The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

¥§+§W+fi+§+fi+fi+fi+fi+fl +fi+fi+fi+fi+3¢i+fi+fit+fi+§+fi+fi A Millie firޤ7§+fi+ 75+ W CHAPTER l\'.â€"(Continncd). “Come, sir,” repeated the servant, tak- ‘ing his am“. “Yes, yes; I come, Simmons. \\'hat ai -deuced hurry you're in. Don't you see by nephew, cur-so you? lle's staying in th: village. Well, Duncan, good-bye, my boy. I don’t ask you to share my! solitude for I sought it with the desire of hugging it. to my breast. But all the same, if sometimes you’ll look me up I'll be glad to see you. You remind me of what. I once was before darkness dc- .scended on me. Good-bye, my boy. May you find your art worthy of all your de-i votion.” Duncan wrung the thin hand with an! uneasy feeling of tenderness. for he hadl a tender corner in his heart. for tbisi strangely afflicted uncle of his. The re-l membrance of kindnesses received in childhood days, of the handsome laugh- ing face, had not faded away entirely. He turned to the village, ponderingl deeply on the strange illness that hadi made the lively, dashing youth a mind- less man. It was fifteen years ago that the malady had attacked Ralph Freer, and all one knewoi it was that. he had been found in an unconscious condition in the lowest quarter of Nunehesler.- How he had got there no one knew. Ile himself, on recovery, could not tell, for on abatement of the fever that held him in its throes for many days his mind hadi lgone completely. He was a‘heh'iles-sl babe, babbling and childless once more. Duncan remembered all that plainly, for he was then a boy of twelve, and the injured man had been nursed. at hisi home. He recalled the ominous “dds-t l pers he had heard, of the strange coin- cidence of his uncle's illness, dating from the first. appearance in public of the woman he had loved, as the aflianccd bride of Lord (,Zruse' at the Nunchestcr Hunt Ball, and the mysterious disap- pearance of that woman's only child, a little girl of three! Long after the As- sembly Rooms had closed on that. late- iul night Ralph Freer was found insen- 'sil::le and robbed. At the same. time the. search for the missing child had bc~ gun, but the cloud had never risen from him. Despite every effort for recovery the lost chi-id had not been found. The queries as to her disamicarance re- mained unanswered. Ilad Ralph known anything about it? None could tell. Had he. himself spirit-Cd her away from a mad sense of revenge? No one knew. What seemed most probable. to all was. that he had pursued the kidnapper and met his fate in trying to rescue the child. At all events his life was ruined. llis n'iemory had fled; he had forgotten everything that had happened since his la-rt vision of the woman he adored. At tunes he was almost mad and had to he put under restraint. Everything that could be done. for him was done. to spent years abroad to return half dazed and broken spirited. The very mention of the woman he had loved callcd anger to his eyes, and set his nerves on fire. Duncan’s face darkened as he thought, then softened again, for he knew Lady Cruse, and had for her the devotion of a young man for a noble-hearted wo- man. Besides, had she not suffcrcd alrociously herself. With a little shiver he recalled the terrible meeting she had had with the convalescent. man, when she had implored nan to remember, to tellwhat he knew. Ile had seen her kneeling before his uncle, her beautiful eyes streaming. The look of despair with which she had passed him on her way out after the fruitless interview was as vivid now in his memory as though he had seen it yesterday, It in her marriage to Lord (.Zruse, which lock place some months later, she had found the happiness of true love, it was also true that she had taken an inconsolabfc trouble. liven now the Search for the missing child continued, hill-sen years later. when hope had fadcd in every bieast but. hers. “Some day I shall find her 1" she had said once. to him, with the beautiful smile that thrilled all that knew her. He sighed deeply. llc fr-lt sure that; she was:- but. the iin'iocent cause of his' uncle‘s condition. She was so good, so honorable. “No, she. was certainly not to blame for poor tinclc Ralph‘s illness. lcnnnol believe she was .1 flirt." he soliloquiscd as Sea View Cottage seemed to spring up close to him, “and if I could help to Chase the sorrow from her face. how gladly would I do it 3ut no doubt the Child is dead, so can never be found again." llc pushed opcn the little gafc. 