Z 35 / AAASAASRRSSASARARARSRRB ARRAS RR SRR A SHADO SCOSSCOO Or, The Curse Of The Family ED PATH; 3: HEEHEAEEE SEE EEE ELE SE + 4444444444444444444 444% CHAPTER IX.,--(Continued). "We were alk born in London, and we entered life--most of us at least-- with an inheritance from one side the heuse of wayward coquettish natures, and strong, almost ungovernable wills, and from the other of personal beauty and bodily disease. Judith, my eldest sister, was the handsomest; and she might have married happily and well, but the perverse fate of our race tracked her footsteps, and even when she was engaged to a man for whom she really cared, she could not resist the tempta- tion of flirting with a baronet, who had been struck by her extraordinary beauty. Like a sensible man, her lover would not bear it patiently, but remonstrated, and then Judith like a foolish woman ----ah! Heaven!' exclaimed Miss Rids- dale raising her clasped hands despair- Ingly above her head; "the girk--for she was but a girl then--flung the happl- ness of a lifetime pettishly, from her in a moment, and ene short month afterwards ehe married Str John Le glock. She never had one happy hour frem the morning of her wedding, and @ied of the malady she inherited from our mother's family--consumption, "And Eleanor, my next sister, fell in love, as the phrase goes, against my father's consent, and remained in it WW) that consent was obtained; when-- 1 tell you the plain tale, Judith, as tt happened, not as it was glossed over lo the world--she jilted him, and then, because he wedded another, she in pique married a man whe was fifty times too good for her himself, but whose relatives made life wretched to cne who had scarcely pronounced the marriage vows ere she repented them. "Years passed away, and then she-- one of the London belles--met again with her old lover, who had become a widower--as he was on the eve of @larting for Canada. They sew each other, I think only at a ball, and whe- ther Eleanor did actually re-commence the coquetry of old, or whether her mother-in-law only fancied it, I cannot tell, one thing fs certain, that a very angry altercation took place between the pair, even in public, which ended in my sister taking Captain Maskell's arm, and requesting him to see her to her carriage, into which she got, and, accompanied by her mother-in-law, drove home. "So flerce a discussion then ensued, that Eleanor vowed she would not re- main another night under her roof-- and that she would make her husband's family repent the part they had acted towards her. -It was a, threat perhaps rashly ullered, but it was fatally kept; for when Captain Maskell sailed 'or Canada, she went with him. A divorce was afterwards obtained by her hus- band, and then they marri6éd; but Elea- nor did not live long. He was~a hand- some, unprinctpled spendthrift, and treated her most cruelly. "It fell hard on two, Lady Lestock and your mother, for it gave Sir John @ pretext for bringing his wife down to the condition of a slave, and it ren- dered my father paimfully anxious to have his youngest child placed under sure guardianship; up to this point, money had been all he thought of--but then an early settlement for Lillian be- came the one grand object of his life, and so--it is hard to say the truth to you, child, because he is so near of kin to yow--she was literally sold to your father, Sho did worse than not Jove--she almost hated him, and when he in very despair, resolved to bring her here (thinking perhaps that when she was away from us she might grow te love him), she tore the wedding ring from her finger and cried she would live with him no longer, that she had been forced to marry a man she detested, and that she would not go to a distant home with him. But she had to do it, Judith--and 80 she broke her heart and died too. 1 do not know now which fo pity most, your father or your mo- ther; the love which was poured oul in vain, or the love which could not be won. | used to feel indignant at your father, I feel more sorry for him now, "lam the only one left of the four, and my story is the same with a dit- ference. My godmother adopted me, and, therefore, I was relieved from the inexorable home influence which drove my sisters tnlo matrimony; but the curse Jay on me as it lay on the rest. Once, Judith, only once, I did care wel enough for any human being to marry him--he was Sir John Lestocks half brother, but there reigned bitter enmity between the two, He had only a small fortune; but when he came to care for me he tried to better his position in the world, and at last obtained a lnu- erative appointment in India. f had often