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He was a very handsome gentleman too. The golden-brown hair lay soft; and wavy abouta white, well-shaped forehead, the silky mushche shaded a mouth which would have been effeminately beautiful but for the firmness of the chin, and the eyes jufivnoyv bent anxiously upon Louie were large; expre'ési'v'e,’ deep gray'omis' ; iti figure he was tall and well built, with a. certain careless grace about him which made his grey tweed suit seem better and finer than , it really was. It was only atravelling suit, but he could have gone into a. parlor with them on, and would have looked better than the other men in their dress suits. HIS SACRIFICE : n “ There! I am glad he is gone, said Louie to herself, when the trees had hid- den him from tight. “ He is so very tire- some wit-,1 his talk about Bostofi and his home, his relatives, his friends, his horses; but than boys at that age are very apt to befgotistical.” n 1 run... hL- Ln vv vevuA~~-V‘-- Picking up her flowers and ferns she be- gem to arrange and sort them, not taking into consideration the fact. that the boy in question was nearly four years older than she was. “Egg-a. few moments 5110 felt rested, and gettmg up, began to hunt; for little delicate ferns, singing half-aloud, and half to 1):)- self, singing as tkeblrds 5mg, 1mm sheer happiness. ~ - 1 -,,I,,.L_u m.” ...... Someone wandering alsoaimlessl y through the woods, heard the sound of the sweet voice singing, and because he had nothing else to do, and having a fainn curiosity to see who the singer was, he followed the sound of the voice as it came to him through the trees. Louie could not tell ex- actly how it happened, but in clambering over a rock her fool: was caught in '8. cre- vice, she tried /to dislodge it, failed, slip- ped on the smooth rock and fell heavily, cruelly wrenching and spraining her ankle. Alow cry of pain broke involuntarily from her lips. Bending foreward she tried to draw her small foot out of the crack in the rock mto which it, had slipped, tried, an'l vainly. “ Can I not do something to assist you '3” With a. violent start; Louie looked up ; one glance reassured her ; the young man standing beside her was a. gentlemanâ€"of that there was not the slightest ‘doubt. “ I am afraigl‘deur have hurt yourself,” he said,_gentlg. _ . . n 1 T,,,:. He knelt downand tried as she had done to dislodge it, but tender as he Was, the light, gentle touch hurt her s0 that she moaned : “ I cannot bear that.” “ It is so swollen I could not pull it out Without hurting you terribly,” he said. “ I inns}: take off your shoeâ€"cub it 011 if needs e.’ “lam afraid so too,” answered Louie, trying to smile, though the cruel pain was driving all the color out of her face. “I have caught my footâ€"see, and I cannot draw it out.” It was a very embarrassing position to be placed in. Louie’s white face flushed pain- fully, but there was no help for it. She knew as well as he did that her foot was swelling every instant, that it must be drawn out of the crevice; which had proved worse, or as_bad, as any trap. 1t hurt her terribly, two great tears drop- ped from the long lashes and rolled over the colorless face blanched with pain ; and look- ing pityingly into the sweet face with its tear-wet eyes and quivering lips, an almost uncontroilable impulse rose within the hand- some stranger to take the little figure in his arms and kiss a“ ay the tears, as he could, and would have done to a. child. But he re- strained himself. He treated the matter 3113?; as though it was an every day occurence to find a. strange young lady with her foot caught in a. rock, and his manner helped her through the very awkward predicament. Unbut- toning the tiny buttoned hoot, he managed to draw it off. Then taking the little stock- ing clad foot in hxs hands, he pulled it sudâ€" denly. 1 ! “You have been very brave,’ he said, quietly. “ And now I will tell you my name. It is Evringham, Percy Evr'mg- ham.” Percy Evringham. Clearly and distinct- ly the fatal name fell upon Louie Antlion’s ears, and she heard it calmly and all unmov- ed. The fairyoung face did not blanch with sudden horror‘ no look of quick anguish leaped into the sweet eyes. 