MAGIC, When the sparse leaves left to the oak are sere And fray at their boughs, and night is near, And the wind wails over marsh and mere ‘Where the after light lies dead and drear— Then, ah that again! Come days that have been — Dead many a vear—for many a year! When the wild drake calls in the early night, When the plashy pools give back dull light, And above in the gray void out of sight The flocks pulse by on their inland flight Then, ah for the dead Sweet days that are fled And their dear delight—and their dear do light. =G. K. Turner, in Springfield Republican, JARAMILLOS GIRL ossips of the little California town of Bavoy talked much about Mrs, Duperu. She was a very wealthy, lame old lady who lived in lonely grandeur in & country residence called Robin Wood, about a mile from the town, with no one but servants about her. It was said that she bad a son for whom she had planned a great career, but that she had disowned him. What had been his fault was not eer. tainly known, but it was reported that he had led a life of foolish pleasure, and at last married a rope-dancer, One day two events stirred the drowsy atmosphere of Savoy. The first was deeply tragic. A new turnpike was building, and the Chinese graders were at work on the mountain. €ide about a third of a mile from ‘the town. During a heavy blast in the morning one of the Chinese, named Ak Gow, had been killed. The Chinaman’'s body was badly mu. tilated, and, dreadful to relate, his head could not be found. Poor Ah Gow's body, lacking the! head, received temporary burial on the mountain. I say temporary, because, after a time, the bones of all Chinese | who die in foreign lands are, if possible, exhumed and sent back to China, to re. ceive final interment in their native soil. The second event was simply light comedy. A circus came to town, and pitched its tent on the plaza. A grace- | ful little girl, who danced on the slack. wire, was greatly admired; but the ap- plause and laughter were loudest when. | ever Jaramillo, the clown, appeared, Wheu the circus departed from Savoy, it left behind it Jaramiilo, the clown. Many of those who had heard his hollow and painful cough in the circus ring, | followed by a side-shaking jest, had laughed and thought the mockery ex. cellent; but, alas! the cough was a reality, and Jaramillo was dying! He remained at the Woodman's Hotel, kept by the rude and energetic Mrs. | Driscoll. His little daughter, Mercedes, whom he called Moarey, was with him, | Bhe was the graceful child who had danced on the slack wire. Jaramillo lingered several weeks, al. | ways hopeful of recovery, Nevertheless, | he wrote a letter one day, sealed and | stamped it. Then, giving it to Mercy, | he said: “‘Keep that, Mercy, and if enything | happens to me, put it in the postoffice.” Mercy wondered what he meant, but | she put the letter away carefully in a deep pocket of her dress. Jeramillo's money gave oui. The! thrifty but kind hearted Mrs. Driscoll | complained loudly to her family and friends, but never to the clowa or to | Mercy. Jaramillo cheerfully asserted that | he would soon be on his fect again, and would pay up everything. One sad day he asked Mercy to bring his make-up box and the looking glass, Bhe had never seen his eyes so bright, | snd thought with joy that he was much | better. She held the glass while ho | painted his face. At last he said: “That's good. I'm ready to go on! now.” He fell back on his pillow, dead. | Mercy was overwhelmed by her great The When she had seen her father laid to rest in the little cemetery on the ridge, | she knew no kindred nor friend in the | wide world. | She went back to the Woodman's Hotel, and was expected to help with the | housework, but as she knew rothing of that kind of work, she often aroused the ‘wrath of the severely practical Mrs, Driscoll. * The landlady had a daughter named | Beatrice, but the name had degenerated | in common usage to “Beat.” She was a | wed-cheeked, loud-voiced romp, and | when any mischief was done, which fre quently happened, she did not scruple to lay the blame upon Mercy. So Mrs, Driscoll’s sceptre of power, in the shape of a broad black strap, often descended unjustly on Mercy's shoulders. But soon the landlady learned to dis- | tinguish sometimes between the occa sions when Mercy was innocent and when she was really to blame. When the fauit was hers she would tearfully acknowledge it, and await with folded hands and downeast eyes any punish. ment that Mrs. Driscoll saw fit to inflict; but when falsely accused by the whining Beat, she always preserved a watchful silence, neither explaining nor denying, ustil she saw the strap taken down from its