: _..-;_.~._.._
' “It“ is
,course of the law.
.none but the guilty should suffer its
- before her.
.A RECEIPT Port A DAY.
“Take a dash of water cold
And a. little leaven of prayer,
A little bitof Sunshine gold
Dissolved in the morning air;
Add to your meal some merriment
And a thought for kith and 'kin,
And then. as a prime ingredient,
Aplenty of work thrown in.
But Spice it all with the essence of love
And a little whiff of play;
Let a wise old Book and a glance above
Complete the welLspent day.“
N EMESIS.
BY VICTOR» GAGE KIMBERT.
The library in Governor Andrews’
handsome residence was dimly lighted
°for it was early in the evening, the soft
light falling from the chandelier
brought out more clearly the beauty of
each picture and work of art, with
which the wealthy governor liked to
surround himself. There were books
all the way from the great encyclo-
p_aedias down to the last review, stat-
ues and bronzes from other lands, and
a. great easy—chair where the governor
himself sat when wearied by the cares
and duties of office.
But to-night no chair that was ever
upholstered could rest his weary frame
for before him knelt a woman in hit-
terest agony, imploring him to exercise
his prerogative and save the life of her
“husband, who was condemned to death.
She was a beautiful woman; her face
was colorless, but each feature was ex-
quisitely molded, and her large, soft
eyes, luminous with tears and sad-
dened by grief were in themselves
lovely enough to make even a plain
face glorious.
How she pleaded. She used every
argument that a desperate woman
could think of, but in vain. She told
him of the little children who mu‘st
bear the terrible heritage of shame
from no fault of theirs, and "pictured
the want 'and wretchedness awaiting
them as well as herself. She told of
the kindness of the husband when
sober, and reiterated the fact that but
for intoxication his hand would never
have been raised against a fellow-
man; how he had said if he might
have another chance no drop of in-
toxicants should ever cross his lips,
but that he would try hard to redeem
the past. She did not try to make his
crime less, or object to the justice of
the penalty; she only pleaded for
mercy—pleaded, too with such an ut-
ter abandonment of grief that the eyes
of the governor grew moist, and his
heart ached in sympathy with hers;
but still, as before, he refused her
petition.
simply impossible, madame.
Much as I feel for your grief, than
«.5 ix; it K L
1' .' .3 it it fly
A, La .
other woman, not herself, could not
saw herself and her husband as they
began housekeeping in a small way
to be sure, but still comfortably, with
a little room for his mother, who had
not been at all the disagreeable persdh
mothers-in-laws were said to be, but
a real mother to the tired clerk, who
knew far more about the color and
price of a yard of ribbon than she did
of housekeeping. She had learned
kindly said, and had taken great pride
in her work and in kee ing the little
ones neat and clean en they had
come one by one intothe nest, which
was always crowded, yet not full
enough to overflow. Then she saw
her-husband in his. cell, awaiting ex-
ecution, and then—a woman fainted in
the car, and kind hands raised her,
and a physician on the train gave her
a restorative, and after a while she
left it leaving the passengers to won-
der about the beautiful woman who
was in such evident grief.
“Something out of the ordinary,”
said the physician. “Her trouble was
no common affair. She was at the
point of exhaustion. I suggested her
stopping at S——- and entering the
hospital there for a week; but she re-
fused so vehemently that there was
nothing more to be said, for of course
I had no right to insist. But it will
be an insane asylum in the end, I im-
agine; she was three-fourths dement-
ed to-nigh't.”
Sane or insane, her condition did not
prevent her from reaching home. With
bitter moans she told her sad failure
to her husband’s mother, who listened
to each word in a curious, half-dazed
cerning her reception and the gover-
nor’s manner.
“I was foolish to let you go,” she
said, slowly. “I might have known it
would not answer. I will go myself
to-morrow.”
“Oh, mother, it will be useless! You
could say nothing that I have not al-
ready said. He lost patience at the
last. I doubt if you can see him
even.” ‘
“I shall see him,” the elder woman
answered, a strange look upon her
face, comely yet, in spite of the half
give me my son’s life."
at first?”
“Because I would rather suffer a
dozen deaths than go—but to save his
life—yes, I must do it!” .
“Why do you think he will listen to
you, mother?” queried the wife, anxi-
ously.
No reply save a slow shake of the
which none can be greater, I should
be untrue to all principles of justice
should ‘I interfere with the regular
Your husband has
had a fair trial; and I am sorry to i
say it to you, but Ithink he has been i
justly condemned for the crime for
which he will lose his life. That you
and your innocent children should al-
so suffer is deplorable; if sin could be
robbed of its ’ complexity, so that
consequences, it would be less horrible
but so long as there is sin there must
also be suffering by the sinner and all
connected 'with him to the last de-
gree. His condition at the time of
the crime, though serving as an ex-
cuse in your eyes, goes for little in
the eyes of the world at large. The
public are already tired .of having
flimsy excuses brought up to defeat the
ends of justice. It is difficult to con-
vict a criminal, for the simple. reason
that his attorney-s move heaven and '
earth to find something which will ap- {
peal to a jury and result in at least
a disagreement. That your husband I
was convicted at the first trial is evi-
dence to me that the case must have
been remarkably clear.”
“Not so,” she interrupted, eagerly.
“It only means that we had no means
to employ skilled talent. But it is
not a new trial for which I am beg-
ging. It is not justice but mercy that
I implore, and oh! I beseech you, in
the name of your Own fair sons and
daughters to be pitiful to me in my
extremity! ”
The kind face of the governor work-
ed painfully, and 'tears that Were no
discredit to his manhood filled his
eyes; but still he had the same reply.
“I cannot do what you wish. The
power of pardon is no child’s toy, to
be given at pleasure, but a great re-
sponsibility, to be used with the ut-
most precaution, lest the barriers
against crime are destroyed and the
innocent left to the mercy of the law-
less.”
Still she did not yield. Still she
pleaded till at last his patience was ex-
hausted, and he told her firmly she
must desist.
“Only my great pity for you has in-
duced me to listen so long. He must
die on the day appointed. I shall not
interfere.”
She went slowly out into the night.
It was very dark, though she had not
noticed the gathering shadows while
in the library, so intense had been her
anguish; but she knew now that she
must have been pleading for hours,
and she wondered at the patience that
had suffered her presence so long. She
began to feel bodily exhaustion, and
stopped at a near-by bakery to get a
roll and a cup of tea, that she might
have strength for the railway journey
Mechanically she entered the car,
and paid her fare when the conductor
asked her for her ticket, for she had
neglected to buy one, and her head
whirled so that it seemed as if she
were some one else,~ and not connected
in t e remotest degree with the woman
what had knelt in the governor’s 1i~
,brary'. Slowly the scene flitted before
her and she tried hard to realize how
he could have done otherwise than . ..
head was vouchsafed, and she took her
departure, leaving anxious forebodings
in the mind of her daughter-in-law as
to her sanity.
But there was no doubt of her sanity
as she stood before Governor Andrews
and demanded the life of the man for
whom his wife had pleaded so nobly.
“Am I never to have any rest from
this case?” he cried, angrily.
“As much as you deserve, probably,”
was the reply, “for you are in a great
measure responsible for the crime for
which this man is condemned, and
. ought to pay part of the penalty.”
“Nonsense! I never saw the man,
and I assure you I shall grant no par—
don, either for threats of entreaties."
“I shall offer neither. It is true, in-
deed, that you never saw him; yet you
will never dare to let him go to a
felon's death, for, strange as it would
seem to the world in which you are
so popular, this man is your son!”
“What do you mean? W'ilo are
you?" gasped the governor, though her
words had brought a grim possibility
before his mind.
“I am Annette Wilkins. I was An-
nette Brainard.” He started and vis-
ibly paled. “When you came to our
village forty years ago, there was not
a more innocent, light-hearted girl
than myself. Your memory will tell
you if I was pretty or not, and how
I foolishly prized the fatal beauty that
only worked my destruction. You
know what your flattery and false
wrecked, ruined thing you left in place
of the simple country girl you found.
You do well to talk of justice!” she
cried with sudden' contempt. “You
are well fitted to be the governor of a
large commonwealth, you, who left me,
almost a child in years, to meet the
consequences of our mutual sin! I
wonder if there is justice in earth or
heaven when success like this”—and
she glanced at his luxurious surround-
ings—“is permitted to such as you,
while your oldest son lies in a. felon’s
cell!" .
There was a long silence; then the
man said.—
“For twenty—five years I have lived
a clean, God-fearing life; the crime
and folly of my youth I believed re-
pented of and forgiven; but repentance
does not undo, and I must face the
future. You tell me I am responsible
for this unhappy young man’s crime;
how can that be?"
“In a drunken quarrel my poor boy
killed the ruflian who assailed the
ways believed to be a widow. I left
the old home before he was born, and
thought my wretched story was for-
gotten; but scandal never dies.”
“My sin has found me out," said the
governor. He spoke like a feeble old
man. “Since circumstances have made
it possible for me to save him, my son
must not die on the gallows. There is
no other way; I must write the par-
don. If I could pay the penalty my-
self it might be just, but the law would
tccept no substitute, and my poor wife
1nd children would suffer needless
shame. You will not have suffered
alone,” he said, in a curious tone.
‘When I sign that pardon I sign my
)wn political death warrant, for an
lid; and then. she wondered if t at:
n
have produced better arguments. She '
very rapidly, the ‘older woman hada
words of love wrought, and what a .
1
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
His Brother‘s Keeper.
Two dogs are still held in pleasant
recollection in Melrose, Mass. One was
a shaggy, lumbering, elephantine New-
foundland named Major, the other a.
sleek, wiry little black-and-tan called
Kikie. Both Major and Kikie have
long since passed to their reward, but
this story of their friendship is still
told by those who knew them.
A few hundred yards from the home
of the woman who owned the dogs was
a railroad crossing. Kikie had the
bad habit of rushing down the street
to this crossing whenever he heard the
whistle of an approaching train. He
would then dash along beside the cars
and bark furiously. Many a time he
had been punished for it, but the roar
of a train was always too much for
his good resolutions. 4
One day—the pitcher that goes too
often to the well, you knew—some
portion of the flying train struck him.
He fell into the ditch beside the track,
and there he lay till Major’s barking
=attracted the attention of a passing
friend.
The little dog was takeh home, his
wounds dressed, and his battered
frame nursed back to-health. During
his convalescence Major was always
with him, and doubtless often said:
“I told you so,” and “I hope this will
teach you a lesson.”
But, alas for Major’s hopes! Kikie
was no sooner out of doors again than
way, yet asking manyquestions con-l
he resumed his dangerous habit. Major
however, had apparently made up his
mind that moral suasion was useless,
and physical force must be employed.
The next time Kikie started for the
.crossing Major followed. The little
; dog, was light and quick-motioned, and
i
O
l
i
century and more it had known. “I_
shall see him, and I believe he will’
“gOt into his stride,” as the ‘horsemen
say, in the first few yards. Major, on
the other hand, was heavy and slow,
at the start, and before he was under
full headway Kikie was fifty "yards
ahead.
But there was conscious rectitude'
and stern resolve and the force of a
moral principle in Major’s gait. Ile
doubled himself up and 'let himself out
in a way that was good to see, and he
overt-jot; Kikie within ten'yards of the
crossing.
With one blow of his paw he batted
his email friend over, placed his great
foot on the little dog’s chest, and held
“Then Why’ Oh’ why did not you go him down while the train rushed by.
Kikie lay perfectly still. When the
. last car had passed old Major removed
I
his paw with a bark and a growl which
said as plainly as speech: “There, you
little fool! Can’t you learn anything?
Do you want to get hit by the cars
again?” and Kikie got up and followed
Major home with his tail between his
legs.
Many a time all this was repeated
to the delight of those who saw it.
Kikie never failed to get the best start,
but Major always caught him before
the crossing was reached, always
knocked him over and held him down
till the .whole train was safely past.
Kikie never learned wisdom, but
Major never gave him up as “past re-
formation.”—Youth’s Companion.
Where Dolls are Feasted.
In Japan the feast of the dolls takes
place on the third day of the third
month. At this time all the dolls of
the family, some of them hundreds of
years old, are brought out, and for
three days great festivities are carried
on. There are dolls dressed like the
Mikado and his wife, in antique court
costumes, daimois, samurals and so on
down the social scale, each ancesty
carried on with great nicety and pre-
cision.
Oftentimes all the household fur-
niture in miniature is packed away
with the dolls and brought out on a
feast day. At such times the trays,
bowls, cups and rice baskets are filled
with tiny scraps of food, and the dolls
fare sumptuously during the three
days of the feast.
A delicate drink. which is harmless.
is brewed for this occasion, and every-
thing is done for the household of dolls.
are carefully as if they were real creat-
Iures of flesh and blood. The tiniest
|
l
of combs and brushes and other toilet
accessories, such as paint and powder,
as well as the liquid for blackening
the teeth, are provided.
For three days the girls run riot
with their- dolls and toys, and then the
latter are again locked up in the store«
house, to remain another year without
Seeing the light—Golden Days.
He Hypnotizes Owls.
Boys will be boys the world over,
but it is doubtful if there is a. boy
anywhere on earth who can compare
with Ted Finn, of North Berkeley,
Cal. Ted is fourteen years old.
He plays with rattlesnakes as though
they were angleworms. Vicous owls
have no terrors, while gophers and
rabbits have a weird fascination for
him. His home is a veritable men-
. agerie.
honor of his mother, whom he had 3.1- .
But his most remarkable idiosyn-
crasy is his hypnotic control over the
owls he has captured. He can put
them to sleep in the most approved
Svengali fashion, and does not know
what it is to fear them.
His first bid for public notice was
one day when he appeared in school
with a gopher snage entwined about
his neck. The teacher thought that it
was a ribbon belonging to one of the
girls. Ted unwound the , snake and
handed it to the teacher.
grasped the slimy thing she gave a
scream and promptly fainted.
Her Definition.
Mrs. Jackson—“Dat’s sebenteen lies
yo’s tole me toe-day, all dim-uni. 10’
am a reg’lar rapskillion.” ' {astus
Jackson—“W-whad am a l'apskillion,
mammy?” Mrs. Jackson—“A l‘npskil-
lion am a young ’un dat’s got his fad:
der's blood in him—dat’s whad a rap.
? skillion am."~.ludge.
lutraged public will be my censor." l
When she,
produce the- Dutch windmill,
boat, scene bordered by poplar trees
and stepped-roof houses are sometimes
used. These wail papers,
room or dressing~room.
A Charming Woman.
The charming woman is not in the
habit of talking about herself and her
own peculiar troubles and grievances.
She has her “bad days,” like every-q
body else; but she takes care that
others shall not suffer on her account,
and when she has an attack of the
dumps she isolates herself, in order
that the infection may spread no fur-
ther. , .
She is, above all, a sympathetic wo-
man, and knows how to make people
feel that she takes an indlvidual in-
terest in them. She is never too busy
to lend assistance, and a shake of her
hand is as good as a number of words
from any one else. She is a woman
who adapts herself to the varying cir—
cumstances of life, and prefers to look
on the bright side of things. All dis-
agreeable and unkind remarks that she
hears made about others die with her.
and she knows how to say the right
word at the right time. In conversa-
tion she studies the sore points of her
acquaintance, studiously avoids them
and adroitly introduces subjects on
which they can talk best. She is con-
tent to be in the shadow if she can
make another shine.
Such is the description of “the we-
man who charms.” These character-
istics have not been acquired in a flash
but by careful study of herself and
others.
She is by no means a paragon of per-
fection, but, with all her shortcomings,
she is possessed of the valuable art
of charming.
' Wall Paper- for the Nursery.
For the walls of the nursery select.
a pattern which will amuse the little
folks. Primary colors please them,
and by avoiding green, which is not
hygienic, one can obtain a safe, wall
picture-book'at almost nominal cost.
Mother Goose, Walter Crane’s delight-
ful fairy tales, the nursery favorites
drawn from old German sources. all
give suggestions for these papers. Red
Riding Hood is best omitted, on ac--
count of the possible alarm caused in
baby minds by the sight of the wolf
lying in bed}
But scenes of English sports—fox
hunters galloping in their pinks,
hounds in full cry over the grass
country, scenes of French peasant life
——may be used if the mother has not
decided upon a fairy tale wall paper.
The animal figures are sometimes good
and the children will try to copy the
creatures if pencil and paper are pro-
vided uponsome rainy day when they
are obliged to be housed.
Delft scenes, imitating old tiles, re-
canal
however,
are more often selected for the bath-
The wall pa-
per depicting a flight of birds is al-
ways a favorite of children, who see
nothing to admire in the plainer
axabesques that delight soberer fancy.
Old Women in Charity Homes.
A visitor to a home for aged WOmen
in Connecticut observed that one of
the inmates, a grim crone of 70, was
troubled by a hacking cough. The
next day she brought her a pot of
growing herbs, bidding her make a
little fresh tea of it daily for her cold. ,
“I will. not break a leaf of it!” cried
the old woman. her eyes full of tears.
“'l‘t ’minds me of home. It is my own!
I, have nothing here of my own!” look-
ing round the bare dormitory, with its
rows of beds and single chairs, with
a dreary disgust.
The other feeble oid creatures gath-
ered round the homely little bush with
delight, telling of the herbs and plants
they used to have in their poor homes
before they were laid away here to die.
“Are they not happy here?” the
visitor asked the matron when she
went out.
“They are comfortable,” was the
evasive reply. “They have food and
a bed. But an old woman wants ner
own kin about her at the last, and a
little corner that she can call home.
These are chilly death-beds,” glancing
back at the rows of White cots. “But
many families find ‘granny’ a burden
and get rid of her in this way."
“It would be better for both the
hearts and manners of the families it
they learned to carry the burden," said
the visitor as she left the house.
——Youth’s Companion.
Partially Worn Tablecloths.
When tablecloths are found to begin
to wear in the middle or at other folds
(and good housekeepers always have
them carefully folded, in one way,
usually, so the folds always wear first).
a few ihches cut off of one end and one
side and rehemmed will alter the place
0’ all the folds completely and give a
new lease of life. The side hem, to he
turned down once only, and end cat—
stitched and sewed on the machine af-
terwards, looks more like the usual
selvedge than the ordinary twice-
turned hem. The same may be done
to napkins, if large enough to allow it,
as well as to towels~though these two
last should be hemmed on both sides,
not cat-stitched.-—Good Housekeeping.
.. a...—
Brown firm: i.
The following recipe comes direct
from a skillful New England hon-:3.
keeper, who presunutbly know-s Lew
brown bread, that invariable accom-
paniment to baked beans. sholic .33
'made: Mix together two teacupfui'l of
rye flour, half a cup of cornmeal, tinge-
quarters of a cup 0; molasses, ti..ee
cups of sour milk, and one and a .‘i.-.lf
teaspoonfuls of soda. Bake foul
l hours.
- stiffness.
BLUE A FAVORITE lN TAILOR SOWNS
Soft 2’ufl'ed Sleeves a Later 5:3“: '.ii:i‘
Tucked Ones.
By Special Arrangement with t'...- N. ‘.' "ti-1.:
The most useful gown this re.-. .~. j
the foulard or India. It ails up all de-
mands and is always ready. It is al-
ways in order, and it gives the wearer
a chance of wearing all the daring
combinations of color that have been
allowed this season. One in bright
blue, with quantities of cream—colored
lace, is finished'at waist and throat
with bright green ribbons; it has a
dark red showing out from under the
falls of lace, and the skirt as it flies
out shows the red silk lining. This is
a very stylish garment, in a combina-
tion of blue and violet, although likely
to offend the eye unless the right
shades are chosen. Narrow fringe is
used to edge the ruffles of some of
these foulard gowns. One in. brown
and corn is trimmed with narrow
brown fringe on the little ruffles which
are lined with a bright red. The
bodice has a deep fall of broader fringe
falling from a yoke of Irish lace over
the red silk. The waist is finished
with a red chiffon sash fringed at the
ends. . . .
The- organdies are mcinating im
their varying tints and’ combinations-
A light green, trimmed with ruffles of
a darker shade, is edged- with creamy
lace and headed with a row of in-
sertion of the same lace above each
ruflle. Made over a light green slip
of lawn, a silk of the same hue and a
soft chiffon sash of the darker green,
such a gown is a refreshing bit of
simplicity. A very sheer black, with
lavender flowers covering its surface,
is finished with five little ruflies about
the skirt, edged with black lace, and
worn over a lavender undergown. Ruf—
fles of the lavender lawn trim the:
bodice- These extend the same over
the sleeves and across the front, form-
ing a berths, finished to a point, with
a soft wrinkle belt and bow of laven-
der.
White is a great favorite, as it al-
ways is, but it is not the simple white
swiss of long ago, but is a compound
of so many frills, laces, and ribbons
that it is like a foaming heap of love1i~
ness. These patterns can be worn as
edectively over a slip of lawn as the
more expensive silk slip.
all the beautiful transparent fabrics
are used most becomingly, but they are
far more expensive gauzes, grena-
which must have'the silk underdress
of pale tints. Some of the canvases
and grenadinos are so delicately woven
that they must have the taffeta’s silk
foundation to give them the required
In shading they are as deli-
cate as in texture and make the most
exquisite gowns, vieing with the mous-
seline de soie. Fer more enduring
service these can be found also in all
dark shades, making them most use-
ful for street wear.
“They offered a Bible at‘ our church
last year to the most regular attend-
ant.”
l “Who got the Bible?" .
“The sexton."
Of courses
dines, chifion, and a. coarse silk net,_
Timmlly Meadows 'after Hay Harves.
in the great majority of cases the
real cause of the success or failure 0f
the timothy field lies in the treatment
it receives after it has been seeded
down. As a. rule, it is not a, difficult
matter to get a good stand of grass.
as to get good returns and still keep
the sod in a healthy, growing condi-
tion. In all dry situations timothy
develops bulbous thickenings of greater
which become filled with water and en-
able the plants to survive drouthy per-
iods. If the cutting takes place too
early in the season, these bulbs do not
become sufliciently developed and the
plants are more easily influenced by
the hot, dry weather which often pre-
vails during summer and autumn.
Again, the conditions may be such that
a late cutting will do serious damage to
the sod.
Experience has shown that ordinar-
ily pasturing has a bad effect upon the
vitality of the timothy meadow. The
trampling of the stock destroys the
bulbs of the plants and packs the
ground, rendering it more liable to
bake.
Since most of the nourishment which
this grass draws from the soil c0mes
from near the surface, the meadow
should be given a top—dressing, every
year or two.
It is a freqtlent thing for the timothy
meadow to become “hidebound.” This
usually occurs in meadows that have
been in use for some years, and is due
mainly to two causes. First, through
insufficient cultivation, the driving
rains and hot summer suns pack and
bake the ground so hard that the
plants can grow only with great diffi-
culty; second; as the plants become 01—
der, a great many offshoots are devel-
oped, each with its bulbous base, and
all are crowded together in such a
small area that none can make a satis-
factory growth” The remedy for such
a. condition of things is to give the
meadow a good top dressing in early
spring, and follow this with a heavy
barrow, thoroughly tearing up the sod.
This breaks up the crust and allows
the soil to absorb water more readily,
while it tends to lessen the loss by
evaporation. It also separates the
bunches of timothy plants and allows
them to develop properly. If the
meadow is top-dressed and harrowed
often enough, this “nidebound” condi—
tibn will be avoided.
Many farmers sow also a small quan-
tity of redtOp with their timothy. This
grass fills in the spaces between the
bunches of timothy, and hence a more
even sod is produced. It is not a good
plan to use too much redtop, however,
or it will crowd out the timothy, as it
is very hardy and spreads more rapidly
than the latter.—Agriculturist..
Effect of Ensiling on Food.
The logical conclusion of the large
amount of experimenting on this sub—
ject atM’the Ohio and other stations is
that the process of ensiling adds noth-
ing to the nutritive value of the feed-
ing stuff. It does add to its palatabil-
ity, however, when the method has
been properly employed, and in conse—
quence a larger proportion of the cost
of this method. his not considered
any greater than that of the ordinary
method of cutting and husking and
stacking the stover, and not so great
.as cutting, bushing and stacking and
grinding the grain, and certainly all
this must be done if the food materials
are to be thoroughly preserved and
made as completely available as they
are in well sured silage.
Valuable Cover Crop.
At the Cornell station, crimson clove
er was sown August 1 of last year.
The crap grew luxuriantly and by Oc-
tober there was a heavy growth. To
determine the value of this as com—
pared with other clovers, plats of crim—
son clover, common red clover and
mammoth clover were sown side by
side in the fall of 1896. All wintered
clover made far more rapid growth in
fall than did the others. All wintered
well, but in the spring the freezing
and thawing killed nearly all of the
crimsOn clover. A determination of
the nitrogen collected in the tops and,
roots of the different varieties show-
ed that crimson clover was the best
for this purpose, as 156 lbs. per acre
were found. Mammoth clover was sec—
ond with 146 lbs. while red clover was
last with 103. It will be seen that the
crimson clover “served its purpose as
a cover crap and for late fall pasture
leaving in the ground enough fertiliz-
ing material to pay the expense of
seeding.
The Effect of Food.
The effect bf .foo'd is an important
factor but not always appreciated in its
influence on the quality of the milk.
A specific breed possesses certain cap—
abilities, the fulfillment of which is
dependent in large measure upon the
food supplied. That is, while food
may not exert a. positive and immedi-
ate influence in improving the quality
of the milk, because of the inherent
characteristics of the animal to make a-
produce of a definite composition, still
unless the animal is supplied with suffi-
cient food, she cannot reach her nor-
mal milk giving capacity.
Back~ Pastures.
Turn the back pastures into wood-
land and confine the cattle where they
will keep feed down sweet and tender.
Early cut hay from rich landis indis-
pensable to the successful dairyman.
It contains more nitrogen,
means meat and milk. Fodder makes
moxie and mlk. More corn should be
raised for ensilage and should be used.
unhnsked.—J. O. Sanford, Vermont,
which -
4.
Norwalk Chronicler