'i‘he name held no horrible significance for her, the men- tion of it did not awaken bitter memories, she heard it now tor the first timeâ€" it wals to her as the name of any stranger would have been. She had never heard the story of her father’s brother’s sin. It was best, Muriel had thought, that she should not knew the stain that darkened the Anthon name : so Louie had grown to womanhood an unconscious of the sorrow and shame that had laid her grandparents on her fa- ther’sg ide in their graves. ' shg'knew that heir father once had a. bro- thegâ€"a brother who, before she was born. Put away the baublc and the bih. Smooth out the )illows in’ the exit), Saztly on t e down Lay the baby’s crown. Warm around its feet Tuck the little sheetâ€"A Snug m a pen. in a pod. ‘ \Vith a yan and a gap. And a dreamy little nap, “'0 will go, we will go, To the Land andy-pandy 0f Noddy-o dy-poddy, To the Landy-audy-pand 0f Noddyâ€"pod. Them in the shadow maker's tent. After the twilight's soft descent. We'll lie down to dreams of milk in flowing streams; And the shadow maker’s baby Will lie down with us, may be, On the soft. mossy pillow of the sod. In a. drowse and a doze, .Ul asleep from head to toes, We willlie, we will lie, In the Landy-andy pandy 0f the Noddy-oddy-poddy. In the Landy-andy-pand Of the Noddy-pod. For Love of I-Ier. CHAPTER XXI. (CONTINUED). A Song for the Baby. CHAPTER XXII. had died out on the plains of Mexico; but of the life that brother had led she knew no- thing. . . . 'r - -. .. u v ,,:J logging up gt hjm. O “f "' 7"”7‘ He heard the name as she had his, thinking only that‘it was a pretty name and one that suited the lovely patrician face. He had been kept in ignorance of his father’s tragic death, he did not know how closely the Evringham and Anthon names had once been connected. He had been brought up by his grandparents, who idolized him, who lie-labor it had been to keep sorrow and 'care out of his life. L “Not; until he has grown to manhood shal he know how his father died ‘.” How- ard Ex‘ringham had said, “ for that knowledge would sadden and darken his life !‘ "iii-uh Percy had grown to m mhood, and his grandfather still shrunk from telling him. ’ “Time enough,” he said to himself ; “the boy is happy now. care and pain will come soon enough. and I will let him enjoy life’s sunshine while it is brightes '." “ And now that we have introduced our- selves, let me thank you. My. Evrmgham for your assistance,” said Louie,.the color coming back into her face ; for, though her wounded foot stil throbb d painfully, the sharp agony had subsided since her new friend had succeeded in extricating u: from the crevice in the rock. “ I am sure I don’t know what I should have done without you,” she continued, frankly, “ f or I seemed to be powerless to help myself, and I think in another mo- ment I should have faipted from pain_.’-’ "‘V‘VI think so myself,” he answ-ered. “I am afraid, Miss Anthon, that your foot is badly hurt. Can you bear your weight up- on it 2” “Oh, yes, I think so !" she said, confi‘ dently ; but when she had risen from her rocky seat and attempted to take a step for- ward, she found, to her great dismay, that the sprained ankle and swollen foot refused to hear her “(night 7‘1.‘u. "I do not kn7)w what I shall (10,” she murmured, helplessly, rather appalled by the situation. “ How shall I ever get back to Schafl‘hausen ‘3” “ You are stopping there '2” he asked. “Yes, we Were all anxious to take the trip down the Rhine. I came abroad with some friendsâ€"a. family of Brentwoods.” The handsome face brightened. “ The Brentwoods l” he exclaimed. “ Mr. and Mrs. \Villiam Brentwood, of New York ‘3” “I met the‘m two or three winters ago at Aiken, South Carolina,” he said, “ and I liked them so very- much. I shall be very glad to meet them again.” n ,,,, n O‘â€"" “‘ """ H” D “ I am very glad you have met them,” said‘Louie. “Ah, here comes my friend! How surprised he will be, Mr. lvring- ham, to see you here, and me in this pre- dicament!” “ Yes, the very same,” she answered. “ Are you acquainted with them '3” ' The young Bostonian was certainly very much surprisedâ€"nnpleasantly so, too-â€" when, emerging from the bushes, his hands filled with ferns and wild flowers, he found the young lady, whom he considered the most charming creature he had ever met, and with whom he had already imagined himself deep in love, seated upon a. rock, conversin easily with a stranger. who was â€"he was orced to acknowledge to himself .