awful place spoi the kitchen door, Then, if possivie, she would fly out of the house, through door or window, like 8 gazelle, flee to a huge onk-tree which stood on the above the hotel, and ascend into its y top with marvel. . . Wn. Pionuzon Dursav, 0, =e Vann Noss avenue, Bax Fraxomco, | dizzy height like 8 wounded squirrel. | lower boughs, but from these she fell { and there was blood | carried her tenderly to the hotel, and | She tottered feebly, and her pale face | | was really ghastly, | red arm, while her frightened eyes were | landlady. | On me. | when she was well.” | taught, | mire them one day. at her. After that time she passed the botel in her carringe nearly every day, ostensibly to wai. toffice, Sometimes she saw Mercy at the door or window, gazing at her with sad, wist- ful eyes. Again she saw her dancing hike a fairy, or perched on the boughs of a neighboring tree. This seemed to excite her anger, and she would stamp her sound foot and mutter to herself, **A clown's daughter!" One day at the Woodman's Hotel the clumsy Beatrice let a tray of dishes fall, 8he fled upstairs promptly and swiftly, well knowing what would follow, Mrs. Driscoll, heariug the crash, rushed in furiously, She found Mercy, pale and horrified, picking up the pieces, The next instant the strap descended on the child's shoulders. She cried out, and at once sprang through the door, and fled up the hill to her tree of refuge. The landlady followed, but she soon saw Mercy safely perched on her lofty seat. It happened that a rough young sailor, a nephew of Mrs. Driscoll's had come to the hotel the evening before. Hearing the noise, he came out, “I'll fetch her down for you, Aunt Bet,” said the sailor. “Do it, Jim! I wish you would!” said Mrs, Driscoll, When Mercy saw the young sailor climbing toward her, she gave a little cry like a frightened bird, and at once as- cended higher, and disappeared 1n a thick bunch of foliage at the very top. A moment later the spectators heard a scream, and saw Mercy fall from that Fortunately, she struck first among the to the ground, where she lay motionless. mT i PL i ir I'he sailor, reproaching himself for the accident, sprang down and picked her up. One of her slender arms hung limp, on her face. He Mrs. Driscoll promptly sent for a doctor, aud meanwhile exercised her own skill to revive the child. “I never thought of fallin’, no more'n a squirrel,” she mused. “She a’ ben terrible scared at Jim.” In the midst of the excitement, the landlady was surprised to see Mrs. Du. peru enter, assisted by her coachman. must She laud her trem. bling white hand on Mrs. Driscoll’s big fixed on Mercy's motionless form. “I saw her—fall!” she gasped. ~i8—she-—badly hurt?” “‘Not so very, ma'am,” replied the “Her arm is broke, and she's Don't be scared, ma'am. chair for the lady. Bat it’s pretty hard, ma'am,” she continued. “I don't see what I'm a-goin’ to do with her, with all the work that's a-pilia’ up Sure, she was enough trouble | ‘ils a bit jarred, eat, fetch a “I shall take her home with me as as soon as she can be moved,” whispered Mrs. Duperu, eagerly. Mrs. Duperu speat the night and the succeeding days at Mercy's bedside, When the child could be safely move she took her in her carriage to Robin Wood, to the great amazement of the gossips. Mercy recovered, and lived happily at Robin Wood. She felt many restrictions sbout her, but they were generally of kind that accorded with her gentle na- ture. She was well-dressed and well- Mrs. Duperu showed little at- fection for her, but she was very kind, and Mercy often wondered why this great lady bad taken charge of her. There were many splendid trees to limb at Robin Wood, but Mercy soon discovered that Mrs. Duperu did not re- guard with favor that fosm of exercise, and she regretfully promised her bene- {actress never to indulge in it again. ‘he girl wore a pair of antique ear- rings—iittic crescents of gold, set with turquoise. Mrs. Duperu deigned to ad- r ‘They were my mother's,” said Mercy. The old lady started as if a wasp had stung her. Then she seized her cave and hobbled away. Mercy had been with Mrs. Duperu sev- eral months when a Chinese notable ar- rived at Savoy, and registered at the Woodman's Hotel. He was a grave, lignified gentleman, dressed in his rich native costume, and wearing a black skull-cap with a red braided button at the top. His name was Wo Keong, and be was an official of the Chinese Six- Companies of San Francisco, His business was soon made known by small bills which were posted about town. He bad come to remove the body of Ah Gow, who had been killed by the explosion ; and the bills offered a reward of fifty dollars to the person who should recover the missing head. Wo Keong quaintly explaiced in his advertisement that the matter was one of great importance, as a Chinaman who bad left his head in a foreign land was placed in a very bad position in the next world. Happiness was impossible to him until his head was found ; and at the great festival of Yu Lan he was sure to come back to the earth mournfully searching for it. One of these singular bills was brought to Robin Wood tis a curiosity, by Mercy's music teacher. Mercy read it, and from that time was sad and absent-minded, A secret was weighing upon ber mind, aud there was ud one in whom she could confide. Mrs. Dupera was kind, but she bad never invited hor love sad con. fidence [| ay | Dense darkness fell, but in the mighty A ————————— en a So mw - ER —— with a tremulous voice, Mrs. Duperu, will you please let me climb a tree just once more?” The old lady was surprised at the re- quest, so solemnly and earnestly made, ‘‘Is that what has made you so serious of late?” she msked. “You are pale, too. 1 fear that I have kept you too quiet, I must give you more exercise, a pony to ride, perhaps. Yes, go and climb a tree if you wish, but let it bo a very small one,” “I want to climb a big tree,” declared Mercy, with a grave firmness. “What a strange child!” murmured Mrs. Dupera, “Choose your own tree, then,” she continued, “but do no fall, and let no one see you.” : At twelve o'clock that night Mercy, on foot and alone, was walking the gloomy road to town. The wind roared in the tall redwood trees; black clouds hung overhead, and drops of rain were falling. The Woodman's Hotel was dark and silent. Mercy passed it and went up to the great oak on the ridge. She stopped there shivering. The wind made a strange noise in the huge tree, She began to climb slowly, Her arms were weak with terror, and she had to stop often to rest. Once there was a bright gleam of lighteing, and she cow- ered close to the trunk, lest some one should see her. At lust she reached the thick mass of foliage at the top, from which she had fallen. She wrapped her handkerchief around her hand, shut her eyes, and | reached out fearfully, | Bhe touched a smooth, round object that had lodged in the thick foliage of | the tree. This object, the mere sight of which had once made her lose her hold and fall, she was now courageously grasping, inspired by pure compassion. Holding it firmly, she hurriedly de- | scended and ran to the hotel, She knew Wo Keong’s window: she bad seen him sitting there, grave and sedate, as became his rank. There was a rain spout at the corner; a large rosy. bush clung to the side, and the window cornices would afford a foothold. Bhe began to climb the wall. i Wo Keong was awakened by the cold | touch of the wind and rain on his face. Before he could rise, a brilliant flash of lightning fllumined the wild night. He saw a slight form, with pallid face and flying bair, framed in the open window, | crash of the thunder he thought he beard i a shrill ery. He sprang up and lighted bis lamp, | No living thing was visible, but on the floor beneath the window he sav a | human skull. He knew that Ah Gow's | head was found. : Something gleamed beside the morn. ful relic of humanity. Wo Keong pidked it up and examined it curiously, It was an antique earring—a golden crecent ! set with turquoise. It had been mining heavily for an | hour, with frequent flashes of lightung, | when Mrs. Duperu beard a strange sownd | in the house. Obeying her first im she took her lamp and went to Merc room. There she found the child lying | on the floor sobbing piteously. Her hair | and clothing were drenched with rain, | and she was shivering with cold. “Mercedes! Where have you been!” | screamed the frightened woman, | “I have lost my mother's earring,” was all that Mercy could say. She began | to sob pitifully, sad then fainted. The next day Mercy was delirious and | dangerously fll. The old lady's proud | spirit broke, and she prayed that Mer cedes might live to know her again, so that she could take her to her heart. But Mercy was likely to die. Hour after hour she seemed to be seeking the | lost earring, or shrinking in terror from | some frightful object. } Late one night, when sleep had at lasi | stilled Mercy's piteous voice, Mrs, | Duperu, watching by her bedside, fell into a short, troubled slumber. She sud. denly awoke and started up wildly, with the feeling that some one was in the room. But everything was still, She was about to sink down in her chair again, when a strange object on the table attracted her attention, It was a small octagonal box, of silver filigree work. She had never seen it before. Mercy was still sleeping, and Mrs, Duperu went out and questioned the servants. No one had called, and none of them had been in the room. Greatly astonished, Mrs, Duperu re. turned and looked closely at the box, At oue side of it was a spring, which she pressed. The box opened, and she saw in it a shp of paper on which was writ. ten, “Mercedes Jaramillo.” Beneath the paper lay Mercy's lost earring. A piece of folded white silk remained. Bhe lifted one corner, and saw within a beautiful pearl necklace, This mystery greatly disturbed Mes, Duperu, but she gently clasped the ear. ring in Mercy's ear, giateful to whoever had returned it, When the morning dawned, the child awoke, rational for the first time. She anxiously put her hands to her ears, and a look of joy came over her face, “0 Mra. Du , [dreamed that I lost one of my y" she cried, weakly, The old lady's face was wet with tears ns she bent down and kissed her, Then a sound and healing slumber f/1l upon the child, The gossips of Savoy were astonished when, not afterward, a marble shaft which bore this inscription was placed at poor Jaramillo’s grave: GEORGE DUPERU. How the little silver box was | transplant pansy account of killing the sprouts, THE FARM AND GARDEN. NITRATE OF SODA ON WHEAT, The wonderful properties of nitrate of | soda are being strikingly exhibited at the Ohio Agricultural Experiment Sta- tion, where wheat is being grown eons tinually under different methods of fer- tilizing, Although the nitrate was not applied until she middle of April it stim. ulated such a big growth that the plots | | which received nitrate in large quantities carry almost thrice as great a weight of | vegetation as do the plots that had no | nitrate, New York World, GUINEAS ON THE FARM, There is no sale for Guinea fowls in market, but the Guinea fowl is, never. theless, one of the fluest of all table birds, possessing a certain game flavor that is not found in other fowls. They have full meated breasts, and possess but a small proportion of offal compared with | hens. If their real value for the table | were known they would sell at high | prices, On the farm they cost almost nothing, being industrious foragers, and { there never was a better insect extermi- { nator than the Guinea, eggs they provide, without cost, they de- | #troy thousands of insects, and though their efforts in that direction may not be { apparent, yet the work goes on with them coustantly, They are never idle, being engaged from early morn until night. — Mirror and Farmer. HOW TO PLANT A FLOWER BED. It is no easy matter, writes a corre. spondent, to prepare a flower bed for the seeds, and especially if the turf has not | been spaded up for years. After the sods | are taken away the bed should be well filled up with earth, so that it will not be too damp, It should then be raked | over and made smooth, after which it is : ready for the seeds, Some seeds, pan sies for Instance, should first be planted in boxes, and when larce en ugh mast be set into It is well to seedlings two or thre the ground. times, and when the seedlings are trans. planted it should be done at night rath. er than in the mornin zr, unless it is & ve ry cloudy day. stand it well to Poppy, for transplanted, first planted is better to with boiling hot will sprout quicker qone Some not The never Ix COs Are water them they not be seedlings will transplanted instance, should When it be pm wy t waler, because This must more than two or three tithes, on Reeds may not. but 1 prefer to have them mixed up, as think they look prettier. aging to Iu planted in rows or It is very discour- have a bed all dug over, seeds planisd and sprouted some child run over it. with a nasturtium seeds were just sprouting, Aad then to have That bed, and My brother was out digging up a bed and playing with a little girl at the same time, when she ran straight through the best part. Of course | shall not know the difference ten years from now. The weeds should always be kept out from among the plants and the earth should be loosened quite often. The plants should be wat ered every day, and I think it is better to do itat night. When the plants are in blossom some folks seem to be afraid to pick them. It is very much better for various kinds of plants to pick off the blossoms, as it makes them bloom more freely. New England Homestead, was my Case the THE HELP, Grace Perry writes to the Form Journal that to many a farmer's wife the most disagreeable part of farming is the taking into the family of help that needed. It is the primitive custom yet retained in many locations, but with im. proved methods of farming will come more enlightened ideas as to the preser BOARDING H vation of the heart of the home, the wife | and the mother, and her strength will be husbanded as we do not think of now. It is too precious to be wasted in prepar- ing immense dinners for brawny men other than her own family. And what an absurdity to try and feed children on food fit for hard working men, it cannot be done. Food proper for children would not furnish the strength necessary for the performance | of hard physical labor, and to feed chil. | dren on the hearty food laborers need would lead to po end of ill-heath for them. It is almost an impossibility to deny children food that is on the table and to hold them to the proper diet with things before them that they want so bad. There are so many dishes that a wo. man loves to prepare for her own family | that would be silly to set before laboring men. Dishes that would be of no more good to them in the way of nourishment | than so much candy, but that we love and make good for us—such as custards, | cream pufls, cakes, lemon pies and such light dishes, And, too, the meeting of the family at table should be the pleasantest affair of | the day, and where a man is a busy one it is often the time to make plana, to talk over many private matters that one | does not speak of before any but members of his own family, One's evenings, too, should be gen. erally spent in private, just the family. Who is willing to admit to the in of the heme evening circle those who si: id £ Outside of the | rather than scouring, but it does not at. tract attention, The feeding oi indi. gestible food may originate diseases that are often called ‘hog cholera,” and most frequent are the feeding of grass or clover while wet, weeds that are partially wilted or have lain in piles until they have begun to decay, decaying vegeta- city swill containing more or less of mat- stages of decay. While scouring and toms noticed in many cases, others show dulness, stupor and loss of appetite, and perhaps a breaking out of red or nearly purple spots back of the ears, on the kept too warm by contact with other ani- mals when lying down in the pen. | nearly all stages the evacuations are poisonous to other swine, and when the disease once appears in 8 herd the larger | part of them will take it unless the most effective measures are taken to check its progress, The removal cf all not yet ailing to clean pens and grounds, the best of care in regard to proper food, and a supply of clean water for drinking and bathing, are usually more effectual remedies than medicine, but all pens and | yards in which hogs have been taken sick should be at | they have been removed, for which pur- pose a solution of carbolic acid or of { #ulphuric acid seems to be as good as anything known, though sulphate of iron (copperas) may suffice in place of | | son is because of the hurried, lunch taken at more powerful disinfectants, or a solu- tion of corrosive sublimate. These so- lutions will not be very strong, but must be used abundantly about all work, to penetrate into all cracks aad crevices. Alr-siaked lime upon the earth of yards and pens may assist very much, but pastures where sick swine have run should be plowed to bring up fresh earth to the suriace, and even then it is well | the Hme around thelr most fre. quent haunts, be {Oo use buried deep or cremated. — Boston Cultivator. FARM AND GARDEN NOTES, Have your fowls any shade! Spade up the runs occasionally, No farm should be without one or two good br yod BOWS Fowls having the run of the farm will get along with a little corn these days. She often a source of eco as they thrive on what would p are my, otherwise be wasted, bles, and musty or mouldy grain, and | ter which has reached nearly the last | { In vomiting are smong the earliest symp- | | noon; and, secondly, after a8 meal the rump or thighs, and on parts lain on or | | Hvely empty and the function of perspi- In | once disinfected after | . ' : | complain that in the afternoon they have | #& headache, that wood | I die of All dead animals should | | America w | gestive Spparatus, and | heat § { Ana health. ~ - w—-— Quick Lunch and Sunstroke. Americans in general are noted for the habit of fast eating, and New Yorkers in particular spare but a few minutes for their midday meal. While this practice of quick lunches usually ends in some form of dyspepsia, there is another reo. sult far more serious, The best medical authorities agree that susstroke is far more frequent after than before noon, and there are two good reasons for this, the first place, the heat is most in. tense during the early part of the after- stomach and other are very much congested organs of digestion with blood, | The internal organs being congested K H ’ the surface blood vessels are COM PArae ration is considerably interfered with, Bunstrock is apt to follow soy interference | with free perspiration, and the process of digestion interferes by drawing off the blood from the skin to the stomach. A light lunch properly masticated and slowly eaten has but little effect in dis- | turbing the circulation, but a hasty meal, bolted snd washed down by large | draughts of water or coffee. nec ssitates 8 ' increased exertion on the part of the di- much larger of 1 lood needed to do the Jusiness men wre often heard to a supply work. is they cannot work so well, and that the heat seems to affect them more. The statement they do feel the heat more, iS correct; and the rea- hall-eaten noon, If DUsiness men would only learn that this pernicious { it of nab rapid esting, especially in the mid. i : { a hot day, exhausts their ent re es | and makes them liable to sunste rostration In some | would save themselves mone New York Mail and Express. " - I — Four-Footed Guerillas, 5 cor of Ce The vanish Juest ntral r Davila and of as achieved largely by d power, the Balboa, butche IRGECS All plants started in hot.beds should |’ be exposed to the air a few transplanting. « The little nes is kept shut up each morning until the dew is off days before chicks will As far as possible, contrive to have your crops come on successively—mnot all at the same time. Make pot pies of stock you do not wish to winter, if you have too few to make a shipment. What a blessed thing it is that the weather and the growidi of crops do not depend on politics. Look to your sources of water supply, and see that they are not foulness and disease. sooner be big | receptacles of | | Kept the out | Was | lounted rangers, — ! Uure is taken internall desperately inws Ge ded by New York Voice. Catarrk Can't be Cured With looal application, sm they cannot reach the sont of the disease. Ontarrh a blood or constitdonal disease, and in order tw cure it you have to take internal remeodios. Hall's C atarrh yang acts directly on the blood and mocous surfaces Hall's Ontarrh Care is no quack medicine. It was prescribed by one of the best physicians in this country for years, and is a regular pres rigtion. It is composed of the best tonlos known, ¢ No country is ever so prosperous as | of when ts labor forces are all employed and properly directed. Did you mean to clean out the hen | If | house yesterday! Did you do it? not, stick your head into it to-night at aine o'clock, Notwithstanding the good frult pros. pects tomatoes will find ready purchasers and can always be made a salable and paying crop. Fowls ranning at large should be pro- vided with convenicut secluded nesting places known to you of they will find some unknown ones. We believe the sooner a sick hen is killed the better. It saves time, saves feed, saves health to the rest. Kill and bury every moping hen. Don't pull too many stalks from the rhubarb bed; let some of the leaves re- main, for they are the lungs that supply life and vigor to the roots, Some men pay a great deal of atten- tion to the branches of the fruit tree, and let the roots take care of themselves. Both require equal attention. Don't pick the peaches too green. Remember that this fruit cannot ripen | after leaving the tree without losing its | flavor, hence the value of near-by mar. kets and local growers, Present prices of land and its products | will not justify a man in clearing rocky land for pastures or fields either, unless it is near somo large town where market ' gardening can be followed. To keep borers away from my peach trees and to keep the trunks nice and | smooth I wrap them with tar paper from an inch below ground up eighteen inch- es when first set out and keep it on. If youdo not use a laws mower save (some nicely cured fine grass where you can get at it next winter. Run come of it through the feed cutter and soak out | for the fowls; they will appreciate it. | It cost much more to regain a lost | pound of flesh on a steor than to add a like weight to a thrifty ome. In pur- | testimonials free F.J.Caxxey & Co. Props, Toedo, O Sold by druggists, price Ji A LIVING horse's streogth is equal 1 seven wen » that of I ONE ENJOYS Both the method and results when p of Figsis taken; it is and refreshing to the taste, and acts ntly yet promptly on the Kidneys, ver and Bowels, cleanses the sys tem ly, dispels colds, head. aches and fevers and vi habitual constipation. 8 of Figs is the only remedy of fs Rind ever its many excellen mend it to all the - FINE | raphe 38 AXLE GREASE ALL [EHF EY ON Uun
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