NREL SY TE i vime's Changes. } Tha songs we sang in other years i They greet us How no more; i Tho loves that roussd our hopes and fears Are vanished now, and o'er, The friends we love are scattered wide, | Familiar scenes ure changed; Aud hearts that once were true and tried Aro lifeless or estranged. The {ip the sweetest smile that wore; i The cheek that bloomed most fair; i Tha valee that charmed us long before, | With wusic rich and rare; { The ove whose lightest glance could still | Our hearts with love enthral, Whose smile could bless, whose frown could sill, 2. : Are changed or vanished all The way was bright before us then, The coming day seemed fair; We mingled with cur fellow-men, With hearts to do and dare, The bopes of youth are faded now, | Its fevered dream<are past; ! And time, upon our furrowed brow, i His silvery shade has cast, ! We tooare changed, but vot in heart! | Old time may do his worst; | He cannot from remembrance part i Ihe things we loved at first, i Ube ayes may dim, the cheeks grow pale, Fhe suows of age may fall, Yat shud! our mewories never fall | affection’s call. i ACY Tighe] i FAME VERSUS LOVE. | — **1t cannot bel!” As these words fell from Helen Arm- strong's lips she arose from her seat—an | old overturned boat—and moved slowly | toward the water's edge, For a mament her companion——a man of perhaps twenty-five—hesittaed; then ne joined her, repeating: “It cannet be, H:len? Surely you are not in earnest, You love me—have | you not said 11? —and yet you refuse to become my wife’ =n 1" Tdw in did not ferrupted Edwin i quickly in mean it,” adder net, adding: fou y oT $5 Yur A AA Vis ling, why should we not be happy?” hatd within bis arm, | let it rest there, firmly she loosened | . Bids i 3 J BWIA, i ir two years you and 1 have been | did you ever mind after 1! vihiag?" i " answered ber compan- | le she, unheeding, goes Aur ul Lie drew her i an instan slowly Al t she at time my 1ded upon an y ehiange YO sensi juickly, whi ym with: f desire of artist, “You k the one great quire fame as an as your wife?” lelen? Would the world to hel » proud auswer, us Edwin Ben- ut us eyes fondly upon the fair * Deside DI. No, Edwin: as a wife I could never to attain fame, Marriage brings man 80 many cares that there is v little time leit over for other work, | [ should not make you happy. I should | be coustantly longing for my old, free “If that is all I am not afraid to nsk my Lappioess, Helen,” answered her wer, a more bopeful look lighting up 1A Dandsome sce, ‘Think how for five years,” con- tinued Helen, “‘I have worked with the ue end in view, My home, you are ware, has not been particularly agree. | shle. Uncle and aunt were kind in | their way, and have always let me have | my will about painting, provided it did aot ~ost them anything. As for love or | sympathy, you have seen Low much | hey have yielded me,” { ‘Seen and felt for you, Helen, God ne And now that [ will make your | ifs, if love can do it, one happy dream, will not; and yet you do not deny | ur love for me.” a second Helen's eyes rested | igingly upon the face of the man who | «d her £0 dearly; then into their | insky depths crept an intense, passion. ate g as they swept the horizon and noted the glorious splendor of the setting sun, while she exclaimed: “Ob, Edwin! If I eould only repro- fuce that sunset just as it is. If I only sould?” With aco AWAY. “*“Always her art, never me; perhaps she is right after all, It would always | stand between us,” She, not noticing, went on with: ‘If 1t would only stay long enough | for me to catch those colors, but no, it a fading now.” Turning, Helen found her companion | had left ber side, and stood a few yards | AWRY, “Edwin,” she called. In an instant he was beside her, every | thing forgotten, except ihat she was the woman ke loved. “1 wanted to tell you how good Mr. Hovey is. I seems he was acquainted | with poor papa years ago, wheo I was a | baby, and therefore feels quite inter. ested in me. You have heard how he praises my work, and last night he pro. posed!” “Proposed!” exclaimed Edwin Ben- nett, hotly. “Why, you don’t mean to say the old man actually had the an- dacity to ask you to merry him?” ‘How ridiculous, How conld you think of such a thang?” answered Helen, a» ripple of laughter esoaping from be tween her pretty teeth as she continued: “No; he proposed, if I were willing, to send me to Italy for two years, he, of course, defraying the greater part of tho expense, He said when I became famous I could refund him the little amount if I wished. Was it not gener. ous of him? Just think, two years at work among the old masters. What could I not do then? It would be such a help to me, One can liye very simply thera. My little income would do, with care, I thunk.” “And you would go?’ As Edwin Bennett asked this question a look of pain crossed his face, “Why not!” eame the reply, as Helen raised her eyes questioningly to her companion, “You say yon love me; and yet you would put the sea between ux, Helen, my not do ¥ 1 a ip you? SdOPe Dw WE, yi Pe 5s ongin impatient sigh he turned torn painter too, some day, with you to inspire me,” he added, smiling slightly, “1 do mot doubt your love for me, Edwin, but I shall never marry, 1 m- As a wife it would pe impossible for me to do so, I should be hindered and trammeled in a thousand ways. Believe me, 1 have thought very earnestly of all this, and It “Helen, when I came to spend my vacation here at Little Rock, so as to be near you, I said to myself, ‘Now yon to offer her.’ For your sake I wish 1 were rfeh; but I am still young, and not see why [ shall not be able before many vears to give my wile all she ean “It is not that, Edwin, I should not | love you one bit more if you were a " interrupted Helen, glane- ing reproachiully at him. “‘Helen, my holiday 18 over to-mor- The words camo somewhat sternly from between Edwin Benneti's teeth. Mechanically, with one end of her parasol, Helen Armstrong traced on the glittering yellow sands, ‘Fame versus Love. ‘‘Then, as she became aware of | them. ‘oo late, Edwin Bennett's hand | stayed Lers, as pointing to the letters | that stood oat, he sald, hoarsely: “Choose!” For a second she hesitated; then, | Spurning her hand from him, Edwin Bennett cried out, passionately: ‘ God forgive you! 1 cannot!” Then | without another word, he turned and | left her, A faint ery of “Edwin” eseaped her lipe, as her arms were held out implor. toward him. Then they tell to pp mite and Yar. Ww Gill he had looked back we outstreteed i he have baen; along ‘ seen th arms h mi angry nets neither to the right t. Little by little the waves crep i Love was drowned, whila F stood out bold and clear upon i still st veilow hs AL 1 sands, Ten years have come and gone si Helen Armstrong and Edwin Be parted on the shore, and daring that | time they have never met, Helen had won that which she had striven for, had become an artist of renown. Even royalty hed been pleased to come plimeat her upon her ari, For the last month one of Helen Arm. strong’s paiotings had been on exhibi. tion ut the Academy of D and crowds had been this last work of the celebrated artist, The subject was simple, nothing new, yet visitors returned again and again to look at it, It was the last day of its exhibition, | when a lady and gentleman, the gentle- man leading a little girl of perhacs three years by the hand, passed inio the m where the painting hang. “Oh! isn’t it too bad there is such a crowd; I wanted so to ses 11,” cxelaimed the lady; to which the gentleman re- witr ign, roo “We will look at the other pictures first and come back again; perhaps there will not be such a crowd then, An hour or so later4the lady and gen fleman returned; then the room was almost deserted, except for a few strag- It was just about For a few moments they stood in silence befcre the painting; then a little | voice said: ‘“Baby want to see too, papa.” Stooping down the gentleman raised | the pretty, daintily-dressed child in his | arms. After gravely regarding pictare for second, the little asked: *“Iz zay mad, papa?” “‘1 am afraid one was pet,” came the low answer, as Edwin Beunett softly kissed the fair cheek of his little girl, Thea his gaze returned to the painting, | A stretch of yellow sands, dotted here | and there by huge bowlders and piles | of snowy pebbles, against which the | overhanging cliffs looked almost black, | Gentle little baby waves rippling in to. the a one hued, stiver-edged clouds seemed foate | son-barred sun that flooded the sky and water with its warm light. In the centro of the picture, where the beach formed a curve resembling a horseshoe, was an old boat, turned bot tom upward; some few feet off, the was not visible, the gazer feit that the | it was in the tightly-clasped hand, the vems of which stood out lke great cords; or maybe, in the man’s apparent | total disregard of his surroundings, Te the right of the picture was a fig- ure of a young girl, trailing a parasol in the sand, as she appeared to move slowly ia the oppsite direction from her companion, Only a little bit of deli. cately-shaped ear and a raass of glossy braids showed from beneath the shade hat, but, one could readily believe that the pretty girlish figure belonged in an equally attractive face, About half way between them, traced upon tne sands, were the words, *' Fame versus Love,” “Is it not lovely, Edwin?” and Mrs, Bennett laid her hand upon her hus. band’s arm as she added: Yet how sad it somehow seems, 1 can’t help feeling sorry for them, I wish 1 could see their faces, I feel ss if I wanted to turn them round,” OClasping the little hand that rested so confidingly upon his arm, Edwin Bennett inwardly thanked (lod for the gift of his fair young wife, ns he said: “Come dear, they are commencivg to close up. Baby's tired, too,” “Ess, me's tired, Baby wants to tiss mamms,” lisped the child, holding out her tiny arma.” Husband and wile failed to notice a lady who stood near gazing at a palot. ing. As the pretty young mother down to receive her baby's kisses, fhe little one lavishes on brow, a deep, yearning look . ered in the strange lady's eyes as she turned . “Oh, I" exclaimed his wite, as i they passed the silent figure in black, “Wouldn't it be pice if bary should grow up to be a great artist like this Miss Armstrong?” “God forbid, Annie,” came the earn- est reply, followed by ‘let her grow up to be a true, loving woman, that is all I ask.” ‘Che lady's band tightened its hold upon the back of a settee as the words reached her ears, but she did not move until they were out of sight, Then lifting her veil she went and stood before the painting that won such fame, Tears gathered in her eyes as she gazed, and with the words, ‘I'll never look at it again,” she, too, passed out of the building, and 1n her own handsome carriage was driven home, Scorn shone in her dark eyes as they lavish profusion about her luxuriously furnished apartments, Hastily throwing aside her wraps she crossed over to a mirror, A very hand- sorie face it reflected. Not Jooking the the thirty years it had known, Helen Armstrong—for it was she— had heard of Edwin Bennet's marriage; heard that he had succeeded in business beyond his most sanguine expectations; heard that his wife was one of the love- liest and gentiest of women, and that Edwin Bennett idolized both wife and child, This day she had seen them. Theu came the thought that she might have stood in that wife's place; had put it from her, She had chosen go back to that day on the sands, how Turning wearily away from the mir- ror, she exclaimed, bitterly: “Too late, Helen Armstrong, As you have sown, 80 you must reap.” A pion Old Tenures, Common lands in many parts of Eu. gland have been held, and are held still i some instances, by the fultitment of iges, The sheriffs of the and wo presume they still hold, thirty acres of laud, forming part of a certalu manor their presenting to the king. wlkeneves he ehould be in Eagland at the time of the curious plex HUNTING MEN WITH DOGS. Pleasing Pastime of Southern Sports. men at a Georgin Conviet Farm. While at Oldtown, Ga., said a writer I saw a race between a convict and the hounds. It came about in this way: Mr. Willams claimed, and he was viet could be selected out of a hundred victs; that an hour later he could put they would thread him through squads of convicts, never be the bring him up. I remarked that I could understand how the hounds might car- ry a conviet’s track through a crowd of outsiders from some peculiar scent of the camp, but not how they could separate one convict from another. “There may be a hundred convicts,” he added, *‘‘clothed precisely alike, and wearing precisely Lhe same shoes, They may feed together on precisely the same food, and sleep in bunks that touch each other under precisely the same cover. And yet each one of them has a scent that marks him just as distinet- ly to my hounds from his fellows as his liberate study.” ‘“*And do you expect me to belies { the flying touch of his thick shoes on | the hard ground?” “Undoubtedly. And, further, he may | a convict, and the dogs will still follow him. On the hardest ground his scent { will be plain to them, though his shoe { soles are a half inch thick. When runs through the woods where clothes touch the bushes th wil | im heads up, in full cr j running parallel, bat fhe ran.’ “Do you that all clad in convic and twenty of the best of the fish, mouth had a charter conferred upon it on coudition that it shonld send to the BEAMS annually hundred herrings baked in flour and twenty pas. tios, the sherifls having to pass to the lord of the manor of Est Alnwick freeman {to this da it 1s stated, enjoy the right of pasturing their cattle upon certain i on very whimsical conditions indeed, 15 said that King John was once travel. ing by night in the town on horseback, and, owiug to the deplorable state of the roads, his majesty floundered into a pond. He was so incensed thet he made it a condition of the charter he granted to the town that every freeman should go through that pond. Accordingly wery inhabitant of Alnwick who pro poses to take up his freedom must wade turough this water snd make the round of the common, This ceremony is performed -—or, at all events, used to be pertormed --by several together, all sheriffs @ nem on BY COIMMON IRLds Sm. — The Wanders of Sugar Lake sugar Lake, in Crawiord county, {Pa.) 18 a beautiful little body of water, “is change that should attract the attention of scientists, Eighty years ago the about thirty feet, but it The surface of the water stands at high water mark, but fis year in the month of August the water and after a little change in the temper. the bottom, and are slowly, but surely, filling up the lake, After these parti. cles are formed and seitle, the water becomes clear and pure, At the rate this chemical change is now going on, Lake will have become solidified into a Jrabuble, formed into a great bed of dmburger cheese. Daring the season of the year when the chemioal process is in operation there 1s pungent evidence to sustain the latter theory. has just been