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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1895-6-14, Page 2I a7 o+ Ju R 14, 18961 LADY AYLMER CHAPTER VIII -• (CoNTINv$p, ) The arow gathering d was atherin numbers e/r went end wee not only denee and v e y mo strong, but curious, Lord Aylmer, how- ever, without standing on ceremony, Vigor- ously elbowed hie way to the inner chole. "Let me pass ; stand Beide, Policeman, Tam Lord Aylmer—my horses Were frigbt- +uieed by an infernal belioon that a child Wee carrying, Ie ebe muob worse?" "Deed faint at present, my lord," replied "the policemen, wire had the woman's bead mp en hie knees, "I wish we could get some brandy and come water." Lord Aylmer looked round for Charles. "Oharlet, get some brandy and some water from somewhere or other, Be quick l" Just then a well-dressed young woman pushed her way through the crowd, "Let ane pass," she urged. " Can't you see 1've brought brandy? Stand back, you men 1 Have you never seen an accident before ? Do you want to kill her? Stand back 1" She wee a handsome woman, soaroely more than d girl ; her bands and face and speech betokened that ahe was gently bora, her fearless words, putting into words what was in her mind, had the effect of causing The Crowd to shrink hack a little. "Is ehe mnob hurt, poor thing ?" she asked. "Pretty bad case, miss," answered the policeman, who was tryiug to get a little brandy down the unconscious woman's throat. "-Hadn't you better get her into my bocce? She can't lie here," she went on. "Hae any one gone for a doctor?" "I should get her orf to the 'orepital at onoe,miss," the policeman replied. "Would you? Poor thing 1 I was stand- ing at my window and saw it all. You oughtn't to let your coachman drive like that," she added, severely, to Lord Ayl. mer. "I don't ; but myahorses were frightened by a child', balloon," he explained. "You oughtn't to have horses that are frightened at trifles," she responded illogi- cally. "I think we better get her orf at once," said the policeman; "'eche gives no Signe of coming round," "How can we take her ? Shall I? I have the carriage here ready, and the horses are aober enough now." "Yea, my lord, I really think that's the beat thing we can do," the other answered. "If your man'll give me a hand we'll lift her in, in a minute." Eventually the woman was lifted into the victoria, and the energetic young woman having tushed back to her house for her bat, got in also, and supported her in ae comfortable a position as was compatible with her insensible condition. Just as they were starting, a doctor arrived on the scene, took a hasty glance at the victim of the accident, and quietly got in, taking possession of the little back seat, "I'd better go—it's a bad business," he said to Lord Aylmer, realizing teat he was owner of the carriage. " Yea—yea—we had better follow in a cab," Lord Aylmer said, turning to the policeman. "I suppose ynu'11 see thia through." "Oh, yee, my lord 1 I'm ound to do that." he answered. Lord Aylmer was getting more and more nervous ; he got into the cab looking white and soared, with hie sinful old heart thump. ing against his ribs in a way that was very unusual with him. Not because the carriage had run over an elderly woman and it was likely to prove a fatal accident, not for that reason at all, but wholly and solely because, when Charles and the policeman had lifted the unconscious woman into the carriage, Lord Aylmer had pinked up a letter white' was lying face upward in the roadway just where she had laid. Short• eightednese wae nob one of Lord Aylmer's signs of approaching years, and iu an in- stant he had greened that the letter was addressed to his nephew Dick, and before Charles and the policeman had got their burdeu safely into the victoria, he had thrust the letter into hie pocket, with a ort or impious thanksgiving to Heaven hat at last the girl he had been hunting down for many weeks was delivered into his hand, For evidently this respeotabe elderly wo- man, dressed in decent black, was Mira, Harris's eervant ; and if it happened that ebe did not keep more then one—why, this accident would put her altogether at his mercy. He was positively trembling when they reached the St. George's Hospital, and Bar. baro was carried in, not unconscious now, for the sligkt jolting of the carriage had brought her to again, Then there was a ehort time of impatient waiting before the doctor came to them—that is, Lord Aylmer and the young lady who had come with the patient. Broken