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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1906-11-15, Page 2+04-04.Q.+.0.+0.04,04.04.0.4.04.eheee.4.0.4.04,04,,,04..Q4.0.4.0+01 think that you Wo1,14.1 reaehea the drawing-rooni grate till to -morrow." To avoid intrudieg further on her delleeto confidences, arid alSO 1,6 eSeape frOen tete Amerleane, who ere flesallY tevatiging Hare aria ilorner Q1 each other, varied by trips into Baedeker, he passe e leto a eide, chapel made famoUs by one of the loveliest tombs that ever feigned to simulate in marble death's ugliness. The 'Yankee's voices are high and shrill, but they had need to be higher in shriller still before they could break the slumber of him whose restine place Jim has invaded in his flight from Cecilia and New York, Was ever rest so beautiful as this of the young sleeper? A priest he was, nay cardinal, and youthful and lovely and chaste! and now in hew divine a slumber is lapt? But how should that four hundred year's slumber not be divine, watched by such a gentle Mary Mother as Is watching his; sniffing is If Lo tell him that he does well to Sleep, that sleep is better than waking, that death is 'better than life! There is a sunken look about his fair eyelids, as if he had gone through suffering to his rest; and his reposeful hands are thin, but below him, as he lies in his spotless marble tranquility, upon his sercopha- gus, the rose garlands wave in lovely frieze, and the riotous horses rear and plunge in, fulness of life. Burgoyne lies not perceived that Amelia did not follow him, She has, In point of fact, remained in the body of the church, immersed in her guide- boole steadily working through the marble ecreen and pulpit, and still five good minutes off the side ellitpel in whieli her lover stands in so deeply brown a study, that he is not aware af the intrusion upon his selitude of two women, until he is roused with a leap by the voice of one of them addressing— not. him, of whose presence she is ob- viously as unaware as was he of hers, until this moment—but her companion. "Oh, mother! am I not a fool, at my age, too? but I cannot 'help it, it makes me cry sol" Burgoyne does not need the evidence of his eyes. Fits ears and his startled heart have enough assured, hen whose are the tears called forth by that indeed most touching effigy at Which he him- self has been so pensively staring. The mother's answer is inaudible; and then again comes the voice of Elizabeth Le Marehant, tearful and vibrating. "You know I have seen so few beau- tiful things in my life, I shall get used to them presentay; it is only sheer hap- piness.theit makes inee--" She stops abruptly, having evidently discovered for herself, or been made aware by her mother of his vicinity; and even if she had not done so, he feels that he must lose no time in an- nouncing himself. .D.AR OR, A SAD LIFE STORY +0+0+04 040+04-0404-04-0+Gt0+04-0-0-040+04-0 ClIAPTEn VIL—(Continued). windows a woman peeps or a- Mae dog "You look as if you had a headache, old elute," he says, sitting down upon his friend's bed. "If you had been going through as many kitchen ranges as I have this tnorning, perhaps you would have a headache," replies Jim, gravely. "YOU know that I am going to be married as soon as I get home." • Byng nods; and Burgoyne, while in- wardly blessing the tact, that spares him any congratulations, takes himself to task for having made the announcement eo lugubriously as to render felicitation obviously inapplicable, "When are you going to introduce me to Miss Wilson?" asks Byng, presently. "If you shirk it much longer I shall think that you are tiehamed of me." Jini glauces affectionately, yet not quite comfortably, at his young friend, and the thought flashes across his mind that, in his last remark, the latter has put the saddle on the wrong holee. "You have •so large an. aceuaintance in Florence already," he says, with scene stiffness, "that I did not. know that. you would care to add to it." "One cannot have too much of a good thing," replies the other joyously. You know •I love my fellow -creatures; and in this case," he adds civilly, "I do care very much." Burgoyne's eyes are bent on the paper before him, which contains the melan- choly enumeration of his firearms—"A 500 'double-barrelled express, by "Henry, of Edinburgh; a 450 single -barrelled ditto, by seine maker," ole., etc.