constructed in London for a banking establishment, It is on the twenty-four hour principle, and is nota- ble as possessing probably the simplest method which has yet been resorted to The clock in ques. tion has only one hand, the long minute hand, and the figures around are placed as heretofore. Instead, however, of indicating the hours, they indicate the minutes only, which are marked from 6 to 60. The hours are shown on a sunk dial revolving under the upper dial, a space being left in the upper dial in which the next hour figure comes forward instantaneously upon the min. ute hand, completing itscireuit of sixty minutes—that is, ina word, the soli tary hand marks the minutes, and tle sunk space shows the hour, The signal service officers at Wash. ington conclude from careful observa tion: 1. That hail falls ordinarily with a pressure much below the nor. mal, and in a position 200 or 300 miles southeast of the centre of barometric depression (cyclone centre.) 2, That thunder storms advance from west to east and southeast, generally accom: panying a eyclone depression in its southeast quadrant, 400 or 500 miles from the centre. 3. That their action seems to die down at night and begin again in the morning, and often in a fan shape to southeast east, 4. That the velocity of thi thunder storm's advance 1s greater than that of the accompanying cyclone depression, From the African mining field has been sent in the last fifteen years $200 - 000, worth of diamonds in the Cod circle in 1 radios, 0 this, instead of they will scent sircle, fifty y it, take the track A gaunt « he stockade yard, OfgS AS ever were **I am tempted,” said Mr. Wil. “20 let the convict ride a horse or two after he has run I have bh viet on herseback four miles, and then take the track where he jumped from the bh By this time the flying con- small speck on a moment more had melt- into the horizon and was gone, as if, had found that liberty for | which bas sol panted, and gone as the strong-winged birds go when they van. { ish in the blue ether. In an hour we { mounted our horses, The hounds were (still loafing about in the sunshine. iidenly Mr. William, squaring him- self in his saddle, blew three quick, blasts on cow's horn that { hung at his side. As if by magic, the hounds awaked, and charged at his saddle-—eagar, baying, franttic, **Ni ger,’ he sald, sensationally, I.ike the wind they were off, nose to the ground, tails up, circling like Larger the circle grew, i! silent as | specters, eyes and nose eating the earth for its secret. “They will pass over tl tracks of convict squads, but will open on the first single track they find, If it {is the wrong track, we will simply sit (still. They will run it a hundred yards jor so, and noting our silence, will { throw 1 off and search again. When | they get the right truck we will halloo, { and start after the hound that has it, \ 5 ‘ FAL if i G mile THe, ICY Was a aids, and in = ndeed, he £ a hia wilt | short &- beagles, Ne unds { I'he others will at once join him and the i race is opened,” At last a red hound, | careering like mad across the field halts | suddenly, tumbles over himself, faces | about, noses the ground eargerly, lifta | his head, ‘*A-a-0-0-0-w-nl” and {like an arrow from a bewstring. “That's the track,” shouts Williams, ani atter the howling hounds we go, The other dogs join in, pell in full cry and at a rattling gait. Away on to the left Captain James calls atten tin to a moving speck against the sky. | “That ia the convict circling back to camp,” he said. On the dogs went, keen as the wind, inexorable as fate, following the track of the convict as true as his own shadow. Across the tracks of hundreds of others, along high roads, over fields, through herds of cat- tle, by other convicts that smiled grim- ly as we passed, the hounds went, hold ing the track of the fiying convict where it had been laid as lightly as | thistle on the firm earth, but whee it left its tell tale scent all the same. Nothing could shake them off —nothing check ther furious rush, Over other tracks made by convicls wearing shoes from the same last and same box they went without hindrance, led by some intangible miracle of the air, straight on asingle trail. “Now we'll see them wind his scent fifty yards away,” said Williams, as we neared a patch of for. est, Close to this was a squad of con viets, These we had sent through the woods an hour belore. We had made “trosties,’” walking singly, touch every bush and tree. ‘Lhen the convict we were tralling was run th a half ci with at radius, The hounds entered tho those who have never seen it. explain what it is that the flying man, { bunks at might imparts to a yielding | twig touched by his clothes so that it | attracts a heund fifty yards away. | But it certainly does just that thing, | The last test was row coming, We were nearing a squad of convicts at work in a cotton field. We had sent | the fugitive convict through this squad, We had then made them walk in a double cirele around him, crossed and recrossed his tracks, many of them wearing exactly such shoes as he wore, One hour later the hounds struck this point. There was not an instant’s pause, There was no devi- | ation, no Jet up in the pace, Through | the labyritith of tracks the hounds went, | as swallows through the air, hurrying . inexorably on the one track they had | chosen. The end was now near, The convict having run his race was seen { leaning against a tree, and watching the bounds plunging toward him, { ‘Won't be climb the tree?’ I asked, | “No, the hounds are trained to simply bay the convicts when they come up with them. Otherwise the eonviets would kill them.” By this time the { hounds had sighted him, They halted | about twenty yards away from the tree against which he stood, and bayed him | furiously. Pretty music they made, and | not deeper than 1 have heard often and again under a ‘possum tree. Mr, Wil liams called them off and the convict i came forward. ‘*“‘Dem puppies is doin’ { mighty well, cap’n,” be said, grinning as he lazily swung by, on his way to the stockade, These dogs are not blood- hounds I doubt if there is a blood- houad in Georgia—though two are re- ported pear Cartersville, descended from Jefl Johnson iT A The Oldto a pair owaed by Colonel in the days of slavery, dogs are fox-hounds of the Hedi breed, traine we Il i al 8 we ! pool camp al that DOYS were in aitendance at the wed festivities, The daughter of An | Martino had just been wed cisco de Baca. : | formed atx and dancing ward, The secon was on the fl when Jolin Brophy and William John son left the house, and meeting outside, { had some words about i a Qisagreement | that had existed between them for some | time, Brophy had charge of the camp, { and Johnson, it seems, had héard that Brophy bad said toat Johnson ‘did not i £0 by his right name.” Johnson want- ed Brophy to *“‘take back’ the remark, The dispute waxed pretty warm, and a comrade named Tom Harris came out and tried to make peace, Finally the disputants agreed to leave the question to Harris and Charles Thompson to settle. Harris went into the house to gel Thompson, and while he was gone Lhe dispule grew warmer, and both men pulled their revolvers. As Harris came out Brophy and Jolin- i son were facing each other but a few feet apart. Harris grabbed both pis- tols, turned the muzzies down, 1 stood between the two Angry men fo nearly half an bour, or until his hands became so benumbed that be coul stadd it no longer, In vain he begge the men to put up their weapons, But his efforts were futile, Johnson demand- ed, ‘Let us loose and let us seitle it.” At last Harris pushed the muzzies ot the revolvers down as far as he could and jumped back. Iostantly two re- ports rang out in the night air. Bro- phy's shot took effect In Johnson's chest about two inches below the collar bone, passed through the body, and i came out below the right shoulder | blade. Johnson's first shot hit Brophy’s { watch, and did no further damage than | to smash that timekeeper, Brophy then | started to run, Johnson fired the second { time, the ball entering the small of { Brophy's back, and dropping down | where a probe could reach it. Brophy fell as soon as Johnson's sec- { ond shot took effect, but Johnson coolly | walked into the house, put on his over- { coat, and started off, Brophy was car- ried into the house and Johnson was not found until nearly an hour after. ward, He had walked down to the cor- ral in order to get his horse and had fainted from loss of blood, He was car. ried back to the house, A doctor was summoned and examined the wounds, As they were made with forty-five cali- bre weapons scarcely more than arm’s length away, the wounds, and especially t atof Jobnson, were ghastly and terri- ble. The physician said Johnson was liable to die at any moment, and that Brophy could not live to exceed fen da ys, Hoth the wounded men are Texans and well known in the Territory. All their acquaintances speak of them as “mighty good boys.’ Johnson, as was shown by his conduct after the shoot. ing, was a remarkably gntty fellow. Both men are single. After the wound- ed men had been made as comfortable ds possible, it was found that there were no more grudges to settle, and, as everybody present felt kindly disposed toward everybody else, the fears of the ladies were quieted, and the interrupted dance proceeded as though nothing had happened. Professor J. GG. MecKendrick describ. ed ut Aberdeen some experiments be had made in the exposure of micro: Plies contained in meat to extremely w temperatures. The results showed that we ight Saks Enis fluids and axpose them to perature i Jogos below sero Fahrenheit for at 1 16 and that then, after they had been ina tem- fermentation and putrefac- #0 on in the Thess destroyed any a Heriization by ¢ po on A GREAT CATTLE BANCH. | The Territory of Wyoming Given ug to Herding. Wyoming is fast becoming a vast cat | tle ranch, Despite its cotd winters, ite | mineral wealth, 1ts broken country, eat. | tle raising is the main industry of the { territory. There is something in the | climate and in the soil peculiarly adap. ted to herding. Oar cattle are more | healthy, are larger and the increase is | faster than in the ranges of Texas and | the southwest territories, Oar region is used as a great fattening range for the herds of the far soutn, Every season | thonsauds of young cattle from half a | year or two years old are driven from | the southern country hundreds of miles | north and distributed over our pisins tc grow stronger and fatter before they are shipped to the eastern markets, These immportations from the south are known as “‘Dogies” among the cowboys, Their most prominent characteristic is their extent of horns, The cattle born and | bred in this territory are generally of a superior quality. They all have Texas blood, but there 18 an improvement in the strain by the use of blooded balls, Herefords or Polled Augus. Every sea- son they show better beel qualities. | Sometimes the better blood has so | changed the appearance of the animals that it is difficult to recognize even the most prominent traite of the Texas cat tle, These improvements are a neces | sary consequence of the increaseof com- | petition in the business, the demand be- | ing constantly for a higher grade of | stock and a better quality of beef, A demand has also grown up in Eogland | for American beef, and this has tended | still further to improve the stock of the plains, it being desirable to retain and | to increase this trade. The cattle, with | regerd to their habits and peculiarities, | are not objects of special interest; iv y are decidedly stupid,and have itative faculty quite stror Their most troub! 3 a hatit § Ma LURUIL GL # panic at any Hy in the might, metimes becomes country 100 5 are re- ) grass it Is a ndanee probable the most the sphere of this reg on the buflalc i grass curls itself ou the ound. It is thas as good food in winter as in sum- mer, Our plains are from 3,000 to 6,000 feet above the level of the sea, Al though the rains are abundant in the spring and early summer, the latter part of the summer and the fall is dry. A better hay climate could hardly be imagined, At this {ime of the year the ground 18 covered with a thick carpet of splendidly cured hay. Heavy indeed must be the snow fall that can prevent | the cattle from feeding. They have | learned that there is always grass be- neath the snow and will scrape tne snowy covering away with their hoofs and feed as abundantly in one season as | in another, Oualy when a sleet of snow occurs, accompanied by rain, which freczes as it fails, covering the ground | with joe, do the cattissuffer. Then the vast herds of hig: latitudes yield before the blast and travel due south some- { times for more than a hundred miles, Their anerring instinct leads them on beyoud the sweep of the blizzard, where , the grass is not frozen end snowed up beyond their reacn. The cattle busi. | poss, a8 I said before, constitutes the wealth of this region, Uader ordinary circumstances the money invested is | perfeetly safe. The gain after the third | year may be reasonably put down at | from twenty to thirty per cent. These losses come from sickness, exposure, straying; thelis and deaths on the rail road tracks, The net profits may, therefore, be set duwn as sveragiug near 20 per cent,. not a bad return for fuvestments anywhere, Cattle raming and farming are incompatible. The two cannot exist side by side, Fences ob- sirnet the range, and the babits of cat- tlemen and farmers are so radically dif- ferent that the appearance of the latter in any locality 1s a sure signal for the | disappearance of the former, Tbe con- | filet between the two industries bas just | begun in this territory. Every day it | becomes more evideut that the small {cattle owner and farmer are being | pvahed to the wall, Cattle raising on a | gigantic scale is destined to rule in this territory from now on for a soore of | years until the press of immigration compels a division in the great ranges, | The business promises to be generally | carried on by large companies, having | many thousands of acres of land and nolimited supplies of money. There is | now practically vo free grazing, water | fronts being taken up whenever the are of any value, and most of the land has been bought or in some way appro- priated by the great companies. Inad- dition to this fact, it is certainly true that the companies having extensive ranges and large herds have a great ad- vantage over the small capitalist, from the fact that the large business is car ried on at a smaller per cent, of ex- pense, No more herders or horses are needed for 6300 cattle than for 4000, and thus the large capitatist will have a greater per cent, of profit over his less wealthy neighbor, who will soon be driven out of the business. At a recent meeting of the French AWAY 10 Xn, espec herd jiles square, Jair the staple food of the cattle short grass that grows un rywhere, It is 31 to collect it aoad 3aflale GE n {dry atm
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers