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FOl'R DAUGHTERS.
The followin g lines were written by a
friend and 6ent to the bereav and parents,
who had iour little daughters t . ken from
them ’,jy death:
four little sisters all brought together
Safe in a bright and blessed home;
'-afe where no tempests nor cloudy weather
Nor sin nor care can ever come.
Four little sister-, eager the pleasure
Of Christ our blessed Lord to do,
Bearing this greeting of heavenly treasure.
Sorrowing mother, this day to you.
Weep not for 11-. oh, precious mother,
C hrist hath taken away death's sting;
He. our beloved and strong elder brother,
You to our happy home will bring.
Peaceful their rapture, no guilt stains deflling.
Waiting sweetly the Master’s day;
Four little daughter- shall greet you smiliug
When God shall call you hence away.
Four little sisters who love one another
With affection, here never known,
< heri-hing mother, father and brother
With a love like the Savior’s own.
Four little sisters worshiping Jesus
Early, heirs of His glory made,
Wearing no longer the guilt robe grievous.
Now in Christ’s righteousness arrayed.
Weep not, then, though Affliction's waters
Bathe, oh, mother, thy yearning soul;
Think of your four little angel daughters
Now iu Jestis made perfectly whole.
ljueens might be thankful for such a posses
sion
Past the reach of earth's dread alarms—
Four little daughters finding expression
For perfect delight in Jesus' arms
— J. A . G.
TIIE LITTLE MISSIONARY.
I have met her many mornings
With her basket on her arm,
And a certain subtle charm.
Coming noPTrom her adornings,
But the modest light that lies
Deep s ithin her shaded eyes.
And she carries naught lint blessing,
As she journeys up and down
Through the never-heeding town.
With her looks the ground caressing;
Vet I know her steps are bent
On some task of good intent.
Maiden, though you do ask it,
And your modest eyes may wink,
1 will tell you what 1 think;
ijueens might gladly bear your basket,
If they could appear as true
And as good and sweet as you.
— Exchange.
Hloutiitfl llciao ScvUtlo.
CII H I, I E.*
A N O V E I;.
BY MRS. OPHELIA NISBKT ItEID.
CHAPTER XX.
The morning following Alarm Marg’et’s
visit to the manse dawned as lovely as
even a poet could ask. with its clear sky
and those exquisite suggestions of sum
mer, which, in a sheltered Southern cli
mate, seem the rapid magic-work of a
night, so closely is the bleak undress ol
winter succeeded by the swelling buds
and sudden growth of early spring.
The sun shone with a soft, satisfying
radiance, and the translucent atmosphere
was already perfumed with the breath of
flowers. Elaine A'ere looked from her
window on all this glory of earth and
sky, touched to her soul with its ineffable
charm. Nature looked so active and yet
so restful! as if its work was its play—as
if to call up blossoms from the slumber
ing earth, and to mellow the gentle
breezes was but the prettiest pastime of
her changeful work. The girl's life had
been passed in the crowded streets of stir
ring cities, on fast-moving trains, and be
fore the sham splendors of the footlights.
This gentle birth of spring was almost a
novelty to her eyes, and, for the first time
in her short life, she felt a strong wistful
desire to go back to her childhood and
live over her dreary days, not to be
brought to this hour of supreme regret,
but to live it in innocence, in gentleness,
and iu laitli. It did not occur to her that
there was atonement or work for her now;
what she must do was only to answer the
demands of a stern justice; it was as due
to others as to herself. The one refrain
which sounded from her soul this morn
ing was but two words—just two, but
they carried with their painful iteration
the death knell of human hope. “Too
late!’.' “Too late!” “Too late!”
The very birds seemed to catch their
plaintive eclwi and toned their merry
chirrup to a sad complaining note. She
had been down to breakfast; tended and
watched by jealous care, had knelt and
heard a good man’s prayer for forgive
ness and lor continued" blessings; and
through it all she had bravely carried her
strong resolve to lift the mask and show
these so pure of lives and so true of heart
the deformity of sin hidden beneath. To
day, Charlie should know all. It was a
itard duty. She felt instinctively that it
would lie a harder blow to this frank
young girl than to the others. They might
wait an early but a more convenient sea
son; but Charlie must be hurt, wounded,
disappointed, shocked to-day! Her own
life was too precarious. A sudden .hem
orrhage might still her voice forever, and
-he should go before the great White
Throne with the stain of falsehood and
deceit on her hands. This was the day!
This the hour! She tied her bonnet on
and ran down the broad stairway. A
kind voice, the sweetest she had ever
heard, called to her from the open study
door;
“Going out so early. Miss Ellen?”
’“Yes, sir; going oiit for a walk in the
sunshine.”
“So am 1. 1 think we could enjoy the
sunshine together,”
“No, sir, for niv walk means busi
ness. ”
“So also does mine," Air. Fearne an
swered, a little gravely; “but 1 thought
our paths might lie together a while.”
“1 am going to take Charlie off for a
walk and you cannot join us; this time,
as I said, this w alk means business.”
“Alas! Let me hope then that the
boasted business may be satisfactorily ac
complished, and you two will enter an
appearance at noon.”
“Possibly.”
“With tliat, 1 suppose. 1 must be con
tent,” he answers pleasantly, asheojieiied
the gate lor her and walked rapidly down
the street.
Elaine easily found Charlie’s home, and
Charlie herself was soon giving her a
joyous, loving welcome in the handsome
sitting-room. She had admired uncle
Henry’s darling Irom the first; nad
thought her the freshest, brightest, loveli
est girl she had ever seen. But to-day
she seemed a radiant part of the radiant
day, so lustrous and brilliant were her
eyes, so animated and bright her face!
“We shall have this long spring day all
to ourselves, dear Ellen,” she said.
“Now. you sit there and make yourself
comfortable, and 1 w ill sit here and make
myself happy looking at you.”
"You are s"o kind, Charlie; but the day
is too lovely for the house, and 1 hoped 1
could coax you to take a long ramble with
me, or even a short one any where under
such a sky.”
“Certainly, 1 will walk, if you prefer
it: but are you sure you are equal to it?”
she asked, for she had already noted
her visitor’s flushed face and quick breath
ing.
“i can easily go, though we must walk
slowly. I flna" X nave been walkingrather
fast. ' Perhaps we may find some pretty
place, some shady, quiet spot, where we
may sit and talk.”
••"Yes, yes: I know the very place, not
lar either. Wait a moment " until 1 see
grandmother and get my hat." And
Charlie ran off much as she might have
iloue seven or eight years before when she
had asked permission to plav with her
doll.
Elaine Vere leaned back on the soft
cushions ot the sofa and took a little
needed rest of five short minutes, and
then the two pretty girls started off for
their walk—the one a child in simplicity
and innocence, the other, though herself
youug, a woman in knowledge and suffer
ing.
For some distance Charlie bad all the
talk to herself, and she chatted in the care
less, merry lashion common with her
when her heart was light and the sun
shone as to-dav. She had drawn Ellen's
arm within her own, and, as they passed
places ot any note, she gave her new
triend short and graphic accounts of each
one in her own original way. But she
never forgot that the girl at her side had
not her own strong vitality. Once and
again she inquired with loving solicitude
after her comfort, and always suited her
own elastic step to her "companion's
slower one.
“Charlie,” exclaimed Elaine, at last,
as they left streets and houses behind,
and approached a tall white gate, which
was locked, upon a broad and shaded en
closure, “are we going to the cemetery?”
“Yes: it wouldn't seem the cheerfullest
place to take you, but this is not the con
ventional burying ground—dark, damp
“Kntereff according to act of Congress m the
year 1884 by J. H. Estill, in the office of the
Librarian of Congress at Washingten.
and mouldy. It is a perfectly lovely place,
where the sunshine is even brighter than
elsewhere, and where the flowers are
especially beautiful—the wild flowers, 1
mean. It really seems as if nature tried
to dissociate death and dissolution from
their accompanying horrors of dust and de
cay. But if you have any particular dis
like to this place, we can go some ‘other
where,’ as Air. Tennyson would say.”
“Oh! 1 don't in the least care where we
go so we find a spot secluded and dry. I
am a little afraid of damp.”
“Certainly, you must avoid the damp.
Just look up at that little hill slope! Isn’t
it sunny and pleasant? Do vou see the
beuch under that water oak? I’m going
to seat you there and bring you a drink of
water from a spring close by as cold as
ice. Are you tired, dear Ellen?”
“Not much, but glad to rest: this is a
lovely jilace. I should like to be buried
just here, where the sun comes through
the trees in long bright strips, and the
shade is perfumed with flowers.”
Charlie grew a little restless under
this gloomy speech, and turning impul
sively to her friend, 6he put one strong
youßg arm around her neck and said:
“Now, Ellen, I want to preach you a
short sermon. Listen,please! Y'ouknow
vour parents both died of consumption,
and. you know, you have had a mild hem
orrhage or two. and on these data you
proceed to break down your health and
kill vour hopes. This is all wrong.
Plenty of people, circumstanced exactly
as vou are, have lived to lie wrinkled and
aged: you may do as much. Instead of
feeling" fore-doomed forget all these sad
facts and take all the good the Gods will
give. Auntie says you have not taken
good care of yourself, and she is going to
pet you back into strength and hope and
happiness. You shall live, you pretty
darling, if it is but to be loved "and nursed
by us all. Now, what do yau think of my
sermon ?”
“It is a most sweet and pleasant ser
mon; but, dear child, there’s no fighting
against a fate as nearly accomplished as
mine is; further—don’t let what I say
distress you—l don't want to live!”
“You—you don’t want to live—you
want to resign this breathing, joyous be
ing to lie pulseless and soulless under a
cold stone like that?” pointing to a near
monument. “I cannot think it! I can
not realize it at all! If you were old and
tired and weary and friendless such an
unnatural idea might be possible; but
voting and sweet and lovely! Oh!
Ellen, you are blue or morbid or 6iek to
day ; to-morrow you will sing a cheerfuller
note.”
“I am not okl, Charlie, but tired; so tired
and weary.”
“Weary,dear! Of what?”
“Of sin.”
Charlie looked closely at her for one
long minute; then, laughing merrily,
said:
“Then fancy me a shaven priest and
confess. I think ’twouldbe after this sort:
’<>h! my father. I confess myself?' ‘Ot
what, my child?’ ‘Of forgetting to say
my prayers one cold morning last winter,
and of eating a bit ol meat last Friday.’ ”
But no smile lighted Elaine’s sad face
at this sally. She looked far off at the
brilliant sky. and then at the lonely
graves around her, and, at last, in a low,
constrained voice said:
“Can yon bear to hear my confession,
Charlie? It is for that I came here to
day.”
“Of course I can,” laughed the girl.
“Wait and let me get up a long
faced expression suitable for tne
solemn occasion. Proceed—begin 1 ‘I
have sinned, dear Charlie. 1 have
spent money on fine clothes, which
should have been given as alms to the
poor, and 1 have discarded several worthy
young men who coveted me for a wife!’ ”
“Charlie,” again asks the sweet voice,
“can you bear to hear my confession ?”
“Oh! yes, dear; certainly, I can; let’s
have it.”
Elaine moved a little further off, and,
shutting her two small hands tightly to
gether, said:
“I am an actress!”
-Oh!” exclaimed Charlie, more from
pure astonishment than any other senti
ment just now. “Excuse me, Ellen; do
go on.”
“l have lived alone without friends, of
teu without money, and once—once for a
short time —without reputation.”
••What do you mean?” came coldly,
icily, slowly from Charlie’s white lips.
“I mean more than 1 say. 1 mean that
once, for three months, 1 lived a life that
1 scorned, and pure women like you de
spise.”
As she spoke a great change had come
over Charlie’s mobile, sensitive face. Ig
norant and innocent almost as a child.
Elaine’s words, nevertheless, contained a
horrid significance, and all the purify, all
the self-respecting pride of womanhood
sprang into life and active defense at the
girl’s humiliating confession. Flushing
scarlet with outraged feeling and disap
pointed confidence, she sprang to her feet
and said:
“Ellen Weston, how have you dared —
how have you dared come here with this
pollution ot sin about you? How
have you dared accept mv auntie’s
kindness and my love? Ah: and
I have kissed you!—you who came
to me with the strong appeal of
beauty and poverty and friendlessness!
No, no; don’t speak: I will not hear you!
Don’t touch me; 1 will not permit it!
You are vile, corrupt, stained with sin,
and yet you are a woman! Oh! the pity
of it! 'oh! the 6hame of it!” And
Charlie, wrought to the highest pitch of
excitement, knelt down on the long grass
and sobbed aloud.
For five long minutes not a word was
said, and not a sound broke the forest
stillness but the low weeping of the un
happv girl. Gradually this ceased;
Charlie dried her eyes" and walked off
quietly toward the river's brink, and was
soon lost in the thick undergrowth.
Elaine Yere, sitting calmly on the bench
under the trees, watched her retreating
figure with quiet hopelessness. Just so
she had expected to suffer, and she meek
ly accepted her portion.
A long time, perhaps twenty minutes,
passed, and then a figure was seen slowly
approaching. It was Charlie. Her lace
was no longer (lushed; her eyes were dry,
and her step was quiet and regular. She
came up and took her old seat at Elaine’s
side and said:
“What will you do now, Ellen?”
The answer came quickly though
softly:
“I will tell your uncle and aunt what I
have told you, endure the stings and ar
rows of most outrageous fortune a few
short weeks, and "then the end will
come. ”
“What will you do after death. Ellen?”
asked a soft, trembling voice.
Over Elaine’s pale face beamed a smile
ot inetlable content.
••Leave my soul with Due who has said,
•Neither do I condemn thee!”’
The next moment Charlie was kneeling
at Elaine’s feet.
“Can you forgive me, Ellen, that 1 have
so cruelly punished you, that 1 have pre
sumed to be purer, better, wiser than my
Master, that I have dared judge when He
said ‘judge not;’ that, sheltered from temp
tation and protected from sin, I have flared
‘Stand off and touch me not;’ that 1
have thanked (loti that I was not such
as you? Ellen, friendless, homeless,
orphaned and helpless as you were, can
you forgive my presumption and my
sin ? Say that you do, or 1 will kneel here
forever.”
In Charlie’s grand eyes the tears were
rising, but her voice was rpsniuto ami
strong. Btui Eiame said nothing. She
was too deeply moved to speak, and still
the young girl knelt and waited; at last
she said:
“Ellen, you are too wounded to speak.
Lean down and kiss me that 1 mat have
peace.”
Elaine bent over and pressed one short
kiss on the pretty forehead, and, weak
from excitement and exhaustion, fell
fainting on the grass at her feet. How
tenderly Charlie" nursed her and kissed
her back to consciousness, and, when the
poor girl opened once more her eyes on
the anxious face bent over her, she saw
nothing but sisterly love aud tenderness.
CHAPTER XXI.
Eseotte had denied himself the happi
ness ot seeing his beautiful Charlie this
morning, only because he felt that his
duty in the matter Marm Marg’et had put
in his bands was imperative and admitted
of no delay.
But he wrote his darling a long note of
apology, and said he should certainly be
with her as early after tea as possible.
This note, coming in Charlie’s absence,
was read and destroy etl by
Mr. Beltham, who, for certain
reasons of his own, was not anxi
ous for Charlie and Mr. Fearne to spend
this evening together. His plans were
prospering pretty well on the whole. His
poor wife would shortly be in her grave
at rest from sufferings he hadgrown tired
of witnessing, and, though the pretty girl
he so coveted was most positively prom
ised to another man, he did not despair ot
ultimately separating them, and to this
end he proposed devoting this last even
ing at home, as early the next morning he
expected to take his sick wife to the sea
side.
Charlie had most confidently expected
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, APRIL 13, 1884.
to see her lover during the day, but as the
slow hours dragged by and he neither
came nor wrote her heart grew heavy.
She was naturally a little inclined to de
pression alter the exciting scene of the
morning; but, resolutely determined not
to give way to selfish regrets, she went
early alter*tea Into her mother's room to
cheer and comfort her as far as she
could before their separation on the mor
row.
"As Charlie came in Air. Beltham re
marked that, as he had been indoors all
(lav, he would go below for a little w alk
in the flower garden, as his wife might be
left in such good hands.
“Do go, Albert,” said his wife. “Charlie
will stay with me, and you need rest so
much.”
So, with a few tender words and a kiss,
he left her and went down stairs. He
walked directly towards the terrace
and stood still a moment listening.
Hearing nothing, however, he walked
slowly up and down the gravel path. It
was a lovely starlighted night, dark
enough in the thick shrubbery where he
w alked, but with an atmosphere clear and
soft as May. This man, however, had
never been susceptible to the subtile
charm of nature. His eyes, like his
thoughts, were always intently turned in
ward, making line and rule for his schem
ing soul. So to-night he saw the stars as
little as he felt the charm of springln the
balmy, lovely air.
Something does attract his notice, how
ever. It is the faint, far-off fragrance of
an excellent cigar. He stopped and
waited, and gradually footsteps ap
proached his sheltered "position. It was
Escotte Fearne, as he knew well, and it
was to meet him that he had waited here.
Not to be suspected of waiting and
watching, however, he took off his hat,
and. appearing not to see the visitor,
walked leisurely back and forth. He
could not be easily mistaken for a plotter
of any sort. He looked like a gentleman
taking a quiet stroll in his own garden,
resting after the fatigues of the day. As
Air. Fearne’s footfall struck the stone ter
race he turned suddenly as if roused
from an absorbing reverie of some sort,
and looked critically at the new-comer as
if in some doubt as to his identity. Then
suddenly stretching out a hand he said
with frank courtesy:
“Why, Mr. Fearne. good evening. Do
walk in. At first 1 don’t think I recog
nized you—the shrubberies are so thick
just here there is little light.”
“Good evening, Air. Beltham,” came so
coldly from the other that, startled and
anxious, he made one more nervous at
tempt to be cordial.
“Will you walk right in, sir, or would
you prefer to finish your cigar first; the
outside is very attractive just now.”
“I will go in,” Mr. Fearne remarked,
abruptly throwing away his cigar. “I
wish to see Aliss Barrett.”
“Ah! yes—yes, I suppose so, but I re
gret to say that Charlie is not in. She
weut with my mother into the city to pur
chase a few articles.”
“Into the city—to-night ? I should think
ladies would prefer daylight for shopping
purposes.”
“Certainly; but this was to get some
last-remembered things lor my poor
wife whom I will carry aw ay early to
morrow.”
, “Where will I probably find Aliss Bar
rett and your mother?”
“I think they spoke of Langston &
Thorne. Dry goods men on Ellis street.”
“I will see them there. Good even-
ing!”
“Good evening, Mr. Fearne. I suppose
it is useless to ask you to await them
here.”
“Entirely.”
The speaker had started off, when, sud
denly turning, he inquired:
“What will be your address for the next
few days, Mr. Beltham? I may want to
write you.”
No little confused he gave the address,
and, almost before he had finished speak
ing, his visitor was out of sight. A little
while Mr. Beltham stood musing in no
very pleasant mood. A something in Mr.
Fearne’s manner had disturbed hint. It
lacked the courtesy which, though but of
a formal kind, had always heretofore
marked their intercourse. “ What did it
mean? and why had he asked for his ad
dress? A moment he telt perplexed and
distressed. Then, throwing back his head
with a light laugh he thought: “Ah! i
have it. It is the same thing which
moves us all to moods curious and
strange: He is a lover; a pretty mad one,
too, 1 fancy; men of his stamp always
are. Disappointed, too. to-night of seeing
his Charlie. His? His? Never! if 1
can work my plans successfully. Say
rather mine—my Charlie—my precious—
my beautiful!”
At this point he turned hastily and
walked into the house. Charlie had been
giving her stepmother a long account of
her new-found friend, Ellen Weston.
Like all large-souled people, feeling that
she had been hard and cruel, she could
not now make sufficient atonement. So
she told of her beauty, of her sweetness,
of her brave outlook "at her own sad fate,
etc., etc. And Annie listened absorbed
and pleased. Like all timid, shrinking
creatures, she loved what was brave and
strong, and, when Charlie would pause a
moment, would ply her with questions
like an eager child. But they were in
terrupted all too soon. Mrs". Beltham
came in, aud, alter very tenderly arrang
ing the pillows, turned to Charlie and
said:
“My dear, your uncle Albert wants to
see you about a little matter of business,
he says. Go down on the porch and I
will stay with Annie.”
Very reluctantly the girl got up and
obeyed. She felt neglected and blue, and
sad every way, and in no mood to see her
guardian; but, thinking he really wanted
to see her about some necessary matter of
business, she ran quickly down and out
into the porch. She could just distiguish
his tall figure in the starlight leaning on a
white pillar of the colonnade.
••I want you a little while, Charlie,” he
said, advancing towards her. “Shall we
go into the sitting-room?”
“Oh! no; 1 like this better," she replied,
carelessly.
“And so do I,” he said, sitting Heat
her. “Did you leave my mother with An
nie?”
“Certainly; I should not have left her
alone.”
There was a long pause after this—so
long, indeed, that Charlie, who was by no
means in the best of humor, said a little
shortly:
“Grandmother said you wanted to speak
to me, sir.”
“So I do, Charlie, but I had almost
rather die than do it.”
“Good gracious me! Then why do it ?”
“Because I should be shirking my duty
to the living and the dead if I turned
back because the right path lay through
thorns.”
“Oh! dear, how heroic that sounds!”
“Charlie, I entreat you to be in earnest;
my task is so paiuful!”
“1 am sufficiently in earnest.”
Another long pause. At last he spoke
again:
“My dear girl, how do you like your new
acquaintance, Miss Weston?”
“I like her well; uncommonly well.”
Mr. Beltham sighed deeply. '
“Have you ever asked Mr. Fearne his
opinion of her?”
“No.”
“I only ask because they are such old,
old acquaintances.”
In the darkness the color rapidly for
sook poor Charlie’s cheel-o lips, i>t
she said nothing. Mr. Beltham went on
in a quiet sort of self-conununing way:
“He knew her in Europe. She was an
actress then. By the way, what a charm
ing, attractive-looking person she is! I
should like to know her myself. I sup
pose she will live always at your
uncle’s?”
“I suppose so.”
Charlie’s voice sounded strangely hard
and cold.
