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x“ mi ._._._,.-â€" I... â€"â€"u- 'â€" Wommmmaomofi [moonlight woke in him a feeling of OR. THE ‘0' WWW mummies“ CHAPTER XIV. Philip sat smoking his hubbleâ€" bubble by lamp-light that evening, pondering ways and means of return- ing to Lucknow when he should be well enough, and penetrating the re- bel lines to the relieving force, which as he now learned, was closely beâ€" sieged and in its turn awaiting re~ lief, he wondered what Jessie would think if she could but peep through the latticcd window upon him. This amused him so much that he laugh- ed and swallowed some of the rose- water through the tube, half choking himself, this reminded him that the art of smoking the native pipe was not to be learnt in a moment, any more than the native. fashion of sitâ€" ting which he was practising, with his turban on, his slippers off, and an expression of profound gravity upon his face. Jessie would not recognize her brother in this digniâ€" fied young Hindoo. How amused Campbell would be! Ah, no, he reâ€" membcred, Campbell. the bright bOYl ensign who had joined a few weeks before they came out, and whom Philip had taken into his heart of hearts, Would never more be amusâ€" ing or amused. Tears filled his eyes and he laid the pipe aside, reâ€" calling his last sight of Charlie Campbell, cut almost in two by a round shot, as they passed the dead- ly Kaiser llagh. Then he thought mournfully of others, officers and men, whom he had seen fall in the fierce rush to the Residency. As he was thus sadly musing and listening which sounded pleasantly through the house, a low knock was heard at his door. "Come in," he said, in the falter- ing Ilindostanec, of which he had of course picked up a few words be fore his arrival at Beelampore. The. door opened quickly and soft- ly, and as quickly and softly closed again behind a, vision that struck him dumb with amazement. It was the figure of a tall, slim Hindoo girl, dressed in gay hued silk, with a brilliant silken sari thrown grace» fully over her head and shoulders, and with golden ornaments upon her round, brown arms, and slender ankles. Gossamjee’s lesson on Hinâ€" doo manners not having included the etiquette proper to the reception of an uninvited lady in his private apartments, Philip was embarrassed as to what he ought to do. He had only time, in his first startled gaze at her, to observe that dark as she was her features were refined and inâ€" telligent, and that something in her sorrowful dark eyes not only entran- ced him, but evoked a tumult of memory and feeling, before he rose, and making his newly learnt s-alaam, stood with folded arms and bent head as if awaiting commands. This was indeed an unexpected and agreeL able excitement in the monotony of his honorable captivity. A strange combination of feelings thrilled him, and made him wonder that the sight of a pretty Hindoo woman should so stir him. low, thrilling Voice which set 11 heart beating; "you do not, of course, remember me. '7" The English accent was perfect. and Philip, in bewilderment, raised his downcast head and looked earn- estly into the dark, beautiful face. "Gossamjee Ilhose is watching lest the 'servants should know I am here," she said, in her low, clear voice; "speak softly, we have but a few minutes. I danced with you last winter at a ball given by theâ€" th Dragoons. You had a. teleâ€" gramâ€"-” "I danced uitli Miss Maynard,” he faltered. “I am now called Malwai Bhosc, Gossamjee's orphan niece. He is hiding me. I am the only survivor of Jellapore," there was deputy commissioner there he and his wife and childrenâ€"no European was spared. My nyah concealed me in a stack of firewood, she had persuaded me first to stain myself and masquerade in native dressâ€"~â€":\h! Mr. Randal, I cannot speak of itâ€"that. time of suspenseâ€"â€" my brother would have. sent us away, but that might have precipitated things and the country was not safe. I did not think it was so near when I first put on the ayah’s dress. But I must make haste. You come from Lucknow. Captain Arthur Maynard, is have you seen him ’2" "I never reached the position, idles Maynard. I fell in the last rush and was taken prisoner," he replied, “but when my wound is healed I must get there somehow, when I may see your brother." He said may advisedly, for he knew that the loss during the siege must have been great. "You will tell him my story, Mr. Randall,” she continued, “it Was there, for this I wished to speak with you“ and prevailed upon llnksbhai to per- suade. Gossamer to permit this hur- ried visit. Isleâ€"and indeed my poor moths: and all my peopleâ€"will have heard of the disaster at Jcllapore, and suppose me to have perished.” Philip listened to this recital, his Inn-A torn by pity, admiration, to a subdued chanting, “Mr. Randal,” said the lady, in g; she replied, “my bro-' My brother Arthur,: A DYING PROMISE MISSING WILLfl 9.3 surprise, fear, he knew not what. He could scarcely identify the pret- ty, light-hearted girl with whom he had danced but a. few months before, and whom he had half despised, in spite of the spell she had cast upon him, with this stately Hindoo in her picturesque dress, with the look of tragic endurance stamped upon her face, and depths of thought and suffering in her eyes. The lamp light shone directly upon her, play ing upon the dark hair half concealâ€" ed. by the crimson and gold sari, and on the mournful dignity of the face, which looked as if the light of mirth could never move it from its deep sorrowful repose. She had develop- ied rapidly during the last few months; experiences that would have crushed some natures, had ripened hers. She had been called upon to endure physically and mentally; mind and body had equally responded to the sudden strain; her stature had increased, and the girlish outlines of fiber figure had rounded themselves to noble proportions. Her air and ges- tures were carefully studied and formed in the llindoo mould; she dared not be herself one moment in the house 01 Gossamjce Bhose, where her assumed character needed most careful preservation, for his sake as well as her own. But though Ada Maynard was so changed and develâ€" oped, and partially disguised, there was a nameless something, the spell of an inei‘fablc charm, which identi- fied her with the gay hearted girl of the ball-room, and thrilled Philip’s ,‘heart to its depths. Some idea of the difliculty and desolation of her position amongst this strange heath- cn people. with their complicated caste prejudices. and their iron code of female subjection and restriction flashed upon him as he questioned her rapidly and incoherently, with exclamations of wonder, sympathy, and desire to help, scarcely knowing what he. said in the tumult of his feelings, and half maddened by his impotence to help her, wounded, hon- orably imprisoned, and alone among unknowu enemies and doubtful friends as he was. “Tell my brother that_I am here, alive and safe,” she said, at the close of the hurried, halfâ€"whispered interview. “Tell him I never part with this,” she added, quietly drawing a keen, quaintly fashioned dagger from her clothing, and letting the light flash upon the damascened blade, before she again concealed it. "I know exactly where to strike fatally." She paused, listened, and then bidding him a hasty goodâ€"night and drawing the silken sari more closely about her, Vanished as suddenly and silent- ly as she had appeared, leaving Philip gazing with a dazed, increduâ€" 'lous look on the space she had just occupied. before he sank on the edge of the low bedstead and buried his face in his hands, striving to shut out from his vision the baleful flash of the dagger which haunted him long after, most eloquently speaking of the perils women have to face in times of anarchy and tumult, and re- ,calling the, many terrible and some- times untrue stories he had heard of the horrors of the last few months. tShe knew where to strike fatally 1 ‘How calmly she had spoken, as if {assuring him of the most ordinary .faci. And he was powerless to 'help her. The hubbleâ€"buhble and the Hindoo posture were alike forâ€" gotten, the turban was pushed farth- ‘cr back from the brow damp with horror and Philip sat, a very Euro- pean picture of trouble and dismay, feeling the full tragedy of the mutâ€" ‘iny as he had never done before. He .had heard of Jellapore, where Ada Maynard’s own sister-inâ€"law had been ,fiung alive into the flames of a burn- }ing building before her husband’s ‘eyes, and thrust back with bayonets till she died. Was it all a dream? rose and looked round the little ‘H‘oom with its swinging lamp and scanty foreign furniture; he looked jout of the open bay window shaded ‘by its sunâ€"lattice, and saw the .moonlight sleeping peacefully on the lhousetops, and scarcely penetrating the narrow streets, touching a gilded licupola with burning silver upon tgracefully swaying palms and ,distance, and bringing out the hasâ€" Etioned walls and turrets of a castle. 'upon a hillâ€"the architecture of which was like a confused dream of ifeudalism and Gothic Middle Ages iblendcd fantastically with oriental splendor and despotism, the whole touched with the peculiar glamour of the East and the deep enchantment Iof the days of chiv'alry. The magic of that rich and splen- did Eastern land had scarcely affect- ed him in the constant succession of adventures and dangers; he could :ovcn look unmoved upon the grace of §tho slender symbolic palms. the very l name of which has a charm, calling up a thousand associations. He had ilirst seen these "palms and temples {of the south" through a medium of ;bloodshed and horror, but toâ€"night ‘Ule domes of burning silver. the light soaring grace of the minarets grising above them. the dark, rich, ‘ foreign foliage, and the castle on the ,hillside, all sleeping in the clear dark . imasses of unfamiliar foliage in the. beauty and romance to be remember- ed forever. Chunia had told him the name of the owner of that castle. a native nobleman neutral in the present. strife. What if he should prove a friend. as more than one rujah had been to fugithe English that. sum-' mer. (iossanijee llhose soon dissipated‘ that illusion; he held up a bamboo, split and tied together at the ends. "Do you see this, Randal Sahib ?” {he asked, “whoever leans upon the iaid of the Rajah Mohun Singh, leans “upon this lmniboo;" here he cut the binding string, “bile placing his hand on the top of the cane, which gave way in half a dozen directions and fell on the floor. “,ltlohun Singh would give you fair words and lodge you in his castle one day, and the next he would betray you. As the reeds by the river side, so is he, blown this way and that by all the winds of heaven.” This description of the rajah tallâ€" ied only too well with Philip’s conâ€" ceptions of the native character as formed by the experiences of fugitive English and public report. and when he looked into the keen face of his host and benefactor, and listened to his smooth and honeyed words, and observed the obscquious politeness of his manner, being yet new to Asiatic ways, he wondered if it were wise to trust Gossanijce any further than he could see him. He thought not, and yet he and Ada Maynard were com- pletely at his mercy. Philip guarded his words and narâ€" rowly watched Cossamjce Bhose whenever they were together, and sometimes at. chess, which the hospi- table Hindoo played to beguile the time for his wounded guest, fancied that he detected double meanings in the remarks he made on the game, which always terminated in victory for the Hindoo. Nor did Gossam- jee's frequent observation, as he left the apartment, to the effect that Philip was his father, and that his house and all he possessed belonged absolutely and exclusively to Randal Sahib, reassure him in the last dc» gree. Therefore he did not entrust Ada's precious ruby to him. forget- ting that (iossumicc had already rcâ€" sisted one favorable opportunity of keeping it; nor did he tell him of the treasure Ada Maynard had left With him on her hurried visit. This was a tracing on tissue paper, so small that it could be concealed in a quill, of a plan of Lucknow, its environs and the various roads leadâ€" ing to it; which she herself had made from a plan found among one of the murdered European officer's effects by the friendly ayah, to whose hus- band the spoil had fallen. This Philip pondered over until it was traced upon the yet finer tissue of his brain. Iâ€"Iis wounds were healing rapidly, and the repose after the tremendous exertions of the last few weeks be- fore Lucknow was most welcome and refreshing. Gossamjee remarked on his improvement, but besonght him not to leave him until he was quite recovered; reminding him that sick and Wounded are more hindrance than help in the field; until Philip began to wonder if he had some sin- ister purpose in retaining him be neath his roof. It was true that he need not have succored him in the first instance, much less have taken him to his house as he had done; but the actions of natives during the rebellion had shown such a want of consistency, and such a purposeless tortuousness, they had been so un- steady alike in their loyalty and their hostility in many cases, that it was no wonder if plain English- men feared to trust any dark faces in those days. The weather was still very hot, and he had found much refreshment in sleeping in the veranda after the first few nights. Perhaps he had some vague notion that he would be better able to penetrate to the wo- men‘s apartments to help Ada, per- haps. also, he felt freer and more capable of selfâ€"defence in the open court than shut up in his room. He had passed three or four days beneath Gossamjec's roof; it was now October, he little knew what magnifi- cent chances of distinction he was losing in the first terrible week after the storming of the English position. He slept tranquilly on his mat, dreaming of the great willow by the mill stream, the pleasant, cool sound of the turning mill-wheel, the familiar faces in the, fireliglit, his father and mother ghcn buck to, him, as the dead so often are in! dreams, and Jessie a child again, ’lightâ€"hcarted, spoilt, and happy. Perâ€" .liaps Jessie, safe beneath Miss Blushâ€" ford's prim guardianship. \vns event then dreaming the same dream, on fiber white curtaiued. lavender-scented pillow, seeing l’bilip again with his ‘inanhood and his Crimean laurels fresh upon him. Perhaps she start- ‘ed from her tranquil sleep. thought ,of her poor boy fighting in distant findia, and said a prayer for him be- ’fore turning again to her rest. Philip’s dream suddenly changed to the dim and tumult of battle, he was before Sebastopol :ig‘r 'uutcerâ€" .ing to replace some shattered gab- ions under heavy fire, when a musket ball again struck him in the should- er; again he clenched his teeth with lpain, and went on adjusting the gaâ€" 'bions with the uninjured arm; but the pain of the wound grew and grew beyond all bearing till with, what he 'thought, a loud cry hc awoke. The moonlight lay upon the court- vard, a palm-tree standing motion- iless in the centre traced its planned lcrown blackly against the deep sky, 'and cast its elongated shadow right 'athwart the court towards him; anâ€" Lother, a human shadow, fell aeroas 'his recumbent l 3brccders of Holstein cattle would be gun-shot wound a dark, light hand was grasping his shoulder, a. dark turbaned face came between him and the moonlight, :1 Hindoo youth was bending over him, dimly seen against the strong moonlight. "Chunin l" he exclaimed, starting| up. "llush !" whispered the lad. in a voice which stirred him, "keep in the shadow and follow me." lie. rose without hesitation or ques- tion and catching up such clothes as he had laid aside, followad the slim and gi‘nce‘ul figure. wondering if this i might be. some fresh scene from dreanilnud, or the sweet madness of a fairy tale, and filled with a vague delight in the mystery, romance. and probable danger of following his fugitive country-woman in her fresh disguise. lie was bouan to be her knight, his life was at her service; as she explained noibiun slu- liar! doubt- lcss good reason for her silence. Noiselcssly gliding into the shadow she flitlcd round the veranda, passâ€" ing close to the sleeping forms of Cossamjee and Chunia. each on his purdah, till she reached a door, in the lock of which she placed a key which turned without sound. She relocked the door while Philip waited, silent and almost breathless in the. absolute darkness; then with a whispered “Come,” led him along a dark passage until they emerged into the narrow street of Beclam- pore; Ada. softly locking the last door behind her. Then she paused a moment, pushing him back into the shadow, from which he had incau- tiously escaped, placed a parcel in his hands, and after listening in- tently and looking, as if in doubt, this, way and that, started again, still barefoot and noiseless, as was Philip. They passed the bazaar. which he had been able to watch from his win- dow when it was filled with busy, chafloring trade people, then an a- musing and picturesque scene, but now silent as a tomb; they passed the Hindoo temple, recently dcfiled’ by order of the despotic moulvie, and unmolested, save by a growl or snap from the curs prowling the town for Mini, left the houses behind them. Ada then stopped a moman to put on her shoes, and Philip was too glad to follow her example, for their feet were already wounded by stones, and then, silent and ghostâ€"like in their white dresses, by which each could faintly distinguish the other even in the darkness, they sped on- ward and now upward till the road led them beneath the embattled walls of Mehun Singh's castle. The moonlight smiled broa'dly up- on the castlc walls, showing a beau- tiful arcade of pointed arches and slender pillars fashioned in the wall above, from which, for all they knew, asentry might be watching; they crept along past the lofty wall on the opposite side in the shadow cast by some trees, Philip all the time keeping one hand on the Ion-g, sharp, daggerâ€"like knife that Goss- amjee had given him with his native dress, and remembering the dagger Ada. flashed in the lamplight on the night of her visit to him. No sound came from the sleeping castle, noth- ing molested them, they reached the: Crest of the hill and looked back upon Beelampore lying far below them in the magical light. Then. his guide slackened her hitherto rapid pace, and at last broke silence. (To be Continued.) 1.; /m ‘4’ -:; e5 ' s M. QkREN HOLSTEI N C ATTLE. In the course of an address before the Holstein-Friesian Association of America, Prof. H. H. Dean, of the Ontario Agricultural College, spoke as follows: “First we have found them" (the Holsteinâ€"Friesians) “in our experienc at the College, where we keep six or seven breeds for instructional pur- poses for our students, a healthy and a. thrifty breed of cattle. We are required, owing to our peculiar cir- cumstances, to keep representatives of the different breeds, and we find the Holsteins a healthy, thrifty breed,. and I consider that a very strong point. Now, we find that some breeds do not seem to have that strong constitution, that thrift, that inherent quality which always makes them ready for their meals, and ready for almost anything which may come up; and I consider that a very strong point. and I believe that the, making a most serious mistake if they lost sight of that vigor and thrift and health and constitution which is now so important a. point among this famous breed of cattle. “Then we find in our experience that the calves are strong, and good i doers. I have never known in my experience with them a calf to come weak, and a calf that required nurs- ing. and required coddling, and re- quired any extra attention. Without exception they come strong and are good doors, and in two or three weeks we can put them on skim milk and soon begin to feed them bran and oats, and they begin to thrive right from the start. Now, other calves do not seem to thrive in the same Way, and that is why I ibe the Ho]â€" stein cattle, because their calves are thrifty right from the start. "Then. another strong point of the Holsteins is their size. They are of good size. Now, some gone that size is a detrimnt the cow to do a given amount of work: that sh:- does not require so muchl‘ food. and that she will produce milk! or butter or cheese more economicalâ€", ly, because she is of smaller size.‘ Now, I will tell you; We have looked into that matter pretty carefully“ and we find that the difference in the feed which is consumed by a large cow and a small one, for the pro- duction of a ghcn quantity of milk or butter, is largely in the rough food. the cheap food, and whether a. cow be a large one or a small one, she will require just about a Certain amount of concentrated feed, and that the difference in the food which is- eatcn by large and small cows is inthe cheap, rough, bulky food, and: and not in the concentrates. We. find that a cow requires about. eight. pounds of meal for each pound of fat’ she products in the milk. 1 "Flip nevt strong point of the llolâ€"‘ stein is that they are regular breed-l ers. We have found in our experi- ence very much less trouble in getting cows to breed regularly, COWS of this breed, than cows belonging to other breeds, and we very seldom have any difficulty in that respect (with Holâ€" steins). a trouble which sometimes gives the d'airymcn a great deal of annoyance ” CORN CULTURE. I I usually select sod land for corn} and plow it in the fall, writes Mr.‘ C. F. Fuller. Barnyard and generall farm manure is Sprl'atl broadcast ovâ€"i er the land. Corn is planted in hills' about 42 inches apart. The seed isi first rolled in tar and ashes to pre-' vent the crows from destroying it. We have found this method very suc- cessful. I always select a good, slow,> steady horse for cultivating, and g0 twice in the row close to each hill. I cultivate both ways so that the work is thoroughly done. There are usually no weeds left except an oc- casional one in the hill, which is pulled out. I usually cultivate about three times during the season. Last year after the corn was planted, I put in Hubbard Squash seed. The crop was a very good one. I skipped a. few rows and planted pumpkins in the same field. I put two seeds in every third hill in every third row. Although last season was a. very severe one, We got. fairly good crops, the field averaging about 67 bushels of shelled corn per acre. I planted about one quart of squash seed, from which I got a large double box wag< on load of good sized Squashcs and pumpkins. They were disposed of at a local hotel. Squashcs were retailc ing at 3 cents per pound, whill pumpkins were selling at :83 per to: at the canning factory. The field of corn shown in the picture was, with out doubt, the best grown in thil vicinity last year. The variety was Pride of the Nortl but I believe Yellow Dent on the sam soil would do better, at the suns time making better fodder and gencn al feed. Pride of the North grc‘l so large we could not cut it wit) a. corn harvester. Being planted if hills, it all came in at. once an! swamped our machine. It is my cl pericnce that White. and Yellow Dell corn will do better here on good, rich soil, while the Eight Row is perhaps, best on poor soils. I BUYING A COW. A man in buying a cow may be greatly deceived by a large udder. A cow may have a large udder and yet give little milk. A cow with a deep, narrow udder endng in large teats is seldom a, good inilLer. Such an udder has coarse hair and abund- ance of it. It is but little reduced in size by the milking process. A heavy milker must have a large udder, but it is rather broad than long, and to carry it well without bruising or chafing the hind feet should be well apart. Such an udder should have short hair and when milked should be shrunk in size and the skin should hang loosely over its surface. The shape and set of the teats is one important consideration in buy- ing a cow. The teats should be placed well apart so that there will be plenty of room for the hands of the inilkcr. This feature indicates great milking capacity. All great milking cou's have a wide spread of teats. The shape of the tents adds to or subtracts from the value of a cow. An ideal shaped is long and rather slim. Gvery one who has milved cows knows how much short teats increase the labor of milking. There is a class of teats known among milkers as india-rubber teats, so that when you press on them with the hand they give no milk or only a small stream comes. Such cows are the dread of all dairies, and al- though they are often good milkch their owners are willing to pass them on when a. cow-bu_ver appears. rI‘he heifer calves of such motners are apt to inherit the milking qualities of their mothers and it will do no harm to veal them by breeding from dairy cows with desirable milk receptacles and the task of milking in the future will be materially lightened. There are a. few cows that milk so easy that they leak their milk and much of it is lost, besides giving the cow unsightly appearance and encouraging a. smarm of flies. This habit is apt to be transttted to their offspring, so When you buy a. cow if possible find which her mother was. ~â€"-â€"â€"â€"-+â€"r â€"- w. A girl tries to Judge the Wity of an" a man’l love by the stone in the em form; instead 0: a business; that if you can [d a and! Mann "’8'