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CHAPTER VILâ€"(Cont’d) The trial attracted many persons to the court house. And the court room was densely crowded. But many who had never seen Marie Seraflnne, and who expected to behold in the accused a monster as revolting in appearance as the alleged crime was in essence, were astonished when they saw the slenâ€" der, fragile form, and the fair, wan face and simple, childlike aspect of the young prisoner. When she was formally arraigned and asked whether she were 'uilty, or not guilty, she answered very artlessly- “I wouldn’t have hurt my poor little baby to have saved my own life, if I had known it. But I didn’t know when I did it. I didn’t even know I had done it. But I know I must have done it, because there was nobody else in-the house. And, sir, I am willing to die for it.” She was here instructed that her informal answer would not do; but that if. she could not recollect hav- ing committed the crime, she must plead “not guilty.” Then, in her obedient spirit, she pleaded as she had been told to do. When asked if she had any coun sol, she answered, “No sir.” But just then the stately form an 1 noble face of Mr. Ishmael Worth, of the Richmond bar, one of the - most eminent lawyers and humane gentlemen of the a c, was seen to rise from the crow of spectators. He had only that day arrived in Pine Cliff, on his way to Washing- ton City. And his presence in the court room was purely accidental~ or providential. He now advanced, and bowing to the Bench, said: ' “Your Honor, I am counsel, for the risoner, if she will accept me." E 8 words produced the profound- os’t sensation. Here was a lawyer of world-wide renown, whose adv )â€" caoy almost always secured a ver- dict for his client, whether in a criminal or a civil suit, and whose retaining fee was often as high as ten thousand dollarsfioffering now to give his inestimablo time, tal- ents, and legal knowledge to the defence of a poor, friendless, and penniless outcast. - “She will thankfully accept your aid, no doubt, Mr. Worth,” sail the judge. Ishmael Worth bowed, and pass- ed to the side of. the young prison or, who after her arraignment, had been permitted to sit down in a chair, under the immediate surv "'11- lance of a constable. "You are willing to let me try to save you, my child '6” he said kind ly. . “I thank you very much, sir, but I have no money, not a cent,” she answered in her apathetic way. “Mon/2y? poor child! I do not want any from you,” he answered gently. “And besides, sir, I am willing to die,” she added meekly. “But we are not willing to let you die, especially, with an undeserved siigma upon your name, as I am sure this is.” And then, again addressing the Bench, he said: “Your Honor. I crave of the Court opportunity to confer wi2h my client, and to examine the evi- l l deuce against her.” _ Then followed a short consulta- tion between the Judge and the State’s Attorney. And then, as it was near the hour of noon, the Court was adjourned until 2 p.m. When the Judge had left the bench, the prisoner was taken to the marshal"s room, where she was left alone with her counsel. , Ishmael Worth, true, tender, sympathetic, drew from the for- - saken girl the sad story of her love and trust, and bitter wrongs and sufferings. And he knew that every word she spoke was truth, except, indeed, her despairing self-accusa- tions of the death of her babe “I do not believe you are guilty,” he .said. as soon as he had heard her to the end. _ “'I must be,” she said piteously; "for my child was living. I heard her cry! That is all I know till I saw her dead! But I never meant to hurt- her. I would have died first. She knows it now; for she mutt be an angel in Heaven.” _ “Hush, Marie! You are very sg-l lid to life tilll tut; ._________________.__â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"- The usual great gabbling among the spectators, followed the render- ing of the verdict and the adjourn-~ ment of the Court. ' , “So, she warn’t guilty after ali,’ said one. “But she would have been con~ ' victcd and hanged all the same up OR, WAITING THROUGH WEARY YEARS. W Dogberries of the Coroner’s jury, who found the verdict against you. I shall summon as a witness for the defence, the celebrated Dr. Marius Simeon, who is our greatest author- ity in that special department of the practice of medicine that affects your case. I think his testimo 1y will be valuable,” replied Mr. Worth, as he set himself to examine a copy of the minutes of the Coro~ ner’s inquest, with which the mar- shal had just furnished him. When the Court met in the after- noon, Mr. Worth asked for a post- ponement of the trial, until an im portant witness for the defence could be brought from Baltimore. The petition was granted, and the trial postponed until that day week, the 14th of March. rMarie Serafinne was remanded to her prison; and the Court took up other cases of less vital importance. Ishmael Worth deferred his visit to Vilashington, and gave his full at tc-ntion to getting up the defence of this poor girl, as if he had been retained with a ten thousand