leg," besaid— "abadthing at her time of day. And she is worring about her mistress—wants to eend and break it gently —isn't in good health just now. Will you go?" turning to the young lady. "I? 011 1 I'm very sorry, but Pm due at rehearsal now—I must go off at once. Couldn't you go ?" she asked, turning to Lord Aylmer. "Certainly—with pleasure. Shall I bring her back to see the old lady ?"Lord Aylmer inquired, in a tone which was a delightful mixture of gallantry and fatherlinoeo—a tone which had, by the bye, stood bim in good stead many a time and oft, "Yes it would quiet her down a little, I darealty,'the houae surgeon answered, well. Make me lisle forany ""Ver w b n ex- penses, Y you know," Aylmer said pegsea, , as he moved toward the door. "Can I see you into a cab,my dear lady Y" he added to the actress, " Thanks," she answered. " And may I have the honor of settling with the cabman ?" " Oh, no— very kind of you, but I always pay for myself. The Cornhilh-good-by."' The cab rolled off, Lord Aylmer uncovered hie handsome old head, limited his most g faeoinatin smile and bowed with a profound respect, Me of roe pct which w was cite lost on the back of the retreat: ng dabq and its occupant, Then he got into hie viotorie and said : " Palace Meneiona." " Yee, m lord,' answered Chattels, wood, oily; then remarked to Barker, as noon ao he hopped up on to the box ; " Petrie ' Manakins; even broken legs don't put'im Oefr "Seems sc,'said Barker, Barkerie nerreo were ell elution with the accident, and he would have given anything be poeseseed for nip of brandy ; he woe not, therefore, very much igoliued for eonvereatfon, 'Meantime, es loon es they had reaohed Albert Gate, Lord Aylmer drew out the letter and looked at it with a grin of satita faction on hie wicked old face, " H'tn 1 Riobard Barrio, Esq„ sre care of Mee, Brewster It Co., No 10 Grove etroeb. Madreo. India," he unuttered. " Oh 1 so you have not cat the chains, Master Diok, you've not burned your boats behind you. What a' fool yon are, to bo cure 1" He opened the letter without the smallest eeruplo, tore the envelope into a thousand fragments and 'scattered them to the winds, then settled down to enjoy the tender words beginning ; " My own dear Dick," and ending, " Your loving and faithful little wife, Dorothy" "So her name is Dorothy," he mused,, ''Strange that they should alwaya lay truch Owes on their love and their faithfulness 1 They're all alike, I wonder who the Eo. ther la that she talks about. Barbara is evidently the old girl who came to grief just now. Well,Barbaraia safely laid up by the leg fpr the next few weeks, heally,it opuld not have fallen out better if one had plan- ned it all. But I wonder who Esther 1s ? Bather hasn't oome yet,' she eaya'but may come at any moment.' I must find ou, about Esther." When they got to Palace Mansions, be caw Dorothy looking anxiously out of the window. "On the watch," he said to himself,"and pretty uneasy, too." The lovely face dieappeard when the carriage drew up at the door,and the smart footman, in hie glory of crimson and white, jumped down and opened the door for the handsome old gentleman, who got out and went into the building. Ho knooked at the door ofNo. 3, and Dorothy,being perfectly alone, had no ohoice but to go and open it. "Am I speaking to Mrs. Barris ?' said the suave, wicked, old voice, "Yes," answered Dorothy, wondering what be could possibly want with her. "May I coma in ? I ata Lord Aylmer. I have something to tell you, No don't be alarmed; it is nothing very bad, Pray, don't alarm yourself." At the mention of his name- and as the policeman and the doctor, the young lady who had gone to Barbara's aid, and the people at Sr. George's knew all about him it would, he knew, be useless to deceive Dorothy as to hie identity, so he boldly gave his own name and trusted to the chance of her not knowing that he was anything to Diok—Dorothy started ao if she had been shot, and at the hint of "some thing to tell," wbioh instinct alwaya tells us means bad news, she staggered back, and would probably have fallen if he bad not caught her. " I beg you will not frighten yourself like this," he cried, " Indeed, it is not so serious as that." " It ie"—Her lips could not utter Dick's name, her agony Wae so great ; but her eyes spoke volumes in place of her tongue. It never occurred to Lord Aylmer that ahewas thinking of Diok. He only thought how lovely she was in her distress, and wondered how he could best tell her the trth. " The fact is," he said, blurting out the truth at