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' E A, House of MileI‘Y a t _ I mmmnmmmmmmm memmmmm+mwm i. i a + OR, THE GIRL IN BLUE it . __________ g '§+£€+33’t +31+m nm+3x+3a+n+mr +3$E+35+33t+33t+i¢t+££¥££ +£8.43 +5.82“ She hesitated. For an instant her lustrous eyes‘met mine, and she at once lower-ed theinfivith a downward sweep of her long dark lashes. “I don’t think that a girl thinking seriously of her future husband should lay any great stress on good temper,”- she answered, in asweet musical voice. “A soldierly form, a pair of good eyes, a noble profileâ€"any of these might easily outweigh good temper." “Ahl there, I fear. I disagree with you," I remarked smilineg. “It has always appeared to me that after the first year or so married people rarely think of each othcr's features, because they are always in each other's pres- ence. They become headless of whe- ther each other’s features are classica‘ or ugly; but they never fail to: be cog- nisant of one another’s temper or short- comings.” ' “You. speak as though from experi- ence," she laughed without. however, attempting to- combat my argument. Another outburst of laughter greeted this bantering remark of hers. “N0,” observed Nellie, on my other hand. “Mr. Ifcaton the most con- firmed bachelor I know. I believe hes a woman-haterâ€"if the truth were told.’ “Oh. really. Miss Channing!" I pro- 1 s CHAPTER X.â€"{Continued). If. however, Nelling Channing was pretty, her beauty was far eclipsed by that of my neighbor on my right, a. tall, dark-haired girl- in blue, it Miss Anson, who with her mother, a quiet, white- haired, elderly lady, were the only other guests in- addition to myself. From the moment we were introduced I saw that Mrs. Ansen’s daughter possessed a face that was absolutely perfect, rather oval in shape, with large, beautiful eyes, that seemed to shine as they looked up- ‘Cn me, and to search. me through and through. Her complexion was good, her cheeks welli moulded, her mouth small and perfectly formed; her teeth gleamed while over and anon as she smiled at the Colonel’s hum-crows re- marks, and her nose was just suffici- ently tip-tilted! to give her countenance a. piquant air of coquetry. Her costume, rich and without any un- due exaggeration of trimman or style, spoke muter of the handiwork of a first-class couturfcrc. The shade of turquoise blue suited her dark beauty admirably, and the bodice, cut discreet- ly low, revealed a neck white and firm- ly moulded as that of the Venus of Milo. Around her throat, suspended by a- go-lden chain so fine. as to be almost imperceptible, was a single diamond tested. “That's certainly too bad of set in a thin ring of gold, a. large stone you. I assure you I’m no hater of the sex. but an admirer." “tileaton’s about to make a. pretty speech," observed the jovial. red-faced Colonel. “Go on, Wilford, my dear fel~ low, we’re all attention." “No,”1 I said, laughing. “I've. been drawn. quite unfairly into this controâ€" versy, Therefore I’ll preserve a iii-aster- ly silence.” , . . “Mr. I-Icaton is, I think. diplomatic," laughed the dark, handsome girl next of magnificent lustre. It was her only ornament, but, flashing and glittering with. a thousand. fires, it was quite suf- ficient. She were no rings. Her hands, white and well-formed, were devoid of any jewels. The single diamond gleam- ed and glittered as it rose and fell‘up- on her breast, an ornament assuredly fit to adorn a. princess. Mrs. Anson sat opposite me, chatted pleasantly during the meal, and now. and then her daughter would mm, to me. “He has cleared his character raise her fine eyes to mine for an instant 01' the RSWFSIQH CflSt {$011.3}: 0nd lJI'C- and join in. our conversation. -'l‘hat serves a dignified -Elt_t.ltlld._‘. And she turned and smiled gaily upon me in triumph. She was exquisitely charming. I sat at her side gossiping merrily, while to my dazzled gaze she presented a beau- tiful picture of youthful a‘ry delicacyâ€"~- feminine. sweetness combined with patâ€" rlcian grace. For the first. time in all my life that pettiooated paradox, wo- ‘ man, conveyed to me. the impre. sion of perfect beauty, of timidity and grace, combined with a natural, inborn dig- nity. There was nothing forced or un- natural. In her manner as.- with other women I had met; none of that. affected n'iannishne-ss of deportment. and slangy embellishments of conversation which are so characteristic of girls: of to-day, be they daughters -of'trzul<.=smen or of peers. The qualities wh'ch imparted to Mabel her distinct individuality were the beautiful combination of the dainty deli- cacy with the eleganceâ€"of simplicity with elevationâ€"of spirit with sweetness. The arilcss manner in wh'ch her innate nobility of soul and natural lofliness of spirit. shone forth through her patrician disguise was apparent. from her crin- versation when, an hour later, we re- sumed our chat in the drawing-room. She showed in that short and pleasant gossip that she. possessed that upright, Simplicity of mind which disdained all crooked and indirect means. which would not-stoop for an instant to dis- semblance, and was mingled with a noble confidence in the power of good .she was exceedingly clever and well- inform-cd I at once. detected by her lease and clever criticism of the latest play, which we discussed. She compared it, with a display of knowledge that sur- prised me, to a French play but. little known- save to students-of the French drama, and once or twice her remark-s upon stage technicalities caused. me to :isuspcct that she was an actress. ' Mrs. Anson, however, dispelled this nation by expressing, her disapproval of ’the stage as a professfon for women, an opinion with which, her daughter at. once agreed. No, stir) could not be. an actress, I felt assured. Both mother and daughter “bore the unmistakable Ihalil-i'nai k of gentlewomen. , I sat l_:eside Mabel Anson in rapt ad- miration. Never before in all my life 'had my eyes fallen upon so perfect an incarnation. of feminine grace and mar- vellous beauty; never before until that moment had a woman’s face held me "in such cnchantment. , Presently the conversation turned, as it so often does at dinnerâ€"tables, upon vcertain engagements- rcccni-ly announc- ed. whereupon the Colonel, in the mer- ry careless manner habitual to: him, advanced the theory that .most girls married with a view to improve their .social. position. “As- to a husband’s fortune,” rcmaik- ed his wife, with that stiff formality which was her peculiar characteristic, “‘it really isn‘t so important. to a wo- . Xm‘an as the qualities which lead- to forâ€" m the “‘Ol'ld- luneâ€"ambition, determination, industry, 5‘10 gm'e me the illlpl‘e-ifiiOHâ€"Whl’. I thriftâ€"and position such a. man may Cillllmt tellâ€"(if one \\ ho had passed un- . _. .,. ,..l_ “min for Imus“... our the ennoblmg disc.phne of suffer “And in education?" inquired Mrs.,illg 11nd SCH-(10115111. A melancholy Anson com,” al)p-,.-mpy inle-estcd mlcharm tei‘npered the natural vigor of her mind; her spirit seemed to: stand upon an eminence and 1-".Ok down upon me as, one inferior to her in intellect, in moral principleâ€"in fact, in every- thing. From the very first moment when I had bowed to her on our intru- d‘un‘ltion. she held me spellrbound in fascination. \V’hm‘t the ladies had left. and [sat :lhe argument. “In education a man certainly should :be his wife's equal," answered Mrs. Chanuing. speaking with that high-‘ itCtht jerkiness of tone which made t appear as though her words snapped off short. “Undoubtedly there is sane subtle affinity between opposites. .Yet there must be likeness as well as un- ‘likencss. The latter will lend; piquancy, which- is pleasrmt, but the former-will , give peace, which is essential.” I . “With that opinion I quite. agree, mo- ther," remarked Mabel Anson, u‘elrily. “At first love itself is. of Course, allâ€" sufficing, but a little later the individu- al Characteristics must reassert them- a liqueur, I inquired about. her, w - y , “Mrs. Ansion is the widow of old Gen- eral Anson." he. said. 'twclvc'years ago, and they‘ve since. 'liwd‘a great deal abroad.“ , “Well off?" I inquired, with affected” ‘caretc .ness. ' u t ,. a l i . y . selves. and then in the absence of c un- ‘01) C‘Jlllfflltflbll’y I Shmlld Sill. MIS- pmhenggon and sympathy in ones Anson has a foitune of her own, I he. a barrier springs up, - thfl‘lCS . “St” and 1 ) but 5111] in, The Bolto‘ns.” slight. ll‘l'lCOlltOSSCd' perhaps, g V a I _ . , impassible, and in one sense man and .“Afubel. is extremely SOON-looking,” I I I remarked. i “Of course. the Colonel. with his liqueur-glass pois- ei‘. in his hand, a twinkle in' hisucye. “Between us, she's the. prettiest girl in London. ' ever she goes, for beauty like’hcrs isn’t metâ€"with twic'cfiim a lfetime. cli:ip,-..wlioever marries hem". _ “\'t"s‘.".I-said reflectivcly. and then bike are not ‘one,’ but distinctly ‘two.. “My dear Mabel, ynulalk like ,a tin. man of fifty,” her mother remarked rc- provingly, whereupon all, joined in laughhu'. ‘ , , Ilcr daughter‘s cheeks flushed slight- ‘ly, and for a moment she appeared con- fused. , ~ - I ' mother, I only cxpr«"ssed what she plolezted, with ‘\\'rlvl. is my firm opinion." a pretty pout. “I see Sl many ill-as- (lilig.tlitffl;‘!p:1,1rsucd the topic in an en- sorlcd engagements announced and dancer 0 learn further details, regal-(l.- marriages contracted that -my theory ing her. My'host eitha-rknew \‘Ol‘ymlitn becomes strengthened every day.” he; or purposon affected ignorance- “A'nd is not good. temper essential , ~ with a liusband?-â€"â€"comr, now. Let's had known. her father inthnately, huv‘. hear your ideas on that point." said ing Icon in his regiment. long ago, the Colonel. chaifingly, from behind the 'l‘hat was about all l'lcaput further,“ :big epergnc. .3- --“» "f .L‘ .v'\' _______________.______.â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-â€"- alone with the Colonel, s-nu'rking over, “I-Ie died about cut by lieve. ' They have a housd'at present ' my dear boy," laughch She creates a sensation Inherp Lucky ' which. I was unable to determine. lie _- So. we tossed away. our cigars, drain.- ‘ ed our glasses, and rejoined the four ladies who were awaiting us in the drawingâ€"room, where later, at Mrs. Chenning‘s urgent persuasion, my di- vinit y in blue seated herself at. the piano and in a- sweet, clear Contralto sang in Italian. a charming solo from Puc cini’s Boheme. the notable opera of that season. Then, with the single diamond glit- tering at her throat, she came back to where I stood, and sinking into the cosy corner with its pretty hangings of yel- low silk, she accepted my congratula- tions with a delicate grace, a charming dignity, and a grateful smile. At last, howover, the. hour of part- ing came, and reluctant-ly»-â€"v<-ry reluct- antlyâ€"l took her small hand, "bent over it, and handed her into her carriage beside her mother. . “Goodâ€"night,” she Cried merrily, and next instant the fine pair of bays plung- ed away into the ratnynight. I returned into the hall, and my host helped me into my overcoat. We were alone,.for I had made my adieuxx to his wife and daughters. “Wilford,” he said very gravely as he gripped my hand prior to- my dc- parture, “we are old friends. Will you permit me. to say one word without tak- ing offence at it?" “Certainly,” I answered}, surprised. ‘ “\Vllat is it?” “I've noticed to-niglit that, like many another man, you are entranced by the beauty of Mabel Anson. Be careful not to make a fool of yourself." “I don't understand,” I said‘ quickly. “Well, all I would say is, that if you desire happiness and peace of mind, steel your heart against her," he an swercd with a distinct air of iiin'.Ci';.'. “You speak in enigmas." “I merely give you a timely warning, that's all, my dear fellow. Now. don‘t be offended, but go home and think it over, and resolve never again to see he‘â€"-never, you un-derstandLâ€"ncver." Cl-Iae'rm xi. _ Long and deeply I pondered over the Cub-1101’s words. That he had some underlying motive in thus warning me against the woman by whom I had be- come so fascinated was vividly appar» out, yet to all my demands he remained idumb. On the afternoon following i hund him in the. St. James's Club â€"~ that club (-f tliplciiiiiitistsâ€"tliid reverted to the subject. lut all the rcsponw he vouchsafed wasâ€"- “I've merely warned you, my dear follow. I shall say no more. I, of Course. don‘t blame you for admiring her. I only tell you to pull yourself up short.” “But why?” “Because if you go further than ad- miration you'll be treading dangerous groundâ€"~dcvilish dangerous, I can asâ€" sure you." . “You mean that she has a jealous lover?" I suggested. “She has; no glover, aware," he answered. , “Then, speaking candidly, Channing," I said, “I don't see why you should turn prOphet like. this without giving me any reason." “My reason is briefly tok." he said with unusual. gravity. “I don‘t wish to see you upset, and unhapl'iy, now that you’ve recovered your s’ght." Ills words seem-rd very lame ones. “ Why should I be unhappy?" “Because Mabel Anson can never be more to you. than an acquaintance: she can never reciprocateynur love. l'tcll you plainly that if you allow yourself to become entranced and all that sort of thing. you if only make. a confound- ed ass of yourself." ‘You certainly speak very plainly,” I observed, annode that he ahould in- tcrf re so prcma urely in a matter wh‘ch was assuredly my affair alone. “I speak because I have. your welfare at heart, \Xr’ilford,".he answered in a kindly tone. "‘I only regret now that I asked you to my table to meet her. It is my fault, entirely my fault." “You. talk as though she were s::me genius of evil," I laughed. “Let me not as I think fit, my dear Channing.” “Let you go headlong to the devil, eh?" he snapped. “ lut to love her is not. to go on the downward path, surely?” I cried incre- dulomly. :. “I warn you, once and. for all. to have, nothing whatever to do with her," he said. “I know her~ynu do not.” But I laughed him to scorn. His words. seemed utterly alsurd, as though his mind “we fill-rd by some strong prejudice which be darid not to utter for fear of laying himself open to an "action for slander. If her acquaintâ€" .ance were so extremely undesirable. "why did he invite her and her iii-other to his table? His words were not borne his- own actions. So I bade him titl't well. rather coolly. and left the club abruptly. in anger with myself at. having sought him, or bestowed a s'nglr thought upon his ex- traordinary warning. - ‘ (To be Continued.) - as far as I am "siaou'r MlS'l‘AK-E. dauntcd by i'-e,:eatcd th‘asl’iings age of foul-term he nan away-to sea. but was-glad"enough to return agaiu‘nt thefrnnd of six ilioii.t,lls,~lia\'- ing had :1. Why rough, time-of it. ., ._ 0h , the second day after; his _;;¢rturn. he was~ wi pnrsm, who stopped him. your father kill the ‘fatlrd tall-3.1:; -.. “No. sir.“ refilled .I‘lll. “I: t. .n._url_y kilieil me [riuligal :.-;:l'. ‘ close quarters. Jim was thevillagc peerâ€"do-well; all ways in semescrnbe o1"'nllle'r,-'n:‘lthil'ig . admin- istered to. him by his father.‘ At the1 borne king. or, rather, limping, through :t'hn village when he met. the ,i I and tulip-n 1 " I . . l '21:,» year to W fill an iuxrnnnmx'i‘s 1N Tun masonic or ‘ .uocs. The results of the experiments in the feeding of hogs that have been con- ducted at the Central Experimental Farm, Ottawa, were described recently to the members of the standing Com- mittee on Agriculture of the House of Commons, by Mr. .I. II. tirisdalc, Dov. minion Agriculturist. Mr. Urisdalc cm- plzasizcd strongly the value of roots for pigs. flags, when turned into a cow- ner of the root field in 150ptember, ale mangels: first, next sugar beets, then ourmts, and, lastly, turnips. There was, he said, objection to this method of feeding. The pigs were apt to de- velop too much paunéh, and not to make as rapid gains as when the amount. of roots fed! was controlled. ’l‘lueroforc, whilst one saved in the cost of halvesting, there was a loss in the rule of gain, and kind of product ob- tained. ~ “We compared root. pasture with‘al- falfa and with red clover posturing," said Mr. Grisdale, “and then we com- pared a. lot in the burn which had no pasture at all, but which received a cer- tain amount of roots. We found that the pigs which we had on root pasture cost as $3.82 a hundred. We estimated the roots at. so many bushels an acre, and worked it up that way. Of course, the roots cost us less unharvested than when they Were harvested. Fed in pens. without roots, the cost. a 100 pounds of gain, was iii/.423. When the pigs were fed with roots and meal in the pens the cost was $3.01), and when fed with roots in the pasture, the cost was $3.82. When the pigs were fed on alfalfa pasture, the cost was $3.67, and in red clover pasture $3.52. You will. see, therefore, that feeding with roots and meal in the pen was the cheapest way of fattening them. We have found that to get. quick and profitable returns from fattening pigs they must be kept in For breeding stock, it is piobably better to give the pigs a run. "We have had a bunch of young sows out. all. winter. They have done very well, but the cost, of course. was some- what. more to feed them than if they had teen inside. The. cost of feeding the pigs outsideâ€"growing slows. â€"â€" was about 6 cents: each day. The others fed inside cost from to 5 cents. Com- lparing inside with outside feeding, it usually cost about 1 cent a pound in- crease in live weight, when fed outside than when fed inside. Another experiment conducted, was feeding pigs on milk, on sugar beets andon mangels. When fed on meal and mangeis, the cost to produce 100 pounds live weight. was $6.20; with sugar beets. $5.05; showing that the sugar, boat is very much better than, the .mangel." Asked what kind of feed produced the best pork, Mr. Grisdalc said in his ex- perience, equal parts of oats, peas and barley, and about three pounds of skim milk. and. about. as much roots. For etery two pounds of meal or grain, there should to an equal amount of roots fed. An experiment had been. conducted in the wintering of brood sows. In one bunch there were 29 brood sows. From the 1st. of December. 1907, until the ‘l/lth of March, 1008, it cost the De- ~___________________â€"â€"-â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-â€" _ ‘2‘, golden daffodils. In St. James-'3 Park and along Constitution Hill the grass is starred with white, purple and gold crocuses. Regents Park has made a specialty of primroses. and Kensington [Park has united all these in a. multi- Ccloref carpet. Hyde Park has its usual display of blossoms in which daunting red and yet, hw tulips predominate, but to the her- ror of lovers of this largest and most fashionable of London’s paiks amid the fluwc ‘s 'and grassy lawn-s is rapidly ris- ing a “refreshment retreat," which is being full on one of the most popular and frequented \ alks. As a matter of [act h‘story is only repeating itself and this new little tea place is to be on the very site of the ruinous “RING” or excess DAYS. - where for many generations fashionable 'ladies and gentlemen came to walk, drive and legale themselves on the dainties of their times. It was Henry VIII., that royal proper- ty grabber. who “acquired” the church lands of the Manor of Hyde in 1.536 and converted them into a. deer park, whom he and his successors could hunt to their hearts’ content. Charles I. ad- mitted the public to the park in 1636 and then gave it to his people as a place for races and. athletic sports. Stern old Cromwell seems to have loved to walk about the park, and it was he who conceived the idea of on- closing a great stretch of grass with a driveway about it inside iron rall- ings, as a sort of recreation ground. Ailer the Restoration the real popularity of this grassy lawn was established and it. became a- regular resort for fashion- able men and women every afternoon through the spring and summer. Even the King and Queen visited the “Ring,” as it was called, and sometimes linger- ed thereto watch the games and sports. In the very middle of the enclosurt were nine pools or springs or sparkling water, where people congregated to drink cooling draugth and where care- ful mothers dipped their newly weaned babies .for luck and health. A Wooden house was erected in the tiling called Price‘s Lodge. where light refreshments were served and which Pepys and his amiable spouse often frequented. life says “after going to see Ring we retired to the lodge to partake of cheesecach and tankards of warm tmilk." ' IN QUEEN AN-NE’S TIME ' the gayetics in Hyde .Park flourished well. May day was high festival for the lords and ladies of the court. Maj .lrs were set up and dancers stepped to the rasp and screech of the fiddle strings and bows. Upon the new grown grass collations were served from Price's Lodge. With William and Mary’s reign came a diminution of roy- ai prestige for the Ring. but the fun and frolic evidently continued, as one chuonicler. Tom Browne, describes it thus in 1700: “Scores of gallant ladies in coaches, some singing, some laughing and others tickling one another, toy in the fling and devour Cheesecakes, marchcpane and China oranges.” Then came a time when the troops were encampch in Hyde Park and the officers were massed within the Ring. This does not seem to. have d'ssoacert- ed in. the. least'the gallant ladies, as they still continue to visit their favor- itc recreation gmun-d in the afternoons, peep into the tents, joke with their cc- cupants and finish up with “hot dishes of tea, and sweet drums of ratifies." The first King George thought