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Once, twice, thrice, 1 tried to reach the branch I wanted, but failed to do so. The sun was shining in my face; the shtr#z3 of the boughs scattered the dew araps all over me. Suddenly a roice nmnesr me said; * I went out. On the previous night I had noticed on the to> of the tallâ€" est tree a spray of lilacs that 1 wantâ€" ed to gather. It was exactly the shape of the Prince of Wales‘ feathersâ€"three nodding, beautilu‘!, gracefu!l plumes, strroundad by green leaves. The first thing I thought of on my birthday was the lilacs. I knew just how the trees would look, the dew !yâ€" ing heavy on them, and the sunshinâ€" ing on their bloom. I must gather plenty for thei breakfastâ€"table, for my birthday was a household fete. hood. My mother‘s pretty little house peeped out from a mass of lilacâ€"trees, and there was a group of the same iust outside the garden gate, borderâ€" ing the path that led to t he wood. The townspeople had the right of using this path, but they did not often avail themâ€" selves of it. f On that morning I was on« of the happiest, brightest children that ever drew breath, with no care or thought save for the birds and flowers. With a longing impatience to see the dew on the grass, I watched the sunrise; when I watched the same sun set, I had passed from childhood to womanâ€" My mother, whem her husband died, went to live at a pretty! little villa outside Gracedicu, and built just on the tborders of Gracedieu woods. When I was a child 1 used to lis for long hours listening to the wind among the trees of the forest; and while I live no music will ba so grand or so sweet to me as that which it then made. Our lives were well filled. 1 rememâ€" rer no vacant hours Those which I spent in the woods and by the river were not idle to me. Y was storing my heart and mind with pictures that lasted me for many years when with human eyes I could see them nolongâ€" er. lt was on my seventeentk birthâ€" day, and the date was the tenth of May, that a noew life was opened to From my infancy until 1 was sevenâ€" teen I had passed a peaceful, calm, unâ€" aventlul existence. liike the openin=® bars of some sweet musical idyl. As the opening of a tragedy is alâ€" most always quiet, so my life, that was to embody a tragedy, began calmly, In these days the gold of the ia) urnum snd the buitercup was more to moe than the glitter of coin. _ My mother and I thought but little of money. Our expenditure was quite within our incomeâ€"the true secret of sontent 1 remember no sordid cares, no "bil‘s," no uncasiness as quarterâ€" day came round; 1 remember no unâ€" due exitravagance. We had many friends and acquaintâ€" ances in the town. In the summer altâ€"rnooas;, it was a pleasant walk to eur louse; and though we could not afford to entertain grandly as some o‘ our wealthy neighkors did, tex in our pretty garden with homeâ€"made cakes and ripe fruit, was pleasant enough. My mother was a lover of nature, and she taught me all she knew. 1 was acquainted with the name w‘ every lird; _ knew their baunts and the‘r babits. I was familiar with. tho trees and the long grasses the wild . flowers; the reeds by the river, the cressos in the bhrook: every secret of | the sweet country life was known to. ind loved by me. Looking back, I seea simpleâ€"hearted, happy child, whose life was a péom. ' asmall life annuity. My father had ‘not been able to leave her anything; he bad insured his life for a trifling sum which was invested for my benefit, and which brought me in a modâ€" est income of twenty pounds per anâ€" num This pretty town of Gracedieu, where I lived my happy young life, is in the fairest part of Devonshireâ€"where the land is green and fertile, although it borders on the seaâ€"where the green lanes aro like gardens, and the bedgeâ€" rows full of bloom. My father, the Reverend John Chester, was Rector of Gracedieu, for more than forty years. His church, an old Norman building, was very dear to him. He did not marry until late in life, and I was bis only child. I remember but litâ€" tle of him. His name was held in great bhonor by the townspeople. My dear mother, whom I lost when I â€" was eightsen years old, was a quiet, genâ€" tle, unobtrusive woman; she had â€" a FEverywhere at Gracedieu was the scent of lilacs. In no other place did they grow in such luxuriant profusion Peoole same to see the lilacs at Graceâ€" dieu as they go to look at the beeches at Burnham and the chestnuts at Hampton Court. They were the great attraction for many weeks, and all the country round was sweet with their odor. in well laid out grounds, in cotâ€" tage gardens, in the long green lanes, at every corner of the pretty streets, in every nook where there was room for a tree to grox on the path by the river, on the road to the woods, in the me«dovs and orchards where they| kad no vight to be, by the brook side, nodding over the iron railing of the o‘d churchyard, were the beautiful tall plumed lilacs. It would be difficult to say whether they were sweeter in! the evening, in the sunlight wet with dew; or blown by the wind; from the[ time they tegan to bud until the | last leaf drovped from the trees, they; made Gracedieu a garden of Eden, a land of delight. The children called . them "The Prince of Wales‘ feathers."} The elder folk, dated from them: they would say, "Before the lilacs were out," | ‘"When the lilacs were in bloom," or| ‘After the lilacs had faded." The weels they were in flower were a time of . aleasure to all. I UNDER THE LILAC TREE. CHAPTER I Mark was at the cottage again the next morning, with the excuse of a message from his father. I see him now as I saw bhim then, with the May sunlight all about him, a smile lightâ€" ing up his dark, handsome face, standâ€" ing near the lilac bushes, crying out in his cheery voice. " May I come in and see how you ars ths morning, 1Irs. Chester * The weight of happiness seemed alâ€" most more than I could bear. It seemâ€" ed to me as if the birds singing around us had guessed our secret. It was even‘ng when I recovered my composure. I was sitting with some work in my hand. My mother began to talk about Mark Upton, and I grew alarmed at the tumult of happiness in my hbeart, wondering what that same gentle mother would say if she knew that all the world was changed for me. |__{ had thought of nothing but the ‘ dark handsome face since I had seen it first under the dewy lilac boughs. ‘l dreamed of it; wherever I loozed { there it was. I could sea it in the , flowers, in the shadowy river, in the | blue of the sky, in the gold of the sunâ€" ‘light; glance where I would, it was there,â€"always there. ' I was a romantic girl, full of poetry Pisrely vBe sls ul 3 22 E> 1 great lilacs, and we were sitting there. | Mr. Upton was telling me of his life, | his position, an1 his future. | "I shall always thank Heaven," he said, " that I made my way to| Gracediou woods on the tenth of | May. | I dared not ask why. I knew. | ‘"What small events rule our lives!" he went on. "If I had been one hour: later or sooner, T should not have seen | you, and thenâ€"â€"" j He stopped. "And then?t‘ I interrogated. ‘"There could se no ‘ then,‘" he said hastily. " The world would be quite difâ€" ferent if I had never seen you. I shall love May ; I shail love the lilacs as long as I live" Presently we were standing in the glory of the golden sunshine, but I did not see it I did not see the ripple of the foliage, the dark woods, the lilac trees, or the garden. I saw nothâ€" ing but the face that was more beauâ€" SSul to me than all the world _ beâ€" e. There was a great lilacs, ar Mr. Upton wa his position. : dieu." some young man I hbad seen, and fate had brought us together. When I awoke to the reality of the present, my mother was saying: " Nellie, show Mr. Upton our trees. I tlink they are the finest in Graceâ€" tinued, "and I thought of you as I rode through the park. The lilacs are in full bloom; these white ones are the ‘finest I have ever seen. I could not ! resist bringing them to you. The park is beautiful now. Not only are the lilacs out,. but the laburnums are also. and the hawthorn trees are magâ€" nificent. _ You would enjoy seeing them." epeages c o ie TD ie n 1 Reamee OE Gewaic Nee Ee sTheie i and dreams. He was the first handâ€" Presently, the figure, of my gentle, silent mother, who was knitting Lusily at the window, disappeared, ans< we were alorsâ€"two young, loving, pasâ€" sionate hearts, alone, with the glamor of first love over us. I said something atout the Graceâ€" dieu woodsâ€"I never remembered what. He camse nearer to me, and held out the white lilacs that I might inhale their fragrance. How can 1 describe the vague feeling of happiness, of newâ€" born delight, of pleasure that was alâ€" most pain when, he approached? I reâ€" member we were half afraid to look at each other; then one, stealing _ a glance, would meet the other‘s eye, and dire confusion would result I rememkber that while we both examâ€" ined the lilacs our hands metâ€" and that first touch of his hand was a new revelation to me :n'alnusome dark young man by my side. _ "I am Dr.; Upton‘s son," hecontinuâ€" | edâ€""Mark Upton, at your service. My futhe:r oiten talks of Mrs. and Miss _ lhey are my favorite flowers," he said. "How strange! I prefer them to any others," I remarked, glancing up at him. "I wish youw many bappy returns of your lirthday," he said smiling, "and I hope every wish of yours toâ€"day may be gratified as easily as this has been" touching the branch of lilac as he spoke. "1 am much obliged to you," I said, "It is my lirthday, and I had set my heart on that one particular spray of lilac. How beautiful it is!" ‘"‘They are my favorite flowers," he said. My mind quickly reviewed the few friends, who were in the habit of visâ€" iting us, and I could thin‘s; of no one likely to be the father of the h.alndsome dark young man by my side. Chester." "I know most of the inhabitants of Gracedieu," be replied. "You do not recognize me, but my father is often at your house." you before." "How careless 1 am!"‘ be said. "Do forgive me, Miss Chester!" "How do you know my name?" I askâ€" ed. ‘L‘I.do p.ot remember having seen it.. Llet me, get it for you." I had heard no footsteps and had seen no shadow on the grass. Turnâ€" ing, my eyes fell on a bright, handâ€" some. face, with eyes dark and ;pstrous, and a mouth, sweet and irm. _ _ "It is too bigh;. you cannot reach it..Let .mm aut it ftnar xtrar" t shady arbor under the I | There is a deportment which suits \the figure and talents of each person; it is always lost when we quit it to assume that of another.â€"Rousseau. | The one who will be found in trial l capable of great acts of love is ever \the one who is always doing considerâ€" ate small ones.â€"F. \WV. Robertson. Mr Viptonâ€"Why not, dear? There are any number of artists capable of executing work like that. Hicksâ€"I told him if your poodle got lost to come aroupd and I would give him a #allar Mrs. Uptonâ€"That may be true, but there never was such a servant girl. Mrs. Uptonâ€"I don‘t believe there is a word of truth in that article. you vould have to say to that disreputâ€" able looking dogâ€"catcher. Mr Upton, readingâ€"A prominent arâ€" t‘st recently painted some cobwebs on his ceiling so realistic that the servant girl was overcome with aa attack of nervous prostration in trying to sweep Some of the best lessons we ever learn we learn from our mistakes and failâ€" urem. The errors of the past is the wisâ€" dom and success of the future.â€"Tryon Edwards. Of all virtues, magnanimity is the rarest; there are a hundred persons of mer‘t for one who willingly acknowâ€" ledgos it in another.â€"Hazlitt. It is not what he has. or even what he does which expresses the worth of a man. but what he is.â€"Amiel. One cannot always be a hero, but one can always be a man.â€"Goethe. If a man be endued with a cenerous mind. this is the best kind ~‘ nobility â€"Plato. You will never find time for anyâ€" thing. 1f you want time you must make it.â€"Charles Buxton. The true art of memory is the art of attention.â€"Johnson. Learning makes a man fit company for himsel{.