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FARMS A$D FARMERS.
Business Ability Required for Spe cial Farming—Advantages of the Silo ill Butter Production. '^Jood Roadg indices of C1 vllIzation—Rhis. .. tag Calves on Skim Milk—sensible Talk From a Ilorse. "The English Sparrows a Mttch Abtbed Immigrant—How to Make a Hot bed—Timber Belts. Words of Practical "Wisdom. We have often quoted the opinions «of T. B. Terry, because we know him i o be a man whose opinions are backed up by solid facts. At a recent meet ing in Albion, Me., he talked to the people from his standpoint in a very -convincing way. The farmer who wpreads himself over a big farm, to work hard and come out of the little •end of the horn, may well take coun sel of Mr. Terry, who first makes a man of himself, brains and all next makes a good home for his wife and •children, and lays by $1,000 a year or more—all on less than forty acres of most wisely farmed land. Here is what he says: The farmer necessarily grew a little of everything forty or fifty years ago. 39* kept all kinds of stock, a few of *ach. as he needed the wool to spin *nd wear, the butter to eat, and the oxen to draw his loads. This was wise •then. He could not do much in any (particular line, for lack of markets and Cfeieans of communication. Times have changed greatly. The farmer has not Changed accordingly, to the extent he might, with perfect safety and with 1 rofit. «e I do not advise specialty farm- ng, strictly speaking, that is, the rowing of only one crop. There must enough for a good rotation. On my 'farm this is potatoes, wheat, and •clover, and there we stop. The sum aind substance of the special farming I practice and preach is to undertake less and do it better. Half-way work Ho longer pays. Thorough, well-direct ed work does. The world is running over-full of the ordinary. Experts are Hct crowded in any line. Common jlabor brings $1 a day, that of experts fi|5 or $10. I have tried both ways,and like the latter the best. Use the pencil .and know what you are doing. You will find some things pay better than others. Wouldn't it be business-like to do more of what paid best, and less •of what did not pay at all, or none at all of it? That is special farming. Find what you can do best,and then do -enough of it to amount to something. .No money in fussing with five or six -cows. Get twenty or more and a silo, -®nd the best butter cows, and all the best implements needed to make up •the best article, and take time to hunt "Up a fancy market. You can afford to. 'Tou are doing enough to amount to Something. The mixed farmer with a few cows gets a low prie'e generally. No money in it. The specialist can jjiake a fine profit. I say "can special warming will not make a man over pimply gives him a better chance to do .Something. More business ability required for .special farming? Yes. But that is What the farmer of the future wants. He must learn what his farm and him slielf are best fitted for, and then do it. .He must find where his products are Wanted, and send them there. He must find where he in buy to the best .advantage, at wh esale. what he wants, and again skip over the middle man. Then he will become more like other business men. Then will he make more money. The special farm er can, in many waj-s, reduce the cost Of production, thus increasing his profits. Let me iliustrate briefly in the "line of my specialty. I ride while the machine plants potatoes, an acre in two 'Jbours. I hoe by horse power, at the urate of twelve to twenty acres a day, with one man's labor. I dig thorough ly well while riding another machine, "aFaP#n by four horses, which does the work of fifteen men with forks. I use bushel boxes in handling the crop, and thus greatly reduce the labor bill, etc. INow what possible chance has the oommon farmer,raising an acre or two 'in the old way, to compete with me? He must grow poorer and poorer,while make money right along, about 100 jaer cent net, one year with another. is behind the times. I am simply running my farming on business prin ciples. I can get better prices because 3 can furnish large lots that run uni rform, and have enough so I can afford *t© hunt up the best market. Dangerous to have eggs all in one basket? Might be for some, but the ^ruth is, when a crop fails, nine times out of ten man is to blame for it in ,4»ome way. He puts in a crop not suit Able to the soil, or on land that needed drainage, or did not give perfect care all through, on time exactly, etc. Man can do almost anything, or at least the .specialist can. He has a chance to con centrate his efforts and do something. "Thousands of our farmers undertake .so much that they simply can not do perfect work in any line,if they would. It is the perfect work that pays. Un der this special, concentrated farming, I have seen my own income increase from five to ten fold, and the worry is ifar less, and the pleasure greater. The man who is heard from in the world is the specialist, not the one who scat ters liis energies, trying to do a little of everything. I could buy one of your •cheap farms, and by special effort in 'One line soon become independent, potatoes would be a grand specialty -for Maine, where soil is suitable, line butter another, early lambs and wool -another. The Silo and the Cow. There is one fact I firmly believe that with careful management, with the silo and ensilage, the dairy farmers •«of to-day can keep three cows where "they are now keeping one. Ensilage •Will make first-class milk, and when •you hear any one say that "milk or gutter has the ensilage flavor," you may be certain tnat tne sno is not properly constructed, or the corn was put in immature. Ensilage has an odor usually, but it is not a disagree able one. If, in milking, the milk is allowed to cool in the silo, it will take this odor just as it will that of the stable If allowed to cool in it. The odor of Well-matured ensilage can never be de tected in the milk made from its use. The only difference is a bettor color and more butter. In my judgment, improved methods must be adopted and more intelligence applied. The cost of production must be lessened. If the silo will enable us to make butter at 14 cents a pound, then we all want the silo. The pro blem is,first,to reduce cost,and second, to improve the quality. To do these things, most farmers must step right out of their old ways on to higher and advanced ground. They must heed the teachings of those who have suc ceeded, and of those who know the roads and means which lead to suc cess. There is a healthy show of patrio tic feeling, and a most commendable good spirit, in those who have found out these things and who have succeed ed in the business, to be so willing to help others, give them the benefit of all they know, and make them rivals at the front. We can raise more corn to the acre than anything else. Why should we not then avail ourselves of this impor tant crop for all it is worth? The range may be from twelve to twenty tons per acre of most nutritious food. It takes from two and a half to three tons of ensilage to equal one ton of hay for feeding purposes. At the rate of fif teen to twenty tons of corn per acre, one acre of corn will keep from two and a half to three and a half times as much stock as one acre of hay. In this way we certainly can cheapen produc tion. The cow giving milk wants some thing more so we give her clover hay and some nitrogenous grains. There are great possibilities for an acre with ensilage. One acre will feed one cow 200 days. There is no better food for cows in winter than ensilage. It is next to grass, and takes its place most admirably. The criticisms of the silo have come from those who know the least about it. A man can easily, as has been done, make a case against en silage by having a poor silo and put ting into it poor corn. There is a sav ing ia harvesting corn for the silo over the old way of stocking, husking and grinding. The silo must be made air-tight and so constructed as to keep out the frost. With studding two by six or eight inches, and a tight foundation wall on which the sill is bedded, and the use of building paper, and ceiling inside and out, a frost-proof silo can be made and also air-tight. It is well to double the paper. The corn must be planted so it can ear out, as this makes the stalks better and the ears add to its value. We grow the Stowell Evergreen and like it much. We cut it when the ears are in a good boiling state. We cut it with all hands, put it into bundles and al low it to wilt at least one day in the field. Then we begin to draw and to fill the silo, leaving two men in the field to cut and help load. The loaded wagon is left at the cutter and with the second one the team gets another load. We cover our ensilage with swale hay cut and put on a foot deep. Then we put boards on top. Our en silage keeps well.—W. D. Hoard. The English Sparrow. We have been roundly criticised for taking grounds somewhat favorable to the English sparrow. We are not prejudiced for or against this bird, or any bird, save that in general we recog nize in the feathery tribes most im portant allies against the increasing hordes otf insects, and therefore are glad to cherish them as far as con sistent. Our point in favor of the En glish sparrow is simply this: After seventeen years experience in garden ing, in which period we have always been surrounded by the lively little Europeans, we have yet to record the first serious objection to them as com ing under our own actual observation. As much as this cannot be said for our other favorite, the robin, because we have been obliged to share so many cherries with him. In Buffalo and other towns where the rank growing Virginian creeper covers the sides of many buildings, the sparrow found in the growth a congenial place of abode and this meant noise, tilth, and a consequent enmity to the bird. Of late, however, the much handsomer close-clinging Ampelopsis Veitchii has largely superseded its relative named, ana in this we think the sparrow does no bad work. We now request reports of experi ence, so that we may learn whether our observation is exceptional. A free ex pression from all horticulturists for publication would be welcome. We desire your actual observation as to the injurious habits, or otherwise, of this bird, outside of its occupying the Virginia creeper where grown against buildings. We want no guess-work, no quotations from "experts," no hear say statements but purely what your own eyes have seen, unfavorable or otherwise to the sparrow. Regarding the charge that the spar row drives away other birds, our ex perience by no means supports such a charge, and our grounds are thronged with large numbers of birds. One tor gets from year to year hence it is diffi cult to speak with much positiveness on this point. That they appropriate bird-boxes is true but with us trees are so numerous that we have not felt the need of erecting bird-boxes. Now for a wide expression of ob servations regarding this much-dis cussed bird let us know whether the destructive pursuit of it is right or wrong. In Pennsylvania a practical indication of complete reversal of opinion on this subject was the repeal of a scalp bounty act for supposed in jurious birds, which, upon closer in vestigation, were found to be decided ly beneficial.—American Garden. Raising Calves on Skim Milk. Professor E. W. Stewart, author of that most excellent work "Feeding An imals," that should be in the hands of every farmer gives the foliowinar ad vice to an inquirer i« The Country Gen tleman, relative to the best method of raising calves: The calf will suck the dam for the first six days, or the milk to be drawn and given to the calf warm. As bran and linseed meal now cost about the same price, let him mix four pouuds of bran and three pounds of linseed meal together, and for the first two weeks he may mix half a pound in a gallon of warm skim-milk, and for the next three weeks three-quarters of a pound for each gallon of warm skim milk. From the sixth to and includ ing the eighth week he may mix one pound with each gallon of warm skim milk. Let the calves have what they wish of this warm skim-milk and mix ed feed. The calf will constantly take an increased amount of grain food. At the beginning of the ninth week one and a half pounds is mixed in each gallon of skim-milk. This proportion of grain food and milk may continue till the calf is 3 months old, and if the calf has plenty of skim-milk the same ration may be continued to 6 months old. But it must be understood that the calf is to have clean, bright hay within his reach after he is two or three weeks old, so as to develop its first stomach. From to 8 months old the fattening calf may have the following mixture: One pound bran, one pound corn meal, one-half pound oil meal. The calf would do better if the skim-milk is continued up to the slaughter, and, if this is the case, one amt three-quar ters pounds of the mixture may be put into each gallon of warm skim-milk. 2. For the calf to be kept for breed ing purposes, let the mixture be one pound bran, one and a half pounds oil meal, and thj same proportion mixed in skim-milk as before—one-half pound for first three weeks, three quarters of a pound for the next four weeks, one and a quarter pounds for the next eight months—using no corn meal for the calves kept for breeding. These calves are supposed to have all the skim-milk they will take, in which is this mixture, and if the skim-milk is fed warm and the calves are fed regularly each day there will bo no doubt about their rapid growth. Sensible Talk From a Horse. Don't ask me to "back" with blind ers on. I am afraid to. Don't lend me to some blockhead that has less sense than I have. Don't think because I am a horse that iron weeds and briars won't hurt my hay. Don't be so careless of my harness as to find a great sore on me before you attend to it. Don't run me down a steep hill, for if anything should give away I might break your neck. Don't whip me when I get frighten ed along the road or I will expect it next time and maybe make trouble. Don't think because I go free under the whip I don't get tired. You would move up if under the whip. Don't put on my blind bridle so that it irritates my eyes, or so leave m} forelock that it will be in my eyes. Don't hitch me to an iron post or railing when the mercury is below freezing. I need the skin on my tongue. Don't keep my stable very dark, for when I get out into the light my eyes are injured, especially if snow is on the ground. Don't leave me hitched in my stall all night with a big cob right where I must lie down. I am tired and can't select a smooth place. Don't forget to file my teeth when they get jagged and I can not chew my food. When I get lean it is a sign my teeth want filing. Don't make me drink ice cold water nor put a frosty bit in my mouth. Warm the bit by holding a half minute against my body. Don't compel me to eat more salt than I want by mixing it with my oats. I know better than any other animal how much I need. Don't say whoa unless you mean it. Teach me to stop at the word. It may check me if the lines break and save a runaway and smash-up. Don't'trot me up hill, for I have to carry you and the buggy and myself, too. Try it yourself some time. Run up hill with a big load. Don't forget the old book that is a friend of all the oppressed, that says: "A merciful man is merciful to his beast."—Maine Home Journal. Good Roads a Public Blessing. Good roads are not only among the highest indices of civilization, but they are also the rarest of public blessings in this country, as all candid and ob serving tourists from abroad have noted. It is, therefore, a wholesome and a necessary work to which the legislature of Virginia is about to ad dress itself in providing for a system of good highways throughout that state, with ample provision also for their efficient maintenance. One of the schemes under consideration would involve an expenditure of $1,098,869, which it is proposed to apportion in such a way that it would not be felta3 a burden by the people. In reality good roadways, honestly constructed, are neithoi an extravagance nor a lux ury for the saving in wear and tear of vehicles and the increased traffic that such roads invite more than bal ance their cost and make them really a profitable investment. If all the states should enter upon a similar system of internal improve ments the' gain in all material ways would be incalculable. Nor would that be the consideration of highest consequence. Good roads mean so cial intercourse,and the spread of cult ure. Education, religion,every higher influence, is in a sense dependent on proper highways, while their relation to the public health is too obvious to need more than mention. In still another sense the contem plated action of the Virginia legislat ure will be of a wholesome and reas suring quality. It speaks well for the thrh't and probity of any people when their legislative body proposes to ad dress itself to questions of the highest public concern, because it means the putting aside, for a time at least, of private, corporate and partisan inter ests, which have too largely consti tuted the body of state legislation in this country. It might be too san guine to view the proposed Virginia movement as the beginning of a new era in this line. Still, it will be an ex cellent example, and worthy of being commended to all her sister common wealths.—Philadelphia Record. Hot bed-making. A hotbed may be made by piling up fresh strong horse-manure some tliree feet in height, after being firmed and slightly elevated at what is to be the back side of the bed. As a number of loads of manure will be needed for an ordinary, sized bed, it may be neces sary to gather the manure for the pur pose for a time previously in which case it is better that the accumulation be kept from wet, under cover, and be frequently overturned to check the escape of heat before it is needed. When the soil is well drained the bed may be sunk a foot or two in the ground, and should be a foot larger each way than the outside of the frame which is to be used. It is important when filling in the manure to tread it not only moderately firm but as evenly as possible, so the surface of the bed later on will keep its shape well. After the manure is in place the frame can be put on at once, and filled in with about, six inches of light rich soil for a seed or plant-bed. Sasii should ie put on at once, and kept closed until the heat has run up through the :oil thor oughly. This accomplished, it is bet ter to wait another day before sowing the seeds. Sow in drills extending across the bed, leaving a space of about three inches between the drills. After the bed is properly started, care is re quired in sunny weather to prevent the heat rising to an injurious degree, a matter to be regulated by moving the sash up or down a little to admit some air. A thermometer should be in the bed, and be closely consulted. It should be placed where the sun will not directly strike it. A temperature of 60 at night would be suited to the average of plants and this might run up 15 or 20 higher in *he day time without detriment. The other extreme of cold in frosty nights must be scru pulously guarded against by covering the beds with mats or shutters at all threatening times. By banking-up over the manure on the outside with soil, the heat from the manure will be very materially saved to the bed and the appearance in general be improved. Timber Belts For Protection. Timber belts traversing portions of farms exposed to the sweep of storms become beneficial in two ways—first, by the growth of the timber they afford: and secondly, by the protec tion of the crops. Where the land is valuable and the timber is in less de mand, the belts may be only a rod or two in breadth. Evergreens, always clothed with verdure, will arrest the wind in winter as efliieently when only a rod in width as a screen of deciduous trees four or five rods wide. As a gen eral rule, the belts should be wide enough to permit one-half to be cut away at a time, by which treatment the land will always be protected by the half that remains. As soon as the first half is removed, the sprouts or suckers will spring up and start a new screen, when the other half is taken off. Each half may be planted in different years or it may all be planted at once, and one half allowed to grow longer than the other. Or, one-half may be of evergreen trees, as white pine or Norway spruce, and the other half of such deciduous trees as maple, black birch or chestnut. This is better than mixing them, as they would interfere with each other's growth. By select ing thrifty growers, such as Norway spruce and Scotch larch, a growth 25 feet high will be reached in about 10 years if they are properly cultivated, and 40 feet and more in 25 years, at which age it will be profitable to cut them down for wood and timber. In regions subject to cyclones, timber screens of considerable breadth will prove of great importance. A dense growth of large trees where formida ble cyclones have occurred has often greatly checked their course and pro tected buildings in their traok.— Country Gentleman. Troubled Over a Definition. Papa," said the boy shaking1 his head dubiously as he looked up from his book, "I'm afraid I never can under stand all these words." "Tut, tut, my boy," returned the father laying aside his paper, "you mustn't get discouraged. Once you learn the definitions you will have no trouble at all in understanding how te use them. Take any word you wish "'Fast,' papa," suggested the boy. "Yes, of course. 'Fast' means rapid, speedy. Understanding that you can't make any mistake." A fast horse is one that runs, isn't it?" "Well, yes, sometimes. You're be ginning to understand." But, papa, a fast man generally rides, doesn't he'?" "take any word you wish." "Um, well.my boy," and the old gen tleman looked at him over the tops of his glasses, "you're beginning to get technical." "And a fast color is one that won run, isn't it?" "There, there: that'll do But, papa, I want to know Run out and play and don't bother me any more when I'm reading the paper." And so the lesson came to an end. A A JUST PUNISHMENT. In a spacious and richly furnished apartmeut of a large and imposing mansion, situated in a fashionable quarter of the citjr of London, sat the capricious belle and haughty beauty, Agnes Templeton. Every object in the room betokened wealth and taste. The only occupant of the room was the fair Agnes, who was reclining in dolently upon a velvet sofa, indulging in a dreamy reverie. She was nearly 17 years of age, with regular features, a lily complexion, and a queenly form but the greatest charm of her peerless beauty lay in her hair—her dark, glossy, luxuriant hair, which fell from lier small regal head, in long, clustering ringlets, complete ly enveloping her snowy neck and shoulders. "Lady Montford! How grand it will sound," she soiiloquised. "I shall soon be mistress of Montford mauor, and the envy of all the belles in the city. But I almost wish that I had declined the old baronet's offer, for I don't love him as I love Lawrence Arbutlinot. The adulation and admiration that I shall receive, will, I hope, fully com pensate for the sacrifice that "l have made." After a pause she continued: "Although 1 shall be Lady Montford and caressed and flattered by my titled husband I shall not be so truly happy as I would were I the wife of Lawrence. Ah, I do not know of a diviner happiness than that! But why repent now? The time for that is past," and she bowed her regal head and sighed. At this moment a trim little maid servant entered the aptrtment. "Well, Lusette?" said her mistress, raising her head languidly. "Mr. Arbuthnot is in the hall and de sires to see you," replied the girl. For several minutes Miss Templeton beat her dainty-slippered foot upon the carpet and toyed nervously with the costly rincr which signified lier be trothal to Sir Guy Montford. It was a struggle between love and duty. She loved Lawrence Arbuthnot as well as her selfish and capricious nature was capable of loving, but she knew it was wrong now to encourage him as a lover, and moreover, she was certain that he now visited her in that capacity, and was not aware of her engagement with the baronet. "I will see him, Lusette," she proud ly said. The girl immediately withdrew, but in a few moments re-entered the room, conducting a handsome young man of prepossessing appearance, who greeted the young beauty with deferential politeness. By his demeanor he still evidently considered himself a favored suitor. Agues returned his salutation with a bewitching smile, and her manner was particularly graceful and winning. "Please be seated," she said in a soft, musical voice, and he carelessly com plied, remarking: "An absurd report is current to-day that vou are soon to be wedded to Sir He stopped abruptly, for her cheeks were flushing vividly, and the fair hand that he clasped was trembling violently. "Miss Templeton," he said, coldly, "I believed this rumor false, but your agitation does not confirm my belief." Seeing she did not reply he'added, in a low tone: "Agnes, is it true?" "Alas, too true," she faltered. "Aud yet," he said, bittei-lv, "you did not refuse to see me this evening —you, the affianced wife of another." A redder glow suffused her face as he made this remark, and she bent her head low, but did not reply. "Why did you allow me access to your presence this evening?" he asked, triyng in vain to catch a glimpse of hy|r bowed face. "Oh, I don't know I cannot tell." she murmured. "Is it possible that she loves me?" asked Lawrence Arbuthnot to himself. "Agnes Templeton," he said, "have you deliberately bartered your soul for an empty title? When you pledged your hand to Sir Guy, did your heart go with it?" "I cannot answer your question," she returned, confusedly. "Agnes," he exclaimed, passionate ly, "you do not love your affianced husband! Tell me, do you love an other? Is it—is that one myself?1 The low, faint whispering answer was in the affirmative. "Yet you are the promised bride of another," he resumed, with passionate vehemence. "Oh, Agnes, why did you accept the baronet's offer, when you did not love him? Ask him to re lease you from this iniquitous engage ment at the earliest opportunity, or your peace and happiness will be ruined forever. Agnes, I beseech you, re nounce this marriage." "Too late!" she murmured. "My word is given. I cannot retrace now." "What! will you become a perjured bride, an unloving wife?" "I must there is no alternative now." "Weak, misguided woman?" "Call me what you will, I cannot retrace now—I cannot do as you wish "I hope your wedded life may be happy, Miss Templeton," he said, calmly relinquishing her hand, and rising to depart. She bowed her head slightly in ae« knowledgement, and said: ••Remember, Mr. Arbuthnot, that you will always be a welcome visitor at Montford mauor." "Thank you," he repled "but do not be disappointed if I do not avail my self of the opportunity which your in vitation allows me." "I trust you will change you decision before the season is over," she said, with a vain attempt to smile. "Next week I shall sail- for India," he observed gravely. "You will not forget me?" she said, with a sigh. "Forget you!" he exclaimed. "Think vou that I too, am false? No, Agnes '.Templeton, I shall never forget you but I shall strive until I have utterly subdued the deep love that I now bear you." They quietly exchanged partings, and with a long, sad clasping of hands, and a tremulous "Good-by" on ner part, a calm, sad one on "his, they separated. After Mr. Arbuthnot had departed, Agnes threw herself upon a sofa, and gave vent to her long-restrained feel ing in a flood of tears. For some time she remained so, weeping silently, and bitterly regret ting the irretrievable past. At length Lusette, roused her, and announced the arrival of Sir Guy Mont ford. Agnes hastily arose, bathed her tear ful eyes, brushed out lier luxuriant ringlets, and was soon ready to meet her future husband. One month subsequently they were married with great pomp and splendor, aud Lawrence Arbuthnot had sailed for India, in hopes that among new scenes the harrowing past would be forgotten. It was a mild delightful afternoon, and the balmy air was cooling and ex hilarating. In the pleasant apartments of Mont ford manor sat the Lady Agnes Mont fort, attired in a partly mourning dress. Six years have passed since her un happy marriage, but the latter three of those years have been passed in silent widowhood. Time has not deprived her of her beauty, aud she is still the fascinating and enchanting creature she was when she captivated the heart of Lawrence Arbuthnot. I wonder what Lp.wrence finds so interesting in Effie?" she murmured to herself. "For a month he has been ar guest here, but nearly the whole of that time he has devoted himself en tirely to my step-daughter. "No, no, he does not love her he has more sense than to fall in love with. Effie, who is scarcely more than a child. But why is be so attentive to her?" Lady Agnes was interrupted in her soliloquy by the sudden entrance of her sou, a handsome boy of some 5 summers. —"Well, Guy," she said, fondly, lay ing her hand caressingly upon his dark brown curls, "where have you been." "Out upon the lawn playing with. Cario." answered the boy. "Mamma, where's Eflie?" he asked, after a short interval. "She is taking a ride with Mr. Arbuthnot." "There they are now, coming up the avenue," suddenly exclaimed the boy, glancing out the open window and be holding the two equestrians, who were slowly cantering their horses in the direction of the house. They dismounted when they reached the door, and Eilie Montford immedi ately sought her step-mother's apart ment, while Lawrence Arbuthnot re tired to the chamber which had been assigned to him while he remained a guest of Lady Montfort. Lady Agnes looked up with an affectionate smile as the lovely Effie entered. "Did you enjoy the ride, my dear!'* she inquired, pleasantly. "Yes, mother," replied Effie, seating herself upon an ottoman, while a vivid blush stole to her cheek "Mother," she continued, averting her flushed face. "Mr. Arbuthnot has asked me to be his wife." The rich color slowly receded in an icy tide from Lady Agues' cheeks when she heard the "fatal announcement which blasted her "long cherished hopes, and her face became cold as marble, and a pallid hue overspread her features like that of death. With a wild cry Effie* sprung for ward as if to sustain her step-mother, but Lady Agnes motioned her away, and in a low but perfectly calm voice she asked: "What answer did you give him?" "I told him that I could give him no definite answer until I had acquainted you with the proposal." "What did he then say?" inquired Lady Agnes, in the same cold, clear tone. "He asked me if I loved him." "What was your reply?" "Mother, I told him the truth—I told him that I loved him." "Well, my daughter, since you love him, I shall not withhold my consent to your union." Lady Agoes had now regained per fect composure, and as she uttered these words she kissed her step daughter's fair forehead. Effie little dreamed as she felt the cold pressure of those ruby lips that in their owner's bosom there throbbed a torn and blighted heart. When Christmas came Lawrence and Effie were quietly married, and. took up their abode at Levering hall* an estate which Mr. Arbuthnot had purchased, and which joined Montford manor. Lady Montford never married, bub continued to live in lonely widowhood at the manor. She knew that her punishment was just, but nevertheless it was very hard to bear.—New York. Weekly. Jimmy Had Been Dozing. There is a certain faithful retainer, whom I will call "Jimmy' for short, who has been in the employ of either Lester Wallack or Theodore Moss since the days when Jennie Hughes first played in the "French Spy" and led so ciety in Bond street. In the old dava Jimmy's duties were many and varied, and one of them was to station himself on first nights at the rear of the first balcony in the center of a galaxy of bill posters and other lithographic guests of the management, and, at & suitable moment, to lead a spontane ous call for Mr. Wallack. Jimmy is now a bright, fresh-faced lad of fifty seven. and is still in the employ of Mr. Moss. The other evening, during a performance of "For Money/' he waa peacefully dozing in the balcony of the Star Theater, when a loud burst of ap plause brought him suddenly to hia feet, and he startled the house Avith a loud call of "Wallack! Wallack! Wal lack!" It was not until he had been cast into outer darkness that heawok^ to the fact that it was not the firsjfe night of "The Shaughraun" that hft was "assisting at," but the seventieth of "For Money" in the year of grac« 1892.—Truth.