—as he says slowly; "I shall be very happy." His acceptance of the proposition can hardly be called eager; but of this Byng appears unaware. "When shall it be then? To-morrow— this afternoon?" "No -o -o; not to -day, I think. It has been arranged that we are to go to San Miniato—Amelia, her sister, and L" "Three of you?" cries Byng, raising his eyebrows. "Then why not foer? Why may not I come too?" There being, in point of fact, no rea- son why he should not, and Cecilia's morning prayer being still ringing in her future brother-in-law's ears, he glees a dull and lagging assent; so that at about three o'clock the two men present them- selves at the door of the Wilson's apart- ment at the Anglo-American Hotel. That Sybilla is not expecting visitors is evi- dent by the fact that, at the moment of their entrance, she is taking her own temperature—a very favorite relaxation of hers—with a clinical thermometer. She removes the instrument from her mouth without indecent haste, and holds out a languid white hand to Byng. - "So you are going off on a long after- noon's pleasuring?" she says, with a pathetic smile. "I am so glad that nei- ther of my sisters is going to stay at home with me. We invalids must guard against growing selfish, though I think that is perhaps more the danger with malades imaginaires; we real ones have learnt our lesson of suffering bet- ter, I hope." "You do not lookso very ill," replies close that it seems he could throw a Byng, in his sympathetic voice, letting stone into hr Arno. his eyes rest caressingly on the prostrate figure, which has yet no smallest sign of emaciation about it. "Ah, that is because of my color," re- plies Sybilla., with an animation slightly tinged evith resentment. "You, too, fall into that common error. My London doctor tells me that there Is na such un- hands in perpetual watch round, valley erring indication of radical . delicaey of and ,town; hills over which, in this tete eonetitution .as a fixed pink color' like e spring,there- is more ee promise than a .mine; the more -feverish -I am, the deeper performance of that green and many it. grows. It is very hard"—smiling again sadly—"for one gets no pity!" "Where is Cecilia?" cries Jim, brusque- ly, and fidgetting in his chair. "Why is not she ready?" •• As be speaks, the young lady in ques- tion enters—so obviously arrayed far 'Conquest, in so patently new a hat, and esuch immaculate pale gloves, that across Burgoyne's- mind there flashes, in vexed mirth, the recollection of the immortal caution addressed by Major O'DieWd to his friend and comrade, "faleind your el, Dob, my boyt" Would he not do well to repeat it to his friend? CHAPTER VIII. allows his pointed nose—looks to where, in dwindling perspective, the view ie closed by a narrow picture of lucent purple hill, Fiesole or Bellosguardo— names to which the 'tongue cleaves lovingly. Through the gay streets, over bridge and Blue Arno, our travellers go; their driver cracking a ,prodigious whip, and with a tiny red dog, absurd- ly shaven, and' with 'nothing but a small woolly head and tail left of the original design, seated gravely beside him. Away they go, pleasuring; but pleasure and pleasuring are not, always identical. Burgoyne sits opposite Amelia; and as for C.hcilia, it is to be supposed -that her heartache is for the moinent since the samo carriage rug covers her knees -and 'those of Byng. Burgeyno does not look at. Amelia; nok thorigh his eyes are fixed upon the passing ob- jects, does he at first see aught of them.. Hie vision. is -turned inwards, and to his own soul he is mechanically re- peating in dismal recitative, "A double- barrelled, central -fire, breech -loading gun, by Lancaster; made strong enough at the breech to shoot a spherical bul- let." As fay Amelia, her features are not of a build to express any emotion With much brilliancy; but over them lies a deep and brooding content. Amelia has not had much undiluted happiness in, her life, but she is exceedingly happy to -day. She is even strangely free from the carking fear which usually assails her, of praising mistakenly, of being enthusiastic in the wrong places, and passing over the right ales unnoticed. If she keep to a vague generality. of handsome adjectives, she will surely do well enough, and, on this high holiday that, her heart is holding, he cannot be cross to her. As to Byng, he is emphatically of the