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

Hearse. qttly attended to. iciploo. “In! }4t It does " for it. It stnstaD kt mum our“. rth eer'urr. Wilt 1stresq an. sitte Ameri- Discovery -ij'i"ie'il"'i'i of Bash, L6 differ- sheeting. at all orders .w prepared W': , ty Cheap“ ure 53:37 the 01-333 award amulet J healed. Ind!- impovu’uhed t on on their mt of the no“. bear testtmonr 1mm”! III. all medtetgteq. " wrest the orir"n .9rutttt Amrnfq'l -, aod init mauve pow ". l from which tee ,iv.. their .upp:.1r '-.xtte his Old and tory. the ITCUBU always r'"i"'rGuit. SS ed of “as. C we [,9me the ski]! " ms. been". hm. - to -v me. Peor, a vendor“ va- not MOI mo the - M CHAPTER 20r--Coettinttod. The dark eyes seemed to pierce him through and through. so intense and burning was their scrutiny. A strong- -ot nervod man than was our friend Al- bert might hare “inched a little un- der mach an examination. Ho heal- ond I little. “Every soul was killed-not one unwind!” he cried with asort of tantalum. "You saw yourself the reports in the papers-the butchery was whouaater--no one could be identi- tua You will excuse me, sir, but the recollection of that ghastly scene of mutilated and uareeognisubie hu- man forms always upsets me to this very dar-it was horrible! But y-su know that I did what I ecnald-.that I searchxl in vain for the pocket-book amongst the debris of the train, and that 1 did succeed in recovering one packet, at least, of valuable bonds, and that I then hurried straight back to England to tell you what had taken place. You do not, surely, doubt my Itory now, after all these years, Mr. Dane t" The great man had removed hiseyes, mbubly out of a sentiment of pity, m the (ace of his clerk. He smiled slightly at the distress in his last words. 7 _ "No, I do not doubt you at all, Tri- ohet." he said. not unkindly. "Be "trr-d trust you, and I am grateful to you. tho proof of it being that I am about to trust you again ;" then, with I sudden, will glance at him, "You are quite certain then that Leon de Brotour is dead t" "Absolutely certain." "Ah, then, I am not. at all. I be- lieve him to be alive!" "Sir I" Mr. Dane pressed a call-bell upon his table, and the errand boy enteratj. .. "Tell Mr. Triehet what you did this morning, Tom." "I followed a lady as you bid me, .ir--ntus didn't take a cab, but walked on into Cheapsidc, and down till she got into the Strand, and there she went into a. booksellers shop, and 'stopped a long time." "Did she bring out any paer P' "No, but she brught something, be- cause I saw her through the window." "That will do, Tum, you may go,' and the boy left. . . . "Now, Trichest, yuu will go to that shop. and you will find out where that parcel has been sent-do you under- stand? That lady was Madame de Breiour--it her husband isalive still, she will occasionally see him--if he is dead, [shall be glad to know it for certain. I need say no more to you. you must be quite aware of what 1 want to know. Death is not always able to balk the ends of Justice with such beautiful facility as it is some- times supposed. hour business is very plain and simple, for the present. Find Madame de Brclour." A smart suburban villa, with a square garden at the back. There are hundreds of thousands of them with- in thirty miles of London. The villa is qubhui, red-bricked, and pretentious, smiling at the road over a narrow at rip of neatly muwn turf, across a low iron railing, like a vulgar country- town beauty anxious to show off her charms. Close muslin draperies have been lately arranged before all the windows, but that does not alter the ineradicuble partness of striped red and whites sun blinds, nor the smug self-assertion of the French window Gmes, and the trratstramockered front door. There are a whole row olthese villas down Longway Road, as like one another as peas in a pod. And yet, in one respect, this particular villa differs widely trogLits fellows. Every ono’of niirm possesses at tram” small garden, empty of beauty, bare of trees enclosed by a low modern wall planted with a fringe ot evergreens. But the garden behind No. 10 is of a totally different character. To begin with, it is four times the size of any ot the others, it is surrounded by a very high brick wall, it is well shaded by g","-"" oh, best charm of all, it he o d What a magic In the very words! An old garden! Trim flower borders, wherein the columbinea and