The Sumter banner. (Sumterville, S.C.) 1846-1855, September 21, 1853, Image 1
. O S ' - "" l
VOTI DJ TO SOUTHERN RIGHTS, 03I IIVDOCRACY, NEWS, LITERATURE AGRICULTURE, CIENE AN TE ART
VOL. VII. S~ld T E R~tLL E, C., SEPTEMBER 21, 183.
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AGRICULTURAL.
May Making.
[September and October are months
in which economical planters will en
deavor to make and save much hay, and
we have selected the following articles,
from the Maine Farmer, as acceptable
to them:]-ED.
RANDom TnouowTs An1OUT IAvma.
--The seas6n of haying is at hand, and
perhaps a few thoughts with regard to
Ihis most important harvest, may not
be amiss a't this mometit.
Although there are some sections in
Maine, whore the grass of the pres.
cut season is not extra, perhaps not
tip to the usual point, yet, throughout
the greater part of Maine, grass nev
er protgsed better or was more for
ward than at this present time.-The
,grass crop is one of our most valuable
evops. 'Uponi the use of it during
the sifiiner and autumn, we are
dependent for the support of our
cattle and Iorses. and other fairm
stock; for our milk, buuer. cheese,
beet, mutton, wool. &c.; and during
- to wilnter months, the hay derived
from grass contites- to its, though in
a less -degree, all the above advantages.
Cod has so created and adapted
animal and vegetable kingdoms,
hre is a sott bf mutfal deipen
n -~they slopport Anli ota
each other.
Your'ox Is An'orgatilted boing, ,hieh
orgwnization, or frame, or body as it
Is'more omionly called, is animated
with that mysterious something whieb
we call "life."
The body is nade tip ofvaAonis ma
terials, each of shape and ingredient
peculiar to itself. The bones are com
posed of carbonate of lime, and held
together in their panicular form, by
gelatine or glue. The hide or skin is
nad&up of fibres and golatinc. The
horns, and hoofs. and hair, are prin
,ipally albuminous matter and lime,
the ipusles are fibres of albutmin-ous
and.other-matters, the fat is made up
of carbonaceous particles, and the
blood is composed, at certain points of
course, of iore or less of all these
matters, and others peculiar to itself.
From whence does the ox get
all these ingredients, and lay them
up ivithin his frame in difierent parts
thereof, until from being a snall calf
which yott can throw over your head,
he becomes a large and stalely an
imal, "Weighing thousands of pounds!
frorh grass? The expression that
all flesh is grass is not merely a
figurative sentiment, it may be con
sidered a literal truith. The gr-eat art of
haying, therefore, consists mn so pre
paring grass, that it will keep perfe~ct
Jy through the winter, and yet retain
all the ingredients necessary to supply
"utrinjent to cattle.
S4These ingredients though made up of
e elements which under diflTrent
combinations form the living organism
of the ox, do not, howes 23', exist in
the grass or hay, in the same com
binations as they do in the animal.
They are separated and re-combined
by the powers of digestion and other
'functions of the living organs.
The nutritive principles of grass ex
1st in the form of sugar-mucilage,
gluten, carbonaceous matter, &c. T~he
more of these are found in tihe
grass, the better fodder it makes. As
these substances becomes changed, as
the grass matures, and its seed be
comes ripened, tihe whole being ab
sorbed or nearly so by thme seed, it
is important that it should be cuit, at a
period when it contains the most of
these suibstances difliksed throughout
the body of the plant, and this period
is found to be, both by common 01)
servatio,,and by analysis, when
the plan'f isgin blossom.
If all the grass could be cut when
5t blospms, the~chaniges of' these un
tritivo. matters wkuld be arrested, and
the hay retaiping them, would be in
thme beat eon sitioni for nourishing stock.
This cannot be done, and hence, faurm
era who :ha've much hay to cut, find a
part of the crop lees valuable fodder,
-than that wichd is cut at the most
T'he guttjpg of' the- hiy, however, is
although the most laborious. The
curing, or drying and housing is of
great importance, And of this we
will say more in our next;
RANDoM TuouGnTs AnotT HAYiNG.
We stated in our last that grass should
be cut when in blossom, as the great
est quantity of the matters necessai'y
for the nutriment of cattle was then
most generally throughout the plant.
By cutting it at this tini, the
changes which would have taken
place at successive stages of its growth
are arrested, and these matters pre
served.