echool of divinity taught by Tom iefoore, nor was lie ever known, when lacking "the lips that he loved," to fail to make love to the "lips that'are near." His taste is too good for him le have chosen Cecilia for a. companion; but, since fate has talented her to him for the afternoon, he finds no difficulty in mak- ing the best of her. Nor, to do her jus- tice, is she destitute of charms of a certain kind, though her face hos the inevitable air of commonness incident upon a. very short nose and a very long upper lip. But she has a hood deal of bloom, and of crisp, sriowy-colored hair, and a very considerable eye power. Byneas, attachment to the fair sex being of for too stout e quality to be blunted by such trifles as an inch too much or too little of nose or lip, he also. like Amelia, is thoroughly prepared to enjoy himself. Up the turning via Galilee they climb, to the Basilica at the top—stock drive of all tourists—hackneyed as only Yankeydom and Cockneydom, rushing hand in hand- through all earth's sacredness, can hackney. But. even hackneying is powerless to take off 'the freshness to the eye that sees it for the first time, of that view when he beholds the Lily City. lying close at his feet, so They have lett their ilacre, and, as naturally happens in a partie carree— mare especially when one couple are betrothed lovers —have broken into pairs. Burgoyne leans Pensively on the terrace parapet, and his sombre eyes rest on the band of sister hills, joining They are off now, there being nothing further to retard them, leaving Sybilla tete-a-tete with her thermometer. They are off, sociably packed in one flame. "Pour precious sOuls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin." Not, indeed, that there Is much dash about the Florentine cab-horses—sad- dest aniong God's many sad cradures-- With not a sound leg among them, with staring coats and starting ribs, and poor broken knees; and with their sadness emphasized by the feathers stuck in their tired heads, as if to mock their wretchedness by a sort of melancholy smartness! Sad as they are, it must be owned that they are the only sad things in the cheerful Florentine streets, Whore no one seems over -busy, where, out of the deep -caved, green -shuttered houses, people lean, talking to acquain- tances on the shadowed pavement be- low. All the =Tow therouglifares are full of bustling life; hut there is no hate gard srpialor apparently, no dreadful gin -palace gaiety. It does mit follovi colored wealth of verdure and blossom that one associates with Firenze's fair name. But it is a promise that is plain- ly on the verge .of a bounteous fulfil- ment. Then his look drops slowly to the city herself. In what a little space comparatively does the Florence that is imniertal lie! The Duomo, the lily Campanile "made up, of dew and sun- shine," the Baptistery, Santo Croce. the Palazzo Vecchio; he could compass them in a ten minutes' walk. And around this small nucleus of the undying dead and their work, what a nation of gleaming villas of the .polyglot living— a nation of every tongue, and people, and language! All over the hills is the sheen of white Walls, the verdure of tended gardens; they stretch away al- most, to where the Apennines raise their cold white fronts against the sky. He rouses himself to remember that Amelia is beside him, and that he ought to say something to her, So be makes a rather banal observation upon -the smallest Of the enceinte that encloses so much loveliness. "Yes, is not it tiny?" replies she, with the tenger pleasure of having a remark made to her which she cermet go wrong in answering. ''Think of London! Why, the whole thing is not as big as Smith Kensington or Bays- avaterl" He shudders, Must the aceursed su- burb pursue him even her? "Let us go int0 the church," he says, in a tone that 0 little dulls his com- panion's buoyancy, She follows him, crestfallenly, askIng herself whether she has answered arniSA here &So, She does not trust herself to any comment upon the Interior. I3yng and Cecilia are standing befort here that, a men must be drUnk because the high alter, from over which a rim - ho sings, Mid down the straight, color- sate medentirt slimy beams upon them; 1Vi1 Streets one looks—down a vita Of and as the Other Ceerae approach 1110M, liana" divan(3alY tall' mall with nurgeyne heave the everts "drawing - "'earn Yellow faca and its 81nd't