignity of his station, no traces of it are to be found in his actions. Affliction. , Affl:ir''"n conies to us all not to make us sad, ,gut sober; not to male us sorry, but wise; not` to make us despondent, but by its darkness to refresh us, as the night refreshes' the day; not to impover- ish, but to enrich us, as the plow enriches the field, to multiply our joyas the seed by planting is multiplied a thousandfold. —Beecher. TH [ rRRM ARTICHOKES FOR HOGS. An; Excellent Food and a Reliable Preven- tive of Cbolea-a. Hitherto the growing of this valuable tuberous -rooted perennial, illustrated herewith, has been almost wholly ne- glected and greatly misunderstood, But their value as a cheap, handy, healthy hog food has been so thoroughly aired the past three years, in the press of the country, by men who have had practical experience with them, that an enormous demand has been created for them. As a hog food they cannot be excelled. A good plan is to plant all your lots with artichokes about May 1, when your hogs are turned on pasture. Then when your pasture plays out In the fall—or about September 15 to October 1—you will have fine food in your lots for your hogs, where they can root at intervals, when- ever the ground is not frozen, until the following May, when they will have re- ceived as much benefit from one acre of artichokes as from ten acres of corn. They will also have left enough tubers In your lots to reseed the ground for the next crop. It is a hog's nature to root, in fact, his hogship is never happier than when he is rooting, and an artichoke can truly be called a hog's drug store. A wealthy hog raiser of the writer's acquaintance, who has made 480 acres of $100 land out of hog raising for the pork market, says he would not be without a big patch of the tame artichokes, as he has had no hog diseases in his herds since they have been allowed to eat arti- choke tubers. A sow will not eat her pigs if she has been allowed previously to eat artichokes and hogs do not root up pastures in the spring when they have previously been allowed to root in the artichoke patch to their hearts' content. • A hog's object in rooting is to obtain roots, which, as I said before, serves the same purpose to him as does the drug store to the human being. After he has eaten a goodly portion of artichokes, the rooting notion will be almost entirely out of his head, so say extensive stock raisers, who have grown. and fed the artichoke. But there are artichokes and arti- chokes; in many parts of North Ameri- can, the "wild" artichoke is a native. It is merely a bad weed, a dangerous pest, which produces very few and small tubers, and is very difficult to exterminate, Many farmers who have seen it growing understand that there Is a difference—a vast difference—in the wild and "tame," or domesticated sorts, In fact, they are as different as is "wild" and tame rye, Doing the past few years the " tame" or domesticated sorts have been imported from Europe and are in some parts of the United States being extensively grown as a hog and stock food. The artichokes can be as easily grown ,as corn or potatoes, and on land that will produce 50 bushels of corn, you can easily raised 500 bushels of artichokes. The writer frequently does this and has grown over 900 bushels per acre on ground that had never bean manured. Out the tubers; plant and cultivate pre- cisely same as potatoes. They are a great soil enricher, and can easily be exterhni- nated by plowing the young plants un- der when they are about a foot high, as the old tubers have rotted, and the young ones have not yet formed at that time. I would not think of farming without them. The improved French is the only variety worthy of culture and it is a purse, comforter. Six bushels will plant one acre. Again I say grow the artichokes and you will have a fine, healthy swine food and no cholera.—J. P. Yissering, in Western Rural. Live Stock Pointers. Systematic training is necessary with young colts. Sheep must be kept dry in winter If they are kept healthy. Fine silky hair is a good indication that the animal will fatten readily. The more comfortable the quarters of the pigs the better they will grow. Keep clean. A large per cent, of the diseases among stock comes from filth, It will add much to the comfort of all stock on the farm If they have a clean bed at night. Fall pigs must be kepi in a good con- dition through the winter if they are to fatten in the spring. Better purchase a little feed rather than to allow the stock to run down in condition at this time. Where the supply of :manure is insuffi- cient commercial fertilizers can often_be used to a good advantage in growing potatoes. A sow that is suckling a litter of pigs is a voracious eater and should be fed all that she will eat up clear at each meal, -Farmer's Voice. The Balloon Game. The newest sport in Paris is the bal- loon game, which is .. played in this fash- ion: A number of toy balloons are en- tered for the competition, and in each of them is placed an envelope, containing a postal curd, which is addressed to the judge of the contest. The little balloons are' then set free, and after more or less time come to earth again, in different parts of the country. Thosewho find them see the envelopes and notice thereon a request that the time when each bal- loon was found, and also the place, .be written on the postal card, which is then to be dropped in the post -office. At the end of a week the various postal 'cards are compared ' and the prize is awarded to that balloon which traveled the great- est distance in the shortest time. Too Busy to Talk.l Waiter—What do you wish to eat, p vaso$ Absent-minded Professor -I haven't time to talk: now. Ask ire aftex dinner. BARNYARD SCRAPER. Row to lliake One That Does Not IDig Into