'f‘hc lighted lamp on the table within his window srni a soft glow on! into the scented garden. llis landlady :ippcurcdi at the open (1001‘. “Well. sir. your luggage has comei first." she. exclaimed, rcprr‘iuchinlly. “I, thought you were lost. it‘s nearly lwoi hCurs since you went. away." “Oh, I’m exceedingly sorry, Miss Green." replied the young man with his} wiusome smile. “But it is so beautifull here: i went for a little stroll and quilci fcrgof what time it was." , 1 “Luckily I never ninth-"the tca, nor "MING “it? 05-7135. 0ch tln‘y would hnvciolu‘i'. been shccr waste. luf wc‘vc had our Hil'pl'ih't‘ loft, sir," “So 1 see by your glowing eyes, Miss --.. OR, THE CONViCT’S DAUGHTER. ‘mmmmm-mnms fifiififid fi+fi+fi+fi+fifii§+fi+fi+m3§im . I chair. i 9 REVENGE v. i +l i’irecn. Something nice, I suppose. I declare you were handsome before, but it’s made you quite scrumptious.” “Oh, now, \fr. Sinclair, an’ me turnin‘ forty," simpered the woman, blushing with pleasure. “It. is nice. Me brother an' Sunbeam's father is home again." “Oh, he is, is he!" exclaimed the young man. “And what does he say afoul. me. Am I to turn out?” -“No. sin; of course not. lle's real neascd you’re here. Tomorrow he'll 3...: you, perhaps; tonight he's that taken in with Sunbeam, he's no eyes for any- one else." “And Sunbeam? him?" . “for. yes. She loves her father like a hue chip of the old block." “llcaven forfendl" silently ejaculated Duncan. “’l‘hey’re quite pretty together." con- tinued the woman eagerly. “She's so dainty. him so hardened by his travels; quite a contrast, but as loving as two doveS. And he's been a good father to hrr. When she was quite a wee ‘un he called her Sunbeam, ‘cos it gladdcned his widowed heart to look on her bright face, and the name has stuck to her since.” “What. is her real name?" queried Dun- can with placid curiosity. “Just Sunbeam. It vas that from the first. Folks say that‘s no Christian name, but I say it is. \\'hy. it rejoices me to say it, for Sunbeam she. is and ’l i a i r Is she taken up with “Sunbeam she’ll be to the end 0' the chapter. Bill would black the eyes 0' {any who brought. a cloud to her face. int I'm worrying you with my talk. I'll fetch your tea in.” Duncan glanced round the cosy little room with a smile. “Well,” he reflected. “i may have Come. to a dull place, but I‘ve had plenty of events crowded into my life since. my arrival. Sunbeamâ€"Sunbeam‘s fatherâ€"â€" my Uncle Ralph. I wonder how many more surprises I’m to get, and if any of them will lead to adventure of any kindl’" __ CI IAP'I‘ER V. “\\’hat are you goin‘ to do with your- self now, Bill?" asked his sister a -fcw days later as he sat. silent. in the lifllc kitchen. The man took his pipe from his mouth and grinned Clinningl,’. “That’s just wot I was dcfihcrufiii’ on, llctty. You know yourself that I never ’avc marked by the sweat of my brow, nor never shall. I ain’t. such a green- 1101‘” yet. I was just thinkin’ over one or two jobs when you spoke. Likely as not. 1 shall only be a few days ’cre. \lllages ain’t the best place for my sort. ’l‘owns are more ’orspifaf'ile." llctty put down the saucepan she had been cleaning and came close, up to him. ller round eyes held a world of inquiry, her full cheeks had palrd. “You don’t mean to say that you‘re off again. Remember your hand this lost its cunning, Bill. For my sake don‘t lvc rash. Remember me and her." “Jist bccos I do rem-ember you I must. make plans. You can’t starve. An‘ honest work don‘t. pay. What do if I did. Who’t ’avc me. ch?" sneer- cd. Bill, plunging his hands into his pockets and sucking his pipe. She sighed. Ready tears sprang to her eyes. “You’ve. growcd soft. lief; soft and flabby. Why do you want. to starve?" “My savings will last many years," she murmured, bending over the fire. [to chuckled, amused. “Your savings were mine! mind that money, then?" You don't “Of course not,” she cxclaimri‘l, in- dignmitly; “I'm with you. as before No, it isn’t that. It's because your luck‘s gone. and also because of Sunbeam. She takes that to heart. She‘s us i'ood ilrl gold. you see.” 3 “Oh, that’s it, is it? I‘d like in know where she'd be if I felt as meseff. As for my luck. brats rot! It'll come back. If it doesn‘t, and she gcfs on your mind. you know not to do. For goodness’ sake don’t turn into a crying female. Sunbeam ought to know better than to talk like that." “Yet. she loves you, fill]. llcr is true to you. llut she prays that your ways may change. It's real amusin'io good as gold hcur hcr S(')llll.‘iillli‘5, her that owes; all ' to your vnys.” Iler eyes streamed with tears of mirth. l-lifl‘s face softened intensely. “Yes. she's ig-unnin’,” be minimal, chewing the pipe stem to keep it, from falling. “and heaulifullcr than I thouuhl. “at; p'raps too beautiful for u want.” “For what. you want? lift, what d‘von mean? You ain‘t. going to corrupt. that child’s mind, the child \\'Ol‘s‘ born a hcu- ‘ what I lvci‘ to us both?" “0' twisted round uneasily in his All softening expressions slid from his face.' His mouth set in a hard, cruel line. “Bill, you ain’t goin’ to woman. But be checked frown, cxclalming angrily “Sunbeam's got to work’ for ’cr old falbcr now; the father wot risked so much for her. Bein‘ a good girl. she'll \\'hat was the good of all the “annoy spint on her if she can't repay lis'.’ Never you mind, Ilctty, Sunbeam won't suffer, and if she'll forget to say ,” began the her with a ,I could l ' l l l‘cul‘t I hc‘l prayers for me and work as I wish, then in a very short time we shall be rollin’ in money. Then we can emigrate and start a ’oly life, if you like. Give over that. sniflin, and call the girl ’cro. We'll get that job over afore that young moon-gazer turns up for his meal. or course the girl will kick at first. I ex- pect it. But she‘ll soon give in. , “If you mean her to steal, she‘ll die first," replied his sister, going towards the door. “Not that. I’ve another dodge. If she won't do wot I want, she‘ll marry Gen- tleman Dan -â€"â€"â€"-.” “\\’hat!” screamed Iletfy. “Sunbeam marry that. beast! God ICIIOWS the evil he's donci \Vhy, Bill, you'd a heart once; where is it now? I thought you loved Sunbeam. You could not hear her out of your sight?" > “My ’cart‘s roight enough. Only it ain't wallowing in fat yet. 1 love Sun- beam, yes. and I meant to do my best lzy her. But there’s one or two jobs I 'avc on she must 'elp in. If not Gentle- man l)an.~ who has a tight ‘old on me, shall ’ave 'er. It’s one or the other. lie ccmcs to-night to gaze. on her face. She car. choose then. But it's one or t’other. liither this big deal which I share with 'im. or ‘er. file’s set on one or t‘other. Au’ when she's his wife, he'll make her work. you bet." , “But you can't. If you do that, Bill, lfl stop it. I love the girl. I won‘t be a party to this. I‘ll go to those thatâ€"" He had risen and seized her hands roughly. ' “No you won‘t. I know how to stop your tongue, my girl. D‘yc think only icvo made me cddicate' the girl like that an‘ work for ’cr all these years? _Whaf a soft. fool you must. think me. Where is she? Lot's 'ave it. out. now.“ Llode and subdued. sho crept from the room and climbed the narrow stairs. She opened the girl's bedroom door gently. , Sunbeam, Sitting by the open window, turned a pale little face to greet her. “Why, Auntie, dear, were you calling me?" she asked, rising and putting her arm.lovingly pound Iletty‘s shoulder. “No, my duck. hit I want. you all the same. Your father wants you, Sun- beam. And. mw darling. don't mind too much what he says. ’l‘akc things calm. He‘s in a temper, 1111' will say things he di_.esn’t mean._ Be patient. with him, Sunbeam, and remember that I love you.” The beautiful hazel eyes had widened in alarm. A slight flush covered the girl's face. “Why, is be angry with me, Aunt flatly?" “Oh, not. with you mcrc‘n with any one. But. he's in a different mood. Bear with him. my duck.’ Sunbeam sighed. Even as her aunt. had entered the room she had been struggling with her feelings of disap- proval of this man who was her father. As Duncan had surn'iised, the feelings a" reverence for him had received their death blow the night before. [for heart was aching with anger for her disloyal- ly to the man. and at. the. same time she felt herself cnvying the. smallest village ,rhild whose father’s hands were simply liftiif‘fi with honest furor. “Oh, for a clean name!" she had sighed. wiping away her blinding tears. 'l‘hercfore coulrilion for her lack of pridc in a man who evidently was de- Ivoid of shame, madc- hcr more willing I bear with his temper, more anxious to atone for her shortcomings. At. the kilchcn door she kissed her aunt again, whispering in her ear: “I'll. be patient, dor’t worry!" The next moment she turned, smil- ing to her father. “no you want me. dear?” she asked, ruccting his angry eyes unflincliingly. "Yrs." he growled, his expression softening nevertheless, for he loved her as. much as he could love any one. “i want. to talk over one or two matters. For my stay in this ’olc won‘t be a long one. :‘.u‘ in a cardboard 'ousc like this ‘ds an: writ fr. talk business when no one :5ch is in it." Sunbraui nodded her head. There was I win his face and voice she had before. \\'hat Was he meditat- A shiver ran sonlcthin ncithcr sicn nor heard could be how to say? Eng smili- frcsh l'iurglary? through her. “Shula-ant. you can't say I've bin a tad futln‘ r to you?" She started. l.nvc sprang to her face. Shc took his roughened hand. “You have ban the best of fathers. I thank you from fir:- l:otlom of my heart." she \vliispcrcd in a low voice, pressinghcr soft Ii,‘\' to the horny skin. Ilc glanced trinimiluintfy at his sis- tl-r. cxclaiming in ...i cxultant tone: “Then as l‘vc won si‘ch‘ gl‘iliIIOOd, Sili‘ibcam. you can‘t refuse to be a docil- fu‘ daugldcr?" “Of course not! Ilavc I ever been any- ihing but dutiful?" : “l'm goin‘ to lcl you he so. more, by tasking you to do a simple thing for me. Mimi you. a fling no gocd girl would refuse ti do for a parent wet ’as friskcd even his neck for her." The girl's eyes widened. her lips grow dry. _.»\ pang of fear shot tln-ough her heart. \\'hat could it be? Stir glanced lat her aunt. The woman sat as though ,tnrncd to stone, a mortal drcad in her lcycs. 'l‘hc sight was not i-CaSsin'ing, but Sunbeam was plucky. ‘ “\\'hat is it, father?" she asked, smil- ling sweetly at him. “To hear your 'voicc._ and sec Aunt flcffy‘s face. I taught. 'inuiginc something terrible. hit 'l‘ni sure it cannot be that." “of tours not," he relorted gruf‘fly. .turning his‘cycs away. “You‘ve been gwcllcdicutcd an' i want you to help me I to do one or two jobs. this way. You're It” git info tilt" places as governess or anything you like, visitor if you can, and-uâ€"A“ , I « 1 ' But a low exclamation drove the words from his lips. Sunbeam was: standing bcfom him with :i mirror-strickcn face. “011. father. slop. Don't! Anything but that! lcnnnot do it! D'in'l I-c angry with me. but lcunnot do this lipng mu link." â€" I I "You cannot! n" ‘1‘ But you llf'u'hi. l':-- ml father an‘ you must obey. ‘arm? Ain't you been caddieated on money got that way. Ain’t you livln' on it now. What'r your aunt's savin's but. her share out of my l-z’mtin', eh?" be ex- claimed hrutally, though his eyes were stil'. averted from the quivering pleading face. “Oh, Aunt Hefty! Is it true?" She fab tiered, turning despairineg to the other woman who was weeping silently, with fin-live glances at her brother's bullet- shaped head as she sat behind him. “My darling, ycsf Forgive me. never told you, but yes. it's true." “'l‘rue that. all your money that bought this, and feeds us, is illgottcu'? ()h, Auntie. when you saw hiw distressed I was to hear how my education had been paid for, why did you keep this from me?" |‘l‘iccausc. l was afraid you'd leave me, maybe, you seemed-so dead set against such doings," sobbcd llctty. Sunbeam sighcd. “As a child I never knew. Until the villagers began to scoff I was kept in ignorance. Oh. father, what have you done? it. w0uld have. been better to let me die. like my poor mother." Bill Green sprang to his feet. Ills. patience, scant at any time, had fled. E» on his overpowering love for the girl had no control over his unchained an~ ger. [to took her roughly by me arm. (To be contxtucdl. I u c . A uicxx'ric scan. a.â€" 'l'lie Old Man Broung iéislAnimals and Bits of "hinus. The love of animals is deeply im- planted in the :‘vlagyar charach-‘r, and most of the peasant. farmers of lvlnngary own valuable hot-sins and high-bred stock. They are \vcll-to-do, although they live. in a primitive munnct‘. have a keen sense of humor. and are ready to take trouble to put. the laugh on smile one else. in “The. Whirlpool of Europe“ this story is told of one of the Magyar farmers : A typical peasant farmer, a man of ca-l'isidcrablc wealth, was wellâ€"known for his adherence. tr. old clothes and cunâ€" touis. (in one occasion a young far- ncr, new to the district. who had taken a small holding not far from that of the old man, piemcivcd a shabby figure lean- ing against the gate on the edge of his property and said, “lli, old man! Do you want some work?" The. wearer of u shabby sheepskin