room grate" issue from his future sis- erin111 g bulk of S°6 glar1"nin'a 1°Cked n- "rhe rive de Map, in a dry :Wile; tees, varied here and there by the tow -1 ter -in-law's lips. tow -palace, througn whOed grim, barred you are getting or nioeiyi did not • "Floreeme is a place that does make one often .ehoky," he says, eagerly tak- ing the hand, which she hesitatingly, and with some Confusion, offers him. Mance to the and Of his life, to angry ptoreneseetti°alalhji3Ytilligat °hrle ItteveSrubwilTittkntjts; but eo is that at ties moment, the voice pf his protege broke Upon his ear. ukie`Youutist:reolanecthgooplyoht,o 1gibvoeguysotubrp e salig don!" But begging pardon ever so sweetly does not alter the fact that he has rushed, like a bull in a china shop, in- to the Middle of the dialogue. All four look at each other for a second; then, since there is nO help for it, Jim pre- sents his disciple, and the next moment the latter has SIld WO talk with Eliza both, and she is responding with an ease and freedom filen elllbarrUSSMerlt SU011 as had never marked her sparse and hardly won utterances to the elder man. Byng had the advantage of him, as he somewhat bitterly thinks, Byng has no connection with "old times;" those poor old times which she and her 'ne- ther have so unaccountably taken en grippe. He seems suddenly relegated, as by some natural eginity, to the mo- ther. On their twO 'last meetings the eagerness to converse hes been all on his side; yet now he has nothing to say to her. It is she who addresses him, "I hope that you found your young lady flourishing," she says civilly. He gives a slight inward start, though —as he is thankful to feel—his body le quiet. "His young lady!" Yes, of course he has a young lady! Has there been any danger during the laar five minutes _of hie forgetting that !act.?', and has Mrs. Le Merchant done him an un- necessary service in recalling it? "Oh, yes, thanks, she is all right!" e "Is she still in Florence?" ' "Yes, she is here; by-the-bye"—loole Mg round with a sudden sense that he ought to have missed her—"what has become of her? Oh, here she For even while the words are on his lips, Amelia and Cecilia come into sight; Amelia with a shut Baedeker,' and the serene look of an easy conscience and a thoroughly performed duty on her amiable face; Cecilia with a something of search and disquiet in her largo roll- ing eye, which would have made him laugh at another time. (To be continued.) TIIE MASTER 17.1. CE. As Such Is Procrastination Described by a Confessed Victim. "The bane of my existence," said the procrastinating , man, ' "has been My habit of putting things off. I never do to -day what I can put off till to -mor- row. "The result is that I am always put- ting things off and never doing any more than is necessary for my current daily hand to mouth support; and so, as the saying is , I anever have anything. I am not independent, but always ,1, It is not quite true; Florence has never pendent upon somebody else for the made him feel choky; and, if he is ex- work that will enable me to live, and so periencing that sensation now, it is cer- I can never say my soul is my own. I fainly not, the dead cardinal of Portugal met do the work I am set to do by who is giving it to him. "I am a fool, a perfect fool!" replies Elizabeth, hastily and ,shamefacedly wiping away her tears. To give her time to recover herself, and also because he has not, yet greeted the girl's mother, Jim turns to her. "Did not I tell you that we should meet here?" There is such undisguised joy and triumph in his tone, that perhaps Mrs. Le Merchant has not the heart to dash his elation; at all events, he is con- scious in her tone of a less resolute de- termination to keep him at arm's length; than on their two last meet- ings. "I do not think that I contradicted you," she answers, smiling. He may steal another look at Eliza- beth now. She is notherying any longer. Indeed, despite the real mois- ture on her cheeks, she strikes him as looking happier than at their lost meet- ing; and though the interval between now and then is too short for any such alteration to have taken place in reality, yet he cannot help imagining that the hollows in those very cheeks are Jess .deep than when they stood to- gether before the great Vandyke in the Brignoli Sala Palace. "And -the Entresol? is it all you fancy painted it?" he asks quickly, feeling