HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1896-10-23, Page 2TEE BR178SFL8 POST,
OCA, 23, 1896
Cilli 2 rfii'4..t! l IV..
Tbe eiaaae Of the landlady with the
apple -red pheeks and array of white
chubs Was Mrs, Aute, and this good :woe
man had received instructions from Mr.
Worksop the boatswain, from the first
•day on whio'h lie arrived, to ca11 him
every morning whilst he slept at her
house at seven o'clock, neither sooner
nor ''Ater; and to have his 'breakfast
of small -bear, rashers of ham, oheose,
redherrings, and brown bread ready
for him be the little front parlor down-
stairs punctually by a quarter to eight,
Mrs, Mate was always careful to hum-
our suoh sailors as stayed at her house
with money in their pockets, Mr.
Worksop had now used the Lonely Star
fox five days continuously, not to speak
of his being a regular customer when-
ever in those parts; and in those five
days he had spent his money handsome-
ly, begrudging himself nothing, tippl-
ing with a quarter-deck rather than
a forecastle taste, and there was good
prospect of his remaining in the house
until the following Wednesday.
When next morning came, then, ex-
actly at the hour of seven, Mrs. Mate
went up the somewhat darksome stair-
case that led to the chamber in which
Mr. York and Mr. Worksop lead slept,
and knocked at the door. She receiv-
ed no answer. She was not surprised,
for Mr. Worksop was a stout sleeper,
apart from his trick of going to bed
with his akinfull. She knocked again,
and yet again, accompanying her blows
by a vigorous kicking; and failing to
receive any sort of reply, she lifted the
lateh of the door—understanding, of
course, as the landlady of the house,
the trick of opening it—and walked
in.
It was broad sunny daylight outside,
but the little window, set close under
the ceiling admited but a pitiful light.
However, at one glance Mrs. Mate was
able to see that the bed was empty.
She was prepared to find the boatswain
alone, knowing, as we have seen, that
Mr. York meant to start for his sweet-
heart at daybreak; but on glancing ,
around she observed that not only was
Mr. Worksop gone but his clothes like-
wise. This was unusual. She stepped
to the bad, and more through habit,
perhaps, than with design, she pulled
down the bedclothes, which lay some-
what in a huddle on the side the boat-
swain had occupied, and instantly utter -
this Matter. Tbiabeing' clone, Mr.
Jawker fell to questioning the asaom-
bled folk's, and kit by bit gathered as
xnuoh of the story as they could relate,
The landlady, A1r's. Mato, was ignorant
gthe naigeof the tall young man with
e long hair; but he toll ber, she in-
formed his Worabip, that be meant to
leave her house before daybreak that
morning, to pie in time to breakfast
with his sweetheart, who lived Saud -
with, way, and who was none other,
as she supposed, than pretty little Jenny
Bax, for awes the widow Bax's name
he mentioned wben lie spoke of walk-
ing over to his love at dawn,
At this point there was a disturb-
ance outside. Budd the constable look-,
ed out, and presently looked in a sin
to inform lldir. Jawker that fresh prints
of bloodstains had been discovered on
the pavement, and could be traced some
distance.
They must be fdllowed 1 They muse'
. be followed!" cried little Air. Jawker;
'they may lead us to the discovery oil
the body of the murdered man.—Fol-
low me, 13udd 1" with which he went
down -stairs, the gaunt immense con-
stable close behind him, and the pec.
plc ahouidering one another in pur-,
suit of both,
There Was a great crowd outside,
Deal was but a little place in those
days; indeed, it is but a little place
now, and the news of the nurder—if
murder it were—had spread with some-
thing of the rapidity of the sound of a
gun. It was a sparkling morning, a
smaII westerly draught rippling the
sea into the flashing of diamonds un-
der the soaring sun, the Downs filled
with ships as on the previous day, the
white front of the Foreland gleaming
like silk upon the soft liquid azure past
with, noblest sight of all, the line -
of -battle ships, the central feature of
the masa of craft, in the act of tripping
her anchor and flashing into a broad
surface of canvas with her long bow-,
sprit and jib -booms to head to the
. north' and east presently for a cruise
as far as Hedigoland.i
The instant the little justice of the
peace made his appearance there arose
a stormy hubbub of voices of mon cogen
to point out the bloodstains. It was
atragedy that went too deep for mer-
riment, yet one might have laughed at
the eager postures of square-aternod
boatmen bending in all directions in
1 search of new links of the crimson chain
of crime, as though a vessel full of
!treasure had gone to pieces close aboard
the land on top of a furious inshore
gale, and there were ducats and doub-
loons and pieces -of -eight in plenty to
be found at the cost of a hunt amongst
the shingle. So many inquiring eyes
were sure to discover what was want-
ed. Stains unmistakably of blood
could be followed at varying intervals
from the pavement in front of the
ed a loud squeal of fear and horror.
There was a great stain of blood up-
on the sheet, with smaller stains round
about it, that seamed to be sifting out
even as she watched them like a new
ly dropped blob of ink upon .blotting -
pa er. Mrs. Mate squealed out a sec-
ond time even more loudly than before,
following the outcry by an hysterical
shriek of murder 1 murder 1" mean -
While noting, with eyes enlarged to
twice their circumference by fright,
that there was a pool of blood on the
floor on the side where the boatswain
had lain, with other marks which van-
ished at the door. ,
So slurill-voiced a woman as Mrs.
Mate could not squeal twice at the top
of her pipes and yell 'Murder 1 mur-
der!" also without exciting alarm, The
first to rush up -stairs was her hus-
band, an old man m a white nightcap,
an aged frill -shirt, and a pair of plum -
colored breeches. He was followed by
the drawer, by a couple of wenches who
had been busycleaning rooms down-
stairs, and by five or six sailors, who
came running out of the adjacent bed-
rooms on hearing Mrs. Mate's cries.
Grasping her husband by, the back of
his neck, the landlady pointed to the
bed, and exclaimed: "Mr. Worksop has
been murdered! murdered, Joe, t tell
you3 Blood in our house I Murder
done in the Lonely Star I"—uttering
,whioh, Abe fall upon the floor in a
swoon, but contrived to rally before her
!husband seemed able to grasp the
meaning of what she had said.
One of the two wenches instantly
slipped away to give the news. A cold-
blooded murder was no common occur-
rence in Deal. A Customs' man found
dead with a slug through his heart, the
body of a smuggler washing ashore
with a ghastly cutlass -wound upon his
head, the corpse of a gagged block-
ader" at the foot of the Foreland
Height,. were mere business details, nec-
essaryitems of a programme that was
full of death, hard weather, miraoulous
escapes, murderous conflicts; but a cool
midnight assassination was a genuine
novelty in its way, and in a very few,
minutes, thanks to the serving -maid,
the pavements outside the inn, the pas-
sage, the staircase, the tragic bedroom
itself, were crowded with hustling men
and women, eagerly talking, the hind-
er ones bawling to those ahead for
news, and the whole rickety place
threatening to topple down with the
weight of so many people.
The story soon gathered a collected
form. It was known that about nine
o'clock on the previous evening a tall
young fellow with his hair curling up-
on his back had applied at the Lonely
Star for a bedroom, and was admitted
by consent of Mr. 'Worksop to a share
of the great bed in which that worthy
lay., It got to be known, too, in a
wonderfully short space of time that
Mr. Worl;jsop carried in his breeches'
or other pockets some thirty or forty
guineas and half -guineas loose, a hand -
tut of which he bad exhibited with
uncommon satisfaction on several oc-
caelons when overtaken in liquor. It
also got to be known in an also equally
incredibly short space of time, thanks
to one of the watermen who had row-
ed Mr. York ashore from the brig Jane,
that the tall young man with the long
bair had owned himself evorth only
Half a guinea, of which he had given
four shillings to the boatmen after a
tedious dispute, one to the landlady
for his bed, and a sixpenny bit for li-
quor, leaving him with five shillings—
all the money he had in 'the world,
according to his own admission; and
quite enough," exclaimed a deep voice
amidst the jostle of man on the stair.,
case, "to account for this hero murder."
Prepently, there was a ety of "Room
for Mr. 1awkeeI'P The crowd made
a lane, and there enteral a round, fat,
fussy little justice of the peace, with
the only constable that Deal possessed
—a tall, gaunt, powerfully built thougb
knock-kneed man, in 0. rustythree-
eoretered hat, and a acing stick—fol-
lowing close at his heels. Little Mr.
Jawker approached the side of the bed,
and atter taking a long look, full of
knowingness, at the blood -stains, he
ordered the constable, giving him the
Baine of Budd, to dicer the room of all
save theeo who could, tbrow light upon
Lonely Stas ; then into the middle of
Beach Street; then an ugly patch, as
though the burden of the body had
proved too heavy, and the bearer had
paused to rest; afterwards, for a hun-
dred paces, no sign ; then half a score
more of stains, that ponduoted the
explorers to the timber extension that
projected a little distance into the
sea, and there of course the trail end-
ed. Nothing could be more damni-
fying in the theory they suggested than
these Sinks of blood, starting from the
bedside, and terminating, so to speak,
at the very weal" of the water. It
was universally concluded that the tall
young man with the long hair, name
unknown, who had slept with Mr.
Worksop, had murdered that unfor-
tunate boatekvain for the sake of the
guineas in his pocket; and under cov-
er of the darkness of the night, had
stealthily borne the corpse to the tim-
ber extension and cast it into the
Mr. Jawker started off at a rapid
pace, followed by the constable, to
make out a warrant for the apprehen-
sion of the tall young man with the
long hair for wilful murder ; whilst a
number of boatmen went to work with
creeps or drags to search for the body in
the vicinity of the beach; but though
they persevered in their efforts ti11
noon, watched by hundreds of people
ashore as well as by the innumerable
ships' crews who crowded the shrouds
and tops to observe the result of this
patient dredging, nothing more than a
very old anchor, which was supposed to
have belonged to one of Tromps ships,
was brought to light.
V.
The world moved very slowly in those
dais, and Deal's solitary, constable, Tim-
othy Budd, had not fairly started for
the house of the widow Bax on a road
that would have brought him in time
to the ancient and beautiful minister
of Minster, until the clock in Deal
church showed the hour to be a quarter
before nine. He was mounted on a
clusmy village cart, like to what Ho-
garth has more than once drawn, arm-
ed with the warrant, a full descrip-
tion of the tall young man, to the ob-
taining of whose name from the brig
Jane, still lying in the Downs, the mag-
istrate objected on the grounds of de-
lay, and animated with full conviction
that he would find the malefactor at
his sweetheart's house.
The old village cart was drawn by
a lame horse that was occasionally to
be impelled into a brief staggering trot
by the one -eyed driver who sat by Con-
stable Budd's side, and who on occa-
sions acted as assistant or "watch" to
that worthy. A crowd followed the
cart out of Deal, for the excitement
was eery great indeed; and many would
have been glad to have accompanied
the constable the whole distance; but
this he would not suffer, sternly order-
ing them to turn about when they had
proceeded half a mile, lest," as he
bawled out, "the criminal should catch
scent of their coming and fly."
It was a drive of five or six miles.
Constable Budd stolidly putted at his
pi with now and again a heavy
stick, and an occasional diva into his
coat -pocket, whore jingled a massive
pair of gyves or handcuffs, for such
ease of mind, maybe, as the chill of the
iron could impart to him. Seawards,
where the blue of the ocean showed
steeping to the golden line of the Good-
win Sands, hung the huge white cloud
of the line -of -battle ship, scarce stem-
ming the slack of westerly tide, though
every cloth was abroad with studding -
sails far overhanging her black sides
and grinning batteries, Little was
said bythe two men as they jogged
along between the hedgerows and pant
the sand -downs on that rosy anti .spark-
ling September morning, saving that
when they were nearing Sandwich,
Rudd', mato turned and said to him:
Timothy, it's the long chap, as he's
described, as slept with the bo'sun, that
you're to take, ain't it?"
"Oy," said the other with a slap at
his breast, where lay the warrant.
"But who's to know," said the dri-
ver, 'that it wasn't the bo'sun as kill-
ed the long chap?"
'If you'd heered what was said, you
wouldn't asic such a question,' answer-
ed Budd. "1 knew Mr, Worksop. Ile
oor a proper gentleman. Mr. Work-
sop won't a man to shed the blood
of a flea.—Wh'oy, look here—the long
chap comes ashore, wanting money, end
he goes to bed witb a man with nigh
hand forty Saimaa in gold, It speaks
for itself, lilluln ; it speaks for Itsolf,
Now, then, Probe this old clothes-
borse, will 'eel We shall be all noigbt
at this pace,"
nayrumbled through the streets of
Sandwich ever the (plaint old, struc-
ture that bridged the little river of
Stour; then to the left, into the flat
plains—dasbed here and there with
epaces of trees—that stretpbed pretty
nearly level all the way to Canterbury;
land as the great globular watch in
Cnstable Bead's breeches' peeketpolnt-
ed to the hear often, the cart came
to a halt opposite one of a group of
cottages. -the prettiest of them all, a
little paradise of creepers and green
bashes and small quick -eat hedge, sba-
dewed` behind with trees, with the dark
glass of the windows sparkling In tiny
suns through the vegetation, and the
air round about sweet with a pleasant
farmyard smell, and melodious with the
voices of birds, and the bleating and
lowing of oatt a in the distance.