took his long pipe out of his mouth and nodded gravely. “Well, you can come along to-morrow and look after some of my sheep. tiring any of your bits of things or animals with you; there‘s plenty of room on my farm.” The next day. as the. young farmer walked across his ficIdS, he saw a cloud of dust. cinning up the. road. l’rrsentfy there emerged from it a herd ot cows. horses and .sliccpâ€"dmmlreds of animals with their driver. The (ravalczule swcpf past the astonished man. Behind it came a huge wagon. Crcuking and groaning. laden with heavy furniture, in the. front of which sat. his shabby ac- quaintance of the day bt‘fi‘n'c. . “You told me. to bring my animals and bits of things," said, the old man, “and here we are.” ._.._.. . 43M.._..... . ‘; 23. AN AGED BRITISH 'l'ltl owlhorpc Oak, Repiit0(1.5f)0 Years Old, Fittlll‘ISIlillfl in York. The C. One of the oldest of British trees is llrc Ci)\\'t|l()l‘[)f'.‘ oak. which has been standing ncar,\\’cfherby, in Yorkshire. for 5f!) years, according to \-'tl'l'ltCi(,ltlS clirimi-z‘lo. t'. is a tree that has been dcscribci‘l often amt has figured in works of fiction. It is related of this trce that ononc occasion as many as forty pcrwrms have been gathered within the hollow of its trunk, although it must he confessed that some of these. were children. The most rcccnt. mcasm'emcnt showed that its girth of trunk at. the ground wasn’t feet 3 inches and the cavity was'lt feet by ‘J feet. - The tree is not now so very tall, reaching only 37 feet into the air. There are twcnfy-fivc props about the trce to support the falling branches. The. cavity has been i'ioficealtila only since the beginning .of the nineteenth century. Many of the earlier measureâ€" ments show that the free once. was much greater in girth than now. ’ Aged as it. is the tree bore acorns in [Still and 11905 and always produces a i [at ‘ amount of foliage. In 1003 an acorn borne by the (:owthorpe oak was planted near by and a tree is growing up slowly as a memorial to the parent. .. 4......“ FROST AND Fl .O\\"ERS. Man. in his attempts to guide- nature to his own ends and purposes, has never better suceccdcd than in his dealings with flowers. He has almost changed them at his will, giving them shapes, colors. and even seasons, to suit him- self. l’toc-enlly the new methods of pro- ducing artificial cold have been taken advai‘duge of in fforiculturc to retard the blooming of fli'iwcrs. as well as to pre- serve them after being out. lnterestln experiments have been made at Dijon, France. by Monsieur Vereier, using the cold-storage room of an abattoir and the cellar of a brewery. Not only the tem- perature but the amount of moisturein the air have. to be taken into account. (H the average. a tcn'iperature of 36° Fahrenheit served best for both out and growing flowers. An azalea in bud was kept 50 days in a latent state. after which. the. ten'iperature being increased, if bloomed for a month. I-Iyacinths and i’.\"ll,£.'tll roses were similarly treated. (Inf fli'iwcrs were kept in excellent con- dition for two and three months. The Infllmatc aim of the experiments is to to make his to his fumble the floricullurist plant; b'oi'nll much according lit-wt *itll't.‘ \\’here‘s the. BUMPER ,TIIE h‘lISl’OR'l‘UNE OF \\I’IIEAT CROPS. “About the biggest curse this country has is the bumper crop of wheat," said Dr J. G. Rutherford. Dominion Liveâ€" stock (lininnissioiicr, addressing a Mani- tcba meeting of slockmen last winter. “Sonia three times since I first came. into this province we got farmers started fairly well along live-stock lines and along dairy lines, and were getting them to try various live-stock branches. fix-camoricx were being built, pigpens erected. amt people were doing fairly well. but there would come. one of these big crcps of wheat and everyone would throw up his herd, and the. first. than“. we. knew the cattle were sold, the pigs verc sold and the fowls were allowed to freeze. to death. Creamcries were closed up. livery man was plowing, and it was forty bushels to thc acre and St a. bushel l" The. fact of the matter is that with all credit to wheat, we must, if we wish to succeed in this country, look to :ur live-shick.” While. it. may occur to the satirist to azggcst that next winter Dr. Rutherford may be able to lead in a hymn of praise {or the blessing of a slim crop of wheat, nevertheless there was much wisdom in his words. Mankind is ever prone to shortsighlcd com’luct which very often lcads to chimncrcial suicide, and it only when the easy down-grade path is _.)ro\'identialfy blocked that he begins the climb to highcr and more stable levels of- success. So much for official philosophy. Gon- iinuing the Live-stock .tkmnnissiouer touched on a question that will awaken the interest. of Eastern as well as prairie cattle-men : . “Complaint- has been made that. it ices not pay to go into beef production. in the \\'est. As matters are a man, after cruisidcrahlc expense and trouble, has ].