a sort •cif panic fear, that if he. stops put- ting questions for one minute, they will slip out of his geese again, as they did in the Genoese Palace. - 'Elizabeth's face breaks into a soft bright smile. She has e. dimple in one cheek and not in the other. She must have had it ten years ago; how comes he to have. forgotten so sweet and strange a peculiarity? ' "It is delightful—perfectly delightful!" "Large enough to receive your friends in, after all?" But the moment that the words are out of his mouth, he perceives that he has made a. false Mee, and is somehow treading dangerous ground. Elizabeth's smile goes out, like a light blown into nothingness by it sudden wind. ' "We have not many friends," she murmurs, "we—we are not going out at Ile hastens to change' his cue. "Byng and I ore at tee Minerva," says, beginning to talk very' fait ; "I wonder if, by any chance, you are in our neighborhood; have I 'foztOtten or did you nevtii tell me where the Entre - sol lies? Where is it, by -the -bye?" Faisnared by the wily and brazen suddenness of this demand Mies Le Marchant has evidently no eVasion ready, and, after an almost impercep- tible pause of hesitation, answers: "We aro at le Bis, Plena d'AZeglio." She is ,..looking doubtfully and half uneasily in his face, as she gives him this enswer, but he has scarcely time for a Pash of self-congratulation at having obtained the inforrhation which he had never realized the eagerness of his desire for until this moment, before he becomes aware that his interloeu- tor's eyes •are no longer meeting his, but have wandered to some object over his shotficier. What that Object is he is net long lett in dOttba Whether It is a, genuine aecident, or One Of those spur - lots ones, of which these who profit by them are the artificers, Jirti eloge eet know; and, as he i a The time, end will be when he thins of the cireuni- some stronger man, whether I like it or not, and so I plod along, just getting through, while the man who collars things gets" on. - "Of late years as I have come to rea- lize its evil effects and the enormous difficulty of. overcoming it I have come to think that the master vice of all is procrastination. And coming to think thus has disturbed me a little, because I have had to give up an originally pre- conceived and long cherished netion. "I had long held that the most nearly ineradicable of personal vices was gambling, but now I thought the most difficult of all vices to cure oneself af was that of procrastination. Wes ' wrong then? And could it be that I NVO,S wrong now? "This, as I say, disturbed me a little but now on this point I rest quite easy. for I have discovered, contradictory as this, at first thought, might seem, I have discovered that I was right then and that I am right now. "For now I discolier that the vice cf gambling is but another phase of, or at least the outcrop of, that of „procrastina- tion. The great majority of those given ever. to ' gambling hope to get some- thingfor nothing; they hope to get meney Without 'effort. They put off from day 'to. day the hard, ,unflinehing Werk that would give them a sure thing, without chances, on the race of life, and make •Just enough to hedulge their vice' and their vain .hopes. . "So gambling is really but a form, or outcome, of the vice of procrastination. And by the same line of reasoning I suppose we might say thp same of drunkenness, ,which is essentially a procrastinating vice; we put things off to -day, to -day wewill drink; we win Work to -morrow. •.- "And I don't know but what we should find that every 111 proceeds from the vice of procrastniation; eand so this, which might seem but a form of laziness, is keally the master vice; and I am one of its most closely bodied victims. I don't drink and I don't. gamble; but I have got the fatal habit of putting things off. -"Inertia, &Illness, lack of power from want of exercise, come from it—the procrastinating man is always at the same dead low level. Fle is always go- ing • to do something, never doing it; just'. pulling through with the work he has W db, and gaining correspondingly small rewards. .Her knews thejoy of eloIne thing nor gathers= in ifs pro- fits, but habit bound, he Sattles down in lifelong slavery. "And .1 am one of those victims! Occasionally I chi rouse up and do something out of my.set routine, and in the accomplishing of sorno rugged task that