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PLAY YOUR PART UNAIDED.
Hay yonr part unaided—rely upon yonr
.strength;
Be brave and strong and go along. ,
Act your part and sing your song, .
And you’ll sucoeed at length.
Play your part unaided—don’t wait lor
others to;
Assistance lend, but bravely bond
Your back and strugglo to thoond,
And do what is to do.
Play your part unaided—through years
that como and go;
Toll on with might through day and night
And let your heart bo over light
As summor winds that blow.
Play your part unaided—don't worry over
cares;
Though troubles come and bafflo some,
Pray heed them not, but banish from
Your soul besetting snares.
Play your part unaided—e'er let yonr heart
be leal;
Scorn idle fears and cowards’ sneers,
And toil for coming days and yeurh
JYith steadfast hope and seal.
“Sidney W. Mase, in Little Kook Gazette.
THE ASYLUM GIRL.
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.
it?” said Elder
Doubled a’y,
beaming benig
nanUy through
his huge silver
gy,” said Mrs.
Montacute.
And “Peggy” herself, a toll, slight
girl, of sixteen or seventeen, in a mad
der-red calico dress, and a drooping
head all covered with jet-black rings
of curling hair, stood before the pon
derous elder, as a Circassian slaye
might have stood before her possible
purchaser, in olden time.
“Seems like a nice girl enough,”
said the elder.
“Oh, yes!” said Mrs. Montacute, a
little gray-haired lady, with a black
silk dress and old-fashioned garnet
earrings. “Peggy’s.a good girl. She’s
been a help and comfort to me ever
since I took her out of tlxe orphan asy
lum, three years ago come Thanksgiv
ing Day.”
“Mrs. Doubleday wants a girl, to
make herself useful about the house,”
said the elder, dubiously, “Young
woman, can you wash?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” said Peggy, in a
low, soft voice, that made the elder
think of the striking of the little
French clock on the squire’s mantel.
“And iron, and bake, and lhake soft
soap, and clean house, and mind little
children?”
To all of these queries, Peggy in
clined her head assentingly, while Mrs.
Montacute made haste to declare that
“Peggy was a masterhand to turn off
work, for all she looks so slim.”
“I like slim gals,” said the elder.
“They aren’t apt to be such heavy
eaters, and they don’t wear so hard on
a stair-carpet. I’ve a notion to take her. ”
“You won’t regret it,” said Mrs.
Montacute. “I should never think of
parting with her, if it wasn’t for my
son—Clement, you know, the college
graduate,” with a little flush of mater
nal pride on her cheek. “Clement
can’t bear the idea of an asylum girl
about the house—he is so refined in
all his tastes and ideas; so we’re to
have a regular cook ancl chambermaid
from the city—an establishment, Clem
ent calls it—and I must find as jood a
home as I can for Peggy.”
“Well,” said the elder, rising up like
a mountain (of black broadcloth and
smooth-shaven chin) in motion. “I’ll
try her anyhow. And I’ve a notion
she’ll suit Mrs. Douhleday, though
Mrs. Doubleday ain’t easy suited,
neither.”
So the elder trundled himself pon
derously away, and Peggy turned her
dark eyes, like those of a startled
fawn, on her mistress’ face.
“Must I go there?” she faltered.
“Now, Peggy, don’t be unreason
able,” said Mrs. Montacute, briskly.
“It'll be a good home for you.”
“I’d rather stay her,” faltered
Peggy, with a quiver of the full red
lower lip.
“But you know that you can’t, dear,
on account of Clement,” said Mrs.
Montacute, patting the girl's shoulder,
as one might sooth a fretful child.
“I would be very quiet,” said
Peggy. “And I would never come in
his way.”
“It’s quite out of the question, my
dear;” said the little widow, nodding
her head. “College young men have
their fancies, you know, and they’ve
got to be humored.”
“But it isn’t my fault that I’m an
asylum girl,” argued Peggy, with a
strong sense of injustice swelling at
her heart.
“I know that, Peggy,” soothed the
old lady; “but folks often have to suf
fer for what isn’t any fault of theirs,
in this world, as you’ll find out by the
time you’ve lived to be as old as i am.
Now go up aud cut out that new calico
dress oY yours, for the elder will want
you at the end of the month, aud you
must get your wardrobe in as good
order as you can.”
And Peggy went slowly up stairs to
her own room, a little sloping-roofed
den, under the very eaves of the house,
with a window that looked down into
the emerald billows of the apple
orchard, and a shelf of rough, un
painted wood, upon which Peggy kept
her small store of books and the worn
portfolio of papers, where she had
hidden away her own ambitious little
efforts to imitate her standards of per
fection. For Peggy, the asylum girl,
had had her dreams of future rank and
greatness, aud sometimes, as she looked
into the little square of warped look
ing-glass that hung close to the win
dow, a face looked back at her that
startled her—her own, and yet not her
owd. And still Peggy uever realized
the fact that she was g-owing to be a
beauty.
