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