â€"Young. Bo, while the May sunshine shone ; around us, he kissed me and claimed me | for his wife; and we walked back to | the cottage as the " Sleeping Beauty *" and the " Fairy Prince" walked from ‘ the old world to a new. | Oh, foolish, trusting, loving bheart! I did not remember that in the depths of the dark strong river lay shifting sands, that the wind never told the same story twice. To me my lover‘s dark eyes were true and tender as the stars. I forgot that the stars were not all fixed I was very young, very loving, full of faith, but not very wise. "I love you, Nellie ; and while I live I shall love no other woman ; if you will be my wife I will live and die for you ; if you will not,. I will call no othâ€" er woman wife." Mrs. Hicksâ€"I‘d like to know what Then he plighted his troth to ime, taking me in bis arms and kissing me, as he said : *"*My hair is not gray, Nellie," he said, laughing. " You are seventeen, I am twenty. I know ‘ my love is but a lassie yet ;‘ ‘tis for that I love her." ‘"You do care for me," Nellie," he cried; "the loveâ€"light is in your eyes! Say you love me. What does it matter that we have known each other only one week ? Why, my darling, if you had been my dearest friend for twenty years, I could not love you more! You know me as well now as you will in fifty years‘ time. 1 do not hide one thought of my heart from you." o What could I sayâ€"I, who loved him with all my girl‘s heart, and to whom his love was as sunlight and dew are to the flowers? I said something as to being very young. se e # ‘" You know there is not, Nellie," he said. "I tell the simple truth when I say that at seven o‘clock on the mornâ€" ing of the tenth of May I was heartâ€" whole and fancyâ€"free; I had never thought of love or marriage ; and it is equally true that by ten o‘clock I had sworn to myself that Nellie Chester should be my wife or no one else. Nellie, you do not know what you looked like when I saw you first. Your hair was purest gold as the sunlight fell full upon it, your face was fresh and fair as a flower; your sleeve had fallen back, and half your beautiful arm was bare, as you tried to reach the lilac and could not. I can only say that that moment you made your way to my heart, and that you will never leave it again. You have become part of my life. Now let me look into your eyes. I can read my answer there." He raised my face in his hands and looked into it as though he would read my very soul. HerF e ue on Ah me, it all comes back to meâ€"the song of the birds, the sound of the wind in the great trees, the odor of the lilacs, and my lover‘s dark handsome face bending over me, his warm strong hand clasping mine! It would have been we‘ll, I sometimes think, had I died then and there with that full sunâ€" light of bappiness upon me. For, when I realized what was passing, when, above the music of the birds and the wind and the rush of the river, I heard every word, Mark Upton was telling me that he loved me, and asking me to be his wife who one short week beâ€" fore was only a child! Oh, happy time of the lilac bloom, which had brought me a lover so good and so true! I dared not look at him. I glanced at the rivâ€" er and the treesâ€"anything rather than meet his dark loving eyes. " Will you say that you are not angâ€" ry, Miss Chester? "Nellie, your mothâ€" er calls you, and it is the prettiest name in the whole worldâ€"Nellie, will you try to love me?" § <e~ I fathered out that I had known him only one week. He cried, " What does that matter?" A week in such a case was like an age. There was no such thing as time in love. P e On that same afternoon I went for my usual stroll through the woods and down by the river. My heart and thoughts were full of him. It was hardly a surprise when I saw him crossing the little rustic bridge that spamnped the river Way, to join me. I was sitting in a nest of violets ‘and forgetâ€"meâ€"nots that grew down to the edge of the water. a NOT TRUE TO NATURE PEARLS OF TRUTH. (To Be Continued.) TORONTO The farmer‘s hen is very apt to be a ’mongml fowl, and in truth the care which she receives would put one of finâ€" er breeding to shame. Is it not a factâ€"that on the majority of farms the poultry are treated with less attenâ€" tion than any other living thing about the place? The average henâ€"house is a disgrace to the farm and to its occuâ€" pants. It is filthy, illâ€"lighted and venâ€" tilated, and swarming with insect life. Is it any wonder that hens deâ€" sert it in summer, and take to the trees, the