the Ground. For cleaning off a barnyard when dirty there is nothing better than a scraper so constructed as not to dig into the ground. A cheap and serviceable one may he made by almost any farmer. Take an inch board (A A in cut) four feet long, and 12 to 16 inches wide. The side arms (0 0) reach from the tongue to hooks or pivots (E E), as depicted. The dandles are fast- ened to be in comfortale reach when the scraper is vertical, or nearly so. The ob- ject is to scrape the top merely instead of thrusting into the ground, as a scraper is contrived to do. A lever (I)), which nmuununwmmuimi iununL is hinged to back end of tongue, and provided with a notch at the .proper point, will hold the scraper in an up- right position. When the load is to be thumped, raise tba lever, thus disengaging its hold on the notch, whereupon the scraper will turn . forward with the ha.ndes on arms CO 0). If board A has rt thickness of only one inch, it will be necessary to strengthen it- with cross - battens, as shown by dotted lines. But the whole thing should be made as light as possible, consistent, with the requisite strength. --G. W. Waters, in St. Louis Tnurnal of Agriculture. CROPS FOR PROFIT. The Farmer is' Puzzled to .Raise a Crop That Pays. . A Western New York farmer in an ad- dres at an institute, answered the ques- tlou, where now can our farmers look for gain, ar:d what crops should they grow. The wise man does not regard the direction of the wind to -day as indica- ting its direction to -morrow, nor is it wise to trust wholly in a crop this year because it is turned out well last year, nor is It wise to discard a valuable crop now because it did not pay last year. tirasons and conditions are subject to change, and, as a rule, the farmer who moves in an opposite direction from the popular view will meet the best success. But it is more important for the Eastern farmer to improve his methods of culti- vation and fertilization of the soil, than to look for the crop that will pay. All our staple crops, in a course of years and under ordinary conditions, will re- turn to the producer about in proportion to cost of production, and changes of crops to meet prospective demand often result in disappointment, We must not look for high prices in the near future for any staple farm products, unless some extraordinary conditions rise, and the cheapening of production and econ- omy in warding off expenses will be the surest menus of making our farms pay. Thorough, clear eultivatIon and fertiliza- tion on a lessened acreage will cheapen production, for the increased yield will fur overbalance the greater outlay, but above all else, industry, economy and painstaking in all departihipnts of farm management are the essential means of bridging over hard times. Live Stock Notes. Do not forget to scatter air -slacked limo liberally over the ground in early spring where the young chicks are to be cooped. The lime, it is claimed, will help kill "gape germs in the soil." Whether this is so or not it does purify the soil. In combating outbreaks of contagious diseases among cattle during 1305, the Bavarian authorities paid nearly $30,000 as compensation for animals compulsor- ily slaughtered. Anthrax caused the greatest expenditure, $90,400 having been paid on account of 502 animals, while glanders occasioned an expense of $3,075 for 30 horses destroyed, and pleu- ro -pneumonia $220 for four cattle. Sows do not give large amounts of milk, but what they do give j s very rich. By the time pigs are two weeks old they will need additional rations, and these should be provided in a trough where the young pigs can feed by themselves. Give only what can be eaten quickly and entirely. If milk is used make it warm as new milk from their dam. Sweat milk thus warmed will be quite as amid for them as would new milk, as the last with what they get from their dam will tend to fatten them too much. Linseed oil -cake is quite easy of di- gestion, yet to.'some horses it must be fed, only in small quantities, owing to its laxative qualities. Much depends upon the individuality of the horse. The best method of feeding it is in the meal form, and mixed with bran or other ground grain. As to quantity, about one part of the oil -meal to eight is enough to commence with; and if the bowels are not relaxed, the quantity can be increased to the proportion of one to six. As a rule, better digestion is made by feeding all• grain and meals dry, as more saliva is secreted during lnastica= tion, which aids in the further digestion when the food enters the stomach. Again, when bran or dry meals are mixed with oats, the oats will be better masticated by the teeth before swallow- ing, as the dry meal has to be well moistened with the saliva before it can be swallowed, and the animal is com- pelled more thoroughly to chow the oats in order to swallow them. Many horses with good digestion and good teeth will take large mouthfuls of oats and not grind them well before swallowing, when if a little dry bran or even chopped oats or dry meal of any kind was mixed with the oats, better digestion would be made. Double Yolk Eggs. When double -yoke eggs are found among those collected it is considered a cause for congratulation, the hens being supposed to have performed extra work. But the fact is, double -yolk eggs indicate that the hens are too fat. The eggs are really abnormal, and it will be but a short time before the hens will cease lay- ing; hence, while a. few extra large eggs may be obtained for a .snort time, the result will be none at all, later on. • As soon as the hens begin to lay double - yolk eggs shut off the grain, and reduce the food so as to bring them into more favorable, condition for laying. All Gone, Papa—Is that youngman gone, Mamie? Mamie—Yes, papa, awfully.