Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 1, 1898, Page 6

EL er _ sa a mR ha sae! C®@ J tAu . . CG. | a a: @ a a a | CHAPTER X—(Continued.) She inclined her head in ent, fear- ing to speak and avoiding his gaze. Holding her close, he bent to her; but, though she rested passively in his ‘lasp, some strange shadow seemed to » between them, and, in faw he : face wearing the expression If-sti- te her. With a hal I $ fled exclamation, he put her from ‘him. “I can't kiss you, Judith,” he sai a subdued tone. “Dearly 1 love you, 1 won't kis ce. You don't am not in the humor since promised to n I any longer, but to-mor- row I shall come and ask you when we ye!’—and, range agita- you until you are my but L liy love me; nging her 1 tion, he quitted the room. Judith remained staring blankly at the carpet until Claude came into the n, when she said," with an gaiety: = Well, Claude, I'm engaged to Cap- tain Herbert!” “You are ment. * he ejaculated, in amaze- am. Your astonishment is not 'y flattering, sir. Don’t tell Elsie, I want to break the news myself.” ” he returned, brigh te you, Judy, and w you every happines And Judith felt hi and his affectionate r asation for he I fear I shall we: wel- come, Mrs. Townshend; but your hus- and is dining at our mess to-night, and, as I told him I wanted to see Ju- rmission to come e you cognizant of his where- Where is Judith—not out, I h evident relief urd to be a fair pected arrival with a » of welcome, suddenly be- y grave. do you want with irs in her own room then?” he . “Yesterday ‘y me—that is she told you, ed, with! cool brev Judith promised to m: svhy I want to see he! “Judith did wha she demanded, ing Captain Herbert was joking. “I suppose she proposed to you her- self, then. You should have reminded her that it is not leap-year.” s. Townshend, 1 pro- the second time.” his veice and fa in earn sp, she turned very He The elation in proved to her that he and, with a little gi but, before he could make up hi tind whether she had fainted or was only momentarily overcome, she raised herself and opened her eyes. ou did not mean that?” she s: piteously. “Oh, how can I bear if it is true, what have all your p testations of love for me been wort I have never made any, he retorted, flus f I have been be- 1, and am more sorry I was half- med to come here to-night and ace you, but, of course, you were only amusing yourself with me. I wish Ju- dith had tol ou.” “T dare ou do,” said Elsie, with a hard smil “but, unfortunately, Ju- dith has not been able to tell me any- thing.” at is the matter with her?” he asked, anxiously. Mrs. Townsend laughed maliciously. “She has been ¢ ng her eyes out. No doubt the knowledge of your love and of her engagement to you has giv- en her a great deal of happiness.” His face darkened with suppressed fury. “You don’t believe what I tell you?’ Mrs. Townshend continued. “We will send for her, and you shall see for that is, if she will come red the servant to inform Miss Hattield that Captain Herbert wished to see her. They waited in silence for the result, Els in jealous torment, Herbert a yrey to renewed snspicion. The servant returned with a note, which he handed io the captain, who read as follows: “Dear Captain Herbert:—I should have liked to see you, but am suffering severely from a headache. Will you excuse me to-night? To-morrow I hope to be better. “Yours, —Judith.” “Dear Captain Herbert” annoyed him, while at “Yours, Judith,” he was delighted. He smiled, and, in a trans- port of pleasure, had almost raised the little note to his lips, when Elsie spoke. “She is not coming? Of course not— she would s ely like you to see her reddened e} s. She won’t run the risk of putting you out of conceit with her, for you are too good a catch!” Lie frowned, and seemed disposed to take her insinuation seriously; but, as the little note still lay in his hand with “Yours, Judith” staring him in the face, he only smiled—rather uneasily; but his tone maddened Elsie as he said: “You can’t make me believe that she is mercenary—besides, she did not know of my improved circumstances until last evening.” “Before or after she consented to marry you?” asked Elsie, with a sneer- dng laugh. “What does it matter, if I believe in her?’ he demanded; but he remem- bered that she knew before he joined her in the window embrasure; and Elsie, guessing at the growing suspi- cion in his mind, laughed again, her cheeks growing hotter, her manner more excited. “Well.” remarked the captain, with a forced smile, for he felt thoroughly annoyed at the remark, “I stand no chance of seeing her to-night, so I may .as well go. Your husband told me he bould not be late.” . He looked at her beautiful, “Indeed!” ske ejaculated. “Did he also tell you that she had confided in him? Flattering to me, is it not, that she—my sister—should fly to my hus- band with her tender confidences? I know now why he has been so moody all day—I could not account for it be- fore! Though he preferred to marr me, he has been proud of the fact t Judith remained single for his sak You must have courage to ma her. Is it likely, do you think, that you can teach her to forget him when it not been sufficient for her that he ii maried man?” With an imprecation, he tore the note into a dozen pieces and flung them form him. “You are twin-devils!” he exclaimed —“she for deceiving me, you for open- ing my eyes! Don’t detain me, wo- man”—as Elsie laid a trembling hand upon his arm—“let me go; and I pray Heaven I man never set eyes on your faces again!” “Don’t, Fred—don’t!” she cried, pite- ously. “What is to become of me if 1 don’t see you again?” eager face, wavered, and finally, in his new passion and desire for revenge, said, significantly: “What is to become of you? If you chose to take the risk of trusting a man who does not love you, answer the question for yourself.” * * ws * * * No sooner had Judith sent away “isie’s maid with the note to her lover than she repented and wished she had answered the message in person. When Judith came to such conclu- sions she generally acted upon them; so now,,though her head was i she twisted up her unbound slipped on the muslin gown she had taken off half an hour before, and went down stairs. She expected to find Blsie and the captain in the drawing room, where she had left the former after dinn but they were not there. Ag she hi tated she heard the murmur of her lover's voice outside one of the open drawing room windows, and moved forward to join them. It was dusk but she saw them plainly enough a she walked forward, her footfall mak- ing no sound on the thick carpet. Captain Herber twas leaning against the balcony, while Elsie was standing beside him, looking up into his $ ne listened intently to what he ying. Judith was close to the win- dow before she inctly heard the murmured words; but their purport was unmistakable, “It was silly of you to take it like that—to faint at a truth you might have understood for youself if you had had any thought. What but love ould make me wish to marry your sister? I prefer that you should know the truth. You may call the step you are about to take what you please; but it is a disgrace—which will be visited upon you, though, of course, I shall have to resign my commission. You understand the entire risk you are run- ning? You give up home, wealth, hus- band, child and honor for a man who does not love you, who will have only eight hundred a year, and who may uot be able even to give you his name.” “Why not?” “Because, if your husband is vind ive, he may decline to free you of h Elsie laughed harshly, as she said: “I don’t fear that. If he does not care to do it for himself, Judith will persuade him, imagining that she could marry him then. But he could not, could he? Can’t you imagine the scene between them when they know we are gone—Claude in a fit and Ju- dith weeping over his sorrows?” “Don’t!” he ejaculated. “I shall get to hate you if you remind me too much of her love for another man!” “I forgot,” returned Elsie, sulkily; “and you forget that only in what she suffers on his account will you be avenged for her deception. But tell me how I had better leave Northwold, and where I am to wait, then I think you had better go.” Faint and cold with horror, Judith turned and noiselessly quitted the room. She knew now the cause of her lover's anger and coldness. Elsie had been poisoning his mind; and, seeing that she was so persistent in endeay- oring to spoil her own life, and that Captain Herbert was so ready to be- lieve ill of the woman he professed to love and esteem, Judith thought they should go their own evil way. But, a moment after, she repented, remembering what it meant—ruin to three lives and reputations, besides robbing a young child of his mother— and she decided that, if she could pre- vent it, that should not be. Captain Herbert had shown her, only the night ebfore, that he loved her, and was amenable to her influence—he should not go without she at least tried her power once more. Springing to her feet, she took a hooded cloak, and, wrapping herself up in it, passed out into the open air to await his departure. Walking steadi- ly toward the drive, without looking to the right or left,, she did not see Claude making his way to the en- trance from the direction of the draw- ing room balcony. He staggered, like a man under the influence of drink; but when the lamplight fell upon his face it showed it to be drawn and ghastly white. “I shall have to