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Wit §Mn gfonlcr. W. K. F. 4. MEAD, Pebttshsn. CBESCO. r~ IOWA. HIS MAJESTY THE KING. That baby's a puzzle to me, Willi bis "queer little snuMtv nose His clothes art: pat on, 1 can see. At thickly leaves on a roar They don't teem to fit The least little bit. Yet he hu Bach an air of repose! They turn him around, upside dowa. And dandle him gh in the air He's the loveliest laby in town. The sweetest, in fact, anywhere. They say Babjr'« King,-' And then shake the poor thiag lt't a wonder to me how they dare. Of what earthly use to be king When alt of your subjects are mud. And imagine a wild Highland fling Can alone make your majesty glad— Or fancy a poke In the chin is a Joke, Your highness delights in when sad? Oh! yes, you're a puzzle tome. You solemn-eyed, infantile king A bishop micbt climb up a tree And yon wouldn't say any thing. Though he sat on a bough And whistled till now, The Flowers that Bloom in the Spriafr** And yet yon w ill smile at a wink. Or chuckle aloud at a sneeze. Though your life is made up I should think, Of things more amusing than thnse As when half the night long Your mamma sincrs a song Mi allows you to sound the high CPS. Perhaps in the far Baby-land The joking is finer than here Perhaps we can't quite understand The pre-mundane funny idea. Perhaps it we\tnew What most amused you, We'd feel very foolish and queer. —N. P. BabcoeU, in St. Nicholas. ISABEL OB From Shop to Mansion. (I» Romantic Story of a Dress Maker's Rise in Ufa. SY MRS. F. M. Howaho. [Copyrighted, JW CHAITKK V.-CoxTixiED. "If 3*ou will allow me to compliment WIS," said Mrs. Stat!ford, as she inspected The garnet velvet with the eye of hii ex pert, "I must say you have f»hown tlie most perfeet taste in your selections." Kiie had half expected to see a paudy display, such a mistake as might easily have been made by a less pure taste. Isabel reeeived the commendation with a flush of pleasure she was anxious to be friendly with this haughty sister-in-law, though she did not intend to cringe, or sac rifice a shade of her self-respect, to gain her friendship, and it was pleasaut to hear a compliment from lier, even upon the sec ondary topic of dress. "It is the first time I have ever had the opportunity of pleasing mvseif without re gard to expense,'' she replied, quietly, "and doubtless my taste will improve with oppor tunity and culture.*' "I don't see how il can," said the other, with candor. "I haven't told you of Lilly's wedding gifts, have 1!" she continued, with a mother's pride in her only daughter's marriage festivities. •*I shall be delighted to hear,"' said Isabel, cordially. "I admire Mrs. Norton so much, and am in such haste to make her acquaint ance." The balm was soothing to the mother's heart, and she replied cordially also, with a little laugh: "The admiration is mutual, then, for Lilly quite raves over .vou that picture which ou and Harvey sent quite captivated her. and it j« a beauty: it taUcs a front rank in her list of gifts." ami then followed a description of the wedding and tnmtaeau, which occupied the remainder of the morning. In the afternoon more callers came in, Mrs. Harry Dvvight among them, another prominent lady in the circle which Isabel was expected to ent« r. 8ho !»id tired of Newport, she said, and had come home to rest she was a bright, captivating little body, and, like a bracing breeze, cheered and cleared the atmosphere wherever she went. Society hud quite failed to spoil her, and she carried her warm heart where nature hau placed it. in direct communication w.. A ,'icr Origin, busy brain, and Her deeds of charity and kind ness will perhaps never le estimated until she meets them again in that hereafter, where even the kindly word and modest cup of cold water are rot forgotten. We shall huve such a delightful oppor ttmity to get acquainted before the season commences,'' she said, brightly. "If I only knew how to knit I would put on a black silk apron and come over and bring uiy knitting, as grandmamma used to da' But in lieu ol knitting, please lay aside formality ami come 111 without ceremony." said Isabel, gracefully, meeting her caller's cordiality. Mis. Stanford was more than ever impressed with her uew sister's abil ity to make her way in society, and she was in ft very amiable frame of mind as evening drew near, which faet Mr. Falconer ob served with pleasure. ••We will spend the evening in the 'homo room.' he said to Isabel in a low voice, as they passed out of tin?dinrtiir room. "Very well," she suid, looking up. with a happy smile. "I h.\ve to speaic to Mrs. MoutforA a moinen., and will join you •iiere "This is our snuggery: where we keep the altar tires of hoiye burniug," said Mr. Falconer, as he thro-v open the door and Mherod his sister in. It was a revelation 19 her. and she lo«.k *d aboet her in sur prise as well she -jiight, for there was "THIS ta OfB SXt'GGEHT." nothing in he* elegant home which com pared tvi'ta it tor beauty and purity of de sign "It is Isabel's work,"' said Mr. Falconer. "She and Gracie planned it all." "Even to the portrait?*' said Mrs. Stan ford, inquiringly, as she paused before the picture 111 surprise. She had iuiagiued fair Mattie's face banished from the-new wife's presence. "That, was her thought, also, and a com plete p.fpri HO with the rest." 1 ifjrrcndcr, Harvey.-' The sister turned with tears in her eyes toward lier brother and placed her hand upon Ms arm affection ately. She had a tender heart, though, as we have seen, it was surrounded with a heavy crust of worldliness. Vou have in deed found a treasure among women, and together we will light her battles, if need be, before the world. The remainder of Mr* Stanford's visit was very pleasant and she seemed striving »jO atone for her first unkindness. "if there ia any thing in which I can ba of assistance to you, 'she said the following morning as they were sitting in the library. She sjjokc with a little hesitation she did not wish to he patronizing, but she was so accustomed to being bo that she feared to blunder into it unoonsciously. am ignorant on some points, 1 wiil con fess" replied Isabel, frankly, ••'l'here are eertain forms aud ceremonies in society in which I have hitherto had no need to educate myself the folding of a card and such ininutia of etiquette, for instance. Jklr. Fal coner's education had also been neglected on such points, I observe." "Yes, indeed," laughed Mrs Stanford. "Harvey cares no more for such small etiquettes than as if they did not exist," and lien followed a condensed compendium of fashionable forms. "IJe sure you spend Christmas with us," was Mrs. Stanford's last words before the carriage drove away. "Lilly aud Ralph will be home, and we shall rely on ou also." Well, my dear," said Mr. Stanford, as hecamehrtme and found his wife in her usual place at the dinner table, "what of that terrible creature, your brother's wife?" "Morton." she replied, and she meant ever}- word fully, "Mrs. Harvey Falconer is a remarkable woman." CHAPTER VI. Of all the notable things on earth. The queerest one is pride of birth." The heated season was over and the greater portion of the city's people were at home again meantime Isabel had made a few very pleasant acquaintnnces, and was 011 friendly, and even intimate, terms with Mrs. C'olo.u'l I)o Iiong, who had discovered that which Mr. Falconer had hoped she would in his wife, qualities of more value than mere external graces. Mrs. Harry Dwight, who lived near, had also Itecome an informal visitor, and was enthusiastic in her praises of Mrs. Falconer. Cards were out for a very select party to which the Falconers were invited, aud Isabel and Mrs. Dwight were out shopping. "If I were you I should much prefer the un dressed kid," said Mrs. Dwight, "it is more stylish." "Then of course 1 must submit to it. even though 1 do not like it as well," replied Isa bel. laughing. "Out of fashion, out of the world," smiled Mrs. Dwight. "Even in so small a matter as gloves, I think sometimes a woman is a perfect martyr to fashion." A rustle of silks at her side caused Isabel to look up from the kids she was examining. Mrs. Hervey, a lady whom she had met and liked irticularlv, stood beside her, and cordially held out her hand. Another lady stood by her side, whose face Isabel did not notice as she took Mrs. Hervey's hand. "My dear Mrs. Falconer: so happy to meet you," cooed Mrs. Hervey. Allow me to present to you my friend, Mrs. Monteith, of New York, Mrs. Falconer." Mrs. Monteith's eyes had been fixed on Isabel's face in a cold stare of recognition, and. as Mrs. Hervey pronounced the name, she looked for the first time into the cold face, and caught the unwinking stare in its perfection. Every trace of color left her face in her indignation as she met the look, and was reminded by it of the insults this woman had delighted to heap upon her in the past, but she controlled herself enough to ac knowledge the introduction by a coldly civil bow, but Mrs. Monteith tossed her head scornfully, and gave no token of having heard it. "I have met this Mrs. Falconer before," she said in an aside to puzzled, mortified Mrs. Hervey. Isabel's face was a study, and Mrs. Dwight, too indignant to finish her shop ping, drew her away as soon as possible. "For pity's sake, Mrs. Falconer, do tell me why that ill-bred woman should treat you in that shameful way," she said, as soon as the carriage was in motion. 'It is a very short story," said Isabel, bitterly. "Mr. Falconer first met me behind a millinery counter in New York where this woman was a frequent customer, and where she delighted in heapiug insults upon me as a shop girl. He fancied me. and brought me here as his wife. 'Perhaps. Mrs. Dwight. now that the murder is out, your sympathies will be with Mrs. Monteith,"' and she looked sadly in her friend's face. "You do uie injustice. Mrs. Falconer," re plied Mrs Dwight, warmly, laying her hand on Isabel's, which was trembling with ex citement. "I trust a fashionable life has not ossitied my heart completely, and you •ay reiy upon my friendship and support." "Bel eve me, your friendship is appreci ated,"' said Isabel, gratelu'ily, returning the pressure of the friendly hand, "and now that you have heard so much of my history, perhaps you would like to hoar more," and she gave a brief sketch of the principal events of her life tip to the present. •'Why. it s a red romance,"' cried Mrs. Dwight, when she had iinished "1 always liked Mr. Falconer, but. 1 urn sure that he is a perfectly grand man now.*' "So am 1." said Isabel, with a sigh. "If I could only love hun as he so richly de serve*. "You will! Love can not help coming to reward such a kind, unselfish character." Mrs. Hervey ami Mrs. Monteith, 111 the meantime, hail left the store. "Pray tell'me what you can have against Mrn. Falconer," said Mrs. Hervey, coldly. "I think you owe ine an apology lor treat inga friend of mine so rudely." She was not at aii afraid of Mrs. Monteith's elegant apparel or snobbish manners withiu her own recollectiou she had been forced to live plainly, having only been so prosperous for a few years. She had always visited Mr. Hervey's family, and his young wife had never inquired upon what grouud the ac quaintance originated. "1 am not accustomed to treating shep girls as equals." replied Mrs. Monteith, with disagreeable haughtiness: "j/oitr friml, Mrs. Falconer, was nothing but a common shop girl when Mr. Falconer took herupand married her, and I made up my mind when 1 heard the disgraceful story from Mine. Araot, her employer, that if ever I came to Philadelphia I would, expose her."' What disgraceful story?" demanded Mrs. Hervey: she was stiil too indignant with Mrs. Monteith to take in the fact of Isabel's low estate in all its terrible significance. "Why, of ftr*', she must have inveigled him into the marriage,** replied Mrs. Mon teith "no man of his wealth would marry a simp-girl unless unduly influenced." "Harvey Falconer isn't a man to be in veigled." asserted Mrs. Hervey, emphat ically. "The fact of her being a shop-girl wouldn't influence him against her a mo ment if he fancied her otherwise." "I pity Mrs. Stanford," said Mrs. Mon teith. "It must be a terrible blow to have such a mcMi {Uvat 111 the family." "Yes, )oor Mrs. Stanford!" cried Mrs. Hervey, ironically. "She came here and made' them a visit, appeared with Mrs. Fal coner in public, and went home perfectly charmed with her sister-m-iaw, as I know on undoubted authority,*' 111 a triumphant tone, "and 1 would advise you, Mrs. Mon teith. to keep your knowledge of Mrs. Fal couer to yourself, if you have 110 better grounds to found your antagonism upon. Mr. Falconer isn't the first man in our American aristocracy who has married a poor girl, though it. isn't every poor girl that can rise from a low position to a higher one with such grace us Mrs. Falooner has done," she added, significantly. Something in the latter allusion seemed to touch Mrs. Monteith in a teuder spot, for she tossed her head and said something sharply about "arrogance" aud "upstarts,' which Mrs. Hervey did not catch. "What do you think, Aunt Katy," said Mrs. Hcrvev. an hour later, as she was seated in a pleasant room at home, where an invalid's chair was drawn up to a sunny window. We met that elegant Mrs. Falconer at Cady'-s this morning, and Mrs. Monteith gave her the cut direct 111 such an insolent manner. I was so mortified 1 thought I should sink Mrs. Harry Dwight was with Mrs. Falconer, and her eyes fairly flashed lire at Mrs. Monteith." What grounds does she claim to havo for such rudeness?" asked Aunt Katy, an elderly woman with white hair and a sweet pale face, sanctified and made lovely by long years of suffering. She had been left a childless widow under circumstances of peciriiar sadness, and Hor ace Hervey had taken her to his home when he brought his young bride there, and she had been the family saiut ever since. Why, she suvs Mrs. Falconer was a shop-girl in New York when Mr. Falconer married her, and she doesn't associate with shop-girls,'' linitatiug Mrs. Monteith's arro gant manner. "How long since?" said Aunt Katy, laughing merrily in her low sweet voice "it seems to me I have seen Mrs. Dolly Moil teith when siie considered a shop-girl very good society, indeed.*' Do tell me. Aunt Katy," said Mrs. Her vey, "who is Mrs. Monteith, and what is her connection with your family?" Aunt Katy 's low laugh rang out again as j»he replied "My dear Myrt le, Mrs. Monteith, this haughty dame who doesn't associate with the laboring classes, was once my kitchen girl. She began by washing pots aud kettles, hut as she was neat and quick 1 promoted her to the care of the china* closet and dining-room after a time, where she attacted the attention of a voung grocer's clerk, who married her. Her family w** 8 miserably poor, and I felt sorry for the giri, and did all I could to help her. but she was always proud and vain, and, after her mar riage, she cut loose from her family entirely, and I do not suppose she would recognize one of her own sisters now. "But how did Mr. Monteith get his wealth?" asked Mrs. llervcv, after lifting her hands and exclaiming in tier astonish ment at the story. He had a faculty for sue«*essful specula tion, not alwavs strictly honorable, either, I fear," replied Aunt Katy, "and finally struck oil in the very height of the oil ex citement, and made a fortune in a hurry, after which they removed to New York and Dolly Monteith set up for a fashionable lady." "An unendurable snob!" exclaimed Mrs. Hervey, indignantly "so that is the founda tion of her extreme gentility?" Depend upon it, my snobb sh friend. Your family thread you can't ascend Without good reason to apprehend You may find it waxed (or oiled) at the farther end By some plebeian vocation," quoted Aunt Katy, smiling. "Saxc could not have described our American aristoc racy better and it looks to mo extremely silly, in a country where fortunes are being made aud lost every day. to in dulge in such feelings of ultra gen tility. I always read it as a positive symptom that at some time the |*erson who has such a horror of work or working people has been one of the class himself." "What a dreadful thing it is to be born without common sense," sighed Mrs. 3S5J. -liJ fv wnvr A PREADFL'l. THING TO BE BORN WITH OUT COMMON SKXSB." Hervey "actually, auntie, 1 shall be ashamed to look Mrs. Falconer in the face." 'I would suggest to you, now that Mrs. Monteith has made such a display of the matter that it can not fail to cause remark," resumed Aunt Katy, "that you and other of her friends, whose position in society is incontrovertible, take special pains to in troduce and stand by her." "That we will." replied Mrs. Hervey. "I am positive Mrs. Colonel De Long will look at it just as I do. and I am sure there is no one will refuse to follow her lead." Mrs. Monteith's stay at the Hervey's was not a long one: Aunt Katy carelessly dropped a remark which showed the proud dame that in spite of her diamonds and velvets her reign as kitchen girl in the family was not forgotteu, and she took her departure in a huff. "I'm so glad," said Mrs. Hervey "fori could not have gone to Mrs. Durand's with out her, and 1 would not have brought her 111 contact with Mrs. Falconer again for the world." Mrs. Durand's gathering was a complete success so far as Isabel's social ap|earaneo was concerned it was her first formal en trance iuto Philadelphia society, and some thing of a test of her position iu the future. She was beautifully dressed in white, and before leaving home Mr. Falconer had pre sented lier with a set of pearls, exquisitely mounted, which added the finishing touch to her already elegant costume. Society, as a rule, is very much like a docile flock of sheep who follow their leader submissively over the wall without ques tion, and as Mrs. Colonel DeLong, aided by Mrs. Dwight and Mrs. Hervey, introduced her effusively as "My friend, Mrs. Fal coner." society at ouee ignored the rumors they had beard, and adopted her unani mously and heartily. "Mr. Falconer." They were siting in the home room the evening after the party, and Isabel was rocking Grade, robed in her daintily-embroidered ii'ght-dress, and the child had falien asleep with the touch of a loving hand smoothing her soft hair, as the young step mother looked thoughtfully upou lier. It was a pleasant picture, and Mr. Fal coner's eye rested gratefully upon it, as he replied: "What is it, Isabel?" I have been thinkiug of Lottie Ford 10 day," she said, gently. "I feel sure that if she had mcaus to have proper medical at tendance her lameness might be curcd. You do not know how sweet and good she is," aud she looked in his face wistfully. "She was all that kept me from growing hard and wicked there." "Then I owe her a debt of gratitude." he said, kindly. "I think there is a re quest vailed uuder that wistful look." lie resumed, smiling, "and I hope you are not going to be modest and fear to make il known." I have been thinkiug to-day that, if you were willing, I should be so glad to have her come aud live with me," she replied. Gracie is old enough to begin learning, under a wise governess, who would not overtax her, aud Lottie would be sucii a gentle, patient teacher, as well as a com panion for me. Teaching was her chosen vocation, but she was obliged to give it up 011 account of her lameness." A capital plan," replied Mr. Falconer, heartily. "I am glad you have mentioned it." Lottie is proud, as well ns poor," re sumed Isabel "and, while she could not afford to come independently, she would not be willing to accept what we would so gladly give her unless she could feel as if she were earning it in some way." "An houorable feeling,'' said Mr. Fal coner, warmly, and I leave it to your good taste to offer such inducements in such a manner as you think best." I did not look for such hearty o-opera tion in my plan," and Isabel looked into his kindly face with gratitude. "I will write to Lottie to-morrow." 1 do hope, my dear wife, that you wiil not doubt my readiness to aid you iu any' plan you may wish to make for the benefit of those who have befriended you," he said, gravely and earnestly. Surely, what I have is yours, also, and it is a pleasure to me to know your wishes that 1 may gratify them. Did I not a short time since endow you with all my worldly goods?" he added, more playfully. She looked up at him. Her dark eyes filled with tears. "You are too kind to me, aud I do not feel as if I had any right to the en dowment not alone of your goods, but of the unvarying kindness you are ever show ing me, when I recognize the fact that I can not meet it with a love which a wife should give the sweet love which makes it easy for her to ask and receive her husband's gifts." "My dear Isabel," he replied, gravely, "I do not wish to hasten you in the least, but I will confess that it will be a happy hour when you can say, truthfully and from your heart: 'I lovo you but do not, I beg, refuse me the pleasure of doing for you and of loving you in the meantime. I assure you it is a privilege." "Do for me and with me as you will," she cried, with deep emotion, "only do not regret takin? me to your home. It would break my heart had reason to fear that you repented our marriage. I am so happy here," and she looked down 011 the sweet face of the child, uud the bright tears ran down lier cheeks and dropped on the fair, unconscious head. "Have no fears, Isabel," he replied, "your love for the child would alone make that an impossibility. You brighten aud make my home a happy one also so dry your tears, dear wife, and all will yet be u's we would have it." How little one can tell what a day may bring forth the letter to Lottie was never written, for just as Isabel had seated her self at the desk, Mr. Falconer came in with a telegram from her aunt, announcing the death of John Harmon, and asking bet to come at once. "Poor auntie," she said, with a sign, "though it is really a blessing, THE DAIRY. •—"Wives should never conceal an? thing from their husband*," says a writer. If this advice were followed out it would create a revolution in fem inine pockets.—Burlington Free Press. —i'rof. W. A. Stewart enumerate* among the protein or nitrogenou* foods for stock, shorts, bran, oil-mcal, cot ton-wed meal, all rich in protein whilo of rough fodders clover hay is the rich est. —It is said fresh milk may be pre served indefinitely by freezing it and maintaining it in the frozen state until wanted for use. Many of the steamers now sailing on distant voyages are pro vided with stonrn refrigerator*, in which milk and other foods may read ily be preserved for any length of time. Even in old England, where the dairymaids presided over the manufac ture of fn rm-made butter, and were supposed to put all the angel it* excel lencies into it, the dear girls are beaten by the co-operative creameries that sell butter for about thirty cents per pound, when farmers' butter goes at twenty cents.—Hoard's Dairyman. —Do not forget that covered w:igon for collecting cream or milk this sntn tner. A simple bKmket thrown ovsr the can. even with ice laid on the blanket will not answer so well as the covered wagon for keeping the cans cool. It is the circulation of air shaded about the cans that the most benefit is derived from.—American Dairyman. —(Jood butter sometimes sells for one dollar a pound, but it is given by a class of customers who know from whom tliey buy. how the butter is made, and who have tested the quality, says the Philadelphia Record. Tho most important essential is cleanliness. The dairyman who curries and brushes his cows, washes the teats and udders before milking, and provides clean beds for his cows, gets his pay in the price obtained for his butter. —It is a great mistake, says tile American Cultivator, to suppose that cows which get a bite of fresh grass early will not eat hay. The dry feed is necessary so long as they v.-ill eat it. Young, tender grass is full of water, and has too little nutrition. It scours cows fed on it exclusively, and not only lessens the milk yield, but causes the cow to grow thin. food something dry, if it is nothing better than straw, and supplement its deficiencies by grain or oil meal. —In the common practice of buying cream by the "gauge,'' it is supposed that the product of cream in butter is uniform. In experiments made by the Kausas Agricultural College, cream was the one discordant element. In the case of every cow employed, and with each kind of feed, the milk giving the largest display of cream oft-ce gava the least butter product, and the re vorse. As far as could be judged, the character of the cream varies quite a? much as the milk does in its original condition. Milk showing eight pet cent, of cream gave a larger yield ol butter than was obtained from milk giving 10. 11, 12 or even 13 per cent, ol cream.--Rural New Yorker. —There are lots of strange develop ments occuring in a herd that are al ways overlooked when 110 record i« kept, and it is surpisiug how your opinion of individual members of tho herd changes as your knowledge ol their performances becomes more exact. Some of the small milkers stick to their work with such persisteivt that. they, iu comparison with the largt milkers, when fresh, illustrate th fable of the hare and the tortoise. The daily ups and downs. and monthly variation* are all matters well worth studying. In short, the man who neg lects to keep a dairy record of his cow's performaces stands in his own light without rhyme or reason.—American Dairyman. THE BEST OF FOOD. Peculiar C»lcul«tlon« Made by tlie Mtm cliuwetta Experiment Mat ion. In experimenting to ascertain the cost of food for the production of milk, the Massachusetts experiment station found that, the total value received above net cost of food and of cow iu nc instance exceeded 1 j.97 cents per day. its average in eleven cases was 12.U1 cents. There was an actual loss of 1.5 cents per day in one case where the average daily yield of milk for the en tire period of observation (*131 days) was as low as 7.7 quarts, or an average of about fifteeen pounds and a half of milk. Fifteen and a half pounds a day, in .'Wl days amounts to «r»,120 pounds, and yet the experiment station rejiorf shows that even that yield brought a loss of 1.2 cents a day, or a total ol $11.97 less than the cost of food. Five thousand one hundred aud twenty pounds of milk at the Fort Atkinson creamery the past year would have yielded in butter, besides the skim milk returned, within a fraction of one dollar per 100 pounds. The skim milk returned to tho patrons was worth at least 20 cents a hundred. This would be about 4.UX) pounds, which at 20 ceutsa hundred would amount to (9.H0. Add this to the butter value and we have as the total value of 5,120 pounds tof milk the sum of ftil. According to this calculation, the Massachusetts experiment station must have fed their cows $64.97 worth ol food in :t.'il days. We get the cost ol food by adding to*the value of the milk the f:i97 which they record as loss. We think there must certainly be a mistake about this somewhere, for it is difficult to see, even at Massachusetts prices, how the keep of an ordinary cow could reach that figure. The average cost of keeping cows among ftrst-clu'js dairy farmers in Wisconsin does not exceed $40 a head. The ex periment is pitched on little too high a key to bo of any practical use as a basis (f yet it will bo such a shock to her, for she loved hi.u, and was always hoping against hope that would yet reform." (TO as COXTMU calculation for practical dairymen. A cow that will yield 5,120 pounds of milk a year is lietter than one cow in a hundred iu Wisconsin or Massachusetts does. If such a cow is kept at a loss, where will the owner of tho average cow, which yields about 3,0ir) pounds a year, find himself?—Ohio Farmer. The Question of Churning, We are frequently asked the question how often to churn. The reply that would lit every one's case would classify thein about thus: Tho very poor but ler-maker churns once in two weeks, the poor butter-maker churns once a week, the good butter-maker churu9 twice a week, and the fancy butter maker churns every day. The man who keeps the cream a moment longer than is necessary to get it thoroughly ripened, does it at his peril. There is certainly nothing to be trained by delay, and a great deal to lose. Cream is strictly a perishable article, and the sooner it is converted into butter tho better. After it once becomes ripe, every moment of delay rob the butter of its finer flavor. There is no luck i leisure at the point of the butter busi ness.—American Dair^maii. FOB OUR YOUNG READERS. MORNING AND NIGHT. Goort-Moriiinc popped over her caatrrn gate, To if tli« children w«»rc up: Ai.d laughed at bumblebee corningliome late. Who was caught in hollyhock cup. Gocti-Moniing bns eyes like the glint of the KUiCft When they're bright ns the »un and the «ts*rt mixed together, And her lips are no tweet, and her step* are so fleet, Hhr i".in danm like a thi*tlr»lor/n. fly like s feather. Vou never have seen her?" Oh, mel CWu me! What a dull littie sleepy head you mutt he! CooC.-Morning can *tng like n brook or ii bird She l:now« where tlie fnirles all hide: Some folk, hard of hearing, «uy they never have heard Her utiig. though they often have tried. Good-Morning has hair m*:de of ouushin* so rare. The elves tried to ste«t It to weave In tfee weather Which made her nfratfl, the bonny wee tnnld. To swing on the gate many m'ruitcs together. You "never have neen her.'-' Ah. me: Ah, ino! What cross, lazy lie-abed you must be Good-Night Is lier neighbor, a dear little soul. Who swings in a hammock, anci not or. a gate. She half shuts her eyes with a great yawn, droll, It would make an owl laugh, I will venture to state. Good-night always bringrs the most wonderful things. To hide in the children's beds, glittering and gleaming! Bach tales she cat toll, and Aw tells them so well. You could listen all night, and believe you were dreaming! You "never have heard her?" Ot\ me! Oh. mo: What a small naughty wide-awake you must bet Good-Night has a house full of beautiful toys. That she keeps for the children—no grown folks arc there And she carries them oil, tho wee girlies sad boys. To her magical palace, and, ob, how they stare! Good Night never frowns when she sees the white gowns Como trooping to beg for more stories—the dear Out with kisses and smiles, the time she be guiles, And bids them to come hear? sushi boob—do you You "never hove been there?" Ah, ine! Ah, me! What a very sad, grown-up young chick yoa muMtbe! —Hosa Evangeline Angel, in St. iiicbohts. TOM'S DOG. A Slnjralar Companionship, and How It Was Formed. If you were to moot my dog Tom by night, as ho paced to and fro about the house, keeping guard over the sleep lug family, you would perhaps le alarmed. His head is enormous, and his expression is tierce, llis eyes are red his large mouth is usually half open, showing his long, stout teeth his coat is rough and shaggy his tail is formidable, and his footsteps leave in the dust of summer or ttlie snow of winter marks as big as the palm of a man's hand. And yet he is a most peaceable ani mal. The children ride him bareback. The babies clinch their pretty fists in his hair and hang on to his tail and pull his ears, and he bears it all with uufailing amiability. Moreover, if you como suddenly upon him, as he lies in the path, and by accident tread upon his tail, he will perhaps make a dig nified protest, but he will boar no mal ice. There is one thing, however, that Tom will not permit, and that is, any sort of interference with his dog. What! Tom's dog? Yes, he has had a dog of his own for two years. I will tell you how it happoned. One day, as I sat on the veranda smoking a cigar, I saw Tom come to the usual place for his dinner. The cook had put out a big dish of moat and potato for him, which he speedily devoured, and then he turned to a generous heap of chicken bones, which seemed to servo him in some maimer as a side dish or possibly as dessert Just at that moment a doleful-looking object crawled out from under the hedge. It was a wretched little ani mal, yellow in color, its hide bare in spots, long-nosed, gaunt, its ribs show ing like the hoops on a powder-keg, and bedaubed with dirt There it crouched, with its tail between its legs, its muzzle thrust forward, its ears drooping, sniffing the aroma of the feast—the very picture of a half starved, ill-used, friendless canine. It v/as, indeed, one of the most wretched of all living beings, a dog without a master, a dog that gets kicks instead of caresses, a dog that is never fed, a dog that wandors from place to place, sleeping under barns or warming him self under haystacks—a poor, de spondent, suffering animal that ought to arouse the pity of every kind heart. Well, this little wretch was attract ed by Tom's dinner, and I watched to see what he would do. He looked at the bones, and then at Tom with sup plicating eyes. He crept slowly toward the spot, and then slunk back, whin ing and trembling. He was so hungry, and yet what would become of him if that great, fierce beast were to become angry and turn upon him? One stroke from Tom's big paw would end his misery forever. But nothing of the sort. Tom showed no sign of wrath. On the contrary he looked at the new-comer with an indulgent air, as if he were saying: "Poor chap, he must bo very hutgry!" The yellow dog felt encour aged, and drew a little nearer, goaded by hunger, held back by fear. He arose, crept along a few steps, then crouched down again. Tom became more and more friendly. He looked at the stranger, then at the bones. Then he moved a yard or so, in order that his immediate presonce might not be a source of alarm. Tho yellow dog took the hint and sprang upon the heap of bones. There was a crunching sound, a few gulps, end the bones had disappeared. Tom's dessert was the stranger's chief dish. When he had eaten the whole and licked his chops, he began to bo con scious of a sensation of gratitude. He then walked toward Tom, wagging his tall, and finally paced slowly clear around his benefactor, watching him with eyes which seemed to say: "Are you willing I should stay with you?'1 Then he lay down in tho sun near the kitchen-door stop, put his head his forepaws, and went to sleep. From that day my dog had a dog, not a companion 01* a friend, because that implies equality, but a servant. Tom is the master, the yellow dog is the bumble, devoted attendant When food is brought, Tom eats first Then he says: "Waw!" in a tone of gruff but kindly command, and the other comes up and takes what is left If the new arrival does any thing foolish, such as barking at the heels of a friend of the family. Tom growls in a way that soon brings him repentant to the konnel. It is useless for me or for any one clso to try to call the whelp. He will not answer to any human voice, nor will ho lie down when he is told to do so. He is simply indifferent "What does that person want?'* we can imagine him saying. "What right has he to give me orders? I am not his dog!" So I have not even given him a It would b« utterly ussiest may coax and whistle and snap my fin gers—he will not obey. Hut if. on starting for a walk, I have a fancy for canine companionship, I call: "Tom!" Tom hastens to my side, his great paws going "(lop, flop." like an ele phant's tread. "Call your dog'.** "Waw." The yellow dog is on the spot in the twinkling of an eye. and we start, Tom at my heels, the yellow dog pattering along in Tom's track. Then if we go down the road, and, as sometimes hap pens, the boys think the end of the procession is fair game, and begin to shout "Sick 'cm!" and fling stones, you should see Tom. .Slowly he turns about like a big seventy-four getting ready for action. o]cns his mouth and utters n low growl. "I^et my dog alone!" One warning is enough. The boys fumble over one another in their anx iety to get away. Then Tom shakes himself, and the procession moves on as before. It is generally understood now throughout the neighborhood that it isn't safe to meddle with Tom's dog. —Jloston Beacon. A WELL-EARNED NICKNAME. A Llttl* Girl Who Had "Tho Ob«tlnat*«," and What Happened to H«r. "What's your namo?" asked a visitor of a little yellow-haired bunch of a girl. "Don'-waut-er," was the answer, as a pair of great, fearless blue eyes looked up into the lady's face. "Come and sit on my knee, please, and tell me over again. I don't quito understand you." "Don'-want-er." repeated the bunch, putting a fat forefinger in a rod rose bud of a mouth. "Tell the lady your name," said the mamma. "Don'-want-er," came again from tlie protty lips that were now pout ing. ••Then run out and find brothofc* ••Don'-want-er!" *Jhe visitor laughed. 'Don'-want-er' has como to be the obstinate little thing's nickname," said mamma. "She "don'-want-er' do any thing that other people want her to do." "Don'-want-er" was only three years old. She had three little friends of whom she WHS very fond—Frizzle, the «hort-legged terrier Furry, the big old black cat, and Sunshine, a pretty canary. Frizzle was an educated dog. Furry was at the head of the mouse catching business. Sunshine was a famous singer. He was very fond of little Don'-want-er, and would nip at a lump of white sugar between her little sharp tooth. Perhaps very little folks don't know the meaning of such a hard word as obstinate. But, as brother Tom said, Don'-want-er had "the obstinates." She was born with them. Now, this is what came of Don'-want-or's "obsti nates." .One day brother Tom was going to take her out in the pony cart While she was waiting for Tom sho ran into the bath-room. The tub was half full of water. "Come away from the tub!" called nurse. "Dou'-want-er!" said the little girl. She was having fine fun bobbii.g her black doll Dinah up and down in the water. As the little, fat thing had to reach far over to do this, she lost her balance and fell iuto the tub. There were dreadful shrieks, uud uurse, coming in, saw the soles of two little boots .sticking up. When half-drowned Don'-want-er came out of the tub, she said: "D'ess me quick, so I can go to wide." But mum ma said: "You can't go to ride to day. You can't go to ride again this week." Alas! it was Monday. "Please let me," begged the dripping child. "I don't want to," said mamma, which were Don'-want-er's own words spoken in a grown-up way. But this was not the saddest thing that happened on account of littl« Don'-want-er's obstinacy. One day, as she was tagging mamma about the house, the lady said: "Go upstairs to nurse,Dearie." Just then the door-bell rang, and mamma did not hear Dearie's answer. We can guess that it was Don'-want-er." Mamma was very busy with a caller for the uoxt half hour. The little one strayed to the kitchen, begging sugar from the cook, then went to the parlor to play with Sunshine. After a little Furry joined in the play. She was hungry thatdayf she had had no mouse-meat for ever so long. "Furry," said Don'-want-er, take the sugar in "00 00 teef, and let Sun shine pick it." Furry seemed to have "the obsti nates'" also, for she wouldn't hold the hard white lump properly, and Don' want-er said: "l^ook in the glass now an' see what a naughty tat 00 it!" Sunshine was standing on the marble slab under the mirror. Furry gav 9 a long, sharp yowl. What she re»lly said was "Don'-want-er." Then Ihe sprang as quick—well, as quick as a cat—out of Don'-want-er's hands, and caught dear, dainty little gold-feath ered Sunshine in hor cruel jaws. Don'-want-er shrieked in piercing tones. Mamma ran down, cook ran up. But they came too late to save the lovely little singer. When brother Tom heard what Furry had done,he said that she should be banished. So, one dark, dark evening, aftor Don'-want-er had gone to bed, he put the cat into a deep,deep bag. slung her over his shoulder, and marched with her into a forest The bag was tied with a tender string, so that Furry could get out if she tried hard. Tom hung the bag on the bough of a tree, and ran home as fast as he could. The next morning he told his sister that Furry would never come back any more. So little Don'-want-er had only Frizzle left The obstinate little girl cricd very hard when mamma said: "Doar, sweet loving little Sunshine will lievcr sing any more. Poor, poor Furry has lost her good home, and her little mis tress, and her warm cushion, and her saucer of milk—and all because an ob stinate child said: 'I don'-want-er.' —Mrs. M. F. Butts, in Christian Un ion. —One great cause of baldness, saye a barber, is the habit some people have of changing the styl* of hair cut ting half a dozen times a year, or near ly as often. They insist on a "short pompadour" in the hottest months, less pronounced crop in the fall and then wear their hair longer as the weather gets colder, gradually ap proaching a shave again when the thermometer gets up in the nineties. Now all this may bo very comfortable, but it is very bad for the hair and scalp. It is best to wear the hair short all th year round, brush it freoly and trust to nature for the only r-iftHjr ffffuBtiyf substitute for pomade* ATTORNEYS. jevNl. LMBT* ATTORNEY AT LAW, Bps eta I Attention Given lo Collartli pv OSle« met l'ask of Elms, Kims, Iowa. pRAHK SATB* Attorney and Connaelor at Law* CftBBCO. IOWA. WM prsotloo In all the Courts of the State orer Zundetowits store, cast Sd« Bl* Mtf John MoOook, ITTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW, OIIESCO- IOWA. Wilt pr*ctle* ta all the Courts of the States naVe loan-, and attend to by lni tad Nllini ml Mtftte and i*ruftttf*. oa«« over C'rcsco Union Savings Baak. K. BAKKER, 1TT0RNET AND COUNSELOR AT LAW, Oouxity Attorney. Will Praetles In all Stata and Federal Court*. 9RKSOO, ... IOWA. PHYSICIANS. QBORQK K1S8BLL, M. D. PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON, CRKSCOE, IOWA. (Mm at Lowrr A Conaolly'I Drag Star* Mssldanet onCherry Straat.one Mock East of QM.O.H. ULLOGO, MENTAL 8URGE0H, CBKSCO, IOWA. ill work la his Una will hare prompt art careful attantton. OAoa over Wtilto a Moou'a Mora. 6-27-tf a.BABRrrr. m. d„ o. m. PHYSICIAN ANDSURGE0K, CKK80O, IOWA. •amlal attention to Purgfrv. Offloa over TWfltpaon a Johnson Brne., alongside the bank OSee open ulfbt and ikiy. M"*" PHOTOGRAPHER, Over Olaar Grocery Store Cresoo, loffl Our pictures of children oxool all others In B^ Iowa. AU work tho very beet. Copies tram old pictures furnished in every stylo an* afca. Ml M. MOOIf. JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, BallS tag. J£USICAL INSTBUCTlOjr. OXTHS PIANO OR ORGAN. Ia towa or eonatry. Tertna rctaonabie. ASdreai •rewly te LAVBAUI 1UKASW OBISCOC tOW A MISS HATTII- Ii. WHEELER, —WILL GIVE Instruction on the I'iano Orpin, AT HER HOME OR AT THE HOME OF PUPILS IN CRESCO. TERMS REASONABL.ro HOTELO. 0TBOTHBB ITOUBB, W. 8TR0THRR, ProprfotHv oaxsoo, iowa. he only fliU olaae House la Creese. Mf JOWFT VARR8WOBTB, ft. W. TOCXO, CMhln RMK OF flnlMol CBKSCO, IOWA. IUmItm Deposits, and Hakes P»1 lectiona. •esBset Bens Bschsate, •omaaeat Bob* sad other sseeittles sad fees.* ssasral hsnHaj Drafts on Europe for Sale, Improved and Unimproved Heal Metate Bought and Sold on Commission. PiM|e Tickets at Redaced Rates. VOUTB SIDE MARKET 91* afsBsM •took of Choice Family GROCERIES I CURS esoss, FLOUR AND SALT! mmw+~ •FILBS, ,.7 it ui JfS 25Cnv SMI|UWIY ft CONNOLLY. Blanks. Blanks.1 Jastlces* Blasts ef ill Kiiii Constantly on HaaA ksyiitsr.' M, ittiniyi' Ms, U*1 udtng Deeds, Real Estate Mort pigea, Notes, Mrchaok's* LieMb Ohattel Mortgages, Original Notloes. l*rices Always Reasonable Beat in tlie W&liL NO MORE EYE-GLASSES 10 (SORE CBMOO, IOWA. W. K. Barker, In Vnlos Cartas* Ba»» WEAK EYES. EYE-SALVE'SMITCHELL A Certain. £ufe, and KOectlr* Remedy (or SORE, WEAK, & INFLAMED EYES, Producing Long-Sightedncss, & Rastor ing tho Sight of the Old. Cares Tear Drops, Granulations, Styt Tuition, Rec! Eves, flat tod Eye Lathes, lit rnrrrttQ i icx rclikf aid rrMiSF.tT cm. Al»'. efllraetou* tvJifn n*e1 tn rthrr inulaitiM, *urlt ui riecr* Fover Bare*. Tprnari, Knit Itlfnai, Unrna. Pllre* of T»I)er»vi-r lnfla'rtmaJi'in i-xi-ls, SIfl'CH BAI. V*.Z nir.y b" iiacl t" ailvp.nttgp. Bold by all Drastfiste at 23 Ceata* Who II WEAK. NERTOra. DEBIMTA rOLLYiadlOHeilAHCI f»y Ms VIGOR of BODY, HQO IV vv CtAla i" TBI*, who in hi 3 huTRflXKr -a HIND aad M.. il Iraine dpon tho IOHNTAIIIN ItOOA. niwini cxhauatlr IIr.ASACH of LI rtlnp kdfld E, nACKACHE, Dread breams, WEAKNESS or Memory, BASH rOLNEMlD SOCIETY. PIMI'l ESupoa the YACE. and all tbe EFFECT* lradiity to my to CABLT I»ECA* and perhaps tOKHI'BBi TIOM INSANITY, ahourf consult at ocoa tbe CELEBRATED Dr. Cl«rk. Batablisboi aII.ITY. il. Clurkr hat mede TV EH TO US DE* cilltoxlc (ui.l all DImsms of Ike WEWITO URINARY Omnia a LI* Study. It mak. s NO dlflforenro WHAT yea fcavc uVt-ii or WHO I'tu feilrd to cure yoa. SarFLTO A I.CSMtflcrlng from dlaeaaeapecQi Vsr to tleir *cx can consult with the aaanraaee ef ipecdy relief and cure, fiend 2 ccnts postage tsr works on y ur diseases. SV-Scnd 4 ocnta poet life fbr Celc%ratc« Works on *taronfc, Ncrvoae and DelS Sboaeands kta Disease*. Consultation, personally or bf ttcr, "free. Consult the old Dactor. cni*4. Offices ut starlets private. avTbaso contemplating^ varriefe fiend lor Dr. Clarke's celebrated futoe Halo and Female, cacti lie., both afto. (atatr.pa). Dafore confiding your esse, oousnll Dr. CLARKE. A frleOdly 1 otter or call may •are futuro nu&cringaml Rliajnc, and add golden rears to life. syBook (Sccret) Er» rare," 60c. (stamjs). Medt^tno and writisis sent evorvwliorc, teenre from •mperavib Boors, 8 to S Sundays. V to 12. Address, F. D. OLASJUB, M. D. ICS So. Clark SU CHICAGO, IT la U E Y S Pit. l'rMi'iikKM.'Si-K!-!!-!, art kcU'iitiflrallyand carefully pn-jiareil pn wriitioiis used for many yearn in pi ivato pruct ire with nun •(-*,and f(«rov»p thirty yearshy the people. Every fcinirtc bjie Cllle Is a t|x»l ii cure fur the discjiic uunmi. These S|ivilie* euro without purg* Ins or reJui iiiK the system, anil are iu fact and deed thcHovcrciirn r-in»:tl ten alt he World, urr of phiscij'al .nos. Feverii, Congestion, inflammations.. i WaruiH, Worm Fever. Worm Colic.. ..'Jj Crying Colic, rT»t thiiigof Infanta.' Plarrbca, »f children or Adults Os'Henteri-t riplng, IsilioiwOoUe .5 Cnol«ra jnorbue, Vomltin* Cough*, Cold, Mroi ehltl: Nearalvta, Touiluu hc.Faceache. [eadacbeg, Bk klicmlaciic. Vertigo.) lyepcpaia, Ulli«un [Stomach .5_ |ssrcm«a or Palnlal Ferlado..? ten, too Profuse Periods. :roa», Cough, Dimeult lircathlng.... .'J lau ltbram, Envl|*l«*, Eruptions. »eumatlnpi, Hlieumatlc Patna. S E I I S 1?5ySr«53^«BeTcBui5^55!CT!!7 Pllee. Blind or BI^OIuk ..! ppiithnlmy, or Sore, or Weak Eyva "autrrh, InHucnxa, Cold tn tbe Bead, looping Cough, Violent Coughs. Suppitttwd 1 treat li Ins.. aud Ucaut vvvisujr ormiiwi WVU* neea, or Involuntary DltfcharKca. .1. Mouth, Canker Maarv \Vcakues«, Wetting lted., -riilufui Perlodd, with Kpasm Dlnraern or tho II ea rt, alpitaUoo 1 Epilcpa) .Spajm, bt. Vitus' Dance. I Diphtheria. Ulcerated Sore Throat. Chronic Congeatloua A ErapUona, Hamshreye* MedlclneCo.lie Pulton St. N Y. U V w w V, s W W\7,iA. 0 W, V v. t.-v HUMPHKEYS' VETEKINAKT SPECIFICS.— Wsftl by all owner* of Haree aad Cat ,A Complimentary copy of Dr. Humphrey** veterinary Manual (500 pagua) on treatment and '\mc8tic Antmab-Honee, Cattle, Sheep, "I Poultry Sent free. Hcaraacis* cod, 100 Fulton St., N. Y. YPE WRITE A I jp will buy tho ODEIX TTTV ?K I WltlTEIt. Warranted to do ai eoudwork a« any|IOO Uaihlia It combines simplicity with durability speed, ea»a of operation—wears londos without coat of repaira tliau other niacli iiia ha* no Ink rllb n to liothor the operatui 11 Is neat, Mitsuntl il, nickel plnted- Perfect sud adapted to all kinds of type writum. Like.-iprinfr Ing pretis. It produces sharp, clean l«Ki:i« manuscript*. Two to t«u coptcs can be. n "It at one wnfln*. Fditois, lawyers, Ministers, Bankers, McrchauU. ManufHcturers, KnslnciS tlen.etc., cannot make better investment f,»i 15. Any Intelligent |»erson In a week ci»n some a good operator,or a rapid onolntwa months. fl.ooo offered anv operator who can dnhettn work wit i ,i Typo riter than that produced ba U.« "IMS'X. W-Jial.te Agents and Saiesni«a wanted. Special inducements to Dealers a* Pamphlet, Kivlug endorse menu, &e., address '4 GDELL TYPE WRITER CO., P. O. Bon B. LAKIQSNBVA, Wl*