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Fitzgerald Leader.
FITZGERALD, GEORGIA.
—PUBLISHED BT—
HUSTAPI* «*> SON.
From 1871 to 1891 2,000,000 Ger¬
mans left their native land.
At the last census of this country a
number of people described their
religions faith on their census papers
as “dollars and cents.”
In fifty years of the existence of
savings banks in Massachusetts they
have had under their control the
enormous sum of $2,100,000,00a
They still control upwards of $500,-
000,000 and yet the entire loss to de¬
positors in this half century, charge-
able to fraud, fault or error, has been
less than $2,000,000.
Mancher F. Glidewell has conveyed
to the Church of Christ, in Indian¬
apolis, Ind., valuable real estate, on
condition that the trustees never per¬
mit the introduction of an organ, choir
or musical instrument inside the
church walls, and that fairs, festivals
and all other gatherings not enuiner-
ated in the New Testament be inter-
dieted. A failure to carryout these
restrictions forfeits the real estate to
the faction opposing any innovations
in church worship.
In compliance with an order of the
Missouri State Board of Health in re-
gard to quarantine, all officers who
t ;u;e prisoners to the penitentiary must
carry with them a certificate of health
signed by a local physician and coun-
tersigned by the Secretary of the State
Board 1 of Health, m. which-certificate 1 • 1 ,•« . must ,
state that the prisoner has not been ex-
posed to any contagious disease for
thirty days prior to his transfer to the
penitentiary. This certificate must be
approved by the Secretary of the State
Board of Health at St. Louis.
The reports from Manila that reach
Hongkong in private letters are not so
roseate as the Spanish official returns.
These private correspondents, who
have [no motive for misrepresenting
facts, declare that the authorities are
making no material progress in sup-
pressing the insurrection. The rebels
are getting more confident, and if they
only had a supply of good arms they
would not hesitate to attack Manila it-
self. ,, The ™ Spanish cause iu die Philip-
pines, as in Cuba, Has been injured
seriously by the atrocious cruelties of
the officers and the wholesale execu'
tions of suspects.
Secretary Coburn, of the State De-
partment of Agriculture, has issued a
special report on the poultry and egg
industry of Kansas. The product for
1896 amounted to $3,608,815, a sum
sufficient to pay all the State and city
taxes of the preceding year and leave
a surplus of $175,000. No field crops, !
with the exception of wheat, corn, ami' j
bay, equalled in value the poultry in¬
dustry. The yield from poi •was
ninety-five per cent. of^^H great^J .the
same year’s output line
mines of the State, i ee |
per cent, greater |fd
for teacher3^|j A'- R,
vision. otiojUi Jfl
■
"
th. B
mi
AT TV/ILICHT.'
Out of the dusk, wind-blown and thin,
The shadowy wood-boats gather In,
And twilight hushes the harbor’s din—
Sleep, little head, on my shoulderl
The gold lights wake through the evening
gray bosido the hay,
fn the littlo village
And a few cold stars gleam far away—
Sleep, little head, on my shoulder!
The sailor turns Ills face once more
Where his sweetheart waits at the opened
door;
The lone light washes the wave-swept
shore-
Slcep, little head, on my shoulder!
Here where the dancing shadows swarm
Our driftwood Are is bright and warm;
Beyond our window wakes the Storm-
Then sleep, little head, on my shoulder!
—William Carman Roberts, in Century.
^eMam:aava&e;s;6i®s<cae®e&^iq$ ■; i
J | A Daughter Gods. I
of the
| yl^eioi'erefefeiei’e^eieieioieieofefeiei’efefeie!^ 8
« HY is it a law of
I VJi nature that tall
13 women must
marry short
‘|\W to what men? marry. man I of want But de¬
-t cent stature
& will w e d five
feet nine? I
refuse to marry anything under six
f ee t, so I shall have to die au old
maid. It’s very hard.”
“You will scarcely be measuring the
man’s inches when you fall in love,
Anna,” said lier friend.
Perhaps the heavy-figured, plain-
featured woman of nine-and-twenty
would not have been averse to chang-
r jdaces with the tall, supple-limbed
young Amazon who bemoaned her ill
luck from the long deck chair on the
sunn y vicarage lawn, and would have
taken Fate’s fine of a possibly short
husband
‘I shall measure his inches before,
and so I shall not fall m love, wise Lu
you see?”
“And you would rather marry a man
like Charlie Langley, six feet of well-
built stupidity, than, we will say, Mr.
Ro .?° e ’ " bo is cleY f
j ftllow Mr . Eoyce to be the Mature
of what a man should be—but I
do not wish to marry a model, I want
the man. Some big men are hand¬
some and clever as well; but big men
like little wives, and so I must go hus¬
bandless. Charlie Langley worships
little Flossie Cressold. Heigh ho!
What am I to do? I must be off, Lu,
or I shall be late for dinner.”
On the other side of the thick quick-
set hedge stood Owen Royce, the clev¬
er little artist, of whose future great
things were predicted. Walking care-
Hssly beside the overhanging haw-
^orn and wild-iose, he had been
caught and held by a straggling thorn;
^ hiSe impatiently unfastening the de¬
taining bramble the words spoken ill
hhe garden had fallen on his ear. He
was clear of the thorns at last; he was
standing erect and still in the meadow,
his eyes on the low siuamer sun, and
» thorn in his heart piercing and
hurting as no mere physical pain could
do. He had walk® carelessly through
the summer, as he had walked through
^‘ e brambles—to find himself sudden¬
ly caught. Two months of tennis,
riding and boating with Anna Way-
moor had not left him heart whole,
Heart whole! He bit his lip, and put
& band across his eyes; he could see
ller mentally tall even among the tall
women of the day, beautiful m her
strong grace. Like many small men,
the artist was wonderfully active and
wiry; neat-handed, and quick of eye,
he was an expert in all he did; during
his two months’ stay at Greyland
Manor he had good-naturedly coached
Miss Waymoor in her drawing, at
tennis, and had taught her to ride
with some of the knowledge which he
himself possessed. That teaching had
been a dangerous pastime; particu-
larly dangerous were their long read-
ings and talks together; perhaps it
was then that the artist had fallen
in love with his beautiful
when the “Amazon” had been
aside, when the gracious, gentle
had sat beside him with her
deep gray eyes, and with color
Bfttrice and going had learned to love
and Juliet, and to know,
Bough ^Rte him, her Shakespeare and
Bthought by heart. And all the time she
of him merely as what he
Bjf “almost a pygmy.” He saw
^R-a suddenly as little more than a
Bill laughable atom! He envied
Bers booby Langley his broad
and great frame; wliat bcau-
Rjinan—such a woman as Anna
^R>r—could Baity himself? care for such Yet he a scrap had
as
love her, to love her as in-
^R Bi any he learned six-foot Hercules know it could
^^Bparneil to only
that he—the Pygmy
^Ranked in her eyes as a man
d armed with her golf
l Manor terrace; Louisa
l her, a study iu drabs, a
Ish, brilliant coloring of
Raxwell is what I call a
Rirl was saying.
■ well-made. I cannot
^»ead-piece. Bno dislike And tall lie
to a
^ft’ B* said club. Louisa drily.
^ftink B stay he dislikes for me. the
to on
B-r Bell?” persuaded Mr.
will give him
^fcwork. Biely. He has
I cannot
B him; lie paints
Bill ns an owl,”
Ri the stalwart
B'us patiently
awaiting her 'pleasure at the park
gate.
Louisa went back to the house to
speak with Mrs. Waymoor, the window
lady of the Manor. At the door she
came on the artist, who stood watching
Anna a nd her companion crossing the
park, watching so intently that he was
unaware of her neighborhood until she
spoke. He turned with an apology.
“I was watch the golfers; they
make a hamlsome~\air, do they not,
Miss Blackston?”
She followed his ga-ita when she
looked back at the man, tvw mreer lit¬
tle upright furrows marked lifer lore-
head.
“You admire her?”
“I am an artist. I must admire
her.”
Her eyelids were lowered as she
went by him into the hall; she was
shivering, though the September ofter-
noo TEaPevening, u wa s warm and bright.
after the choir prac¬
tice, she said abruptly to Anna:
“My dear, I think why Mr. Boyce
has grown stupid is because he loves
you.”
The girl leant against the garden
gate, and laughed till the tears ran
down her cheeks—the notion was so
funny. Louisa’s notions often were.
“Love me! Mr. Boyce! Why, if
he wore elevators in his boots he would
barely reach to my shoulder. It never
occurred to me that the little manikin
could fall in love. How absurd!”
Louisa turned, almost angrily.
“Though it has not occurred to you
it might to him. And you are such a
fool that you cannot see the man in
him! You make me impatient, Anna.
Flirt with Gerald Maxwell by all
means; it is all you are fit for.”
“Why are you cross, Lu? Mr.
Boyce is clever and I like him; he is
very kind. Poor little scrap! I like
him very much. But he is in love
with his Academy picture, not with
me.”
So, through the glorious September
days Anna golfed, hunted and cycled
with Gerald, and the artist paiuted,
trying to forget the pain which held
him in its grasp. He sought in his
bruised soul to rejoice that the man
on whom her choice would probably
fall was at least a healthy-minded,
honest country gentleman; he only
asked humbly that she might be hap¬
py. He stuck doggedly to his picture
—he said he was too busy to play—
and he kept his pain, he believed,
locked in his own breast; but the
queer, upright furrows were on his
forehead as on Louisa’s, and they
deepened as the days went by.
He had been painting hal'd down by
the wood until the afternoon sun was
low. At last he put up his brushes
and started on his two-mile walk back
to the Manor. Gerald Maxwell over¬
took him and the two men went on
together. The stopped at the foot of
the railway embankment, lounging
against the rail, to watch the express
pass. They could hear her thunder¬
ing in the distance and waited to see
her sweep round the bend to the left,
dash across the straight piece of line
before them and then take the curve
to the right. Gerald was in high spir¬
its, whistling carelessly in the pauses
cf his talk. The artist stood silent,
content to listen. Then, to their
right, along the line, came the beat
of flying hoofs; both men turned to
see and both gave a simultaneous ex¬
clamation of horror, as round the bend,
out of all control, galloped headlong
beside the metals Anna’s bay mare,
tearing furiously on toward the rush¬
ing train, then rounding the opposite
curve. Anna sat back in her saddle,
white as death, trying to stay the run¬
away, but powerless against the crea¬
ture’s mad fright.
“She may pass safely on one side,”
Gerald.
Even as he spoke the mad brute
plunged into the centre of the iron
road. She seemed for the first time
to sight the train whistling and scream¬
ing out its warning, but powerless to
check in time. She reared straight
up, and then stood planted and im¬
movable in the centre of the metals,
staring, paralyzed with terror, at the
advancing monster. It had all hap¬
pened in a second or so, leaving but
scant time for thought or action. Both
men shouted to the girl to fling herself
off, but she, too, seemed turned to
stone. She sat dumb, looking before
ber with agonized eyes, though her
trembling hands yet mechanically
strove to turn the horse. Iu half a
minute it would be too late. Gerald
flung up his arms, shouting his warn¬
ing. He stood there alone, the artist
was gone; he had scaled the steep em¬
bankment, his small, lithe figure
springing up it. like a cat; one hand,
strong as steel with dumb-bell exer¬
cise, was on the horse’s bridle, back¬
ing her a step to the side, the other
was on the girl, pressing her from the
saddle, tolling her to fall—to trust him
and fall. Thank heaven! She under¬
stood and obeyed. Amid the thunder
and crash of the train he knew that she
had swung clear of the metals. There
was a blow and he was down, and all
was dark.
It was a miraculous escape. Max¬
well wipfed the moisture from his
brow as he told the story; Eoyce had
rushed in with the train almost on
him, when it seemed that horse, man
and girl must all be cut to pieces;
nothing but his wonderful quickness
had saved Anna, who, bruised and
shaken, had yet fallen clear of worse
harm. Poor “Black Bess” was cut to
bits. Boyce’s face was terribly cut by
the blow which had felled him, yet,
mercifully, he had fallen, stunned, in
the hollow between the rails,- and so
had escaped with his life; but he
would never paint more, his right arm
had been frightfully crushed; amputa¬
tion had had to follow as his only hope
of life.
The Manor people nursed him de¬
votedly through his illness; nothing
they could do could, they felt, repay
what they owed to him. He was very-
gratefnl for tlieir care and attention.
Ha wade no allusion to his ruined
career, though his eye sometimes rest¬
ed on the half-finished picture which
stood in his room. Ho looked reso¬
lutely at the reflection of his scarred
face, at the empty right sleeve. He
had all his life looked at trouble be¬
tween the eyes; he had never shirked
or quailed before it. The man’s spirit,
at least, was no small one. But as
Christmas neared and he grew fairly
convalescent he began to grow rest less.
In spite of protest, he declared him¬
self well enough to return to his rooms
iti town. He had stayed at the Manor
to point, now he must trespass no
longer. said Jack.
“Dear old chap, why go?”
“The mater worships you. Can we
not amuse you here? Anna will try
to; she will read to you, sing to you.
Surely you might stay for Christmas
with us?”
He smiled, but repeated that he
must go.
He lay very still when Jock left him,
looking out at the red winter sun and
the wheeling rooks in the Park elms.
Yes, Anna would be goc-d to him; he
knew that. She had been kind—so
kind, that to stay on would be worse
torture that the loss of his arm! When
Maxwell returned, as of course he
would, his suffering would become un¬
bearable. He was not so strong as he
had been, and things cut deeper; he
would be better away in town.
Then Anna learned their guest
meant to quit them, Anna had
changed of late; she professed to be
tired of dancing, she said she- no long¬
er cared to hunt, that she liked best to
be quiet at home. She had grown
very gentle, very womanly, and her
gray eyes Would become wonderfully
soft and tender when they rested on
Owen Boyce’s disfigured face and poor
maimed body. They became strangely
wistful now as she said softly:
“But"we would rather you stayed.”
“Still I must go,” he answered,pick¬
ing up his book with unsteady fingers.
She was behind his couch, and stood
looking at him in silence with an oddly
frightened expression; then she blushed
hotly over cheek and brow as she said
inconsequently,
“I did not want Gerald Maxwell to
come for Christmas. I told Jack not
to ask him; but—I did want you here.”
There was a pause. The man on the
sofa drew his breath quickly, and from
somewhere far above his head a tear
splashed down. It lay on the scarlet
silk cushion, a round, dark stain. He
raised himself quickly and looked at
her. Yes, the tears were raining down
her face. With his left hand he caught
her dress.
“Anna,” he said, hoarsely, “did you
guess then, that I loved you?”
“Yes,” she said in a whisper, “I
read it in yonr eyes when you caught
my horse’s head on that awful day.
Louisa had guessed it before, and told
me, but I had not believed.”
He was lying back again on the
cushions, -wateRinc; laor witR quiet,
hopeless eyes.
“Yes, heaven knows I loved you,”
he answered. Then he told her what
on that summer’s day he had over¬
heard in the vicarage garden, “You
did not love me then, Anna. Now, I
am disfigured and a cripple. You are
kind and good—I understand—but it
is only pity you can have for me. You
would not marry me, save in pity.”
She was, on her knees beside him,
half laughing, half crying.
“In pity! In pride and joy. Did I
not say, ‘a tall woman must marry a
small man’? Are yoir too proud to take
a tall wife, Owen? Must I die an old
maid because I am overgrown. Don’t
you know that to me you stand high
among men; that your scarred face is
your V. 0., that your empty sleeve is
your badge of died glory? Don’t you know
that had you under the train, I
should have had no wish to live? I
knew whom I loved then. If you are
too proud to marry me because of your
poor arm, because of my heedless,
stupid speech—then I am not too proud
to say that your pride will make one
wretched woman. And, Owen, I am
not t-oo proud to accept yonr pity—
but the pity is yours, not mine, to
give.”—Household Words.
. New .York’s Pinnacled Sky-Idpe.
The sky-line of New York fs chang¬
ing so rapidly that the American trav¬
eller who goes abroad can recognize
with more certainty the profiles of the
foreign cities he approaches than that
of his own metropolis as he sees it
from the deck of the steamer on his
return. It may be his first visit to
Europe; he may know London, Borne,
and Paris only from views of them in
old prints. But, if he has an eye for
such things, his first glimse of St.
Paul’s, St. Peter’s, or Notre Dame will
tell him to what place he is coming,
for all the world knows these pinna¬
cles, has known them for centuries.
They are as conspicuous and charac¬
teristic in the silhouettes of their cities
as they were when they were built.
One of the Dutch Governors of New
Amsterdam, seeking in spirit some
familiar earthly habitation, might find
old Amsterdam, for it cuts the same
figure in the sky to-day that it did
when he left it, but the last dead boss
of New York, if by any chance he
should get away from whero he ought
to be, would search the horizon in vain
for the faoe of his city. Tho features
his eye would seek are there: Old
Trinity still stands, the its steeple, like
the spires of old cathedrals, up¬
lifted high above the earth; but its
solitary prominence is gone, The
modern office building has risen higher
than the head of the cross, and the
church has lost its distinction. The
enterprise of business has surpassed
the aspiration of religion.—From “The
Modern Business Building,” by J. Lin¬
coln Steffens, in Scribner’s.
The average yield of potatoes to the
acre in France is 102 bushels; in Ger-
ma*iy, 121; in Italy, 164; in Holland.
177; in the United States, 75.
—
7 . V
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! fW «yS6ff j
>W —
■T * ■A- Wm:
A Handy Garden Cart.
The sketch herewith shows a cross
between a wheelbarrow and a four-
wheeled cart that will be found very
convenient. It is long and light and
fitted for carrying almost any kind of
a load. Sides and a front end can be
%
CART FOR THE GARDES.
provided if needed. Let the rims of
the wheels ho wide, so that they may
not cut iut-o the ground. The rods at
the rear keep such loads as cornstalks,
branches from pruning, etc., from the
wheels, but permit boxes or baskets to
be set in between them.—New Eng¬
land Homestead.
To Break Up a Sitting lieu.
It is so natural for the hen to sit
after continuous laying until her egg
supply is temporarily exhausted that
we used when keeping hens to let
them have their own way generally
and bring off their broods. One of
the most beautiful sights in the farm¬
yard is the mother hen watching her
little brood, calling hem to a favorite
morsel, or uttering the warning cry
which every little chick understands
when some .strange object above her
gives the alarm. A piece of news¬
paper blown by the wind is to the
hen’s imagination a dangerous bird of
prey. While the hen is sitting, if she
is fed and watered twice a day she is
probably recovering her strength and
bringing forward another lot of eggs
quite as fast as she would be if run¬
ning at large. It really does the hen
good to raise her little family, and
with the Asiatic breeds we doubt
whether you will lose any eggs by it.
The trouble is that while the hen is
sitting she is usually partly starved,
and so it takes longer for her to re¬
cover. If fed only wheat with plenty
of pure water, and in separate dish the
curd of milk, Plymouth Rock hens
will often begin to lay eggs while kept
in the coop with chicks too small to
care for themselves. Yet it is not
hard to prevent the hen from sitting
if you want to. Place the hen in a coop
where she can have no place to make
a nest, and with a young rooster from
another pen, if possible. After a few
days of this treatment, giving only
water and wheat grains, the hens may¬
be turned out and will soon go to lay¬
ing again—Boston Cultivator.
Marking: the Milk.
Where the milk is set in shallow
pans it is wise to mark each
milk, as “Tuesday morning,” “Tues¬
day night,” etc. In this way one can
see at a glance just when to skim, and
does not have to stop to reckon up the
number of pans used each day. It is
irraSfflPiPffP^T
HOW TO MARS MILK.
also often desired to mark a particular
cow’s milk, in order to observe its
tachment quality. A label and method of at¬
is shown in the cut. A strip
of pasteboard has its end bent over
and wire inserted as shown. The fold
is glued down, thus holding the wire.
Bend the double wire and hang it over
the pan’s edge.
Growing Fall Turnips.
Where the land is fresh and free
from the seeds of foul weeds, fall
turnip seed may be sown broadcast
from the first of July until the-middle
of August, depending on the season,
and covered with a light smoothing or
brush harrow. Pre]mre the land very
the carefully and pulverize and compact
seedbed thoroughly. New ground
the second year from sod gives best re¬
sults. The soil is then rich in piant
food and iu good tilth. A piece of
sod ground broken during the Slim-
iner and seeded to wheat in the fall
makes au excellent turnip field the
following been season, after the wheat has
harvested. Ordinarily such land
will not produce a sufficient number
of weeds to interfere with the full de¬
velopment five of the turnips. Four or
pounds of seed to the acre will
give about the right stand.
In sections of the country where
new land is not available, truck
patches from which early vegetables
have been removed will answer
plowed admirably. Often wheat land is
as soon as the gain has
been removed and seeded to
turnips. The ground must be rich,
for turnips are gross feeders, but soil
containing an excess of vegetable mat¬
ter will cause an excessive growth of
tops, to the detriment of root devel¬
opment. A cool, moist climate is very
favorable to the growth of turnips and
for thi^ reason the seed should be put
iu late if the season is dry, then most
of the growth will take place in fall.
While broadcasting answers very
well on new land, the best results are
obtained only when sown in rows and
cultivated. Have the rows about two
feet apart and the plants anywhere
from six to twelve inches apart in the
row. Give level culture, keep the
land free from weeds and stir the sur¬
face often.
Turnips are a valuable winter feed
for sheep and cattle, particularly the
former. When fed to milk cows give
just after milking. Otherwise the
milk may be given an unpleasant odor
and the butter an undesirable taint.
They must not be fed in excess to any
stock but when other sncculent feeds
cannot be fed, turnips are invaluable.
—American Agriculturist.
High Farming: on Cheap hand.
The greatest difficulty in the way of
good fanning in this country has al¬
ways been that prices of land were so
low that those engaged in farming have
been tempted to buy more land than
they could profitably work. There
should always be an amount of work¬
ing capital equal to at least half of
what is invested iu land. This should
be done even though the laud be only
partly paid for. It is much better to
leave a part of the cost of land put in
a mortgage whose interest can be met
every year, than to pay all the money
down and leave nothing to work the
laud with. In a great majority of
cases it is the floating capital, rather
than that invested in land, which pays
the greatest rate of profit. Farmers
have been complaining for years that
the merchant, who makes ten to twen¬
ty-five per cent, on his merchantable
stock, has the advantage of them.
They are tied to their farms, and like
the man holding fast by the wolf’s tail,
cannot, safely, let go, while it takes all
their energies to simply hold on and
prevent the wolf from turning and
rending them.
On high-priced land near cities most
of the high-priced farm stock is kept.
It is usually far more profitable than
the stock of the merchant, for that, ex¬
cept in case of a change in the mar¬
kets, cannot increase in value, aui> is
much more likely to decrease. The
merchant’s stock cannot increase in
amount as can that df the breeder. To
be sure, the breeder has losses by
casualties to animals, but these are
fully offset if not more by the bad
debts that the merchant accumulates
on his ledger. If the breeder manages
rightly his stock may be made to in¬
crease with its product thirty to more
than one hundred per cent.. There is
no kind of business so safe from loss,
other than farming, that pays so well
as this. Why then is it that so many
farmers are poor? It is because they
trust too much to their land to sustain
them without having the capital to
make the best use of it.
Most low-priced land is so because
it is far from market; that may make
such land unsuitable for growing the
fancy breeds-of stock that can usually
only be sold by having those who in¬
tend purchasing visit the farm and in¬
specting stock on the ground. Yet
when a farmer is known to have an
extra good class of stock he will find
customers for it, even if they do find
it not very convenient to visit and in¬
spect it. There is no surer way to
make the farm richer than to use it for
stock-breeding purposes. If the fer¬
tility is put into the soil, there need
be no fear that some means will be
found for making it profitable. It was
the virgin and fertile soils of the
Northwest that attracted settlement
from all parts of the world. Increase
fertility anywhere and the land will
never lack purchasers. —American
Cultivator.
Horse Hints.
Being gentle with a horse xvill help
him to be gentle.
Keep the colt fat and he will make
an easy-going horse.
Sores on horses’ shoulders are large¬
ly the result of ill-fitting collars.
An excess of food weakens a work¬
ing animal and disables it from work.
If young teams are overloaded they
are apt to become discouraged or
vicious.
Take the horse to the harness shop
and see that a collar tits him before
you buy it.
To a very considerable extent the
most oostly farming is that done with
poor teams.
The farmers will always be poor
who continue to raise $50 horses at au
expense of $100.
Blood, food, care and training are
the essentials necessary for producing
a first-class horse.
There are few diseases to which
horses are subject but are easier pre¬
vented than cured.
Good grooming does not only add
to the animal’s comfort, but to its
healthfulness as well.
The best farm horse is the one with
a kind and tractable disposition, well
broken and serviceable.
Feeding a little wheat bran with the
other grain will help to make tho
horse’s hair sleek and glossy.
The feed and care necessary to raise
a poor horse costs as much iu every
way as it does for one of the best.
A horse needs exercise every day
to and keep his system properly regulated
make his hair bright and sleek.
When the horse is brought in from
work he should be given a good drink;
if too warm to drink he is too warm ter
eat.
The largest estates in Austria are
those of Prince Schwartzenburg, 510,-
000 acres; Prince Lichtenstein, 450,-
000, and Archduke Albert, 305,000. ,