lavender, the blue lupus and the yellow snap dragon of our grandmorhers' days, bloom year after rear in a fragrant and luxuriant wilderness - shaded shrubbery paths, moss-grown beneath the feet of a dead generation. A mul- berry tree, old and crippled, resting us gnarled limbs upon artificial props, him an aged pensioner on crutches, and in the centre ot the grass plot a broken Sundial, overgrown with gold and brown lichens. and little soft vel- vet-like tufts. green as my lady's fur- lhingule, as she learn against it, when she and it Were young. a hundred years ago. . . .. . What breath, from a higher realm than had over yet inspired his low- born nature. prompted the excellent man who built Lnngway Villas, to spare that old garden, and to adapt it to the needs of No. lo, rather than to tollow the inatiucts of his (ace, and to, "mp its tender beauties, for ever, off the {ace of the earth! Was it, per- otranee. some mommy, far and taint, ot his mother's cottage amongst the green Kentish ltutes,'-or some vague. nyerant homage for a dead girl, who was laid, years ago, in a flower-encir- clad grave, in tho home of his youth? Impossible to say! And yet there are claims of pct-try. sometimes. in the coarsest otul--green spots upon the most barren soil. Be tttis as it may, the old garden was spared The house that had stood within it was pulled down; and, perhaps, as it was rat-eat- cn and no longer weather-tight. one must take no umbrago at our friend, the builder, tor onurnying It. Then the green acres on either side - once known as "The Ptddceks,"-wers laid out into trim and oven-sized building plots. Tho villas arose simultaneously trom the bacon: 9f, the earth! am} 159. to with them, with on additional E12 los per annum tacked on to its rent, In consideration of the high-walled gar- den to which it was annexed. One peeuliaritr yet remains to, be mentioned. At the further ond, perch-d on the top of the wsll. in I wall. round 'summer-houses, like a dove-trot-to which a flight of rusty tron steps spirally ascends from tho CHAPTER x III path below. The railings are hidden trom sight. beneath a wealth of honey- suckle and ivy; and when you have climbed up them, you find yourself. In 3 little round chamber, from which, through a gap between the unlovely becksof tall, modern houses, just one straight slice was to be seen of the shining, moving waters of the Thames, " they flowed, ever silently, onwards, London-wards, and Sea-wards. Such a slice. it was, too! Greenest beauty trom bank to bank. A tangle of wild flowers, for in foreground, along .the edge of the towinir-"patb--purplt spikes of Icoms-atrife, great yellow tufts of ragwort, star-like ox-eyed daisies, and long. waving grasses. of countless form and number. Then that strip of we.- ttt--eool, and ever-moving-sometimes silvery grey as the winter skies, some- times green as the summer woods-but always and ever flowing on, with the ever-varying human burden upon its tide. ’lhun the further bank, wooded to the watssr's edge, with the great climbing woods, up the steep hill-side --sueh woods as only the banks of the Thames can show. Even so small a section of so lovely a thing, as was to he s-en from the little round turret on the. top of the old garden-wall, was a possession of priceless value to the dwvllwrs of No. 10. Hars- it was that, in that same sum- mor in which Angel and Dulcie Hal- liday were tasting the sweets of Lon.. don life to the full, 8. very beautiful woman was in the habit of sitting, hour after hour. during the long, hot July darts. T2LLN -"'"'* my... She would sit just within the little summer-house door, on a low basket- chair, with her face to the river. Sume- limes her eyes wouldfasten upon the book on her knee, and she would be so absolutely motionless that, but for the occasional flutter of the page as she turned it over, she might have been some bauutiful old-world picture, tram.. ed into Ih-- open arch of the summer- house door. At such times the birds would come, fluttering fearlessly about her, perch upon the buck of her chair, or even the iolds of her dress ; or feast, with happy confidence, tUral the lush honeysuckle berries, within a few inches of her shoulder. Tiny spiders, too, would weave their threads backwards and for- wards about her, using the brim of her hat, or the lace upon her sunshade, as objects for thnir architectural designs; whilst a. bright-winged butterfly would now and again poise his crimson and yellow wings almost upon her neck; or, a sleepy-voiced humble-bee, boom stum- blingly by, knocking himself clumsily against the knot of her bronze hair, as it gleamed in his path, in the flick- ering light. . I” But she was not always so still. Often the book failed to enthral her; often other thoughts--against which she vainly struggled-came betwixt her soul and the. once dearly loved pages of her Montaigne, or her Bacon; and her eyes, half impatient at herself, half weary with the eternal struggle, would wander restlessly away to that glimpse of the great world, upon the bosom ot the river, a couple of hun- dred yards away. Here she JI?; watch the gay boat-loads of men and maidens flush suddenly into the picture, and ttrat as suddenly van- ish out of it. Between one ugly straight wall and the other the revel- ation trame-the tiny prow would shoot swiftly into sight, then the whole boat and its occupants - three or four strokes of the flashing oars, then all would be over, and tha boat have van- ished away from her sight for ever. Sometimes it would be a steam-launch, puffing itself, noisily, into the panor- ama, with gay striped awnings, and a crowd of noisy, happy people on board. ,Sometimes a couple of lovers, floating slowly down stream. Sometimes a tiny outrigger shot swiftly through, with one silent man pulling long, 'swinging strokes, that carried him :out of her picture witha lightning-lily, lrttpidity. And sometimes, again. it lWOuld be a vision of another sort; la rough barge, dirty, and smoke-be- /iiriiii'i'i',' slowly and laboriously drag- ged along by the man on the towing- Cf.iii)i-',-i.iir'll'e,s,i"i' a pale, hungry-looking woman, clasping a crying infant on her shoulder, stood, looking wistfully out at the cabin-door, with a couple of 'iriagged urchins tumbling about at her l She could see the faces, too, as they passed by; hear their laughter, catch 1 the ring of their voices-the, confused g babel of their merry cries. Often there ‘would be singing; the twang of the guitar, or the jingle of silver bells; but they none of them glanced her way, or caught a sight of the sad-eyed woman '--with her beautiful, sorrowful face-- who watched them from her lonv-ly look-out on the old garden wall. She did not spend her whole exist- ence in these sad musings Often she plced the old walks below, backwards ond forwards, with the small white _ terrier following close at her skirts-- ‘or. chem-r still, rhr aat within, by the crippled old man's chiir, in the smart. villu drawing-room-that she had soft- _ ened and subtlund, in a measure, to her own quiet coloring, with her shelves full of books, and her draperies of sob.. er hue. teeV. "It is like life!" Rose de Brefuur would say to herself; and on those days when the river's endless story fascinated her, her book always failed to claim her mind to its pages. The old man had stood the move badly. He was more feeble since the journey up from the Hidden House-- nuw two months ago. With a pang, >110 owned to herself, that he had new. er rallied from it. He was more silent than before; less inclined to gentle rallyings of his beautiful daughter-in- Law-more given to prayer, and to fre- quent interviews with the Priest, who came LU see him. A terrible self-reproach would come Upon her, at times, when she realized all this. He was 0.11 she had to live for she would eai to herself, in bitter- ness. Her one duty, her one trust- and in that trust, perhaps, been un- faithful. . . "1 will never move him agein!" she would say to her heart. " will no live that it need never be gone through again. I will watch my every aetiory-- a; that the danger Inky never. arty? attain-and I will never leave him till he dies. never for one huur." Bo she parted with her little brour ham, and her ttor-us n sell-indulg- ence unworthy of the life at tstiorifioet She had laid down for herself-oo that she could devote herself more entirely to the old men. “I haves" [lain my books!" she told person; "they should be sufficient Hr me." Other occupations, too, had been edd- ed to her simple and uneventful lite. She was now within reach of London ~and often, deeply veiled, she would go up by train, and spend a few hours in adding to her store of beloved vol- .umes. Some rare old edition, or some Improved new one, advertised in the papers, would catch her eye, and she would go up to an old book shop well known to her in the Strand, and pur- chase the treasure, bringing it home with her, herself, so that she need leave no address behind her. And once or twice, whilst there, she had or- dered some pleasant old standard work which she loved, and knew well, to be sent to a direction in London, which was still written faintly, in pencil, up- on, her ivory tablets. _ _ It was on one of these occasional visits to London that, instigated there- to by the prayers and entreaties of the old man, she had presented herself at the offices of Dane and Trichet; and, yending in her card, had requested an interview with the head of the firm.. It was not without éréat reluctance (In! she had consented to humor her father-in-law in this. "Ah, mon Dieu, it is so many your: ago! He cannot be made of stone, this man! Surely he will have forgiven and forgotten, and then the truth might be known, and this terror of discovery be removed from us." She shook her head sadly. "I know him better," she said, "he will never torgive either the living or the dead. No good will come of it.') "’lhere will Ll dunéer in it; I might bemuy myself, and there is nothing to btglituui 'yr_it,," sh: had urged. But she went-, all tho same. just to sagst him., - - - _ _ - . . had No ood did come of it. Oply. . she kgown it, the seeds of unmixed evil to come. For, a week later, she was attracted once more up to the old bookseller's in the. Strand, by one of those tempting little notices thut used to prove so ir- resistible to bar: "A bargain.-Rare and unique copy of Montesquieu's works, very little damaged, in the Ot igiml French, earliest edition known. No reasonable offer refused." So ran the notice in the. Book Lovers' Gazette. And Rose de Brefour found brr way that very afternoon to the friendly bookseller in tbs Strand, with whom she had had many dealings already: "You must make an utter for that for me, Mr. Poynlz," she said, holding out the paper to him. "What will it go for, do you suppose ?" . He was a grey, bent. old man, who must have spent his life in poring over the volumes in his long, low-ceilinged shop, so intimate was his knowledge, of them all. He was quite used to the sight of the. beautiful woman who was so fond of musty old books; he used to any to his wife, who was a dull, com- monplace old lady enough, that she made a radiance in the place when she came in, with her beauty and her sweetness. Mr. Poyntz would have smiled at her from sheer pleasure at the sight of her, only that he was a prim old man who seldom gave way to his feelings, and that, as he would have put it, he knew his place too well to unbend to his customers. So he only gravely put up his double glasses at the paper she held out to him, and shrugged his shoulders. " '"l here's no demand for that cluss of literature now, ma’aml it will go for a mere song. It is in bad condition, too. I have bean to see it. 1 half ex- pected," he atidsd, with something like a sly smile by asring at the corners of his thin lips, what you would be coming up about 'rg, Can I send it to you 'l" "No; I will call again next week for it." And just at that very minute a young man sauntered into the low doorway, and stood by the counter turning over the books that lay in dusty piles upon it, with an aimless air of not exactly knowing what he wanted. . Rose was just taking her leave; she glanced carelessly at the man who had Just entered, she could not see his face, but it seemed to her that he turned his back to her with a somewhat cur- ious persistency. Sho had no desire to look at him, she only noticed him because he studiously avoided looking at her. As Mr. Poyntz followed her up to the door, he added: I up 'V mu w-.. ...- _.__c__ "By the way, ma'am, that copy of Congreve you wishsd me to have bound in calf will come back to-night. Am I to send it I" "Please, Mr. Poyntz." "To the address you saw me the oth- er day, I suppose? G. Dane, Emu Ave- nue Chambers." She nodded assent, and was gone. The young man by the counter turn- ed round sharply. "That, lady's name is de Brefour, isn't it?" Mr. Poyuiit gave a shrewd look at lhu questioner from under his grey brows; with a little wrinkle of enquiry at the bridge of his nose, as of one who would say, "And pray what busi- ness is it of yours, young man r" He did not, on principle, like customers who asked naestiurrs about each other. He rubbed his hands softly on: over the other, and bowed. ' , "Did you wish to speak to the lady, sir t" "Oh, no," with a slight embarrass- ment that was not lost upon the book- seller. “1 only thnught l knr-w her. Her name is de Bretoav, is it not t" Mr. Poynta could not deny it. He quickly changed the subject by enquir- ing what he could do for the gentle- man. The gentleman mentioned a book, a new and extremely frivolous volume of social sketches lately pub- lished. Mr. Poyntz mentally became as buckram. Such works were not in his line of business, he replied, and there was an unmitigated contempt in his mind for the rash youth who had ventured to mention the book in ques- tion within the sacred and ansteroly learned precincts of his shop. "Ah, I forgot! Noth.i.ntryTftr.f, of “a...“ yummy“, .,. -t ,_-,, "Ah, I forgot! Nothing modern, of course, you only smell of musuneu. hero l" replied his visitor, with careles- insolence as he took up his 'silver- mounted cane (mm the counter. Mr. Poyntz literally shook with rage. It is an odour, lat me tell you. air. that is not unpleuing to grant stu- dents and learned men UI over ths world," he replied with heat. . 3:15;, "iiuirivi- ”his gentle-an hi: "on. I "0h, Indeed] mam. do Breton! likes the mall, I suppose! And Mr. Geoffrey Dane! Does he like it, toot Ah! love lurks under strange bindings otyftoeilt.l' ltytttrhesd, and tilted his hat down our "Mr. Geottrey Dane ls not.n tattgtoggb, er of mine sir.” replied the old man angrily. "i do not even know him, save by name. But so I do not care for your remarks, young man. I'll trouble you to walk out of my shop." "All right, I'm off. Tate. old cock." In the whole course of a. long and honourable career, Mr. Poyntz had never been called "r 1d cook" beforel He gasped and fell back with closed eyes, clutching at the back of a chair. For a few muments it seemed as though he was about to have an upo- plectic seizure, so fearful was the effect upon him of those terrible words. As to Albert Trichet, he went down the street, twirling his stick round and round in a state of uncon- trollable eratasr. He drew long breaths of delight, he laughed for ht "My eye! Whit a piece of news for the Governor!" he cried to himself in his glee. "That's his little game is it! What a kettle of fish! I think I've got you now, my young friedd. and your little hash will soon be settled. Oh law! what a rage the Gov' will be in! I wouldn't be in. yuur shoes. friend Geoffrey, tor a good bit. Sends him books, does she? This is real jam, and no mistake! What a precious young fool! Now's my time and if I don't make something out of this my name’s not Albert Trichell" And he snapped his fingers so merrily, and tripped along with so gay and jaunty a stop, to the tune of sut'h little guffaws of laughter and delight, tbat more than one passer- by turned in amazement to look after him, muttering, "mud, or drunk!" as they went by. _ - Madame de Brefour had forgotten him. She went luck to Longway Road, a little frestened up and strong- thrned for her lonely life, by her short visit to the shadowy old shop, with its low ceiling, und with that musty (dour of arwirayt ttalt-bindings, wh'eh Allert Trit'het had derided, and which is as dear to every true book lover as is thn fragrance of myrtle and orange-blos- soms to a maiden-and no disturbing mommies of the strange young man by Mr. Poyntz's hook-stun: who had not. looked up at her an she went by, troubled her peace, as she ministered as usual to her father-in-law. chatted to old Martine, gave a few directions concerning her garden to JncnueS, and thm to 'k her way. “in: Mnntzvigna a; a companion, to the little summin- house on the top of the wall. (To be continued.) The motives tor which women marry are as numerous as the sands of the Bea, or-tttg the women. Our easy a3- sumption is that each one of every en- trrtret1 couple is "in love" with the "other one." That is, the parties are drawn together by some mysterious psyt-hic attraction, more or less strong, In truth, this inner personal attrac- tion is not always present, either in bo:h parties to an engagement or even with one of the pair. Accident, pro- pinquity, trifling circumstances. social or family pressure, some slight airy nothing decides the question between marriage or no marriage for the wo- man coslight, that it is as if women were always waiting on the brink of this new experience, and a very light touch caused them to fail into, or wan- der into, or drift into it, according to their several temperaments. It is evident that, as Nature expects woman to marry, when the time comes she provides the way. It is the next step in the woman's life, and with the hour the opportunity comes to take it. The curious point is the final deter- mining motive in each case. Noting the number and variety of these, one is tempted to comment that a woman's mo'ive for marriage is generally too high or too low; the desire to secure a living; the wish to escape from un- comfortable surroundings; the wish for money to spend, for ease, position, fine clothes. or Jewels, to secure lei- sure or travel; the fear of being an "old maid"; to secure the liberty ofa married woman; desperation or sheer indifference; a weak yielding to a man's will, as expressed in his persist- ency; surprise; the fear of losing a friend or of making enemies; ayield- ing to the wishes or expectations of family or friends; pure recklessness. or u reaction from disappointed hopes in o'her directions; often. alas! because the woman is fitted for nothing else, and must take "hatever chance o.frti',' oftvn. alas and alas! because she does not know how " to make a living any o:her way." _ A little higher, and the motive rises out of self. The woman feels that she should take th- burden of her sup- port from those who are unable or un- willing to hear it, or she. wishes for means to help those who have befriend- ed her, wh ther parents or friends; she may feel a wish to help the man, make him more comfortable., or his life hap- pier, or himself better. She may teel ability to do good still greater to others in the offered position. Mar- riage, may mean care, responsibility. selt-saeritioe, or self-denial, yet she may take all those as a duty and a means to the performance of some large deed. But while these motives are more worthy of respect than the that class. they are just as foolish and just _ misleoding. . But from all these motives women marry, and when one considers how little of any human or reasonable or sensible thought pager; into any of tian, one is s'urprised that there' are not more shipwrecked women in tho world then (here are. Ah, funeral, I an, aid the tourist. Yuan usentod Bubbernook Bint, IN- un Ito. Br-umm. we; won't than some- thing peculhr about hi. (lath! w. m It hung-seas mg later Wol. you. It happened I light Inter than my on. who had knoworl him thought it would, A CURIOSITY IN MOTVES. PECULIAR. Every other profusion pays large ro- - to intellectual power and develop- ment. Have they secret.- more pro- {tound to who than wet Have they i problems more dittimtlt to comprehend? [No. The farmer stands daily in the [presence of God's laws, the most pro- ‘tound the moat subtle ot all laws to {interpret Onthe outside he is met,at in” points, with the most thoroughly ”rained intellectual forces of the day, "ll seeking, naturally enough, their lown advantage and advancement. Ile tshrinkn from such contentions, for he irealize his lack of intellectual tram- ', ing. He submits to unjust laws, and Esystems of taxation. He secs personal ;property largely exempt, and landed property grievously burdened, yet he knows that the true basis of all taxa- tion In the dollar':: worth of property, "without regard to its character. For his own success in his busim-ss, he must be better educated as R farmer, (tor his own protection usacitizvn, he must stu.dy.harder.' and look deeper in- i to his relations with his fellowmen in i this great social and political compact. THD MODERN PARKER. We have muting more to live for than I living. We have large duties to pattern to the nation, the state and the community. Our standing mung nun in an true measure of the rights and privilecel that will beaoeorded to us in law, or social relations, writes W. D. Board. "We have ourselves, not our stun to blame if we are under- ATPETIZING RAT10NS FOR COWS A variety in the ration makes the' feeds more palatable, inducing the cow to eat a greater quantity and yield more milk. Whatever makes the feed taste better or makes it more enjoy- able to the cow increases its value for‘ milk production. Early cut hay is best; for the dairy cow, not only because it contains more protein than that cut late, but because its aroma and flavor make it more palatable to the cow. The appetizing effect from the early cut- ting and careful curing of all forage crops increases their feed value for milk production. Freshly harvested and freshly ground grain are the most pal- atable to the dairy cow and will give best results. Dairymon who grind feed should grind often, as grain that has lost its freshness is not the best 1 relished by the cow. Often the dairymun has a large quantity of course. rather unpalatable. rough (adders, such as corn fodder and overripe or slightly damaged hay, which he must feed, and has only a limited quantity of choice roughness to feed with it. In thin case, best re- sults can be secured by giving the poor- er roughage an the last feed at night, to be eaten at the am": pleasure dur- ing the night, or else put in racks in the yard for midday meals. Palatable feed in the morning given acontented cow through the day, and this con- tentment brings more milk. -. When several kinds of feed are given it is usual to throw them together in- to the manger and let the cow eat at will. This method does not secure the highest milk yield. You do not want your map and pie served together on the name plate, and uetther does the cow like this method of serving her food. If all the teedstufte tor a meal are thrown together, the moat palat- able are eaten firm. in separating and eating theee. the others are " mussed" over and when the cow comes to eat them. they do not tulle good and she will not eat enough to produce the greatest milk yield. We like to feed our most palatable roughness and give thin just before the milkers go to their meal. When the milkere come back from eating, the cows have finished their first feed and the less palatable roughness can then be given them. It will not then have been elobbered on. and will be better relished and more of it eaten. Thin method of feeding regutree time and care. but_it pays. "s".'"'""- --â€"â€"-v -eF" - 777. - - It the town are given their rough' feeds in racks out of doors, it will pay to put feed in that: rat-ks often. so that: the feed will he clean and appetizing. Mangers. feed troughs and rat-ks should he kept clean and fresh from old, lulled feed, both as amatter of health and bet-nun the food in nclegn manger smells and tastes better. The dairymarO rule should be to harvest feed in it. most palatable form and give it to the cow. in the moat ap- petizing manner. BRUSSELS SPROUTS AND KOHL- RAW. Among other good thing- of the earth which should be, but are not. in every farmer‘l garden ore Kohl- rabi and Brussels sprouts. The one lhould precede and the other follow cauliflower and broccoli, Kohl-ram. if rightly managed. will fill the gap be- tween early and medium peas. write: G. A. WooUon. An they are a quick-growing crop s constant succession may be had throughout the season. The bulbs are ready for use when about the size of e (air-nixed onion. 0n the contrary an entire season is needed in this latitude to perfect Brunei- sprouts. This vega- table trom en English point of View in the elite of the csbbage tribe. Few plant; where more rigidly to the tsalendar; the heads, which are ”nothing under 1 golf ball in nu, no - may for use before Novem- ber. To be up to tint date the need Inuit be planted only in my. I rend somewhere that Juno '1: only enough for paving the load. oonuquomly when ONTARIG ARCH TORONTO t1qst-tts.tinerowese.tqeit' my garden. before the bhuard od Nov. M, they were pretty lunch all Ian-eel and no grout. Only one meager (leaning had whetted our emits tog thin really delicioua veceatable; but we have great orpeestatiot" when the January thaw overtakal ua. For hardi- nene they excel all other known Vege- tablen, keeping through the winter in outboueee. where everything else would be ruined. A. a market crop they are Bold, by the quart. The slow-crowing populerity of we" able. out of the ordinary line in due. I think, oomewhnt to the ouppooed dip. ticulty of growth, but more largely to the [not that horticulture and vege- table cookery do not, no they should. go hand in hand. There are a dozen fine meat and paltry cooks to one who can do juhtice to the wealth of the garden Kohl-rabi, for instance. has the con- listency of a turnip. with the flavor of a cauliflower. but in a poor eubnti- tute for a good turnip, if cooked like one. Specific direction. for both vege- table. are as foiluwsf Kolratri--Pare, ulice thin. boil in salted water until tender, aboutmmin- utu. serve with cream sauce. Kohl. rabn