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l i ‘l , - ,NWA. lamenting; "The owners of small fruit farms find that they cannot handle cattle asl profitably as those who own tracts of land. cheaply grown when a large part of our land was yet uncleared. Since the land has been brought under the plow and the fields have been brought under a three to five-years' rotation farmers have depended more on hogs for con- densing their corn crops and have fall- en into the habit of baling and shipping their straw and hay." says Mr. Bon~ ham in Breeders' Gazette. “By this means they have helped out the short rmipts from the sale of grains. It has brought a little more cash to meet their prcsdng needs. The system is very defective as it is only a sure way of wasting the principal. \Vith the straw and hay go the grain, and these represent for every thirty bushels of wheat thirty-three pounds of nitrogen. 9.3 pounds potash and 14.2 pounds of phosphoric acid. The straw of this amount of wheat contains fifteen pounds phosphoric acid. With every acre of hay (one and one-half tons) goes forty-nine pounds nitrogen, 50.9 potash and 12.3 pounds phosphoric acid. "With twenty-five acres of wheat the farm loses each year, 1,100 pounds nit- rogen, r030 unds otash and 52.7.5 pounds phosp ioric aci , worth as these elements of fertility sell in the form of commercial fertilizers 8202.43, where- as if the straw is kept for food and bedding and bran and middlings returnâ€" ed. and supplemented with oil meal to complete or improve the rations, we can feed these by-products, and the manure is worth almost as much as the cost of the by-products. “The question, then, of keeping up the small farms where cattle are few becomes a most important one. Sheep and hogs can yet be kept if one can- not handle cattle. Everyone recogniz- es the value of sheep as ionovators of soil. Their virtues have been sounded by the flock-master until all accept their figure of the golden foot. The shee do well on hilly and broken parts of t e farm and seek the knolls and highest points. where the farmer can- not readily carry fertilizers or manures from the stables. The hog. on the oth- er hand, loves his ease too well and seeks the low land and rich growth be- side the water-courses. As common- ly handled the hog does not scatter his excrement so advantageome to the soil as does the sheep, but he is the condenserof food rich in fertilizin ma- terial audit can be utilized if the arm- or cares to do so. Instead of feeding an, a hillside or beside a. stream where the wealth will be washed away. feed on the clover or old Timothy sod and arrange the feeding places so as to take the hogs to the thinnest points for feed. We have a striking illustra- tion of the advntages of keeping hogs on old Timothy so . Last fall and .winter we gut the brood sows on an old Timoi. y meadow which is now in rn and other crops. They were not ed more than a week in the same place. 0-day the corn and other crops on the meadow show exactly where the food was given. The stubble prevented any waste from washing and the droppings were distributed, and their value is a arent in the tanker growth that fo- ows. The sleeping places were in an adjoining lot, but this was a misâ€" take. We {will improve on that by putting portable pens on the meadow 0r clover field where the fall and win- ter feeding is done. \Ve have tried this plan on clover sod. and find it the best means of saving and applying man- ure. There is as nearly no waste as can be devised. The hogs have comâ€" fortable quarters and fresh ground and when farrowing time in the spring comes the permanent pens are used and the fields plowed. The sheep can be wintcred about the barn, so there is the least possible waste and a valua- ble lot of manure stands for the feed consumed and care bestowed after the crap of wool and lambs has been pro- duced. With a little care in arrang- ing the sleeping and feeding places of hogs they will distribute their drop- pings to great advantage. If, how-. ever, they are fed at the same place the year round, and that beside a run- of r brook. they consume the best of feet and we have only the pork of low- er rude, lhaving lost the secondary pro it of the business. “On many farms there is little benc- fit to the soil from keeping hogs; but it is not the hogs' fault. Neither sheep nor hogs will do well on bare lots or fields, and there the waste or loss of droppings is great. \Vith corn cheap and labor high we can find profit in letting the hogs gather part of the corn crop. They will waste little of it and leave a vast amount of fertility behind. If one can provide water the hogs will gather the corn free of charge and ‘uve every particle not made into pork for the benefit of the ground. The saving of labor and fertility make the old-time practice of hogging off corn attractive now. Sheep do well to pre- cede the hogs and clean up the fence corners. eat up the lower blades and all weed and grass seeds that have come in for laying by the corn. lf sheep are ct out of the cornfield at night. and the. corn stands up well they will not disturb the corn until they have clean- ed up all the grass and weeds. By a little care in littering well the pens and lots and keeping hogs as much as pos- sible an the clover and on the sod land that is to be plowed we can add to the fertility of our lands and to the health of our herd and flock. If hogs are ale lowed to run and root as they please they can become an unmitigated nuis- ance. a damage to the farm and a dis- raco to the owner. But properly andled there is no more profitable stock and none more easily controlled.” SHORTHORNS AND EARLY. ' MATURITY. As an all round breed of cattle for beef. early maturity otherwise. too much can never be siid in lehaif of §horlliorn cattle. This breed has add- ed millions of value to the cattle of the country in grading them up by crosses. Kc breed can be found, guys the Farm Journal. that has mom desirable qual- lties u a beef producing animal for \\ iflcsh in the ’ripcn for the shamblw early, easy tol .‘ l “ lu pfiffi‘éwfafi §of patient and unselfish toil. Her dark hair scarcely touched with ‘ grey was smoothed back underaneat frilled cap, and she wore a faded black gown which almost girlish figure. The day's work was over, and she had come out on the threshold of her home to enjoy the mellow sweetness lof clambering roses and clematis, with 'which the slumberous air was laden. Louie Cole was a lonely woman with neither kith nor kin, and she eked out her narrow livelihood by selling afew sweets and toys to the children of Combe,as they passed her door on their way to school. Her front window was adorned with sundry glass bottles full of colored "goodies," with tiny mugs and and angular jointed dolls and wooden horses, and such-like The passing months saw but little change in that simple array of delights,for it was only at rare intervals that some happy child came ,_._,,_. ~_ . the general market than the Short- horn, and no breed has attaineda great- er popularity and a distribution so wide during the past antury as this. This breed is noted for its size and weight. . early maturity, aptitude to fatten andi ‘fine 'bone structure, thus furnishing a l larger large proportion of meat .of fine qual- Cattle, too, were more it)‘ With a small proportion of waste. The Shorthorn is therefore an animal that will furnish a large amount of windows. At the open door stood a little old woman, upright as a dart,with most desirable portions. fatten and one that large. amount of meat with Shorthorns will not, however, do well on a. poor range as will some other breeds. ' They will not thrive on lim- ited rations or neglect of any kind. The objection has been urged illlt the rapidity with which they fair: .1 pre- vents their meat from ripening suffi- ciently before appearing as in»: in the market. ‘and also that there is a dis- proportion of fat to :the lean meat, which is not formed in the breed of slower growth and maturity; but these reasons are not sufficiently well founded to deserve a great amount of oonsuieration. Another good quality about this breed is the ready adaptabil- ity in transforming native stock by crossmg. The Shorthorn grades pro- duce some of the best beeves that are brought into the markets of the coun- try. lt is greatly superior to that pro- duced by native cattle, and should com- inand a. higher price, and its fine qual- ity should create a good demand. \Vhen well cared for, both native and Short- horn cattle being kept in the same herd, the former at a year and a half weigh from 600 to 800 pounds, and the latter should average from 1,000 to 1,- 290 pounds. At two years old the na- tive Will have reached an average weight of 1,000 pounds; the Shorthorn from 1,200 to 1,400 pounds. -â€"â€"â€".â€"â€"â€"â€"____ T0 PRESERVE CUT FLOIVERS. The woman who wishes to enjoy the whole of the short life of her out flow- ers, instead of only a. short portion of it, will not settle down upon any one undeviating method for preserving them, but will rather vary it according to the different causes which lead to their decay. " Take, for instance, the flowers of a. succulent nature like the iris. The stems, when put into water, slough away, and soon give an unpleasant odor. There are two remedies which may be applied in this case; either one should put a. mild disinfectant in the water and frequently change it, or cut off the ends of the stalks at short intervals. A good point to remember in gath- ering flowers of the iris family, and indeed all succulent plants like the primrose, the snowdrop, the lily, and the poppy, is to pick them while still in the bud, as they will often suck up enough water. to quite carry out their natural life. . Another flower whose stem most rap- idly decays and corrupts the water 1.8 the mignonette, and it is often best, therefore to sacrifice it while its head is_said freshly green. Heliotrope, like mignonette should always be put in water by itself, for it not only fades and turns brown rapidly, but it will kill almost any flower put with it. The cause of decay in hard-wooded plants like the azalea. and camellia is that they do not take up enough water, nor that they have any tendency to ol- lute it, so that to cut their stalks re- quently would be of little availl The hard, brittle wood has no power of ab- sorption, but if when putting such flowers in a. vase or bowl you make sure that the lowest leaves attached to the blossoms are under water, the effect is ma load. The tender green of the fresh lea absorbs the water and acts as a conductor, in its turn nourishing the blossom. Ferns, and eSpeciall maiden hair, are very short lived w on they have to look to the stem alone for nour- ishment, and the most effectual way to preserve them is to see that the lower part of every frond is well under watâ€" er. Cut flowers require as a rule afar larger quantity of water than is given them, through the capacious bowls and vases now in vogue come much nearer meeting their wants than the slender, elegant forms that continue to adorn our cabinets and mantels. \Ve mustbe guided in our expectations of the long- evity of a flower, however, by its nor- mal life, and not expect the frail blos- som of a day to rival the splendid or- chid in its three weeks' duration. Flowers should always be placed in water as soon as possible after being picked; when received by post in asome- what willed condition, an immediate plunge into hot water with a little real volatile will accomplish wonders in the way of reviving them. Lilac, laburnum ,and azaleas require to have a piece of the bark stripped up and left hanging, and this, with the addition of a few leaves in the water Will often keep them in quite afresh condition for weeks. The bouquet which you have carried during an evening will be sure to re- vive again, if you will spray it well with water and put it under a bell glass; and if you wish to wear flowers in your hair 0 mp your Corsage, they may be made to retain their freshness for an entire evening by putting a bit of sealing wax over the ends. WONDERFUL MACHINE. A wonderful calculating machine has been brought forward by M. Leon Bol- lee, a French inventor. This mechâ€" anism (lees all the figuring automatic- ally, whether it be a question of addi- tion, subtraction, multiplication, divi- sion, equation. extraction of roots. re. duction of differentiation, the result be- ing arrived at with marvelous ra iidity and with invariable accuracy. 11 its exhibition before the French Institute examples were given by various math- ematicians present, and in figuringout the results not a single error was de- looted. The difficulty of explaining such a machine is obvious, but its won- derful efficiency was verified by the fol- lowing muliiplii-ation. the correct answ- er to which was arrived at in less than three seconds: 6,222,333,444 by 8,888,111,- ;Zfll, this being in figures 55,304,7913" ,â€" 0%,975,456. BY NO MEANS BEHIND. ’ Yeastâ€"four kindled says you are behind With your_bo:ir . " (‘rimsonbeakâ€"“ ell. she's dead wrong. I'm ahead. I. owe her 545. A BASE totem lthe low cottage at the corner, with its . . fhigh thatched roof and stone-mullioned '31? float Louie.