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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1911-12-08, Page 3eei 0 et 0 DQ) as tats :ler ,e'' the ish ing the w1l off Gni- les an 1'e iol in ro ;1e os ke he ,nl'1 li or 'ac err 1,n )it en h a el tL1 tt ed to ;if zn TI en rh •i1 110 an las da Lttt 341: tills th th. vin glia run, tl ,pe Illi b y0 yo ;4r tE Stns or,* tart Itart Rte. tow rall000 tile' worst hasdwoka .6? ,T0 minutes or Lass. Absolutely haymates& b.$ Ceara a Lou et all druavista% Z4,A.T701@*1t.L D1210Ci., ,ss ceitElsieC ala Co. OP CANADA, lax-wee:et A SEVER --•a4 OR, THE MEMORY OF A BOY WITH DARK EYES. CHAPTER II .Chat was •what, had made him laugh. What a careless young laugh it was! It rings in my oars still. To drive it away X throw down my boots and go to 'the piano. A piece of. music lies on 'the car- pet; I take it up and set it open. on the desk before me. It is a song—a favorite one of mine -"The Chose-Roads"—and X play the prelude .dreamily, lingering over each familiar chord. In the days to come I may wonder vaguely what led me to sing this song to -night. On to the very last verse, i sing it through— "Wee I not. made for him? We loved each • other, Yet fate gave him one road, and me an- other!" • "Come upstairs, and I'll show you his new picture.. But he may not care to have mo see Ws picture, Mrs. Wauehope." "He'll never know anything about •it. -Re doesn't know you are in the house. "That makes no difference," X say, mY senae of integrity being, apparently, no mate for my landlady's. I am sitting at the table in the middle of the room,finishing my breakfast. It is nine o'clock, and a cool gleam of March sunshine lights up my big dingy draw- ing -room, make the ancient carpet and curtains—which have faded into an inde- scribable shade between drab and dust color—look still more aneient, and glean- ing brightly on the breakfast -table, on the tin sardine box, on the knives and forks, on my silver solitaires—for I have drawn the blinds tip to the top of the windows that I may feel even that vague unsatisfactory bit of sunshine on my face. My landlady is standing .op- posite to, me, on the other side of the table—a "fat, sallow complexioned wom- an in a frilled gown of black luster, with purple ribbons in her black net cap and a purple knitted fiche tied behind with woollen tassels. 'Ho wanted to know this morning if the drawidaarooms were taken," Mrs. Wauehope says, laughing in her silent fashion, "I told him they were—by a lady of a certain age from the country. That will keep him from asking any more questions." Aunt hose's face rises before me, grim- ly disapproving. But I turn my back-- metaphorically—on the menacing vision. "How long has he been lodging here, Mrs. Wauehope?" Well," Mrs. Wauehope answers slowly, "he's been with me, on and on, for more than two yews new; and I've never found him anything but most respectable and well-conducted though his temper Is none of the sweetest. Not that any one of us is sweet if we're lint out," she adds ex- tenuatingly; "and, if one's born with a bad temper, why it's all the more credit- able if one keeps it ,down." This bad-tempered young man --whose name Mrs. Wauehope informs me, is ldfti5tr .Dere-:t'fexard Baxter—would be intent:may gratified .d if he could hear us. But as Me left the house hours ago—so Mrs. Wau- ehope also informs me—that gratiiloation rs denied to him. "Come up, and I'll show you his studio, Miss Allie. You never saw such an old curiosity -shop. And it would be as much as my life is worth to sweep it or any- thing --though, goodness knows, it wants itl But he'd fly at me like a young ti cr for raising a dust on them weary old p•CtuICS." But if he were to come in and find us poking about his premises, Mrs. Wan- ebepe," 1 say, divided between all the notions of propriety which Aunt Rosa has been inculcating on me for nearly a score of years and a powerful desire to see the pictures, "fancy what a crow ho would have to pluck with you!" "He's gone to Kensington, and won't be in till four o'clock." Mrs. Wauehope de- rilares positively. 'I wouldn't have you caught up there for the world, Miss AI - Ile; but even if there was a chance of his coming back, he has left his latch- key on his dressing -table, so that he ean't get into the house unless he knocks." I am more than doubtful about the whole proceeding; out I rise from the breakfast table,. and, gathering up my long dress in my hand, follow Mrs. Wau- ehopo out of the room and up the gloomy stair's. It is a long way up—quite long enough for my better judgment to have had time lo assert itself before we reach the ton - Government Municipal and Corporation Bonds Correspondence Invited. CANADA SECURITIES CORPORATION, MA Hon. C. J. Doherty, K.C., M.P.. President, . Rodolphe Forget, M.P., Vice•President. Geo. it Cooderham,112.P,P., Vice—President. HEAD OFkICI : 179 ST. JAMES SppTttREBT MONTREAL meet landing, under the very roof of the house. I shall only just peep in ab"the door," say; and Mrs. Waucliope, passing on before me, nods Iter head and opens the low uupaneled door. He has had the wall raised,,you sec," she says, ushering me in—for I do go in —'and got that glass roof put on. Makes it much lighter, you know, and quite cheerful and pleasant. You'd never guess there could be such a fine roomy piece up here at the top of the house." The great garret -room has certainly been metamorphosed into a very well - lighted studio. An awning has been stretched under part of the glass roof, throwing the light more 'fully upon the easel in the middle of the floor. The place is crowded for the most part with a litter of quaint odds and ends, but its untidiness does not trouble me as it seems to trouble my landlady. Several pictures, finished and unfinished. hang or lean against the walls; a lay figure does duty as a hat -rack in one coiner, in an- other a pile of rusty armor shelters in- numerable spiders, to fudge from the webs with which it is festooned. On the easel in the middle of the floor stands an unfinished picture, with the colors wet upon it—a sombre, yet splendidly realis- tic view of mountain -scenery; in the fore- ground "A lake of sadness, seldom sunned, that stretched In sullen silence from a merge of reeds." "I am not an artist; yet I stand be. fore the unframed canvas—I think a pic- ture never looks so well as when stand- ing unframed upon the easel where it was painted—lost in admiration of the power, clearness and artistic complete- ness which breathe through the whole composition, and which even I am not too ignorant to understand and'"to ap- preciate. That iA the picture he brought from Scotland,' Mrs. Wauehope says, standing a little behind me with her head on one side. I suppose there's a great deal in it—there ought to be, if he did nothing hut paint it all the time he was away. I tell him I am sure there is some young lady in Scotland, he goes there so often; but he says, No, he doesn't care for young Ladies—which is ridiculous, you know," Mrs. Wauehope adds; and ho with such a pair of eyes in his head! Whether he likes them or not, they like him; and so I tell him." "Has he very handsome eyes?" I ask absently, fascinated by the picture bo - fore me. "Handsome!" Mrs. Wailehope repeats. "I often tell him they were not put into i q his head for the good of his cul! But be only laughs at me and asks me what I want him to do for me. Ile mends my spectacles, and the other day he touched up poor Wauchope's pictuee, and Made it look as good as new." "Is there anything he gannet do?" • I ask, laughing, . T#e doesn't) seem to be able to make stt his fortune,,, Mrs. Wauchope says, shak- ing her head, with a glance round the studio. "Look at all those pictures on the walls—only half finished, most of +them thrown aside because he got tired of them, and wanted to begin something new. The greatest fault I find with him is that he won't stick to anything. Be- cause he's not satisfied with It, he tells me; but that is all nonsense. It is be- cause he is new Tangled, and wants to be at something else " "An unlucky temperament! I say to myself, wondering if any woman has lost her heart to this unstable young man. Mrs. Wauchope has moved away to the other end of the room, intent on carry- ing away some empty cigar -boxes which she has found there, and I turn away from the canvas which has taken such hold on my imagination to glance round the precincts wherein I cannot help feel- ing I have no business. It is my first introduction to anything so Bohemian as the studio of a professional painter; and T like it, notwithstanding the litter of palettes and brushes, the bottles of medium," the maul sticks and palette knives, the colors and odds and ends of canvas scattered about the floor. There are pictures framed and unframed, ranged about the room. There is n. mis- cellaneous assortment of pipes on the table --here a quaint china tobacco jar, there a tall candlestick of I'larcntine bronze, wherein the candle has been al- lowed to burn down to the socket, ►cue- ing -foils on the wall, hooks thrown down carelessly here and there and anywhere, a faded velvet smoking-eap on one shelf, on another a dead camellia, in its; dusty specimen-glass—a, dead brown camellia, which seems to have perished of thirst, for the leaf beside it, which reaches clown to the drop of water in the bottom of the vase, is still fresh and green. '1'11 show you his photograph, if you'd like to see it,' Mrs, Wauehope says, paus- ing beside a door leading into an inner room—or garret. "He leaves his album on the dressing -table mostly, and you might know some of fits friends," But to this proposal 1 at once put n decided negative. To look at his picture —which sill the world may soon see—is one thing, to pry into the secrets of his photographic album another, 1 wonder if Mrs. Wauehope is equally obliging in exhibiting my photographic album to the Misses Pryee? I shall lock it up relig- iously in future, lost she should be as anxious to annum them at my expense as she is to amuse me at air. Baxtor's. "I'm just going in to dust his looking - glass," Mrs. Wauehope announces, and suits the actien to the word by dieap" peering into the inner room. Arid I look about me, utterly refusing to let the idea of Aunt Rosa enter my head. A shaft of the early March sun- shine streams In through the skylights, lighting up a dusty canvas here, a gil- ded frame there, bringing into greater Prominence some bit of smiling lenc(- scape or some cobwebbed "property," and shining full upon the dead eamellia fir the little glass at my elbow. My eye rests on the withered "button -hole". meditatively at gist, pit5;ug the • poor flower, which certainly no "useless water -springs" have Mocked trite living." But all at once a spirit of mischief enters Into site—a brilliant idea which is worthy of Olive Deane herself! Yet ought I to do it? Nobody wilt' ever know -Mrs. Wauchope will never . eusaeet, nor can the ."subtle spider, which from overhead looks fixe a spy en human guilt and error, "tell the secret, and within these four welle there aro no living creatures but, the spiders and nivgelf. What living human being could turn informer, if T were to take Inc Withered camellia out of the glass and put the freeh sweet dewy bttsteb of vio- lets 1 am wearing thee it instead. I1 1 do it at all, 1 must do it now, • screw se mamas Again my conacienee wbisners "Do not do, itl" and again I turn a deal ear to its voice. Iiow lie will puzzle over the ehangeing! If be asks Mary Anne, she will be able to toll ?rite nothing', she being at this xnoinent in the market buying Vegetables ; for 'the parlors;" and Mrs. Wauehope, even if she euspeots me, would' not dare to tell him that she had. allowo(t.. me to pry into his rooms. Time and the opportunity are tco`•tnuch for me—in ch - other instant I have transferred the vise lets from my dress to the. glass, and 001 holding the dead camellia hidden in the palm of my hand, 1 suppose you've 800n alt you want to See, Miss Allie?a unsuspecting airs. Wau ohope says, "Doming' back with her black - rink apron full of the empty 'cigar -boxes. And how any one can live in such a don," she adds, her cursory glance 'talc ing in the artistic,litter which manna, ly abounds in the place with as emelt disgust as ifit were her own ash .heap, passes my ooniprehension! And' the smell of tobacco -spoke would se/Tecate you, sometimes—I'm often afraid Miss Pryee will get a whiff 'of it in :the par- lors! If you'll close the door, Miss Arlie, I'd be obliged to you—you see my hands are full." The moment S have elosod the door any' mind misgives me. But it is too late. The deed done cannot be undone; and, with the camellia in my hand, I descend the stairs leisurely, laughing to myself, as 1 look round the passages which must be so familiar to him, at Mrs, Wanebope's Machiaveiian method of extinguishing all curiosity in Mr. Baxter's mind ;with re- gard to her drawing -room lodger. I wonder where he got this?" I say to myself, as I bring the dead exotic to Ha ht in the privacy of my own room, a minute later. Perbaps somebody ave it to him. Perhaps he values it, dead as it is. more than tons of the sweetest and freshest bi,,lets! If that is the case, how he will bless the thief who stole it! How he w511 maltreat my poor little violetel Yet 1" fancy he bought this flower—there is half a yard of wire round it. And, if be eared very much for it, he would scarcely have left it to die for lack of water in a dusty vase.» Nevet'theless I abut it up in a bon -bon box, and lock it into my wardrobe, feel- ing eel ing vaguely oonseicus of a poeeibiiity of having to produce it at some future tinte. I have stolen it, that is certain; .and should it chance to be discovered, I might be called upon to restore the purloined property, even though it be only a dead camellia. I feel rather guilty as I turn the lcey in my wardrobe. What would Mr. Baxter say if he could have seen me putting up kis discarded buttonhole" in a pasteboard box? Would he not think with reason that I valued the flower be- cause he had worn it for one evening in his coat—I, who never beheld him in my life? And what would Aunt Rosa say? I do not Clare to dwell on Aunt Rosa's sentiments. ` The mildest thing she could say of me would be that I had taken leave of my senses. I shall never tell hera qx anyone else, what I have done—not even Olive Deane. Great a madcap as Olive is, I doubt whether she would pre- sent a bouquet to a man who was a stranger to her. Thinking of it in this light, my cheeks grow hot suddenly, and I hope the violets will be dead. before he sees them—violets wither very soon out of water—these will be black and dead to -morrow, if they spend the night in that dry dusty glees. As I put on my fur cap to go to my singing -class, I wonder vaguely if he is as handsome as Mrs. Wauchope describes him, and if he cares as little for young ladies as lie tells her he does; and then I button on the jacket of thiels gray tweed which matches my dress, and, sal- lying out into the cold March morning air, straight way forget that there 18 such a person in existence as Mrs. Wau- chope' attics. e• aF to "Wasn't it stupid of me? I quite for- got to ask Fred if he knew anything of 'G. Ti. ' Olive says, as we issue out of Madame Oronhelm's house with half dozen other girls, all carrying per folios of musk. • "They Are, so ttfuutt'"of theaseed'ttirer Ili erything else out of my head." His name is Baxter—Gerard Baxter. i e told e so this mornin Mrs. Wal chap m t g, ollea i n of the res t o m Morn- ing's y 1n lug's inisemcanor flashing into my mind for the first time since I left the house lie is a landscape painter, and his pee pie are Scotch; he has nobody belonging to him but an ,old grandmother, Mrs Wauehope thinks, who lives in Man - burgh, And he's as proud as Lucifer and as poor as a church -mouse." Olive laughs, looking at me through her gold -rimmed pince-nez. "You must not fall in love with him, Allie— "'He was but a landscape painter, And a village maiden stet" 1N_O71iQx*7rry ryp,i[,i4INp 8NQWN:A1160p 111.11111„„J111111111$01111111.1. 111111111111111111111111111 e you waist to $hictOe Wfhlout trouble or a'zxie y 7 1 AFETY P O R ieves you of both. 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If he has not the goods or our catalogue, write us — will see that you are supplied. atadar'd Set, $5.00 Pocket Editions, $5.00 to $6.40 314 Con bia�ti®aS ets $6.50 up. **sue Safety Razor Co. of Canada, Limited, ®Mee and Factory, C3 St.AlexanderSt., Montreal. 111111111111111111 111111111 II II 1111111111111111 11111 II 11111 11111111 111111 1111 l 11 111 11111111111 111111 8111 1 IN 111111111 o 'won't fall in love with me from Milt Weuchope's description," I laugh in ' ; and. then I relate that worthy wo turnaxes' sbroke of diplomacy in deserib- in inas a spinster from the country .'between' . the ages, ' as Madame Oren - helm would say. If I am tempted for a niomeht rt, relate the episode of the via, lets,, Olive's next words induce me to hold MY, peace. "1 didn't tell mamma a word about him,' she, says, nodding her blonde head sag'atanealy; 'She would be sure not to like it;• and: she' might—I dont say she woi ' but she might—write and tell your Au Rosa. Mrs. Wauchope ougut, not to ha .pretended thereweren but to th r one b t ladiasein, the house. Not that it's really any 'natter you know—only mam'nil has chat 0 of you in a manner, though yeti tee' an obstinate wretch, and would no, X co a@4 6 ray with u. at rho square." "i . come for Poppy's wedding next mouth. 