Budd and als man got out of the
cart, threw the reins over a post, and
walked to the house -door. It, stood
open. With a mere apologetic blow up-
on it with bis fist, the constable march-
ed in, and swiftly peeping into a roam
an the left-hand side, and noting that
it wars vacant, he turned the handle
of a door on the right of the passage
and stood .in the threshold filling the
frame with his gaunt, knock-kneed fig-
ure and huge skirts,
A little table was laid for breakfast;
the room was savoury with the smell
of eggs and been and coffee. Half
risen from his chair was the figure of
York, a table -knife in his hand, a frown
of amazement and indignation upon his
brow; confronting him was a comely
old lady in mourning, half risen too,
and staring with terrified eyes and pale
cheeks at the constable and one -eyed
face that showed over his shoulder.
Close to York was' his sweetheart, Jenny
Bax, an auburn -haired little woman of
eighteen, with soft dark eyes and girl-
ish figure and breast of snow scarcely
concealed by the kerchief that covered
her shoulders.ly
St's the Dladeay.l constable 1" cried the
comeold
"What de you want 1" exclaimed
sta
Yorkture,, slowly rearing himself to his full
knoife
Youdo1"wn," thundered Budd,—"Put that
York did so with an expression of
amazement. The constable procured
bis warrant.
"I'm hers " he cried, "to arrest you
for the wilful murder, hither last night
or in the small -hours this morning, of
Gabriel Worksop, mariner, who shared
his bed with 'ee and who's missing."
He thrust his hands into his pocket
with a look behind him, and in a
breath almost, so quickly was it done,
he and his assistant had thrown them-
selves upon York and handcuffed him.
Ten minutes later, York pinioned in
the cart, between Budd and the driver,
was being leisurely conveyed to Sand-
wich' jail, whilst the widow Bax hung
weeping bitterly over the form of her
daughter Jenny, who lay motionless
and marble -white, as though dead, up-
on the floor.
VI.
When York was searched, they found
in his coat pocket a large clasp -knife
with a ring through the end of it, cap-
ped, where the ring was, by a mount-
ing of copper such as formerly might
protect the butt -end of a pistol, upon
which the words Gabriel Worksop"
were rudely scored. The knife looked
to have been newly cleaned. There was
no stain of blood or anything approach-
ing such a mark visible upon it. In
the pocket where this knife was they
found a Spanish gold piece minted in
1000, with a hole through it, as though
the coin was used as a charm or an
ornament. His bundle contained mere-
ly a few trifles of wearing apparel.
They, also found upon him four shill-
ings in English money and other arti-
cles of no moment as evidence. But
when they came to strip him, they
found the left side of his shirt heavily
stained with blood.
A11 that he said was, he was inno-
cent of the crime charged against him,
but refused to declare more.
The first hearing was before the
mayor of Sandwich and a bench of
magistrates. The room was crowded;
never in the memory of the most an-
cient inhabitant had anything of the
kind excited so much interest, not in-
deed, in the district, but throughout
the south-eastern portion of the
county. It was universally agreed that
Mr. Worksop had been murdered, and
by whom, if not by Jeremy York? But,
then, what had become of the body?
The marks of blood that it had been
dragged to the timber extension were
conclusive enough; yet it was almost
inevitable that a corpse thrown into
shallow water close inshore should be
set upon some part of the beach by
the action of the tide, unless weighted
by a heavy sinker, in which case there
would be a chance for the grapnel. But
day after day, a broad tract stretching
from Deal Castle to Sandown Castle
had been swept without result. Would
completer evidence be forthcoming?
Would York confess, or make some ad-
mission that might help to solve the
mystery
The landlady of the Lonely Star,
along with other witnesses, proved that
the knife and the gold coin had belong-
ed to Mr. Worksop. The landlady
stated that she had frequently bandied
the coin, and that on the day preceding
his disappearance or death, she bad
asked him to sell it to her ; but be 're-
plied that it had been given to him by
a sweetheart twenty years before, and
that he would not part with it for a
ton of gold. She and other witnesses
also testified to Mr. Worksop having
been in possession of some thirty or
forty guineas, which in his cups he had
a trick of lugging out by the handful,
that the company might know a jolly
sailor need never be a pauper. The two
boatmen that had rowed Jeremy York
:rebore gave evidence that be confessed
he was only worth half a guinea, that
there was a quarrel over the fare, and
that they had to be satisfied with four
shillings.
York's statement on the other band,
Was as follows: Be said that on the
night in question he fell asleep, after
having lain with the boatswain for
about an hour. He was then awaken-
ed by the oppression of the atmosphere,
which made him fear that be would
suffocate; and being parched with
thirst, besides desperately fevered by
the atmosphere, ho resolved to seek for
the inn's back -yard, whore he might
hope to find a pump, and where he
would be sure of the relief of fresh air.