- The summer evening was closing in l I sage out. and the shadows of the tall poplars by l the roadside fell aslant the village letter, and read once more the record street and rested on the grey front of ‘Of 8 far-Off flash Of happiness~ news of ill-luck and sican a ppmtment; till there came a w ich brought her the joyful tidings that the long-expected home was ready, and money was enclosed for her pas- With trembling fingers, the old woman unfolded that pmcwus last “Feb. 17, 1861. Barre. Creek." “this come hopen to find you well as [it love me at this present. An now the lLord be praised all our trubbles be homely features refined by a lifetime lcome to an end for I've a saved atidey showed off her trim, halls of string, stock in trade. to make a larger purchase than “a farden's wu’th 0' all zorts.” The shop alone would have been but a poor mainstay, but Louie had also a small annuity from her old mistress, who had died more than twenty years before; moreover she earned something by making smock-frocks, though these ancient garments were sadly going out of fashion in the village, and her more delicate and elaborate stitches were no longer needed. As she stood looking out with wistful eyes towards the rosy western sky, something of its radiance was reflected on her pale face, and after the sultry heat of the day, she felt soothed and caressed by the balmy freshness of the air. Suddenly she was roused by the and saw her neighbor, J one Varden, coming sound of approaching footsteps, quickly round the corner.- The young woman was looking more slatternly and untidy than usual, with her dirty sunbonnet put on all awry, and her sleeves still tucked up from her work but her face was full of eager excite- ment. "Oh Louie! have 'ee heard the news?” she cried. "You mid'a knocked Idown wi’ a feather, when our Dick, he corned houm i’ the wagon, adreven, as proud's 3. peacock, all by hissell, an telled I about pore wold Gideon." Her listener started as though ablow had struck her, and with trembling lips could hardly frame the question:â€" "What haveaoome to he? Do 'ee tell I quick, Jeane!" "Why look ’ee see, t’wur like this. Varmer Yeatman sent he in to More betimes this mornen, wi' a load 0' new hay, an' he’d 3. got there all right, 20 fur's the Market Place, when he gie‘ our Dick the reins, an’ slid down vet to walk a bit, when all ov a sudden, down he fell in a fit.” At this climax of her story, a stifled groan checked her for a moment, then she went on, all undaunted:â€"-â€" "He've a rare lot 0' sense vor a lad o' twelve, have our Dick, an’ he got the wold man a. tookt to the ’Firmary, an' w1‘ all the bother o’ the measter's hay, an’ the wagon, an' the bosses, why of he did'n go up to the doctor, so bold as brass, an' zays he ‘Please zir, what be the matter wi' Gideon Seamarkl’" "An’ what did the doctor zay?" asked old Louie, bending forwards in breath- less anxiety. "Zays he, ‘He'll never do nar' a stroke 0' work no more, an’ us can’t do nought vor 'un, zo do 'ee tell his v’oks vor to come an' fetch ’en hoam o' Zatturday.’ " Jane Varden paused,to ive full dramatic effect to the ver- ict; then she continued :â€" “Tes just about a bad job, vor he've nar' a soul belongen’ to he, an’ 20 he mun goo to the work’us.) i thought as l’d run down street an’ tell ’ee, but I czian‘t bide no longer vor tes all ov' a caddie to beam, wi’ Ben an' the chil- dern. Zo good night to ’ee mis'ess." The messenger of ill tidings was gone, but the old woman stood there on the threshold awhile, half-dazed, trying to resilize what she had heard. Then she turned away from the sunset glow,and with slow, uncertain steps went back into her low, dark room. and sat down on the nearest chair, with her hands crossed on her knees, and her eyes fixed blankly on the expiring embers of the hearth. "Poor old Gideon!” Her heart achcd for him. as she thought. of the sudden blow which had struck him down in the midst of his Work and left him helpless and desolate in his old agc,with only the workhouse before him, unless â€"the sudden thought almost took away her breath. \Vhat if she, Louie (.‘ole, were to take upon herself the burden of his suffering and misery! He was no kin to her, and what claim had be upon her devotion?! The answer was not far to seek. She rose slowly from her seat, and look ,down from the shelf a little old rosewood workbox. The key hung to a black ribbon round her neck, and when she had unlovkcd it, she wiped her tear-dimmed eyes, and put on her spectacles. Then with reverent touch, she took out a bundle of old letters, yellow with age and worn with Ire- quent handling; They were all in the same cramped handwriting, on thin foreign paper, and were signed, "David Seamark." In these two words, the romance of her life. was centredi As she looked back through the mist of years,it seemed only the other day that she was a young girl, in the prime of life and he re, walking side by side with her lover avid, through the pleasant meadows all low with daffodils and primroses, or y the winding river's brink. Could she ever forget the cruel part- ing before he went out to Australia, with kindled energy, to earn a home worthy of hi-ri’ Next rose up before hc-r the Vision of flime‘long. ‘xcti‘s‘ of [xiii-:21! waiting darkened by give her time to make her cottage case to the upper chamber, and. his bed must be put in the corner, against the wall where the old black bureau stood. She looked round the pleasure to keep in such perfect order, pipe. own; the shining brass candlesticks and cooking pots, the china ornaments, dog and shepherdesses who seemed to stare at her all unmoved. wandered to the pictures on the walls, mostly memorial cards weeping willows, a more cheerful colored print, and her own elaborate sampler hanging in the place of honor; till at last she paused black paper, which must have been a dismal caricature of the Davrd she had valued possession, she was. prepared to sacrifice the rest of her life. of flowers in pots, scarlet. carrier's of the County lnfirmriry. weary Ibit 0' money an have_a got anioe house only waiten for a mis'ess, an agarden an afeild, and my dear Louie you muss come as sune as ever you can. An 1 sends the money for the jurney an a aper wi all perticklars how to get ere, an the things as youll want. I sea to mysell Louie be a comen an tes too good for to be true. So no more at present from . "your loven David." She knew it all by heart,evcry word of it, and so too with the fatal messag‘ e which followed it so quickb', not much more than a week later. This was in another handwriting and was sent to Louis Cole, because hers was the only address found, when David Seamark was lying dead of the pestilence, "which kille‘i‘h in the noonday." 0f the poor fellow‘s savings, :nothing ever reached. England, but Louie’s journey money paid for aheadstone to his mem- ory in Combe churchyard. Thus ended the story of her love, but a broken heart is not always a fatal complaint, and Louie Cole lived on with her old mistress until that home was broken up by death when, drawn by old assocatiionsh she. came back to settle in her native yillage. The Seamarks, who were Chillerton people originally, had all passed away except the eldest brother,‘ Gideon, who had come to live in Combe and work- ed for Farmer Yeatman. ‘ He was not popular in the village, being of a shy, reserved nature, but Loure proved a kind friend to him for the sake of old memories. She washed and mended for him, took him a bit of hot dinner every Sunday, and did many‘another neighborly office to make life more pleasant for the lonely old maul But now all this had come suddenly to an end. The sentence had gone forth that he would never more do astroke of work; he could earn no wages to pay the rent of his poor cottage, and there was nothing before him but the shame and dependence and restraint of the workâ€" house. . "No, no; Gideon idden never brought so low asthatl" cried the poor woman, in eager protest, as the restlessly clasped and unclasped her hands. “My David, he would'n never forgive I, if so be I let on go to the workus, an' they such decent v'oks.. Never shall my dear lad's brother want for a. roof over's head, and a crust 0' bread so long as I've got a. one.\ Sam Bewiey shall take I in to More to-morrow, an l’ll bring Gideon back to hoam, vor to hide wi' me; so I will." - _ _ Having once made up her mind which way her duty pointed, Louie's prac- tical common sense asserted itself to carry out her plan. She must settle it all at once, for she would have to start in the carrier's van betimes in the mornings Of course the old man could be brought back to his own home for one night, if. necessary, and that would ready to receive him. If he were help- less and partly paralyzed, _he could never mount the steep ladder-like stair» familiar room, which it had been her pride and and she thought of Gideon's own untidy den, darkened with the fumes of his She glanced at the varied row of plates and cups on the polished dresser, each one of which had a history of its Then her eyes with urns and and here and there before a little dark silhouette,cut out in loved. But for all that it was her most and recalled those happy days, for the memory of which In the low, broad window sloodarow geraniums and petunias and musk; carefully tended treasures,which yet did not add much to the chocrfulncss of the room, for all the blossoms were turned away towards the light. Above them hung the cage of her canary, the only living companion of her peaceful home. All that long summer night, old Louie never closed her eyes; and clearly before her rose up the vision of what this deed of charity would mean for her. Her scanty pittance, which barely kept the wolf from the door when there was only herself to provide for, would have to be shared with a Sll‘k man who would need more dainty fare than hers: ’lfhe quiet days when she had only her own simple way of life to arrange, and was free to dwell undisturbed in the rhcrished pastâ€"all lhese were at an end; her time, her thoughts; her very life would hunt-c- forth be devoted to the service of poor Gideon, of whom rumor whispered that he. was not easy to live with at the beat of times. Yet. the brave little woman nevcrdrcaint of drawing bat-k: she saw her duty before her, and went dauntlessly forth to meet it, in silent heroism. It was nearly morning and every eleven o'clock nest nook and cramuc of the quaint old High Slrcet at. More was flooded with sunshine, when the van from Combe Dallwood rumbled over the stones, and the old white horse pulled up at the great, gate It had been a hot, dusty drive, and [our Louie (‘oln had shrunk back silently in her corner from the noisy talk and merrimcnl. of her companions, who were coming into the Saturday Market,full of spirits and bent on business or pleasure. She was glad to get down and stretch her cram limbs, even amid the . hustle and urry of the wagersâ€"by in the crowded street. For now, that. she had reached her destination, a sudden ner- vousness came over the old wonmn,and the plan which had wemei so simple 3,1 a, distance, needed all liar (‘IHZYMJI' to carry out. Only by a slrnn’.’ effort and and :seccnd door to the right," «,official's curt directions, in answer to good? I beant never to other side, and sitting down on street,‘along 0' me. . alien told to call hero for we, this art- ernoon, an' he'll keep a snug corner for which conviction wold body, same as . \. _. could she summon up assurance snout toomssthebroadcour'ard.andr . ithe Porter’s bell. to ‘ m ” There were other is waiting' .snd she had to take her "In the Ambrose \Vard, first “001'. wore the her _timid inquiry. With trembling steps, the shrinking pathetic figure passed up the staircase and along the stone corridor until she icame to an open door, and paused there i for a momentuirmolute. A tall, pleasant gfaced nurse. in a grey uniform and wh' e cap, came forward to meet her. " "he do you want to see my good Iwoniunl” she asked kindly. "Ef ’ee please, ma'am, I be come to fetch Gideon Seamarkms were took wi' a fit yesterday, an' doctor he sent word as they could'n do he no good." ‘fAh yes, you are quite right; he is in this ward, and we were expecting his friends toâ€"day. Poor fellow, it is a and case, and I fear he will never be any better» Are you his wife?" she added in a tone of quiet sympathy. A faint flush like a gleam of wintry sunset, ssed for a moment over old Louie's are as she replied simply:â€" "No, ma'am. I beant no kin to he,but tea vor the sake ov' old times Ibecome to take 'en hoam. My poor David \vur brother to he," she added in a lower tone, as though no further explanation were needed. .The nurse looked for a moment in Silence at the patient face,deeply lined with past sorrow, and with a flash of insight she seemed to understand the pathetic story.) Yet with her long ex- perience as sister in charge of the ward, she felt it was her duty to speak one word of warning, of cold worldly com- mon sense. “My poor friend, do you know what you are doing ?" she asked, as with a movement of impulsive sympathy she grasped her visitor's withered, lull- worn hands. "Do you fully understand what a heavy burden you are taking upon yourself? you ‘who are not even a relation? The old man may live for years, becoming even more helpless and trying; already one side is quite para, lyzed, and his speech is affected. "Ah, dear lady, donut 'ee try to put I out 0’ heart 1” interrupted Louie. "Tes my duty, an' I see it plain afore me, an' 80 God help me, I'll find at a blessen too. \Vhy look-y-see, tidden no more than you good ladies be a doin' here wi' the sick vo'k from year end to year end!" she added inatone of con- Viction. There was no more to be an' , and Sister Ambrose could only smi 0 back at the brave little woman,whose uncon- scious heroism struckaresponsive note in her inmost soull Then she gently led her across the ward between the double row of spotless beds, to a big easy-chair, near the window, in which leant back an old man with a bushy mass of grey hair, and a sunburnt face, whose strongly marked features were deeply seamed and wrinkled ‘ by the wear and tear of a. long hard life. ' He looked up vaguely at first, but a smile of welcome dawned over his face as he recognized the nowâ€"comer. "\Vhy, ef tidden Louie Cole 1” he ex- claimed, in a thick, indistinct vou-e. "Tea jest about good ov 'ee vor to come an' zay good-bye, avore I be tookt to the work’us." “No, no, Gideon, doant ’ee be afeard; thee shadden never go there so long as 1 do live,” cried his friend, with con- fident assurance. But the old man only shook his head. “thy didn' 'ee hear tell as all they dootors here caant do I mat a mo'sel 0' do no more work, an’ never earn no more wage." He paused for a moment to take breath, and then with a fresh outburst; of bitterness, he continued: “An' my Club, over to Chillerton as I've apaid in reg’lar, a matter 0' vorty year, why he be gone to mash! 20 there idden nought save the Work'us vor I to die in.” There was silence for a momentdhen old Louie turned to Sislcr Ambrose with a wistful look of apology and said: “He do be a bit hard 0' hearing." So she quietly moved round to the the window bench, she began in a clear, distinct voxco, not loud but: penetrating: “'l‘es all right, Gideon, there idden no call to trouble about Ihnr. there work’us, vor you be a comen hozimlo bide down Sam Bcwlcy have ec as tes market day." The quiet tone of assurance in this was spoken, and the mention of the carrier's van, brought to the old man's mind. Even so, in the far-off. past, did the sight of the “'ugnns which had come from Egypt to fetch him. sell at. rest the last doubts of the patriarch Jacob. Gideon Seamark made an effort to raise himself, and looked his old friend full in the face. "Why Louie! Be thee a goin' to lake :1” the bolhcr o' mindin a ram-shurklcn I be come to? wi' all the v'oks a tellen what a fool thee inst?" “Nay let 'em toll," was the cheerful reply. “tes well for they to laugh as wins 1” Still there was somolhing on his mind. and presently he added in a lmvcr voice: ".\n' look-me Miq'css, can 'ce make room vor my poor 'l‘opsy {I ller iddeu no grezit, shrika to look :it. now, but La‘ bless 'cc.ihcrc neverwurafincr tabby, rm' us could'n be parted now, arter all those years." The old woman nodded a smiling uncut; for that he should think so fondly of'his old cut at Hot-ha fllUlllPllb, 'ilnmst look away her power of speech. Gideon sink bark on lii'~ proximal-up pillows, wnh 'l sigh of mniplctc, lll- affable satisfaction. llis’ lip-4 moved and Sister Ambrose stooped down it catch the broken words:â€" "‘l‘t-s lar'lilo good ov’ 'ee, Louie, in let [ bide down to Combo wi' all the v'ok l knows, :in' a kind body in mind i 'l'idden .‘l‘a‘ of l wur \vu'th ct, but there, I 2N! cl. plainâ€"an 79H vor the love thee bore to our David." PLEA 1)! NO If) NORANCE. Struggling Anthemâ€"lily dear, this writer mys it is a great trial to be the Wife of a genius. llis \l'ifo.â€"l shouldn't wands-r. Geni- uses must be very crank ' in some ways, but. of course I don't now anything about it. 'l'Ill'IN CAME A CHANGE. "Whril is “'liiffett’s reputation for veracity? asle iii-knits of Unzznm. it was excellent. until he bog/in to vyy m .vmko- w-utury runs on his wheel. l‘uplEv'l “17.2 ml. h. A .‘._.â€"Y_.7<...~â€"7-.,.sfyouâ€"sm?“ __ ~c~...