farm implements, or the ‘ fences? er see sunlight, breathe fresh air, nor bave healthy exercise, much of the feed will be wasted, no matter what it is. see by the droppings, filled with unâ€" masticated kernels that grinding would more than pay the toll, not beâ€" cause of the direct loss of corn, but of the return for food consumed. in the absence of charcoal and ashes, of course salt should never hbe absent. Sods dug in the fall and kept where they will not freeze, and occasionally thrown in the pen, help to keep the inâ€" ternal machinery in a healthy condiâ€" tion. _ If one thinks he knows allabout pig feeding this winter, he will be asâ€" tonished to find how much be must learn next winter. _ But if in a cold, dirty, damp bed, where the air is fill. ed with carbonic gas, or where the chilly winds freeze their backs while they are cgpk.i{xg‘helmf, or if they nevâ€" | the next season‘s crop of pigs besides. ‘| Many who are in possession of good 4 feeding _ stuff in abundance _ for | feeding and growing pigs, either wilâ€" | fully neglect or seem to have an averâ€" | sion to making themselves acquainted | with the relative quantity and qualâ€" Z it._v of each required for sustaining the |pig‘s growth, or for fattening. A | want of this knowledge or its appliâ€" | cation causes failure to increase growth |and weight, besides impairing _ the | health of the animal _ An experience |of many years at the trough teaches us that a mixed ration best suits the |constitution of the growing pig, esâ€" pecially if it can be fed warm in cold | weather. _ We get many _ inquiries |about "what ails my pigs?" like this: "I fed my pigs on corn, but have changâ€" ed of late to barley and corn or rye," | when changes of feed should always be made gradually. Or, "I have been feeding milk with little or no meal," forgetting that, however good a feed , |milk is, it alone is too bulky for a sole diet, it distends the digestive orâ€"| gans and they have to get«rid of so much surplus water. _ If corn or barâ€"‘ ley meal has been added to the milkk, | from a few ounces to a quart for the smallest pigs, up to twentyâ€"five or thirâ€"| ty pounds to each hundred pounds of‘ milk for the growing pigs of more adâ€" vanced age, the result would have heen‘ satisfactory. Another persists in feedâ€" ing ground oats chiefly, knowing it to be a growing food, but forgetting that the oat hulls become a serious disturbâ€" er to the digestive tract And â€" the number of feeders who say that corn is good enough, is by far too great, and very often all these and other erâ€" rors are persisted in for want of knowâ€" ' ledge that is easily obtained, and genâ€" Ierally because it is "only a hog we are feeding!" We saw farmers makâ€" ' ing some of these errors last summer, who were living in the shadow _ of | mills that were selling sbhort for four | dollars to five dollars per ton! Those | that have steamers or feed cookers | and clover hay, by adding a bushel of , blossoms and leaves, or fine cut. clover to a barrel of water, and steaming it before adding the grain, bave a bulky !ration for brood sows and growing pigs that is much relished and very beneficial. Mangels, potatoes, beets, rutabagas, cooked or raw, make an exâ€" cellent change in winter and supply & place hard to fill with grain, if inâ€" deed it can be filled by it. Regularity in feeding is also very important. If one feeds one, two three, or four times a day let it be at the same hour, let no one think that he is a good and liberal feeder because be fills the trough brimful, for sooner or later he will come to the conclusion that he was â€"merely a wasteful feeder. _ No more than will be eaten should be given at a time, and this should be a fixed rule, nor should the feed be deâ€" posited in one end of the trough, where the stronger will get the lion‘s share . of the solids of the ration. If milk _ is to be given, add it just before feedâ€" ing, so the warm food will raise the temperature to blood heat. Cold, icy _ milk is an abominable food, because a pig or hog loves milk and will drink . it in spite of the cold, only to chill‘ . him to a point that stops digestion ; for a time. Some feeders think it an advantage to have the feed mixed ‘ thin enough so that it is loth food and drink, not thinking that the aniâ€"| mal is thereby compelled to eat what‘, it does not want or need, in order to 1 get what drink it wants. _ Or he may want the food and not drink, and will â€" fish out the solids and leave the rest to freeze and waste. But where there C are a number at the trough some are A compelled to eat the slush until their bellies stick out, so that we think they ! have plenty of good food. If corn on « the cob is fed, the observant feeder will ; WINTER FEEDING. Winter feeding is now the problem, and this.winter is unlike others, as it finds more young pigs of summer and {all breeding in the hands of farmers than usual, due to the cold, wet, spring, which caused a shortage of the usual crop. There are many things to consider now, says a writer, especially with the low price for hogs, and notwithâ€" standing the low price of corn, which figures but little in growing the pig. Shorts, bran, and oilmeal have so adâ€" vanced that it may be a question in places if they can be fed at a profit. For those that in the anticipation of higher prices for kogs, bred and raised a large number of summer and fall pigs and have not a surplus of feed, it would be far more economical to sell a part of them to feeders at present market prices, than to half starve‘ them through the winter, and in jure PRACTICAL FARMING. THE FARMER‘S HEX My dear, he said as he laid dow n the paper, you ought to read that adâ€" dress by Mrs. Mouser, the eminent lecâ€" turer on woman‘s work. â€" She says that whenever a wife gets angry she should stop and carefully consider the matter for ten minutes before saying a word to her husband. That‘s s grand idea., It is, eht I consider it so. And where will you ie ben I be‘in talking Oh, I don‘t knowâ€"somewhere downâ€" ?ozn. I presume ; but don‘t let that inâ€" 7 T iWt ols ics Pss 28 c 2c sn To stack hay in the field with a "goâ€" is to rub the back t th.se i4 5p »» s with turpentine â€"arn devil; Take a "goâ€"devil," that slides burns like fire and on the ground, put a horse at each ‘ prane with pain. end on a rope or chain about seven Chloral hydrate a feet long; make the inside checks on different narcotics your lines long enough by putting very to tricky borses, al thin rope to them. â€" Pull all you can | nluogad {n the ears into the stack, then take four 12x12 | hy iging" is resort planks twelve feet long and place them | tameaness. An iron on the end of the stack, side hy~s{de, ; underneath the shoe one end resting on the ground. BriDG | jing foot, causing boi your load of hay, on the "goâ€"devil," to alike, which only giv the end of the planks; ther drop the | ferent inotion. inside checks and let a mm:l tak:: eac'I;I; e borse and turn him around and pu | T iGer wa out the goâ€"devil. _ Now lead the horse:l A TOPSYâ€"TUR up aside of the hay and with the bark ‘ The Chinese surna of the goâ€"devil, push it up onto thej't“d of last. «tack. By building the stack in secâ€" | The Chi ® tions you can rapidly put up feed in | e Uhinese b‘f‘“‘ the field, and it will save many a sert and end with . hard dflx’il‘i“h'sg °ft“°"3h“m h‘.’",:n‘l'l The Chinese shake let. Stack can put up as high as| . the horses can pull without chokingâ€"i instead of the han say seven feet. Then top out from | EI®et. To unload rapidly on the stack: Take a long rope, threeâ€"quarters inch thick, tie the ends to the back part of the rack, just over the sides of the bed, take it over the rack to the front end of the stack, hitch the team to the rove and pull the load out of the rack. By taking the stack in short sections you can put it up ready for topping. If you would have a garden, keep it fenced, or else kee» the fowls contined. It is useless to expect the two to thrive otherwise. Hens will scratch, and they delig l in digging around _ growing plants and vines. A twoâ€"foot width of wire netting will be sufficient to keep them out of the garden, if it is securely fastened and staked tostand erect. They will rarely attempt to fly over it, but will creep underneat}t if there is a chance to do so. _A flock of fifty Leghorn hens, rightly managed “ilrkeep an average family in groâ€" ceries, besides supplying the table with eggs. It is not necessary to take groâ€" ceryâ€"store prices for eggs. Among the residents of any town may be found those who are anxious to secure guarâ€" anteed eggs, and willing to pay an exâ€" tra price for them, _ We know of farmâ€" er‘s wives whooktain from three to five cents a dozen over market price for all their eggs in this way . TWO WAYS OF UNLOADING HaY Drinking vessels should _ be kept scrupulously clean. _ Wash them out frequently, and fill with fresh water daily, Fowls are very fond of water, and _ often suffer from _ an _ inâ€" sufficient supply. _ Water is the first thing they want in the morning, and they will take a drink of it the last thing before going to roost at night. Chicks should be fed regularly and in a cleanly manner. Avoid _ wet ground, if you would not invite disease. Give milk either sweet or sour. Chicks are particularly fond of cottage cheese, or "Dutch" cheese, as it is called, and it is a perfectly safe food| for them. The trouble is to supply the demand. If eggâ€"production is the desideratum, select one of the laying breeds, and obtain eggs for batching as early in the season as possible. _ Older hens ofâ€" ten lay during winter, but it is the pullets which must be the main dependâ€" ence for eggs. If hatched early and carefully teonded, they will begin layâ€" ing early. In order to get best reâ€" sults, corn meal should not be fed as a steady diet to growing chicks. Wheat is excellent, as is also hran, slightly moistened. Ground oats are good fed in the same way, but avoid feeding this grain whole, as the sharp ends may pierce the crop. Very many farmers declare that bens are a nuisance, and as commonâ€" ly kept there is no doubt that this is true. They say with emphasis _ that they do not get eggs enough to pay for half what the hens eat, and this is also true. Yet the hens ought not to be blamed for the mismanagement which brings such poor results, If oneâ€"half the care and attention which they deserve were given these .nuch maligned bipeds, there would be no more complaint in this direction. Proâ€" perly treated, there is no better money producer about the farm _ than the hen She will give a greater profit pro rata than a cow. j The spring is the time to begin busâ€" iness, if we would have good material to work with the following winter. Lumber, Shingles and Lath always * In Stocl. _ to FILL ALL ORDERS PROMPTLY. We keep in Stock a large quantity of Sash, Doors, Mouldings, Flooring and the differâ€" ent Kinds of Dressed Lumber for outside sheeting. Our Stock of DRY LUMRE is very Large so that all orders Having Completed our New Factory we are now prepared Sash and Door Factory. A RE SAL MEAN MAN MX G. &J. McXKECHNIE oan be filled. C e SE Com sooe 90 o L MR erals and in mourning at we‘idings, while old women always serve us brides» maids. Note, first, that the Chinese com; ass points to the south instead of the north. The men carry on dressmaring, and the women Carry burdana ine Uhinese shake their own hands instead of the hands of those they greet. The spoken language of Chista is noi written and the written language is not spoken!, The Chinese launch their vessels sideâ€" wise and mount their borses from the off side. The Chinese do everything backward, They exactly reverse tle usual order of civilization. 400ks are read backward, and what we call footnotes are inserted at the top of the page. l Perhaps the most brutal thing to ; which a horse is subjected by these "@yppers" is in the case of a borse blind in one eye or where a cataract lessens his value, â€" The dealer, without any compunction whatever, punctu es i this eye, which rugs out, and then inâ€" ‘serts an artificial one. _ The operation [is a most delicats onme, and, neediess to say, extremeliy pain{ul. If the dealer finds himself burdened with a lame horse whose condition sugâ€" | gests no immediate change for the hbetâ€" ter he severs the nerve that supplies tha foot, an operation which is termâ€" ed by surgeons neurotomy. _ The reâ€" | liaf is but temporary, and the sufâ€" fering of the horse is supposed to be