heard him say he woud never ask any woman to-be his wife twice, leh her be Whoever slic might-and slill t-re- fused him--solely lo try my power over the man's heart, "Millicent," he said, 'T onee almost swore that I would never he rejected twico--but as the love I bear you ist stronger thin my pride,-as the who'e of my future is bound up in you, I] pray you for the love of Heaven to ru- consider your answer. If my love is] worth taking, take itnow--if you like} me well enough, to think of me as a} future husLand, te}! me so, for God's | Bake, at once' "Bub would not--and still the Iova cf the man's heart overpowered' his pride--and I exulled in the mastery | had over him. "'Por the third time" he said. ond his volee was frembling like a nervous woman s, 'and for the last fime--co you eve me--wilk you marry ma?' "Tt fancted, Judith, that f held hin to mo by his very heart-stridys: Fut 1 drew them too tighy at-last, and they srapped.in my fingers." With a ery, Judith flung heraeif on her knees bes'de her aunt, and buried her face in {he folds of her dcéss, Miss Nidedole passed an arm around the girl's neck, -and proceeded will the seit dnifileled tortura sho had un ley takern ne her niece's benefit: : "a fl: oathes lo pags that} am an okt maid; and.that t am here preache _ ting 16 you---therefore ih is that 1 claim a right to.warn you ere if is foo tate.c or eid face, and found it wet with tears. "Il is so like," sobbed Judith--'your story is so like to mine, that | felt as though my heart would break while I was listening to it." And then the poor child told her tale in a few brief words, and finished by declaring she would never displease anybody again, and that she was very sorry--very, very sorry, This was the climax: Miss Ridsdale knew when that confession of wrong, that promise of amendment, was wrung from her, Judith was safe, for the girl's mature was, after all, a noble nature; one with which sense and kindness beuld accomplish almost anything;-- and so, when it had grown: very late, or rather very early, the lady rose to speek her chamnber, "Good night, my own dear child!' she said; "now I may go to bed, knowing that os you would not marry Mr. Maz- ingford under any circumstances, you will never flirt with him again." But Judith could met sleep; she walk- ed to the window and looked out. What @ mine of self-réproach she worked down in during those weary hours; héw very humbly she went into Lillian's room, and laid her aching head on the side of her sister's bed, and began mut- tering sentences of regret and repent- ance, and good resolves, in confidence, to the darkness, First, she was afraid shé had lost him for ever, and mourned cut accordingly: "It is impossible though that he can leave me altogether; he will surely re- turn in a few hours, and I will tel) him 8'! then--of how sorry I am, and how I would not marry that odious wretch --no, not if he had five millions a year. I will keep this night's sorrow before me as a warning, and try never to grieve that noble heart of his again $6 long as I live; and. I will, from this time forth, turn over a wiser and a bet- ter leaf, and endeavor with all my strength to be more worthy of him; I will--I will, so help me God!' And so the hours of darkness wore way in picturing the scene of that re conciliation and forgiveness--in think- ing of all she should say to him, of all he would say to her when he returned --when Marcus came back. Towards morning she fell asleep-- sitting on the floor with her face buri- ed in her hands, she dropped into a troubled shimber, from which she awoke with a start when a kind of misty daylight had dawned over the while. earth, Judith was very cold; though she ja?! wrapped a heavy shawl about ter fig- ure, and had sat huddled up together still she was very cold and stiff ani unconfortable; her limbs were aching, and her teeth chattering; she felt shoot- ing pains through her head, and flash- es of fire seemed darting across her eyes. "I am afraid I am going to bo ill," she thought, as she drew the shaw! more closely around her, and walked with uncertain steps to the winjJew. The prospect was irksome to the mind. snd Judith's eyes grew somehow weak and dim as she looked out upon tie snowy landscape. It appeared though as. if some fascination held 'e* chained to the window that commande.) a view of the path by which Mareus mus! ecme back to her. True, she cou'd cnly gaze out for a moment at a time, but stiil that moment was sufficient; pocr, rest- less little heart that had so termented him when it had him nign that fut- fered so ceaselessly at the thought of his return--poor little girl who had not known the value of the thing she was toying with till che haé@ flung it fe- yond her reach, when she regan to cry for some one to bring il back to her. At last, after a 'onger inierval than tusual, for she had [alten even whilst SS standing there, 'nto Judith opened her ey2s es) roused her- self with a sudden effort; then along -|the broadest of the suubkery walks she a@ scit cf dom-- saw something coming--she did not not know what, at the first: there was a film over her s'gat, anl everything dazzled her; but by degreesobjects grew more: distinct, end then sie beheld feur mien coming slowly alang. J hey bere a burden, and apparently a heavy ene, for they often paused and rested; and as they emorged into a witer avenue, Judith péreeived a huge dog jolicwing the party, his black tail sweeping mournfully over the snov.- The girl did not know then--cculd never tell afferwards--whet she felt at that moment; she did not cry, or faint, or scream, but rushed from the apart- tment, down the staircase, out of the hall door, along the avenue, 'Whab have you there?' she' asked of the bearers; and they said afterwards never fallered, The men looked from one to another, out answering. and they did it. fouirden, one of the men interposed. most whispered; "don't!" rovered the object they carried, groan, she fell heavily to the ground. back to the house, CHAPTER X, consciousness. From the fu' horror, the more awful pain of her own actual situation. events of that -- frightful her, and she shrieked aloud. grief which can be conceived. Would remain her own thoughts. kon who heard it. it did come, there it to ring in the ear for long afterwards lsome change very speedily took place he could not answer quences, During the entire of her illness, Mr lili the crisis was past. and altered, with tusual chair beside her. Hid not notice him. that her lip never trembled, her voice and then tried to moye past her with- "Stop!' she said, "I bid you stop!" But when she stepped forward to examine the nature of their "Don't do that, Miss Judith," he al- With a strong hand Judith pushed him aside as she lifted the cloak. thet She stood looking upon it, for about the time you could have counted twenty, whilst the men stood gazing pitifully on her; and then, without a shriek .or "God help us all!" exclaimed the man who had previously spoken, ao he lifted her from tha earth, and carried her Weeks after, Judith Renelle awoke to horrors of brain fever, and ravings of delirium, from dreams of pain and terrors of im- fgination, she awoke to the more fright- When she had not strength to move a finger, she was still able to think; and it was during this period she acquired a habit which abode with her for months afterwards, ec! brooding in silence concerning the night' and morning, till their horror overpowered It was the most unendurable form of She apparently in a state of apathy for half an hour or so, with- out moving a muscle; but then would yome that short, sharp cry, as of one in some mortal agony, when she would start wildly wp, and scem meditating | guide coming to a standstill and whin- an escape of some kind--perhaps out of the world, poor child, away 'rom The doctors shook their heads, and said they did not '-e it; Miss Ridsdale tried in vain to rouse her from her meditations; Lillian cane and talked to her, but Judith, disregard- ing them all, would still give utterance te that horrid scream, which was suf- Yicient to chill the blood of every per- At intervals only, it echoed through the room, but during the intervening periods no one could avoid listening for it and then when was a something about its peculiar tone which caused It was a nervous affection, the doc- tor affirmed, but he liked it none the Letter for that--a peculiarly pernicious form of gmief--he feared the effect on Miss Renelle's intellect--the shock had been too frightful; it had injured her allogether, bodily and mentally; unless for the comse- Renelle had watched by his daughter's couch; he never left his post beside her But when the first anxiety of her life was over, he gave way; for days he was confined to his bed by sickness; for days Judith, af fer her return to consciousness, never saw him. At last he came creeping back to his chi'd; very pale and wan, wasted hands and haggard face, and many grey hairs, he entered her room, and dropped into his At first Judith With her while, hollow cheek resting on the pillow, and eyes, she lay in one of her darkest inoods, thinking of Marcus living, of 'Marcus dead, and of the awful burden she was destined fo carry to her grave Pavith her. According to her wont, she starlcd up-in bed, and opened her eyes to the.' fullest extent; but as she did so, i er gaze fell, for the first time since ler recovery, on her father. : "Judith, Judith!' he exclaimed in ag- ony, for something about that ery froze his very heart within him--'my child, my own deer darling child!" Heaven knows what it was in his look or his words which opened the floodgates within her, only one thing is certain, that as if suddenly recalled to a memory of others besides herself, she flung her arms about his neck, and: burst into a paroxysm of tears. He was so fearfully shattered by her ill- mess, so totally broken down by her trouble, 60 changed, so wrecked, that the sight of him moved Judith when. perhaps nothing else could. have done, --and saved her. From that day forth, her escape: from the arms of a more fearful foe than death was ensured; she recovered, so far at least as to be able to get up and walk about the house and grounds. But the Judith Renelle of old was as much dead as though she had been laid stiff and cold in her coffin; trouble having pressed its heavy hand on the girls head, had char "ed her bodily and mentally. The gay. 'ioyant spirit, the happy, joyous exp: sion; the light, bounding step--the heait so free from tare--these things she had left behind her for ever; they were dead and buried, memories of the past; things which had been, but which for her might never be more. Her beauty was not gone, but its character was altered; she stood on the very threshold of life, looking vith world-lired eyes on the scene be- fore her. "Ah! Heaven," she once exclaimed, "for rest from it--if only for five min- utes, He haunts me, aunt; he is ever with me,' And she said it so very wearily, that >| Miss Ridsdale rained tears over her, nithough Judith's eyes were dry and bright. Months passed away before she men- tioned Marcus' name, or asked for par- ticulars of his death; but at last Miss Ridsdale told her all she kmew, all any human being knew concerning the man- ner of his unt{mely end. Early on the morning following that fearfuk night, a laborer crossing the hills was met by a large black dog, who made such signs as a dumb brute bould, that his human friend was to leave the path and follow him; which pecordingly the man did for the dis- tance of about twenty yards; when the ing piteously, he was induced to ex- amine the spét, which proved a kind <f hollow, filled with a deep drift of snow, and there he found re "Dem't tell me the rest," here broke »|in Judith. "I know it all; he had strayed from the path, and--I was the cause of his death." {fo be Continued.) i SYMPATHY. Dreamy Youth--'Have you noticed that there are days when we seem more in accord with the world--more -|in unison with Nature?" Practical Youth--"Yes, it fs always that way. with me on pay-day." "IL would please me mightily, Miss Stout,' said Mr. Mugley, "lo have you go to the theatre with me this morning." "Wave you gecured the seats?" asked Miss Vera Stout. "Oh, come, now," he protested; "you're not 60 heavy as al that." ' During the stoppage of the traffic in a busy thoroughfare a bus-driver, ever or. the look-out for a chance of display- ing his wit, espied a group of Italians employed in Jaying the asphalt road- way. Calling the attention of one of the Ilalians the bus-driver yelled:-- "Hi! where's your monkey?" Short and sharp came back the reply:-- "Driving a bus." Every time a man borrows trouble he gets the worst of the transaction. 'the lids closed tightly over her aching | tte te etttt et tees ets +> Settee About the Farm : Hinks ack ATTENTIONS LAMBS MAY NEEL. If a twin lamb is not receiving sufli- cient nourishment from its mother, it can sometimes be helped along by calching other ewes that have more than enough for their own, and letting the hungry one have a pull. Then, if a ewe loses her lamb, she may be made to adopt the little pauper by rubbing her own lamb over if to give it the smell of her own, or by rubbing some of her own: milk on its back and rump. But the quickest way, as a rule, to get a ewe to take another lamb is to take the skin.off her own and fit it on the lamb to be adopted. The ewe, in such a case, should be tied in a small pen for a few days. If no foster-mother can be found for a lamb that needs ene, it may be raised by feeding it from a bottle with a rubber nipple, litthe and often at first, of the warm milk of a fresh-calved cow, and always from. the samé cow. Sometimes sickness is caus- cd by the vent becoming clogged by the dung adhering to the wool. This should be removed, and a little ofl or grease smeared upon the parts to pre- vent a repetition. Sere mouth some- limes causes trouble, a Sort of fungous growth forming on the lips and gums, called apthe, or thrush. A mixture of sulphur and lard rubbed into the parts will generally remedy this, or a mixture ot glycerine and borax, or a solution of one of the coaliar dips may be used. Sore eyes are sometimes contracted. This can also generally be cured by using a moderately-weak solution of one of the sheep dips, as Zenoleum, Wests Fiuld, or Little's, letling some of the sclution get well into the eyes, which will do no harm, but be helpful. Some- times a lamb will get lame from foul in the foot, and ewes are liable to the same trouble where bedding is scarce. For this trouble, it is a good plan to keep a little powdered bluestonc on hand in a small phial, which, dusted on the sores, will generally effect a cure. In the case of the ewe, it is nev- essary first to trim away the horny parts of the hoof from around the sore. (Prompt attention on seeing a sheep lame may save much after-trouble, as, if neglected, it may develop into contagi- ous foot-rot, and spread through the flock. Navel-ill or joint-ill sometimes causes serious trouble in Jambs, This is due sometimes. to the ewe biting the navel off too close fo the belly, or it may be due to germ infection through the navel, and may be avoided by keep- ing the pen well bedded with straw. Ifa lamb is observed leaking at the navel, get an ounce or two of formalin from a druggist, dilute with ten parts water to one of formalin, and apply three times daily with a-piece of white ection rag, letting the solution soak in- to the opening. If the joints are swol- len, apply dilute, heated vinegar two 0° three times daily. In the case of ewes having sore leats, use a mixture of olive oil and glycerine, applied three times a day, While lambs are liable to any or all of these troubles, they miay, and generally do, under good management, escape them all, but it is well to know what treatment to use in ease such trouble may occur, TREATMENT FOR SMUT GRAIN. IN SEED Every year smut spores exact more ov less heavy tolt in our fields, To guard against it, endeavor to sow clean seed; i. ¢., seed from a smut-free crop. This is not always easy to secure, hence, as a precaution, it pays to treat the seed grain with a fungicide before sowing. Three different lines of ef- fective treatment have been recommend- ed to destroy the smut spores of seed grain, viz., hol water, bluestone, and formalin. Formalin is rather the best of all, and, of the two ways of apply- ing it, viz., sprinkling and immersion, the former is favored by the concensus of opinion. Spread the grain out on the barn floor and sprinkle until quite moist with a solution of a pound of formalin (a pound is a little less than a pint) in thirty-two to thirty-five gal- jons of water. Shovel ove! afew times, applying the solution while the suo¥ ling is going on. When all-is well heap and cover with two or three hours, blankets and spread the dry, stirring occasionally. Then remove the grain out: to free from: reinfection by: contact with bins, sacks or spores in which smutty seed has been contained. It is well fo remember that-cither for- 'malin of bluestone, used! too strong, seriously weakens -- the vitality of the kernel. In 1905 a subscriber reported having used three-quarters of a pint of formalin in five gallons of water to treat seed wheat; with the result that he had to sow his field again. Used according to directions, the formalin treatment is practically harmless to the sced, and the prevention of smut repre- sents an item that will usually repay the small expenses and trouble of the precaution. A pound of formalin, cost- ing about 75 cents, and: procurable at any drug store, will, according to Dr. Fletcher. suffice for 27 bushels of seed oats, or 32 of wheat. - : SSE ES THE EAST AND THE WEST. (By A. Banker.) -- Perhaps the line of demarcation be- tween the immovable East and the ad- vaneing West can be observed with greater clearness at that city of con- trasis, Calvo, than at any other place in the world. For, within five minutes walk of each other, on the one side is the squalid, unclean native quarter, recking in garbage, and crowded with a motley throng of turbaned Arabs, negrees from the Soudan, and orientals of all shades of brown and black; on the other side a splendid cily of hand- some buildings, thronged with @ fash- fonable crowd, many driving in fine metor cars or private carriages, many walking along the crowded strects, many travelling in electric trams, motor emnibuses, or public pair-horse vic- torias. Visiting first the native quarter the visitor is struck by the fiery gesticula- ticns and wild aspect of the untame- able Arab. If one buys a half piastre worth of some unsavory compound or another, a very war of words lasting perhaps a quarter of an hour may ¢n- sue, resulting possibly in a reduction ct the price by a "millieme," about the value of a farthing. Or if an overload- e.) camel or ass passes along the nar- row street, blocking if up sometimes almost completely--for the streets are only a few feet wide--volleys of objur- gations, couched doubtless in anything tut polite and refined phraseology, greet the camel or ass driver. Their vocal cords must be formel of gutta-percha to withstand the strain of all this pro- fuse and strenuous verbosity from morn- ing until night. And what a contrast, too, between the shops of the European and those of the Arab quarter. The former like the best of those in London or Paris; the latter, dingy, dismal cabins, dis- playing for sale oily looking garbage which few Europeans could touch with- cut a shudder, or chopped up offal, or Sheep's tails (which in this part of the world grow to an enormous size, or per- haps the primitive requirements of an Arab's house, consisting of not much more than a pail or two, a few wooden stools and an iron cooking tripod. But happily since the British protec- tcrate over Egvpt the condition of the natives is rapidly improving, the fertile country is rapidly becoming more and more cultivated, and the natives, pro- tected from the rapacity of the usuri- cus tax-gatherer, are acquiring wealth and living in greater comfort. Unhappily, however, the blight of Is- lam stil] presses heavily upen them. May the time specdily arrive when they will eeknowledge as their Mediator and Redeemer Him who as a young child was taken into Egypt for a time to es- cape the ferocity of Herod, but who was the Son of God, who in order to mullify the effects of mankind's fal), made atonement on the Cross of Calvary for the transgressions of all who will come to Him for eternal life, . the shovel- | damped, shovel the grain into a conical) _ Pa h old blankets for | It is better | i to mix each time just enough to treat} #© the grain that can be sown within three |"? days. After treatment, keep the gray" stepped a ling some of kernels into sma ing them on the ] Birds. < Sees Recognizing a nev flocked round him, eage his offerings, but kee in him meanwhile, prepare flight in the event of familiar, Long expe! : them to be suspicious of Stocping down and hok ing morsel between -- i called the birds gently At first they shrank back, ly an old bird, having: first him erttically with one eye with the other, stepped : gerly, plucked the titbit. from % gers, and darted away the exserience so very bird soon came back, and wa ed with another choice bitcof The other pigeons speedily fo: example, : Siete "That's more than they'd us," said one of the boys. The young man gave about half his stock of then straightened up. "That's all I can spare ¢c said, starting away. A middieaged man wh watching the performance w erable interest tapped him on der, <a "Young man,'~he said, ing for work?" : "Am I?" avas the res been, tranyping over this week, hunting for a job." "What can you do?" "Tm a sort of jack of a ean carpenter a litthe, run an- repair bicycles and--" ae "Can you take care of hor: "Can J?" said the young face lighting up. "I was farm." : "Well, come along with me. a coachman, and ['m not afri my thoroughbreds with you "are given you. Will you work f thirty dollars a month and bo. you find something betler?' Would he? Well! Sen The young man is now his" aged) employer's trusted mai work, with a wage to correspo the pigeons have never had a¢ retract their recommendation. b 1d pee SS day must surely be an almost occurrence, says the Westmi zette. The names and ages: veterans are: Mrs. Margarel 104, Samuel Goldstein, 106; icnor Coleman, who died fi fests of a fall at the reputed: 107 years, thus recalling the: fate of the famous Catherine, «f Desmond, whose life of was brought to a tragic close b from a cherry tree. There are some who look \ (han suspicion on any age whi to excecd a century, and pro. tiles of many repuled centen especially in the humbler w would net bear close exami But the records prove cone that Sir Meses Monteflore and Provo Wallis lived" into. their century; that M. Conerbe, a farmer, survived his 112 that M. Soule, another ~ cied at 115; that a. Ruma Paseal Vicarn, lived 120 -years an Armerian nun entered a Jerusalem at 17 and never threshold' to the day of ninety-eight years. later. WE WILL GET Even! FOR PHOTOGRAPHY PUPPOSE WELL HAVE | To HUMOR EM VE WANT TO TAKE YOUR PICTURES "She stooped down to kiss ; '% E .