Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 2, 1901, Page 3

Qo CHAPTER XXIV—(Continued.) “Mr. Austin has left us, has he?” said Mrs. Martin, bitterly. ‘Would he had died before I ever saw him! He has brought blight and desolation into my life. But, come, Bertha, rouse yourself. Shake off this hopeless, use- less infatuation. What if he has gone? There are a thousand nobler and finer men in the world. What nonsense, child! Has the sun gone out of the heavens because one silly young man has failed to return the affection of a certain silly young lady—who is, not- withstanding, a thousand times too good for him?” “It's no use, mamma, dear! You are kind—you are good. But he’s all the world to me, and I can never look upon his like again, It will kill me, that’s all; but you mustn’t be angry with me, because you see I can’t help it.” Mrs. Martin stamped her foot with impatience. She could have taken to her arms and caressed and comforted the girl for love and pity; but she feared to encourage folly by such a cou . She could have shaken and reproached Bertha for the helpless weaknes: at made the girl ready to give up existence without a struggle, or the sake of a ran who never spent thought on her, and never would. The troubled mother was torn with iety, impatience, love and pity; yet she knew not what course to take with Bertha, or what words were best to say. With a groan of despair, she nk down beside the girl, and her heart ached for the haggard, worn young face—the dearest face to her in all the world. “When did he go?” she asked, her voice harsh and stern with suppressed emotion, “About an hour ago, mamma; but he will return to thank you for all your kindness. It is only that I shall not see him any more. I couldn’t bear it, and I do not wish it; for, after hearing from his own lips how he loves—oh, heaven—adores is more near the mark —how he worships Clarice, I can never see him again. It is all the same as if she were already his wife, since she loves him, too; and I dare not see him again, to feel myself in love with an- other woman’s husband. Oh, I shall! die of the shame! But I did not realize it until I heard him speak of Clarice.” “And yet she refused to see him when he called there yesterday,” Mrs. Martin burst out. “Yes; but there must have been some one who forced her to do so; and Shirley—Mr. Austin, I mean—thinks he understends it all now. Some one has n silly enough to suspect him of Uncle Philip's death—so awful, and yet so foolish, that any one should have h an idea!—and he is now going to na the real criminal, and so bring himself again to Clarice—Oh, me! I cannot speak of it any more!” “But why has he told all this to you?” * “Oh, mamma, I suppose instinct told him that I would sympathize with him in any trouble. He said it all ixea sort of accidental way, when he was bidding me good-lye. He must have seen that I was agitated; for, indeed, I couldn't conceal that; Lut he didn’t suspect the © . He tegan by saying that he felt how good and kind and g2ntle I was. I thought—but what matter about my foolish thought? it was all wrong. ‘Then he added that he would always feel toward me as if he had in me the kindest and best sister in the world. Ard, somehow, from that, he began talking just as if he were thinking aloud, and before I could stop him he had told me his entire story, from the time he fell in love with Clarice till now. It was a sad story, and I wept for him, too, though it almost killed me to hear him say how he loved another woman.” “{ think him a conceited fool—a vain, ‘bragging coxcomb!” Mrs. Martin said, bitterly, “and as heartless 2s he is vain!” “No, mamma, no—I won't hear one word against him!” Bertha protested. “How could he know how it pained me to listen? But I love him the more when I see how true, how noble and ccnstant a lover he can be.” Mrs. Martin stamped her foot with argry impatience. “Let me hear no more of him, nor of this folly,” she said. “Where is Let- ty?” “Letty went out a short time after you, mamma,” Bertha ‘answered, tak- ing a letter from her pocket. “She left this for you, and she kissed me many times and-cried over me. Dear Letty, I think she pities me, for she is so hap- py herself.” Mrs. Martin tere open the letter and glarced rapidly at its contents. She uttered a sharp cry and fell back, gasp- ing and choking. 1 “She has left us—run away 1” she said, almost inaudibly. “There, read for yourself. Oh, God, my punishment ‘s too hard! I have only striven and scheméd for my children; I have done mo great wrong!” Bertha took the letter, territied. Her mother’s words seemed to her like the raving of delirium. With an effort she composed herself,'and tried to find out the cause by rea-ling her sister's letter. Letty was brief and to the point. She wasted no words’ “Dear raamma,” she wrote. “I have gone to my husband. That word will surprise you; but read the copy of my marriage certificate, which I enclose, and then you will understand me bet- ter. We will come to you for vour for- giveness and blessing soon; meantime, do not be angry with your little girl be- cause she obeys another than you now —one to whom she has vowed a whole life's obedience. The 1eason of our se- crecy is a good one, and will be satis- ' factorily explained when we come to you. But I have married no adventur- er; my husband is a nobleman of high a) | [Darriage. rank and wealth. That I might not come to him a perniless bride, however, . I have availed myself of the generosity ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. aed of my now Aunt Clarice to draw my share of the portion so generously giv~ en to Bertha and myself, and the ne- cessary legal steps were. taken yester- day by Antony and inyself. The entire sum is new in our possession, and Ber- tha’s remains at her disposal at any moment. A thousand kisses to you, darling mamma, *1.d Anthony joins me in his love and duty to the dearest mother in the world. Always affection- ately, Your daughter, —"Letitia Castel.” “What is there so terrible in this, mamma?” asked Bertha, who could see nothing but cause for joy and congrat- ulation that ar sister had been fortun- ate ercugh to macry the man of her choice. ‘He loves her and he has mar- ried her. Happy girl, to have won the mar. she loves!” “Foolish child! Can you not see that there is something wrong when a man ndestinely marries a child like Let- unfortunate child! And embitious schemes have brought it Had I cultivated a contented nd watched over my children as a mother should Lave done, I would not now be in danger of losing them forev- ing trouble out of noth- This gentleman has See, here is the certifi- cate, and it bears the name of 2 well known clergyman. Come, I will go with you, and you can be satisfied on rhrect."” poor, innocent child! you kno nothing of the world. Are not clergy- men deceived every day? No honor- able man wins a gir] to deceive her mother. Who know3 who this wretch may be, or whether he has not several wives already? But come! As you say, we will on the clergyman. But my heart misgives me. Oh, Bertha, I have only you to live for row; live for me!” “I will try, mother—I will try!” the gril answered, sadly. You are r dear m married Letty. CHAPTER XXV. Humpy Jack's Discovery. Shirley Austin’s first step was to g0 directly to the office of his friend, Dr. Bethune. It had, inteed, been his in- tention to do so on the previous night, but the bitterness of his disappointmeat in being refused an interview with Clarice had put it out of his thoughts. He was shown at once into the doc~ "s private office, where he found his friend, but not—as he at first thought— alone. A lady was seated at a, little distance, but her face was turned away so that he failed to recognize ker. At the first sound of his voice, how- ever, she started, rose quickly and came i nim. Her face was very pale he was visibly agitated, but he i her instantly, and he re- m the advance of a dead- coiled ly reptile. “Forgive me—forgive me!” cried Lingard. “You must forgive me! come all the way from Australia to beg your forgiveness and his’—turn- ing toward Dr. Bethune. “Frank hasn’t refused me, though [ fear he loves me no more, ang I injured him even werse than I did you. Oh, Mr. Austin, have pity on me! See—I am _ kneeling at your feet. Forgive me!” Dr. Bethune was at her side, and had raised her from the floor, and now sup- perted her with his arm, even while she spoke. “You will forgive my wife, Shirley!” he said, in a low tone, while Adele, so9- bing convulsively, hid her face on his shoulder. “Your wife?” repeated Shirley, in- eredulously. “Yes; we were married this morn- ing,” continued Dr. Bethune, ‘When 1 returned yesterday I found Adele and her father awaiting me. They both wished it. I can say no more. You know she is the only woman I have ever loved, or ever could love, aud you may remember my conviction that she would yet come to me, and my theory tkat such love as hers for you was but a temporary insanity, and to be borne with patiently, like other forms of ma- nia. I will not say that my love for Adele is quite what it was, but I be- lieve her when she says that she really loves me now. And we are going to try tu make each other happy.” Adele looked up with a grateful smile, while a deep blush overspread her face when her eyes first met those of Shir- ley. She put her hand up with a*shy, gen- tle caress to her Lusband’s cheek, and then dropped her head again upon his sheulder. Shiriey turned away with an almost contemptuous shrug. He was inclined to be disgusted witn his friend, and did not pause to inquire how he he woula have behaved under similar circum- stances. Such a thought would have seemed absurd, since Clarice could do no wrong, and, therefore, could never require forgiveness. “You ‘won't refuse to forgive my wife?” Dr. Bethune repeated, reproach- fully. But his friend had made no answer to that question. “I owe my life to you, Frank. You know I ean refuse you nothing!” Shir- ley answered, with considerable feeling. “4 do forgive this laCy—at least I will do so when I have forgotten my own suffering; and I nope soon to be happy enough to forget past misery. But I came to consult you alone and ask your advice.” Dr. Bethune lei his wife to the door and gently bade her leave them for a while. As soon as the deor had closed after her he turned to Shirley. “I suppose you despise me, old fel- low,” he said, gaily, ‘‘but I am too hap- py te care even for that. True love is wholly unselfish, and is above caring for what others think.” “I despise no man for, loving truly,: however mistakenly,” returned Shirley. ® a “But are you really happy?” “Happy as a man can be and live. I adore my wife, and I think I can un- derstand Adele now as I never have be- fore. T will not let Fer see how much I love her, for I see that the unattain- able is one of the charms for her in life. Her father told me that when she was quite convinced that she had lost my love and that I had really left Mel- bourne forever, she was mad to follow me, and declared that she then knew for the first time that she loved me beyond everything else. You smile, Shirley? But, no matter; she does love me, and I am satisfied. And now, dear old fel- low, how can I serve you?” Shirley explained the result of his visit to Clarice, not omitting to state the mysterious conduct of the French maid as he was about to leave the house. ‘The more he had reflected on the mat- ter, the more certain he felt that Clar- ice’s message had been compulsory, dictated, perhaps, by fear for his safe- ty; and he had determined to devote himself to the discovery of the real murderer, as being the best way to prove his own innocence. “In my first horror at being suspect- ed, I was almost afraid to think where or how I had procured that miniature of Clarice; and if any one had offerea me a proof that I was the man wh? killed Philip Grayson, I would have been afraid to protest my own inno- cence. “But, as my strength increases and my memory returns, my mind has cleared, and I can now remember, as in a vision, the manner in which I ob- tained the miniature. I cannot swear to it, for it has returned to me like something in a forgotten dream; but it is worth acting on, as it may afford a clue to the murderer. “After leaving the church on that | miserable day when I saw my Clanice the bride of another, I wandered aim- leesly about the streets in such a con- dition that it is strange I was not ar~ rested and locked up on a charge of drunkenness; doubtless I was quict, and that saved me. “Toward evening I found myself in a crowded and wretched part of the city, in the neighborhood of the tenements inhabited by the hordes of poor foreign- ers who live in this city. Suddenly, in the midst of a squalid group, I saw a familiar face and form. It was that of a strikingly-handsome and extraordin- ary man, whom I had last seen at the diggings in Australia. It was a face and figure, once seen, never to be for- gotten, and I follewed it mechanically, because it was familiar. The man pushed aside the squalid rabble about him, and passed on like a prince, while they fell back about him with a sort of awe. I roticed even then that they scemed to know who ke was, for they called him ‘Excelenza’ among them- selves. After a while he paused at a dark, narrow alley-way, and as he dis- appeared within it, he cast something from his hand with a careless gesture, and it fell, face upward, at my feet. “I stooped ani picked it up. It was the portrait of Clarice; I felt no sur- prise the: I was past being surprised or curious. I just received it, pressed it to my lips and then put it in my pock- et; and there, no doubt, it remained, until Mrs. Martin found it. “Iam going to find the detective now, and tell him my story. It is wild and improbable, and he may refuse to be- heve it; but he may think it worth list- ening to, and he may be able to turn it | to account.” “This is certainly extraordinary,” safa Dr. Bethune, “‘and you are right in los- ing no time in talking the matter over with the detective, as no clue—so far as the public yet knows—has been found to lead to the murderer, Here, Shirley—I have written down the name and ad- dress of the detective, which I learned in my capacity of spy in your inter- ests.” Austin took the slip of paper and hastened away in the direction pointed cut by it. Hantlin was not at home when Shir- ley first called, having already gone to call on Mrs. Grayson; but Austin de- cided to wait, and his patience was not severely tried, for the detective re- turned in about an hour, disappointed and thceughtful, but determined as ever to discever the whereabouts of the mar quis of Castellani. Willizm Hantlin lNstened with all ine interest and attention that Shirley eculd Gesire to the curtous story. When it was concluded, he said: “Well, sir, if you had told me all this a week ago, I would have called you, plainly, a stupid blunderer. Things have come about strangely within that time. I know now that you are not suspected, even of Mr. Grayson’s mur der, and I have every reason to believe every werd of your story, since I have strene evidenc? against just such a man as you describe, calling himself the Merq:tis del Castellani.” “The same, without doubt,” Shirley said, with decision. ‘There are prob- ably not two iaen in the world who would fill the description.. He was not known as a marquis at the ‘diggings,’ though he claimed to be a nobleman, and rrobably is, for he was a magnifi- cent personage altogethcr. Flung mon- ey about like water when he had it, and te obtain it when he was cut of funds weuld cut a man’s throat without an instant’s hesitation. He called himself Cestel when he was out there, and claimed to be an Englishman; but there was always a foreign air about him. However, he might have claimed any nationality, for he spoke half a @cezen languages, and spoke all so well that it would have been difficult to guess at his native tongue.” “The identical man!” exclain-ed Hant- lin, almost with a touch of excitement. “But the ugly point of the story comes now. He has escaged me for the pres- ent, and at this moment I have not an idea how to find him. Hark! Excuse et 4 At that moment a peculiar sound—the ery of a cat-bird, well imitated—sound- ed froin the street just under his win- dew. Hantlin raised the sash, and, making Humpy Jack a signal to come Cirectly up stairs, closed the window and re- sumed his seat. “A little agent of mine is on hand,” he said, “who may have some informa- tion for me—here he is,”as the door opered and Humpy Jack limped in. The boy was too eager to repness his feelings, for he fairly bubbled over with excitement, self-importance and triumph. “Still, however, he cast a questioning look toward Shirley, before emptying his budget of news lowing the boy’s glance. “This gentle- man is one of us for the. present. Speak freely.” “Well, boss, rememberin’ as how you said to keep my eye on him, I did, an’ mighty spry he kep’ me, too, a-keepin’! my eye on him. But I can black a boot an’ see around a corner, a’most, at the same tine. So I spied ¢n’ spied. He met his gal ’most every day—the purty one—an’ ke said good-bye to her, an’ went to gamblin’ places an’ sech, an’ jest made it ‘ively for me; but it was all nothin’ to yesterday. He left the hotel yesterday!” Jacky paused for.the effect, but Hant- lin only answered, quietly. “Yes; I know that.” Jacky’s countenance fell. and a vision of glittering coins vanished into the dis- tance. He resumed quickly: “In the mornin’ he met his gal as usu- al; but when he returned to the hotel there was anuther a-waitin’ fur him-— purty enough she was, too, an’ I knowed her the minnii I set eyes on her. She was the dark, furrin’-lookin’ one that I first see him with, on the steps of the fine house where Mr. Grayson wes mur- dered!” Hantlin rose to his feet, and a slight flush showed his excitement. “Weill, boss, I got near enough to listen, but not a blessed word could IT meke out. ‘'cause they parley-voued away in some furrin’ lingo. But after that he went into the hotel, an’ she went away, an’ the nex’ thing was his trunks a-bein’ strapped onto a carriage, an’ he a-gettin’ into it; on’ me jest a’most wild. ‘So here goes!’ sez I, ‘fur a free ride. Mebbe I'll get my leg off, but I've got to limp, anyhow, an’ p’raps the koss’ll get me a cork leg if 1 loses this ’un.’ Se I jest swings myself un der that kerridge when it began to move, an’ there I hangs homehow, any- how—blest if I know how! But when it same to its journey’s end, there was I, alive, an’ kickin’ pretty lively, too, an I scrambled down an’ hid in the first con- venient corner, to watch further devel- opments. The kerridge had stopped "way out of town, beyond Bloomin’dale, in front 0’ the purtiest little cottage—a | regular nest ov a place, An’ there they teok the trunks in, an’ the fine gentle- man went in after em. There's a coup- le of servants—a man an’ a woman— both furriners; an’ the place is fur- nished lovely. I watched till a-past dark; but he didn’t come out ag’in, an’ I guess they’ve made a runaway match of it, him an’ his gal; an’ most like she’s there with him now.” “And can you take us there?” asked the detective. “Well, ruther; that’s jest wot I’m here fur,” returned Jacky, with com- placent triumph. Hantlin unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out several gold pieces without counting them. “You see these, Jacky? They are ycurs when you take me to that charm- ing abode of love and mystery.” “Just come ahead, boss!” and Jacky led the way. ‘ CHAPTER XXVI. . Clarice Triumphant. Hantlin, the detective, was not the only one who had observed the change in Clarice. Brian Mowbray, her father, had been the first to note it; and, remembering how he had left her at their last inter- view, he marveled greatly, and could by no means understand it. “Can she have heard anytaing?” he asked himself. “Could that French hussy by chance have had any know- | ledge of the true criminal? But, pshaw! | lam growing fanciful—and that is quite | impossible!” But, all the same, Mr. Mowbray took oceasion to make special inquiries in the household, and he questioned Susan, particularly. Fror her h> learned that the French maid had left under suspicious circum- stances, and that Mrs. Grayson seemed very angry with her and had sent for the detective. This both surorised and alarmed him, for he was well aware that Leonce was a favorite with his daughter, and the sending for Hantlin disturbed him ex- ceedingly. “Doubtless I am making a mountain out of a molehill,” he told himself, “but I will watch even more closely, if possi- ble. Clare’s insane infatuation for that fellow, Austin will spur her on to some extraordinary effort to prove his inno- cence. I must be ready to quench her ardor in that direction with new and more formidable proofs of his guilt.” With this “end in view, he scarcely left the house for his daily walk or drive, and though he spent most of the time in the library or in the suite of apartments he had chosen for his own use, he managed to make himself fa- miliar with every detail of the busi- ness passing around him. He paid Susan well, and he felt satis- fied with the marner in which she earned her reward, for she kept him in- fermed of the smallest items of inter- est, while she received Mrs. Martin's donations with the other hand. On the arrival of the detective, Mow- bray was immediately informed of the circumstance by his spy—as soon as she had clesed the fron: door on the re- treating figure of her cther client. But the low, suppressed tone in which Clarice had conducted her conversation with Hantlin prevented him from gain- ing anything by his effort at listening. “Susan must be right,” he thought. “The Frenchwoman has been guiity of a robbery, no doubt, end Clare is con- sulting the detective about it.” But this explanation failed to satisfy him, and he hovered about the hall and stairway during the whole time of the interview between his daughter and the detective. When Claric> came out, her radiant face made him still more uneasy; and when she brushed past him without a word, toward her own sitting room, on the next floor, he followed her, and knocked, somewhat timidly, at the door. The knock was rot responded to, and he was obliged to repeat it more than once before the voice of his daughter bade him enter. “Pray, ¢xcuse me, father,” said Clar- ice, wher. at last he had pushed open the door. ‘I have many things to think of, and would prefer to be alone.” “To dream remorses about yuyr lov- er,” said Mr. Mowbray, provoked to be sorcastic by her manner. “At least you can grudge me that pleasure,” returned Clarice, coolly, and meeting his sneering glance with look “All right, Jacky,” said Hantlin, fol- | of'triumph, . “She would never dare answer me like this, or look as she does,” thought Mcwbray, “unless she had received some good news concerning Austin. } Curse him!” Aloud he continued: “I should think you would have too much pride ond self-respect to waste a thought on such an unworthy wretch— a false lover and 2 murderer!” “He is neither,’ Clarice responded, calmly, though the warm color rushed to her face, injignantly. “You forget that your words contradict each other, too, A false lover would not kill his rival, 2s you choose to iutimate, But Shirley was never false—too true, my poor darling, to one so unworthy as I . proved myself. Ani as to your other menstrous charge, we will soon prove its falsehood to all »he world!” “You are a foo!, Clarice, to talk so to me!” Mowbray burst out in a passion icsing all control at sight of his dauga- ter’s calmness, ‘Did I not see the very weapon with which the deed was done in his hand?” “No, father, you did not,” Clarcice re- turned, with exasperating composure. “Because the unfortunate man wha was my husband, held that weapen in his hind -vhen he entered this house, and ene pair of eyes were quicx enou: to see it.” “It is 2 lie!’ thundered Mowbray, des- perately, hut his spirit fell at the words, If this should be true, his ory power over Clarice was gone. H> had not, of course, seen any such weapon in Aus- tin’s hand, but he had so persuaded himself that the frantic lover would kave clutched it—having so good an epportunity—that he almost now be- lieved the lie he had invented. “It is not a lie,” Clarice responded, quietly. “I thank God it is the blessed truth! There is a witness who can prove it, and whose unwilling testimo- ny will only make the truth more pow- erful; more than that—the real mur- erer is known, and his capture and condemnation ere but a matter of time; and, in despite of you all, my Shirley shall yet be cleared of all manner of suspicion, and I may kneel at his feet and ask him to forgive me.” Mowbray became pale as a ghost, and he sank into the nearest chair, unable to stand, His daughter's manner, speech and air of conviction in all that she had said, showed him, more than any amount or protestation or excite- ment, the strength of her position, (To Be Continued.) The Act Vndicated. The zoological conference now sit- ting in Berlin will, we see help to con- firm the popular ideas as to the wis- dom of the ant. Professor Morel, of Switzerland, who has made that insect his study, says the ant’s brain, in the workers, at all events, is well devel- oped; they have four of the five senses —hearing. being probably wanting— and they possess reasoning powers as well as memory. ‘Bney make war and -| peace, but after war has ceased indi- vidual ants of Dr. Jchnson’s tempera- ment will “go for” individual enemies. It is all true, we fear, and all rather melancholy, most of the gifts upon Which man prides himself being shared by cFagres whom he only despiser, If a flea can reason a3 well as Jump and bite, what becomes of the innate superiority of man? He is bigger, but if he is to die like a flower, that is not much to boast of. Stay, no ant has vet been seen to kill another ant at a dis- tance. The rifle differentiates us.— London eaten 1 New Kink in Naval Architecture. Neptune's voice filled the caves of old ocean and startled the sea lion in his lair. » “Where in the name of the nine gods is my chariot?” Davy Jones grew white around the gills and parried the question. “Speak, thou junk dealer, or up goes thy rent!” Under this dread threat, Davy con- fessed that the mermaids had hitched it to a fin keel, and the gods them- selves couldn’t tell where they were by this time. “Well, I've heard of hitching your chariot to a star, but I’m switched if this fin-keel hitch isn't something new. It teaches, however, that this kink in naval architecture has its uses.” Neptune's wrath was clearly allevi- ated in the thought that the mermaids were having a little fun—New York Marine Journal. Not Up to Her Ideals. A little New York girl's idea of a farmer is evidently taken from the funny pictures printed by the papers of her native town. This particular lit- tle girl is visiting in Albany, and while cut walking the other day, was asked if she did not want to go down through the public market and see the farmers. “Farmers?” she said, questioningly. “Yes, farmers. Don’t you know what asked her escort. was the answer. “They wear boots and straw hats and people sell them things.’ She couldn’t “quite make the real thing jibe with her comic picture idea. —Albany Journal. Statue for Cookery Writer. Pates de foi gras and other comesti- bles have long been passports to the Legion of Honor. .Now the French have gone one better. M. Monselet is to have a statue, Who is Monselet? you ask. He is a Nantes journalist, who has published in a sort of Tit-Bits weekly disquisitions on gastronomy and cook- ery recipes. This is a solid fact! ald. ‘New York Her- r Microbes on Raw Vegetables. Signor Cesrole of Pudua has discov- ered the existence of more than fifty noxious microscopic parasites and mi- crobes in the washings of vegetables from market gardens, says Youth’s Companion. Among the micro-organ- isms found by him was the bacillus af tetanus and another analcgous to that which produces typhoid fever. He as- eribes the infection largely to the con- tents of watering pots. Could Afford to Gash Him. A Droitwich barber was just finish- ing lathering a customer, and was talk- ing volubly, as usual. , “Yes, sir,” he sas, “there’s no care- lessness allowed by our employer. Every time we cut a customer's face we are fined sixpence, and if we make an ugly gash it costs us 2 shilling.” Then, picking up and brandishing his ravor, he added: “But I, don't care a rap to-day. I've just won a sover- eign.”=London Answers, — POULTRY. A Half-Column of Den'ts and News. Don't breed a Hamburg that has a sin- Ble comb. Never use a “clay-breasted” Partridge Cochin female. Never use a bronze turkey tom that has a slim shank. Never use a bird that shows any tend- ‘ency to knock-knees. Never breed extremes in form or color if at all avoidable. Never use a bird that has a natural deformity of any kind. Never use a bird that is inferior in sizé to its sex of its breed. Avoid white birds that have straw- colored backs and wing bows. Never discard goose or gander because of its age—the older the better. Never use a pullet to sell eggs from until you have tested her laying quali- ties. Never mate a male of any breed that is easily cowed by all the other males. Never use one that has a scant leg and toe feathering, if a feather-legged breed. Never use a Pekin duck that does not walk quite erect, nor one that has a short body. Never use one of the pinkish-white shanks if its breed calls for yellow or dark yellow shanks. The Teacher's Wife. Clarissa, Minn., Oct. 28th.—Mrs. Clara Keys, wife of Charles Keys, school teacher of this place, tells a wonderful story. For years ! er life was one of misery. Her back ached all the time, her head ached all the time, her back ached all the time; nuerelgia pains Grove her to desperation. She ured much medicine, kut failed to get any relief till she tried Dedd’s Kidney Fills. “Very soon after I began using Dodd’s Kidney Pills all my aches and pains vanished like the morning dew. I consider this remedy a God-send to suffering womanhood.” Encouraged by their suecess in her own case, Mrs. Keys induced her moth- er, an old lady of 74 years, to use Dodd's Kidney Pills for her many aches and pains. Now both mother and daughter rejoice in perfect freedom from illness or suffering, which is something neither had enjoyed for years befo- No Model. “I know a man whose wife never spoke a word to him about money,” he said. “What a model husband he must have been!” remarked a woman in the company. “What a model wife, I should say, rather,’ corrected the second man. “I don't know vs to that,” said the first speaker. “She was deaf and dumb.”—Salt Lake Herald. Care of the Complexion. Many persons with delicate skin suffer greatly in winter from chapping. Fre- quently the trouble arises from the use of impure soap and cheap salves. The face and hands should be washed only in clear, hgt water with Ivory Soap. A lit- tle mutton tallow or almond oil may be used after the bath to soften the skin. ELIZA R. PARKER. Didn’t Keep Count. ~.\ “How many times did you vote in the election?” “Marse Tom,” was the reply, “ain’t you knewed me long ‘nuff ter know dat I don’t know nuttin’ ’tall "bout ‘rithme- tic?”—Atlanta Constitution, The Clouds o1 Doubt. “He has told me that he toved me,” said the fair girl, “but I don’t know whether to marry him or not. “I am sure he does his best to tell the truth. But, you see, he works in the weather bureau.”—Washington Star. It Depends. First Chappie—I say, old chap, I’m going to a big shoot. What sort of a tip should I give the keeper? Second Chappie—It depends where you hit him.—London Punch. Trifling that Costs. Neglect Sciatica and Lumbago And you may be disabled and incapacitated for work for many long days. SEEKS: St. Jacobs Oil ‘Will cure surely, right away, and save time, money and Suffering. It Conquers Pain Price, 25c and soc. SOLD BY ALL DEALERS IX MEDICINE. NO. 44.—