humiliate myself,” Judith murmured to herself, as she walked under the shadow of the trees near the drive, “but I must win at all costs!” ‘The captain emerged from the house and hurried away as if he were glad to be free of it. Judith stood quite still, watching him as he came, with down- bent head, until he was close to her, when she said, in a soft tone of sur- prise, though her heart was beating heavily: . “Captain Herbert—you? I am glad you have not gone!” He pulled up so suddenly that he seemed to stagger back; and when she laid her hand on his arm, with a gentle laugh, saying, “Did I startle you? I am so sorry,” he ae her off as though her tough hurt him. } Judith thought that he tntended to walk on without speaking to he); but while her heart seemed to lea; \into her throat at the notion that her chance was lost, he said, coldly: “I certainly dia not expect to see you here; is it not rather a strange place for you to be at ten o’clock at night? For whom are you waiting?” “For « faithful adherent to take his departure,” she explained, laughingly. “I have the most persistent headache I ever fad in my life. I could not sleep all night—” i “And continuous crying must be bad e headache, I should imagine,” d, curtly. ‘entinuous ecrying—yes! But my cne outburst seemed to relieve me. But, tell me,” she added, softly, slip- ping her hand within his arm, ently obli us of his unres . “of whom were you thinking as you walked along—of me?” “Why should I think of “Well, that is a rather tort, for | have thought a great deal of you since yesterday.” “Thought — accompanied by and sighs, eh?’ “Wel es, a few, to tell the truth” —he seized the hand lying on his arm and threw it almost savagely from him; but Judith continued, “And can you wonder, when I have had time to look over things? Nine months ago you professed love for me, but was quite content to live on without even trying to see me. When we met, three weeks ago, you tried to make me be- lieve you had not changed; but, three days later, you neglected me for Elsie, to whom you have been devoted ever since. Yesterday you, quite unexpect- edly, proposed to me, and when you went away you told me you would call again to-day. I waited until past 8 o'clock, when I gave you up. Cry and sigh? There would be every excuse for it if I cried this very moment. I suppose you have been flirting with Elsie every minute since I sent down my note?” me hh that I could see your face!” he cried. “Come back to the house; I want to ask you something, and watch your face as you answer;” and, hu ing her back, he drew her under the glare of the huge lamp that lighted up the whole drive in front of the house. “f have been told that you are making a sort of catspaw of me—that you are in love with Townshend. Is that true?’ “I don’t think you realize that the question is an insult,” she said, stead- ily meeting his gaze; “but I will an- It is not true.” tears If you had as much r the love you boast of, you wiuld not have tax an affection for another woman's band.” “You must love somebody,” he per- sisted, “or the love I bear you must have met with some return. I won't marry a woman who dislikes me, I am determined.” She held her breath for a moment, then looked at him with a smile, ask ing him, as she drew closer to him “Is that why you did not kiss me last evening? I wish you would kiss me; I don’t believe you would ever doubt me any more then.” “You wish that I would kiss you?” he repeated, slowly, staring at her up- lifted face and soft, dark eyes. “Ju- dith, do you mean that?” As he spoke, he flung his arms around her and kissed her with such fervor that she thought her cause was won. At that moment, voice reached their ears she called, sharply, “Judith! Judith!” from the open window; and Judith felt his arms relax, and, watching his face in the lamplight, she saw his love die out of it as he turned his head in the direc- tion of the voice. He was re! ing his appointment with her Judith knew the fight was not over, but she did not intend to give in. “I am not going to answer her,” she remarked, with a little forced laugh. “I am going to walk with you just as far as the lamp-glow reaches. It is barely ten o’clock, and, even if it were later, I have a right to be with you now.” The captain looked at her without answering. “Come—you must not keep me too long, or they will be sending the ser- yants after me, and I should not like that,” she continued, lightly; and, put- ting her hand within his arm, she turned towards the drive again. “I told Claude of—of our engagement. He seemed very pleased, and said that he should give us two of the handsom- est saddle-horses he could buy for a wedding present. You will have to give me lessons in horsemanship when we are married, Fred.” “Yes,” he said, pressing her hand against his side. It was the first time she had called him by his Christian name. “I have not yet told Elsie; she has been so irritable all day that she has given me no opportunity. I shall tell her when I go back.” He said nothing, because he was re- peating to himself, distractedly: “The day after to-morrow I will join you at Dover about noon.” Finding he made no response, Judith walked quietly by his side down the drive until the lamp-rays no longer reached them, when she came to a standstill and said, in a low, subdued voice: “I must wish you “Good-night!’ ” “No—not yet! Wait!” he ejaculated, hurriedly, and then, after a pause, looked up. “Judith, if you care for me, you will do something I wish with- out asking any questions. By-and-by I will tell you everything. I had made up my mind to-night never to look upon you again as lon gas I lived, but now I cannot part with you. What I am going to ask you may seem unreas- onable, but you would not think so if you knew all. Don’t go back to that house to-night. Let me take you to the Clantcary Hotel at Lisborough and leave you there, and to-morrow I will get a special license, so that we can be married the first thing on the follow- ing morning.” Judith was startled at this totally- unexpected proposal. “You don’t know what you are ask- ing me to do,” she faltered. “I do! People will talk about you. But what need you care? We will live it down.” r “But why should I put myself in a position to incur their scorn?” “True! Why should you?” he said, with a bitter laugh, and dropped her hand. “Forget that I proposed any- however, Elsie’s thing so mad! 1 was a fool to ask it!” “Now you are unreasonably impa- tient,” she said, soothingly. “Why couldn’t you answer my question?” “I cannot, for many reasons. Why won't you trust me? I don’t ask you te do so for your own sake, but for mine, and for others. If you knew me as I know myself, you would rather trust your reputation to me than your happiness; I might. have the heart to make you unhappy, but your reputa- i tion I should guard only too jealously. Put yourself in my e—trust to ne— let-me have it on my mind all to-mor- row that you are waiting for me—c pendent. ou me, and I shall not fail you; you will not repent Judith knew that Captain Herbert feared Wlsie’s mischievous interfer- ence. She was afraid that, if they met again, her sister, using the power she possessed of rousing his worst fail. i would spare no endeavor to turn from his allegiance, and she was resolved that she should not have the chance. Judith realised that she ran the danger of being fooled by her lov- er, and that her name would be lightly handled by both friends and strangers. But that was of little account in com- parison with what Elsie and Claude would gain. She felt that there was no time for hesitation, and that, in such a crisis half-measures would be of no avail. “T will do as you ask,” she said, qui- “You trust me, then?’ he exclaimed, joyfully, and kissed her fondly. “Very well, darling; you will not repent! Listen! We will walk, down tb the ‘Red Lion,’ where I left my dog-cart, and I will drive to Lisborough. It will be past eleven when we get there, so that the last train for Northwold will have gone. I will represent to the landlady at the ‘Clantcary’ that we had been to the theater and lost the train, and I am sure she will make you comfortable. You can remain there to-morrow, representing to her that you are waiting for some one to fetch you, and during the day I will come, or send word to you how I have zed for our marriage.” 'y yell,” she replied, seeing that she must appear wholly to trust him. He hurried Judith out of the Park and down to the little village inn in Gatley village, leaving her to wait un- der the shadow of an adjacent tree while he fetched his dog-cart; and ten minutes after she was being driven to Lisborough. Arrived there, he left his dog-cart in the station-yard, and took Judith up to the Clantcary.” The house was closed, but Captain Her- bert knew that the inmates were ways up until twelve, when the night- mail reached Lisborough; consequent- ly, he found no difficulty in gaining admittance, or in interesting the land- lady in the supposed dilemma his charge was in. “Miss Hatfield would like to go to her room at once, Mrs. Johns,” he said, as he prepared to depart; and, as she has no bonnet, only that cloak she is wearing, she will have to wait here until her sister sends for her. Don’t let any outsiders know she is here if you can help it.” “All right, sir; and I'll make the young lady as comfortable as I can,” Mrs. Johns replied. Being a young widow, she felt she understood Ju- dith’s discomposure and the captain’s anxiety on her account, so considerate- ly left them for two minutes that they might take leave of each other unob- You won't worry, Judith, will you?” the captain said, anxiously. “You will believe until you see me again that my thought are full of you, and you only?” “Yes,” responded Judith; “only I think you have induced me to do something that is wholly unnecessary and indiscreet.” “Do you think that, loving you as L do, I would deceive you or do any- thing to compromise your name?” he she answered; and, to his in- tense delight, Judith kissed him. (To Be Continued.) LOVES ONL YHIS CIGAR. Jules Masscnet, the French Compos+ er Cares Nothing for Society. Jules Massenet, the French compos- er, declares that he reall yloves noth- ing but his cigar. He began to smoke when he was only eleven years old, and composed his first sericus work at fourteen. He has a cigar between his lips nearly all the time. In other words, he is eccentric. He has no en- joyment of society, never accepts an invitation if he can avoid it, refuses positively to attend any performances of his own work beyond the necessary rehearsals, and is of an extremely restless, nervous habit. He declares that he composes all the time, and he has usually the entire score of an op- era in his mind before he has put a note of it upon paper. Modest Bonanza King. Bonanza Mackey says he is in no sense a speculator. “I doubt,” he adds, that I ever bought 10,000 shares of stock in Wall street in my life. I do not believe in speculating.” This quiet, modest man of $20,000,000, who prfers tea and beefsteak to champagne and terrapin, shuns society with the same determination that other less wealthy and popular men seek it. His wife, however, open secret that she spends in London $75,000 to $100,000 a year entertaining her friends and the nobility. Mr. Mack- ey is happy to supply the means as long as his popular wife forgives him in not participating in her gaities. A Sympathetic Employer. Here is a little story with a moral: A young man who was known among his fellows as somewhat of a prevari- eator did not appear one day, having done too much celebrating the even- ing before. He sent a letter, however, to the manager, announcing that his absence was caused by one of his cbil- dren having scarlet fever. He got in reply a note which gave him two weeks’ leave of absence without pay, the msnager sympathetically explain- ing that he feared that the contagion might spread into the homes of some of the other employes. Delay Would Be Dangerous. “According to the’ cablegram, they were married in Paris yesterday,” he said. “We must send our congratulations at once,” she returned. “By mail or cable?” he asked. “From what I know of both of them,” he replied, “we ought to send them by cable if we wish to be sure that they will be acceptable when they reach them.”—Chicago Hvening Post, is devoted to it. It is an! DAIRY AND POULTRY. NTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR OUR RURAL READERS. flow Successful Farmers Operate This . Department the Farm—A Few Hints as to the Care of Live Stock and Poultry. of Experiments With Poultry. ff ORTH DAKOTA fe3y4| Experiment Station report: January 1, 1896, we began a series of experi- ments to deter- mine, if possible, what’ effect, if any, heating the poul- try house would have upon the pro- duction of egys, 'and the food requirements. On De- cember s we = put forty-s! | chickens, including several varie- |ties of birds into the poultry house. The weather at that time was quite warm and they were fed per day five pounds of feed in the morning and two pounds in the evening, the morn- ing feed being table scraps, such as meat, pieces of bread, boiled and fried potatoes, and such material as usually comes from a boarding table. Their ration of grain consisted of wheat screenings, which was composed prin- cipally of small berries of wheat and cracked wheat. As the weather got colder, their food gradually increased until they took on the 3ist day of De- cember eleven and _ three-fourths pounds of scraps in the morning, and eleven and a half pounds of wheat in the evening. During the month of January the feed ration remained about the same. January 20 a large stove was put into the house, and a fire started with lignite coal. On the 31st of January the feed had decreas- ed to six pounds in the morning and eight and three-fourths in the even- ing. The last of March four and a half pounds mornings and four and three- fourths evenings. The total amount of fuel burned from the 20th of January to the Ist of April cost $4.50. During the month of January previous to the use of the stove, the average number of eggs per day was 2%, the remain- ing of the month from the 21st to the end, it was 63-11, showing the influ- ence that heat exerted upon the pro- duction of eggs. The question natur- ally arises, can the farmer, under the conditions existing on the ordinary farm, afford to take care of his poultry by furnishing artificial heat? An ex- amination of the above figures shows that but half the food is consumed, and that the egg production is more than doubled. With eggs worth 25 cents per dozen at this season of the year and food at the ordinary prices, it should seem to me that it would not only be economy to heat the poul- try house, but would be a source of great profit, especially after arrange- ments had once been completed, so that it would require but little extra work. Feeding for Eggs.—That food has as much to do with the egg production as it has with beef or butter, there is but little question. We placed two pens of fowls, under exactly the same condi- tions, as far as the temperature, room and care were concerned, but fed them with an entirely different object in view. One pen we wished for breed- ing purposes and did not want them to lay until the breeding season opened. so that we can get a more steady egg production than if they were made to lay during the entire winter. The other pen it was not intended to use at all for breeders, but to produce the greatest number of eggs possible, at the time of year when they would bring the highest price. During the month of December, 1895,the pen which was intended for laying experiment, contained nineteen pullets, and the one intended for breeding purposes contained sixteen pullets. During this month the laying pen laid sixty-three eggs, the non-laying pen:no eggs. Dur- ing the month of January the laying pen 124 eggs, the nonlaying pen seven eggs. During the month of February, the laying pen 109 eggs and the non- laying pen twelve eggs. During the month of March the laying pen 168 and the non-laying pen forty-three. During the month of April, the laying pen 129, and the non-laying 189. We began the last of March to get our breeding pen, which has been so far designated as the “non-laying pen,” into good laying trim, with the results as above stated. From this time on, the breeders, although less in number than the other pen, laid a great many more eggs. For the month of May the laying pen laid 142 eggs, the non-lay- ing pen 381 eggs. The method of feed- ing that was employed to bring this about was substantially as follows: The morning feed for those which were intended to produce eggs consist- ed of boiled lean meat, scraps from the table, the fat having been removed, wheat screenings, with constant drink- | ing water. For the evening feed, wheat screenings what they wanted to eat, mixed with corn twice per week. Those which were not intended for producing eggs were fed on wheat screenings of poorer quality with corn. These gradually increased in weight ‘ until they had the appearance of being over-fat. This pen, although not put to laying until the Ist of April, averaged | 150% eggs per hen during the season. They were pure bred Plymouth | Rocks. The other which was put to | laying during the entire winter aver- aged 153 eggs per hen. The average price of the eggs was 18 cents per jdozen. The average price of those which did not begin until April 1 was | 1146 cents per dozen, at regular mar- ket prices. This shows a marked dif- ference in the average price, due prin- cipally to the high price of eggs dur- Ing the months of December, January, february and the fore part of March. Care of Ocws at Ca'ving. . A critical time in the cow’s existenco ig at her periodical calving time. This period is the culmination of a season's devotion to the growth and develop- ment of her young and, incidentally. , making preparation for milk giving. In her natural state, the cow feeds her calf a short time only, so that it is early taught to be self-reliant. This is necessary, since if the calf were to de- pend upon the dam for sustenance long, in colder latitudes at least, inter would prove too severe for aim of man in domesticating the cow for his use has been to lengthen the milking period against the cow’s habit of reducing her flow of milk after be- coming pregnant again. And his greed for a long milking period in dairy cows, especially, hds entailed disease upon the cow and a weakened consti- tution in her offspring. Now, with a steadily increasing population without a corresponding increase in the num- ber of cows in the United States, it seems reasonable that it will not only pay to take good care of the cow, but to care for her in such a manner as to enable her to give virth to a robust, vigorous calf. In order that all this may be brought about, the cow should have a respite from milking of two or