As he could not lift the latch of the
door, he searched Mr. Worksop's
clothes, not choosing to disturb the man,
who had shown himself querulous and
grumbling, as though in pain, and found
a knife, with wbich he succeeded in
opening the door. It was, a little past
two o'clock when be returned to his
bedroom ; a faint light penetrated the
window from the ail lamp outside
which emablecl him to see that the bee
was empty. Ho also took notice that
Mr, Worksop's wearing apparel, that.
had lain upon it chair, was gone. He was
somewhat surprised glut concluded that
Mr, Worksop had been awakened, as
he himself had, by the beat, had dress-
ed and walked forth into the night, and
that he would return pra$ently. 'bfe
got loth bed again, but lay cle,epless,
until, hearing some distant oink strike
four, he rose, clothed himself, took big
bundle and left the house, carrying
nwa the boatswain's knife, which be
would'lave left behind, had he remem-
bered that it was in his pocket, go wall
nnable to account for Ins poseasaen 9f
the Spanish piece of gold we kill the wit -
nooses swore had belonget? to Ain Work-
sop; nor could be explain how it was
that there was blood -stains upon his
shirt, in the bed, on the floor, not to
mention the marks whicb terminated
at the wate'r'side.
Flaying Ileare the evidence; the mag-
istrate committed Men to take his trial
for wilful murder at the forthcoming
assizes to be held at Sandwich:
Tbere was probably one Person liv-
ing at that time who believed in Jer-
em), York's innocence, and this was his
sweetheart, Jenny Bax, The widow
Bax, after much mantel swaying to end
fro, arrived at the conclusion that the
Youth was guilty. How could it be oth-
erwise? she reasoned, ae did all others
who discussed the matter, Tbe mys-
terious disappearance of Mr, Worksop
—the knife and coin in 'Yorks pocket
—the bloodstains, the incriminating
marks discovered on him— if these
things did not point to his beteg the,
assassin of the unfortunate boatswain,;
what, in the name of truth, could they
signify? But what had be done with
guineas, to obtain which, of course,
he had committed the dreadful deed?
Well, that was a thing not to be conjec-
tured. It was strange, no doubt, that the
money should not have been found up-
on him when be was searched; for one
might wehif think ,that if be had been,
artful enough to conceal his booty
somewhere on the road to the widow's
cottage, he would have taken care to
hide such damnifying testimonials to
his guilt asthe knife and the Spanish
coin. But it is always througb, some
oversight on the part of the evil -doer
that he is brought to booka However
it might be as regards the concealment
of the guineas and the retention of the
knife and coin, it was beyond all dis-
pute manifest that Mr. Workshop lay
somewhere secreted, a murdered man,
and that York was his assassin.
Jenny alone believed in his innocence.
She and her mother were poor; but had
the widow been well , to do, she would
not have advanced a groat in defence
of the man whom she believed a murd-
erer, In the brief time ,that the lov-
ers had been together before the ar-
rival of the constable York bad told
his sweetheart that he was in hope of
obtaining the balance of his wages as
secondmate from the owner of the Cae-
1ia; and this coming into Jenny's mind.
whilst ber sweetheart lay in Sandwich
jail, she wrote imploring' to the own-
ers of the brig, spoke of the terrible
charge that had been broughtagainst
Mr. Jeremy York, and how neither of
them had funds to enable them to
procure counsel; and she preyed them
with all the might of her little burst -
lag heart to send her the money ber
sweetheart said was owing to him, that
some effort might be made to rescue
him from the gibbet: In response to
this piteous entreaty. the owners of the.
brig sent her !fifteen guineas, with
which money she hastened to Canter-
bury and there engaged the services of
the likeliest lawyer that that ancient
city contained. This lawyer had sever-
al interviews with York, and he was
candid enough to represent to Jenny
Bax that though he would elo his best,
there was Little or no hope. Beyond
his solemn assurance of innocence,coupl-
ed with the carelessness, which cer-
tainly did not look criminal of his suf-
fering the knife and coin to remain in
his pocket, the young man seemed in-
capable of stating a single point upon
which the defence could rely or w]ucb
it could make anything of. And it
turned out as the sagacious lawyer had
predicted: the evidence that had been
previously tendered was gone over
again; and far more diligent'y examin-
ed; the blood-stained shut, the knife,
the coin, were produced. The landlady
of the Lonely Star along with her bus -
band and six other witnesses were pre-
sent to testify to the coin, to the knife,
(though the name scored upon it abund-
antly indicated the ownership), to the
money in possession of the boatswain
at the time of his disappearance, to the
circumstance of Jeremy York having
shared the bed with him, to the avow-
ed poverty of the young man, to the
blood -marks terminating at the timber.
extension, from which point beyond all
question the corpse had been thrown
into the sea.