intense. J Whern a horse has a quarterâ€"crack, it is quickly filled with guttaâ€"percha uLnr puity amd painted to mxtch the Chloral hydrate and opium and the different narcotics â€" are adgministered to lriv-k{ borses, absorbant cotton is plugged in the ears of shy ones, and "weiging" is resorted to in vases of lameness. _ An iron wedge is driven underneath the shoe of the cor respondâ€" ing foot, causing both legs to go Iame alike, which only gives the borse a dif ferent inotion. hoof. The way to make a "high stepper‘ is to rub the back tendons of the legs with turpentine and cowitch, which burns like fire and makes the borse prame with pain. In case of distsmper or influenza the discharge is temporarily stopped by plugging one nostril with a sponge. inserting a hypodermic needle _ just above the orbits of the eyes and blowâ€" ing it up with air. The black lining of the tooth, which must be visible is buriit in with nitrate of silver or soms other chemical agent. Ths painfulness of this operation can be judged by every reader who has ever spent ten minutes in the dentist‘schair of torture. A youny horse is naturally full in the face. _ Sunken eyes intimate apâ€" !:imac;l?ing age. This is rectilied by One of the first and most important steps is to makk the teeth of am old horse resemble those of a fiveâ€"yearâ€" old. The teeth of a younyg borse conâ€" tain large cavities which grow smaller as the bhorse ages. The vererinary surgeon, an accomâ€" plice, is called in. He testilies to the soundness of the animal and grants a certiflicate. _ A grand sale is made, and by the time the buyers have discovered their mistake the establishment has moved and all traces of the "gypper" is lost. R A family is leaving for Europe; a young man whose father has recently failed, names never being disclosed by request, wants to dispose of a tine aniâ€" mal, but the good home is the chicf object. These "gyppers" set up establishâ€" ments in the various fashionable localiâ€" ties, where they dispose of "family driving hborses," "a young lady‘s pet mare," "children‘s ponies," amnd so on through the catalogue, at very smal sums, providing also that "the horse can be given a good home." Rome of the Crucl VTricks Rosorted to in Order to Make a Trade. That there are "tricks in all trades" there is no question, but it is a quesâ€" tion Awvhether there is any trade in which there are so many tricks pracâ€" tised as in bhorseâ€"dealing. p A certain class f men, known among veterinary surgeons as "gyppers," carâ€" ry on & trade which brings Into use "tricks" which are against every law forbidding cruelty to animals. A TOPSYâ€"TURVEY Laxp Chinese dress in white l o e Sn & ce y reciimtbtinc. and carry burdens, HORSE TRADIHNG. dinner with cdesâ€" at fun BR NS dnteresting Items A THE VEeRy LateEs The French t ©pera, will be bu auuuiter. Mr. Cochrane, ; house, was siavbh Crow‘s Nest Pass There was no formation of a C service in the Eo Ottawa had 1,1 A young son ol man was scalded Shipments of No Fort William ag bushels in 1897 There were 514 b 236 marriages in ® last half year khool Trllh“n:e'r'i' tll, being the firs served on the ho Two Ham ed $1 each becretary ( 0 Trade is move to San Accord ng BC., there i There w rectory of publia'h-»r.‘ sity to a The Do: in the Another iss of PBi west Mou: toria en i the police Yukon ar mon‘!lus . A4 lad The Governor of the appoints Vangelier as a . Court for Mon Justice Jette ; Governor of Q Jittle â€" Fredd yearâ€"old son of MHamilion, when a lamp it outide, ani liseman exting He prop business nseman ) house. The Gov that the « Company‘s seized at > the coastis in commu »ver the 1 Thursday ni daughter _ of man â€" Tay or, Rat Portage bhouse. _ Her © some means fr past sen tory ol in 1897 â€" two tho bundred 1896, an largely The year 85 t] th the the tur eral, â€" Bixr Fr The Queeqo pointment ol < ers Palmer, eral Sir Wall f the Tirah I west fromtier The London sijont McKin in trying to sa pesult will 1» «camyp and the Was ( 11 D) M In nt Umat Briiain, t All Parts of the Assorted for Easy M Un (PV® 1 @mcl after d 1(V] 308 »I Br W OT Boomer T %10 in tlor wernmen N V re night CAN ter Que gala mex ran R 111 $ m re} at