Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 17, 1901, Page 6

ae Ge CHAPTER VIL The Widowed Bride ¢{ When Clarice recognized Shirley Aus- Win, as she was leaving the church on fhe bridegroom’s arm, the cry with which she greeted him was a cry of joy “for one happy moment She realized nly that he was alive and before her. She flung herself into his arms; but as they closed around her she caught a @llznpse of her husband's face. Its ex- pression of jealous rage recalled her thoughts, and she remembered every- @hing. The reaction was more than @he could bear, and she fainted. } It was a long and dreadful swoon, find the carriage had nearly reachéd ther new home before she recovered Srom tt. Her first thought, »s her senses re- turned, was, of course, for the lover she adored, not for the husband she Joathed. “Oh, Shirley, Shirley!” she moaned, ““why did you not come sooner? Why ‘were you silent? Oh, my love—my only Jove!" Then her eyes unclosed, and she looked up into her husband’s face. His arms it was that now encircled her, anc they held her in a passionate em- brace--as sionate and tender as that “of the lover whose name she had callea upon. But she shuddered with horror and repuision, and tried with all her strength to free herself from the un- welcome embrace. At first Philip Grayson resisted her efforts, but, with a long-drawn sigh, fhe suddenly withdrew his arms, and @he shrank from him to the farthest corner of the carriage. “Clarice!” he whispered, in a low tone, and the deep misery of his voice wlmost touched her leart—‘“Clarice, I | Jove you! My darling, you are my wife. Don't repulse me, Clarice; I could not help it. Oh, my wife—my lovely little wife—I don’t know in what words to tell you how much I love you! Try to like me a little—have pity on me!” “Pity? What pity have you had on me? Wretches, monsters! You have ell lied to me—tricked, deceived me! Oh, misery! Even my own father and mother must have been in the plot to deceive and sell me for your wretched money, while they knew that he lived— my own true lover—my best, my dear- est! Oh, Shirley—Shirley!” She wrung her hands in despair; she tore the orange blossoms from her hair and flung them at his feet. | She would have torn the flowing veil | from her head and the golden circlet from her finger, to serve them in like manrer, but Philip Grayson caught her fhands in his and held them, gently, but firmly, while he spoke in a tone of such grave authority that she found herself forced to listen with respect, almost with calmness. “Hear me, Clarice—this much, at Yeast you must do! I did not know that the man you loved and had been en- gaged to was still alive. Had I known it for a positive fact, I can’t tell just what I might have done, but I would mot have lied to you, anyway. I would —I don’t deny it—have tried with all my power to win you for my wife, un- @er any circumstances, for I love you | madly. I have never loved any woman , but you. I have rather laughed at the subject until I saw you, and now fate hhas punished me by awakening in my heart a passion that nothing but death ean destroy. You may hate me—I sup- pose you will—but I shall love you for- ever. And you are my wife now, Clar- fice; remember that, and understand the meaning of it. No living being, man or woman, shall come between us; and as to that young lover of yours, | fet him look to it! To love Miss Clarice Mowbray—that was natural to anyone; ut to approach Mrs. Philip Grayson— Jet him look to it, I say! If he but breathes a word of love or casts upon you one look to give offense to me, I tell you plainly there will be no mis- take in the next report of his death!” Clarice replied to these words with a Jook of concentrated scorn and anger, and then wrenched her hands from his grasp with such force that her wed- ding ring almost cut her finger, while the red marks of his powerful clasp lay on her delicate white skin like welts raised by a whip. “J hate you!” she hissed, fiercely, and, turning from him, gazed steadily out of the window, @rew up before he could interpose to stop her movement, which was as swift as a flash of light. The reply that Philip Grayson was @bout to make remained unspoken, for at that moment the carriage stopped and the coachman appeared at the door. The new-made husband sprang light- Jy from the carriage, with an assump- tion of ease and joyousness which he ‘was very far from feeling, and then gave his hand to the shrinking bride. It was in vain that Clarice sought to evade bis hand or shrink away from fhim. He caught her reluctant fingers and, with gentle force, drew her hand within his arm; then led her through the gaping and whispering crowd that stood about the door. With keen mortification he saw in a moment that news of the scene at the church had already reached here, and he felt it even more keenly when he entered the house, where not a servant except his own valet was in the hall to welcome the return of the bride and groom. Carl whispered a few words to his master, and Mr. Grayson replied: “Very well. I will see him in the li- brary. Where is Mrs. Grayson’s maid? Call her to attend her mistress.” Leonce came quickly down stairs, fhaving heard the words, for she was waiting Mrs. Grayson’s appearance on ‘the floor above, at the head of the stairway. Clarice hastened away from her hus- fband, and addressed the French girl. JAD Fatale. cme m AIMIAGE. the blind of which she | ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Gael “Show me at once to my apart- ments, Leonce,” she said. And the waiting maid preceded her mistress up the grand stairway and 4 short distance along the wide hall. “This,” she said, pausing before the first door, “is madame’s boudoir. It is exquisite. The dressing .room opens off the boudoir, and beyond that is madam’s sleeping apartment. Oh, madam, the rooms are so beautiful, one might be happy, almost, to look at them; but to own them all for one’s own! Ah—” “Open the door!” Clarice commanded, impatiently. Then, without giving the maid time to obey, she hurriedly flung open the door of the boudoir and entered. Leonce would have followed her, but her mistress imperiously forbade her. “But, madam, it will be time to start soon “But, madam, it will be time to start soon. Mr. Grayson has ordered the carriage for 2 o’clock, and your toilette must be attended to. See! I have laid out.the traveling dress on that shair. Such a heavy Irish poplin! 'It glitters like silver!” “I’m not ready to be dressed yet,” Clarice returned. “There, girl, go! I will ring when I want you!” “fut, madam, there is so little time! ‘When will you ring?” persisted the girl, who knew that Mr. Grayson would never forgive her if his wife was late | for the steamer. “When? Perhaps never!” was the ; answer, in a hash, hard voice, unlike the soft, musical notes of Clarice Mow- | bray’s sweet voice. “Now, leave me, | Leonce.” And, with a quick movement, she shut the door in the girl’s face, and turned the key in the lock, for her quick ear had caught a familiar step coming hastily along the hall. Leonce turned from the door to find herself face to face with Mr. Grayson. “Is your mistress ready? Have you changed her dress?” he asked. “Madam will not even permit me to enter the room,” answered Leonce, with a wondering look. She had as yet heard nothing of the scene at the church, and the strange behavior of her mistress was utterly inexplicable to her. “Clarice, I wish to speak to you,” said Mr. Grayson, rapping gently on the door. No answer was vouchsafed from within. “Clarice, open the door, my love. I | must see you instantly!” Mr. Grayson, jin his most imperative tone, spoke again. No answer still. The flush of anger rose hot on Philip Grayson’s cheek. Unable to endure the mortification of his wife’s conduct under the eye of a servant, he turned sharply to the maid and bade her go away and not return | until she was summoned. Leonce obeyed by going down stairs, where, from the gossip of her fellow- servants, she soon learned what ex, | plained the singular behavior of her | young mistress, From that time until she was sent by Mrs. Martin to call Clarice, she did not again see Mrs. Grayson, nor even hear the sound of her mistress’ voice; and | whether the young wife had at length | responded to her husband's request by | opening the door, Leonce could not tell. Preceding all those who now ap- | proached Mrs. Grayson’s apartment, | the French maid now reached the door | and knocked loudly, accompanying the kneck with a respectful request that !her mistress would please return some j answer. But no sound came from the locked |room; instead, there was a cessation ‘of sound. The noise of the silken drap- eries, sweeping to and fro over the floor, of which Leonce had spoken, ceased suddenly; and by that sign those out- side could guess that Mrs. Grayson was at last about to answer the re- peated summons for admission. But it was not until Mrs. Mowbray addressed her daughter through the closed door, that the young mistress at length responded in words. “Clare, darling, open the door to see me, your mother,” Mrs. Mowbray said. And Clare hac answered: “I don’t wish to see you, mother—I ' don’t wish to see any one. You are all in league against me. Let me alone. 1 wish that I could die!” “Clare! Clare!” cried Mrs. Mowbray. “You are mad to talk so, child. You lit- | tle know what has happened. Open the door, dear. Something awful has hap- | pened!” | Before the words had well left the | speaker’s lips, the door was thrown vi- olently open, and Clarice stood before them, whiter than her bridal gown. Her veil had fallen, unheeded, on tlte floor; her beautiful golden hair was un- | bound and hung in a glittering mass ‘around her shoulders. The eyes, bril- liant with excitement, shone like jew- els, but their expression was wild and terrified. | Mrs. Mowbray’s last words contained only one meaning to her ears, and that indicated danger to Shirley Austin, for the thought of him still filled her mind to the exclusion of everything else. “What do you mean?” she cried. “What has happened? Why are all | these people here? This is my apart- ment!” “Madam,” returned Detective Hant- lin, who quickly took upon himself the task of explaining, determined to learn all that he could, and, if possible, to betray the young wife into some ex- pression that might afford him a clue |to the mystery of Philip Grayson’s murder—‘“‘madam, we ask your pardon | for this strange visit; but you will ex- | cuse us when you know all. A crime has been committed here. Your hus- band is dead—murdered!” Clarice uttered a piercing cry. It was not the cry of grief, or even of horror, but simply a cry of natural and | shocked surprise. “Dead? Dead?” she repeated. And in the next moment a silght wave of color passed over her face, and | | eisai, kane, for an instant her eyes were lighted up with a gleam of joy. Philip Grayson dead! Then she was free, and Shirley Austin had not re- turned in vain, Her heart throbbed wildly, the blood rushed to her brain, and, dizzy from the strange feeling that overcame her, she caught at the nearest chair for support, and almost fell into it. Then came a reaction. She grew liv- id with a horrible foreboding; a chill terror struck to her very heart till she shuddered and shook as if in ague. A suspicion that had not yet oc- curred to any one there, almost froze the life-blood in her veins. If Philip Grayson was murdered, who had done the deed? Who was the murderer? Who so likely to have killed the man she had married as that other man who loved her, and from whom a base rivas had stolen her with wicked lies and false reports of death? “My husband dead?” she murmured, brokenly. ‘“‘Dead—so sudden, so un- thought of! I can scarcely believe tt. Who says he has been murdered?” “There is no room for doubt, dear madam,” Dr. Sprague here interposed. For Detective Hantlin had produced the effect he had intended, and was now studying it. He left the task of answering Mrs. Grayson’s further ques- tions to whoever chose to undertake it, while his gaze took in every detail of her appearance and everyvarying ex- pression of her lovely countenance. “We have desired to spare you, as far as possible, the horror of this fearful tragedy, Mrs. Grayson. But of the fact there is no possible doubt. I have myself: seen and examined the body, and the case is one of foul and cruel murder.” “Who has done it?” Clarice gasped, in a dying voice. “You cannot—surely, you don’t suspect—” “Yes, darling, they suspect you!” here broke in Mrs. Mowbray, embracing her, as though to protect her from all the world. Then, turning suddenly, on those present, the excited mother added, fiercely and defiantly: “Though how any of you can be fool enough to suspect my darling child, passes my comprehension. An idiot might see that she is too innocent. Her face shows it plain enough. But lawyers, and police and detectives, and all the rest of you, I suppose you’d sus- pect the angels in heaven! Look at my daughter—look at her hands—her dress! A baby just born is not more innocent. Could that delicate hand deal the blow that killed Philip Gray- son? Don’t you see that she is still in her avedding dress—the dress she wore home from the church? Look at that sweeping train, and be ashamed of yourselves—one and all! No sign of blood on it—not a speck—not a stain! With that dress on, she couldn’t have gone within three yards of the mur- dered man without showing the proof of it!” Mrs. Mowbray’s words, disconnected and rambling, caused repressed smiles among many of her hearers. But her argument, though somewhat incoher- ent, produced an unmistakable effect. If any one present had really sus- pected Clarice, one glance at her white and spotless robe, her stainless hands, must have turned aside the suspicion as too absurd to be entertained. The effect of her mother’s words up- on Clarice had been that of utter amazement at first, then, almost of re- lief. They suspected her! Ah, how much less terrible that was than to suspect Shirley! She even smiled slightly as she an- swered Mrs. Mowbray. “No one suspects me, dear mother. It would be utterly foolish.” “You are quite right, madam,” said Detective Hantlin, once more. consti- tuting himself chief speaker of the oc- casion. He haq been intently watching Clar- ice. If his suspicion shad at first pointed towards her, they were now somewhat turned aside. He was now more inclined to think that she either guessed or positively knew who the murderer was, and he was determined that in some way she should betray her knowledge or suspicions. Some one else either knew or suspected, too, And his sharp eyes had been keenly observant from the first of the French maid, Leonce. Did these two women suspect the same person, or did they really know who the murderer was? Were they endeavoring to screen the murderer, or were they screening each other? It promised to be a delightfully-ifts teresting case, and the detective felt his blood boil pleasantly in his veins at the prospect of working it out. This and much else passed through his mind, while he spoke in the coolest, quietest, but most polite tones, to Mrs. Grayson. “No one can for a moment suspect you, Mrs. Grayson. We believe you to be as eager to clear up this horrible mystery as any of us. What do I say? More eager, of course! For to you it is most terrible. Therefore, we intrude upon you, not to insult your sorrow with groundless suspicions, but to beg your aid in carrying on the investiga- tion.” “She will tell us all that she knows— she will answer all questions!” Mrs. Mowbray burst out. je And Clarice felt grateful for the out- burst—it gave her time to place herself on guard. “What information can I give you, sir?” she asked, coldly. “When did you see Mr. Grayson foP the last time?” easily. “When we entered the house togeth- er, on our return from church. Mr. Grayson’s valet gave him some meé- sage, and I heard him say he would go to the library. I accompanied my maid up stairs and she showed me into this room. I closed the door and locked it. I never saw Mr. Grayson since.” “But you spoke with him, I think, madam?” , “As my maid will tell you, through closed doors. I refused to see him or speak further with him for the pres- ent.” The detective turned toward Leonce. “Your mistress spoke her last words to Mr. Grayson in your presence?” “No, sir. Madam supposes I was still outside the door; but Mr. Grayson sent me away while he was speaking to madam. I left Mr. Grayson at mad- am’s door when I went down stairs.” “Ah, just so! Then you did not again see Mr. Grayson, either, I suppose?” The faint color that had returned to the French maid’s face receded again, leaving her lividly pale. the detective asked, | “I did not again see Mr. Grayson— living.” The detective regarded her curiously for a brief instant; then, turning to Clarice, proceeded with his questions. “Does this room lead to Mr. Gray- son’s room, madam, without going through the outer hall?” “That I cannot tell you, sir. I ama stranger in this house. I entered it for the first time to-day.” “Indeed!” “As all in the house can tell you. But Mr. Grayson’s valet can tell you ali about the rooms. He was my hus- band’s confidential servant, and’ knew more of the house and of his master than any one else, I believe.” Carl, being questioned, explained that the rooms were en suite. A sliding doo. led from Mrs. Grayson’s boudoir to the dressing room; a door from the dress- ing room opened into the sleeping apartment, and from the further side of that room another door opened into Mr. Grayson’s dressing room, where the unfortunate gentleman now lay dead. The detective requested leave to walk through the rooms, and Clarice at once ordered Carl to lead the way- The sliding door was unlocked, al- though the key was in the lock and on the inside. The door of the dressing room was locked, but the key was on the side toward the boudoir. “So—So!” thought Hantlin. “If he escaped this way, she afterwards locked the door. Vhat’s that I heard about a lover aid a scene at the church this morning? Ah, ha, I begin to see daylight!” But he merely nodded, bade Carl open the door, and proceeding through the bed chamber, tried the door leading into Mr. Grayson’s dressing room. It was locked, and the key on the op- posite side; but one of the men on the inside might have done that, since they were in charge of the dead man. It would be easy to find that out on a future occasion. Accompanied by Carl, Hantlin then returned to Mrs. Grayson’s boudoir. Clarice strove in vain to appear calm, but the effort was almost too much for her. She was tortured with anxiety and apprehension. Each moment she expected to hear Shirley Austin pro- claimed as the suspected murderer. “Well, sir, is there anything else?” she asked the detective, the moment he reappeared. ‘You will excuse me if I remind you that I am—almost—over- come.” “I ask your pardon for one question more,” the detective answered, with deep respect. “‘Have you ever seen this weapon before, Mrs. Grayson? Or, per- haps you would call it an ornament?” As he spoke he quickly drew the jew- eled stiletto from his pocket, deftly contriving to conceal the blade in his hand while holding the hantile toward Clarice. “Tt is mine,” she answered, simply, unheeding the gesture of warning which the lawyer made toward her. “Indeed! It is the weapon that killed your husband!” exclaimed the detect- ive, with dramatic effect, as the same time turning the stiletto so as to dis- play the gory proof of his words, cling- ing to the blade. ‘ Clarice recoiled with a stifled shriek, and her face blanched with terror. The jeweled stiletto that Shirley Austin had given her! Oh, heaven! where had she lost it? How? When? Who had found st? Her brain reeled. Her senses seemed about to leave her. Alm fainting, she fell back in her chair. “Perhaps you lost the ornament? It may have been stolen from you?” Hantlin continued, pitilessly. “Tt is my duty to tell you, Mrs, Grayson,” here broke in Mr. Baldwin, “and I do it as sthe legal adviser of your late husband, that you are not obliged to answer any more questions.” “Sir,” said the detective, coolly, “you are trying to defeat justice.” “Sir,” exclaimed the lawyer, hotly, “you are exceeding your business! Such questions as you are now putting belong to a eourt of justice, or, at least, to a coroner’s inquest.” Detective Hantlin had already with- drawn his attention from Mrs. Gray- son, however, and was now directing it toward Leonce. : “Perhaps you recognize this stiletto?” he said. ‘You may even have handled it. Pray tell me when, my good girl.” “Yes; I placed it in Mrs. Grayson’s wedding veil!” CHAPTER VIII. More Mystery. These words seemed to be forced from the French maid’s lips against her will, and’ when she had spoken them something like a convulsion passed over her face. “Oh, madam, madam, pardon me?” she cried, clasping her hands and turn- ing to Clarice. “I cannot help it—I must speak!” “There is no harm done by telling the truth,” Clarice answered, coldly; then added, addressing the detective: “What the girl has said is quite true. She placed that weapon, as you call it—) always regarded it as an ornament—in my veil when she dressed me this morn- ing. I bade her do so.” “Wil you allow me to question your maid somewhat further, madam? [I as- sure you my questions are dictated en- tirely by my desire to gain some clue to Mr. Grayson’s murderer.” “You are at liberty to ask any ques~ tions you please, sir,” Clarice an- swered. averted her gaze from the waiting maid’s eyes, and her hands were clasped closely together, as if in the effort to conceal her agitation. Detective Hantlin again directed his remarks to the French maid. “How long have you been in this lady’s service?” he asked. “What lady?” the maid asked, in a tone that certainly sounded insolent, though it might have been adopted only to gain time. ‘At the same time she studiously “J will change the form of my ques- tion,” the detective said, with a slight smile. “How long have you been in Mrs. Grayson’s service?” “Since about noon of this day.” “What! I understood that you Mrs. Grayson for church this morn- ing?” “] dressed Miss Clarice Mowbray,” the French woman returned, in an icy ce. birves Baldwin broke into a short laugh and directed a glance of admiring ap~ ‘With an effort, she forced her lipa to | proval toward form the words: , atoning 1 ‘Leonce, ‘The detective betrayed not the feint- est sign of annoyance. placidly; “I understand. One must speak by the card in questioning you, mademoi- selle, evidently—” “U have always understood that one must be careful in answering detect- ievc and lawyers,” Leonce interrupted, sharply. s “Just so,” Hantin returned, quietly. This time he might have turned the laugh on Mr. Baldwin, but he forebore to do so, He saw the lawyer might be of assistance to him in the future, and he preferred to make a friend of him instead of an enemy. “Then, if I understand correctly, you were in the service of Miss Mowbray before she became Mrs. Grayson?” “Yes, for ten days.” “Were you engaged by the lady who was afterwards your mistress or by Mr. Grayson?” “I was engaged by Mr. Grayson, sub- ject, of course, to the lady’s approval. If I did not give satisfaction, I was to leave at the end of a week's trial.” “It is to. be supposed, then, that you gave satisfaction?” “I suppose so. My mistress is pres- ent, monsjeur. Perhaps madam will kindly answer that question?” The girl turned anxiously Mrs. Grayson as she spoke, The de- tective also directed an inquiring glance in the same direction; but be~ fore he could repeat his inquiry into words, Clarice hastened to answer: “I have no fault to find with my maid: She had shown herself competent, good-tempered, and of pleasant and agreeable manners.” The French woman thanked her mis- tress with a look full of gratitude. The detective continued, questioning the maid: “How long had you been acquainted witn Mr. Grayson before you were ap- pointed waiting maid to Miss Mow- bray?” “J had never seen Mr. Grayson until the morning I answered his adveruser | ment. I came here, as the advertise- ment directed; and, on being engaged, I went at once to the house of Miss Mowbray, where I lived in attendance on my mistress, till I came here this. morning.” “Were you to have gone to Europe with your mistress, if nothing had oc- eurred to postpone or interrupt the traveling arrangements?” The French woman's glance wavered and dropped uneasily beneath that ot the detective. She glanced toward Clarice, and a faint color came to her pale face. But, after a momentary hesitation, she answered: “I was not to have accompanied my mistress. Madam preferred to travel without a maid.” “Ah, then you were about to leave Mrs. Grayson’s service soon?” The flush deepened on the French woman's face. She was on the point of losing her temper, and answered, al- most sharply: “I was not about to leave madam’s service. I had duties appointed that would have fully occupied me during her absence.” A gleam of light shot into the de- teetive’s keen eye. He did not inquire what the duties were, the question would only serve to put the waiting maid on her guard. He might find out what those duties were in some other way. He continued, toward (To Be Continued.) Man Who Took All the Strawberries. Walden, the artist, was at dinner the other night. He is a tall, thin, red- bearded Yankee, who looks more like Don Quixote than unyone has a right to look. To see him side by side with Whisfler is a liberal education. Whistler 1s cynical and witty; he sparkles with epigrams and jewels and then he is as dainty as an abbe of the century before last. An im- pressicnistic pertrait of him need show only his increduious eyeglass, the tuft of white hair and one slim, jeweled hand making a gesture of apolegy. But Wal- den is a calm, forthright man, with too much red_beard and too much confidence in his tailor’s knowledge of the way to dress. We were talking of England. “England,” said Whistler, ‘rules the | world simply because the Englishman tokes what he wants.” We were rapidly losing ourselves in a fog of politics and national psychology, when Mr. Walden lifted part of his red | mcustache, and said: ‘That's right, all’ right.” It was the first time he had spoken that evening, so we stopped our arguments and listened. Calmly and slowly he said. “I was down at Cernay last summer—with Faulkner—painting. You know the littie tavern there and the old woman who keeps it. There was an Englishman who sat next to me at the table. Well, the landlady gave us strawberries one night for supper. For a dollar a day that was: pretty good. The servant girl passed the strawberries round. When it came the Englishman’s turn to help himself he emptied the whole dish of strawber:tfes into his plate. So I said to him: “Say, my friend, I like strawberries;. too.” “‘Not so much as I do,’ said my Eng~ lishman calmly, and went on eating,”— Vance Thompson’s Paris Letter. Masquerading in the Past. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Venice set the fashion in all matters of amusement, and was a sort of combination of our Monte Carlo.and Paris. Throughout the eighteenth cen- tury the Venetians were seized with a Ferfeet mania fqr masquerading and gambling Paris’and London followea suit, and the two most popular amuse- ments, both public and private; were masquerading and gambling saloons. People not only wore their masks or visors at balls, but in the Mall and the parks and the theaters. At length matters got to such a pass that when a police raid was made at a certain loose dancing place in Soho, and@ an order was given for everyone to unmask, what was the amazement of the police to find that at least a third of the com- pany consisted of ladies and gent?emen of the highest aristocracy, some of whom had even brought their daugh- ters to an entertainment, which, to use the words of a contemporary, was “a disgrace for a female even of the low- est glass, to attend.”—Saturday Re- view. But He Didn’t See It. ‘ Mr. Cadd—No, indeed; I never asso- ciate ewith my inferiors; do you? Miss Peppery—Really, I can’t say. T don’t think I’ve ever met any of your infertors,—Philadelphia Press. —_— Care sad Breeding of Sheep John Howat, at the Iowa Stat Farmers’ Institute, spoke on the breed- ng and care of sheep. In part he said: 3 In breeding sheep the first necessity is a knowledge of conditions and an understanding of what market demand you want to meet. If you expect to go into business as a breeder of fine stock to supply the market for breeders, then you need the best there is to be had at reasonable figures. If.you expect to raise fat lambs for the market, then you may be satisfied to get your ex- perience with common sheep. Good natives make a very satisfactory foun- dation, But be sure and use a good mutton ram of known family. Avoid buying a cheap ram. We have seen men pay $400 for a bull and $25 to $75 for a boar pig, and $5 fora ram. The longer the leg, the poorer the wool, the more mongrel the appearance, the better he suited. We have never seen the arguments for breeding to good stock so thoroughly fortified as in breeding a half hundred native ewes to a Shropshire ram and having every lamb bearing on its face the image of its sire. 1 will say that im personal experi- ence the April lamb is the lamb for fowa conditions. The early lamb needs too much feed before the grass comes and the late lamb gets the stomach worm and’ the hot weather. Breeding sheep is a simple matter, but caring for them is differemt. They need the ciosest watching. In: building sheep barns or sheds, we always have the doors in the ends and never less than eight feet wide. Sheep are the most gentle an@ docile animals en earth; and’ yet are cae biggest fools in creation. It makes no difference low well fed' and cared for they may be they will wedge themselves in a door- way or a gate and strain and pull and cause abortion. We have never been able to go through a season without some’ cases of abortion, especially in young ewes: We rarely shut our breeding ewes in the shed, except at lambing time. Unless the wind blows hard the coldest nights will find the bulk of the flock in.the open yards. Avoid close sheds; sheep must have an abundance of air. If a man will go into a close shed where a flock of sheep has been penned ‘over night, the stench will almost sicken him. Even in the open yards, in moist muggy, heavy weather the smell is foul. Fresi air is the first great requisite: In going around: among your sheep, go: quietly; don’t hustle things and make them jump) and run. We often go through our sheep with a lantern, and scarce a sheep»gets on its feet, but if’a stranger be along. they get on their feet with a bound. We have lain among them by the hour, watching lambing ewes, but a quick movement will get them up in an instant. The lambing season is-a delicate time with the shepherd. Where it is possible it is profitable to have some one with them all’ the time; especially at night. Lambs are apt to come at all hours. We have heard men say at stock- breeders’ meetings that sheep were safe from 10 p. m. till 4 a, m, but we have to confess we have never in our ex- perience had the pleasure of handling sheep possessed of such capabilities or good manners. We have sometimes thought that daybreak was the most popular time with the ewes, but we get experiences that confirm us in our opinion that a ewe drops her lamb whenever she gets ready. On one oc- casion we had seventeen lambs dropped between. the hours of 12 midnight and 1:30 a. m. When. the lamb is- dropped it is nec- essary to see that the ewe milks freely. ‘A black; stringy matter fills the teats, and in many cases the lamb cannot start the milk. It should then be done ‘by hand. The long ends and tags of the wool surraunding the udder should ‘be clipped so: the lamb won’t get them jin its mouth. We let our lambs run iwith the ewes till August, when they are weaned. | Win) England Exclude Our Horses * / he-importation into England an- nuallyy of about 40,000 American horses ‘has stirred;up the English horse rais- ers, who are trying to find some ex- cuse for excluding the foreign com- petitars. Up to this: time they have ‘been able to charge American horses ‘only with pink-eye and influenza, and ‘both: af’ these: diseases are common in ‘England:. Recently a deputation of English horsemen: waited on the Eng- ‘lish, department of agriculture and ;asked: that steps: be taken to prevent :eheap) American horses from “spread- ing ruin and disaster among valuable home-bred; theroughhred and carthorse stock.” The deputation was asked to give some cases where American horses had! givem disease to English horses, but the deputation acknowl- edged itself unable to do so. The presi- dent. of the board of agricylture then said that they had investigated the matter and had been able to find but i few cases, mot epough to even warrant }quarantining imported horses. Out of ‘the 1,600 American horses brought into : Hull, net ame ease of pink-eye or in- ' fluenza had been found. It does mot seem likely that our _ horses will be excluded. The English, horse buyers have something to say in, the matter, and it is to their interesz as well as of the general publie to con-. tinue to import American hogses. ° G. W. Franklin: The goat has asked for a portion of the honors be- longing to sheep. Not being satisfied with the peculiarity of assisting in clearing brush lands, it is asking for a part of the demand for flesh, and un- scrupulous dealers are palming off large numbers of them fer mutton. They go into the stock yards at Chi- cago and other large market centers as goats, but no goat meat is ever brought out of any of the killing es. tablishments, ‘ Sa (eu ee