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Up to this time, the thought of her secret vow, and her life's mission. had afforded Only a romantic and heroic ex- citement; but the day was fast approach- ing when these indexes she retained. should point to a clue that should lead through a train of damning circumstan- tial evidence destined to test her soul by an unexampled trial. Paul Douglass had grown up to be a tall and handsome youth, of a very nohle. (rank, attractive countenance and manners. To say that he loved Miriam is only to say that he loved himself. She mingled with every thought, and feel- ing. and purpose of his heart. As Miriam grew up into womanhood prudence kept her silent on the subject of her strange vow. She, however, pre- served in her memory the slight indexes that she already had in possession“ namely, beginning with Marion‘s return after her visit to Washingtonâ€"her changed manner, her fits oi reverie, her melanholy when she returned empty- handed from the post-oilice. her joy when she received letters, which she would read In secret and in silence. or when questioned concerning them. would gently but. tirmly decline to toll from whom or whence they come; the house- warming at Luckenough, when; Marian Iuddenly became so bright and gay. and evening succeeding. when she re- rned home through night and storm. and in such anguish of mind, that she wept all night; and the weeks of unex- plained. unaccountable distress that fol- lowed thtst All these things Miriam re- called. and studied it by any means they might direct here in the discovery of the guilty. She remembered well the strange figure of that manâ€"the tall form shroudâ€" ed in the black cloakâ€"the hat drawn over the eyesâ€"the faint spectral gleam of the clear-cut profileâ€"the peculiar fall of light. and shade. the decide indivi- duality of air and gaitâ€"all was distinct as a picture in her memory, and she felt sure that she would be able to identify that man again. And her faithful study had ended in her assurance of one or two (actsâ€"or one or two links. perhaps, we should say, in the chain of evidence. The first was. that Marian's mysterious lover had been pre- sent in the neighborhood. and perhaps in the mansion at the time of the house- warming at Luckenoughâ€"that he had met her once or more, and that his name was not Thomas Trumanâ€"that the latter was an assumed name. for, with all her observation and astute investigation, she had not been able to [ind that any one 0! the name of Truman had ever been seen or heard of in the county. She was sure, also, that she had seen the man twice. both times in night and storm, when she had wandeer forth in search of Marion. if sh them that [mg 1 WW Six years had passed away. Thursâ€" .ton Willooxen was the most beloved and honored man. as well as the most distinguished clergyman of his day and state. His church was always crowded. except when he changed with some brother minister. whose pulpit was with- in rcuchâ€"â€"in which case. n great portion f his congregation follmvcd him. funy flattering “calls” had the gifted and eloquent country parson received to metropolitan parishes: but he remained the faithful shepherd of his own flock as long as they would hear his voice. she could make any light a are. She feared that he had It his incurable sorrow was [h ; tooth of that worm that new eylng on his heart; but she ( 3, for what could he have d mge his soul in such a hell of r : commit a crime? Impossil mght was treason; a sin to be I and expiated. His fame was I: : fair. his name most. honored CHAPTER XXX the im; lure; 1 Elk wi‘h 51 m: g s 011111 She ,rhtcr‘s im pus: “Oh, Paul, I am thinking of our bro- therl Can nothing soothe or cheer him, Paul? Can nothing help him? Can we do him no good at all? Oh, Paul! 1 brood so much over his trouble! I long so much to comfort him. that I do be- lieve it is beginning to affect my reason, and make me ‘see visions and dream dreams.‘ Tell meâ€"do you think anyâ€" thing can be done for him?” “Ah, I do not know! I have just left his study, dear Miriam. where I have had a long and serious conversation with chamber. lost in deep and concentrated study, her face having the coreworn look of one striving to recall the past, to gather up and reunite the broken links of thought, memory and understanding. At last. one ‘day, Miriam received a lelter from Paul. announcing the termin- ation of lhe winter‘s course of lectures. the conclusion of the examination of medical candidates, lhe successful issue of his own trial, in the acquisition of his diploma, and finally his speedy return home. Alice. he said, had an accepted suitor. and would probably be a bride soon. A few days after his return‘ Paul found Miriam in the 01d walnscoted par- lor seated by the fire. She appeared to be in deep and painful thought. Her (1â€" bow rested on the circular work-table. her head was bowed upon her hand. and her face was concealed by the droop- ing black ringlets. ‘V‘What is tfie matter, dear sister?" he asked, in that tender, familiar tone, with which he sometimes spoke to her. “And what was it about? May I know?” “You must know, dearest Miriam. 1'1 concerned yourself andâ€"mm!" said Paul. and he took a seat by her side, and told her how much he loved her, and that he had Thurston's consent to asking her hand in marriage. Miriam replied: “Paul. there is one secret that I have never imparted to youâ€"not that I wished to keen it from you, but that nothing has occurred to call it outâ€"" He had passed through Washington City on his way home. and had spent a day with Mrs. Morris and her friends, and he had brought away strange news of them. him quired She paused, while Paul regar in much curiosity. “What is it, Miriam?" he at. “I promised my dying motiu sealed the promise with an oath to be a bride until I shall have be “What, Miriam?” “An avenger of blood!” “Miriam?” It. was all he said, and then he 1 ed gazing at her, as if he doub Marim qinnin on the honorable. If not remorse. what then was the nature of his life-long sor- row? Many, many times she revolved this question in her mind. And as she matured in thought, and affection. the question grew more earnest and impor- tunnte. Oh. that he would unburden his heart to her; oh! that she might share and alleviate his grieis. If “all earnest desires are prayers." then prayer was Miriam's “vital breath and native air" indeed; her soul earnestly desired, prayed. to be able to give her sorrowing brother peace. three plat such was )1 ct sanity. am not 111 as if you {plain you going Mayfi CHAPTER XXXI raned. Mrs. Waugh had at- commodore to the south, for of his health, and they had quiv “in wel at nought rsclf. d( 1e tremendm ad dreadful :ly out of m DI] th she : with thinking of our bro- soothe or cheer him, 5 help him? Can we t all? Oh, Paul! I r his trouble! I 1011;; t him, that I do beâ€" : to affect my reason, e visions and dream â€"do you think anyâ€" rm htn 1F dying mother. an M and u ‘11. h, n ‘60)]â€" lxel lill- 110] in “No. no, Puull I cannot follow it in either instance! I cannot. Paul! It is impossible! I cannot steel my heart against sympathy with his sorrows, nor can I so ignore the requirements of my solemn vow. I do not by any means think its accomplishment an impossi- bility, nor was it in ignorance of its na- ture that I made it. No. Paul! I knew what I promised, and I know that its performance is possible. Therefore 1 cannot icel absolvch I must accom- plish my work; and you‘ Paul, if you love me, must help me to do it," “I would serve you with my life. Mir- iam. in anything reasonable and possi- ble. But how can I help you? How can you discharge such an obligation? You and be happy and joyous as a young creature should." “Alas. how can I throw them off, dear Paul?" “In this wayâ€"first, for my brother‘s life-long sorrow, since you can neither cude nor alleviate it, turn your thoughts away from it. As for your vow, two circumstances combine to absolve you from it; the first is thisâ€"that you were an irresponsible infant. when you were required to make itâ€"the second is, that it is impossible to perform it; these two considerations fairly release you from its obligations. Look upon these matters in this rational light, and all your dark and morbid dreams and visions will dis- appear; and we shall have you joyous as any young bird. sure enough. And l assure you that your cheerfulness will be one of the very best. medicines for your brother. Will you follow my ad- vice?” The clue is so slight, that it would be considered none at all, by others less in- terested than myself.” “What is it, then? At least allow me the privilege of knowing, and judging of its importance." “I am about to do so.” said Miriam, and she commenced and told him all she knew, and also all she suspected of the circumstances that preceded the assas- sination on the beach. In conclusion, she informed him of the letters in her possession. “And where are now those letters, Miriam? What are they like? What is their purport? It seems to me “that they would not only give a hint, but afford direct evidence against that demoniae assassin. And it seems strange to me that they were not examined, with t would not on! direct cvidcnc assassin. Am that they \w View to that e' view to that end." "Paul. they were; but they did not point out the writer. even. There was a note among themâ€"a note soliciting a meeting with Marian. upon the very evening, and upon the very spot when and where the murder was committed! But that note contains nothing to indi- cate the identity of its author. There are, besides. a number of foreign letters written in French, and signed "l‘homas ’l‘ruman,’ no French name, by-the-by, :1 circumstance which leads me to believe that it must have been an assumed one." “And those French letters give no in- dication oi the writer, either?” “I am not sufficiently acquainted with that language to read it in manuscript. which. vou know. is much more difficult iam. in anything reasonable and pOSSl- ble. But how can I help you? How can you discharge such an obligation? You have not even a clue!" “Yes, I have a clue, Paul." “You have? What is it? Why have you never spoken of it before?" “Because of its seeming unimportuncc. The clue is so slight. that it would be considered none at all, by others less in- that whh that th lh W thatl have been erratic ever since. She was more than a mother to me, Paul; and if I had been born hers. I could not have loved her betterâ€"I loved her be- yond all things in life. In my dispos- sionate, reflective moments, I am inclined to believe that I have never been quite right since the loss of Marian. Not but that I am reconciled to iiâ€"knowing thai she must be happyâ€"only, Paul, I often feel that something is wrong here and here." said Miriam, placing her hand upon her forehead and upon her heart. “Paul. yes it wasâ€"and it weighs upon me like lead. Paul. if two things could be lifted off my heart, 1 shouldbe hap- py. I should be happy as a freed bird." “And what are they, dear Miriam? What weights are they that I have not power to lift from your heart?" “Surely you may surmise~the first is our brother's sadness that oppresses my spirits all the time; the second is the memory of that unaccomplished vow; so equally do these two anxieties divide my thoughts, that they seem connectedâ€" seem to be parts of the same responsi- bilityâ€"apd I even dreamed that the one could be accomplished only with the other." “Dearest. Miriam, let me assure you, that such dreams and visions are but the effect of your isolated lifeâ€"they come from an over-heated brain and over- straincd nerves. And you must consent to throw off those self-imposed weights. and be happy and joyous as a young creature should." “Alas. how can I throw them off, dear clue that the lin strar lid tl' ‘I am not sufficiently acquainted with it language to read it in manuscript. rich, you know, is much more difficult in print. But I presume they point nothing definitely, for my dear mo- zr showed them to Mr. \Villcoxen, who )k the greatest interest in the discovery the murderer. and he told her that 350 letters afforded not the slightest ie to the perpetratod of the crime, and th< 11d il: murderer. and he told her that letters afforded not the slightest the perpetratod of the crime, and 'hoever might have been the as- it certainly could not have been thor of those letters. I’le wished 5 them with him, but mother de- to give them up; she thought it. be disrespect to Marian's memory her private correspondence up to ger, and so she told him. He then at of all men, certainly he had the ight to claim them, and so the rested. But mother always be- they held the key to the discovery guilty party; and afterward she 2m to me, with the charge that I never suffer them to pass from ssession until they had fulfilled lestiny of witnessing against the rerâ€"for whatever Mr. Willcoxen think. mother telt convinced that I promised to he pursuit and ever; and never to any thought that murderer gallows; and I follow it in Paul! It is ‘01 my heart They were interrupted by the entranee of the boy with the mail bag. Patti emp- tied the contents of it upon the table. There were letters for Mr. Willeoxen. for Miriam, and for Paul himself. Those [or Mr. Willcoxen were sent up to him by the boy. Miriam's letter was from Allice Morris, announcing her approach- Ing marriage with Olive Murray, a young lawyer of Washington, and in- viting and entreating Miriam to come to the city and be her bridesmaid. Paul’s letters were from .some of his medical classmates. By the time they had read and discussed the contents of their epis- tles, a servant came in to replenish the fire and lay the cloth for tea. When Mr. Willcoxen joined them at supper, he laid a letter on Miriam’s lap, informing her that it was from Mrs. Morris, who advised them of her daugh- ter‘s intended marriage, and prayed them to be present at the cermony. Miriam replied that she had received a communication to the same effect. “Then, my dear. we will go up to Washington and pass a few weeks, and attend this wedding, and see the in- auguration of Gen. â€". You lead too the writer of those letters and the mur- derer of Marian was the same person." “Tell me more about those letters." “Dear Paul, I know nothing more about them; I told you that I was not sufficiently familiar with the French language to read them." . “But it is strange that you never made yourself acquainted with their contents by getting some one else to read them for you." them. and of those persons that I could [rust none knew French, except our bro lher, and he had already pronounced them irrelevant to the question. Besides: for many reasons, I was shy of intrud- ing upon brother." “Does he know that you have the packet?” “I confess.” said Paul. “that it Thurs- ton believed them to have no connection with the murder, I have so much confiâ€" dence in his excellent judgment, that I am inclined to reverse my hasty opin- ion, and to think as he does. at least un- til I see the letters. I remember, too. that the universal opinion at the time was that the poor young lady had fallen n victim to some marauding waterman â€"the most likely thing to have happened. But. to satisfy you, Miriam, if you will trust me with those letters, I will give them a thorough and impartial study. and then. it I find no clue to the perpe- trator of that diabolical deed, I hope. Miriam, that you will feel yourself free from the responsibility of pursuing the unknown (lemonâ€"a pursuit which I con- sider worse than a wild-goose chase." “Then W ashin ,: attend augurat.‘ lonely a “Dear Paul. you know that I was a mare child when they first came into my possession, accompanied with the charge that I should never part with them until they had done their office. I felt bound by my promise. I was afraid of losing [hat you'. in my abstrac it shall be so no lon up_o_r_1_the_life beggar By July pounds 6 I see it we I have been ‘Miriam’s eyes thanked his care. “For many a day Thurston had not come thus far out of himself. and his doing ~o now was hailed as a happy omen by the young p_eople. ' Theirâ€"few} preparations were soon com- pleted, and on the first of March they went to Washington City. ++++++++++++++++++++++ About the Farm : ++++++v ++++4 suppose that he does not even know (To He continued for one of your year :ts your health and to selfish and ob)“ ge, and prayed ‘. the cermony. had received a mu: effect. a will go up to few weeks. and and see the in- Give the poor fodder in the early part of the winter. Some straw, corn fodder and pea vines can be fed at this 'time. When you come to the bright; early-cut clover hay the grain ration may be les- sened if the sheep are in good flesh, otherwise it should be continued. 'luose who arrange in advance for the comfort of their poultry gain profitable egg returns during the winter. That people do secure a profitable egg yield in some localities is an absolute cerâ€" tainty. The supply of fresh luid eggs in the city markets every winter has more than doubled in the last two years, and yet there are not one-fourth enough to sunnly the demand at good prices. As a rule, horses have done bettep in a cold stable well ventilated than in a liner looking building not so well aired. Indeed, a building may be made so tigt‘t with lumber, lath and plaster that in winter time, after a period of several days of zero weather, it becomes very The time of greatest fatality among hogs is when they are compelled to sub- sist for any length of time on the dry and most concentrated foods. When the hogs are turned into the autumn stub- ble ficls to glean the dry concentrated food there obtained, if ever hog cholera or any other diseaSe occurs. that is the time. It is not so much because the, germs of the disease are more prevalent then, as because the hog is forced into a condition which makes him more sus- ceptible to the germs of disease. No animal was ever intended to sub- sist alone on dry. concentrated foods. What the hog needs along with concen- trated foods is an occasional succulent ration, with the opportunity to provide him with clover, rape, beets. artichokes and silage. etc. There is no reason why he should be abandoned to the condi- tions which invite disease and death. There is not a month of the year when an ocasional succulent ration could not he provided for the hog. This with pure water would enable him to resist and throw off the germs and disease always prevalent and sufficiently frequent to kill when subjected to conditions Invit- ing: death. When the team is not taken from the stable [or several days. the grain port-i911 of the ration should be reduced one- third. and the usual ration not be given until work or exercise demands it. boarded matched limit, tr A great many people think a good call cannot be raised on skim milk, says I correspondent. For many years out. calves were such tongâ€"haired, stunte( little things we were ashamed of them. But we kept on trying until we had’ something to be proud of. After mucl reading and experimenting we haw mastered the subject, and now raise fine; thrifty calves. After letting the calf such for three days we put it in a pen by itself and let it get hungry. Then with three pints of its mother‘s milk we teach it to drink; this may necessitate two on three trials. A total of only four quart! and a pint is given at first in threl buttermilk and water they would drink They would eat course sand the firs thing in the morning and would con sume a surprising amount of it duri the entire day. Peanuts and milk seem to take the place of meat for them judging by the way they grew anl thrived. The pullets began laying by “11 middle of October. To sum up the sum mer‘s work, I consider my incubate! und brooder the best investment 1 how made [or many years. AL two weeks we begin to feed skim milk. A ienspoonlul of fluxseed meal is mixed with half a teacupful of warm water and placed on the back 0! the stove a few minutes. This is mixed with one quart skim milk and one quart new milk, and fed three limes a day, always at a temperature equal to blood heal. Now we have the calf taking two quartz three times a day. The new milk is then gradually reduced, the skim milk increased until at one month the calf is if y sum the and a pint is given at first in threl feeds. If the cult does not seem to be very strong we give four feeds. the last at bed time. It always gets new milk warm from the cow until it. has a good start and is drinking well. This prac- tice continues for two weeks. At two weeks we begin to feed skim 11' BEARING CALVES ON SKIM MILK ni ttv make in 1t RATIONS FOR SWINE LIVE STOCK NOTES. fact, colder Ln up with. a sing] lumber. Beyt : more tight we 01) the ouisidc ah the building. ilding not so well aired. 1g may be made so tight 1U") and plaster that in Star a period 0[ several gather, it becomes very colder than one simply I a single thickness at 111 11 and certain , build- 5 colder 1 the EI‘