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The fire was stopped on the hill be- hind the house, and the men had gone along the ridge to stop it further on. We had dismantled the neglected breakfast table, and rearranged it with more regard for compactness than elegance. ready for the men’s supper ; and at last the long hot day was nearly over. Having nothing particular to do, I went and set under the back veranda. to rest. Mrs. Jones did likewise, and lean- ing her elbows on her knees and her chill on her hands, gazed silently upwards at the smoke that told of the fight still go- ing on. Mrs. Brown seized a broom and w The little clergyman looked distressed ; he was a little shocked at first, I think; then I heard him murmur to himself: A cup of cold water ! I never knew what that meant till u -day. “Hg-is a. briék !” declfired the children, gull qujte agreed with Phem. At last we reached the to , and found the men hard at work. ‘he fire had come upon them before they expected. Where a track was already burnt, they stop- ped it easily enough; but just here they were having a hard fight. So much we learn- ed from one and another as they stopped to swallow a pannikin of tea and then rush back to their work a ain. How hot they looked; hot and tire , with faces scorched and grimy, and eyes red with the stinging smoke. I had seen thirst before, though not (uite so bad as this. Mr. Smith had not, lthiuk, and his face grew very grave as he watched them. “Well, parson,” said one, as he drank the tea, in a voice husky and weak wit-h exhaustion, “you’re a. Christian for this, if you never said a p mover.” When we got down again, he insisted on making another trip at once. I could not help admiring him as he started up the hill again with a bucket in each hand, this time without his coat. ““7011,” said Biddy, looking after him, “heis' gpt sorpefilugl} in gpitqof‘his 90913.” Smith started with a light ‘heart to carry those buckets up that hill, and if his heart was heavier when he reached the top, the buckets were considerably lighter. We got on well enough at first, but soon came to a steep place, where, though our arms were aching furiously, there was no place flat enough to set the buckets down on. Then we had to sidle along the hill, and Mr, Smith had to hold one bucket higher than the other to keep it! off the ground ;5 and in spite of all his care, that upâ€"hill bucket would keep catching on sticks and stones, and sending cataracts of steaming tea over his legs. He (lid not complain : but it must have been too hot to be comfortable. At last We got on to a cattle track, which made walking easier, though it had its drawbacks too, being six inches deep in soft well-trodden dust. The on lition of the parson’s moist legs may be imagined. He sailed benignly on, however, with one long coat-tail in each bucket of tea, till I could stand it no longer. “ Thank you, thank you, very much in- deed,” was all he said just then ; but when we came to a place where we could set down our loads and rest, he observed, as he mourn- fully gazed at his muddy legs : “ Really, Mrs. Rushbon, I am afraid this kind of work is detyimental to my c_loth.” “Dear me! dear me I” he said, “ what shall I do '3 They will go in, and I can’t put the buckets down. and the tea will be spoilt. Beam me 1 what shall I do ?” “ Shall I pin them up for you ‘1” I asked. “ Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Rushton, if you would,” he answered gratefully. I managed to set my bucket down and steady it with my foot while I pinned the tails of his coat together behind, so that it looked like a. demented swallow-mil. “ They’ve no time to eat,” said Mrs. Brown ; “ but they’re just dried up with thirst. They want some more tea as soon as you can send it up.” “ I will take it, I said. _ ” Pray, allow me,” said Mr. Smith. “ Well,” said Mrs. Green, “ I expect Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Jones are tired ; besides _they want their dinner.” “ Mr. Smith,” I said, “‘ I am afraid the tea will spoil yo_ur coat?” _ \Vhile we watched, Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Jones came hurrying down again, bringing with them some of the eatables they had just taken up. I went in search of my shadiest hat, and the person donned hiscoatua greet mis- take, as it provedâ€"and we started off, he with two buckets of tea. and I with one. Now, full buckets are awk- ward things to carry up a hill-side at the best of times, and when they are full of tea every drop of which you know is pre- cious to the thirsty men above, you get ner- vous, and consequently spill more. Mr \Vejumped up at once and went outside. There was a fierce deep roaring rushing sound like a. big bush-fire, and nothing else. The smokehung over us thicker thaneverfind like alurid clouakept offthe sunlight, thesunitself showing through it as a. dull deep crimson disc : and through the roaring and crackling of the flames we heard the sound of the The children were called in ; and we sat down to apienic sort of meal, consmtmg of cold beef, plum-pudding, and a tart or two from the'nnfortunate wedding breakfast. These tarts reminded