dol- lar fee, or if he had been a. young barrister with his reputation de- pending upon the success of his first case. In the interim. he had many interviews with his client. The day of trial came, and the court, as before, was crowded. The prosecution was opened by a short address of the State’s attor- ney to the jury, followed by the calâ€" ling of the first witness, .Mrs. .Butâ€" tcrfiel'd, the farmer’s wife, who dis- covered the dead child. She testified to the facts within her knowledge, and which are al- ready known to the reader. She was followed by Dr. Barton, who being called to the stand testi- fied that he had made a post-mor- tem examination of the child’s body and found from appearances that it had been born alive and subse quently strangled. These were the only two import ant witnesses for the prosecution which closed with a short summing up address by the State’s attorney. The Cross-examination of witness- es was rigidly reserved for the de fence. ' Mr. Worth arose on the part of the prisoner. He, too, made but a short preliminary speech before'cal~ ling witnesses. First, he called in succession some of the most respectable witizcns if the country, Who had known the little cottage girl, Marie Serafinne, from her childhood to the present time, and could testify to the uni form gentleness and sweetness of her temper and disposition Finally, he called his most valu- able witnessâ€"Dr. Marius Simson, of Baltimore, the greatest author- ity on the medical questions boar ing upon this case. He had preâ€" pared himself for the present occa- sion by reading up the minutes of the post-mortem examination with great care. And now, being sworn and exam- ined he proved by a very thorough process of testimony, that the child came to her death by accidental physiological causes alone. The doctor submitted to a very strict cross-examination by the pro- secution; but that only brought out his evidence in a clearer, stron- ger light. He sat down. > Doctor Barton, who had been a witness for the prosecution, was now recalled by the defence. He was subjected to a searching cross-examination, during which he became confused, exposed his own comparative ignorance, entanglul his own former testimony, and upon the whole corroborated that of Dr. Simeon. He was then permitted to retire. And Mr. VVortharosc to address the jury, with one of those strong pithy, closelyâ€"reasoned and eloquent ap- peals that nearly always gained his cause. . And with the end of his speech the defence closed. The Judged summed up in a very few,liinpartial words, and gave the case to the jury. Without even leaving their seals, the jury returned a. prompt verdic: of “Not Guilty.” And the young prisoner was dis- charged from custody, and foui'l herself at liberty before she well understood what had happened to‘ ncrantâ€"almost as ignorant as the her. . nifure. on the testimony of old Dr. Barton, if Mr. Worth‘had not taken up too case, and brought that great Ur. Marius Simeon, from Baltimore, show up the rights of things,” said another. “And to think that Mr. Worth not only gave up all his own‘ precu- ous time, good for a million a month almost, in term time, but actually pail all the expenses of bringmg the witness here, whose time was nearly as precious as his own. It was princely!” “‘Princely?’ Yes! But Ishmael Worth is a prince among men 1”. While these comments were being rracle by the crowd, Ishmael Worth took the hand of his bewildered client and drew her arm within his own, and led her into the-open air in front of the Court house. “My child, where do you wish to go 2’) “First of all on my knees to thank you, sir, for saving my pear life, and for much more than that, for proving not only to the jury, but to my own bleeding heart that I never hurt my poor baby even while I was out of my head!” “Stay! stay, Marie! you must knocl only to the Lord, and not to his human instrument! Where shall I take you? I wish to see you in safety before I leave you. I have to drive to the Wendover station, and take the train to Richmond to~ night.” “I wish to. go to my own little house under the cliff. But don't you trouble to take me there, Sir. I can go very well alone. “You are sure?” “Yes, sure.” “Then, here child. Take this,” he said, putting a twenty dollar bill in her hand, which she made a ges- ture of refusingâ€"“Nay, you must take it, as from a father. And here is my address. If ever you should want a friend, write to me,” he added, as he forced the bank note with his card into her hand. He was gone. And she hurried dcwn the street, and out of the vil- lage by the road leading to her hut. As soon as she found herself alone in the woods, she knelt down and thanked the Lord for her great de- liverance, and prayed Him to bless her benefactor, Ishmael Worth. Then she hurried on towards her hut. But when she reached the spot a great shock awaited her. The hut had disappeared, and young men were at work digging out red sandâ€"stone from under its foundaâ€" tion. The hut, indeed, had never been her own or her grandmother’s property. They had lived in it, rent free, by the sufforance