I tliue talee up 1 tiod a great new joy and pride; and I am going to keep this up; but next day I sink to the old level again, and stay there; it is so much easier to put things off than to do things, and this, the trunk bad habit of which all others are but branches, is eo deep rooted, "But I ani not without hope. I have lapped • off those Wenches 0! which I Spoke, and I am prying: prying, around the roots of the trunk," Teacher --"Johnny, how often do yeti want nie to speak to you?" Johnny -- "I'll leave it all lo you, teacher, You know what 15 best," sant* and Undeniably IP The Purest GREEN Tea Grown. CEYLON GREEN TEA. FREE FROM DUST, DIRT AND ALL FOREMIN SUBSTANCES. Wad packets Only, 400, 50c anti 600 per lb. At an grows. ++++++++++++++++++++++ About the .Farm THE FALL PIG CROP. It seems as though the importance of the crop of fall pigs is being appreci- ated more end more each year, writes Mr. N. A. Clapp. There was • a time when it was customary to let the pigs shift for themselves to a very large „ex- tent, &nivel them to walloW in the mud- for their feed, sleep in damp nest's, get disetieed and die. Then it was net considered ' desirable .Then undertake to raise any pigs in the falf. But. we have learned to take a more rational .view of the matter, and now give the,emall pigs a better chance • for life, and ' ade vancenient, And we are gettingexcellent results. If the fall pigs are well cared for, there should not he any larger per- centage of loss than with the spring litters. In the first place I will 'say that the nest in . which the pigs are farrowed should not only be warm, but dry and free from drafts of air on damp, windy nights. Little pigs often catch dold when young and a cough follows them a long time, if it does not carry Mein off. In the second place, there should be ample opportunity for exercise, and if -there is grass and other green stuff which they relish, for them to get to, al! the -better. By the time they are three weeks old they can be taught ai eat. Fix a shallow trough where they can get it when the mother is away, er in an adjoining pen, and put in it some scalded middlings: mixed with sweet milk and sweetened with mo- lasses. They will soon learn to return to the trough at regular intervals ter their feed. Give only. about as much feed at a. lime as they will eat up readily, and If there is any left, let theenother clean the trough. Feed only in a clean trough. After a little, coarser feeds may be used with the middlings, and whole corn ie allowed as part of the ration. • Keep up the feeding regularly, at least twice per day and by weaning ' time, eight weeksof age, they ought to weigh from -50 to 60 pounds each, and be weaned without any check in the growth, es they have learned to depend on the feed more than on tfle mother. •If they are given a warm, dry nest in which to sleep, an opportunity get all the exercise they want on dry ground, and away from mud and filth, are fed their ration largely of ground feeds and milk, and that, too, warm and in quantities which they can eat. cp clean readily,- they. will grow rapidly and make meat as cheaply ,as in the summer time. In my own experience, I have obtained hatter results' with the fall litters than with those farrowed in the spring. I have contended that the cold weather helps to stimulate an ap- petite; and then one has more' time to devote to the pigs in the winter than in the summer. KEEPING SEED CORN OVER WINTER The corn crop depends upon three es- sential things, the selecting of seed, the care of the seed and the , planting and cultivation of the seed- second consideration is the most simple of three, 'say e Fred 'C. The •seeds .sheuld always be put aW,ay dry,. .If it is not when 'Seleeted, dry, it. If dry; it does not matter whether put .in a warm or 'cold' place. But by. keeping it dry I de not ,mean to wrap. the ears. It should be left open and not too much in A pile, so that there may be free circulation of air through the heap. elt,' is easier to 'smother seed than it is tofreeze It. Never shell the seed until you are ready to use it, you are a big corn raiser and 'T.