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.