of the rich landholder, who owned the ground. His interests had at last requir- ed its removel. And during the long imprisonment of its mistress, which it was supposed would end only in death, he had had it pulled down for the sake of the quarry bo- neath it. CHAPTER VIII. I She saw and understood all at a glance; for there had been quarry- ing in that neighborhood before; and the chance of losing their little home through the quarrying had been one of the bugbears of her grandmother’s last days. She uttered no complaint, if in- deed there had been anything to complain of. - She only asked one of the work- men what had been done with her grandmother’s little household fur- The man raised his head and reâ€" cognized her, with a look of hor- ror and disgust that chilled her heart. He would not even speak, but pointed to a log cabin about a quar- ter of a mile distant, down on the other side of the road. ' , Marie turned away, heart-sick of the world. The sun was sinking behind the mountain, and the shadows were darkening over the valley! How well she remembered one similar scene, some ten months be- fore, when she took one fatal walk with her lover, and the sun went clown on her happiness forever. Night was coming on, and she had not where to lay her head! She walked slowly towards the but which the workman had point- ed out, as containing the relics of her grandmother’s poor furniture. The log hut was oceupied by a negro woman, called Aunt Sukey, and her husband and children, all slaves of the rich landholder who owned the quarry. On seeing Marie Serafinne ap- proach, they came outto meet her, not with words of Welcome, but with looks of silent aversion. Poor Marie furniture. “It’s only a “bed and an armâ€" chair, and some little tea-things, and sicli! All the rest was stole, I reckon. Marse tole me to keep these, case you ever come to want ’em. So dey let you off, did dey’l would, soon’s he beat Marser Worth took you up,” remarked Aunt Sukey, staring at M arse said dey her visitor. “They said I was not guilty. And I was not, Aunt,” meekly replied the girl, as, no longer able to stand, she sank down and sat upon a. stone. Hard tellin’ whedder Vell, you kin stay Which I hopes to goodness you won’t do nufiin bad to my poor chillun, kev. doubtfully. “Oh, Heaven! “I dunno. you is or not. here to-night. “Dunno. you in. So‘git groun’, and come in do house,” (To be continued.) H++++++++H++++++~H++i % {lire Fdrm WHHN++H++H+++ TREATING FOR TICKS. It is essential to the health and thrift of sheep that they be treated for destruction of ticks and 0th *1‘ vermin twice a year, namely, in the spring, soon after shearing, and again in the late autumn, before going into winter quarters. treatment is not only necessary as a safeguard against ticks and lice, but also against scab or other dis- ease of the skin, while the increased growth and quality of the fleece, owingto a healthy condition of the skin, more than repays the cost of As a rule, the dip- ping of the lambs a few days after the ewes are shorn fairly well answers the purpose. as ticks leave the closelyâ€"shorn ewes and seek shelter in the longer wool of the lambs. But, as a precaution against skin diseases, it is wisdom to dip the whole flock at that seaâ€" san, or at least to pour on the ewes, and rub in, a solution of the dip. For a small flock, a dipping tank may be made tongued and grooved, or lined with zinc or galvanized only for dipping lambs, it need not he more than 4 feet long, 2% feet high, and 20 inches at the bottom, spreading to about 2% feet at top. A slatted drainer is used, placed at one end of the tanks, on which to lay the lamb while the surplus of the solution is squeezed out of the wool, and runs back into the tank. In the case of a large flock, and where it is necessary to dip ewes, lambs, a much larger far-k and draining device is necesâ€" sary, and the outgoing end of the tank should be sloping and slatted, so the sheep can walk out of the tank and up to the drainer. by good management, a flock can be kept clean by dipping the lambs in spring, and pouring the solution on the entire flock in the late fall or the bekinning of winter. this purpose, the treatment. as well as cess completed. explained nieekly enough that she had come only to ask about her grandmother’s poor houSehold goods, that worth much, she added; but if the woman would give her shelter that night and the next day, or until she could think of where to go, she (the woman) might have the little bit of were not INTLR FEEDING OF SHEEP. said Aunt Su- Do you think I am a devil 'l” cried poor Mario, bursting into tears. Hard tellin’ what you is. But you kin stay here to-night, anyways, ’cause I don’t spect no white person ain’t agoin’ to take up offcn do damp Such in the sprng plank, either If used iron . But, For advertised pro- prietary dips are generally satisfacâ€" tory if used according to directions. The solution should be kept quite warm while being spreads more thoroughly over surface of the skin "Clo. pouring may be done from a coffee pot, and one quart to each grown sheep is generally sufficient. To make