- -quire- a large quantity of seed, you should build a good. eeed corn bin. For amounts ranging from one to 50 bush-. ets, racks made out of 1x6 lumber can placing tae lumber on the dross pieces of your racks, leave a good space be- tween each plank, so the air can go up- ward through the corn. Sides and ends should be put on the racks, making them box -like, to prevent the corn from falling off. Suspend the . racks to the rafters by putting wires .around the cross pieces and fastening them to the rafters. Throw your corn into this swinging crate and it will then be in a dry plaee with 'plenty of air abd atm from the rats and mice. This also makes a splendid place for early gather, ed seed of any kind, It does not bleach and I consider air-dried seed the best, I have good results from oiling seed corn• with linseed oil before putting it away. This, Of Course, helps to exclude dampness, but.I do 'not think it is really necessary, as a good roof and plenty of air- are the first things t� look out for.The, seed alsoeneeasair ?tier it is -placed in the ground. ,Do net plant too deep. Study your ground. Plant the seed deep enough to draw and hold the moisture,' but. not so deepthat it will sneetherand hot. PACKING AND SHIPPING POULTRY. All poultry should be thoroughly cooled and dried before packing, pre- paregory to shipment, to market. in packing fowls, use neat, clean and es 'light packages as will carry safely. Boxes holding about 100 pounds meet these ramiremenis best and are great - le preferable to barrels. Boxes are bet- ter for turkeys and geese and barrels for chickens, and for hot weather ship- ment, when the fowls are to be packed in. ice. Commence packing by placing a lay- er of thoroughly cleaned rye straw on the bottom. Bend the head of the first fowl under it, and then lay it in the left hand corner with the head end against the end of the box and the back up. Continue to fill this row in the same manner until completed; then begin the second row the same way, letting the head of the bird pass up between The rumps of the two adjoining ones, which will make it complete and solid. fr packing the last row, reverse the order, placing the head against the end of the box,and pushing- the feet under the bodies of the other fowls. Lastly, 1111 tightly with straw, so the poultry can. -not move. This gives a firmness in packing that will prevent moving dur- ing transportation. Care should be tak- en to put plenty of straw between each Myer and on top, so as to have the boy flhled full. --- +— GUARD OF THE COWS. Queer Duly oinoBritish n itish Soldiers i ia. Out in India one actually finds Eng. lish soldiers standing sentry over COWS. The cow is a sacred animal in the eyes of the'Brahmin, and this, oi course, leads the Mohammedan portion of the population to take a savage de- light in putting to the sword all the cows upon which they can lay hands at certain times of the year. The result is that religious conflicts of the most sanguinary character frequently take place between the members of the rival creeds. It is with the object of prevent- ing riots arising from cow -killing by the Mohammedans that English ;sentries are now appointed in certain place.s, espe- cially in Bombay, to stand guard over that public benefactor whom 4"fonant Atkins," deeply 'disgusted, has chris. tened "Saint, Cow." • .- HABITUAL CRIMINALS. .. • The New Zealand Minister for Jus- tice,has introduced the habitual crimi- nals and offenders bill, which provides thatwhere a person has been twice _ convicted of a criminal assault, or four times of wounding, robbery or burglary he may be ,regarded as an habitual criminal and at the expiration ef his sentence detained in a reformatory. After six convictions for vagrancy a man may be treated in the sonic way. Discharge from the reformatory will be secured only on the recommendation of he court, while the detained offenders ',ill be made to work and wages will be laced to their credit or toward the sup ort of their dependents. bs suspended from the rafters in the N buggy shed, tool house, smoke-houseoe p any place where the roof is good. in p Most people knew that if they have been sick they need Scote.i: Emat- rift) bring,back health and strength. But the strongest point about...Scott'', Ematrion is that you don't have to be sick to get results from it. It keeps up the athlete's strength, puts fat On thin people, makes a fretful biby happy, brings color to a pale girl's cheeks, and pre» yents coughs,. colds and consumption. Food in concentrated form for sick and *en, young and old, riclt and peer. And it contains no drugs and no 4444 ALL DRUCK:4161111 150o. AND $1.00f *Vb.