-repared a number of fat. cattle for sltlf‘. and then finds very great difficulty in getting their proper value in lhc. marâ€" ket. You all know what. has been achieved by the united concerted action of the grain-gl‘mvin‘s of this country. 'lhe same thing can be done with regard to the marketing of mills. It is simply a inaltcr of Cililli‘llllllilull on the part. of the. pri'iducers. and, in my opinion, there is a very profitable field for the produc- tion of bccf. The. export. of cattle bred in this country is large, and it gettin larger all the time. [ii 190’: 30,000 hea of cattle were shipped east; in fifth"), .liilf'lil. and in 'ftlflfl. 3.31100. For years liargc uumbcrs have been sent. and a lot. "if these. cattle are shipped at a less to 7hr owncr. > “In the States the cattle are shipped from lhc ranches to the Middle States, ' and there fed up. and at. the end of nine- fl; days are sent, in to Chicago. and are carefully cullcd, and only the first are sun! forward for export to European markets. / They sell from a penny to two-pence a pound more than Canadian cattle. (in the other hand our cattle are shipped right through. and when they arrive on the other sidc of the Atlantic are a disgrace tr. Canadian breedin‘s. It has always struck me on this phase of the matter that fhcrc is a great. field in our Province of Manitoba and in what 2:; now Sasl-zatchcwan. as well as some parts of Ontarii‘i, for the finishing of those cattle. I think if these 'altfe could b- taken by our Manitoba farmers in the fall and put into fccil lots and fed on coarse grains. that it would pay vcry well indeed to finish lhcsc cattle hero and send them forward to a properly- safcguuriicd market in Europe or in the cast. I think that could be done vcby profitably. \\'c have more coarse feed in this prl'ivincu and in Saskatchewan than in any i'ifhcr part of the world that t know of. If is a ridiculous thing to ship cnttlc and also to ship our.-coz_irso grains. I intend to go thoroughly into this question with a view to ~L‘Sitlhil5illllg if paying and profitable cattle trade. from Maniloba to Europe. SII..\GE GOOD TO USE NO\V. Now is the lime to commence stahling and feeding the cows nights So as to work them gradually over to winter conditions. The autumn pastures are no longer very nourishing. and. though fur~ nishing a grad] dent of appetizing for- age, they should be sm‘lplcmented, for best results, with green corn. hay. roots or silage, and a mode‘at-c meal ration. There is nothing better than silage. Many dairymen labor under a false im- pression that silage is not good to feed until it has cured for six weeks or a month in the Silo. This is a i‘i'iisiake. Silage is at its very best during the first. week after it is veil-sited. At. this stage fermentation has only nicely coni- menccd. and the first stage of the pro- cess gives the cut corn the odor and flavor of fresh cider. At this stage the cows will ea t it greedily, and do well on it. Cattle which would require to be ac- customed to cured silage will eat. this sweet, f‘agrant feed at once, without dcmur. The only caution necessary is to exercise care when throwing out. the silage to keep the surface level, to avOid digging holes with shovel or fork, and to tramp around the edges occasmnally. It must be remembered that the unselg tled surface is loose and unless one is lowering the level pretty rapidly, it is liable to deteriorate as new layers are exposed to the air from day to day. Owing to carelessness in throwmg out the silage some have OXDOI‘IOI'lOCd. a.- waste With this early-autumn feeding but there need be no difficulty at oral feeds a reasonable amount per dayanlfl observes the precautions above 1ndh cated. _..._..__q¢ . Never jrudge any man's religion by, what he says when you step on his corn. It is well to understand that it to sometimes well to stand from under.