The judge summed up, making but
little of the circumstance el what he
referred to as the Heedlessness of York
in retaining upon his person such in-
criminating articles as the knife and
the coin. The juryconferred a few
moments without withdrawing and re-
turned a verdict of "Guilty," Where-
upon his lordship put on the black cap,
and after a tedious sermon on the hid-
eousnesa of the crime for which the
prisoner was to suffer, sentenced him
to be hung by the neck until he was
dead.
(To Be Continued).
FATTEN YOUR CATTLE
And In December Prices for Finished
,itoek Wilt be Defter.
Mr. T. 11. Irooside, President of the
Canadian Live Steak Association,gives
the following excellent advice to stock -
raisers.
"At this season of the year there aro
large numbers of cattle sent forward
to English markets in an unfinished.
condition. The market at present is
overcrowded with such stook. Tbe con-
sequence is low prices have to be taken,
reselling in a loss to the shipper of
such cattle. Now that Canadian cattle
can be exported during the winter
months via. St. John, N. B„ Portland,
Maine, and Boston, Mass., why does the
farmer of Canada throw away his half
fat, strong steers, when by taking care
of thein and feeding for two or tbree
months and finishing for the English
markets be is almost sure to obtain
better prices liter an. At this season
the Irish and home cattle are rushed on
the market in large numbers, and mar-
kets, as a rule do not improve until De
camber. We think during the menthe
of December and January good prices
will be paid far finished cattle and
sheep, wad we strongly advise farmers
to prepare their stook for market dur-
ing those two`months. Coarse grains
are low, and likely to remain low, in
price."
AN AWFUL WARNING.
And what a surprise it will bo to
dear George I she was saying to her-
self. It fitslovely, and I mean to
make allmy own things after this and
save all my dressmaker's bills. It isn't
every man has such a wife. I'll wear
it to the progressive euchre club to-
night. 1 know not another single wo-
man will havo a new thing on. i'11 just
sew in this last sleeve and 111 have
It on when George canoes home, and---
and--
Mereero was a shriek and the fall of
157 pounds ening the sofa cushions,
She had made both sleeves for the same
arm
PRACTICAL FARMING.
WINTERING STOCId WITHOUT
HAY,
"Our fathers and grandfathers Would
have thought Chia (cite impossible, yet
it hes boon demonstrated during the
peat year that it can be done, and
with Aa detrimout to the stook, either,"
So soya hlr. Ittocicwood, in Hoard's
19airymau,
"As the 1806 hay crop is about as
short as that of 1891, it behooves every'
farmer to study the fodder question' and
see if he 00.0 get along without hay,
for, if he DPA, it will enable bine to
sell what he has, and bay is almost
the' only thing grown upon the farm
this year which is going to bring a
good price. In many parts of the coun-
try the Drop is vary light, and itwould
be not at all surprising if last, year's
prices were sustained for the coming'
one. Let ue keep watch that no hay
is wasted upon our farms. It is not
always easy to avoid waste, either,
where the owner cannot do the feeding
himself, for there are very few hired
men who are not lavish feeders—they
like to fill the mangers, even if half
the contents are wasted. It makes
the economically` inclined feel blue to
see his bay going under the horses'
feet, as it sometimes does, and especially
so wben hay is high priced. So far we
have not tried to do without bay for
our horses when they are doing Heavy
work, but we have very satisfactorily
"pieced it out" by turning them out
to good pasture at night, and feeding
a little extra grain.,Grain is cheaper
than hay at present ad with good pas-
ture we have been able to get our work
horses through two summers with only
ono feeding of hay a day, and that
at noon. At night they have their
grain and stand in the stable long en-
ough to clean up what bay was left
in the mangers at noon, when they are
turned out, and in the morning get a
panful of grain apiece before going to
work, but no hay. Wben cold weather
comes they are fed straw and grain,
the former whole, the latter ground.
Of course they do not eat very .much
straw, but after they have peaked it
over it is used for bedding. They come
through the winter in good order, and
I consider this ration far prefera-
ble to that fed bysome farmers, namely,
hay and no grain. We utilize straw,
corn stalks and cheap grain and save
most of the hay Drop for sale.
It was remarked by all who saw my
young cattle, Jerseys, last spring that
they never saw re bunch in better con-
dition. They were fed entirely upon
barley, straw and grain, only a light
feeding of the latter. Barley straw has
some objectionable features, ono of
them the beards, but cattle thrive on
it and like it better than any other
straw. I have never had stock get
sore mouths from eating it, but my
neighbors have, and it well to exam-
ine them occasionally, and if any beards
are fast in the flesh to remove them.
They sometimes make a very bad sore.