rapid progress, the serâ€" viccs of three men or boys is re- quired, one to hold the sheep, one to open the wool four or five inches, and one to pour the solution along these openings. Tln sheep is first placed upon rump. its back resting against the knees of the holder, while the wool is opened down the brisket, belly and thighs; the animal is then turn- ed first on one side, then on the (ther, while the wool lcngthwise of the body, and is then let stand while the wool is opened the whole length of the back, from tail to head, and the pouring pro- By this process, a flock of 60 or 70 sheep may be treat- cd in a day or six or seven hours, an] the owner will feel more com- fortable, as well as his flock, from xmany people are ashamed to make. the used, the while warm. at intervals of its is opened eves ample room for exercise in winter, and mainly dry feed. ' - __....- .14.. .__,_.__. SMALL FARMS 0F PGRTUGAL. How They Came to be Divided Into l W lree from blood-sucking vermin, and their skin in a. healthy condi- tion, calculated to increase ths growth of wool, as well as of flesh. No farm stock can be housed more cheaply for winter and feed- ing than can sheep. Any old burn or shed with a. roof that will keep them dry answers the purpose prac- tically as well as an elaborate and expensive . building, provided the ewes are bred to produce their lambs in April or May, and for the average farmer there is no advant- age in having the lambs come ear- lier. If one chooses to prepare for raising show sheep, or cater to the early lamb market, which latter is very profitable, provision must be made for keeping frost out of their quarters at lambing time, but that need not be expensive, as double- boarded walls, with felt paper be- tween, will make the place perfectâ€" ly safe, and a cheap class of lumber will answer the purpose. Sheep thrive better in open, airy quarters than in close, warm buildings, and prefer to lie out on the ground, oven in winter, as longas it is dry and clean. No class of stock can be more cheaply kept. The writer for many years successfully wintered a flock of breeding ewes in an open-faced shed, with unthrcshed peas, thrown into the rack twice a day, as their only provendcr, and they kept in gocd condition, and produced strong, healthy lambs, with never a case of goitro, and always plenty of.milk supplied for their lambs. Clover hay is the standard prov- cnder for sheep in winter, and for convenience in feeding, is best stored over their pens. The ewe flock will do fairly well if fcd well-3 saved pea straw up to near lambing time. when they should have roots or 9. light ration of oats daily, and they would be better for this all through the winter, if pea straw is the only fodder available But the lambs should have clover hay, some sliced roots and cats, or a mixture of oats and bran, to keep them growing. Roots are not a necesâ€" sity for the ewe flock previous to the lambing season, nor after, if a fairly liberal ration of oats and bran be given them, though roots are very helpful to ewes when nurs- ing their lambs, but should be spar- ingly fed before lambing, as an ex- ccss of roots fed at that period of- ten has an injurious effect upon the lambs they are carrying, causing them to come weak and flabby. lacking in ambition, and subject to goitre, an enlargement of the thy- roid glands of the neck or throat, a disease which in some years proves fatal to a considerable percentage of lambs soon after birth. To avoid this trouble, it is well to give the Dimiuutivc Portions. The Portuguese are extremely conservative people. Every man follows rigidly the methods employ- ed by his father and forefathers. In very many parts of the counâ€" try the old wooden ploughs are still used. When a man dies, instead of one of the heirs taking the whole pro- perty and paying the remaining heirs for their parts the whole property is divided into as many parts as there are heirs. More than this, each separate part of the pro- perty is thus divided. Thus if a property consists of ten acres of pasture land, eighty of vineyard and ten of grain land and there were ten heirs, each heir, would receive one acre each of grain- and pasture land and eight acres of vineyard. This process has been: going on for a very long time, so. that now in the most fertile part of’ Portugal the land is divided into incredibly small portions. The immediate result of this is: that the product of the land is bare-, ly sufficient at best to sustain its owners. South of the River Tagus,‘ on the other hand, there are enorm-z ous tracts of excellent land lying unused, but it has been found im- possible to induce the farmers ol‘ the north to move into this region and take up large holdings. .pâ€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-- DIDN’T KNOW HER PLACE. Mistress~“Why did you leave, your last place?” New Cookâ€":“Th’ missus was get- ting too independent.” W no: It’s eaSier to lead some men to the bar than it is to drive them" away. l The truth is all right, but so the knowledge that the animals‘aro " go’i. AA w‘wA-‘A -. . A A ._ AAA --â€".â€"â€"vv>vvv-