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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 •.g ! 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. ,