"Our colts are fed on straw, except
weanlings, which, when we have them,
get hay, as well as the young calves,
and grain, and keep fat on it, and for
our mita cows only enough hay is fed
to tide over the few weeks in spring
after they begin to refuse corn fodder.
Last: spring pastures came green so
early that none whatever was fed.
"Tho cows have cut corn stalks for
roughage entirely. We have no silo,
but cut the well cured stalks and mix
the grain with them in this way:
Enough of the cut stalks are sprinkles
with warm water to make one feeding;
the grain ration is mixed m by shovel-
ing the mass over on a tight floor and
the whole then packed snugly and cov-
ered until feeding time. We keep two
feeds ahead and the heat developed
keeps the whole warm that length of
time. This manner of feeding as en-
tirely satisfactory,Where formerly we
fed our cows three times a day we now
feed but twice, and can see no differ-
ence in result. Last year as straw was
at premium we used fine saw dust
for bedding. We like it very well; it
is far better than nothing, but I must
say I prefer good straw for the pur-
pose. As will be seen, where this man-
ner of feeding is followed there is very
Little hay fed upon the farm,oxept to
the work horses; and by utilizing the
pastures at night when the weather is
pleasant, this amount is considerably
lessened from that required if they
were kept on dry feed entirely. They
enjoy their nigbt's pasture, very much
and suffer no loss of flesh by reason
of this method."
PASTURING MEADOWS.
Meadows are, in this country, usually
understood to be grass lands that are
used for the production of hay, as dis-
tinguished from pasture lands. It is
the practice of some farmers to pasture
their hay lands after the bay is ta-
ken off, and some even do so early in
the spring. This is a ruinous prac-
tice and one that results sometimes in
the complete destruction of the mea-
dow as a profitable field for cutting
bay until it is plowed up and re -seeded.
Tho truth is that Cho kinds of grass
best for a meadow are not those best
for a pasture, Take Timothy, for in-
stance. It is one of the hest of hay
grasses, but is a poor pasture grass,
writes C. P. Goodrich in Prairie Farm-
er, It is a bulbous plant, and the
bulbs aro near the surface of the
ground where the tramping of stock
injures them if tgrnad on in the spring,
so that it weakens, though it will not
kill them. After the hay is cut or the
grass has become nature, a new bulb
grows to take the place of the old one,
Out of this new bulb the aftermath
grows, this needs to grow so that the
bulb may become strong and healthy
enough to survive the winter and to
hardy in the spring and able to throw
up tt strong and vigorous shoot, Our
native meadows of prairie and bottom
lands produce, some of them, splendid
crops of hay, but will be utterly ruined
by pasturing, I havo seen thousands of
acres where, it few years ago, the mag-
nificent "blue atom" would produce
three tons of goof' hay per acne, where
now can be seen nothing but weeds. Pas-
turing has done it. .hero aro thou;
sands of mores more of low, moist, bot-
tom land, that were once excellent mea-
dows with a smooth bottom over which
the mower could be run with ease, that
now leave become rough and boggy from
the tramping of the feet of cattle, plan
end
the native, liay gross has ivep pla
to some• shorter grass iiko 'une grass
and white clover, whicb, although good
Nature grasses, amount to nothing
for hay. 01 course a littlepeeturing'
In the fall eftor the hay is off and
the ground is bard, will not produce
such results as X bavo ,test described,
but it will do same damage and 'ween
the next year's oro of bay to the ex-
tent of five es the value obtained by
pasturing, Tbe abort grasses that form
a thick, tough sod are the ones that
can stand pasturing, but theyq are not
the kind that makes the best 7tay race-
down. Median red and Aiello clovers,
If there is a rank aftermath inthe
fall may bear a little pasturing f not
wet, iand will probably do no harm,
But if it is intended for meadow the
next Year, it is safest to keep the
stook off,for when once they are turn-
ed on, the chancey are they will stay
there until late in the fall, and the
olovor is gnawed close to the
ground; and if the winter is open
and the ground bare, it will
be dead in the sexing, and the
farmer will be complaining 01 big
bad luck," Do not turn stook on tte
your new seeding this fall, The rains
have been so timely It has got n. good
growth I know, and I also know the
temptation you have to turn the Down
on just for a few days." But you
want that growth there to mulch the
ground and catch the snow as it is
driven over the field by the wind next
winter, so that the plover will have
a good covering. You also want the
stubble of the grain to stand ule
straight for the same purpose. 1f you
turn cattle on they will trample ev-
erything down flat that they do not
eat, and leave a smooth surface from
which the snow will blow. No, better
feed your stook fodder corn, hay or
anything rather than rob them, 1n ad-
vance, of five times as much of next
year's feed.
PALL 'FUN.
"What in thunder are you speakin'
to the school children fora" asked the
voter. "Just keep quiet," replied the
candidate, "they'll' all be old enough to,
vote before I'm elected,"
Wicks—"I heard a pretty compliment
to Hamlin, the actor, to -day. Squee-
sicks says be possesses the art which
conceals art." flicks—"That's a fact.
You'd never know he bad any."
"There doesn't seem to be much of
a demand for seats to this perform-
(nee," said the star. "No," said the
manager, as he ran over a bundle of
dead -head applications; "nothing but re-
quests."
Miss lreedick—"Ethel can't be after
money. She has broken her engage-
ment with that wealthy ice man." Miss
Fosdick—"Don't be too sure. She jilt-
ed him for a man who owns a bicycle
repairing slop."
Scene: A cottage on Loch Awe -side
—Lady tourist to the cottager'( wife—
"And are these three nice little boys
all your own, Mrs. McFarland" Mrs,
McFarlane—"Yiss, mem; but 'rim in the
middle's a lassie.'
"Hadn't you better call another phys-
ician?" said the wile to the young doc-
tor who was treating her husband. Just
for ponsuitation, you know." "No,.
ma'am," he replied. My ideas are con-
fused enough already.'
Cook, how long did you boil tbose
eggs?" "Noine minutes, mum." "But
1 told you that I wanted my eggs boil-
ed three minutes." 'Tbot's thrue,mum
—but there was tree eggs, mum, an"
tree times tree is noine."
"Why, Tommie, back from school al-
readylt' Yes, Mike wouldn't let me
stay." "At course not," said Mike.
'Yez towld me to task Tommie down to
th' school, ma'am, but yez didn't say
nothin' about lavin' the bye there."
"I am writing a play which cannot
fail to be a great success," said Foyer
to has friend. "What is its chief feat- ••
are?" In the last act the comedian
who bas perpetrated all the chestnuts
dies a miserable death,"
• "Papa," said Jaekey, "would you like
to have me give you a perfectly beauti-
ful
eauti1ul Christmas present?" "Yes, indeed."
"Then now is the time to double my
allowance, so's 1'11 have the money to
buy it when Christmas comes."
"Jinks has the air of a man of con-
siderable importance. What's his par-
ticular lane?" "Oh, nothing much, ex-
cept telling other people their business
and giving us all pointers on how to
run the government."
The girl stood on the burning deck,
But her loss we need not grieve;
She did not perish with the wreck—
She mad sense enough to leave.
"The trouble with so many of the
young men of this day and age?" re-
marked old Uncle Sagely comparing his
watch with the noon whistle, "is that
they think tbere is a patent on work
and they axe afraid of getting into
trouble if they use it."
THE ENGLISH BICYCLE TRADE.
Wonderful Development or the Itneloe$s
in the Lust Few Years.
Some interesting figures aro publish-
ed in regard to the development of the
cycle trade in England. The statistics
are not complete but are sufficient to
give a general idea of the extent of the
business. The returns of the various
railway companies and of the tire -man-
ufacturing companies indicate a pres-
ent rate of production of about 750,005
cycles per annum, which may be valued
roughly at £11,000,000 or £12,000,000.
Tho oxports of cycles lost year amount-
ed to £1,393,810, against £1,200,913 in
the previous year; and the increase this
year is still larger. Up tothe and of
1891, according to the 'Cyclist's Year
Book,' the rottuns of tbo limited com-
panies represented a capital nearly ap-
proaching £0,000,000. Sine then there
have .been a number of developments.
The list of new companies shows that
during the first half-year no fewer
than twenty-nine limited companies,
either for the making of cycles or for
the manufacturing of accessories, were
formed. The total capital issued by these
companies reaches the sum of £10,327,
100. Two or throe concerns -one with a
capital of £000,000—do not appear in the
list; and it is safe to say that the
amount of capital represented by the
new limited cycle companies exceeds
£11;000,000, which, added to the £8,000-
000 before mentioned, makes a grand
total of £17,000,000. To this large sum
must be added the large investment of
capital in many private concerns in
different parts of the country,
A QUESTION OF ETIQTJETTE.
Excuse me, Mrs. Bowdoi•, said the
cools, but would, ye moind it I had this
addrese engraved on me eyard1
Not at a 1, Bridget, This is your
home, and if you havo a card it is per -
feebly proper to pub your address on
Thank ye, ma'am, said Bridget. An'
Oi noticed yez have printed en your
(yards, ,Ina'itm. At 'Tome Turadaas.
Would it be proper far mo to hay print,
ed on Moine, Turadeas Off?- ,