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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.