In order, however, to preserve them
in the best manner, the grass should
be dried, or in other words, the
cut grass should be exposed to heat
sufficiently long to expel the wa
ter from it and leave the otber sub
stances.
Hence it will appear very evident to
every one that it should not be ex
posed to any moisture, such as dews
or rains. Moisture will dissolve por
tions of the sugar, gum or mucilage,
which is contained in the plant, and
if soaked suflicient ly long, authing will
be left behind in the hay but vegeta
ble fibre.
It would probably be better if
grass could be dried under cover, but
as this is out of the qnestion the great
est care should be taken to keep ofT
dews or rains iifter it begins to dry.
Hence the hay-caps, which are no
thing but pieces of cotton sheeting pla
ced upon the hay-cocks, answer an
admirable purpose in case of storms
coiing on befbre tie hay is sufijeient
ly dry to put into the barn. Soime
have thought if, after the grass has
been partially dried, it be cocked up
and these caps put on, they might
he sulTered to stand, and the hay be
made in this way. Course grasses, like
coarse clover, for instance, may
be cured in this way; but when the
grass is fine and disposed to lay con.
pact, there will be danger of its heat
ing and fermenting more or less,- and
thus be injured. . In the ordinary way
no better method can be adopted than,
the old-rule, "innlik hay While 7thi
sun shines." A clear air and n
bright sun will dry it very fa-t, es
pecially if it he stirred up oftel so as
to expose all parts to the influence of
these ageits.
Some farmi-ers are disposZd to hil
ry their hay into the barn as soon as
it will any way do, and if i.appears to
be a little green, to sprinkle sait ov
cr it as they pack it away. The salt ab
sorbs the surplus moisture and be
cOMIes dissolved, ain( thus prevents
any1%, fermeniitation. Others prefer to
give their grass an ultra dryiig be
fbre they paek it away.
The late Joseph R. Abbot inform
ed us that lie used to dry his at Ieast
a day longer than most people be
tore he put it into the ban, and that
as a consequence he never had
any dusty or smoky hay. How this
may be we do not know. Thle proper
way is to dry it just so long as it will
require to be dried in order to expel
the water to sitch it point as to prevent
aiy fermniiiitationa whln stowed away
in the mow. W\ hen this is done, and
there hus been no exposure to Imois.
ture, the hay will be of good color,
elstic ald nutritive. Such hay is
worth more tian that cut lite, after
the sugar, gii ie., -has ilecomne
changed, and the ripened seed has ab
sorbed from the stalk miost of it in
order to supply it with the materials
niecessary to constitute a mature
seed. Such hay, if judiciously fed out
to eattle and other stoek, will make
them gaiti nearily as fast as they will
at grass. We do not pay attention
enough to these facts. E\ e re- apt to
consider almost any dried grass as
good hay; and, without pitying any
further attention to it, think we do
our duty to our cattle if we tie them
fast by the head, and throw over to
them about such a qluantity- (as near as
we can, guess) of dried grass, "hit
Now, in nothing that we feed out to
cattle is thuere so wide a dilierence as
in hay, and it is a solemn duty for e
cry ftirmeri, in the first placet, to cuil
tivate those grasses which shall con
tain the greatest quantity of nutr-itive
mlatter; in the niext place to cut and
cure and house it, in such, a miahimer as
to preserve these ingredients in the
best possible: mainner-, andi then to
feed it out so as to snpply the cat
tle with enough and have none wasted.
MF.Anow HAY---eadowv hay, if
inltetnded fbi- winter- food for stock of
any kind, should rrever bs allowed to
stand unt-il fully ripe. By remaining
in the field till it becomes mature, it
acquires a hard and wirey chiaracter',
wvhich ensuires its being rejected by
most animals wvheni not actually comn
p~elled by hunger; and is, indeed,
fit for little else besides lter, or
lbedd'ng.' By cutting-the period of
miflorescence, perhaps, indicates wit~h
suthicent gener al accuracy, the mofst
suitable season for harvesting-maki
ing thoroughly and salting, with from
one to tWo ppbks of salt per ton (the
quantity ill all caIses to bb graduated in
conformity to the use to which it is to
be applied) a very excellent and
salutary Winter food will be secured.
Sheep do wll, ifi Inost cases, much
better on this than on any other
hay. Tlicy partake eagerly, nd are
seldom sick. In marshes appended to
most of the fhrms, or where salt-hay
can be obtaindd iii altiiost any quai
tity, and at a merely nominal price, tile
wild grass of mcador and fresh bog
land, possess intrinsib value; but even
then it is not by any means to be
throwi away. Even if you have on
use for it in your barn, it will
be found an ekeellent article for
manure. When used for this pur
pose, cart it into your yards green, or
in a partially made coniltion, and
spread over the surface, or elso pack it
away, after "making it," as hay, in
some conveinent and unoccupied out
building, to be thrown out occasion
ally during the winter, or to supply
bedding for your horses, sheep, sWitic
and other animals, and thus be iixed
up with the manure for future use.
But there few places whete a good crop
of wild hay will not be valuable to
the farmer flor feeding. In the in
terior, it is eminently so, and there is
generally a demand for a much larger
quantity of' it than most firmers find it
practicable to obtain. In such places,
the most imperfect of the wild grasses,
if properly salted, will be found to
possess a high value. It is an error to
suppose that long standing'improves
the quality of this description of
hay. The earlier it is cut, after the
season of haying commences, the bet
ter.-Germantown Teleqraph.
IIS CELL ANEOUS,
From the Southern Rcorder.
239 CAPR .
INTERIESTING INCIDENTS.
About the middle of January last,
gAiinfroVEMacon, Ga, Qglethrope,
by railrod', it wasiTy good fortune'to
have a seat next to Dr. C - . one
of the Bishops of the Methodist Epis
copal Church, South. During the first
mile of travel, the Bishop gave me a
very nimute description of a gentleman
who had that morning breakfast with
us in the city of Alacon, and inquired
iff knew him. I replied that I did.
Said the Bishop, "Ie has acted to.
wards ine as no mnan pver did before,
save one'. Fearing that there was
some Iimisunlderstanding, I felt exceed
ingly anxious to know what had occur
red. Said the Bishop, "Just before
the gong rang for breakfast, and before
it was eleverly light, whilst standing
in the entry, this individual approach
ed me, and asked if my name was C.
Yes said I, that is my name. le was
pleased to say, that it had been his
good fortune, ahoit twenty or went-y
five years past, to have heard ine preach
a sermion. Ile then remarked. that
ministers, in travelling over the coun
try, no more live upon the wind than
the rest of us, and with this remark
tendered tme a bank note of *20 I
accepted this kind offr, and felt par
ticularly anxious to know something
more about him." -
I gatve him nthe name and re'sidence
of the gentleman, amnd said to him, lie
can wecll afford to give, and is in the
habit of doing so whenciever a worthy
object presenits itsself, I was pleased
with the result of the last iinterview,
und begged to be informied of the na
ture of' the first. "It, occurred," said
lhe, "shortly after I had beeni licensed
to preach, and in South Carolina.
A fter the labor of my circuit had
closed, I haud stairted home, and at the
end of a long day's journey, to put up
for the night rit a decent looking coun
try inn. A noiniber of travellers like
myself stoped for shelter likewise.
Among all who were pr'esenit, there
w~as not oneo whom I had ever seen be
10re. Aftter pairtakoig a substantial
suippei, the company (myself amioiig
the numtbcr)retired to a sitting room,
whemre we found a fire and other nec
essary comforts provided. I noticed a
small lad seated inm one corner, andh as
near' the lire as lie could comfortably
well get, with his toes peeping out
through his shoes. For a tine, no
0one iappeared to take any notice of; or
care for the lad, at which apparent niog
heet, he manifested no conecrn.
"A short time after we were all seat
ed comfortably aro~mnd the fire, our
landlord said, "John I would not go to
night if' I wvere you." At these wvords
the little fellow burst into tears, and
said, "Why do you say so, you know
I must go." After hearing this re
mark, I fet a deep) interest in know
ing whlat it was the boy had to do.
I was informed that lie wvas a mail car
rier, and1 had to go that night twenty
onte miles. Afior obtaining this in
formation, I made inquiry of the lad,
and found that the clothing then upon
him, which consisted of a shirt, panta.
loons, and round jacket, all half cottor,
goods, was all he nad. . I endeavored
to dissuade him from his purpose. ]
told him that it was then both rainhid
and sleeting-besides, it was one of
the coldest, if not the coldest night' I
had ever felt; and that if lie atteml)ted
to perform the trip that night he would
bbyond all questions freeze to death
before he got half way his journeyN'
That if he would not attempt to go1
we would all present write to his em.
ployer, and state to him that it was
by our advice and persuasion that he
had remained. At this, the little fel.
low (still in tears) shook his head, and
said, "I must go; if Ido rct, I shall
lose my place, and then my mother and
sister will starve; so don,t tell me any
more not to go.
"About this time, the carrier, w1o
the lad was looking for, arrived. Up.
on entering the room lie threw off a
large bear skin overcoat, lie drew near
the fire, and swore lie was froze through.
Said I, "Friend, ifyou are froze through
whilst warmly clad as you are, what
will be the fote of this poor boy, thin.
ly clad as he is, who has to ride twen.
ty one miles before day, and carry the
mail you have brought with you? 'i
"lie will not live to get over t06
swampI that is just ahead, and four
miles wide, said lie.
When I found that nothing would
discourage him from making the eflort
I went to the landlady to purehase a
blanket or a quilt as a covering foi
bin. She replied that she could net
spare anything of the kind. "Madami
said 1, "Jet me have this half wor
blanket for the child; I will give yod
four dollars for it." "No, sir," said
she, "you vill all find before'mornIng
that I have no blanket tosell." Upon
my return to the room, I found the
poor boy still in tears, but preparind
to go. The carrier who had arrived
was still before the fire. "Sir," said JI
"will you sell me _your overcoatfAio
this boy 9"
"Yes," said lie, "if I "an get cost.foi
it.."
"What is the cost?" said :.
"Eight dollars,"wgh
Ihanded' hhdind hn o
the overcoat, and gavefret'. the oy,
who lost ho time in trying it on. J1e
was delighted with the gift, dried up
his tears, appeared cheertlul and staet.
ed upon his journey with appprent joy.
"In a short time after this, I retired
to my room, and here, foir the first time,
I was broght to -reflect upon my own
condition. I was then among stran.
gers, at a country tavern, one hundred
and thirty-five miles from home, and
lnt 25 cents in my pocket. After re.
fleeting a short time, I concluded to
reminain the next morning till after
breakthst, then to call flor my horse,
place my saddle bags on my arm, thei
to shake hands, anid hid farewell to
every one about the house, in order to
make mv departure as notorious as
possible, that if I should be reminded
ofi my unpaid bill, I would iake my
situation known, and promise to send
back the amount as soon as I arrived
aiomIg my% friends in Carolina.
"The next morning I carried out my
vrevious plan to the leter. Nothing
was said about my unpaid bill, and I
rode slowly ofi. I had another cold
day's ride of' thirty-five miles, which
brought ne to the mansion of a 1hrm,
er that gave abumndent evidences ot
comfort mndt plenty. Upon inquiry, I
was told that I could stay all night.
I was very cold, and biefire I got eom
tbrtably warm~tl, tea wais annRonced.
Hei're the laltes were turined, the gen.
themnan asked a blessing. l1lis manner
vinced mec that I was among a religom
famnily.
"Shortly after tea, a ser'vant, (with'
out previoius orders) placed the stand
with the Bible andi hymn book befort
her moaster. '"Sir," said hei, "I presumti
that you are titigned from your day's
jour'ney, and wih to retire early. It
has beeni my pracutice for' many 'years
past, betbre retiring to recst, to call my
thinnily togeter and humbly beg for
giveness for paslt otfence's against (otm
heavenly Father, and to implore hmi:
pr'ot~t'ctioni andi care dur'ing the night
and I wvill be glad ifyou remain a few
mitnutes.'
"T1o this irequmest I gave a cor'dial as
sent. Aly mianiner of' doing this, om
some) thing else, caused him to, ask if I
would lead the prayer.* I replied thai
I wvould. Whereupon his seat wm5
kindly and politely tendered mec. Atf
ter pr'ayer the 01(1 gentleman asked i:
I were a iminister 'I linformed hinr
that I was, and was theni on my way
home froma-cireidt. Th~le next
mnorning~ before bireakfast, the old g'n.
tieman addressed me thus: "Friend,
said lhe, "we do not belong to the samt
denomriinati' of Christians. You arn
a Methodist, andi I am a Pr'esbyterian
it is, I day say, with the ministers o1
your denomination as wvith ours.
You, at times, stand in need of a litth
money. W ill you accept of this, an<
if your present circumstances do no
require it, keep it until you have use
1or it," handing me a twenty dollar
bank bill.
"Now," said the ishop, "see how
soon I got back tny eight dollars with
'more than one hundred per cent. inter
est. And that was not all," said lie.
"When I got home, I enclosed to the
tavern keeper where I met with, John,
11.50 for my bill, In a short time, I
received an answer, with "the money
returned, saying they never charged
preachers for staying all night,-and
begged that I would again call, if I ev
er passed that way. I have many times
since made inquiry for John, but nev
er could obtain the least trace of him.'
Kate Yale's' Mart'iage.
"If ever I marry," Kate Yale used
to say, half in ehrnest, "the happy man
-or the unhappy one, if you please,
ha, ha!-shall be a person possessed of
these three qualifications;
"First, a fortune;
"Second, good looks;
"Third, common sense.
I "I mention the fortune first,* be
cause I think it the most needful and
desirable, qualification of the three.
-Although I never could think -of mar
rying a fool, a man whose ugliness I
'should be ashamed of, still think
to ilk sense for one, and shine for
the. other with plenty of money, would
be preferablo to living obscure with a
handsome; intellectual man-to whom
economy might be necessary."
I do not know how much of this
'sentiment came from Kate's heart. She
unddubtedly indulged lofty ideas of
1ptation and style-for her education
in the duties and aims of life had been
deficient, or rather erroneous; but that
phe was capable of deeper, better feel
jings, none ever doubted who have
.obtained even a partial- glimpse of
lier true woman's nature.
And the time. arrived when Kate
ars to take that all-important step of
-which ship had often spoiish so ligly
when eS was to demonfstrate tolier
14i'ds how much of her heart wis in
'pords we have quot.ed.
enghjantiggoj ~ tih
..
ei gave a serious thought to more than
two, we will follow *her example, and
discarding all other except those fav
ored ones, cpnsider their relative claims
If this were any other than a true sto
ry, I should certainly use an artist's
privilege, and aim to produce an ef
fect by making a strong contrast be
tween the two favored individuals. If
I could have my own way, one should
be a poor genius, and something of a
hero; the other a wealthy fool; and
somewhat of a knave.
But the truth is
Our poor genius was not much of a
genius-not very poor, either. He was
by profession a teacher of music, and
lie could live very comfortably by the
exercise thereof-without the most
distant hope, however, of every Attain
iig to wealth. Mbreover, Francis
Minot possessed cteellent qualities,
which entitled bii to be called by
elderly people a "fine cbariieter," by
his companions a "noble good fellow,"
and by the ladies generally, a"darling.'
Kate could not, help loving Mr.
Frank, aid lie knew it. le wgts cer
tain she preferred his society even to
t hat of h r. Wellington, whom alone he
saw fit to honor with the appliention
of rival.
This 'Mr. Wellinaton (his c'un1
panions called him "Duke,") was no
idiot or humnpback, as I could have
wished him to be, ini order to make
a good story-. On the contrary, lie
was a tman of~ sense, good looks, and
line manners, and there was nothing of
the knave about hini, as I could ev
er ascertain,
Desides this, his income wa~s suml
cient to enable him to live superbly.
Also, he was considered two or
three degrees handsomc- thau Mr.
F. Minot.
Therefore, the only thing on which
Frank had to depend wvas the powver he
possessed over Kate's sympathies and
affections. T1he "Du ke"---lthough
just the man for her in every sense, be
inig blessed withi a fortunie, good looks,
and common sense-had never been
able to draw these out, and the am.
ianble, conceited Mr. Frank was not
willing to believe that she would
suffer mere worldly considerations
to control the aspirations of the heart.
Ihowever, one day when lie pressed
her to decide his fate, she said to him
with a sigh:
"Ohi, Frank! I am sorry we have
ever met!"
"Sorry?"~
"Yes, for we must part now."
"Part!" repeated Frank, turning
pale. It was evident he had not ex
pected this.
"Yes-yes," said Kate, casting down
her hed with another piteous sigh.
Franik sit by her side; lie placed his
arm around her waist, without heeding
her feeble resistance; lie lowered
his voice and talked to her, until she
-proud Kate-wept, wept bitterly.
"Kati-," said he, then, with a
burst of passion, "I kno* you love me;
but you are proud, ambitious, selfish!
Now, if'you would have me leave you,
say the.*ord, and I gb."
"Go!" inurmiifed Rate, feebly-go!'
"Have you decided?" whispeied Frank.
"I have."
"Then, love, fhrewell!"
Ie took her hand, gazed a mo
ment tenderly and sorrowful into her
beautiful, tearful face, and then clasped
her to his bosom.
She permitted the embrace. She
even gave way to thd iinpise, and
twined her arrs around his ieck; but
in a moment, her resolution came to
her aid, and she pushed him from her
.with a sigh.
"Shall I go?" lie articulated,
A feeble "yes" fell from her lips-and
an instant later she was lying on the
sofa, sobbing and weeping-alone!
To tear the tenacious root of love
out of her heart, had cost her more
than she could have anticipated; and
the certainty ofa golden life of luxury
proved but a poor consolation, it
seemed, for the sacrifice she had made.
She lay long upon the sofa I say,
sobbing and weeping passionately.
Gradually lier grief appeared to ex.
haust itself. Her tears ceased to
flow, and at length her eyes and
cheeks were dry. Her head was
pillowed on her arm, and her face was
half hidden in a flood of beautiful curls.
The struggle was over. The agony
was past. She saw Mr. Wellington
enter, and rose cheerfully to'meet him.
His manners pleased her-his station
and fortune fascinated her more. le
offered her his hand-she accepted it.
A kiss sealed the engagement-but it
not such a kiss as Frank had given her,
and she could scarce repress a sigh!
There was a magnificent wedding.
Splendidly attired, dazzling the eye
with her beauty thus adorned, with
every thing a round swimmihg in
the charmed atmosphere of fairy
land, Kate gave hef hand to the man
her ambition-not her lot-e; had chos
en!
. Butacertainly, amxbition could not
h'adi~M ~ iM~h,*e 44wAltshdyr
she saw herself surrounded by a iag
nificent court, of which she was
the akftowledged and admitted queen.
The favors of Ibrtune were showered
upou lier; she floated luxuriously upon
the smooth and glassy wave of a
chdtrmed life.
Nothing was wanting in the whole
circle of her existence to adorn it and
make it bright with happiness. But
she was not long in discovering that
there was something wanting within
hztr breast,
Her friends *ere nuinerous; her
husband tender, hind and loving;
but all the attentions anid affections
could not fill her heart. She had
once felt its cords and sympathy
moved by a skilful touch; she had
known the heavenly charm of their
deep, delicious harmony, and now they
were silcnt-motionless-muflied, so
as to speak, in silks and satins. These
chords still and soundless, her heart
was dead-none the less so, because it
had been killed by a golden shot, hav
ing known and felt the life of sympathy
in it, unconsoled by the life of luxury.
In short, Kate in time beearne mag
nificently miserale-splendidly un
happy.
Thein h bhiange beeamec apparent to
her- husband. Hie could not long re
main blind to the faict that his love was
not returned, Ile sought the company
of those whose gayety might lead him
to forget the sorrow and despair of
his soul. This shallow joke was un
satisfactory, however, and impelled by
a powerftfl longing for love, lie went a
stray to warm his heart by astrange fire.
Kate saw herself now in the midst
of a gorgeous desolation, burning with
tinrst unconquerable by golden streams
that flowed around 1her; panting with
a hungcr which not all the food of flat
tery and admiration could appease.
She reproached her husband for
deserting lion thus4 and he answered
with angry and desperate taunts of
deception and a total lack of love,
which smote her conscience heavily.
"You do not care for me," he cried
-"then why do you complauin that I
bestow elsewhere the affction you
have met with coldness?"
"But it is wvrong-sinmful,"Kate rea
monstrated.
"Yes I know it"-Said the husband
fiercely. "It is the evil of an evil
seed. And who sowved that seed? Who
g ave ime a hand without a heart? Who
became a sharer of inf fortune but
gave me no share ini her sympathy?
Who. devoted me to the faute of a
loving 2unloved husband? Nay, do
not weep, arid-clash your hands and
sigh and sob with such desperation of
impatience, for I say nothing you do
not deserve to hear."
