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r ■ e*fe mrnm, v ‘9Sjfe / THINE EYES. THE LARJBT THE BEST. agrktltural topics. UNFINISHEIX Thine eyes ntlll dr.iw my xonl unto thine own; Although our hande have ntnuiKera grown, Aji<l llj»e have njver dearer known. Thine eyes all other loves dethrone— Tlilue eyes with passion flowers sown. All that the tyranny of life denies — H< art-broken vows, unvoiced replies Visions that swift forbidden rise—^ Live in the nearness of thlno eyes— Thine eyes too tender to be wise! —Harper’s Bazar. The Heart of the World. BY ADELINE KNAPP. Gray shadows wore creeping over the saiul dunes beyond Pa-ilic Heights. Only here and there a lanceolate beam touched the hills from the crimson ball going out to sea through the golden gate. There was a scent of lilies in the air, mingling with the more wonted perfume of February rosoM. The hum of the city sounded far away, and the song of a meadow lark could be heard from a treetop. The door of the house stood open, revealing a broad hall. There was a suggestion,in the dim light, of waving ferns and the silvery gleam of a foun tain in the conservatory at one side. From the doorjamb there swayed in the breeze long ends of soft, snowy ribbon, holding in place a cluster of white roses. In the centre of a stately apartment that opened ii]>on the hall stood a tiny white casket on slender pillars. Two candles burned at its head. By a window a man sat, gazing, with unsee ing eyes, into the creeping shadows of the trees. A woman lay in a crashed heap among the pillows of a divan. Neither had moved for a long time. The little form in thewvhite casket had been their all. Now it lay scarcely stiller than they. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of a woman’s voice, high- pitched and clear. “Willy! Willy! oh, Willy!” it cried. A friend within the house has tened to the door. Along a pathway through the shrubbery a handsomely dressed woman appeared. ' “Oh !” she exclaimed, advancing, “have you seen a little l>oy about four years old ? My little boy is lost! Some one said they saw him come in here. I cannot find him, and I am afraid he has fallen somewhere in the sand dunes.” “Have you notified the police ?” “Long ago. They are all on the lookout for him. But he may be buried in the sand. We have been searching for hours. Oh, I have lost J;wo little ones through death, but I 'never felt as I do at this moment!” ' The mother’s heart wailed forth iW- hind the cultured woman’s enforced composure. | The woman who had been' iking among the cushions came through!the is it'/* She as: The friend put her arm alrontT^er and would have drawn her back ; but the stranger spoke. „ l “My little boy is lost,” she said,ex citedly. “He is only fymr years old. We are afraid he is among the sand dunes.” “Oh," cried the younger woman, “I am so sorry! Is there nothing we can do? Cannot we help yon look for him? Think of him all alone in the dunes! How did it happen?” And she put her hand in the stranger’s for sympa thy. The latter was full of her story of coming home from a round of calls to find the child missing and the other children seeking him. Even as the spoke voices could be heard calling from the sand dunes, “Willy! Willy! oh, Willy!” “I must go,” cried the mother. “Oh, my heart is breaking ! Willy! Willy! Where can he be?” As she turned a passing zephyr blew the white ribbon on the door post straight out across her cheek. She started back dismayed. “Why,” she cried, “you have a dead child in this house?” “Yes,” said the other mother; “my only child, a little boy, just four years old, died this morning.” Tears came into the stranger’s eyes. “Oh,” she cried, “do forgive me! 1 am so sorry! I did not know. Dear heart! to think I should have troubled you. I, too, have lost two children by death; but this is more terrible. My little boy! You see I do not know where he is!” “I know,” the other said, calmly. “You must let us do what we can for you. Oh, 1 am sure you will find him. Let me go with you. We will search together. Not to know where yonr baby is! Ah, what tronble there is in the world!” She seized a wrap, and the two women went down the walk together. At the corner they were met by a boy of perhaps a dozen years. “Some children say they met a little boy like yonrn goin’ down toward North beach,” he said. They hurried down the hilly street. “Have you seen anything of a little Iwy, about four years old, playing about here?” asked Willy's mother of a homeward-bound lalmrer. “My lit tle hoy is loat.” “Sure mem, now, that’s very bad, an’ I’m sorry,” the man said, halting; “mebby he’d be at th' p’rtee station?” “No, d’ve telephoned all the sta