best to regulate the gaycty of his court, and sure some of the staider clement were partnnent $135.99 to feed those 29 sows. 511.,Ckm at, [he revemes of me Ring my at. a ton, 3,788 pounds of bran at striations were imposed upon there who visited the par< daily. Hired coaches $2.; a ton, 4,151 pounds of shorts at could pot cm“. the .. g _ _, ‘ . ,, . .. pail. gates at all. a ton. and 1.550 pounds of hay at $7 Only pal‘mngofqlmluywere admiqu m a. ton. During the first seven weeks, that is about 50 days, those sows cost just cents a day to feed. This shows that it is possible to carry brood sows through very cl'iraply, even un- der such adverse conditiams as. are to b) had at the farm. The last seven weeks, or 50 days, it. cost a little more, because the sows were getting near the time for farrowing, and they had to be in better shape for the litters. Mr. Grisdale in reply to questions, said that pumpkins were an excellent trod for pigH in fact he. did not think that anything would surpass them as a‘cheap-fatlcning ration. Articl'iokes were a"ca1_iital feed for fattening pigs and brood sows for about a month in the fall and two weeks in the spring. \Ttey were fed 37,100 pounds of roots, __..__ __..;..__.___ lOtlDON’S IFINEST PARK ._.._ REFRESIIMEV’I‘ PLACE INVADES A RESORT 01f: FASHION. icing Iluilt in Hyde Park in the. lting Where Lords and Ladies Make. I Merry. All flue-ugh the {gloom and fog of winter Lomloners’take small account not their. parks and squares and have only a draden-cd appreciation of- their charms. Few persons walk or drive in them extent as short cuts to various distinations‘. But with the first warm 1 hint of spring these one.) deserted placrs are (:10de with Londoners big and I file; WtIl re. k theueT the practical dc- |uuziustralfmi that springtime has come, ’w:il.s a London enirespnmlent. N.ver has the spring flower show in th-f- "pa‘iks born nbctler,§ywort.h seeing than “ima- ‘year. Flowers sin-"jliiigland, nerd . “WOU- JZ'H-n “lid itlzi,~lllilli§tf.‘l".‘_f‘gind."o‘zily small (-nemiragambit In grow and torsei-ny'rnl'\'e Come back l:ome,.:i~'.l')’id:- llu’: first iu'ltl \f'rathor Iminls nut myri- a-tt:~:' ‘of' daffodils, Lpbilu ' (ii-rel}, I‘m-k abounds in ,lJI'QCIIb’t‘S r the ring. Children and- servants in liv. cry were relegated to OUTSIDE TIIE IRON RAILINGS, l | where. they had to wait while their all. gust. parmls and masters took their walks around the fling. However, the apopularity of the recreation ground soon waned and the gallant ladies \“luined their attention elsewhere." Early in the last century Price's Lodge was pulled down and the iron railings enclosing the Ring soon followed. to fiestunent and merrymaking were ban- ished and the Ring became "like any other stretch of grass in the park with the promenade around it. In the gloom (Of the later Georgian period and the early Victorian era, Ilydc Park became the solemn resort of fashion and wealth that it is now. Hired cabs are still tattooed. and dignity and repose mark the daily progressof smart Victoria-s in Rotten flow and the morning church pa ode which is to be secn on bright Sundays. in the season. . That a refreshment place should rise 'on' the old site of l’rice‘s Lodge is but fitting, and it. is fitting too, perhaps, that tea. and thin bread and butter should replace the .marchcpaiu, China oranges and .snyllaluil‘s, of l),\’gme._days;' Eat it is doubtful if the stately ladies of to-day will regain themselves in the [ting as did the “gallant ladies" of past years, for John Bull and his wife. take their pleasures sadly now, and thcdig- pity of a drive in the park is not likely to be marred by taking tea within its precincts. _. Wu... ABOUT PAPERIIANGERS. We don’t‘know what it is to. have a cyclone visit our_homc, but we don‘t believe it. could make more muss about the place than the paperhangers dos" \ â€"â€":â€"~: â€"->rr--'â€"- «â€" « l t t .,yuioxoaiicm.sol-mitten. , emitâ€"“wad no you call goon wea~ lizer. anyway?" V 'l‘ . gh t \vr-Qd-~“'I‘he kind that ‘i'nakes a trip 'dt..wulm\‘n.” a fine foot race three times around the i ' man’s wife prefer her own home: to a' ‘ J ‘ I «t . i - . l l” ,' {r l. ‘ _ u: g, . . 57 ._ If ~ .i’ ., i i . i .i i, v 4’ ,s i 7. t .l ' l t ,l ,i - l t i l t I. l .7: ..-m~. 3:21. t 4-“: ’ - 1“?W“u&lur ..- . .I 5 / y l | i I t l r }. ...,_'.;,. .-V_\, -_.i ., I -