â€"â€"as graceful and as aristocratic looking as he was handsome. “ Where in the degil did he come from ‘2” he muttered to himself, savagely. for it‘ was anything but soothing and comfortable to know'that while he had been clambering up slippery rocks for wild flowers, venturing into damp and marshy places for ferns, and altogether putting himself to an infinite amount of trouble and inconvenience merely for the sake of winning a. smile from his fair companion, some one else had been sitting beside her in this romantic and picturesque spot, talking with her, positively sunning himself in her smiles. Louie noticed the grave expression upon his face, and she smiled a. little mischievous- ly osvshe introduced the two gentjlemen. ‘ , VJ ‘W‘ilrhave never met Mr. Evringham bc' fore,” said tthogtoning}, stitflv. “ Neither did I until a few moments ago,” said Louie, quietly. “Don’tlook so horrified, Mr. W entworth ; 1 met with quite a serious accident, and I do not know what I should have done without Mr. Ev- ringham’s timely assistance.” And then she went on to relate the details of the casual- tv which had been the means of bringing Percy Evringham into her life. “i am awlfully sorry,” said Mr. VVent- worth, mournfully, wondering why fate had been so unkind to him as to allow the hand- some stranger to h we introduced himself in such a. romantic and novel-like manner. “ I did not want to go and leave you here alone, Miss Ant-hon ; I did not think it. was safe. I am afraid Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood will never trust you with me again.” mo. I . “And mine is Louie Anthon,” she sand, “ Oh ! Mr. \Ventworth, it was no fault of yours,” said Louie; “ it was only my misfortune, or rather misstep. But the question is, how am I to get back to Schaffâ€" hausen ?” “ I think with my assistance. that can be aceompolished without any difficulty," said the Bostphiqxl quickly. “Mr. Evrinyham has already offered ma his ; I think with the help of both of you, I shall be able to get along, said Louie. an L Percy Evringham thanked her with a grateful glance from his expressive eyes. a Between them both, she did. get along very well, and at last they came up with the rest of the party, who were surprised and pained to hear of Louie’s accident. Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood recognized Mr. Evringham at once, and were glad to see him again : their manner showed plainly that they liked him, and Percy appreciated and was sincerely grateful for their warm an£1_<_>ord_ia1 grgeting. Like them, he was travelling down the Rhine. 'He had come abroad with some col- le e friends of his, and, while they remain- et in Paris, he had left them and gone into Switzerland, resolving to see a little more of Europe than they seemed to care to see. To tell the truth, he had been rather dis- gusted with the actions and doings of his companions. They were all well-educated, well-born and bred man; but, out if the sight of friends and relatives, away from the restraining influences of home, they had given themselves up unreservedly to the de- ceits of the world, of the flesh,and the devil, and had conducted themselves in a. manner which certainly did not speak very well for thgir morgl aindfeligious twining: Percy Evringharn was not a saint by any means ; the blood in his veins was hot, pas- sionate, Southern blood ; he was quick tempered, impulsive, apt to do his thinking after the deed was done ; he had done} a great many things in the twenty-three years of his life which he would have been very glad indeed to be able to forget, things which troug t a flush of shame upon his face, when he thought of them. He had seen more of the world then many men twice his age ; he had made friends of men older than himself. No, Percy Evringham’s moral record was not a stainless one, yet he was a. better n {in than most of the men in his set ; no one but himself had ever suffer- ed because of any act of his, no man or wo- man had ever endured sarrow or shame through him. Still, quick and impulsive as he was, he had too much self-respect, too much manly pride, to calmly allow himself to sink into depths of moral filth; and when he found that his friends had evidently for gotten that they had on higher purpose to accomplish in life than the gratification of their earthly desires, he told them that he was going to leave them for awhile, and leave them he did, though they begged him to remain with them. ‘Vhen Mr. Brent- Wood found that he was travelling in the same direction as they were he invited him to remain with his party, and Percy ac- cepted the invitation I It seemed to him there could be nothing pleasanter on earth than the trip down the beautiful Rhine in company with Lonie Anthon. The condition of Louie’s foot made it im- possible for the Brentwood party to leave Schafl'hausen for several days, but this was no very heavy cross to any of them. The VVentworths who had not the time to remain in the little town, went on their way, to the great sorrow of Louie’s ardent admirer, who went’away very sad and angry to think he must leave handsame Percy at Miss Anthon’s side. ' “I would be willing to bet that they will go home engaged to‘be married,” he said to himself, moodily, and then he fell to won- dering if ever, in the classic city of Boston, he should meet a. young lady who would in any _way corrpare with Logie: Anthon. .. . , “I know IL never will,” he qroaned in spirit, as visions of sundry Beacon street maidens of his acquaintance rose coldly be- fore him; “they are all so aesthetic and intellectual,and 1 can’t bear aestheticism and infigllectuaiifi,” u.‘ Very quickly and pleasantlx passed the sunshiny summer days spent at Schaflhau- sen. Certainly Percy Evringham proved a most agreeable travelling companion; in a. day or two all feeling of strangeness had worn away, and he seemed like an intimate and long-known friend. Mr. and Mrs. Brenn- wood had always been very particular re- garding the people with whom their daugh- ter came in contact; having Louie Anthon in their charge made them, if anything still more particular, and handsome and agree- able as Percy Evringham was, he would not have been allowed to join the party had inhey not known who he was and all about um. When two winters previous they had met him at Aiken, South Carolina, he had been stopping at one of the large hotels there with his grandparents â€" proud, stately, Howard Evringham and his sweet silver- haired wif Lfiv~vhg§§ gWe‘ss' loveli: ness of character had won rat réntWood‘s heart. So It Was that neither.Mr. Brent- wood. nor his wife had any fears with re- gard to the ban camaraderie which in such a short time sprang up between Percy, Aline, and Louie. A casual observer, almost any one in fact, wou‘d have said Mr. Erringham preferred Miss Brentwood to Miss Anthon. He laugh- ed and talked so gayly with Aline, they practiced all the latest waltz steps in the quaint little parlor of the inn, they played duets and sang together ; but Percy’s dark- gray eyes had not the tenderness in them when they rested upon Aline’s beautiful dusky face that was in them when they fell upon Louie. But Aline did not notice it. A new light had come into her velvet eyes, a new look about her red mouth. Never had any gone~by summer seem- ed so beautiful as this one to Aline Brent- wood, never had life seemed so fair and sweet. and she had not yet asked herself the reason. Somebody once said to me : “If you want to know a person just travel in the same party with them, and in two weeks’ time you will have a truer idea, of that person’s character than you could have gained in a. whole year’s social intereoui‘se,’ and I have had occasion to realize the truth of that statement. Let a party of people travel to- gether, and they are thrown into daily con- tact with each other, their interest for the time being are the same, they share the some experiences, and, as a. natural conse- quence, formality, reserve and restraint are, to a great extent, put aside. They see each other as they really are, they am out unâ€" consciously their true natures, and some- times totally unsuspected qualities, good as well as bed, are brought to light. Travelling has its linpleaaant as well 5s its pleasant side. It has a tendency to bring out all the impatience and ill humor litent in any one’s disposition. It sounds very charming when your friend. who has just returned from Europe describes his trip, tells of the places he has visited, the sights he saw, grows eloquent over the grandeur of the snow-crowned Alps, expati- ates upon the beauty of Italian sunsets ; but he does not speak, nor do you, the interest- ed listener, think of the deathly seasickness during the voyage over and back, the head- aches produced by too much sight-seeing, the aching-limbs which were the results of mountain climbing, the patience-trying en- deavors to make the waiters understand, the wearisome ride in the diligences. All these are things which are speedily forgotten, but at the time they dealt heavy blows to pa- tience and good temper. By the time the Brentwood party reach- ed Cologne they understood eaah other per- fectly, knew all each other’s little failings and weakness, and liked each other all the better because they did. Their companion- ship, close as it had been, had. not disco~ vered any glaring faults or disagreeable traits of character. Percy knew that easy- going as Mr. Brentwood was it aroused his wrath to have a. waiter bring him a piece of tough, leathery, overdone meat, and then CHAPTER XXIII. stand by solemnly and persistently declar- ing that it was “rare ros bief,” that it dis- turbed lovely Mrs. Brentwood’s equanimity to be obliged to sleep in a. little, cramped, close room, and that both the young ladies, charming as they were, had httle tempers of their own ; and they, in their turn, were all perfectly well aware that; handsome, graceful Percy was very quick-tempered and 1mRulsive. Not by word or deed did Pezuy Ewing- ham betrayed to any One of the pan yâ€"not even to the girl herselfâ€"that the ieelings he entertained for Louie Anthea were deep and warmer than those of mere friendship, yet so it was, when he first had seen her,crouch- ed on the rocks in the Rhine woods,her face white with pain, the tears she could not force back clinging to her long lashes, her lips quivering like those of a. grieved child, a tenderness such as he had never felt he- foze for any human being had risen in his hfart that tenderness was the foru'unner 0 love. "He dould scarcely realme it. himself when he found it was so. He had p‘ayed at being in love a good many times, had handsome Percy, but no woman’s tace had ever held a charm for him that Louie Anthon’s did, no woman’s hand as it lay in his had ever quickened his ulse as did the slightest touch of Louie’s ittle fingers. But he had no intention, as yet, Off! eaking his love. Percy was proud ; he ha always said he would never ask a wo- man to be his wife until he was quite sure what her answer would be. and lie was not at all sure now as to what Louie’s answer would be. He knew by the way she treat. ed him, by the way the frank brown eyes met his, that as yet her feelings for him were only those of a. warm and sincere friendship ; but he fondly hoped and trust- ed that in time that friendship would give place to love; he had not a. doubt but What it would ; she liked him, there was no rea- son why she should not love him, he must try and be content to wait. I dare say it was egotistical to him to think as he did, but then it was scarcely Percy Evringhmn’s fault that he had come to think that the woman he should honor with his love, should be proud and happy to accept it. His gentle grandmother had almost succeeded in spoiling him, women had petted him ever since his babyhood, audit was a. perfect wonder thit he was not ten times more egotistical that he really He very soon discovered that he could not devote himself to Louie as he would have liked to do, without betraying himself ; he could not give himself up to perilously sweet conversations with her, because he knew he was not strong enough to keep the love in his heart from rushing to his lips; so it came ,about that he talked more with Aline Brent- wood than he did with her, never dreaming that beautiful, proud Aline had for him the same feelings that he felt for Louie, lot so it was. About a, year previous an old friend of Mr. Brentwood’s had made him a. visit, and had seen Aline for the first time since she was alittle girl. He was a. grave thought- ful man, one who had seenâ€"much (£44497 world, and who had made a. study of men and women; and reading the passion in Aline’s eyes and month, he had quietly said to Mr. Brentwood, “Take care to whom your daughter gives her heart ; love will be more to her than it is to many woman, it will either mane 01' mar her life.” Itwas love that had brought the new light into Aline’s eyes, the new look about her Tipfi' that made this summer seem brighter, and sunnier than any that had gone before, that made life seem so fair and sweet to herâ€"love for Percy Evriugham. And what was Aline’s love to do for her-was it to make or mar her fair your: g life ‘2 She had not asked herself whence. came the brightness that had flashed so suddenly into her life, she had. not looked into her own heart and seen who she already had enshrined there. She was dreaming a bright beautiful dreamâ€"ah, so many of us have dreamed those dreams, and the awakening: are always so bitterly hard and cruel. Aline’s awakening came in this wise. It‘ was while they were in Cologne ; they were wondering through the famous cathedral one morning, Louie had gone ahead with Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood, Percy and Aline were sauntering along together, pausing to look at the pictures, the painted Windows, and to read the inscriptions on the monu- ments, talking earnestly, as they always talked, for thoth Percy had never thought of loving Aline, he admired her greatly ; he liked to converse with her, to watch the co- lor come and go in the beautiful face, the ever-varying expressmn of the lustrous eyes. Walking so slowly they lost sight of Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood and Louie, but as they entered one of the side chapels Aline saw them, “ There they are 1" she exclaimed. “ I thought we would find them here. Oh, Mr. Evringham,”she said, impulsively. “doesn’t Louie look lovely with that red’light falling over her ‘2” With her small ungloved hands loosely clasped together, her head raised a. little, Louie Anthon was standing before the mon- ument of the archbishop of Cologne. The sunlight, streaming through a. gorgeously painted window, fell full upon her, bathinq' face and figure in a flood of crimson light, turning the wavy gold brown hair into a mass of molten gold, tinging the pure com- plexion with rose; upon the lovely face rested an expression lnlf dreamy, half re- verent, the soft eyes had a far-away look in them as though their Owner’s thoughts were wandering tar balk into the pastâ€"no pictured Madonna’s face was ever purer, sweeter. fairer. Percy Evringham stood motionless, his eyes fastened upon her, while slowly there came over his face an expression made up of the deepest, tenderesh, the most absorbing love. Suddenly Louie moved from the place where she had been standingâ€"the spell was broken. \Vith a quivering sigh he turned to his companion. .7.... 1-- “ MisE Brentwood, I think your friend is the most beautiful girl I ever met.” Something in the tones of the low voice made Aline look up at him quickly. She saw the look of love and tenderness upon his face, the light in his eyes. In an instant she had read his heart ani her own~it was as though} a. lightning flash had revealed them both to herâ€"he loved Lmie, and she, Aline, loved him. ' It éame upon her so suddenly, that for a. moment she was half stunned, unabTe to quite understand the misery that had come upon her. tseemed as though the earth had fallen from under her feet ; as if the worth and brightness of life had gone out, leaving her in cold and darkness. She shi- vered, and clasped her hands so tightly to- gether, that the stones in her rings wound- ed the delicate flesh, wondering if she could keep down the moan of pain that was forcing itself to her'lips. [TO BE CONTINUED. â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-l»-<O>uâ€"â€"---â€"â€"- Waists. Women, especially those of the upper classes, who are not obliged to keep them- selves in condition by work, lose after mid- dle age (sometimes earlier) a considerable amount of their height. not by steeping, as men do, but by actual collapse, sinking down, mainly to be attributed to the perish- ing of the muscles that support the frame, in consequsnce of habitual and constant pressure ot stays, and dependence upon the artificial support by them afforded. Every girl that ,Wears stays that press upon these muscles, and restrict the free development of the fibres that form them, relieving them from their natural duty of supporting the spine, indeed incapacitatiug them from so doing, may feel sure she is preparing her- selt to be a dummy woman. A great pity ! Failure of health among women when the vigor of youth passes away is but too patent, and but too commonly caused by this prac- tice. Let the man who admires the piece of pipe that does duty for a human body pic- ture to himself the waisted form and seamed skin. Most women, from long custom of wearing these stays, are really unaware how much they are hampered and restricted. A girl of 20, intended by nature to be one of her finest specimens, gravely assures one that her stays are not tight, being exactly the same size as those she was first put into, not perceiving her condemnation in the fact that she has since grown five inches and two in :shoulder-breadth. Her stays are not too tight, because the constant pressure has pre vented the natural development of heart and lung space. The dainty waists of the poets is precisely that flexible slimness that is de- stroyed by stays. The form resulting from them are not slim, but a piece of pipe, and as inflexible. But while endeavorin g to make clear the outrage upon practical good sense and sense of beauty, it is necessary to un- derstand and admit the whole state of the case. A reason, if not a necessity, for some ‘ sort of corset may be found when the form is very redundant; this, however, cannot- ‘ be with the very young and slight, but all that necessity could demand, and that prac- tical good sense and fitness would concede, could be found in a strong elastic kind of jersey, sufficiently strong, and even stiff, under the bust to support it, and sufficient-- ly elastic at the sides and back to injuae no organs and impede no functions, Even in the case of the young and slight an elastic bond under the false ribs would not be in- jurious, but perhaps the contrary, servin as acoustant hint to keep the chest well or- Ward and the shoulders back ; but very stiff unyielding machines, crushing the ribs and destroying the fibre of muscle, will be fatal to health, to freedom of movement,and to beauty; it is scarcely too much to say that the wearing of such amounts to stupid- ity in those who do not know the conse- quences (for over and over again warnin g has been given) and to wickedness W‘who (lO.â€"’1'he Nineteenth Century. Very few persons take a corre 3t View of the actual profit to farmers of good roads, or of how much they can afford to pay for them. ‘ Our daily telegrams from the West supply one hint. All along in Autumn, and not unfrequently during the winter, we can read between the lines of these dispatches that business is active, the markets brisk, everybody cheerful and hopeful in all de- partments of trade, manutactures, agricul- ture, etc., or the reverse of all this, accord- ing to the state of the country roads generally. It is a fact that in some years for months together, the whole traffic of the country, and the activity and prosperity of all classes, are largely diminished, and the losses incurred amouunt to very many mil- lions of dollars, because the condition of the roads stops general intercourse, and practi- cally prevents the marketing of grain and other crops {it the_1?rope1;sea.‘spn. Another View. Take, for illustration. say the 700,000 farms in Illinois, Iowa, and Indi- ana. Suppose that, on the average, from one-half of them there are ten loads of grain and other products to be hauled to market, and of fuel to be brought back, a distance of ten miles on the averageâ€"«we include only half the farms. Call the cost per load only $2 for man, team, and wear of vehicles, when the wagonning is good. If the prairie and other roads are soft, wet, and miry, only half a. load can be taken-ofcen the team can barely draw the empty waggon. If from the condition of the roads the number of loads must be doubled, the aggregate in- creased cost amounts to $7,000,000â€"or enough to make fourteen thousand miles of good roads at an average outlay of $500 on each mile. Another illustration. Take a' township of the regular size. six miles square. A road along each section, or square mile, east and west, or north and south, would require 36 miles. Suppose the town voted to ex- pend $200 per mile on these roads, and that this sum would make them fairly available at all seasons. This, if paid down, would amount to $7,200, or 13!; cents per acre for the township. \Vill anyone question that With good roads, available at all seasons for marketing and bring home fuel, for town and church going and other travel, all the land in the region would be worth on the average at least one dollar an acre more, or three times the assessment? On a farm of 100 acres, the tax would be $3125â€"not a third of the cost of an extra horse, to say nothing of his keeping. In fact, would it not pay well to expend $500 per mile on all the leading roads, amounting to $1 an acre ‘2 The annual interest on this would be but $6 or $7 for each 100‘acre farm, and who would not pay that to have good roads always ?â€" American A g'riculturist. “Scene in a. chemistry recitation: “Profes- sor-Mr.â€"â€"â€", please give the non-atomic list? Mr.â€"â€"â€" Mercury, Cadmium, Zinc, andâ€"andâ€"(faint whisper from a. fellow-stu- dent, “Barrium”). Mr.â€"--â€"â€". (triumphant- ly)â€"-“Bayvrum.” How Good Country Roads Pay. ‘90 4 0.>> 091