tions. Some one thought they saw him down here. What shall I do?” The face of the big, rough man along home, mem,” he said, “an’ mebby I’ll see th’ little feller^ Tut, now! What if ’twore me own little Tim? He’s just four years old, the rascal, an’ ’twad kill ’iz mother, sure. Ah, but it’s wearyin’ an’ comfortin’ to th’ heart, meritt, the childhren bez.” The way grew more squalid as they kept on toward the beach. On a door step a woman sat holding a little child and looking anxiously down the street. “Have you seen a little boy?” the older mother began, and again the sad little tale was told. “No,” said the other woman; “but I hope you’ll find him, lady. I know how you feel. Me heart’s sore over me own little Joey, here, and me man away looking for worruk. The baby is that sick! an’ Jim, me other lad,he’s gone for the medicine. I don’t know what’s keepin’ him.” “Let me see the bady,”andthe mother, whose little one lay dead at home, reached out her jeweled hands. The child was placed in her arms. “Why, he is very ill indeed 1” she exclaimed. The little one’s face was livid. The baby’s Angers were clutched over each tiny thumb, and the tiny body shivered convulsively. Willy’s mother eyed the ( little form knowingly. “The child should be put into a warm hath at once,” she said. The three women entered the house and busied themselves over the sick baby. She whose child was lost found a battered kettle and put water to heat over the single-burner lamp. The other one undressed the little form, while the wee sufferer’s mother stood wringing her hands in helpless pain. They worked rapidly, tenderly; but it was nearly an hour before the terri ble convulsions were over aud the baby resting on the bed. “God bless you, ladies!” the poorer woman cried, as she saw relief creep ing over the drawn face; “you’ve saved my baby’s life!” “But, oh, my own little boy!” and the other mother hastened to the door. “It is quite dark, and I do not know where he is.” “Sure, lady, the good God’ll never let your boy be lost!” but the two strangers were gone 'Mr— nmrtaured •WiuyF^uorAer: "lour boy it safe with God, but where, where is mine?” s Up the street an older boy came tearing. “Mamma! Mamma!” he cried, while yet afar off; “a policeman’s found Willy and taken him home!” “Oh, thank God!" said she whose ehild was with the All-Father—“thank God!” but the other could not speak. It was a triumphal progress back to the more aristocratic quarter. “They’ve found yer bebby, ma’am,” a street urchin cried, who was calling papers on the street^ corner. A Mex ican tamale vender volunteered the same information in broken English, and in the next block a woman threw open a window and leaned forward. “A policeman took yonr little boy home, madam!” she called, joyfully. Nearer home a gleeful band of chil dren met them. “He’s found—he’s found!” and the chorus rang throughout the neighbor hood. The two mothers kissed tenderly and parted. As the younger one turned to enter her childless home her eyes were swimming with the first tears she had shed that day, but they were tears of thankfulness. On the doorstep of the other home a man stood,holding a ehild in his arms. “We’ve got him,” he called,quickly, as he bent to kiss his wife; and then his arms closed tightly around them both. “Oh, Willy, he said, “how could you frighten us so? Why did you do it?” The curly head was raised and the blue eyes opened in surprise. “Why, papa,” said the little voice, “Mary said they wnzzent any or’nges for dinner, an’ I went to buy some!” The Indei>endent. winl An Inexpensive for Bee*- Should Be ] Most beckee bees remain onj throughout thi date them in hive has been tion has provei and has been number of method of well not only but givesequ and summer, when the bee and the chan quent, the aid. Cellar ly until the in the spring, brought out, temperature aud if any be tion of chaff been winterec thus set out. good summer -Winter Protection 1 Experiment*—Ollnr | prefer to have their leir summer stauds; MANGSEL, WL’BTZEL. FOB COW FEED. j The mangel wurtzel if a large, coarse beet, which outyields all the ordinary kinds, and is therefore preferred as inter; and to accomo-’ stock feed, because of the greater position, the chafi amount of forage it will prodace. Bnt ented. This inven- | its more important value as feed for boon to beekeepers, 1 cows is in its late-keeping qualities. :ed by the greatest If covered with earth and kept from ipers as the best air, it will be in good condition for feeding until fresh grass comes, which is when it is most needed. But there is little nutrition in these roots, and they need extra grain feed to keep the cow in good condition for milking. cha g bees. It serves winter repository ;ood results in spring ring early spring, e breeding rapidly, of weather are fre- hive gives valuable ring does very nice- ach of warm weather ien the bees must be ndure the changes ol out any protection; eally need the protec- 8, it is those that have ; the cellar,after being he chaff hive is also a ve; it is a protection against the he of summer, aud pre vents the mel' g down of combs in excessive hot weather, which very frequently oc< rs in thin hives. I have exile inented with different forms and si; i of chaft' hives, and found that thi largest are the best. Hives winter^ in them come out in better condiifln, and are seldom if ever affected *th dysentery. I much prefer a chafmve, without any inside furniture, as ft is called, but a mere shell, so th tthe ordinary hive of bees can lx set in, or taken out at pleasure; or nt one or two stories can be used, as t e apiarist sees proper. The upper I fry or surplus depart meat, may b used during the sumwel season. In n itumnit can be removed, and the entii i story of the chaff hive filled with cl iff'preparatory to winter ing. In thi manner the chaff sur rounds the t itire hive ot bees, per fectly. A fii it class chaff can be made from a good nty goods box of about the required size. It should be six or eight inches larger each way than the hive the bees tre in, and about a foot higher, have sn entrance cut in it tc correspond with the entrance in the bee hive, and a good cover completes it. Cellar wintering requires consider able experience and a thorough knowl edge of the business, and new fea tures are still coming up in this mode of wintering. A cellar for wintering bees should b* used for that purpose only and no other. It requires per fect darkness at all times; and should be remote from any disturbance what ever. If bees become ^thoroughly aroused in the cellar, there is little if ''jJSM safety at a time when the weather ie warm enough for them to fly. It if' probably the most difficult part tc keep them in perfect condition when spring is approaching, so they can be retained in the cellar late enough to escape all cold weather. —New Eng land Homestead. WHEN TO TRANSPLANT. A genera! answer to the query, “Whenis the best time to transplant?” says Rural New Yorker, is in the fall for more Southern States, in the spring for cooler climates. The fact, is, how ever, that it is not so much a question of when to transplant as how to trans plant. We do rot hesitate to trans plant in June, July, August or Septem ber, no matter what the weather may be, and this, too, without cutting back or removing a leaf. We must preserve the roots without exposing them for any length of time to the air or sun light. We must supply the roots with all needed moisture until they “tako hold” of the soil of their new home. That is all. See to it that the roots are preserved from injury and that they have all the water and shade re quired until the removed plant has evidently taken its new home. So smalt a life—so short a life, And yet so much to do! Brief days with aching sorrows rife, Brief years to struggle throughl Strong men cry out for time, for time. Only the time to build. To see their structures grow sublime To see their dreams fulfllled; With passionate hearts, with willing hands. They strive in sun and rain. Till threads are twisted into strands. Till wall and girder strain; But death is faster far than they. Far faster than desire; The turrets that should greet the day I Shall never brave Its fire. George E. Montgomery, in Independent. HUMOR OF THE DAY. The 1>aj- of the Red Terror. January 27, Iffrtii, was the famous “Day of the Red Terror,” described by medieval chroniclers. The dawu was clear and beautiful, but shortly before the sun rose the’ heavens be came obscured in a strange red blaze It hid the sun and the crimson glare fell upon the earth like the reflection of some great conflagration. Terror filled the hearts of mankind every where. The churches of Europe were filled the whole day long. Anchorites and hermits came from their retreats and cried aloud that the Day of Jndg ment was at hand. In the" afternoon and evening some people declared they could see angels and devils battling in the air and that the blood of the con flict mined npon the earth. However, almnt midnight the red pall disap- worked sympathetically. peared before a wind and the nanic- “I’ll kape me eyes open ez I go j stricken people recovered their shapes- WHAT COXSTITOTBS A GOOD EXPORT HORSE. In an address before the farmers’ institute at Springfield, III., F. J. Berry, the Chicago horse auctioneer, classified horses suitable for foreign trade os follows: 1. Drivers and coachers, which must be well bred, of good color, from 15} to 1GI bands, with fine head and neck, plenty of bone and substance, good knee action and plenty of quality. They must be good travelers, ami if they have some speed, all the better. This class of horses has already advanced very much in price. 2. The cab horse, weighing about 1100 pounds, 15} hands, a ragged but smooth made horse, with bone and substance, and a lair traveler. 3. ^B|e ’bus horse, weighing 1200 to IWO pounds, 16 hands, smooth, ragged, and one that can move off at a fair tjait and shape himself well in harness, 4. The draft horse, which should Weigh 1500 to 1800 pounds, rugged made, good bone, and blocky built, with smooth finish and a first-class draft horse iu every respect. 5. The American trotter, which in all cases must be horse with plenty of bone ItfT’mi WIi.h.i, , VsQiiiJ position, and the more s the higher price he will br high-bred nd action, good dis ced he has og- The Bicycle in Darkest Africa. A letter from an Italian officer in Abyssinia to an Italian paper speaks of the impression made by his appear ance on a bicycle among the children of nature. He says that while riding with a white flag attached to the steer ing-gear towards the line of the Abys- siuians the outposts and picket-guards were so utterly surprised that they forgot all about asking him what errand he came on. According to the London Cycle he calmly descended when reaching the post and*demanded to be shown to the headquarters of Ras Mangasha. He was shown the direction, and, accompanied by two Abyssinian horsemen, continued on his way. They rode at his side in mute admiration. When they arrived at the camp of Ras they informed the latter that a messenger of the Ital ians had come on a horse sent to him by heaven. The wily chief, not qnite so gullible as the rest of his troops, was considerably amused, and requested the Italian officer to give an exhibition of riding on the wheel, which the latter gladly did. After looking at the different evolutions ol the wheel for a time the Ras allowed the messenger to return, but gave him no answer to the message he brought. Nature'* Study. The College of Agriculture of Cor nell university has, under the Nixon, or Agricultural Extension act, nnder- taken to assist, free of expense, all teachers who wish to introduce nature study into their schools. ’“Nature study,” says Mr. Roberts, the director, or “seeing familiar things in a new light, is a valuable factor in education. How many people can explain, so that a child can understand, why water puts out fire, why some young squash plants bring their shells out of the ground on their backs and others do not; or show the difference between a leaf-bud and a fruit-bud of the apple ; or tell whence all tye house flies come ? The world is full of such common things, almut which people do not inquire. ” \ i..*"* ***"’* -» Hopocl It Would Last. “Above all." said the throat special ist, “the lady must talk as little as possible.” “Doctor,” eagerly asked Mrs. Gray- mair’s husband, “is there any hope ol it becoming chitonio.”—Tit-BiU. PRODUCING PROLIFIC 'LAVERS. Experiments have been made to see if the number of rows q>t‘ corn on a cob could not be increased with success. The same method which was pursued with corn is applicable to poultry breeding. For example, one starts with fowls which lay one hundred and twenty eggs each iut a year. Among their descendants are some which lay one hundred and fifty eggs per year, and these are selected for breeding. From these some arc produced which lay one hundred and seventy-five eggs per year, and from these, perhaps, the two-hundred-egg-per-year hen is pro duced. T^ho problem is not qnite as simple with fowls as with corn, for it is necessary to breed the males, as well as the females, year after year, from prolific layers, in order to succeed. If one looks after the breeding of the females only, he may introduce on the male side blood which is lacking in prolificacy, and thus check every at tempt at progress. It becomes neces sary, therefore, to breed the males from hens which are varying in the desired direction, and which show a cumulated variability in that direc tion. It is jnst as essential that the male should be from a hen which laid one hundred and seventy-five eggs and whose mother laid one hundred and fifty eggs, if the two-hundred-egg bird is to be produced. Improvers of laying fowls are too apt to forget this and introduce males with little regard to their breeding, aud then wonder why the prolificacy of the flock does not increase.—Reliable Poultry Jour- nal. Naming the Flowers. We differ fromthe Japanese iu man/ things, even to the naming of flowers. If we name a chrysanthemum in this country it is Mrs. Lucinda Brown, Betsy Baker Smith or Miss Robinson. Everybody is commemorated without regard to euphony or the fitness of things. A queenly blossom of splendor- ous hue is apt to bear the name of the insipid, characterless Miss Brown. On the other band, the Japanese endeavor to have the names as pretty and unique as the flowers are themselves. Any one will grant that such titles as the “Fuji snow,” “dragon blood,” “eye of the sun,” “morning crown,” or “pearl palace” are vast improvements over Smith, Jones and Robinson in the naming of flowers. Germany could be aet down in the single State of Texas and there would still be enough Texas territory to spare to create another State as large as New njork or Pennsylvania. “Does yonr poetry pay?” “Well, It just keeps the wolf from the door.’* “I suppose you road it to him?”—Tit- Bits. “What was the »ame of Hawkin's yacht?" “The Waldermere.” “Oh I j thought it was the Mal-de-mer.”— Harper’s Bazar. Gobang—“Contentment is better than wealth, my boy.” My Boy—“It ought to be. It is a mighty eight harder to get.”—Truth. OneLittleGirl—“My father belongs to one of the first families.” The Other Little Girl—“My paw always sees the first bluebird every spring.” —Indianapolis Journal. Lady Shopper—“I want to get | something suitable for a boy of ten j years.” Salesman—“Slipper counter down the second aisle, turn to your right?”—Boston Transcript. As Reported by the Papers—“Is that a good hen, Uncle Josh?” “A good hen?” said Uncle Josh. “Why, that ’ai hen lays eggs ns big as hail- sfcuu’s.”—Detroit Free Press. “Sir, allow me to shake hands with you, just by the way of showing that know • somebody here.” “With pleasnre, sir, as 1 am in precisely the same boat as yourself.”—Clips. The Professor—“As a matter of fact, there are different dialects in different ports of Scotland.” Friend — “Great Scott 1 Are there more countries to hear from ?”—Truth. “I noticed you at the opera last night, Mrs. Budd. Wasn’t that a de lightful aria by Du Mond?” “So sorry I missed that, but I was just giving Mrs. Upton my famous receipt for hard sauce.”—Harper’s Bazar. “What’s A fishing rod?” “It’s a handsome jointed arrangement your father holdrf out over the water.” ‘‘What’s a fishing pole?” “It’a a long wooden stiokyour Uncle Bill catches fish with!" JuHTcagd Record. ” He—“Do }rou believe in palmistry —that you can tell anything by the hand?” She—“Certainly; now, for example, if If had a certain kind of ring on a cor tain 1 finger of my left hand, people would know that I was en gaged.”—Truth. Author—“Mary, I’ve made a mis take in my calling—I’m not an author, but a born chemist.” Anthor’s Wife —“What makes yon think that, Horace?” Author—“Well every book I write becomes a drag on the mar ket. Tit-Bits. “I must have money. Plunger,” said Dunley. “Can’t you let me have that fifty dollars you owe me?” “No, I can’t,” replied Plunger; “but I’ll tell you what to do. My credit is not ex hausted. You go to Cashly and bor row a hundred dollars for me and I’ll pay you the amount.”—Philadelphia North American. The Lead Worker. It is said that lead working disfig ures the human body more than any other kind of work. « In this industry it is inevitable that, sooner or later, the workers must suc cumb to lead-poisoning, and there wonld appear to bo no part of the body that the poisonous fumes and floating particles which permeate the atmos phere of the workshops do not affect. The complexion takes on a ghastly, corpse-like pallor, the gums turn blue, the teeth decay rapidly aud fall out, the eyelids are hideously inflamed. A scratch or an abrasion of the skin be comes an unbeatable sore. Later on, when nerves and muscles become affected by the poisou in the blood, the eyeballs | are drawn into oblique positions, aud take on a dim and bleared appearance. The joints, especially the knee and the wrist, be come semi-paralyzed, and the whole form is gradually bent and contorted. —New York Journal. To Clean Books. Grease may be taken out by laying the page between two sheets of blot ting paper, and passing a hot iron gently over it. To remove grease from the covers, scrape pipe-clay or French chalk over the spot and iron with a warm iron (net a hot'one). Yellnm covers may often be cleaned by means of soap and water, but if much soiled should be washed with a weak solution of salts of lemon. To take out ink stains, place the leaves for two minutes in a solution of oxalic acid, then in clean cold water for a few hours. To restore the consistency of the paper afterwards, use a bath of “size" and water.—The Housewife.