may alma be used an and. with m1ronnaye dressing. Brunch: Sprout-Peet off the outer coating of leaves, soak for a time In .1]le water, boil tender and urn with drawn butter. It is a curious fact that the dil- ngreeable odor arising from the boil- ing of thin clan of vegetables increum in intensity from the mal-odoroua cab- bage. to the Enpliatunoshg ideal. reach- ing the lublime in the Brussels aprout. the most delicately flavored of all. Much of this feature may be obviated by the use of a small oil stove on the piazza or anywhere where it can he ncreened from the wind. A good steam- er may .tllo be used to advantage. THOROUGH TILLAGE. Farm property is coming to be re- garded " the least. desirable rims of property. Sons cannot even afford lo inherit the property of their fathers, and pursue the same nt'lhodu. Never- theless. there are great possibilities in the future, and it only requires a prop- er study of the condition. There is still an abundance otplant bod in the soil. and what is wanted isthe adoption and pursuit of such methods as will make this food available for plant growth. Proper tillage is the. first thing essential; and in the. first plsos the matter of the selection of imple- ments is to be Considered. and this is too often and too greatly neglected. ‘In the hen of plows. lining the soil is of far more importance than lightness of draft. desirable as the lat- ter might be. So long es there sro ample elements ot fertility in the soil itselt it is better to take the proper means to liberate and make the sums available then to expend money in the purchase of fertilizers. It is tor this purpose that the cultivation and thor- ough pulverizution of the soil is neces- sary. rather than the mere keeping down ot weeds. Weeds are a blessing in disguise. " their appearance ren- ders more buttivetion necessary for their destruction, and that vary culti- vstion. by ltosening the elements of fertility. adds to the lt‘ulttulness of the soil and the growth at the cron- Tot Inch Meat I.“ to to Don-lull] luv-hi. In England four and a half 1 imam In many people die now from cancer as halt a manly "Ro, and no other dil- oase can show anything like such an Another object of tillage fully as important as the liberation of plant food, is the conservatlon of moisture, Drought is preferable. to excessive rainfall since the farmer, by the right process of lillagv, can control or overcome the former, while the latter is beyond control. A thorough loom-n- ing of the surface soil prevents the evaporation of the water in the " noit in very largo- degree, even in the periods of protracted drought. The condition ot the soil may be greatly improved by reincorpomttng the vegetable prmeiple, or nitrogen. Every acre of var comparatively ex- haustt-d New England soil could by proper treatment. without the purchase of fertilizers, be made to produce mar. than it has ever done in the put. immense 'av'retrse, W. Roger Wiuiarns says in the Lantwt. “Probably no single factor in move putt-III in deter- mining the outbreak of cancer in the predisposed than high feeding. 'i'ht-ro can be no doubt tint the greed for food manifested by m dern rummunittes " altogether out of proportion to their present requirements. Many indica- tions point to the gtutlonous consump- tion of moat. which is such a charco- tasristir. feature of Ibis "k", " likrly to be esprcially harmful in this respect. Statistics show that the CLnbumputtl of melt hu for many yen-s been in. cmsina by leaps and bounds, till it new has reached the amazing total of 181 pounds pet head pa 'eat, which in non than double what it was half e century ago. when tho conditions of life were more compatible with high (eeding. Wh n excessive quantities ot such highly stimulating forms of nut- rirnem are ingested by porrwns when cellular metabolism in defective, it eeems probable than there may time be excited in thoee pert: of the body when vital prooeeeee ere still active such exoeuive and disorderly cellular prolitgretiun- u Inn] eventuele in cen- car. No doubt other [actors tro-operate, and among lblol should be especially inclined to name detitsient exercise and probably also deficiency in fresh - table food." AN AWFUL rum. - Bu-what mata- you think be [out In. no _tuastraterrf . _.. . .. """irGiiiiiTaCGGourawt that“ no always loch planned. for sum when you ling Ind play. INCREASE " CANCER. , il , ,g l .