"Very wvell," .said Kate. "I do
not say your reproaches are undeserv
ed. lint granting I am the cold, de
eitful thing you il me, you know
'this state of things cannot ~ontiue.uo"
"Yes, I.know it.",
"Wellt"
Mr; lligton r
darkly-his eyes flashed w
mination:-his lips turled -
"I have made up my mnd
"that we phould not live toget
longer. I ath tired bf being 11M.
husband of the splendid
lington. I will notebr in
you shall shine in yobr.V 4
place fb restraiit on y our act Ji
shall you oh niine. Ve will 4
"But the world!". shrieke.-d 6
Kate,, tremblin
"The idrid Will hdmire you:
same, and what more do you desirot'
asked her husband. bitterly. 'fetd
marriage af hands, dnd nbt of hearts
mockery. We' have playedi
farce long enough. Feweuneid
the true meaning of the term_ ihihib '&
and Wife; blit yod know what.
should mean? Do ydui feel thtV4
only true unidh is that. of 1ove-ai 4
sympathy? Then enough of thl'
mummery.-f'atewell. I go 'to con4Y "
suit friefnds about the terms
separation. Nay, do. not trembe
cry, and cling to me now-I li
liberal to you. As much.:f
fortu1e shall be YoUra - as you des
le pushed her from him. S
fell ipbn the sofa. From a'- heii
turn 'vith anguish she shrieked. aloud'
"Frank! Ft4nk! why did I send' you
from me? Why Was I blind> ufi
til sight brought me misery?"
She lay upon the sofa sobbing ud
weeping passionately. Gradualy'
grief appeared to exhaust.
her breathing became calm;. h
and cheeks dry; her head la
fully on her arm, over which s.'
dishevelled tresses-until -
start she cried out:
"Frank! oh, Frank-come -
"Here I hin," said a sofavof
her side, She raised her head'..
opened her astonished eyes was sta
ing before her.
"Yon have been dWiecp 'he d'
,smiling indly.
"Asleep .
"And
ot171
"Dreaming' murmar
is it all a dream?"
"I hope so," replied -krank, takina
her hand. "You ediuld ot mentd
sen1 me aLway so bruejly, I lei
So I waited in your fathers study;
where I have been talking wvit mhlPM
all of an hour. I caine back to %
my cause once inore, and foun ' J f
herd where I ldft you, asleep." d
"Oh What a horrible dream!" mur
mured Kate, rubbinig her eyes. I1
was so like a terrible reality thiat I
shudder no* to think of it. 1 thoub
I was married!"
"And itbuld that te so hOrrible
asked Frank. "I hope then you di
not dream you were married tome.,
"No; I thought I gave my hand "
out my heart.
"Then if gdti gavy m iir'h oor
would nb be Withoht 'ourhea
"No, Fratik," sdid. Kie, herb ri ' t
eyes beaming happig throu en
tears, "and here it is.
She placed her fair hand in h
lie kissed it in transport
And soon therp .was a real m
ringe-not a splefidid, but a happy -N
-followed by. t life of love and cone
tentinrtit, ifnd that was the'nai
Frank Minot and Kate Yale. ,
LEARN TO nIE R ELxoUs.-Tht It fe
a religion in every thing around us, a
calini and holy religion ini the tinbreath .<'d~
ing things of nature, W'hielt Thnu would *
do well to imitates It cornea'it has pud
terror' no gloom in its approach~es. lb
has to rotuse tip the passions; it-is unl'2 ''
trampled, led by the creeds and uit
shadowed by the superstitions of mnanh
It io fresh from the hands of the athor4
and glowing from the inirnediatep
once of the Great Spirit which pe
and quickens it. It is writteit
arched sky. It looks out fr
star. It is among the hills a'
of the eartig where the shrftbl
tain top pierces the thin atmn
the winter-or where the rmi
est fluctuates befbre the stro
with its dark waves of' reeni e~
It is spread out like a legible 1~iig
upon the face of the unsleepinj'ocean.
it is this which uplifts the spirit Ir4
us until it is tall enough to ovro* .
the shadows of our place ofprton. j
wuhich breaks link after link, t~lan'..'
that binds us to modta1ity; a~h~'f
opens to imagination a world
ual beauty and holiness.-.G.Wi' V
tiet.
Nothing was so much dreaded l~
school-boy days as to be pph w..
sitting betcten two girls~
force of education. Now..~ e
would submit without divl
tear and regard it a cptl ii~r,
and n~~~yi ifex he ~
tesUj~,