me of a fact that I found hard to realiseâ€"that I was really married, and that this was my wedding day ; yes, actually my wedding day ! and here was I. the bride, sitting down to a demoral- ised sort of Christmas dinner in a hot kitchen, witha half-roasted clergyman in his shirt; sleeves, and Mrs Green in a. voluminous cooking apronâ€"And Jack? \Vhere was he? Over a mile away, fighting the fire in the heat and (lust and smoke. In dan er, perhaps ‘. Oh Jack, dear Jack ! And I ost myself in loving anxious thought, till I was roused by Biddy’s voice : “My word l” she said, coming to the back doorâ€"“it’s near now, roaring like anything, and they’re beating like mm .” “ VVe’ii have to look out, anyways,” said Biddy. “The sparks will be all over the place, with this wink, and it’s not much time we’ll have then to be thinking of dinner.” “What time is it ‘2” asked Mrs. Green, when the two women had started up the hill once more.â€"“ Two o’clock ‘3 You' don’t say so ! “7811, we may as well have a hit of something ourselves. The fire will be 011 the top of that hill 1n half an hour, at the rate it is coming If they can t stop it, it will come down here, andy w e’ll have to turn to and fight with the rest of them.” MY WEDDING DAYi CHAPTER II. It was no use trying to be sentimental under the circumstances, soI laughed in- “A kettle!” he suggestedâ€"“Come, little woman, don’t call names. I fancy there’s a pair of us,” he added, looking laughingly at me. Of course I sat up at once, and looked towards the glass to see What was the matter, and this is what I sawâ€"Jack kneelv ing by the side of the couch, looking like a sadly-dishevelled sweep, for one of his shirt-sleeves was burnt off to the shoulder, and he was more or less black all over; while his eyes were red, and his teeth, dis». played just now by a. broad grin, shone like a negro’s from beneath the singed and stubbly ends of what had once been his moustache. As for me, my light cotton dress was ornamented by sundry prints. of a human hand in black, while round my waist wasa broad band of the same hue. My left cheek was one dark smear ; while. on the other, as well its on my forehead and lips, were numerous rough but unmistakable impressions of Jack’s moustache. I do not know how long we worked; it seemed hours ; but I supposeit was not many minutes. All at once we heard men’s voices and running feet, and a dozen strong arms were heating beside us. It was a sharp tussle ; but they got it under, and were just Congratulating themselves on arriving in the nick of time, when a voice~Jack’s voice~ was heard calling for help, and they saw that the fire, though turned away from the 1 house, was making straight for the wool-shed, ‘ which stood on a. slight rise a little beyond. ‘Jaek was fighting it singlehanded. It seemed to be getting the better of him ; then, while I watched, I saw him fall, and the fire rushed onwards. And then I suppose I fainted, for I remember nothing more till I felt myself slowly and painfully coming back to life in my own little room. At first, I was only conscious of a. deathly sick feeling ; then I remembered that something i had happened, somethingdreadful. Whatwas ‘ it ? Ah lâ€"Jack. I believe I called his name aloud and thenâ€"could it be true ?â€"Iheard his voice answering me, and felt his strong arms and his kisses on my face. It was no dream, but Jack himself ! I hid my face on his shoulder and sobbed. I have a dim re» membranee of hearing some one say, “ She’ll do now ;” then the door was shut and we were alone. I had my arms round his neck, and clung closely to him, unwilling to lose my hold even to look up at his face. “Hush. Mary,” he saidH” hush, my darling. Iam here, safe and sound. Look up, dear, and see for yourself.” At last I did look up. Could that he Jack? It looked more like a badly-blacked Christy minstrel. “Why, Jack 1” Icried, “ you are as black as a.”â€"â€"and I paused for want of a simile. l I paid little attention to Mrs: Brown’s conversation, but fell to thinkingaof J ack, of coursemtill Biddy came across to the idairy with her buckets of milk, and Mrs. Green came out and called the children in to tea. They came scampering in, discuss~ ' ing the day’s events with a vivacity which i put day-dreaming out of the question for the l tinie being. Biddy gave one more long “coo-o-ee I” and seizing a bucket, fell to work; while Mrs. Green disappeared into the house, re- turning with the children, blinking and be- wildered. Rolling them in blankets, she deposited them in the bed of a dried-up creek near the house. Meanwhile, I had been running backwards and forwards with two large watering-cans from the tubs we had filled in the morning, trying to soak a strip of grass to check the fire in its ad» Yances on the house. My task was only half finished, however, when the fire came up. I caught up a branch and called to the others for help. We beat and beat with all our might ; but the wind was high and the grass long, and it seemed as if we could not keep it back. The heat was intense, and the smoke choked and blinded us; but we kept on, till I felt as if each blow would be the last, and dimly