But that afternoon she dressed her
self in the faded pink muslin which
Mrs, Montacute had worn when a girl,
and hnd bestowed on Peggy as a queen
might bestow a coronation robe on
some favored subject, and took
“Moore s Melodies” down to her fa
vorite seat on the door-step to read,
while Mrs. Montacute was spending
the afternoon at some neighbor’s
house.
“I shall not have many more reads
on this nice old door-step,” thought
Peggy, with tears in her eyes.
But as she sat there, looking ex
quisitely lovely in the level afternoon
sunlight, with her pink dress relieving
her tropical beauty in true artist
fashion, and the faiuteßt possible shade
of rose glowing in her cheek, a
shadow fell across her book.
She Btarted up to behold a tall,
linen-suited young man, with a travel
ing knapsack strapped on his shoulder,
aud a golden beard and moustache
covering the lower part of his coun
tenance.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, lifting
his cap. “I fear that I have dis
turbed your studies. Is Mrs. Monta
cute at home?”
Peggy had started up, with dark
eyes glittering beneath their jet black
lashes, and cheeks burning with em
barrassment.
“She is not at home. She has gone
to Miss Deborah Deal’s,” she said,
drooping “Moore’s Melodies” in her
consternation. “I will go for her at
once.”
“I cannot allow such a thing!” said
the college graduate, courteously. “I
know where the place is—l will go
myself.”
But Peggy had flown like a startled
bird across the elm-shaded yard and
had vanished before he could recall
her.
“By Jove!” said Clement Montacute,
“what a beauty!”
He sat down on the seat she had
just vacated, and took up the volume
of poems.
“And she has brains, too, and a cul
tivated sense of the beautiful,” he
added, as he observed the penciled
marks along the margins of the
sweetest versos. ‘‘Visiting my mother,
I suppose. I wonder where she picked
up such a little gem?”
Presently, Mrs. Montacute made her
appearance, rosy with the combined
influences of maternal gratification
and her hurried walk.
Clement welcomed her with true
filial warmth, aud, at the same
time, he looked over her shoulder, as
if he expected to see someone else.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Where is who?” demanded Mrs.
Montacute, fanning herself with a
turkey-feather fan and panting for
breath.
“The young lady.”
“What young lady?”
“Why, your visitor, I suppose.”
Mrs. Montacute stared.
“My dear boy,” said she, “I have
no visitor.”
“The young lady with the dark eyes
and curls,” said Clement, impatiently.
“The young lady that was reading
this,” holding up the volume of
“Moore’s Melodies.”
“Why,” cried Mrs. Montacute, “it’s
Peggy!”
“It’s who?”
“Peggy —the asylum girl:”
“Nonsense!” cried Clement, very
red. “Don’t I know a lady when I
see her?”
“But it’s our Peggy, all the same,”
stoutly insisted Mrs. Montacute.
The moon, which had been only a
slender silver thread when Elder
Doubleday made his first visit to the
Montacute farm-house, was a globe of
shining silver when his cumbrous one
horse chaise rumbled up a second
time to the door-stone.
“Well,” said the elder, “where’s
the young woman? I’ve come to fetch
her to our place.”
Mrs. Montacute hurried to the
door.
“Indeed, elder,” faltered she, “I’m
very sorry—that is, I’m very glad—or
rather I really don’t know whether to
be glad or sorry on your account,
though on my own I’m perfectly de
lighted. But my son Clement is en
gaged.”
“Engaged, is he?” said the elder.
“But I don’t see ns that need alter my
plans.”
“But it does,” cried Mrs. Montacute,
more confused than ever, “because he
is engaged to our Peggy!”
“Eli?” said the elder.
“And they’re to be married in six
weeks,” said Mrs. Montacute, radi
antly; “and Clement is to settle down
here on the old farm, and we’re all to
be as happy as the day is long.”
“Humph!” grunted the elder. “I
thought he didn’t like asylum girls.”
“You never saw a man so much in
love in your life,” said Mrs. Monta
cute; “and he’s teaching Peggy Latin,
and ha says she is a genius, and he’s
going to have some of her poetry pub
lished.”
“Then on the whole,” said tlie el
der, “I may as well get home again as
fast as I can, aud tell Mrs. Doubleday
to look out for another girl.”
“Well, perhaps on the whole you
had better,” said Mrs. Montacute.
So tlic beautiful girl was a slave no
longer, but matters were reversed;
Mr. Clement Montacute had gone into
life-long bondage!
The General Diet is Out of Balance.
In the Century there is an article
by Professor W. O. Atwater, giving
the results of experiments at Wesleyan
University during which men re
mained for several days in a small,
oopper-lined room. The object of the
experiments was to determine “How
Food is Used in the Body,” and Pro
fessor Atwater says: The inference
is that the people in professional and
business life in the United States,
whose labor is mostly mental aud in
doors, are inclined to eat more than
they need, and that the special excess
is in the fuel ingredients, that is to
say, the fats and carbohydrates. Tak
ing the results of these and various
other experiments together, the de
tails of which cannot be quoted here,
we are, I think, justified iu believing
that the diet of a very large number
of people is out of balauce. It con
taius an excess of food-material, and
this excess is largely due to the eating
of fat meats, sugar, and the starchy
foods. These results of accurate ob
servation and experiment thus accord
with and explain the current opinion
of hygienists as to our ordinary habit
l overeating.
How Europe Wo. Named.
War Correspondent G. W. Stevens,
■friting from Elassona, says: “Work
ing my way out the main street through
the plunging, biting baggage ponies
of the Turkish army, I came into ’ the
fifty yards of gravel through which
wanders the stream of water once
called the Europus. Parenthetically,
it is a fine example of the way the
Greeks have imposed themselves on
the world that the leading continent
should be named after an absurd little
brook that I can jump across.”—Phila
delphia Record.
AFRICA’S LAKE OF DEATH
MARVELOUS MYSTERIES OF THE DARK
CONTINENT REVEALED.
Wonders of Lake llukwa Described by an
Explorer—Desperate Battle Between a
Leopard and u Crocodile—Fish That
Kills Men by Contact—A Perilous Trip.
The wonders of Africa would seem
to be without limit, according to the
reports of J. E. 8. Moore, who has
just been reviewing some of them.
Mr. Moore’s statements are backed
by the Boyal Geographical Society,
who sent him to the dark continent.
The results of his researches bor
der on the marvelous. The scenes
he witnessed are thrilling in the ex
treme.
Mr. Moore, after perilous journey
ing, gained sight of that lake which
only six Europeans have ever looked
upon—Lake Kukwa. It was only
from a distance that he saw it, to he
sure, but that was a good deal in it
self, for only two Europeans ever
reached the shore and none has ever
floated upon its waters. Of all the
African lakes which are known to
civilization there is none so surround
ed by mystery as Bukwa. Fatality
seems to attach to it, so far as Euro
peans are concerned, and the natives
look upon a white man who strives to
reach it as a foolish mortal, bent upon
suicide.
It was in Lake Tanganyika that Mr.
Moore made his most remarkable dis
coveries and incidentally solved what
has been a mystery, and a fearful
one, to both African and European.
The tradition in that section of Africa
which surrounds Tanganyika has many
tales of the prowess of a gigantic fish
which would rush at the paddles of a
canoe, drag them from the hands of
the wielders thereof, upset the canoe
and by mere contact kill the strug
gling humans who were cast into the
water.
For once modern experience verified
ancient tradition. Mr. Moore learned
that not only did this great fish exist,
but that it performed exactly those
deeds with which it was credited. The
solution of the mystery is simple. The
big fish is an electric one. In smaller
form it is common in the South
American rivers, where swimmers hold
it in mortal terror. The African speci
men, however, is of Brobdingnagian
proportions, and darts through the
water at a terrific rate. The source of
electricity, for electricity it certainly
contains, seems to be in cells in the
skin. These give forth a sufficient
amount of electric fluid to stun a hu
man being, provided the contact with
the fish is at all forcible or is with
any considerable portion of the surface
of the body. From the great danger
which is entailed by cruising about in
the vicinity of such a fish, it has been
found impossible to catch a specimen,
and the knowledge which has been
gained concerning the fish is derived
from one that evidently died, for it was
cast upon the shore of the lake by the
waves that never cease rolling.
From what Mr. Moore says, it is no
exaggeration to claim that Lake Tan
ganyika is the finest fishing resort, so
far as the actual catching of fish is con
cerned, in the world. It may sound
like a fairy tale, but it is a fact, that it
is not even necessary to bait one’s
hook, so eager are the fish to capture
anything that seems to he of an edible
nature. Mr. Moore’s greatest success,
however, was in trolling, an artificial
minnow being attached to the end of
the trolling line, with the half a dozen
hooks.
Another strange fact is that, while
in most bodies of water there are only
a limited variety of fish in Tanganyika
the variety is endless. Almost every
sort of edible fish that the civilized
world knows has its prototype in this
lake. Perhaps it is not technically
correct to say its prototype, because
there is a slight difference, but the re
semblance is so thorough as to make
the difference of small consequence.
It must not be imagined that this
new explorer, whose stories of what he
has seen and learned have excited
almost as great interest as those Stan
ley told years ago, saw only fishes.
His experiences were often extremely
perilous, aud ho witnessed several
scenes which would strike terror to the
hearts of most individuals, although
lacking entirely the element of per
sonal danger-—that is, so far as the
scenes themselves were concerned.
One instance in particular impressed
itself upon the mind of Mr. Moore. It
was a desperate fight between a croco
dile and a leopard, each specimen be
ing of unusual size. The leopard had
gone down to Lake Tanganyika to
drink, and the crocodile had quietly
crept unnoticed to a position almost
beside it. Suddenly the leopard spied
his enemy aud turned to make a leap
which would place him out of danger.
The crocodile was too quick for him.
In less time than it takes to utter
the necessary words of description the
leopard’s left hind quarter in
the maw of the ferocious saurian.
Twisting its lithe body and uttering
frightful cries the leopard struok at
his assailant again and again, striving
to claw the eyes, know ing these to be
the only vulnerable point of the enemy.
Slowly the hideous reptile dragged his
victim toward the waters of the lake.
The cries of the leopard were fright
ful. It was like a combination of a
call for help and a death scream.
The contest went on for more
thau an hour. At first the crocodile
would drag the leopard toward the
water, and then the leopard, with
frightful energy, would give a spring
that would force his enemy several
feet from the edge of the lake. Mean
while the crocodile was steadily
crunching the leg of the leopard which
he held in his jaw. At last, however,
the crocodile gave the leg .a tremend
ous bite, and severed it entirely from
the leopard’s body. Screaming with
agony and terror, the maimed victim
of the crocodile’s ferocity managed to
drag himself into the adjoining under
growth, while the crocodile, apparently
uot a whit the worse for the encounter,
slowly crawled to Tanganyika’s borders
aud disappeared in its waters.
Only two white men have ever
reached the shore of this lake of death.
Dr. Cross forced a path through the
swamps and reeds, that reek with
fever and kindred ills, near the south
ern end of the lake in 1889. Two
years ago Nutt, the explorer, managed
to gain the shore on the southwestern
side. That was all they did. Both
were so worn with fever and reduced
by starvation that the perils of the lk
tempted them not, even though tarn*
lay within their grasp. There is, Mr,
Moore says, nothing like a long jour
ney through the perilous African for
est to force the fact upon the mind o)
the traveler that life and civilization
are sometimes more precious than
fame. The journey around or upon
Lake Rukwa, he says, would be al
most certain sacrifice of the former,
and necessarily put an end to all
hope of returning to the latter.—
Chicago Times-Herald.
COULDN’T PLAY HIS PART.
The Quaker Lawyer Managed to Expos®
the Fraud and Won llin Case.
“Yes, I was born and raised n
Quaker in Philadelphia,” admited the
venerable lawyer at a social after the
bar meeting. “I haven’t adhered tc
the tenets of the sect, but I know all
about the ‘Friends,’ as we call them,
and that knowledge won me the first
really big case in which I was evet
employed. It is not necessary to go
into the details of the suit, but it was
tried after the first grand rush to the
West, and involved the ownership of a
vast tract of land that was rapidly
growing in value.
“The witness whom I most feared,
and on whose testimony I expected the
question of title to turn, appeared
with a broad-brim hat and the peculiar
costume of the Quaker of that day.
His face was cleanly shaven and his
manner solemn; hut lie did not have
that honest look peculiar to the faith.
It was with difficulty that he was in
duced to remove his hat in the pres
ence of the court. He firmly declined
to take the usual form of oath, and
made affirmation. He used ‘thee’ in
the nominative and objective case, as
did nearly all the Friends of the time,
and I was convinced that if he was not
the genuine article he had been well
drilled. His direct testimony left us
without a leg to stand on. Then I
took him for cross examination.
“ ‘Did I understand thee to say,
John,’ I began, ‘that thee was present
and witnessed the execution of these
papers?’
“ ‘That’s what you did,’ he blurted
out, in his surprise at being thus ad
dressed.
“ ‘Which branch of the Friends do
thy people belong to?’ I inquired, pre
tending not to notice his lapse.
“ ‘l’m just a Quaker, that’s all; I
don’t know anything about branches.’
“ ‘Did thee ever sing in the choir,
John?’
“ ‘Used to lead it,’ he replied quick
ly, meaning to score a point.
“Then I had him. In those days
Quakers would no more sing at wor
ship than they would carry on a ghost
dance. I explained this, and also that
there were Guerneyites, Wilburites
and Hieksites, aud that the man who
didn’t know which he belonged to was
no Quaker. I bore down so hard that
the fellow first swore like a pirate and
then acknowledged himself a fraud. I
got a reputation and a big, fat fee.”—•
Detroit Free Press.
Om en Victoria’s Coronation Oath.
* “Queen Victoria’s ‘Coronation Roll’ ’
is described in the Century by Flor
ence Hayward, who copies from the
official records the following oath
signed and subscribed by the Queen
on her coronation;
Archbishop: Madam, Is Your Majesty
willing to take the Oath?
The Queen: I ara willing.
Archbishop: Will you solemnly promise
and swear to govern the people of this
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ire
land and the Dominions thereto belonging
according to the statutes in Parliament
agreed on and the respective Laws and
Customs of the same?
The Queen: I solemnly promise so to do.
Archbishop: Will You to Your Power
cause Law and Justice in Mercy to be ex
ecuted in all Your Judgements?
The Queen: I will.
Archbishop: Will You to the utmost of
your Power maintain the Laws of God, the
true Profession of the Gospel, and the
Protestant Reformed Religion established
by Law? And will You maintain aud pre
serve inviolably the Settlement of tlie
United Church of England and Ireland, an.l
the Doctrine, Worship, Discipline, aud
Government thereof, as by Law established
within England and Ireland and the Terri
tories thereunto belonging? And will You
preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of
England and Ireland and to the Churches
there Committed to their charge all such
Rights and Privileges as by Law do or shall
appertain to them or any of them?
The Queen: All this I promise to do.
The things which I have here before pro
mised I will perform and keep.
iSo heip me God. • Victoria 11.
IlricliS from Sand.
By anew process, bricks are to be
made from sand. The materials,
which are mainly powdered stone and
sand, are held together by a prepara
tion which acts as a bond during the
annealing process, which is conducted
under a very high temperature. Va
rious advantages are claimed for these
new bricks. They are much stronger,
having a crushing strength of as high
as forty-five thousand pounds to the
square inch, a cost of about three
fifths of ordinary brick, much less
time required in their manufacture,
and a great reduction in the quantity
of fuel needed in their burning. With
these advantages, there are likely to
be brick yards springing up wherever
there is a demand for first-class build
ing materials that can be furnished at
a reasonable price. Brick and stone
houses are by many persons liked bet
ter than wood; but brick and stone are
more expensive and, therefore, out of
the reach of the many who would pre
fer them. If sand can be made into
bricks a great building problem is
solved in a manner eminently satis
factory.—The Ledger.
A New-Faagled Bridge.
They showed me, at Buffalo, N. Y.,
the other day, a new-fangled bridge,
which has been erected where Michigan
street crosses the creek near the
Niagara elevators, writes W. E. Curtis.
They call it a Bascule bridge, with a
roadway of 140 feet, hoisted by over
head counterpoise, running up on a
curved path. There are two leaves,
and they open aud shut in one minute.
It is said to have been invented and
constructed in Chicago, and although
it is not quite finished it works ad
mirably. There being no pier in the
center of the creek, the congestion at
this point, which is one of the nar
rowest and crookedeßt places, will be
greatly relieved.—Chicago Record.
An Ancient Hair Tonic.
- The oldest medical recipe is said by
a French medical journal to be that of
a hair honic for an Egyptian queen. It
is dated 400 B. C. and directs that
dogs’ paws and asses' hoofs be boiled
with dates in oil.
A QUEEN’S CORONATION.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE CEREMONY
FROM THE OFFICIAL GAZETTE.
Youthful Victoria Made nn Offering of a
Golden Altar-Cloth and an Ingot of
Gold Weighing a Found—How She
Looked—Curious Symbolical Services.
In the Century there is an article
on “Queen Victoria’s ‘Coronation
Roll,’ ’’ written by Florence Haywood.
The author takes the following account
of the coronation from the Official
Gazette:
The Queen then made the first of
her offerings: an altar-cloth of gold
placed upon the altar, and an ingot of
gold weighing a pound placed in the
oblation dish. This done, the regalia
were placed upon the altar, where they
remained during the litany, the com
munion service, and the sermon- all
being preliminary to tile, taking and
signing of the coronation oath. Afttr
signing the oath the Queen was
anointed; and the mental picture one
has of her at this moment is one of
the most vivid. But little more than
a child either in years or in stature,
“she sat in St. Edward’s Chair, which
was covered with a cloth of Gold, with
a fald-stool in front of her placed in
front of the Altar. Four Knights of
the Garter held a Pall of Gold over her
head, and the Sub-Dean of Westmin
ster took from the Altar the Ampulla,
containing the consecrated oil, and
pouring some of it into the Annointing
Spoon annointed the Queen on the
Head and Hands in the Form of a
Cross.” The great spurs, having,
like every other part of the regalia,
their own symbolism in the ceremonial,
were then delivered to the Queen, who
returned them to he laid upon the
altar. Indeed, if one may translate
the meaning of the whole ceremonial,
it was briefly this: That there was an
intimate connection between the
church as typified by the altar and the
power of government as typified by
the regalia. But the symbolism of
what next followed is too involved for
laymen: ‘ ‘The Sword of State was now
delivered to the Lord Chancellor who
gave Viscount Melbourne another in
exchange for it the which Lord Mel
bourne delivered to the Archbishop.
This the Archbishop after placing it on
the Altar delivered to the Queen say
ing ‘Receive this kingly Sword,’ etc.
Whereupon the Queen placed the
Sword on the Altar and it was then
redeemed by Viscount Melbourne for
one hundred shillings and carried by
him for the rest of the ceremony.”
The mantle which the Queen had
worn was now replaced by the imperial
or Dalmatian mantle of cloth of gold,
and after the ring had been placed on
the fourth finger of her right hand,
the subdeacon brought from the altar
the two scepters. Meantime the Duke
of Norfolk presented her Majesty with
a glove for her right hand, embroid
ered with the Howard arms, —the
glove that figured in the petition, —
which the Queen put on; and then
“the Archbishop placed the sceptre
with the cross in her right hand saying
‘Deceive the Royal Sceptre’ and the
Sceptre with the Dove in Her left
hand saying ‘Receive the Rod of
Equity,’ and the Duke of Norfolk sup
ported Her Majesty’s right arm and
held the Sceptre as occasion required.
And now came the actual moment of
coronation:
“The Archbishop, standing before
the Altar and having St. Edward’s
Crown, consecrated and blessed it, and
attended by the Bishops, and assisted
by the Archbishops and Sub-Deans of
Westminster Put the Crown on Her
Majesty’s Head. Then the people
with loud'shouts cried ‘God save the
Queen. ’ And immediately the Peers
and Peeresses put on their coronJ
the Bishops their caps, the Deputy
Garter King of Arms his Crown, the
trumpeters sounding, the drums beat
ing, and the Town aud Park Guns
firing by signals.” Is not that fine!
And must not the benediction and the
Te Deum which immediately followed
have voiced in a way that could not
have been otherwise expressed the
emotions of that splendid moment!
Stole While She Slept.
For some time Mrs. Henry Wallace,
a -widow, living near Appalaehin, has
been missing articles from her house,
mostly small trinkets, but some of con
siderable value. Suspecting anew
servant, she locked her room and kept
the jewels securely looked in a bureau,
but still they disappeared. Three
servants w-ere discharged, one after
the other, hut the pilfering still con
tinued.
One night Mrs. Wallace had a dream
that she would find a buried treasure
at the foot of a willow tree on the bank
of a creek. Three successive nights
this dream came to her, aud the fourth
day she went to the place accompanied
by a servant. Hidden in a box be
neath the foot of the tree she found
the missing articles. How they got
there she could not explain. And the
mystery was still unsolved. The night
following, a farmer, who was return
ing from a neighbor’s, saw a white
figure emerging from Mrs. Wallace’s
house and go toward the creek. Fol
lowing it he saw the figure lift up a
stone and deposit something under it.
Thinking he had the thief, he rushed
forward and grasped—Mrs. Wallace.
She had been walking in her sleep and
had a valuable necklace in her hand.
The mystery has now been explained,
and one of the servants sleeps outside
her mistress’ door every night.
Shurio Trees for tlie Streets of New York.
We note that the Tree Planting As
sociation lias opened offices at Nos. 64
and l‘>6 White street. New York City.
Its aim is to beautify the city by en
couraging the planting of shade trees
on each side of the streets, and it is en
deavoring to start the movement by
persuading property holders on Fifth
Avenue to plant trees in front of their
houses. The aims of the association
are in every way praisew-orthy, and
there is no conceivable way in which
the “wilderness of streets” which is
found in many parts of the metropolis
could be so cheaply beautified and re
lieved of its monotony as by lining the
curb of the sidewalks with suitable
shade trees. Many of the side streets
which lead up to Central Park on the
east and west are rendered extremely
handsome by the costly and artistic
houses which they contain; but they
all have a certain air of coldness or
formality which would be largely dis
pelled by the presence of an avenue of
trees.—Scientific American.
bccccbbff
Sow luk Lato Cabbage Seed.
It is not too late yet to sow cabbage
seed for late planting. Caution is
needed not to sow the seed too thickly.
That makes its growth so spindling
that the successful first transplanting
is very difficult. After the second
transplanting the plants will he ready
to set in the open gronnd. The cab
bage sown now will make much of its
growth after the first frosts, and on
fairly rich ground will not need much
manure.
' JTor Fites on Cattle.
Take coal tax' t-tyo parts and coal oil
and grease one part efltik-Pnd inix with
a small amount of carbolic ai'i-l- Apply
with a cloth by moistening the hah’ :
and horns of the animals with the i
liquid. In the applications include
feet aud legs, and it will drive every fly
away, and one application will last ten
days or more in dry weather. Apply
as often as necessary, and your cows
will he entirely secure from flies of all
kinds. Any kind of old lard or grease
can he used. Coal tar is the base of
this remedy, and when too thick to
spread well use more coal oil; when
too thin to adhere well use more coal
tar. Carbolic acid will cost about fifty
or sixty cents in crystals by the pound,
aud every farmer should always keep
it on hand, as it in its many uses, is
indispensable.
Fattening Calves Without Milk.
Cheap as milk has lately been, it is
yet regarded as too valuable to be fed
to calves after their first few days of
life as an exclusive article of diet. We
think it is economy to feed some milk
to calves. But it is best for them,
whether they are to he fattened or
raised to maturity, to early accustom
them to a variety of food. A thin por
ridge made of wheat middlings, with a
teaspoonful of linseed oil added as it
is cooking, and having enough milk
to color it white, makes a ration on
which the calves will thrive nearly, or
quite, as well as on new milk, and bet
ter than on milk that has had its
cream removed. This should always
be given at the warmth of new milk.
If given cold at any time it will cause
scours. Whenever any diarrhoea oc
curs boil a tablespoonful of fine wheat
flour in water and feed that for one
ration. The diarrhoea will stop, and
by the time for the next feeding the
calf will be all light for its feed. It
pays to feed a thrifty calf in this way
until it is three, four or even six
months old. There are times when
well-fattened calves are in demand.
The butchers always rely on the far
mer’s anxiety to sell a calf if he is
feeding it milk. But fed in this way
with some clover hay as it grows old
enough to eat it a calf may be kept
with profit until it is a year old or
even older than that,—Boston Culti
vator.
A Hlgh-Prlce Boar.
This unprecedented figure was re
cently paid in Illinois for the Poland-
China. boar named, the famous hog
BOOK-ME-OVER, POTjAND-OHIXA $3600
BOAR.
going to a syndicate of Missouri breed
ers. At the same auction sale, $1575
was paid for a Poland-Chiua brood
sow.
Young Clover.
So many praises are given by most
agricultural writers to young clover as
a very valuable and nutritious feed
that it becomes necessary to distin
guish clearly what is referred to. The
really valuable young clover is the
second crop growth, which springs up
after the first cutting in June. It is
at this time that the clover roots begin
to form the nodules, which decompose
air in the soil and make use of its ni
trogen. This nitrogen apparently, to
some extent, goes into the top growth,
though this may only be from the in
crease of nitrogen in the soil, and its
absorption by the roots through rains.
The later this young clover is allowed
to grow up to the time of seed forming
the more nutritious the herbage will
be. At seeding time the clover stalks
becomes hard and fibrous, detracting
from their value as feed.
Early in the spring young clover is
less palatable and nutritious than are
any of the grasses. Its roots are strik
ing downward toward the subsoil the
second spring of the clover growth.
So there is less plant food for the
clover roots to get early in the season
than there is for grass roots, which
run mostly near the surface, and are
quickly warmed by the bright spring*
sunshine. This is not a theory. The
cow, if given a chance, will make a
test that no one can dispute. If there
is any old grass pasture in the field,
the cow will eat that rather than clover,
until the time that clover comes into
head, and then will leisurely snip off
the sweet blossoms, leaving the lower
part of the clover untouched. It is
this which makes clover unsuitable for
pasturing, unless the object be to let
a great amount of clover stalks go back
to the soil as mauure.
Neither is this early growth of
clover of much value as a fertilizer if
plowed under. It is the nitrogenous
substance which makes it nutritious
for the cow that most increases its
manurial value. In fact, all through
the second year’s growth the richness
of the soil where clover is grown in
creases. This is probably from the
extension of clover roots into the sub
soil, and also from the decomposition
of air in the soil, which goes on at in
creasing ratio until frost checks clover
growth in the fall. —American Cultiva
tor.
Hen. in the ilrcjiaril.
Many would
like to have hens in the orchard for
the good their presence would do the
trees, were it not that the fowls must
be kept confined because of the dam
age they would do the adjacent gar
den and flower beds. The sketch
shows a way to keep one or more flocks
of hens in an orchard. A light, low
house, made of half-inch matched
stuff, lias a wire run attached to the
end, ns shown in the illustration. The
house has no floor. The eggs are gath
ered by opening the hinged board in
tlie end. Low trucks are attached to
the corners so that the whole can be
moved occasionally to anew location.
It can thus be moved up and down
I cside the rows of trees, stopping for
d’:'' or two under each tree, scratch
ing, fertilizing the ground and de
stroying Hi fowls all do
-jep .
MOVABLE SUMMER POULTRY BOUSE.
well under such conditions, and their
presence will be of great value to the
orchard. The lower sill of the sides
of the house should continue out and
form the base of the sides of the run.
New England Homestead.
The General-Purpose Cow.
The time may come when every
where there will be pure-bred cattle,
and nothing else, but that time is cer
tainly now a long way off. As the
case at present stands, the great bulk
of our cattle is very common and
scrubby indeed, and the best that can
be done with these is to gradually and
as fast as practicable grade them up—
improve them both by selections and
crosses on pure-bred males.
An important problem is up for solu
tion at tlie very start in tins under
taking, and that is as to the direction
that should he taken in this matter—
whether, in other words, we should go
in the milk and butter or in the beef
direction.
The strictly beef breeds arc usually
poor when at their best when it comes
to the milk pail; the little Jersey is a
type of the very poor wheD it comes
to being put on the butcher’s block.
So much is this thought to be the fact
by men whose main business is raising
choice beef cattle that they regard the
general introduction of Jersey blood
as a serious blow to the best for their
industry. Thus when Jersey cattle
first began to he brought to Kentucky
at all extensively this was the attitude,
and they were much opposed and
sneered at, but in spite of that they
have become established and repre
sentatively fill a great place in our
agricultural aud best food economy.
If fine cream and butter meet the
want, then to the little Jersey we must
go as the basis of operations best cal
culated to secure our general-purpose
cow-, making up for the loss on beet
account at the end of it all by gains
otherwise made on the way to that
end.
On many farms, on most farms, in
deed, the milk and butter stand related
to direct home supplies only, and when
that is the case then the trend should
clearly be in the direction of beef.
This is mostly as we find it and mostly
in the common interest as it should be.
Beyond any doubt the nearest ap
proach to the ideal in this respect is the
Shorthorn or Durham breed oi cattle
more gentle aud kindly than they. The
beef they make ranks with the best, as
evidenced by show-rings results secured
under this crucial test. In like man
ner have they earned rank with the best
when it comes to the production of
first-class milk and butter. To-day in
Englaud there are dairymen who,
though compelled to make every edge
cut to make their business pay, will
have nothing but Shorthorns. Aud it
has long been so there.
Cattle come to their best and begin
to decline as milkers some time before
they are really what should be regarded
as old; and when they do so, they are
in good form for fattening and making
into excellent beef, if of the beef breeds.
It is far different if they are of other
tkau the beef breeds. Then the males
of the beef breed, when not wanted
for purposes of increase, are made into
steers, that yield the choicest beef of
the markets of the world. Millions of
dollars worth of iust such beef leave
the bluegrass pastures of Kentucky an
nually, going to the great centers of
civilization, and not a little of it in the
live state across the sea. In imagina
tion—let us compare a herd of such
steers with a like herd made from the
best of the strictly cream and butter
breeds.
There is, of course, room for all and
r a place for all; only it is important to
remember, in dealing with cur general
purpose cow, that if we would get
there all right, we should start right,
adapting the means to the ends, and
not putting a butter-and-cream cow
where a beef one wiil pay far better,
or vice versa.
Circumstances should also be taken
into account in considering this matter
thoroughly. The heavier and beef
breeds of cattle need a fare an 1 a pas
turage that is generous according to
their size. Whilst the ease for the
cream and butter breed is not to be
stated in terms the opposite ol this—
the rule that something never comes
from nothing always obtaining—it is
the fact that the smaller kinds often
prosper and greatly strengthen family
resources where the larger wonld ine
vitably starve. —Houn and Earn,.
Two Ohio farmers who live a oouplf
of miles apart have ntiiized a wire
fence as a telephone wire. They pm -
chased the instruments for $l5, and
now they talk to each other whenever
they wish.
The average weight of a man’s skele
ton is fourteen pounds.