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'I"“G'"l“1fM‘¥~"w’,,‘n..'l.4'~ «m» x unrua .'V)1§' < 1 goat“... V’s". , . .. a k to Life Etllll the ’; 0R, WAITING THROUGH WEARY YEARS. CHAPTER I. “Happy? Yes; always quite happy; does she not look so? And always of course quite harmless,” said the doctor in answer to my question, regarding a. patient, whose rooms we had just left. I was on a visit of inspection to the Good Samaritan Lunatic Asy- lum, and young Dr. Bennett Ab- bot was my guide through the inâ€" stitution. He was the third assistâ€" ant surgeon there, a good looking and good hearted fellow, with face and voice full of kindly sympathy, and he was loved and trusted by nearly all his patients. We had made the round of the wards, and done homage to all the self-fancied kings and queens, popes and heroes, and had Immor- ed the “peculiar whim” of each monomaniac, when at. length, at the end of a long gallery, that looked out upon the shrubberies and upon the sea beyond, we came to the door of a cell which the doctor opened, by turning the handle, for it was not locked. - And now came a strange sweet experience. A sphere of infinite peace seemed to envelope me, the moment I crossed the threshold of that little .room. ' and doors of silver, with gardens (f'celestial fruit and flowers all round, ari-dâ€"” her voice, as she spoke, had gradually sunk to whisâ€" pers, and soon became inarticulate, flowing in melodious, undistl-ngu- ishablc notes. We sat in silence listening to her as we would have listened to the murmuring of a brook, or to the sighing of a breeze, until at last her voice ceased, and she sat with folded hands and wide open eyes, gazing far out over the sunlit waters, yet seeming to see noâ€" nothing. “We had better go now, if you please,” said the doctor. ‘ We both arose to leave the room. “Good-bye, Marie,” he said cheerfully, laying his hand upon her head. His voice and touch aroused her from her reverie. “Good-bye, doctor,” she answer- ed, but her voice sounded as if it came from afar, or like the dis- tant echo of her voice. ‘ I held out my hand in silence; for somehow I fell into Marie’ s- favâ€" orite mute way of communicating. She smiled upon me wit-h her heavenly smile, and so filled my soul with peace as we left her pres- Its one window look-ed out upon once', ‘ .3 ‘ . the evergreen shrubbcries and beâ€" (1015:0213 hall onts‘dc I smd to the “Here is at least one happy in- mate. Is she always so?” And he answered in the words with which this story opened. “She interests me more than any one I have ever seen,” I added. “I do not wonder. Hers is the strangest case I ever met with," he answered. “What brought her here?” “Mania, of course. Her mania being that she is constantly at- tended and helped by the spirit of her child, who prompts, in others, all the kindness that is shown her, causing them to send her flowers for instance, and who opens to her the gates of Paradise, giving her glimpses of the glory within.” “Was it the loss of her child that turned her brain 1” The doctor paused for a. moment, his line face clouded over, and then in a deep whisper, he answered gravely: “She was accused of having mur- dered her child.” I started with a half suppressed scream, and shrank back with hor- ror. There was silence between us for a moment, and then I recovered myself and exclaimed with irre- ‘prcssible indignationw “It is impossible! She, never, lno, not even in a paroxysm of in- snity, could have committed such a crime” “It is generally believed that she yond upon the open sea, over which was shining the clear morn- ing sun. A large white china vase of rare exotics sat upon the window sill and filled the room with rich aro- Ina. The room itself was bare enough, but beautifully clean. with white- washed wall, waxed pine floor, and white draped bed. On a chair by the windol sat a young woman who immediately drew my attention, as the most fragile and spirituolle being I had ever seen 0 ‘ imagined. Her form, clothed in a flowing white wrap- per, was so attentuat-cd that the wonder was how it still had power to hold the soul within it. Her faceâ€"~-how shall I port-ray it? For it seemed the face of a spirit! wright golden brown hair curled around her broad forehead and shapely head. and fell down he- hind upon her graceful shoulders. Her eyes were very large, light blue, soft and clear and shaded by long lash-es. Her other features were small and regular. Her com- plexion was singularly pure white, and transparent like very thin ala- baster. But from those light blue .ey-es and from that wan, spiritual iace, beamed a calm and radiant 'peace, incffable and indescribable. “Here is a, friend come to see you, Marie,” said the young doc- tor. She looked at me and held out , . ‘ I her little transparent white hand. {1“}: h?“"e"e‘rfb“t;’0f 0011150: 111 it She did not speak a word, but her fil’ ’Of (espelatlgn- _ H whole delicate face lightened and _“I do not believe It! I repeated softened as she smiled on me with With all the earnestness’of my soul. a smile that reached my heart and ’ seemed to communicate to me her own heavenly peace. I sat down beside her. And the young doctor took the third and only renmining chair in the room. “Do you remember, enquire-d the doctor, as we walked down the long passage togetherâ€"“Do you remember the case of that Mario .Serafinnc, who was tried at Pine Cliffs, in this State, for infanticide ' . . . H “You have beautiful flowers some years ago? ' here,” I said, referring to the rich _ “I remember hearing and readâ€" exotics. ing of 1t,‘yes.” “Well, the woman we have just left is that very Maria Scrafinnc.” I gazed at the speaker in mute Again her fair, wan face, brightâ€" ened and softened with that won- derful smile; she did not speak. Indeed speech did not. seem to be her mode of communicating ideas. “Is she a mute?” I inquired in a low tone, of the young doctor. “Oh, no! .no iudeed!” he an- zwc r ed . ' minute, and then broke silence by exclaiming incrcduously: “What! why that trial took place at least fourteen years ago, and the . girl at the time was said tobc six- Ent he saidâ€"“Marie; my (1031': tell teen years of age. That would the lady fibout‘l'our flOWGI'S- Tell make her now, if she were living,. her who Sends them 1'0 3'0“; ‘ thirty years old. And this girl canâ€"l I Then turnln-g to his pati- Marie.” not be more than twenty.” “That is one of the strange fea- “My child,” she answered in tures in her strange case. For the tone of incffablc tenderness. I never heard a. human voice so soft, last two years she has been Chang- 3:) liquid, so aerial. These two ing back again to youth and al- worm, “my child.” sounded like most- to childhood in appearance. two Holes Of an ACOliml hal‘P- But she is in truth that Marie Sera- “She is a good Child to Send 3011 finnc who was tried for infanticide, Inch rich ilOWOI‘S,“ I said fourteen years ago, and who owed} "Yes," She answered (“Ca-Wily. her acquittal to‘t-hc legal ability, "She is my angel.” , logic and eloquence of that good “Where does she. live, Marie?” I and great Ishmael Worth,” 4 next enquired. “You amaze me! I cannot yet. She opened her light. blue eyes so . credit. this Story-3’ I answered wide that they sec-med to blaze with ' Innsingly. 9. soft lire as she answeredâ€"-- “Come, I I will convince you. I; it is the strangest story you ever heard in your life; but You must of course set down the amazing phenomenaof thelalst two years of her life to the fancies of her own namia.” And so saying, the doctor guided me out of the long hall through the shrubbcries, to the part of the building occupied by the surgeon in-charge. I may as well state here, to make all clear, that I was a cousin of the surgeon’s wife, and then on my first visit at their house, to spend the Christmas holidays. CHAPTER II. That night I went into the draw- ingâ€"room, .as by appointment, to hear the story of Marie Scrafinne from the lips of the young doctor. Dr. Hamilton, the» surgeon in charge, was making his last even-- ing tour of inspection through the asylum, a duty that would occupy him for two or three hours. My cousin Eleanor, his wife, was in her nursery, seeing her children put to bed, and soothing her teeth- ing babyâ€"duties that would employ her for an indefinite portion of the. evening. _ So that I' was alone in the draw- ing-room, with the prospect of re- maining so, until Doctor Abbott should come in and join me. It was an old-fashioned, long, low-ceil-ed room in an oldâ€"fashién- ed country house, adjoining which the new asylum had been built, when the old manor was purchased by the State for the purpose. The doctor preferred the old house to any part of the new buildâ€" ing, and so, with his family, he now occupied it. I walked up and down the long, low-celled room. now looking from, the back window out upon the darkening wintry sky, and sea, over which heavy black clouds were rising; and now pausing before the enormous wood-fire that was roarâ€" ing in the broad old fire-place, and that the k-eenness of the sea. air made it absolutely necessary even in this early winter weather. A storm was rising, heavy clouds blackened over the sea. and the wind moaned around the house. I closed the shutters and turned lfrom the win-dew for the last time, and went and sat down in a low chair before the fire, with my feet upon the iron fender. I had sat there but a few minutes when the young doctor turned the» knob of the door, opened it, and quietly entered. ~ “I am true to my appointment, Mrs. Middleton,” he said as he drew a chair to one side of the fire and sat down. I thanked him, and! remarked that a heavy storm was coming up. “That,” he said, “would be. a fit and proper accompaniment to the wild story I have. to tell.” And then and there, as we sat by the great wood-fire in the old ma- nor-house amid storm and dark- ness, howling wind and beating rain, he told me the weird story of Marie Scrafinne, first again remind- ing me that all which was super- natural and incredible in the nar- rative. I might, if I pleased, as- cribe to the. hallucination of the heroine. I tell the story as I heard it. (To be continued.) "â€"4? .. SENTENCE SERMONS, Malice always miscontrues. Long prayers often hide wrong practice. Formation is always better than reformation. No man can save men without suffering with men. It ishard work growing saints in the soil of the pit. You can measure any man’s as- piration by his perspiration. No man has a large mission wh~ astoniSthM for the Space Of 3‘ neglects the little ministries. Religious forms easily become cas- kets in which faith is buried. This is a godless world whom-ver the divine is all in the past tense \Vhen a man is ethically wabbly to is usually theologically rigid. ‘ Real prayers and real mountains always put a pick in your hand. You will not help theman who is looking to you by looking at yours-elf. | _.. w f _ l’lhc E11111, eÂ¥+++++++++++++++++++t WINTER. CARE OF POULTRY Keeping fowl-s over winter costs money. Nothing should be kept. that does not pay its debts with interest. At the fall roundup make a thorough sorting. Every fowl should stand squarely upon strong, well-developed legs, whose scales are clear and distinct, overlapping each other neatly. Next in im- portance is the head, which should be rather small with as compact comb of clear, healthy rose color, a firm beak and bright eyes. Though much more rare, there are defects in the body to. be looked after, such as crooked backs, clogâ€" ged oil-glands, etc. The too numâ€" crous males, and the late pullcts that will eat all winter and then help flood the markets with nine- cent eggs in the spring, should be sorted out. If there is a swelled head or a. consumptive have it killed immediately. It is the more merciful way. With a flock of sturdy, healthy fowls, not too numerous for their quarters, poultry keeping is usual- ly successful; but to bring best reâ€" sults loving care is needed. Loving is used advisedly._ Be careful of the roosting places. A cold draught all night is as danâ€" gerous as roosting in the open air; corn fodder set up around the wind- iest sort of a. hen house will make it habitable. As for the roof, if no water drips directly on the roosts, and holes are not large enough for the hens to fly through, it will do. Most important of allâ€"«feed and water, water and feed continually. __â€"_â€"-____.__._â€"___.â€"__â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"â€"- _____________...___â€"_â€"___._ Feed with a liberal but judicious hand as great a variety as possible, but regularly. ' A good ration is to feed whole wheat one morning and on the next a warm mash of table scraps, meat, cooked vegetables or anything ob- tainable mixed up wit-h hot water and meal into a. thick mash, whb should be carefully seasoned with pepper and salt. This is a handy way to feed a few red peppers oc- casionally or poultry food, for a. tonic. - Every night, half an hour before sunset, .give a good ration of corn heated until some of the kernels are brown. The fowls should have fresh wa- ter or milk slightly warmed twice a day and plenty of cracked 212:4 ground earth and bone, beside havâ€" ing waterâ€"slackcd lime by them all the time. If some snowy morning, the zephyrs are rather rough as you go forth broom in hand to sweep chick- en'paths. it- may be some comfort to remember that business is busiâ€" ness, and that profit and pains tak- ing go hand in hand. TELLING AGE OF CATTLE. At twelve months, an animal should have its milk (calf) incisors in place. Fifteen months. At this age the central pair of incisors (milk too: may be replaced by a pair of per- manent incisors (pine-cits), these beâ€" ing through the gums, but not in rear. Eighteen months. The middlc pair of central incisors at this age should be'fully up, and in- wear, but the next pair (first intermedâ€" iary) not yet through the'gums. Twenty-four months. The mouth at this age will show two mido (permanent broad) incisors, fully up and in. wear. Thirty months generally shows six broad permanent incisors, the middle and first intermediary fully up and in wear. The next pair (second intermediary) well up but not in use. Thirty-six months shows three pairs of broad teeth, which should is fully up and in wear, and the corner milk teeth may be shedding with the corner pcrmanents just appearing through the '11111. Thirty-nine months. T rec pairs of broad teeth will be fully up and in wear; the corner teeth (incisors) I ‘~ - v ' r . - g . .‘ . . ' - o Glcatncss of character rises in_,t,1,1.0ugi.l the gums are not m weak willingness to make small begin- nings. There’s nothing a lazy man er- joys better than designing “Busy” signs. The worst fools are those who worship a .God in the hope of fool ing him. Some men use the beam in their eye to pick out the mote in their brother’s. Too many measure their moral “Vl’hv. don’t .“011 know? in Hca- ‘ will go into the drawingâ€"romn this ! Soundncss by the amount of sound Wle 1 Shut my 03'95 Sunm' evening, and tell you 1 509' he? 1101110 the”: w «'L story, as I have learned it partly herself and partly You will acknowledge thati 'vcn! times, . _ palace where walls are like mother from of pearl, with windows of crystal othcl‘S. the whole they make. The more a man talks about the from . next life the worse he is apt to walk in this one. -W -- -x.-_..u__‘.....-_::..w.-.~ l l l FARM NOTES. Keep thc churningâ€"room as near; 60 degrees as possible. Never filli the churn more than half full ofl cream. Churn at medium speed. Always use a thermometer, and in summer churn at 60 degrees: Of the absolute necessity of pot- ash for plant food there can be no I, doubt. It is essential to the life of‘ plants, and there seems to be no! end to its combinations with otherl component parts of the soil, which are thus dissolved and made assi- milable. +++++++++++++++H+++++= It would be folly for an! in rm to attempt to manufactue acid phosphate or dissolve bone fertilim er at home. The making of high- grade commercial fertilizer is a busmess requiring technical train, ing, and for one who knows noth- ing about it, failure will almost certainly result'. Before the bone( are treated, they should be ground ycry fine, and the fipcr the grindâ€" ing the more perfect will the acid ac . The wages may not be so higli on the farm as in the city, but so men are able to save more of them, and at the end of the month or year, the farm hand often has mori’ money than had he been Working in the city. Probably a reason why there is such an apparent antipa- thy to working on L.-e farm is the false opinion men entertain. that farm labor is degrading. At the present day, when farm work il performed by machinery largely, and business methods obtain to great extent. there is no ground for such a thought. A more logi~ cal reason is perhaps the usually long hours for labor on the farm. >P RECENT CLERICAL BULLS. Mr. Spurgcon Was 3. Been Collec- tor of Mixed Metaphors. The proceedings at a recent Church Congress were enlivened by the intrusion of several very fine bulls, of which the following are samples. At one meet-ing Canon A. W. Robinson, in his opening rc« marks, warned his auditors that his speech would be “pointed to the verge of bluntness,” while later in the evening Sir A. Coote. exâ€" plaining his presence at such a gathering, said that he was like “one of these satillitos of Jupiter which, when. they were visible, were always obscuret .” The ~late ' Mr. Spurgeon was a keen collector of mixed metaphors, finding a rich field in the corre- spondence that daily overwhelmed him. A lady, enclosing a small conâ€" tribution for his schools, wrote: “I hope this widow’s mite may take root and spread its branches until it becomes a Hercules in your hands.” The pulpit prayers of am- bitious probations added something to the great preachcr’s store. One prayed that “God’s rod and staff may be ours while tossed on the sea of life,'so that we may fight: the good fight of faith and in t 6 end soar to rest.” “We thank Thee for this spark of grace; water it, Lord,” was the sententious, al- most imperious entreaty of another promising young man. Still an- other prayed, “Gird up the- loins of our mind that we may receive the latter rain.” “As if we were barrels whose hoops were loose,”- was Mr. Spurge-on’s laughing com- ment. ' It was an Irish clergyman who remarked, sadly, “This is a sad and bitter world; We never straw? flowers on a man’s grave until at} ter he is dead”; while anothefl Hibernian cleric, preaching a fun» cral sermon while the corpse lay before him, exclaimed, “Her-e, brethren, we have before us aâ€" liv- ing witness and a standing monu- ment of the frailty of human hopes !” Equally unconscious of his hu- mor was the parson who, at t close of his sermon, said; “A now let us pray for the people on. the uninhabited portions of the earth”; as also the minister who, pleading for funds for a parish ce~ meter-y, asked his parishioners to consider the “deplorable condition of thirty thousand Christian Engâ€" lishmen living without Christian burial.” Even more.- unfortunate was the clergyman who was addressing 3‘ woman’s missionary meeting. “My sisters,” he said, solemnly, “it is terrible to think that thousands of gallons of rum go into Africa for every brother who is sent there.“ “ tather a large allowance for one missionary.” was the whispered comment of one of the sisters. to her neighbor. In..__.x«n_____ WHERE EDUCATION FAILS. An old “darky” in‘ Alabama called across the fence to his neigh- bor’s son. who is a. student at t 6 Atlanta University. “Look hyar, boy,” he said; “ goes to school, don’t yer ‘3” “Yes, sir,” replied the boy. “Larning ’rithmetic an’ figger- ing' on a slate, eh?” “Yes. sir.” “\Vcll, it don’ ’tak’ two whole days for make an hour, do it 'I” “Why, no,” answered the boy. “Wal,” said the old man, “ on. was going tcr bring that hatchet back in an hour, wasn’t ycr‘l Air‘- hit/'3 two Wlllf)l(? days scnce you bor- red hit. What's the use of yo’ edu- cation cf you go ter school a whole year, an’ den can’t tell how 1mg hit takes tcr fetch back kn; chat?”- you " - T ~1“~'~'».’:M¢,:;I "u IL» I.A.\.V\-"VNN\V {\ffi/‘w