'Melt, X should think you would!" "'And you are to come back with me to the, lcaeage, Olive." i a't dear, I wouldn't miss beipg at Wocr lay Manor on the eleventh of next Jtiat,v?'or anything." Anas,I•.sh'ouldn't care half as much for aura' if you weren't there. Do you remember my birthday last year, and the fun we had with the school -children? You said it was the first time you had ' ever helped in any parish -work, and you ra- ther liked it "I liked to see you play the, Lady Bountiful, Allis. And besides, that dear delightful curate of your uncle's was there --the man with the romantic name." "The Reverend Hyacinth. Lockhart," I laugh, remembering how Olive flirted with him."How do you like the new song Madame Cronhelm has given you?" "I don't like it at all," Olive says, shrugging her shoulders; "and I think Madame Cronhelm is very cross; don't yeti?" Site ie' very strict. But you know you are Horribly idle, Olive." "My dear, b don't go to Madame Cron - helm to learn. I only go for the fun of the thing." "Then you can't expect her to take any pains with you." "I don't want her to do so. She ad- mires your voice, Alife." "She thought I wee only a beginner." (To be continued.) The ath of ambition leads to p many political graves. iq .gym .,'eJ'._.r ,•ice �f • �A� yy vlfai iF nt'S,sil?+cl3 ti rtEf ;p, Sit thht i'Nq n , 8' »,•��t.�t.�a�,-..ter �• :ti , ge .'Fie< �'el?,r.'ar %i Yell ydj�? ",5,;"."C;y7 A',c� "y,E['',y,,.Li''• kJ'19�.i1'Ef/1'r+f.�';r.'F'11�"11ia>.J$i-''.'•:.a't(r'.'t"'.�V.t�f7it�`i", W. >d }-20; ' nn�,,n�q.�,�.troYn�v�r .µ �i'"�, •5.1 14:',!..%UPC�{tiYarssed'l+sir!'/.'iv:•>!1�� iC!/h: w-4t•!:e` x Concrete Side alks �+rare�7 Safe, Sightly ly E EVf'iiFi G aa,�`Dh ring UMBER used in damp places and on wet ground—as, for instance, In walks —has a very short life. 'It requires almost constant reaairirij; and, in a few years, needs replacing. Concrete, ora the other hand, improves with age, an Elie very dampness which de- stroys lumber calls out the best qualities of the cement 1 y making it harder° and harder —until neither time nor traffic can affect it. The hest of wooden walks keep getting out of repair, and are a continual menace to life and limb. They arc also a frequent source of expensive doctor : bills and lost time. Then again, they are likely to eat up the original cost in repairs before they are replaced. Concrete walks are sightly, everlasting and safe. They cost less to build and need no repairing nor painting. Write for our free book, "What the Fanner Can Do With Concrete." It tells in plain, simple language, how you can save money on farm construction hy using cement for Barns, Dairies, Foundations, Fence Posts, Troughs, Feeding Floors, Hitching Posts, Stalls, Silos, Stairs, and so forth. The Book is well illustrated with photographs, earns and diagrams. Fill out the coupon or send a postal to -day, Simply address it to Cada Gement Co. Limited 30-35 National San's Building Name .,, li 0r izsu ll You may send me a copy of "What the Farmer Can .Do iTtith Concrete." e. ealasaleatilintefilai Art Address .,.••••... snrmmmtw.SriOEoannur:c ,c,,i, .soA+u: Oen the Ft.rin sasesseasseseseeeslesseebessases • RAISING THE CALVES.. In order to raise' cattle ?n 61.a east :With any .profit,'.or withoti•ix • loss, we must have one t r' :;he other of th•e beef breeds. The Short- ' horns, Herefords and Aberdeen Angus, are ail good and each has its admirers. 1 prefer the Shorts horns because the. Cows are }saner^ ally the better milkers, writes J. W. Ingham. 'Whatever others may think they can clo, or have done, I can't raise • good calves on dishwater, Milk slop and hay tea. Young calves need milk for a while as much as babies and to keep them growing • right along they must have it - We prefer to have our cows calve in the fall,both onaccsunt a f win- ter dairying and for raising the calves, which if kept in a, warm stable during the winter and £ed milk, hay and meal will sooner ob- tain the • size most profitable for their disposal to the. butcher. Our calves, when taken from their mothers, are each provided with a separate pen for conveni- ence in feeding so they need .not fight for the food bucket, rob each, other of their mess, or suck oa,ch others ears and navels when done drinking. The latter is a vicious habit ..,et which they soon acquire when two or more are penned together, and unless prevented • it soon causes a blemish on the belly. Each calf is provided with a feed- ing bucket in a box which is nailed last to the side of the pen. This prevents the bucket from being up- set and the milk spilled by the alves' greedy butting, otherwise the feeder, for safety, would have to stand and hold it while the salves were drinking. As soon as we begin feeding the calves skim milk, which is about teen days after being taken from the cow, a handful orf wheat mid- dlings is put into the milk for each salt' and the calves are fed twice, a ::ay, The quantity is gradually in- ereasecl until a pint or inure can he fed to aclva.itage twice a day. After they -have become fondof the middlings it. is better to•'f'ee+dssitrarrt' them dry instead of putting it into th milk: so that they: swill %lave .. Cat ' it ;leaver zxistead o g 11 it down. Oats,' .corn • allcl rye ground th- i; -.ther Make tsealet feed for calves in addition to mill:, but there is mare danger in feeding this kind of meal than middlings as it is more like- ly to produce diarrhoea or stews, 1 little fIaxseed meal will improve the ratite] ai:d supply the place of .,bel' feeds. lyefore they are four weeks olcl they are fed 1 i �ttle 1a�. rr rale 1, i]1 add:tictil to tlicir.inilk and heals,,, s There is nit+1'C danger of feeding too unicli skin] milk than too little, 418 too liberal feeding of it is apt to bring oxl the seull:'S. Some calves stand more than others, but about five quarte ;1t :t mess twice a day is enough for any e'tlf if it is supplied with hay, mull and water. We provide our calves with water after they have drunk their milk and give them all they want. Skim milk should be warmed to blood heat before feeling to young calves. Fed to calves, the milk makes them grow faster and pays as well as when fed to pigs. They are pro- vided with a shelter in the pasture to go under when it storms or the sun is hot and they appreciate it highly. PROFITS IN THE DAIRY. A decided tendency to dry lip early in the season is why many cows do not make satisfactory pro- fits to their owners. This is brought about many times by their early training. Every heifer should be milked kr a long period; after drop- ping her first calf so that this habit may become fixed. The common cow is the outgrowth of conditions that appear on the average farm. If she is to be sue- ceeded by a better cow she should be preceded by a better dairyman. The dairy cow has worked the question of co-operation otit among the farmers. She has shown them the great .benefits of co-operation in the creamery business and this Should suggest further advantaages in the co-operation if properly managed. Shoot the worthless farm dog sell the kicky dairy eow and the kicky horse and give the thicken - eating hog a dose of the axe. .,4 • .4' ., .. ...,.:g.h'r t.w,r ,u'u,..,,' . s ', •'.-2.7......,. ,,,. =uric•^=-,.+• -�'�'! �., • ; g9"`tt HEALTH IN PURE S' UGAR ''Sugar is one of the, best, and most widely used foods. Would you risk your health for the sake of a few cents "on a Lunched pounds of eager 9 Buy only t. e -i s ' q' ,PitsttW1144L. ATE D cb Its Purity and Quality cannot be questioned, Com are 1 ., h no the difference in co of i rill anyother and to e t w 0 -PARIS LUMPS >,I l� .r t 71F%L Path Lumps When buying Loaf Sugar ask 3r i (.p p " - sold in Ran SEAL dust proof cnrtonx, and by the pound. The Canada Sugar Refining Co., Lirnifed SIMONTREAL, CANADA Eetab'ished in tes.t_by John Redpath i i S 't : F s" mosemalerammencr. iq .gym .,'eJ'._.r ,•ice �f • �A� yy vlfai iF nt'S,sil?+cl3 ti rtEf ;p, Sit thht i'Nq n , 8' »,•��t.�t.�a�,-..ter �• :ti , ge .'Fie< �'el?,r.'ar %i Yell ydj�? ",5,;"."C;y7 A',c� "y,E['',y,,.Li''• kJ'19�.i1'Ef/1'r+f.�';r.'F'11�"11ia>.J$i-''.'•:.a't(r'.'t"'.�V.t�f7it�`i", W. >d }-20; ' nn�,,n�q.�,�.troYn�v�r .µ �i'"�, •5.1 14:',!..%UPC�{tiYarssed'l+sir!'/.'iv:•>!1�� iC!/h: w-4t•!:e` x Concrete Side alks �+rare�7 Safe, Sightly ly E EVf'iiFi G aa,�`Dh ring UMBER used in damp places and on wet ground—as, for instance, In walks —has a very short life. 'It requires almost constant reaairirij; and, in a few years, needs replacing. Concrete, ora the other hand, improves with age, an Elie very dampness which de- stroys lumber calls out the best qualities of the cement 1 y making it harder° and harder —until neither time nor traffic can affect it. The hest of wooden walks keep getting out of repair, and are a continual menace to life and limb. They arc also a frequent source of expensive doctor : bills and lost time. Then again, they are likely to eat up the original cost in repairs before they are replaced. Concrete walks are sightly, everlasting and safe. They cost less to build and need no repairing nor painting. Write for our free book, "What the Fanner Can Do With Concrete." It tells in plain, simple language, how you can save money on farm construction hy using cement for Barns, Dairies, Foundations, Fence Posts, Troughs, Feeding Floors, Hitching Posts, Stalls, Silos, Stairs, and so forth. The Book is well illustrated with photographs, earns and diagrams. Fill out the coupon or send a postal to -day, Simply address it to Cada Gement Co. Limited 30-35 National San's Building Name .,, li 0r izsu ll You may send me a copy of "What the Farmer Can .Do iTtith Concrete." e. ealasaleatilintefilai Art Address .,.••••... snrmmmtw.SriOEoannur:c ,c,,i, .soA+u: Oen the Ft.rin sasesseasseseseeeslesseebessases • RAISING THE CALVES.. In order to raise' cattle ?n 61.a east :With any .profit,'.or withoti•ix • loss, we must have one t r' :;he other of th•e beef breeds. The Short- ' horns, Herefords and Aberdeen Angus, are ail good and each has its admirers. 1 prefer the Shorts horns because the. Cows are }saner^ ally the better milkers, writes J. W. Ingham. 'Whatever others may think they can clo, or have done, I can't raise • good calves on dishwater, Milk slop and hay tea. Young calves need milk for a while as much as babies and to keep them growing • right along they must have it - We prefer to have our cows calve in the fall,both onaccsunt a f win- ter dairying and for raising the calves, which if kept in a, warm stable during the winter and £ed milk, hay and meal will sooner ob- tain the • size most profitable for their disposal to the. butcher. Our calves, when taken from their mothers, are each provided with a separate pen for conveni- ence in feeding so they need .not fight for the food bucket, rob each, other of their mess, or suck oa,ch others ears and navels when done drinking. The latter is a vicious habit ..,et which they soon acquire when two or more are penned together, and unless prevented • it soon causes a blemish on the belly. Each calf is provided with a feed- ing bucket in a box which is nailed last to the side of the pen. This prevents the bucket from being up- set and the milk spilled by the alves' greedy butting, otherwise the feeder, for safety, would have to stand and hold it while the salves were drinking. As soon as we begin feeding the calves skim milk, which is about teen days after being taken from the cow, a handful orf wheat mid- dlings is put into the milk for each salt' and the calves are fed twice, a ::ay, The quantity is gradually in- ereasecl until a pint or inure can he fed to aclva.itage twice a day. After they -have become fondof the middlings it. is better to•'f'ee+dssitrarrt' them dry instead of putting it into th milk: so that they: swill %lave .. Cat ' it ;leaver zxistead o g 11 it down. Oats,' .corn • allcl rye ground th- i; -.ther Make tsealet feed for calves in addition to mill:, but there is mare danger in feeding this kind of meal than middlings as it is more like- ly to produce diarrhoea or stews, 1 little fIaxseed meal will improve the ratite] ai:d supply the place of .,bel' feeds. lyefore they are four weeks olcl they are fed 1 i �ttle 1a�. rr rale 1, i]1 add:tictil to tlicir.inilk and heals,,, s There is nit+1'C danger of feeding too unicli skin] milk than too little, 418 too liberal feeding of it is apt to bring oxl the seull:'S. Some calves stand more than others, but about five quarte ;1t :t mess twice a day is enough for any e'tlf if it is supplied with hay, mull and water. We provide our calves with water after they have drunk their milk and give them all they want. Skim milk should be warmed to blood heat before feeling to young calves. Fed to calves, the milk makes them grow faster and pays as well as when fed to pigs. They are pro- vided with a shelter in the pasture to go under when it storms or the sun is hot and they appreciate it highly. PROFITS IN THE DAIRY. A decided tendency to dry lip early in the season is why many cows do not make satisfactory pro- fits to their owners. This is brought about many times by their early training. Every heifer should be milked kr a long period; after drop- ping her first calf so that this habit may become fixed. The common cow is the outgrowth of conditions that appear on the average farm. If she is to be sue- ceeded by a better cow she should be preceded by a better dairyman. The dairy cow has worked the question of co-operation otit among the farmers. She has shown them the great .benefits of co-operation in the creamery business and this Should suggest further advantaages in the co-operation if properly managed. Shoot the worthless farm dog sell the kicky dairy eow and the kicky horse and give the thicken - eating hog a dose of the axe.