three months before the next calf is born. From the writer’s personal ex- perience and observation, there is cea- son to believe that the cow which goes dry for sixty or ninety days before ealving will make equally good returns for food and care as one that is milked to within a month of parturition. During this period of non-lactation the cow should be fed good, nutritious food; and with most animals it is de- sirable that even a half-fat condition be reached before the calf is born. A cow in which the maternal instinct of milk- giving is well developed draws upon this store of fat to augment her yield. And it is pretty good evidence of qual- ity in cows when they fall away in flesh while giving milk—provided they are fairly and generously fed. As ma- turity approaches the cow’s physical condition should be closely watched. A properly fed and well-treated cow seldom fails to “do well” at calving time. Cows fed largely on corn or such carb@haceous foods are apt to be fev- erish or constipated. This must be avoided or overcome by the best means possible. Oats or bran are foods which will bring about a lax condition of the bowels and largely help to avoid the complications incident to calving. Ep- som salts or glauber salts should be among the medical stores of every wel! regulated farm. A pound of either of these salts dissolved in water and given as a drench soon before this event. wil! have a cooling effect on the system. Yet it has been observed the same quantity given in, say, two otince doses daily in a bran slop, for a week or so pre- viously will have equally, if not bet- ter, effects. One reason for which is / that this detail would ensure closer observation of individual condition. Every farm ought to have a place where a cow about to calve may be turned into in anticipation of this in- teresting event. And she should be put there long enough beforehand that she may become accustomed to her quar- ters before the cali is born. It is an inhumane way of tréating a brute. even, to let a cow endure the pangs oi labor while confined by a rigid stanch- eon. Usually, the calf is delivered without assistance of the attendant, yet it is always desirable that help be given if needed; and when such is re- quired, be deliberate and patient in sc doing. After the calf is born give the cow a thin bran slop, which may be repeated until the cow has had enough to quench her thirst. If the afterbirth is not expelled within an hour or sc give her a pailful of dry whole oats This quantity of grain will not injure the cow and seems to act favorably tc the desired end. The calf may be left with its mother during the period when the milk is unfit for use except as de- signed by nature. To strip the cow at this time §8 to unduly excite the mam- mary glands and often conduces to an increased feverish condition of the ud- der, It is well, however, to have the quarters emptied uniformly; else trou- ble of another kind may result. The cow’s food for a week-or ten days should be of a light character, after which the food may be gradually in- creased. Cows treated in a rational manner are not likely to be victims of milk fever, and the plan here out- lined will go far toward insuring valua ble stock from this dread disease. Water for Poultry in Winter. The subject of how to water the pour- try in winter is worthy the best thought of the poultry keeper. If the house be warm and the weather mild water will stand for some time with- out freezing and if the birds are wa- tered twice a day they will probably get all the water needed. We have known houses that were so warmly built that water would not freeze in the coldest weather, but there are few houses of that kind. Most of them are of single thickness’ of boards, and through these the cold soon penetrates. There are upon the market different kinds of water heaters, which prob- ably are quite effective in keeping the water at a temperature above freezing. But most of our farmers will har eare to invest. Taking all things gether, the best means for watering fowls in cold weather is to use water that is as hot as they can drink with comfort and taking it away by the time it has cooled sufficiently to freeze. Wa- tering them in this way twice a day will probably give all the water neces- sary, but we do not consider it the best, as we believe the hen should have constant access to water,: Some Hog Feeds.—Do not make a_ hog eat a bushel of filth in order to get a bushel of grain. A clean feeding flour is not difficult to have, and your grain will go further and the health of your hogs will be better for having it. Neither is dishwater a very hearty food, and must never be made to take the place of fresh, clean water—Ex. . | > + 5 [ i A tyson Aa Sng