last, "there has been an accident, and your old servait"— " Barbara—is she hurt ?" Dorothy cried in dismay. "lam sorry to say that she ie hurt. More sorry to be obliged to own that it was my own carriage which did the mischief. But wont you let me tome in end tell you all about it ? It is euoh a shame to keep you standing there." " Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me, but I —that ie, you have startled me, and I for- got that we were still here. Come in." She turned and led the way to the little drawing -room; Suddenly there flashed across her mind the remembrance of the faot that a large portrait of Dick was standing on a little table near the fireplace. Quick as thought ehe walked etraight to the table and turned the portrait face downward, carelessly throwing over it the pretty lace trifle which adorned the top of a little chair which stood close by. She flattered herself that the old lord had not seen or at any rate noticedthe action, and turned to him eager to hear what had happened to Barbara. fell tee, is she much hurt ?" she asked, "My poor old Barbara 1 How was it?" He told her then exactly how the accident had happened, and how they had taken the old lady (es he called Barbara, with an air of being himself quite a boy) off to St. George's, she being ineeneible and not able to tell them where ehe lived. " To St, George's 1 1a that a hospital ?' Dorothy Dried. "Oh, my poor Barbara! She will think that the end of the world hae come." ' 01, no. She is much better off than ebe would be in any private house," said Lord Alymer, soothingly. " But I am moat grieved and sorry to tell you that her leg ie broken, and ehe is naturally very anxious tl'at you should hear of her,and, if poeeible, that she should see you.' ' 0t 111 go. I'll go at once," Dorothy cried. "Would you be kind enough to get me a oab ? I wont lose another min. ute. 011, my poor, dear old Barbara I" He handed her into the corriage with an air of deference he might have shown to a princess, then he get in himself and sat beside her. "Back to St, George's Hospital," he said to Charles, ' Yes, m' lord, Bald Charles. And, as tl1-luck would have it, at that very instant the lady with the serene eyes who lived on the floor above Dorothy's fiat, came down the street in time to see them come out and the old gentleman hand her into the carriage—soy, in time also to hear Charles's reply of " Yes, m' lord." As if by inetinot the two women looked at one another—there was no expression in e Moe of the ladywho as on the saran awas foot, nothing noticeable about her except a cold severity in her eyes ; it was but the glance of a moment, yet Dorothy, who guessed what was in the mind of the other, grew scarlet from chin to brow, and turned her head away thatLord Alymer might not see that ber eyes were filled with tears, " Will you be able to get on without your old eervant b" Lord Aylmer asked,' as they drove along. 1 moat for the resent answered r present," Dorothy. . y " If you could trust me to find out about it, I think I know just the very person," he said, " My valet's wife she is—an ex. cellent 000k and a very clever, capable servent hi every way. ?" But would she come ?" "I think eo, But 50 a little fiat like mine, with no. body to de anything but Myself, I ant afraid she lea personecouetemed 19 A vor7 large eetablislitnenb" "" I think that will be all right, I will make it worth her while to Dema. No, don't leek ac, my dear Mrs. Harris i it will be onlyust and right that I should pay for your temporary domeetio—it must be a frightful inoonvenienee, and of course it was my fault. If I hedn'tbeen there the old lady wouldn't have come togrlef;" "You are too geed,"murmured Derothy gratefully. So by the tame they bad reaohed the heepital. Dorothy had thought herself into quite a blissful frame of mind, She had built up a wonderful oaetle in the air, when Lord Aylmer should expreee a wish, '" Oh, my dear, I do wish that you were my daughter 1" when she should throw off her disguise and say, " 7 am the next thing to your daugliter. How ? Why, I m Dicke wife• She was eo engroeeed in her dreams that ehe did not notice that they had reaohed their destination, until a smooth voice at her elbow said, "Now, dear lady." Somehow the tone jarred on her dream, but her eyes were still radiant as ahe turned them toward him. "I did not notice what e we were," she said in a. voice still tinged with the brightness of her dream, "Happy thoughts," said he, as he helped her to the ground. "Very happy once," she answered, mil- ing. They did not permit her to stay very long. Barbara was lying atilt, very faint and weak from the ehook of the accident and the pain of her leg. She was worrying and anxious about her young mistress, and Dorothy hastened to reassure her. For a little way Dorothy was silent. "Poor old Barbara !" she burst out at length. "I don't believe she sae ever ill in all her life before ; at least,I never knew her to be ill, never." She turned agam to. him. "How soon do you think the woman you spoke of will be able to come?" ehe asked. "To -night, I hope," he replied. Any wayknowI will go out and nee her and let you But what a trouble for you 1" "Not et all—a great pleasure, I oan as sure you," gallantly. He helped her to alight and saw her safe in the house then got. into the carriage again. "To Grosmont road," he said. " Yes, m' lord," Charles replied. " Where to now ?"-asked Barker, who wae getting tired and generally deaperate. " Grosmont Road," " 01, my 1" muttered Barker. " I wasn't surprised when broken lege didn't pit him orf Mre. 'Arris; but when Mrs. Aerie dqu't put him orf Grosmont road, it is a pretty go." Meanwhile, Dorothy bad gone in to the entrance ball of Palace Mansions, where the porter of the establishment met her. "A lady for you, ma'am, he said. Then there was a payee, a rush, and a glad cry of "Oh, Father I Esther I" CHAPTER IR. Dame's IMAGE. It would be impossible for me td tell you what a relief it was for Dorothy to find her cousin Esther awaiting her on her return home. She Dried a little, of eouree, and then managed to tell her all about poor Barbara's accident. " Jsst as well for you that I turned up when I did, my dear," said Esther, drily ; "it might have beet very awkward for you to be left alone long." "Oh, but Lord Aylmer was so kind," Dor- othy cried. "He not only took me to the hospital to see Barbara and brought me back again, but he has actually gone off now to see his valet's wife, wbo is the very person to stay with me till Barbara is able to mime home again." "Ah well, it is a very good thing. Really, the world isn't half eo bad as it sometimes mites" Esther said dreamily. "Well," with a quick change of tone, "and this Diok of yours—he is perfection, of course ?" "Dear Dick," murmured Dorothy. "Yes, heisperieotion. He did hate togoandleave me, but he bad to go—be had such a good appointment offered him, he did not dare refuse it. Still, he hated to go and leave me, just now, especially. What he would say if he knew about Berbera I can't think, I don't think I would tell him, would you?" "Not till all fs over," answered Sstber. "it would only worry him for nothing. By. the -bye, what is helike?" "Oh," and Dorothy looked around for her Diok', portrait. "Oh, here he ie," holding 1t out to her cousin. Esther Brand took it and looked at it at- tentively for a long time, nipped her tea, and looked again and yet again. "Well," said Dorothy, impatiently. "I like him," said Father, "he looks good and true, and he is a handsome man, too— a- floe, honest-lookinc, manly man, Yee I like him—you're a lucky little girl, Dor. obhy." " So I think," answered Dorothy, proudly, "and Dick is just what he looks —honest as the day, and as good as gold." For a moment ehe was tempted to tell Esther alt about her meeting with David, then a feeling that, it would eeareely-be fair to him held her baoh, and ehe kept her own counsel about that matter, " Of course there is no knowing hat I might or mightnot have done if dear auntie had lived," she said, wishing to explain everything as far as possible and yet avoid Baying much about David's feelings for her, " and yet if I had never seen Diok ; but then, you see, I did meet Dick, and Diok liked me, and—and"— "And David Stevenson want to the wall," Esther said, finishing the eentenoe for her, " and a very proper and suitable place for him, too, my dear child," with a laugh. Dorothy laughed, too. " Ah 1 you are all very hard on poor David," she said, softly. So they eat talking over the old times and the new for more than an hour, Then Esther suddenly bethought her of dinner. And presently there came some one to the door who rang gently and .knocked softly. "I will go ; Bit still," cried Esther. She went to the door, whore ehe found a handsome, neatly -dressed woman of about fort ear's old " Mrs. Harris ?" she acid. forty No," said Esther; " I am not Mrs. Harris, but this is her houeo. Will you oome in? 1 suppose Lord Aylmer sent you?" " My name is Barrie, too, madame," the stranger answered, with a deprecating look as if she had rather taken, a liberty in hav- ing married a man by name of Harris,, 'Dear me, how odd 1 Well,1 suppose my cousin will like to callY ou by your Chris - tiara name. And that fe''--- "Ameliamadam," ehe answered quietly. "Oh, yes I Then Esther opened the drawing room door, and bade Amelia Harris follow her. "Dorothy, here le Lord Ayl- mer'a--Why, my dear ohild, what is the Matter ?" for Dorothy wae lying back in her (hair with a fame as white as chalk and pinched with pain, "I am so ill 1" she beeped "0h, Esther Author took firm ground at ones. "Now, don't give way, nay dear ; all will he well,, she asserted, "here is our help, end wo will have the dueler hero in next to no time, if you will only tell me where to tend for )im•" ""Dr. Franklin, in Victoria Road," Pero. thy answered, "But don't leave me,Eebher "Certainly not, deareet, Amelia will go and fetch him," Esther returned, "I had better go at once, madam,"' said Aurelia, quietly. "Yoe, say, Vire, Harris is very ill. -that it fs urgent," 11Yae, madam;' answered Amelia She walked off to the Victoria road at a pretty quick pace, thinking hard no she went, " I from what he told me, be never spoke to her before today. Queer. I wonder if he knows bub this baby ? Shall T wire him, or shall 1 keep the news as a little eurpriee for tomorrow ? I'll keep it, The sight ofhie lordship's face will be worth something." She knocked at Dr. Franklin's door and asked to see him in exactly the same quiet, self-possessed way' that she had spoken to Mies Brand, and all the time ber thoughts were running on this new fancy of 11x, lordship's. "A little, sickly -looking girl, little better than a child," shewas thinking, ae she followed the neat maid into a waiting room. "Not, I daroeay, that she's looking her beat just now; but, etill,what can he fanny in ber after a woman like me—but there— Yee, air," ehe said, aloud, " tetra. Harris has been takenenddenly ill, and Miss Brand wished me to Dome and fetch you at once." By that time ebe bad reached the Man- sions, and an-sions,and she went in, took off her bonndt and cloak, and bustled about as only e thoroughly good worker can do, getting ready for the great event which eeemed imminent, which, indeed, wae imminent, for by the time morning light shone over London there were two more inmates of the little Bat in Palace Mansions—a stout, motherly noree,who huehed upon her ample bosom a wee fragment of humanity, a very small and soft, pinkish person, who had grunted and equalled already in quite an alarming fashion, and who was, as Dorothy fondly told Esther Brand, the very image of hie father, dear Diok. (To DE CONTINUED.;. tether! NORTH-WEST PROSPECTS. Proeperone Towns and Villages are Now Potting our Western Plaine, The report of the Department of the Interior points to large ,ales of land for settlement, and to the taking up of considerable areas under the homestead provisions. It has been said that the North-West has not been settled with the rapidity promised or desired. This statement is entirely correct. Circumstances beyond control, as for example, the competition of other culticab• able areas and the low pride which wheat has been bringing, have disappointed the hopis of those who have looked for a speedy occupation of our fertile lands of the West. But all the game there has been a steady movement into the country, and during the decade that it has been open for the receipt of settlers it has ad- vanced wonderfully. The plainsof ten years ago are now dotted with prosperous towns and flourishing farms. This year the outlook for the Territories is excellent, and the feeling of those already settled there is cheerful. From the numerous local papers it learned that immigration is already very promising. English, Irish, and Scotch settlers are taking up land, and there are many new arrivals from the United States. The prospects for the season's operations are satisfactory. LARGE WHEAT AREA bas been oown•under unueually favourable climatic influences. In one locality wheat sown on May 1 was above ground three days later, Thirty or forty new elevators are to be constructed at once. A good sign of which the press takes notice is the tendency to pace into varied forms of pro. duction. There has been, for example, a considerable investment in cattle raising, This is turning out well. Prices are higher than they have been in many years, and purchasers are plentiful. The loom' para- graphs tell of the viefte of the oattie buy- ers, who leave behind them at the points at which they etop from Ex to ten thous- and dollars in the pookets of the farmers. In the production of ham and bacon there has been it satisfactory advance, faotories having been established ; and there le a deoidedbocm in the dairy industry. Cream-,eriee have been built in. many villa;;es, and the Canadian Pacific railway ie enoouraga ing the enterpr'iee by planing on all its lines daily refrigerator oars. It is signi- ficantly announced that the farmers are giving up polities and turning to business. Well may they, for the season has opened well, and business promises to be better than ib has been in many years, Our North-West is all right. Mr. Gladstone As A Linguist. "Mr. Gladstone is an unusually good modern linguist. He talks Frenal) fluently, and those who remember hie extemporized after-dinner speeches years ago in the maneiou, of the Parisian elite, know that he could turn graceful phrases and express clear views in French, though he hae never loved or professed to love that tongue. Italian, on the other hand, Mr. Gladstone admires moat among all 'living' languages. Hein ae reticent and modest about his com- mand of it as he is about his other qualities. Yet the following incident, which happened some years agb in Wales, allows that his knowledge of Italian is very wide indeed, The then Italian Ambassador had been introduced to Mr. Gladstone by a Welsh country squire. ;The two former presently loft the house together, ' and walked for sovornl hours up and down the green lanae in animated oonversat)on, Finally, the ambassador returned to hie friend, the squire, and express hlaboundlessadmiration of Mr. Gladstone'e,perfect grasp of the Italian language. For three hours,' he said, 'we hove, been disousaiug the most intricate subjeote in heaven and on earth —oibjeota bristling with teohnieal torme.' Agri never once has Mr, Gladstone been at a lose for a word not has he used a single word Diet did not resshis.meaningwith perfect olearnese. "' The Reason He Had. One—You haven't a single reason why you Won't join our club. Tother—Porhape not, but I have a mar- ried reason, AGRICULTURAL PP/Paring Small Fruits for Ship- monl. Obaervo strict oleanlinese, Strawberrlee cepooially should be carefully attended to,. Mulch with straw or any coarse litter. Thie keeps the berries from becoming dirty during a shower. Whpn pickers are et work, watch them ; tallow no bad or dirty fruit to be placed in the boxes. All imper, foot specimens muet be thrown out, 7111 boxes neither too full nor too scant, Leave calyx and stem onetrawberriee. Thie gives them a much nicer and cleaner appearance when placed on the market. Thoy also eband a long ohipmentmuoh betterand keeplonger. Do net allow them to be pulled off,ae much fruit is then mashed. This applies to all small fruits. Never pick raepberriea and blackberries with etemo on. I'netead of PICKER', STAND AND OASE, pulling on the berry roll it off. Never ex- pose small fruits to the sun or wind. If stands are used see that they have a cover for protection. The accompanying auto represent a picker's stand and ogee, used on the Thayer fruit farms. Fig. 1 as a 6 quart case and Fig. 2 is cover attaohment. Fig. 3 is a equate tin box into which a quart box fits. It is fastened about the waist with a strap, and is used only for raspberries and' blackberries. Be sure all boxes and oases into which fruit is placed are clean and well made. Clovers must fit tightly, so no air or duet will strike the fruit. In hauling to place of shipment always cover with canvas or some similar material. Direot all oases neatly and in ,one particular place. Place the consignor's name, as well ae that of the consignee, upon every ease. Ship only to reliable and trusty dealers and commission men. By neglecting proper preparation and careful shipment much small fruit goes on the market in bad con" dition, bringing low prices and also Injury to the reputation of the grower. Wheat Makes Better Pork. It is generally admitted that wheat when fed to hogs improves the quality of pork. More lean is the usual result, or rather the lean is in Layers in midst of the fat, when wheat and corn mixed form the diet of a fattening porker. , The addition of oats, rye, barley, cottonseed meal, etc., gives still greater variety, and in equal parte mixture of four or five kinds of grain, it may be expected that the quality of the meat will maintain the highest standard. Even when worth 51 a bushel it ueuolly. pays to feed a fattening hog three bushels or more in producing the last 150 pounds of growth and fat. The framework of the animal ie made stronger by the flint -like material of the wheat, particularly the mueotes and sinews, than in the case of corn feeding•exolueively. The composition of the meat 1e accordingly better adapted to the wants of man for nourishing and restoring decaying and broken muscles of the human frame. Skeptical people are ready to object to feeding wheat worth 51 par bushel to bogs worth four cents per pound gross; but if it is realized that people will use one- third more pork because of the improved quality obtained by mixing wheat in the food, we have practically the worth of the wheat in the'inoreased price. The greater the demand for any article of food, the greater the price, ie the almost unexoep- tionaf rule. There is the advantage, too, of retaining on the farm the manure—gems products of the wheat, sending away not to exceed twenty-five per cent, of the bushel of wheat when converted into pleat—the net selling product. With a regular use of wheat for feeding, the farmer will plan hie orop accordingly. It can alwayo, with advantage, be mixed with oats in Bowing and will usually be the "saving quality" in preventing the winds from leveling the grain in the' field before it is harvested. The mixture isready for feeding in a form that fn to the desire of moat praotical stockmen. It is unwise to plant all of one's notes in corn and oats for stook food when one-Bfth the corn area devoted to wheat may f ur- nieh a good amount of wheat and straw for feeding purposes, whereas the corn and oat crops may be short by reason of unfavor- able weather. Especially is it nab to than the varieties of grata grown, when ons,hae olimate suitable for winter wheat at" rye (valuable for winter pasture) and th,, fail- ure of which can still be eupplemenaed by spring crops. Wheat as a stook -food oan truly be studied with interest, t'` Value of Bran in Fee ng. The feedingof coarser ro d wheat, Yg bran , is in some measure an dvanoe on the value of bran feeding, mixed, with other foods. But there cannot be too,iuoh insistence on the value df bran mixed nth other, foods. Mr. W, 0. Reck wood, in "p repent contribution refers to the subject: Bran is one of the very beet of the grain of live stook In ao foods of nllkinde f t , its value is not half realized. Too many farmers and stook breeders think of it only in oonneotion with bran mashes more ae a medicine than anything nine. They con. eider it to be useful as a laxative, and met- ing oohing to the erten); but there its value ends. In reality it le of more Valtto to the stook raiser than any other single food for all Omens and oeaditione of animals upon the farm, It holds no rook perhaps as fat producer.; that ie, not etriotly'speaking. In oaloeIsound, healthy bone end enusole growing elements it le mil 1 and animate '�n thrifty, growing condition will always 1e fat to p certain extent, yet to an animal thin besides n ie mb] something bra.. for 1 she eo e would be peoeeeery withoutgdoubt. After years of feeding all kinds of "grain; feeds, both home grown and purchased, to all kinds of stook which are usually kept on a farm, I have come to regard bran as a necesoity, and consider it cheap' at almost any figure. Without doubt it commands a higher. price in market than it should, in view of the present low pride of wheat, but In my estimation it in still the cheapest feed a man can buy. I have made it one of the pprinoipal parts of the food for my pigs from weaning time until they are sold-- with old—with the exception of a few weeks finishing off on corn. 7 feed it to ail breeding hogs, beingeepeoially good for sews suckling pigs. For young stook it le the standby, mixed partly with something else perhaps, such as ground barley. or oats, For tale horses it 1s excellent as a'parb of their redone at any time, and while not euf$ciently heavy of itself for hard work, is good when fed with other grain. ltkeeps the bowele'in good condition and there will be no trouble with eolio. Some farmers feed straw totheir horses in winter with corn meal es a grain food. Such horses get polio frequently,bub if bran is given in connection with it there ie no trouble, as the bran acts as a preventive of impaction in the [Womack and bowels. PERSONAL POINTERS. Some Items Atient a Few of the Great Folks of the world. Beaufort Omni ,e in lnvernese-shire, which one of the Vanderbilta recently took at a rent of 510,000 a year, is the seat of Lord Lovat, one of the few genuine High- land chieftains who are left. William H. Van Tine, a prominent and who just died at the age' of 70, never uttered an oath, never used tobacco or tasted liquor, never went to a theatre, and never spoke an unkind word about anybody. b jf ' Dr. Charles Walderuteiu, who woe renently elected to the Slade professor- ship of art at Cambridge` University, &g- land, was at one time a resident of New York. He is esteemed by many as one of the greatest living authorities on Greek aatiquttieu. The general impreeeion is that the King of Dahomey is an untutored savage, but such does not seem to be the case. He was educated in Paris, and 'speaks fluently several languages. It is said he relapsed into savagery because he was oroweed in love. Quite reason enough some may think. Sir Frederick Leighton, who has been seriously ill in Algiere,hasexcelled in other ways than with the brush. He is a mueioian of fine taste, a soldier, orator, and a man of fashion. His career as an artist 15 a long one, it having begun when he was eleven years old, and he fe now sixtytive. 'Whether the late Sir Patrick O'Brien did anything else of note in the House of Commons he will at least be remembered for one motion. One sultry day when the proceedings avere dull he moved that the House adjourn to see his nephew bat in e, cricket game at Lord's. This nephew suc- ceeds to the baronetcy. One of the notable contributions to the Salon of the Camp de Mare is Gandara's portrait of Bernhardt, and there was a flut- ter among the visitors when the actresa entered the room, glided over to the paint- ing, and stood beside it. The picture ahowa Bernhardt at full length, standing with her book to the epeotator, and looking over her shoulder. The Bishop of Chichester, who has been presiding over the great Shurob defence meeting at Brighton, England, is a marvel of longevity, being over ninety-four years old. In spite of this, be is still not only exceedingly active phyoioally as well as mentally, but seoine endowed with a vital- ity which appears likely to carry him well on into the next century. Another American girl is to become the wife of an English nobleman, and it does not happear that she 1e a rich girl, either. She is Miss Bigley, recently a hospital nurse at Dubuque, Ia., and the man of her ohoice is Lord Arthur Iepburn, who is said to be the possessor of large estates in England and New Zealand. They are to be married soon at Loa Angeles, Cal. ' It is said that Professor Dyohe, the naturalist, of the Kansas Uoiveraity, will take a journey to Greenland this summer to collect specimens of animals and birds. Incidentally rt is stated that he will visit the Anniversary lodge in Bowdoin bay. From this it may be inferred that Professor Dyche will form one of the Peary relief expedition being organized by that eminent explorer's wife. Disadvantages of the Slate. The Germans show praiseworthy energy in the introduction of hygienic reforms in. to wheel life. Some of the leading college have just abolished the old elate and pencil The reasons for this step are :—(1) A slight grey mark upon a alightly darker grey eurfaee is more or lees indiatinet, and therefore trying to the eyesight; (2) Phe resistance of the hard penoil.,upon the hard elate is tiring to the muscles, and this re- sistance leads to. perverted habits, which, have to be overcome when the pupil begins to write with pencil or pen upon paper; (3) and last, but' not least, the uta of the slates, slate•penoils, and sponges is a very uncleanly custom, and leads to and eebab. lishee very uncleanly habits. So. the slate, slate•penoil, and epongee have had to make way for. the paper, lead•penoil' and rubber for school use. A Stammerer's Wit. ‘ On ono of the old' stage -routes of eastern \\ Maine was a jolly driver whose habit of etaInlnering Wae the occasion of some innocent amusement on the part of his friende i oath eesto ed One dayhie lumbering o w pp by a foot passenger who inquired the way to the next town. The driver attempted to tell him, but no words came, At last, weving his hand deeperatelytoward eafork in the road, he said : T•t-tr both roads, and you'll gob there `ore f o cont ttell you. , 'a n an another oanion he woe helping �. an u. -omfortobly stout man into the coach, The, or lead" h t Ir ritate�.> the passel the driver There 1 of a t -team. All ',readyt,1a now, sir,•—we've g.got tate prpork In 1 wee the laughing reply, respected citizen of Cleveland h has as SO 10/410 that there w as more y in finding him sufficient room. the attention he had attraotod, T exclaimed, in imitation of -e o rt upour old b.b b an t ` Y p