wondered what would happen when I gave in, as I must do soon. Mrs Green andBiddy rushedout,and took in the situation at a. glance. Biddy just threw back her head, put her hands to her mouth and “ coo-eed ” loud and long. ”Biddy,” she‘contifiued, “throw water on the roof ; it’s as dry as tinder.” “ Get a can and wet the gfass at the end of the house, Mary ‘.” Mrs. Green called to me as she ran round the house shutting the windows, to keep the sparks out. ni ht.” Vhen they had gone I lost myself in my own thoughts again. How long I sat there dreaming I do not know. The sun had set; the short twilight was over, and the smouldering logs shone out like large red stars from the blackened hillside above, when I noticed a strange light to my left. Going to the end of the house, I saw a line of fire coming towards us along the flat. A smouldering lo must hove rolled down from above and ighted the grass. “Fire! fire 3 just here l” I shouted. Duringv tea, the talk was still bush» fires; no one ever talks of anything else while one is burning. Afterwards, when Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Jones had departed to their respective homes~cottages a. little distance off-and Mrs. Green and Biddy were busy preparing for the men, whom they expected soon, I sat on the veranda and tried to talk the children into a. calm enon h state of mind for bedtime. It had een a wildly-exciting day for them, and a “ continual feast " as well ; for they had made raids on the kitchen every now and then, carrying off their booty to be devoted in some place where there was a good View of the fire. They implored me not to speak of bed at first ; but in spite of them» selves they grew drowsy as they calmed down, and were soon ready to say “Good night.” proceeded to sweep up the leaves scat- tered about by our discarded decorations, talking meanwhile about other bush~fires she had seen. Now that the fight was no longer in sight, the sense of excitment and conflict we had felt all bay in some degree abated. Peaceful home soundsâ€"â€" the crying of a calf, the musical sound of milking from the bail-yard close by, and the cheerful tinkling of teaspoons in the kitchen â€"contrasted strongly with the lurid glare of the smoky sunlight and the distant roar- ing of the flames. In a gum-tree close by were a crowd of magpies that had flown screaming away from the fire, and were watching it intently, now and then bursting into a. flood of angry song; while once or twice a flock of paroquets whizzcd shrieking overhead. Oldâ€"fashioned French lawns, old friends with new faces, once more envelop, in their limp, sheer folds, the form of the woman of fashion as they did in the days of our grandmothers. There has been so much justly said about the prejudicial effects of overwork, especially in using up the powers of man and cuttinu short his life, that it may be hastily assumv d by some that work itself is opposed to length of days. This, however, is a very fatal mis- take. “iliatever may be proved concerning the comparative tendencies of different em- ployments to shorten life, it will always be found that a life of idleness will surpass them all. The faculties of man, used and not abused, serve not only to benefit the world, but even more tobenefit himself. His health, happiness, and length of life depend largely upon the regular, steady, and full-â€"»liot ex- cessiveâ€"employment of his powers. He who neglects this law and suffers them to run to waste, leading an aimless and vacant life, will reap the penalty quite as much in his own inferior condition, physical and mental, as in any external loss he may sustain. The fight is dying~ out of fictionâ€"if we ex- cept those handâ€"todmnd encounters between white man and savage with which we have been regaled of late and which take place a very long way from home. On the rare oc- casions in which the exigencies of plot may still force a fight upon the novelist, the affair is slurred over in a perfunctory style, with nothing of that gusto of detail that animated his predecessor. “’hether 01' not a worse element has crept into his (or her) pages may he 2L doubtful question. A woman is supposed to be a prime insti- ‘ gator in every mischief ; she certainly forms ‘an important element in theZIight in fiction, whether innocently or of malice prcpense. Many of these belligerent scenes would lack their crowning charm without the feminine business in the backgroundAthe agonized sobs, the wringing of hands, the supplicatory appeals of the gentle, timid maiden : or else the selfâ€"satisfied smile of the selfish beauty, glorying in her power, though it be for evil, over the masculine species. The fight takes on a more perilous aspect when there is no spectatorâ€"if one may except the moon, who, from time immemorial, has appeared as inter- ested in these proceedings as in lovers’meet- ings, and who looks down with cold dispas- sionate gaze on the dear struggle for life ; for in these lonely contestsâ€"011 the barren heath or rocky shoreâ€"‘it generally means noâ€" thing less. If the encounter takes place on the side of a precipice (a favorite situationâ€"â€" that is, with the author,)s0 much the better for the effect. The villain of the occasion has an awkward knack of working his reluc- tant adversary nearer and nearer, inch by inch, toward the edge of the yawning abyss, and ends by precipitating him over, going about with an uneasy conscience ever after, till the Abel of his dreams turns up to con~ front him at the most momentous crisis of his life ; for things seldom turn out so badly as they might have done in these fights. Fic- tion here is sometimes stranger than truth. No doubt the question as to the origin of these great climatic changes which have so frequently occurred in the course of geologi‘ cal time, presents many difficulties. Opinion is divided as to what the cause of these changes may have been. I do not now enter into this subject, because for our present purpose it suffices to note one very important conclusion. Those who are competent to offer an opinion on the question of the cause of the geological variation of climate are in substantial accord that the changes have not been due to any actual variations in the supâ€" ply of heat emitted from the sun. In other words, there is not the slightest reason to believe that the sun itself has been either appreciably hotter or appreciably colder during geological times than it is at the pie sent moment. We have geological evidence as to the character of the climates which prevailed at a remote antiquity far earlier than any histori- cal testimony. The records of the rocks show us unquestionably that our globe has passed through many striking vicissitudes of heat and cold. Those records demonstrate that there have been periods during which some of the fairest regions of this globe were desolated by a frost so frightful that they became thickly cased with solid ice. There have also been periods when conditions of a precisely opposite character have prevailed. Those polar regions which are now the peren- nial abode of impenetrable ice have once en- joyed a succession of long and delightful Summers, divided by Winters remarkable alike for their brevity and their mildness. Arctic solitude, now so dismal and so barren, then nourished plants and animals that can only thrive under genial conditions of climate. There seems to be sufficient reason for the belief that the heat at present emitted from the sun is neither greater nor less than that whichfour luminary used to dispense ages ago. \Vhere the vine and the olive now grow, the vine and olive were growing twenty centuries back. \Ve must not, however, place too strong a reliance on the deduction from such a fact. Darwin has taught us how by natur» a1 selection an organism can preserve its ad- aptation notwithstanding the gradual change of the surrounding conditions. The facts, however, fail to show any ground for imagin- ing that there have been changes in the climates of the earth within historic times. Next morning, a rather Vdilapidated but very happy bride and bridegroom started on their homeward way, after saying good-bye to a still more dilapidated parson, and being lmuoured with three very husky cheers from all hands. He stayed talking a little while, and then had to rush back. They had just managed to save the woolâ€"shed, but a good deal of fencing had gone. The worst of the fire was over, but it needed watching. stead, to J ack’s relief, for he had a man’s hatred of scenes. “How did you escape l” I asked. thgggvl‘lt, I say ‘th‘efige- go over y_ou.’:.”_ “\Vhy, so it did,” he answered. “When I found I could not stop it, I lay down, and let it go over me.” “Oh Jack 2 you must have been hurt.” “Well, I found it rather warm, certainly; and I am afraid my clothes have suffered.â€" There, there, little wife; don’t cry like that. ” The thought of his danger had been too much for me. “I am quite safe, thank God, I don’t think I am seriously damaged, though my complexion is a little spoiled for the pre- sent.” Work and Long Life. A Woman in the Case. The Heat of the Sun. [THE END] The fact that cow manure does not heat so rapidly as that from the horse, sheep or hog makes it less immediately available, 1111- less first composted, than that from either of these other animals. If spread with out com} osting it ferments more slowly. But what it loses in nwtilibility is gained in (lur' ability. Chemically, of course, the manure must depend 011 the feed, and on most farms the cow is less highly fed than the horse or pig, the latter receiving an almost exclusive- ly grain ration when fattening. It is often said that the manure from cows giving milk must be impoverished by what the IY‘llk But he hauled on, in all sorts of weather, on all sorts of occasions and under all sorts of circumstances; despite all opposition. At last his threshing season came on, and when his crop was measured from thth field it yielded thirLyJix r‘, bushels per acre. Then there were more 111nm who “knew it all the time” than you (muld count.7[Country Gentleman. I know a man who lives not very far from me who raised nine bushels of wheat per acre on a. field of fourteen acres in 1888. He broke and sowed the same field in the fall of that year, and then began to haul manure upon it. He was told that the manure was too green, too fresh, too new; it would kill the wheat roots sure. But he hauled on just the same. Again he was besieged by a. lawyer who was hunting quail in the field, and was cautioned not to put the manure on the ground after the wheat was sown. His hair began to turn gray, but he went to another livery stable and bought all the manure they had. His minister told him to pile it up in piles, his doctor told him to give it in broken doses and a section boss on a rail- road said he was wasting time, that he had better feed it to the “praties.” Most of our prominent growers prefer to plant one-year old roots, although two and three-year are often used. The asparagus bed should be five feet wide and any desirâ€" able length, according to the size of the family. It should be well cultivated, two feet deep, and well manured. Three rows of plants will suffice to each bed; the plants should stand one foot apart in each row, and the crowns should be well cover- ed four inches deep; a good deep soil with sandy bottom is found most suitable, as the! plants do not thrive well in a wet stiff soil. As soon as the tops are cut down in the fall cover with a top dressing of coarse manure, which may be forked early in the spring. A partial cuttin may be made the third year, but it wil add materially t0 the vigor of the plants if none be got until the fourth year. In locating away from the sea. shore a top dressing will be found beneficial. The as- paragus is naturally a marine plant, this being a reason why salt acts beneficially.‘ There is probablyno vegetable that is so absolutely superb to the delicate appetite of the epicure as the first delicious cuttings of asparagus. Although a native of Europe and Asia, it has become so common in this country as to be almost naturalized in some places, having found its way into the fields and sometimes being seen on marshy places on the sea coast. J ust keep your eye upon the quotations and learn the breeding and characteristics of those which bring the most money. Facts and figures correctly stated will not mis- lead. Quality will always be at premium. Those who have large, roomy mares should as a. rule, mate them with the hi hest- formed, round-barrelled, closely-ribhe stal- lions of medium size that can be found. Get, size if you can and breed for quality at all events.” If you wi§h to obtain good prices for your horse stock, young breeders, pay more at- tention to quality, whether you are breed» ing roadsters or trotters. Never be pur- suaded to buy a. roomy mare that has noth- ing but her roominess to recommend her. Size can be increased by liberal, judicious feeding. Quality, however, must be bred in the animal. If not, then no amount of care can supply it. Quality is quite as important in the road horse as in the trotter. It is a fact that most of the best turf campaigners were out of small nervy mares such as showed a deal of quality and possessed lots of vim. Clara the dam of Dexter, was one of this kind. She stood only 14:2; the dam of Goldsmith Maid was not a large animal; the dam of Jack 2:15, was thought to be too small for brood purposes, so after producing this fam- ous campainer they sold her for about $560; she has since been sold for $3,000. Reina Victoria, the first broodmare that brought $7,025 at auction was scant fifteen hands high. Alma Mater, the greatest broodmare of her age that ever lived, stands only about fifteen hands, yet if report is correct her pre- sent owner paid $15,000 for her. Zoraya, the only broodmare that has ever yet been auctioned for $13,000, is quite small, barely fifteen hands in height. Nellie May, lately bought by J. Malcolm Forbes in New York City, belongs to the same class; about fifteen hands is her size. Voodoo, which sold for $24,000, was a little pony~built fellow that good judges think will never exceed fifteen , hands in height. ‘ There are exceptions, it is true. Occasionâ€" ally & mare can be found which, like Miss Russell, dam of Maud S. 2:085}, though of good size, possesses the quality and finish of a thoroughbred. Kitefoot 2:17 is another that shows quality. Such cases are the excepâ€" tions, however. Horsemen who want ani» mals for their own use are becoming more critical every day not only as regards the fashionable producing blood lines required in pedigrees but in quality, finish, style, gait and other attributes, which though not al- ways combined with the highest rate of speed need not detract from the trotting capacxty of an animal. “ Young breeders have often beenadvised to be sure and breed for size, says an ex- change. Now, this is all well enough as far as it goes. Get size if you can do so with- out sacrificing quality. Bear in mind, how- ever, that where size will add $1 to the sell- ing price of an animal, quality and finish will add $10. As a rule, most large roomy mares that breeders are advised to “tie to” are somewhat coarse. \Ve clip from Colman’s Rural World the following sensible hints 011 the subject of breeiling for qua_,litV 5 Value ofCow Manure. A Valuable Lesson. Breeding I‘ 01' Quality. AGRICULTURAL. Asparagus. The Immigrants we Want. However greatly we may desire to see the number of immigrants to our North Western Territories increased, no lover of his country would rejoice in the mere fact of numbers, unless the new comers were of such a class as to warrant the belief that they would hel to build up our cherished institutions an to develop the country along the lines of order and true progress. We want men to occupy the waste places, but we want men. We are not anxious that the scum of the old world shall find its way to our virgin. plains; that the Socialist, the Anarchist, the ne’er-do-well, the social parasite shall seek a. home among us. These we will thank to stay away. It is gratifying to learn, how- ever, that the class of immigrants arriving this season are all of a superior character. Mr. Stafford, the Government agent at Que- bec, writes as follows: “Ten families, per Sardinian, going to Lord Brassy’s settle- ment, accompanied by Mr. Cracknell, were a fine lot of English fax mars who, I am satis- fied, will do well. Sixteen single men and eleven single women assisted out by the Chu ch Emigration Society were a fine hea'thy lot, well adapted for country work." 17or such hardy, sturdy sons our doors stam (pen wide; and to such we bid a cordial wel co ne. No manlier deed comes down, Blazoned in broad renown, From men of old who lived to dare and die Xi The old fire yet survives, Here in our modern lives, Of splendid chivalry and valor high 1 The memory of those cheers Shall thrill in English ears \Vhere’er this Enghsh blood and speech extend. hit dauntless each brave heart Played his immortal part In stron‘g endurance on the reeling deck. They fought Fate inch by ineh,â€"- ‘ Could (lie, but could not flinch ; And, hiding the inevitable doom, They marked the English ship, Bathing the tempest’s grip, Forge hardly forth from the expected tomb. Then, with exultant breath, These heroes, waiting death, Thundered across the storm a peal of cheers,»â€" To the triumphant brave A greeting from the grave, Whose echo shall go ringing down the years. “To you, who Well have won, From us, whose course is run, Glad greeting, as We face the undreaded end 2” By her > Resolved to challenge Fate, V To pass the perilous strait, And wrench from jaws of ruin Victory. \Vith well-tried metals strained, In the storm’s teeth she gained, Foot by slow foot made head, and crept to- ward life. Across her dubious way The good ship Trenton lay, Helpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife. At length the English ship Her cables had let slip, Crowded all steam, and steered for the open sea, 7 And now were wrought the deeds \Vhereof each soul that reads Grows manner, and burns with prouder breath;â€" Heroic brotherhood, The loving bonds of blood, Proclaimed from high hearts face to face with death. How the great cables surged, The giant en’gines urged, As the brave ships the unequal strife waged Not hope, not courage flagged ; But the vain anchors dragged. Down 011 the reefs they shattered, and were gone 1 Fell reefs on either hand And the devouring strand ! Above, below, the tempest’s deafening roar! \Vhat mbrtal hand shall write The horror of that night, The desperate struggle in that deadly close, The yelling of the blast, The wild surf, white, aghast, The whelming seas, the thunder and the throes ! Vain, Vain the strait retreat That held the fated fleet Trapped in the twofold threat of sea and shore ! But, Hearts, no longer weep The salt unresting sleep Of the great dead victorious in their doom In Apia Bay. (fiforitwi nos salutamus.) Ruin and death held sway That night In Apia Bay, And smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom. 9} per cent. He therefore calculates that fully ninety per cent. on an average of all the fertilizing elements of food consumed by milch cows is voided in the manure, and if, properly preserved, may be used to main- tain the productive capacity of the soil. This is a most important contribution to practical farming, as it sets at rest any doubts which farmers may have derived from partial theorizing whether keeping cows, and even selling the milk, might not be an- other way of making their land poorer in- stead of richer. Very few milk farmers now buy much more than one-tenth the food their cows consume. Hence if they sell all the milk their land grows richer. If they sell only butter there is no loss of fertility, as all goes back to the farm. glands take from the food for their manu- facture. On this point practice and more careful analysis shows that the theoretical loss is not large. Good farmers know that they get large results from manure made by milch cows liberally fed. Dr. Collier of the New York Experimental Station at Geneva. has been testing this matter with some very interesting results. He reports in a recent address that with growing animals not six per cent. of the material in the food was re« tailed in growth. \Vith milch cows in full flow of milk this proportion was increased to wreck , Helmless she lay, her bulk A blind and wallowing hulk, strained hawsers only held from CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS.