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Copyrig-ht by Kobebi Bossee's Sons.
CHAPTER VII. -Continued.
Aunt Gertrude made no reply to this
question; a shadow seemed to pass
across her face, and she was, I
thought, slightly annoyed by her hus
band's banter. Miss Marsh gave uncle
Sain a delightful smack . on the face
.with her narrow little hand, whereat
he sought t capture her a second
time; but she eluded his grasp and
fled up the stairs, her tormentor pur
suing her closely. The wondering foot
man, unused to American society, be
held this undignified reception with an
astonished gaze, and then slowly pre
ceded my aunt and me up the stairs.
Matters went smoothly enough
after this little incident. There were
several telegrams awaiting my uncle,
which engaged his attention and kept
him quiet while my aunt introduced
me to her sister. I found Miss Con
stance Marsh a charming young lady
of about twenty, very like her sister,
but of more buoyant spirit; and before
I had been in the house an hour we
were conversing without restraint, my
new acquaintance proving herself a
most congenial companion.' '
CHAPTER VIII.
NEWS FKOII ACSTEAIiIA.
Time passed very quickly with me
in my uncle's house. Uncle Sam him
self I did not see very often, and
never for more than an hour at a time,
he was so much engaged in the city;
and when he was at home he seemed
to live in a whirlwind of interviews
With gentlemen, veried only by an
enormous correspondence, written and
telegraphic. ' My uncle's devotion to
his affairs did not much affect me, at
least not otherwise than favorably.
Aunt Gertrude had brought with her
to England introductions to nearly all
the best people, the adjective here em
ployed being intended to convey the
1 meaning which Liondon society usually
attaches to it, and she passed a great
part of each day calling upon, or re
ceiving at her London home, a large
circle of friends of high social rank.
On such occasions her sister and I
not infrequently accompanied her, but
sometimes excused ourselves and ex
ploited London on foot or went for a
drive in the park instead.
The favorable impression I had at
first conceived of Miss Marsh deep
ened every day. She was quite as
beautiful and intelligent as aunt Ger
trude, while she did not appear to be
subject to those melancholy moods I
had once or twice observed in her sis
tera circumstance which at the time
I attributed to a happy union of youth
and health.
One of the first results of my daily
companionship, with this charming
young lady was the opening of a train
of serious thought as to my prospects
in life. I reflected that I was now
nearly of full age. that I had been
trained for no trade or profession, and
that my fortunes were centred in and
bounded by an impoverished estate of,
700 a year, between that and myself
being the life of my father a man a
little more than a couple of decades
older than I, and who my natural af
fection induced me to hope might live
forever. The prospect dismayed me,
yet I could not choose but consider it
whenever I. was alone. No definite
idea of marriage had ever occurred to
me, but somehow, in a way I cannot
explain, there formed in my mind an
opinion that it was derogatory to any
man to marry a woman whom he was
unable to keep in a style at least as
good as that to which she had been
accustomed in her maiden days, even
though that woman were herself rich.
And from such thoughts as these my
mind would wander to certain frag
mentary sentences which had now and
again inadvertently fallen from the
lips of Miss Marsh and from which I
had calculated ' that her income was
rather more than fifteen times as large
as my father's.
Notwithstanding such disquieting
considerations, I was. I think, happier
than I had ever been before, and in
consequence my days slipped away
with a speed which seemed perfectly
marvelous.
It was Monday morning. I had been
in London a week, and a thirtl part of
my visit was spent. My lifelong habit
of rising early had not deserted me in
ondon, and I wa3 standing alone at
one of the drawing-room windows ad
miring the celerity of a postman who
was delivering letters at the houses
opposite. Soon the postman crossed
the road and left a large budget of let
ters at our house. I had received but
one letter since I left Suffolk a few
lines from my father expressive of his
satisfaction., at. nay safe arrival in
town-and I thought it was likely there;
might be something for me by this
morning's post. Not choosing to waif
until breakfast time to satisfy my,
mind on this point, I descended to the
hall and discovered on the table there
wige letter addressed to me in my
lather's handwriting, which I took, up
stairs to my room and read as follows:
Holdenhurst Hall,
Bury St, Edmund's, April 10, 18-.
im .Dear By 1 am "truly sorry to
m.erfere, nwe-ve:- slightly, with your'
enjoyment in town, but. you know,
WALTER. BLQOMFIEL.D
Ernest, you are my only confidant.
As your discretion has always ap
peared quite in advance of your years
I have no hesitation in laying before
you a matter which is occasioning me
very great anxiety, and in doing so I
refrain from insisting upon the impor
tance, at least for the present, of abso
lute secrecy, for you must, I am sure,
at once perceive the necessity for it.
The enclosed letter from your grand
father reached me the day before yes
terday. Read it carefully, and retain
it in your possession until you see me.
Of course, I am anxious to do any
thingjn my powerto help your grand
father in his trouble, but what is there
I can do that is of any use in the cir
cumstances? This is what I want you
to consider, and you can either write
to me to return to Holdenhurst at
once, if only for a day. I would come
to London myself and talk the matter
over with you. but, as you know, a
large staff of workmen is a present en
gaged about the place, and one or
other of us ought to be here. Poor lit
tle Annie! My heart bleeds for her
unfortunate father, and I fail alto
gether to understand the case, for to
me she seemed always a most affec
tionate child. I would ask the advice
of my brother how best to proceed
were it not for his former affection for
your mother, which disinclines me to
talk with him of the Wolseys; he is
so much cleverer than I, and would be
sure to think at once of what was best
to be done. Don't let this matter
worry you overmuch, for that more
than anything would increase the al
ready great anxiety of your affection
ate father. ROBERT TRUMAN.
Enclosed in the above was a letter
which bora the postmark of Sydney,
N. S. W. I recognized my grand
father's handwriting at a glance, and,
taking the letter from its envelope,
read:
Sydney, New South Wales.
4th March, 18.
Dear Robert I hope you won't think
hardly of me for neglecting to write
to you such a long while, but I am
nigh to being out of my mind with
trouble a condition I have to the pres
ent done my best to conceal from
every one, especially you. My affairs
are now at such a pass that not only
is it no longer possible to conceal
from you the particulars of the anxiety
which is wearing my life away, but I
am compelled to solicit your aid in re
'spect of it
You must know that when, a little
more than four years ago, I placed my
only surviving child, my dear little An
nie, in the great drapery establishment
of Milliken & Burton, Oxford street,
London, I acted in accordance with
her wishes and my own best judgment.
Looking at the slenderness of my re
sources, the increasing unprofitable
ness of farming in England, and the
insecurity of a young person depend
ent entirely upon such a life as mine,
I decided that I should do well in so
placing her, and she went to London
accordingly. All went well for a year,'
and my poor girl made good progress
in her business. I received a letter
from her regularly every week, and on
three or four occasions when I was in
London I saw her for an hour or so,
and was satisfied as to her position.
But one day a communication reached
me from Messrs. Milliken & Burton in
forming me that my daughter had left
their service without notice or as
signed reason under circumstances
which induced them to entertain grave
fears for her safety. "The intelligence
dismayed me, and I at once prepared
for a journey to London that I might,
if possible, recover my daughter, but
ere I could begin my journey I re
ceived a letter from my child, heart'
breaking in its expressions of affec
tion for me, yet begging me to forget
her as one utterly unworthy. As if
that were possible, and she the only
one living of all my children!
In London I could learn little or
nothing of my child beyond that she
had left her situation in the manner
described, and that she appeared well
provided with money, having given
such small possessions as she had (as
well as other present which she pur
chased) to some of the young women
employed in the same establishment.
"You "who know so well . how deeply
I loved my child you who. are also
the father of an only child will real
ize as perhaps no third person could
how complete was my desolation. I re
solved to cease my efforts to recover
my child from the villain who has be
trayed her only when my life shall
cease, and I accordingly left Holden
liurst as you know. I have traced her
to Liverpool, but too late to see her
to Brighton, to Leamington, Derby
and other places ia England, but was
decoyed by a clever stratagem no less
artful, into coming to Australia,
though I am now of opinion Ibat my
daughter has never left her country.
Some of the circumstances attendant
on the pursuit in which I am engaged
are so very extraordinary that I am
quite baffled by them. Though I have
been unable by any means in my pow
er to discover where my daughter is,
,iny address, wherever I go, is known
to her, and a letter from her, fully and
correctly addressed, reaches me regu
larly at intervals of about six weeks.
(
Her letters comdjjp-paTtebf the
world, but I am now satisfied that
they are sent to the places where they
are posted merely to disguise the
whereabouts ofthe writer, and think
it is probable she is in England in the
neighborhood of London. Last Tear
when I was ill in" Wellington, New
Zealand, the particulars of my illness
were known to her, and she wrote to
me more frequently than usual.
Only once since she went away did
she fail to write to me for three
months, and then came a long letter,
couched in terms more than usually
affectionate, informing me that, she
had been ill, but was now recovered;
that there was nothing she desired
more than to see me again, but that if
she could not ask my forgiveness in
the character of a wife she would not
ask it in the character of a mothei.
I am convinced that my girl is well
treated, so far as is possible under any
such arrangement as that to which
she is a party. I forgive her the step
she has taken from my very heart,
though I regret it as keenly as any
father could. Were I to see her or
write to her I should tell "her this and
use no word of reproach.
And now for the aid I require from
you. I have noticed that the letters
which reach me from Annie are en
closed in envelopes embossed at the
extreme edge of the opening, "Dicken
son, Maker. Richmond, Surrey." That
you may not fail to understand my
meaning, I enclose one of the envel
opes. From this evidence I have
formed the opinion that she lives in
Richmond or thereabouts, and I want
you, if you will, to institute a secret
inquiry personally, if you can conve
niently do so to ascertain this posi
tively, but you must be careful that
she does not see you, or before I could
return to England she would be gone.
Should you discover her you might
telegraph to me, but if you fail to do
so a letter will serve, addressed Box
2847, Postoffice, Sydney, X. S. W. I
am anxious to avoid returning to Eng
land unless there is a good chance of
achieving my object, and this for sev
eral reasons, of which economy is not
the least, for I have not found it easy
to travel as I have done on an income
less than 200 a year though of this
I make no complaint. If only I might
see and talk with my Annie once more
I could die content.
With every good wish for yourself
and my grandson Ernest who must
be almost, if not quite, a man now
and assuring you both that I have
never ceased to think of you notwith
standing my long silence, I remain, al
ways yours faithfully,
WILLIAM WOLSEI.
The letter fell from my hands and I
:sat for some minutes lost in thought
That the playmate of my childhood,
she who had always been to me as a
sister rather than the relation she
really was, should have fallen so low,
filled me with sadness, while I could
:not but feel extreme pity for my
grandfatherin his desolation. Thoughts
of the happy Saturdays in summer
when, with little Annie for my com-
. panion, I had wandered through the
Suffolk groves in search of nuts, or
chased her among the neglected grave
stones of Holdenhurst churchyard, of
her bright eyes, rosy cheeks and happy
smile, crowded upon my mind. And I
thought, too, of the stalwart old man
who had taught me to ride and shoot,
!whom I had accompanied I know not
how many times to Bury market in
his village cart, picturing him now as
white-haired and bowed with care. I
know not how long my reverie lasted,
but when I was recalled to myself by
a summons to breakfast I started up,
full of energy, resolved to do whatever
might lie in my power to satisfy the
pathetic appeal I had just read.
My uncle and aunt and Miss Marsh
were already seated when I entered
the breakfast room. Uncle Sam was
stirring his coffee vigorously, and ap
peared even more vivacious than usual.
"What!" he exclaimed, as I entered
the door, "one week in London and
your country habits . already lost!
I Why, I thought you were an early
riser. Come, Ernest, what have you
;to say for yourself?"
; "Only that I have been up for nearly
two hours."
"Two hours!" echoed uncle Sam In
credulously; "why. what have you
,been doing?"
I replied J:hat I had been reading my
letters. The declaration mystified un-
icle Sam still more. He said he had
himself sorted all the letters which
had arrived, and there appeared to be
none for me. My explanation of this,
I thought, was not very pleasing to my
uncle, for after remarking that what
ever might be the nature of my corre
spondence it did not seem very benefj ,
cialto me, for I looked very pale oye
it, he opened the Times its full width
and said no word more during break
"fast.
"You certainly have lost your colo
this morning," remarked aunt Ger
trude; "are you quite well, Ernest?"
"Yes, I think so," I replied, and
when the next minute Miss Marsh pro
posed that I should go with her for a
long drive I had no further doubt of
the matter.
To be continued.
Hopetoun's Multifarious Titles.
The present Earl of Hopetoun has
had forty-one years of life, and
. twenty-eight - of his present style
;and title. He has been a good
ideal in his time a traveler, and
a whip, and a lord in waiting, miti
gated with a lord high commissioner
of the church; a paymaster general, a
lord chamberlain of the household, and
a president of naval architects; a brig
adier general of archers, a captain of
yeomanry, and a lieutenant colonel of
submarine miners; a master of har
riers and eke of beagles; a governor
and a governor general. A man with
many sides, truly, who yet scarcely
exhibits any "side" at all.
AGRICULTURAL.
ft
Braying Ksgs For Hatching.
The time has now again rolled
around when breeders will be buying
eggs for hatching. We are glad to
know that so many of our readers' last
year purchased eggs and thereby im
proved their flocks, or at least made an
attempt to do so. We only wish that
more breeders would see the wisdom
of thus improving their stock, and
that this year would be the banner one
in the history ot the poultry business
in this regard.
The cheapest method of getting good
stock is by purchasing eggs, and in this
.way one can for a small amount se
cure a good foundation for future
years and have a reasonable size flock
of birds for the coming winter.
We want to urge our friends not to
put off the matter of buying eggs until
it is too late. Now is the time to buy
your eggs for hatching. Get your
chicks out before the fierce sun of
midsummer is here to check their nat
ural growth and retard their future
usefulness. It will be just as easy to
buy the eggs now, or at least in a
few weeks as it will later. The uni
versal opinion of successful breeders
is that it pays to hatch chicks early
in the season.
Water For Cliicks.
Drinking fountains require close at
tention. Small chickens drink fre
quently, and oftentimes their beaks
are loaded with food which is left to
a greater or less extent in the water
supply. As it is necessary to keep
these fountains in a tolerably warm
atmosphere, they soon become tainted
and emit a disagreeable odor. This
condition must not be allowed to exist,
for all food and drink consumed by
fowls should be wholesome. Nothing
less than frequent scalding with steam
or hot water will answer the purpose.
A cheap, eflicient drinking fountain
may be made by taking an empty to
mato can, bend in the ragged edges
where it has been opened, make a hole
in the side one-quarter of an inch from
the edge, fill it with water, put a sau
cer on it and quickly invert both. The
water will then stand in the saucer
constantly at the height of the hole.
Chickens can drink but cannot get in
th? water, which remains f:lear.
The Hens on the Farm.
The hen seems to be a necessary ad
junct to the farm, and is therefore fa
miliar to all who have had anything to
do with farming. A farm without a
hen would almost be a curosity. It
certainly denotes that hens are con
sidered a source of revenue to a cer
tain extent, if for no other purpose
than to supply the family with eggs.
It is true also that while no farm can
easily be found that does not contain
poultry, yet the poultry on the farm
receive less recognition than any other
class of live stock. Farmers seem to
set them apart as suitable work for the
female members of the family, and
consider the profit from them to be
too insignificant for their notice, yet
they seldom venture to learn, by keep
ing an account, how much the hens
pay in a year. Hundreds o? farmers
grow crops of wheat on a margin of
$2 or $3 profit per acre, and also en
gage in very laborious work to make
that profit, yet the same labor, care
and amount of capital stock given to
hens on an acre of land that is often
bestowed upon a crop of ten acres of
Wheat would show largely in favor of
the hens. The farmer seldom engages
in the keeping of poultry as a busi
ness, and many farmers do not really
know what can be done in that re
spect. There is no more reason for
turning the hens over to the female
members of the family than for the
farmer to abandon any other depart
ment, for in so doing he makes a mis
take, as he should seek the best chan
nels for securing the most profit. Land
that is unprofitable for cultivation can
be used for poultry, and the markets
are ready to receive all that can be
produced. Considering the small pro
portion of labor required from spring
to fall, and the self-sustaining powers
of the fowls in seeking their food, it
is no mistake to assert that nothing on
the farm is produced at so low a cost
as eggs, and nothing brings so high
a price in comparison with value of
labor bestowed and cost of food. Mirror-Farmer.
Hog liaising For Profit.
The first thing to be considered is
the breed which answers best these re
quirements, for we must have a pig
with a good 'length and fair depth;
with an even distribution of firm flesh
along the back, from the head to the
tail; a pig with medium light jowl and
good thickness of belly, meat.
The selection of a brood sow is very
important. Sows which have been
penned up and forced from birth do
not give as good results as sows which
have had plenty of exercise and given
a chance to develop as they grow up.
Do not have your sows narrow too
young; better l;t tlwrn grow until one
year before they give birth. Brood
tows should always be treated kindly,
in order that they may te quiet to
handle, this being a great advantage
at farrowing time.
If the farmer has plenty of milk
there is not much difliculty in raising
young pigs, but many farmers have
not suflicient milk. A few roots,
cooked and mixed with oil cake, in
connection with shorts, make a splen
did food for young pigs. Pigs cannot
be grown profitably on grain alone.
They thrive much better in winter on
a liberal amount of roots of some kind.
The Danish sugar beet is relished by
pigs and makes a splendid root ra
tion. In feeding roots and chop many
add water to mix up. By doing this
you force your pigs to take too much
water, especially in cold weather.
Roots are said to contain ninety per
cent, of water themselves?, so that if
water is added it has a tendency to
wash all grains through the pigs be
fore it is properly digested.
In the summer nothing is equal to a
piece of lucerne clover near the barn,
as it grows very rapidly and the pigs
enjoy the fresh green feed, and gain
very rapidly if a little grain is added
to balance up the ration. When pigs
get to weigh 140 pounds, more grain
should be fed in order to harden up
the flesh and make a better quality of
pork for the packer. The greatest
profit is obtained by getting the pigs
off before they reach 200 pounds live
weight. Pigs, to make first-class ba
con, should be fed slowly and not
forced too much. J. W. Clark, in Tri
bune Farmer.
Box For Carrying Eggs.
Most poultrymen are familiar with
the egg carriers used on the market,
and those who have a considerable
quantity of eggs to handle use these
carriers. The farmer, however, is in
the habit of carrying eggs to market
in a basket, and often many of them
become broken, resulting in consider
able loss. The illustration shows one
of the boxes which may be made from
cheap material and which will answer
as well as the boxes sold for the pur
pose. Any grocer who handles quantities
of shipped eggs will give a customer
some of the cardboard fillers such as
are used in the crates; then buy some
cracker boxes and fashion a neat box
like the one shown, cutting the paste
board fillers with a sharp knife so that
they will fit the wooden box. Boxes
made to hold one dozen eggs and oth
ers to hold two dozen will be large
enough. These boxes ought to have
covers with a hasp coming down over
a staple so that the box may be locked
if need be.
These boxes will cost but little if
made at home, as suggested, and if one
has strictly fresh eggs of a good size
as well as uniform in size, they can
A BOX TOK EGGS.
be marketed in these boxes at a higher
price than if marketed in a basket.
Try it and see if it is not so. As an
extra inducement to the consumer,
wrap each egg in white tissue paper
and twist the ends of the paper as
they are twisted around oranges and
lemons. Have the eggs strictly fresh,
of good size and clean and you'll find
that the tissue paper conceit .will, sell
them readily at good prices.
Sheep Notes.
Sheep require a variety of food to
form flesh and fat.
A small fat sheep will always bring
better prices than p. large, poor one.
Overstocking is usually injurious to
the sheep and ruinous to the farmer.
Dryness is one of the requirements
in the production of the finest grades
of wool.
Sheep are almost essential in main
taining the fertility and cleanliness of
the land. 1
With sheep rather than with any oth
er class of stock, care must be taken
not to overfeed.
Sheep are naturally gregarious.
When one is seen by itself scmething
is evidently wrong.
Keep the quarters clean. Sheep do
not need the accumulation of manure
to keep them warm.
Sheep thin in flesh have a weak di
gestion, but even the strongest are
easily injured by grain too heavily.
To have good sized sheep, they must
be grown rapidly while young, and it
is important to give them a good start.
In commencing to fatten sheep, the
feeding should not be crowded at first,
but gradually increase the amount of
the ration.
Old sheep, or sheep that from any
cause have bad teeth should be fed
ground feed. Such sheep are rarely
profitable.
It makes considerable difference in
the quality and strength of the wool
whether or not the sbkep have even
regular conditions.
No sheep should be allowed to die
of old age, but all should be fattened
and sent to market before their vi
tality has been impaired.
When sheep lose patches of wool
from their heads or bellies, it indi
cates a feverish condition, and is usu
ally the result of improper feeding.
When early lambs are expected, es
pecial care must be taken to provide
warm, dry quarters, in order to avoid
losses. Keep the ewes in a good,
thrifty condition. . .
Mousseline -Sauce.
Put yolks of three eggs in a bowl?
add the juice of one lemon; add a
little salt and pepper; place the bowl
in a pan of hot water; stir constantly
until it thickens; add one tablespoonful
of butter, melted a little at a time; re
move from the fire and add three
tablespoonf uls of cream, whipped.
Scallop of Mutton.
Take the scraps of cold mutton and
cut in small pieces; put a layer of the
meat in a baking dish, then a layer
of stewed tomato, then a layer of
bread crumbs; sprinkle with salt, pep
per and butter; then put over another
layer of meat, tomatoes; salt and
pepper to season; spread over the top;
buttered crumbs. ..i ..
Lemon Pudding.
Put in a double boiler the grated
rind and juice of two lemons, one cup
ful of water, one cupful of sugar, and
the yolks of four eggs; stir until scald
ing hot; then add one-third of a box
of gelatine that has been soaking in
one-third cupful of cold water; stir
until gelatine has dissolved; remove
from the fire, let cool; when cold add
one cupful of cream, whipped stiff;
turn into a mold and stand on ice.
lobster Stew.
Heat two tablespoonfuls of butter
in a small pan; then add two table
spoonfuls of flour; stir this until
smooth; take the pan off the fire; add
gradually one cup of water in which
the lobster was boiled and half a cup
ful of milk; put over the fire and stir
until boiling; then add the lobster
meat, cut in large pieces; when thor
oughly heated remove from the fire
and add one teaspoonf ul of lemon juicej
serve hot. , -,
?..?
Curried Bice.''
Wash in several waters one cupful
of rice; put it into two quarts of boil
ing water; add one teaspoonf ul of salt;
when the rice is nearly tender pour
it into a strainer; put over the fire one
cupful of stock; add to it two tea
spoonfuls of curry powder rubbed
smooth in a little cold water; then add
the rice to this and cook until tender;
serve in the centre of a platter; pour
the broth over it, also the juice of half
a lemon; 'then sprinkle over chopped
parsley.
Buttermilk Bread.
For three good sized loaves use on
quart of sour buttermilk, one gener
ous tablespoonful of sugar, one table
spoonful of butter, one teaspoonful of
soda and two and three-quarter quarts
of flour. Heat the buttermilk to the boil
ing point, stirring it often to prevent
curdling. Put the sugar in a large
bowl and pour the hot milk on it. Now
gradually sift into this mixture a
quart of flour, stirring all the while.
Beat well; then cover and l:t it stand
In a x -.rm room over night. In the
morning dissolve the soda in three ta
blespoonfuls of water, and add it to
the batter, together with tne salt and
butter, melted. Beat thoroughly;
then gradually beat in the remainder
of the flour, reserving, however, half
a cupful for kneading. Sprinkle the
board with flour, ad, turning the
dough upon, it, knead for fifteen or
twenty minu.es. Divide into three
parts, and shape into loaves. Place in
buttered pars, and put into the oven
immediately. Bake for one hour in a
hot oven. ,. ff,-9
tllNXa for the;
Try serving whipped cream with choc
olate layer cake as a desert.
Very sour apples used in a sauce or
in pies take on a spicy flavor if a few
chopped dates are added.
A stick of cinnamon scalded in the
milk to be used in chocolate or cocoa
improves the flavor for some persons.
One yeast cake iz equal to one tea
cupful of yeast, a measurement often
used in the older, much prized cook
books.
A cucumber sliced into tomato soup
while boiling will add a delicious fla
vor. It should be skimmed out just
before serving.
Two or three minced pimolas are
added by one cook to her creamed po
tatoes just before they are served, and
the result is sightly as well as tooth
some. A tablespoonful of powdered sugar
stirred into a bottle of cream will put
off the souring process for at least
twenty-four hours, provided the cream
is kept near the ice.
When you happen to have a few ta
blespoonfuls of jam or jelly left over,
try what a delicious addition it makes
to baked apples, dropping a teaspoon
ful into the core of each apple before
they go in the oven.
Eggs Benedict, as they are called
at the hotels, comprise halves " of
toasted English muffins, on each of
which is placed a thin slice of broiled
ham and on.;tbat a poached egg. Over
the whole is turned Hol'.andaise euce.
New Kind of Reciprocity,
WASHINGTON corres
pondent of one of the
A I great dailies, feeling "all
I run down" as a result of
vain attempts to manufac
ture news about Professor
Langley's- "buzzard,"' recently conclud
ed to go- into' the rural districts of
Maryland to recuperate. After a few
days of rest, his journalistic instinct
reasserted itself, and he decided it
would be an. amusing experience to
go out and interview some of the
farmers. Securing a pad, he started
up the road sharpening, his pencil and
whistling one of Sousa'S' latest
marches. Before long he saw a farmer
cutting corn in a field alongside the
road.. Climbing the rail fence,, he
hailed the farmer pleasantly, and after
a few remarks about the' weather and
the crops, explained his errand.
"Want to interview me,. eh?" said the
farmer, "I never had any experience
givin' interviews,, but if your heart is
set on it, go ahead. What do you want
me to talk about?"
"Well," said the- report er; scratching
his-nose reflectively, "suppose you give
me your views on reciprocity."
"Couldn't have suited me better for
a subject. Mister; The fact is,. I've'
been thinkin' a good deal about reci
procity,, lately. I believe in it. t
don't mean reciprocity with Cuba or
Canada, although that may all be very.,
well in its place. What I want to se
Is reciprocity right here in the United
States. I think reciprocity,, like
charity, should begin at home. I want
the fellows who have- been enjoying
the blessings for a good many years
to reciprocate a little- with, the farmers."-
" t
"What do you propose?" asked the
wielder of the pencil; who began to see
that he was getting more than he ex
pected. s-
"Well,"' said the farmer; "I1 want
ome- plan adopted by which a part of
the revenue collected will get back
to the rural districts. I understand
there's- a fellow down there in Con
gress who has introduced a bill' that;
will do the business. I mean that bill
providin' for the Government to aid
in lmprovin' the roads in the rural
districts. That would be a great bless
ing, not only to the farmers, but tO'
everybody. Talk about developing re
sources! I'd like to know what would
do more to develop this country than
building good roads. If this plan was
adopted, a few millions of the taxes
the farmers pay would come back to
them, and there couldn't be no charge
of special privilege; either, for the
money would be spent for public im
provement, and would benefit all sec
tions and all classes. Now I want to
see the city people who have been
protected so long turn in and help the
farmers get that law passed. That's
the kind of reciprocity I believe in."
How much more the farmer might
have said the reporter will never know,
for the interview was just then inter
rupted by a blast from the dinner horn.
Unanimous Tor Good Roads.
Mr. Chas. F. Saylor, special agent of
the Government for the investigation
of the sugar industry,, who has traveled
through nearly all the Northern and
Western States in the prosecution of
his work, recently expressed the re
sults of his observations as- follows:
"Probably no other cubject of ir
terest to the rural population is re
ceiving more attention throughout the
Nation than that of road improvement.
One of the fundamental means of so
ciety is a ready means of communica
tion. The experiment stations of the
country are now engaged in experi
mental work and actual demonstra
tion with a view, to stimulating the
public mind and promoting the best
and cheapest systems of good road
building with local material, State Leg
islatures are enacting jetter laws, and
in some cases the principle of State
aid has been adopted. The Federal
Government has established an Office
of Public Road Inquiries in the De
partment f Agriculture. Literature
has been prepared and distributed for
the education of the people on this sub
ject. "There is nothing that will work so
effectually for good roads as necessity.
the mother of invention When a fac
tory is established farmers at once dis
cover the necessity f good roads.
Agitation begins, public meetings are
held, and every public highway be
comes the object of solicitous atten
tion. It is found that the farmer re
quires at least four horses If he is to
accomplish the best results In the sav
ing of time and expense. Neighbors .
talk over road improvement and the
idea becomes infectious. A public
meeting is called, public roads are dis
cussed, and an organization Is effected
which goes to work for the Improve- -ment
of the roads."
Reports from all sections indicate
that the question of road Improvement
is one of the most popular subjects of
discussion in farmers' meetings of all
kinds, and State and National aid are
being generally endorsed. The farm
ers are beginning to see that they
have not received ' their share of at
tention from the National Government,
and to demand substantial recognition
in the way of Federal aid and co-operation,
in the improvement of the
rural highways. - . ' - ;
The British Board of- Agriculture s-i
limates th.-.t there are 1,871,619 dogs in
the country one to every score of
human beings.
if h
p 1