Mr. Beltham moved his position as if
restless and nervous, but the girl made no
sign; only a dull, weary pain made her
feel a little sick at heart; that was all. At
last, as if gathering courage for the worst,
he said rapidly and excitedly:
“My dear orphan, my sweet girl, it is so
painful to show you what everybody else
sees and knows. Mr. Fearne "and Miss
Weston are old friends. 1 cannot offend
you by being more explicit, and he is not
as free to offer you his hand as he should
l>e. She came here to interfere. I have
looked on distressed and troubled until
I can stand no more. The last time I
called there, I was invited into the closed
sitting-room, and there saw her with his
arm around her and her heaiL on his
shoulder. He looked shocked when I en
tered, but braved it out, and, of course, I
said nothing. Still I cannot go on con
senting to your sacrifice, consenting to
give you to this man, who really cares
nothing for you, without one word of pro
test, one word of warning. Charlie, go
with Annie and me to-morrow. Leave
him here and at least give yourself time
to consider this matter fully.”
lu the darkness and in the night, sitting
by this man’s side, Charlie had suflered
terribly. At first she had almost cried
out in indignant protest and scorn of his
accusation. How dared he defame her
lover ? How dared he kill her soul ? But
as he went on a cruel horror possessed the
girl. Her eyes were being opened to life.
Had not a woman, whom she had taken to
her heart and loved on trust, declared her
eelt a deceiver this very day, and might
there not be more to tell? Alight not her
anger and denunciation have stopped a
confession that would have implicated her
lover ?
Like all persons inexperienced in life’s
trials, she was ready at the first discovery
of deceit to call all mankind false, iii
vain she tried to bring her contempt
and dislike of her guardian to bear on his
words.
Her knowledge of his true character
seemed to fade out of sight, and she only
heard his death-dealing, hope-killing
words. And in the night, and in the dark
ness, the orphaned and friendless girl,
shorn of hope and happiness- at a single
blow, 6at silent, with two small helpless
hands clasped tightly together, hardly
realizing where she was. hardly con
scious of anything, only feeling a longing
desire then and there to lay down the
weary burden of being and live never
more.
Air. Beltham looked eagerly at her, but
the friendly darkness veiled the poor,
pale face and wide-opened, startled eyes—
eyes which looked intently forward yet
saw nothing.
“Have I hurt you, Charlie, darling?
I’d rather have died than have done it.”
She made no possible answer. Perhaps
she had not heard one word. He hardly
dared speak again. Somehow, he feared
he had gone too far. Natures, like this
girl’s, he knew were intense to enjoy, in
tense to suffer.
Half-regretlully he sat wondering what
he should do next. At last she sprang up
hastily, as if possessed with some definite
intention, and said:
“At what hour do you and mamma leave
to-morrow ?’’
“At 7:30,” he said. “Ah'. I trust you
will go with us.”
“Good night, Air. Beltham!” she said,
very, very quietly, as she walked off'
into the house and "up the broad stairs to
her room.
The man sat and listened, but no sound
reached his ears though he bent every en
ergy to hear. She must have sat down
immediately on reaching her room, so per
fectly still was the whole house. One
thing gave him a little comfort. Charlie
was proud, quick-tempered and resolute,
and he could not but hope that the next
morning might find her ready to fly from
scenes so painful, and, once away from
Mr. Fearne, he believed he had the power
to ensure a complete separation.
In her room Charlie sat dumb and
. stricken for a long time. She was trying to
know just what to do, but her mind seem
ed only a black chaos, in which but one
thing was discernible; this was a terrible,
measureless wrong, which w r as doubled
with a giant pain. She was fully re
solved to go away, not with her guardian
certainly, but to a nearer place, where
she had "been once before a happy child—
a quiet, pretty country place, not very far
off', but where she should be Jost to pry
ing, cruel eyes until she might wrestle
with her trouble.
Suddenly she remembered that she had
no money." Distasteful as it might be, she
must go down to her guardian again and
get it. Very softly she ran down into the
colonnade and stood by bis side before he
knew she was anywhere near him.
“What is It, clear? AVhat do you want?
Can 1 do anything for you?”
"I want some money, sir.”
“Of course; yes,” lie said, delighted at
this turn of affairs. “You will go away
to-morrow, Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“And you will want some money. Let
me see! Come into the light and I will
set you up,” he said, pleased and laugh
ing.
"No, I will wait here.”
“Very well. I’ll be back in a second.”
lie returned quickly aud handed her a
small roll of notes.
“That is all I have with me just now,
my dear. 1 can supply you at any time,
you know, and, of course, I will look af
ter your bills, etc. Are you gone already ?
Well, good night. I’ll see that you are
waked early in the morning.”
In a sort of nervous haste the young
girl made her preparation to leave; busy
little hands packed her trunk and a
satchel and made all proper prepara
tions.
Then she went down to the kitchen and
ordered her baggage carried to the depot
at once, and locked iu until she called for
it. In everything that was done she
seemed hurried and impatient, as if these
unimportant details were but interrupt
ing a something of l'ar more importance,
and so it was.
Charlie was wronged, outraged, broken
hearted, but she was brave and generous,
too. Circumstances seemed terrtbly to
coudemn her lover, but he should" have
one more chance. She had determined to
go to her uncle’s. If she could discover
that Eseotte was absent, she would make
a short visit, and perhaps—perhaps some
thing might transpire to clear up what
now seemed so cruel and hard. It seemed
that her lover should have one more
chance; one more little chance to dis
prove these awful charges. Of Ellen
Weston she never even thought; not a
particle of resentment went to the girl
whom she had so lately forgiven. She
only thought of Eseotte Fearne, dashed
down from the high pedestal on which she
had fancied he stood in a purer, better at
mosphere than other men. It whs still
quite early, and fearlessly she walked
alone along the familiar streets. She re
called that first time she had met him,
and how his kindness and courtesy and
dignity stood her friend in spite of her
self. Ah! howjshe had loved —had! how
she loved him now—now! with a love
which, in spite of pride and wrong, would
go with her to her grave. Pretty soon
her uncle’s house is in sight. The win
dows of the study are brilliantly lighted.
She concludes to peep in once at uncle
Henry before she goes in, and stands on
tip-toe to accomplish her purpose. One
look, just one, she takes, and then, with
one little moan of pain, she darts through
the open gate and runs, like one driven by
horror or fear, runs madly down the
dark streets, nor stops, nor rests until she
has reached her room and locked herself
safely in its privacy and shelter.
And what sight had this hapless child
seen which had sent her half crazed with
suffering from her good uncle’s loving
home?
When Elaine Yere had walked back
leaning on Charlie’s arm she had said.
“She was better,” and so she was; but she
never thought of telling her sweet friend
what she knew would be so distressful to
her; that she was on the verge of another
serious attack, perhaps, very near death.
So she went home bravely laughing and
talking, drawing her breath painfully the
while, and never,permitting her friend to
get a good look at her face, and parted
with her at the gate apparently as com
fortable as ever. This was about noon.
Excusing herself from dinner she rested
quietly in her room for several hours, and,
finding that her indisposition sorely dis
tressed Mrs, Fearne, she made great ef
fort aud dressed for tea. Altogether she
felt better than she had hoped, but Dr.
Fearne watched her with no little anxie
ty. He did not feel satisfied with her
looks at all, and, as his son went out af
ter an early tea. to make his promised
visit to Charlie, he followed him outside
to ask that he would call on their family
physician as he went, and request him to
come and look after Ellen. His son
thought there was no immediate necessi
ty for medical aid, but promised to send
the physician, ivow air. Eseotte Fearne
was no dreaming, love-sick boy; still his
whole heart was filled with the’ charming
girl who had promised so soon to be his
wife, and he had not seen her for five
days; so it is not altogether astonishing
that, grave, self-possessed and dignified as
he was, he should entirely have forgotten
the other girl left behind. He forgot El
len, father, physician, everybody and
everything but pretty Charlie Barrett,
and only remembered them when his ar
dor was a little chilled by disappoint
ment, and he was opposite his own home
on his way to the city. To excuse his
neglect to "his father, aud really to inquire
after Ellen, he went in for a moment, as
he thought. Ellen had left Dr. Fearne
and his wife in the dining-room, and, at
their suggestion, had gone back to the
study to rest a while on the sofa. Here
Mr. Fearne found her lookiug very pale
and sick.
“I am afraid I have disturbed you,
Miss Elleu,” he said. “Do lie down
again: you do not look well enough to sit
up.”
“I will,” she said, “it you will go on
with whatever you were going to do.”
“Very well; lie down. I only came
back to" look after something I'd forgotten;
but,” he continued, anxiously, “you’ve
no idea how pale you are. I will call my
mother.”
“Oh! no, Mr. Fearne; she is busy; but,
if you will help me, I should like to walk
upstairs to ray room. I don’t feel quite
well enough to stay down here.”
“Certainly,” he said, and, going to her
side, he assisted her to rise, and was
about to make her lean on his arm when
she took two quick steps into the middle
of the room, and fell sick and fainting in
his arms. Of course he lifted her up as
tenderly as he could, and, really alarmed,
called her name over and again", at a loss,
just for one instant, what to do next. He
was a most humane man, but a hard
hearted one would have been moved at
the girl’s sufferings. It was this very mo
ment that Charlie’s eyes had seen them.
Ellen in his arms, and he bending over
her tenderly calling her name; no one
else there, no uncle, no aunt, not even a
servant; only these two “who had been
friends so long.”
Poor, young, motherless Charlie! Poor,
proud, generous, young ereature! No
wonder the sight was woeful —madden-
ing! No wonder she went back to walk
the floor the live-long night, suffering,
agonizing, as do all others, in the terrible
toils of a first great grief. Two hours be
fore anyone else was stirring, before even
Alarm Marg’et was awake, the girl walked
noiselessly out ol the house and made her
way to the depot. It was not far. and the
early morning was fresh and cool. She
easily seated herself in the train, which
was by no means crowded, and the seven
short miles were quickly made to the
quiet country house she was seeking. She
found the old lady at home sweeping the
front steps, and astonished and delighted
at her sudden advent, but she couldn’t un
derstand Charlie’s moving an inch without
“grandmother,” whom she remembered
as a person not likely to resign any of
her executive perogatives. Charlie hast
ened to explain.
“Oh! I was feeling a little badly, and
ran up for a few days, etc., etc,, etc.”
“And you did exactly right too, child;
exactly." Now I’ll bet something you
ain’t eat a spring chicken in the city this
season.”
“No; indeed, I haven’t.”
“Well, go to your same old room and
lie down and rest, and you shall have one
by and by for your breakfast.”
Charlie went gladly enough, and, ex
hausted with watching and suffering, was
soon fast asleep.
The next morning Air. Beltham was
sorely disappointed to find under his
door a tiny note containing these two
lines:
“I am sorry to disappoint mamma, but
I cannot go with you. Don’t let them
wake me. Charlie.”
8o Airs. Beltham gave her son and
daughter their early breakfast, went with
them to the depot and returned, never
dreaming but that Charlie was fast asleep
in her comfortable bed.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
HOUSEHOLD NOTES.
Nasturtium Sauce for Boiled Mut
ton. —Cut up into small pieces two table
spoonfuls of pickled nasturtiums. Then
melt in a stewpan an ounce of good but
ter, dredging ill very gradually a little
flour (less than an ounce will be sufli
cient); work this with a wooden spoon
until it is very smooth, and then add about
a halt a pint of boiling gravy, beating it
well until the lumps are entirely dissolved.
Then season with two teaspooufuls ol' nas
turtium vinegar and a pinch of cayenne
and salt; put in the minced nasturtiums,
aud when the sauce has boiled up again
it is ready to serve.— The Caterer.
Royal Sauce for Fowls.—Take the
breast meat of a cold roast fowl, without
the skin; put it in a mortar with a slice
of Vienna bread, first soaking the bread
in milk and squeezing it till quite dry.
Pound these to a paste, and then add suffi
cient white stock to make it smooth and
about as thick as custard, seasoning it
with a little salt and pepper. Place the
sauce over a gentle fire and let it simmer
for twenty minutes to half an hour. Then
set it one side, and while cooling beat up
the yelks of two eggs with halt a cupful
of cream, and stir the mixture into the
sauce. Put it again over the tire*to heat,
stirring constantly, but do not let it boil
after adding the eggs and cream. Those
who like the flavoring can add to this
sauce a half dozen almonds reduced to a
paste.— I he Caterer.
Rhubarb Pie.—Select rhubarb that is
young and tender; wash well and trim off
the fragments of leaves, taking care that
no worms are left imbedded in the stalks.
Peel these, split each once or twice, mak
ing the slices very thin, and cut into inch
lengths. Prepare a stiff cream paste,
roll it in a thin sheet and lay the under
crust; sprinkle in a little flour and half a
cup of sugar over the bottom of the pan;
then put in the rhubarb, carefully placed
and at least six slices in depth; cover with
the other half crop of sugar. Now roll a
thin top crust, cover the pie and pinch the
edges firmly together; finish neatly, prick
well with a fort and cut a good cross-slit
in the middle. Bake in a quick oven
twenty-five to thirty minutes, or till the
crusts are evenly browned, top and bot
tom. Serve cold. Rhubarb pie, well
made, is very delicate in flavor; indiffer
ently done, it is one of the poorest.— The
' Record.
AVhole-Alkal Bread. —There is a strong
public opinion awakened in regard to the
superior healthtuluess and desirableness
in every way of bread made from whole
meal, instead of from skeletonized white
flour or the common mixtures of bran and
flour which pass current as “Graham”
bread. Whole-meal bread made from well
cleansed aud prepared whole-wheat flour
is not only sweeter—more palatable when
one is a little accustomed to it—but con
tains double and treble the amount of
strength, and ail those constituents ne
cessary to the formation of blood, bone,
muscle, and those, also, which give color
to the hair, of which the ordinary white
flour is deprived. Housekeepers who wish
to have the best bread; mothers who wish
their children to grow up strong and
sound, should see to it that whole-meal
bread enters largely into their diet, and
that grains, fruit and green salads and
vegetables each occupy as important a
place as meat.— The Record.
One of the most valuable adjuncts to
the breakfast table during the spring sea
son is water cress. In England it is the
regular accompaniment of the bread and
butter, or toast and fresh-laid egg, of
which the simple breakfast in spring and
summer is composed. It is sometimes
complained that water-cress in this coun
try is not so eatable as in England, be
cause not so tender and pungent. But
where a little care is taken, where the
conditions of growth are made as nearly
as possible like those which exist in Eng
land, it will be lound equally good and
wonderfully freshening to the blood and
the jaded appetite. It is always a good
plan to reduce the amount of meat with
the approach of warm weather, and in
troduce into the bill of tare all the young
and fresh growth possible, water-cress,
plain and as a salad, garden rhubarb, let
tuce and small onions, which are valua
ble for those who can eat them.— The Re
cord.
HITS OF SCIENCE.
Professor Dieulafait, lecturing recently
at the Sorbonne, contended that metallif
erous minerals have been extracted by
sea water from the older rocks, but ad
mitted that it is by no mean 6 certain they
are all ot sedimentary origin.
It is reported that at one of the Gethin
coal mine explosions a collier was able to
traverse the whole of the working in mak
ing an exploration while the pit was yet
full of gas, his cap, saturated with cold
tea and held to the mouth and nostrils,
proving an efficient safeguard.
M. F. Dupont, iu a paper on certain car
boniferous limestones,explaius theforma
tion of the older marine rocks of organic
origin by causes still in operation, and
from this deduces a fresh proof of the value
of the comparative method applied to the
study of the past geology of the globe.
One of the most remarkable storms
which ever passed diagonally over the
British Isles was that whiefi began at
noon of January 2(5 and ended oh the
next day at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.
Never before was there so low a barometer
reading as 27.32 inches recorded, a fact
which was verified by Mr. W. Marriott.
This is how corn pops: When popcorn
is gradually heated, and so hot that the
oil inside the kernels turns to gas, this
gas cannot escape through the hull of the
kernels, but when the interior pressure
gets strong enough it bursts the grain,
and the explosion is so violent that it
shatters it in the most curious manner.
A recent calculation shows that a man
weighing 140 pounds, and running a mile
in six minutes, performs work about equal
to that of a half-horse engine, while a
walker sustaining live miles an hour tor
a long day does work equal to that of a
quarter-horse engine and consumes only
one-twentieth of the weight of food or
fuel.
Whales were eaten by persons of the
upper classes in Europe as late at least
as the latter part of the thirteenth centu
ry. The tail and tongue dressed with peas
or roasted were prized as choice delica
cies. The Princess Eleanor de Montford
paid, in 1260, the sum of 245. for “100
pieces of whale” to be used as food in her
household.
Discussing the resistance of disease
germs to disinfectants, the Gesundheit
remarks that it is extremely probable that
the germ which produces smallpox epi
demics is present in the form ofliving ba
cilli in the fluid which is the principal
bearer of the infection—the lymph re
moved from the pustules. The degree of
vitality of the bacilli varies in the differ
ent kinds of lymph, that from cowpox
losing vitality much more readily than
the so-called human lymph.
THE FIELD, FARM ASI) GARDEN.
We solicit articles lor this department.
The name of the writer should accompany
ihe letter or article, not necessarily
for publication, but. as evidence of good
aitb.
Gleanings.
C. W. 8., in Country Gentleman, Maich
27, claims that the damaging effect of
frost may be mitigated by dusting the
plants with landplaster before the sun has
shined on them. He has made compara
tive experiments on corn and speaks pos
itively as to its advantages. This appears
probable to some extent, and is worthy of
a trial by gardeners, especially where
their plants have been touched by unsea
sonable frosts. It may be that the planter
(perhaps any dust would do as well)
drawing out the frost before the rays ot
the suti have falleu on the plants protects
the tissues from injury. We shall give it
a good trial anyway.
*******
Gerald Howitt, an experienced potato
grower, insists upon tne value of “green
ing” Irish potatoes for seed purposes. He
claims that the thorough ripening of the
eyes and hardening of the flesh from ex
posing them to the sun is a great advan
tage. He prefers to green them in the fall
before putting them away; but if it is not
done then he does it in the spring just be
fore planting time. They are spread out
in the sun and turned once or twice until
slightly greened all over. He has greened
enough to plant 100 acres in one year.
For several years I have observed that
potatoes thus greened came up soouer and
appeared to have more vigor than others
not greened. In digging the summer crop
it will be well thus to prepare some for
the fall planting a6 a matter of experi
ment.
Speaking of this fall crop, last July, in
harvesting the crop, I had the small ones
separated and immediately spread out
near a well and covered with pine straw
to a deptt of six inches. I had them thor
oughly wetted and a little soil thrown on
the pine straw. Twice afterwards I had
more waterapplied to them. In.two weeks
all of them had begun to sprout. They
were taken up and planted, and the result
was so satisfactory 1 shall do it more ex
tensively this year. Dry as the fall was
the crop was good—three times more than
where not so treated. Others have rec
ommeuded this plan highly and it does
appear to be a very profitable one. The
land should be prepared while they are
being sprouted, and the potato should be
pressed well into the soil and covered
deeply. This is a good plan where the
season is dry, but generally I succeed
very well from plantings of seed that have
not been exposed to the air and sun at all,
but dug and replanted at once, taking
care to tread them well into the loose soil
of the furrows. On a small scale it is not
much trouble to sprout them in advance,
though when planted extensively it may
not always be practicable to sprout all of
them. With care good stands may ordi
narily be secured without resorting to this
plan," but it is surer if dry weather should
prevail at the planting season in July.
Recently, in having some fencing made,
I noted the comparative cost of 6-toot
picket fence and 5-foot horizontal. The
figures are as follows:
Picket fence 400 feet (40 panels), one
20-foot plank (3 inches), to make 4palings
and spaces inches between.
40 hewn posts, 15c $ 0 00
40 scantling, 2x4, 20 feet, 520 feet@
sl2 50 6 45
20 baseboards (400 feet). 5 00
2.30 3-inch plank, 20 feet long for pa
lings, 1,150 feet 14 50
30 lbs. nails (10s), 5c 1 50
Labor setting posts and nailing and
sawing pickets, 15 cents panel. 600
400 feet $39 45
or $1 per panel.
Five-foot horizontal fence
-40 split posts, 8c $ 3 20
20 baseboards, 12 inches wide and
20 feet long 5 00
80 6-inch plank (20 feet) 10 00
Labor digging and setting posts
and nailing, 10 cents panel 4 00
12 lbs. nails, 5 cents 60
Total 40 panels $22 80
or 57 cents per panel of 10 feet.
*******
From the very prompt appearance of
the Harlequin (or “Lincoln”) bug in con
siderable numbers as early as the 25th of
March, it would appear that cabbages and
other brassicie will" have a hard road to
travel this summer and fall, and fortu
nate indeed will be the gardener who gets
an average crop of good heads this year
wherever these dreadful things appear.
It every cabbage grower would do his
best to destroy the first brood, the damage
to a great extent might be prevented; but
individual efforts here and there only will
prove of little avail. I shall try a copious
application of landplaster scented with
kerosene, and if this does not keep
the bugs off (it will not kill them) I
shall try Peter Henderson’s remedy—a
smjll proportion of white hellebore pow
der incorporated with the plaster, but not
applied to the heads. S. A. Cook.
Milledgeville.
Mclons ami Cucumbers.
The greatest triumphs are attained
where difficulties most abound. They
bring out the full powers of man. English
gardeners accomplish wonders and are
excelled only by the Scotch, whose cli
mate is still darker and chillier. Melons,
cucumbers, etc., can only be grown there
with the aid of glass and artificial heat,
and the ways of melon are therefore
watched with closer observation than we
care to give here, where we can let the
vines ramble at will in wide fields. They
fill their frames with vines and fruit by
stopping, pinching the end of the first
shoot, aud later of the second shoots,
which are guided by pegs, so as to evenlv
fill the frame. These checks soon induce
numbers of flowers, and the fruits from
the female flowers are thinned when as
large as walnuts, leaving only four or five
on each plant. Much wjym water is
poured over the leaves and all, through
the rose of a watering pot, earlv in the
evening, before closing the frames; but,
as the fruits approach ripening, only light
sprinkling is given to keep the leaves
green and healthy. In hot, sunny weather
this is given mornings and evenings. Cu
cumbers delight similarly in warm, moist
air.— IF., Tyrone, Pa.
liaising Hadislics.
The following is my method of raising
radishes, and which I find to be the best
way. I know that most of my neighbors
have much difficulty in getting good rad
ishes, and formerly I also did; they were
tough, stringy’and wormy, utterly unfit
to eat. Now I never fail to get them sound
and crisp. Radishes require to be grown
quickly in order to have them tender, 1
select a piece of ground in a corner of the
garden for this crop, and keep it specially
for that purpose. I use unleached wood
ashes, putting them on the ground two or
more inches in depth, and dig them well
under to thoroughly mix them with the
soil, which is sandy; when it is thor
oughly worked I sow the seed, first mark
ing rows with the back of a rake, from 10
to 18 inches apart. After sowing, the seed
is covered with the teeth of the rake. I
add ashes to the bed every year and find
that it keeps them free from the worms.
No manure is required; splendid radishes
are raised in this way. 1 never knew this
process of raising radishes to be recom
mended, and you are at liberty to publish
it.— F. V., London , Out.
Tin* Daisy Strawberry.
So many questions are asked me about
this new berry, as to its promising quali
ties, that it may be as well to repeat what
1 may have already written for the Rural
World. From a row 100 feet long, set out
in July, 1882, and allowed to run until
tall, w’e picked in 1883 86 quarts of large,
handsome, good berries; while a row each
of Manchester and Big Bob on each side,
with precisely the same treatment,yielded
each 55 quarts.
It is true, the Daisy spreads herself
more than the others, but that was not
her fault. It is a stamiuate variety and
was put between the other two to fertilize
them. Here are the facts, but I will not
insure it to surpass many others, yet
have great faith in it. The moderate
Erice that it is offered at, no one will be
urt bad if it don’t do as well elsewhere
as here.
It is in the hands ot a dozen or more to
whom I presented plants a year ago, and
from whom reports mav be expected when
the next crop is over.—A. SI., in the Rural
World.
Garden Work for April.
This month is the beginning of incessant
labor and vigilance on the part of every
gardener who desires to have a productive
garden that will do credit to his skill and
industry. Of course he has it already in
fair order, so far as the small fruits, hot
beds, cold frames and such beds planted
and sown with seeds recommended by us
last month. If not, he has much to do,
and to be done at the earliest moment.—
Maryland Farmer.
, Bloody Milk.
Young cows in very high condition are
often liable to affections of the udder.
Keep the animal indoors; give plenty of
bedding to prevent bruising of the bag;
preferably keep her in a box stall. If the
bag is tender bathe it several times daily,
with a mixture of equal parts of tinctures
of arnica and soft water. Draw the quar
ters clean of milk thrice daily, without
much pulling of the teats. If pain is oc
casioned by milking, it is batter to draw
the milk by means of a milk tube, care
fully inserted. Give sloppy or steamed
food, besides sliced apples or roots, and
good, aromatic upland bay. But bloody
milk is due to a variety of causes, and to
treat it most successfully it would be
necessary to know the cause.— Breeder’s
Gazette.
Kalmia Latifolia.
Not only is this a most gorgeous affair
when in bloom, but to witness a hillside
dotted full of the trees when the ground
is covered with snow and the sun shines
brightly on part of the hill, and the rest
is in the shadow, is sotnething equally
grand. I remember once standing on a
knoll admiring such a scene, when the
mercury was about zero, until my ears
were about froze. It is, perhaps, the
hardest wood we had in Pennsylvania,
aud I often wondered why it is not used
for knife handles, etc. ’ Many of your
readers can, perhaps, recall their expe
rience in crawling and twisting through
a laurel thicket in a swamp to get a shot
at a grouse.—. 9. M.
Farm and Stock Notes.
The Rural Xeic Yorker warmly advo
cates oats and peas as an excellent green
food for milch cows. For this purpose
one and orte-half bushels of peas and two
and one-half bushels of oats are sown. As
peas are not easily covered l>y a harrow,
the seed should be sown on the harrowed
ground and covered by the cultivator or
plowed in.
Capt. Jordan, of the Bremer County
Livestock Association, Waverly, lowa,
is of the opinion that eventually the Amer
ican horse breeder must enme to the po
sition now held by the British breeder,
namely, breeding special animals for spe
cial purposes. One kind of horses, he
holds, is needed for a draught horse, one
for a roadster and another for a riding
horse.
A correspondent says that young horses
should never have shoes imposed upon
them until it is well proved that they can
not do without them. He predicts that
the day is not far off when some humane
benefactor of his kind and horse-kind will
produce a breed of horses having such
firm, tough feet, in addition to all other
good qualities, that shoeing will be unne
cessary.
A fact that should be borne in mind by
those engaged in horse training is that the
horse has a very acute taculty for under
standing and interpreting the tone of the
voice. If you talk confidently, the ani
mal* acquires confidence; if your voice
shows fear, he notices it and is afraid
Talk kindly to your horse and be sure that
he understands,the meaning of the tone if
not ot the words.
The negroes of Sumter county, Alabama,
have a farmers’ club in successful opera
tion, with some verv practical features
worthy the consideration of white folks.
If any member fails to attend properly to
his team, or keep his fences in repair, he
is fined from $1 to $lO, and the money is
collected out of the first proceeds of his
crop. Membership in such a club would
prove expensive to al good many white
farmers.
An agricultural writer, speaking of the
best methods of feeding corn-fodder and
other coarse foods, calls attention to the
fact that since these are in themselves in
complete foods, lacking the nitrogenous
and fatty elements, they should invaria
bly be supplemented with some food which
will supply these. He regards cotton-seed
cake, or linseed-01l cake, as among the
best, as they not only supply the needed
elements, but also greatly enrich the ma
nure.
Our ideas of high farming differ very
materially from those of the agricultur
ists of many sections of Europe, where
rents run as high as S3OO per acre, and
where farming is made to yield a good in
come even at those figures. France, Eng
land, Holland and other countries are a
long away ahead of us in the matter of
making every foot of land give its largest
possible yield, and this is accomplished
by manuring highly and cultivating with
the utmost thoroughness.
If you do not get as good a price for
your butter as someone else does you may
count that there are nine chances out of
ten that the fault lies with you and not
with the purchaser, remarks an exchange.
Really choice butter is not so plenty but
that anyone who makes a really first-class
article can easily obtain the highest mar
ket price. It is very natural for one to
think that their butter is just as good as
their neighbor’s, but if their neighbor’s
brings a higher price it win pay to try and
improve the quality a little.
The editor Of the American Cultivator
says that in an experience of many years
he has found that clover seed sown in
February or early in March is more sure
of a catch than that sown later. Some
theoretical fears have been expressed lest
the young plants be frozen to death before
spring; but that these fears are ground
less is shown bv the fact that self-sown
clover seed, or that turned up by last tail’s
plowing often gives a good catch, and this
! must have la n on or near the surface of
! the ground through the winter.
A Correspondent writes to the Garden-
I ei*s Monthly. “Watercress is grown by
us Montrealers without the aid of spring
water or running brook. We simply stick
it in the form of cuttings, on a well
drained bench of sweet soil in the fall, in
a house where the heat is about forty-five
degrees all winter. Sprinkle freely and
we have cress all winter and all summer,
if required, by shading. Some of our Mon
treal hotels must have the water cresses
on their tables all the year round.”
Mr. T. I). Curtis thus tells the readers
of the Farmer and Dairyman what consti
tutes a “balanced ration:” “Foods are
divided into two classes, carbonaceous
and nitrogenous, which are sometimes
called carbo-hydrates and albuminoids.
No lood is wholly one or the other. The
two terms have only a relative significa
tion. All foods are more carbonaceous
than they are nitrogenous, hut when the
proportion of nitrogenous elements is
comparatively large the food is called car
bonaceous. Foods are composed of a large
number of ingredients in different pro
portions, hut if we are careful to get two
of them in the right proportion the rest
will be present in sufficient quantity.
These two are carbon and nitrogen.”
The United States Government has
joined the fence-cutters by ordering the
cutting of the wire fences with which a
number of wealthy cattle owners inclosed
large areas of the public domain in Ne
braska, New Mexico and other Western
Territories. The managers of the ranches
are now in Washington in order, if possi
ble, to adjust the difficulty. They confess
that they have violated the law in’refusing
to permit the government mail-carriers to
cross their misappropriated lands. The
only argument they use to retain what
they .have illegally seized upon is that by
raising cattle cheaply they make meat
cheaper to the consumer. The govern
ment, however, is not likely to modify
its decision that the fences must be re
moved.
From our own experience, says the
New Ewjlaml Farmer , if asked to answer
in a general way whether the use of com
mercial lertilizers pay, we should reply
that they pay on some" land a very much
better percentage than on other land;
that they pay better applied to some crops
than to other crops, aud that they also
pay much better in some seasons than in
others. If land is so coarse and loose
that it cannot hold water enough to ma
ture a crop, or is too wet for plants to
grow in, it would be wasteful to cover it
with a fertilizer, whether that fertilizer
be a concentrated chemical substance or
a load of stable manure. Again, if a fer
tilizer is used for growing a crop that is
not wanted in market, like our apple crop
of the present year, there can certainly
be no profit from growing it under such
circumstances; and, again, if the season
is so unfavorable that all, or nearly all,
crops fail, we cannot expect a field to
produce well merely because it contains
a sufficient amount of fertilizers to pro
duce a crop, provided other conditions
were favorable.
Piles! Piles!! Piles!!!
Sure cure for Blind, Bleeding and Itch
ing Piles. One box has cured the worst
cases of 20 years standing. No one need
suffer five minutes after using William's
Indian Pile Ointment. It absorbs tumors,
allays itching, acts as poultice, gives in
stant relief. Prepared only for Piles, itch
ing of theprivate parts, nothing else. Hon.
J. M. Conenbury, of Cleveland, says: “I
have used scores of Pile cures, and it
affords me pleasure to say that I have
never found anything which gives such
immediate art® permanent relief as Dr.
William’s Indian Pile Ointment. Sold
by druggists and mailed on receipt of
£rice, sl. Sold by O. Butler, Savannah,
ippman Bros., wholesale agents,
lottrntg.
OF- CAPITAL PRIZE, i§ 75,000
Tickets only 95. Shares In proportion.
LOUISIANA STATE LOTTERY CO
“We do her,,by certify that tee superfine the
arrangement* f,nr all the Monthly and Semi-
Annual Ih awitiy* 0/ the Louisiana State Loiter**
and in person manage and conirot
the Jeraaetny* themselres, and that the name atm
conducted with honesty, fairness, and in food
faith toward allp<irtie*, and tee authorise the
Company to use this certificate, with fac-sunilm
of our signature* attached, in its advertise
ment*,”
f yfr" j,
COMMISSIONERS.
Incorporated in 1888 for 25 years by the Leg
islature for educational ami charitable pur
poses—with a capital of *l,ooo.ooo—to whifth •
reserve fund of oxer *550.000 has since bee*
added.
By an overwhelming popular vote its fran
chise was made a part of the present State
Constitution, adouted December 2, A. I>. 1X79.
The only Ix>ttery ever voted on and in
ddhsed by the people of any State.
It nerer scale* or postpone*.
Its Grand Singlk Number Drawings take
place monthly.
A SPLENDID OPPORTUNITY TO WIN A
FORTUNE.—Fifth Grand Drawing, Class E.
in the ACADEMY OF MUSIC, NEW OR
LEANS. TUESDAY, AiAY 13. 1884—lUSt*
Monthly Drawing.
CAPITAL PRIZE 575.000.
100,000 Tickets at Five Dollars Each. Frac
tions in Fifths in proportion.
LIST OF PRIZKS.
1 Capital Prize *73,00#
1 Capital Prize 25.00#
1 Capital Prize 10,008
2 Prizes of *6,000 12,000
5 Prizes of 2,000 10,00#
10 Prizes of 1,000 10,000
20 Prizes of 500 10,00#
100 Prizes of 200 20,00#
300 Prizes of 100 30,000
500 Prizes of 50 25.000
1,000 Prizes of 25 25,000
APPROXIMATION PRIZES.
9 Approximation Prizes of *750 *<>,7so
9 Approximation Prizes of 500..:.. 4.30#
9 Approximation Prizes of 250 2,250
1,967 Prizes, amounting to *267,50#
Application for rates to clubs shouh; lie made
only to the office of the Company in New
Orleans.
For further information write clearly, giv
ing full address. Make P. O. Money Orders
parable aud address Registered Letters to
NEW ORLEANS NATIONAL BANK.
New Orleans, I.a.
POSTAL NOTES and ordinary letters by
Mail or Express (all sums of *5 and upwards
by Express at our expense) to
M. A. DAUPHIN.
New Orleans, La.-
OrM. A. DAUPHIN,
607 Seventh street, Washington, I). C'.,
Or JNO.'B. FERNANDEZ,
Savannah. Ga.
O Ri'PfA.L . .
GOULD & CO'S. V
IS DECIDED BV
ROYAL HAVANA LOTTERY,
(A GOVERNMENT INSTITUTION),
Drawn at Havana, Cuba,
EVERY 12 TO 14 DAYS.
Sec that the name Gui ld & Cos. if* the o*
ticket.
Subject to no manipulation, not controlled
by the parties in interest. It is the fairest
tiling in the nature of chance in existence.
For information anil particulars apply to
SHIPSEY CO., Gen. Agents, 1212 Broad
way, N. Y'. Citv, ami tis East Randolph St.,
Chicago, 111., or J. 11. FERNANDEZ, Savan
nah, Ga.
SMtoltitta ffoliarro^
Analysts by Dr. A. Yoelcker, F. R. S., Con
sulting Chemist Royal Agricultural Society.
England, shows onlv a trace of nitrates In
Blackwell's Bull Durham Tobacco. The soil
of the Golden Belt of North Carolina, lu which
this tobacco Is grown, don't supply nit rates to
the leaf. That Is the secret of Its delicious
mildness. Nothing so pure and luxurious for
smoking. Don't forget the brand. None gen
uine without the trade-mark of the Bull. All
dealers have it.
When feline concerts
driveawayeleep.your j
best solace is found in / .us
Iyw Blackmell'i Bull Bur- < i /■'.
Rtimral lUatcr.
CONKS SPBINtt
The Standard Mineral Water.
'Cathartic, Alterative. A specific
for disorders of the St ohi itch, Liver
aud Kidueys. Eczema, Malaria and all
impurities of the Blood.
So enviable a name has this famous Mineral
Water that the managers of inferior mineral
springs, desirous of imitating the natural
purity of the bottled water of Congress Spring,
inject a powerful acid in their bottled water
to preserve the crude ingredients in solution
being so heavily laden with
LIME AND IRON DEPOSIT.
With such contrivances, bogus testimonials
and doctored analysis cards they seek to rival
the pure medicinal waters of Congress Spring.
The regular season visitors to Saratoga fully
understand these crude, harsh waters, many
of them after painful experiences. In proof
of this fact we can produce a great many ne
sponsible names. But the Saratoga visitors
without experience, and many who use the
bottled waters (often labeled as curatives for
disorders which they positively aggravate),
should remember that crude, harsh mineral
waters produce heartache, a sense of burning
and internal irritation, and do irreparable in
jury to the digestive organs and kidneys.
Congress Water Pure, Natural and
Reliable.
NONE GENUINE SOLD ON DRAUGHT.
For sale hv Druggists, Grocers, Wine Mer
chants and Hotels.
BOTTLE “C” .MARK.
fjotrlo.
The Metropolitan Hotel,
BROADWAY AND PRINCE STREETS,
NEW YORK,
I,''IRST-CI>ASS in all its appointment* and
-T unsurpassed by any hotel in tbe city.
Is especially inviting to business men visit
ing city with their families.
Rates Reduced to $3 Per Day.
HENRY CLAIR, Lessee
HARNETT HOUSE,
SAVANNAH, CA.,
IS conceded to be the most comfortable and
bv far the best conducted Hotel in Savaa -
nah. ’ Kites: per day
M. L. HARNETT,
Crate*.
TRUCK FARMERS!
Leave your orders now with
BACON, JOHNSON & CO.
FOR HEADS AND SLATS.
HAVE your Crates made in time, and avoid
trouble when you are ready to ship.
7