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Alice Crepton became jealous. and angry, and dissatisfied; and she thought it was an extraordin- arily strange and evil chance, which had sent the widow, for so she deemed her, into that identical suburb in which poor Charles Duâ€" vard was trying to keep soul and body together; and she felt angry with her for going there, and get- ting ill, and sending for Doctor Duvard, as though there were no other doctor on earth she could have got to cure her, but him. And she was vexed with her being so beautiful, and good, and cleverâ€" for woman is as unreasoning in her dislikes as in her lovesâ€"and Alice being very fond of her fiance, was tenacious of his afiection according-i ly: and Alice becoming far tooi much engrossed by the lovely face‘ of his new neighbor. In short, the curse of a long en- gagement was on the girl, and proâ€" ucing effects which will hereafter be described; but while she con- tinued torturing herself with all sorts of unjust suspicions and con- clusions. Dr. Duvard was not fall<i ing in love with Judithâ€"he was! only asking her to assist his patis cuts, and enjoying. as all men, whether married or single. will enâ€" joy, half-an-hour’s chat occasional IV with a well-educated woman; while she. in her turn. grew toi esteem the young physician, who she saw was bravely buffeting the But love lâ€"Doctor Duvard would as soon have thought of getting up an affection for a glacier, as of committing that folly. Alice was‘ to be his wife; and meantime he; thought he had never seen so beau-I tiful and accomplished, and ami-' able a Woman as Mrs. Gilmore,l concerning whom he wrote, truthI to tell, a. vast deal more to his afâ€"l fianced bride, than altogether satis- fied that somewhat exacting young lady. It was in the purity, and con- fidence, and integrity of his heart that the man poured out his ad- miration. But Alice did not like it: she grew wonderfully suspicious of the beautiful unknown, and jea- lous too. The time when Judith thought flirting an amusing occupation was gone for ever. She was too grave to inspire any feelings but those of friendship and respect in the breast of an “engaged” individual; and what, perhaps, saved Dr. Duvard from a very disagreeable denoue- ment, and preserved his fidelity to Alice unshaken, was the fact that Judith kept him at arm’s length. Her manners, if kind, were cerâ€" tainly somewhat frigid to every- body, except her little garden ac- quaintances; no one ever dreamt of asking her a. question, of en- croaching one step beyond the line she marked out for her acquaint- ances to stop_a.t. And so, whenever a. brood of young children were left orphans, or a woman was suddenly widowed, or a man disabled, or an old couple deprived of food by the death of some stalwart sonâ€"their breadâ€"win- nerâ€"-â€"the doctor went to Judith, and got help for each and all from her. It was no wonder that, young and beautiful as she was, he should be- come deeply interested in the woâ€" man thrown so strangely across his path â€" Not that he ever once wavered in h‘ggllegiance to Alice. “My income is not a large one," she said one day, shortly after her recovery, to Dr. Duvard, “but still I have enough to help a. few of my fellow-creatures along the road of life; and whenever you meet with a case of real distress, I should feel obliged by your informing me of it.” She had abundant charity, a, gen- erous heart, and above all, discrimâ€" ination and good sense; so that, having once permitted her thoughts to wander out beyond the circle of her own individual recollections and griefs, she found she could ef‘ fect much, even with little. In trouble, danger, difficulty, she was sought after eagerly, and consult- ed respectively. By the bed of death she stood, like a. ministering angel; she feared no contagion; she dreaded the sight of no disease. H++++++++++++++++++++ +++ +++++++++++ M++++++¢ 54" §W++++++++++++ +++++H +++++++++M++++$+++H¢ CHAPTER XXIII. ‘billows of fortune; and she would Living amongst the very poor as Judith Mazingford did, her means, small as they really were, went a. long way towards alleviating the distress of those with whom she came in Contact. A SHADOWH} PAM; Or, The Curse Of The Family with her old correspondent, Mr.‘ Kearn, who “held court” in that region, and see what he had to say to her now. Accordingly she went a few steps out of her way. and en~ tering the British Lion office, askâ€" ed to see the editor. He was out, but she left her parcel in the care cf a. clerk, saying she would call again the next time she came into town. Very graciously Mr. Kearn re» ccived her when she did so, seated in his dark sanctum, where gas was burnt all the day long, and visitors contemplated the august personage of the Editor-proprietor across a. table covered with papers. and through an atmosphere thick with (lust. “I left a manuscript here about a fortnight since,” she said; “may I inquire if you have come to any de~ cision concerning it ’I” “Yes,” answered Mr. Kearn. div- ing down as he spoke into a perfect chaos of papers. from which he fin~ ally fished up the tale in question. l'l am sorry, very sorry to have to return ibâ€"more particularly as I cannot praise it in any solitary re‘ spect. I feel it a. kindness to you â€"I feel it in fact my duty, to advise On one of these occasions she turned into the Strand, intending to proceed from thence straight home; but, passing by one of the cross streets with the manuscripts in her hand, it suddenly occurred to Judith that she would leave them Under the protection of her well prepared disguise, she traversed most of the back streets and lanes which literature affects in London â€"â€"trying to dispose of old manu- script tales to editors and publishâ€" ersâ€"~asking for interviews with all sorts of people, as if she were striv~ ing for variety, in rebuffs, refus- als, cold civility, and constrained politeness. She the successful auâ€" thor, apparently liked the amuseâ€" ment of taking her first horn off- spring aâ€"begging. She never said to anybody, “I am the writer of these books, about which reviewers are making such a fuss;’ but ra- ther she defiantly presented her earlier efforts to people who would not accept them, and was wont to emerge from many an ofiice inâ€" wardly laughing at the comments which accompanied these rejections! were for." I Her second book had gone through two editions; and Judith was completing a third work, the first portion of which was already in type. Much curiosity was ex- pressed in literary circles concernâ€" ing the antecedents of the lady who produced such lifelike fictions. ‘Miss Ridsdale was the only one who guessed the truth at that peri~ rodâ€"and she, perhaps, only sur~ mized it, because of a certain char- acter vaguely shadowed forth in the first book, and of a remittance her niece sent her, which, Judith said. in the note accompanying it, “had been honestly earned by the united efforts of her hand and head.” As time went on, Judith grew to appreciate and quietly enjoy her freedom, and the. greater became her dread of detection. During the writing of her new work, and con~ veyance of it piecemeal to Mr. Ma.â€" son’s, she lived in a sort of agony. It might have been the state of her bodily health, which was far from satisfactory, that induced this mor- bio kind of horror. Certain rumâ€" ors which had reached her anxious ear, even in that remote region, of her husband’s affairs being emâ€"l barrassed, had brought back painâ€"l ful memories; at all events, one thing is certain Judith, strange as it may sound, frequently 'found the contemplation of possible detection so terrible, that she rushed into absolute danger to get rid of her apprehensions. her newvfriend ana herself, she quietly pursued her way. For twenty-one tranquil months she had been an inmate of the lunndress’ humble abode; and still the world, usually tolerably well informed in all matters of the sort, was unucqnainted with the real name of an authoress whose works were beginning to be “inquired bilIOWS of fortune; and she would have aided him also if she could. But it was beyond her ability to procure him a. good practice; and so, utterly unconscious of all the harm she was doing, totally un- aware of the close relationship which mightAsome day exist beAtwefsn ++++++++++++++++++++l profl Kbal cour fend desk a dc aio; ((71 of h tions Ifes can ‘hint of n H} Oflfil the 'pe Kcarn At the m< Kearn notice with a. fixed an expressio prise argd ea.) tentl 1 So Judith passed forth satisfied that she had said her sayâ€"and had it out with the proprietor of the British Lion; while, as for Mr. Kearn? why, he did not believe one solitary syllable of her story, and speedily recovering his equanimity, which had been somewhat ruflied by his visitor’s rather uncivil com- ments, he put on his hat, and walk- ed out of his office, intending to proceed westward on business. When he got into the Strand, he saw Judith waiting to cross the crowded thoroughfare. The street was wet and dirtyâ€"a drizzling rain‘ had commenced to fall. which,1 hanging like dew on the thick crepe} veil she always “ore in public to conceal her features from observa- tionâ€"blinded her so completely that almost involuntarily she threw it back in order to effect the passage over in safety. her hand to the Editor in token of amity, which he took, and shook in an offended and dignified manner, and afterwards returned with, per- haps, unnecessary expedition to its Owner. “Good-bye, Mr. Kearn; what I have said may, perhaps, prove of use to some orphan girl or strug- gling woman ;” and she held out her hand to the Editor in token of amity, which he took, and shook in an offended gnd dignified manner, “But you are so young to have written two popular books,” reâ€" marked Mr. Kearn, after a pause. “Young in yearsâ€"«old in sorrow 1” she answered, with a shudder. And the authoress died out, and the woman usurped her place, as, with a rush of old memories soften- ing her voice, she added :â€" “Has now supplied an instance, Mr. Kearn, of what she considers the absurdity of either giving or following unasked-for adviceâ€"â€"for I was that girlâ€"and this manuscript which you have just rejected was one of my earlier efforts. I came to you, because I wished, now I was successful, to hear your opinion pronounced on a later work than the one previously submitted to you. I wished to hear, now my genius is acknowledged, whether you could find in that old manu- script any trace of latent talent; and you know the result.” “But to the letter; instead of studyng its contents, and laying them to heart, she put it in the fire; and now that same individual can obtain a. couple of hundred pounds for any novel she writes~she made her reputation quickly, and is. at this moment a. ‘popular author.’ ” “And the authéréss ed Mr. Kearn. tor a llterary career. Adv1ce to that girl was uselessâ€"money was all she needed, assistance all she asked ~â€"money then would have saved her a, life-time of misery; had you stretched out a helping hand in those days, she would have gone down on her knees and blessed you for it.” Jndith’s voice shook as she spoke one of her manuscripts, and return of post; there came a. reply, stating how happy you should feel to give your best attention, and so forth; and accordingly she sent her tale. In due time it was returned to her, declined; accompanied by a. note full of regrets and counsels, the principal burden of the epistle be- ing that you advised her not to write at all, she having no genius for a literary career. Advice to that girl was uselessâ€"money was somewhat hesitatingly; “No. I cannot remember an instance.” “Well,” answered Judith, and leaning over the top of an armâ€"chair upon which one arm rested, she fixed her eyes on Mr. Kearn’s now irritated face; “Well, I will sup- ply you with one; years ago, a girl wrote to know if you would read “Yes, generally “And you nev advice to have 1 she pursued. “No,” he said your abandoning literature professional pursuit.” And a. Kearn delivered himself of thi couraging speech, he laid tlc fending manuscript out flat 0 desk, as if it were a. corpse, a] a. clergyman about to read a. f “Thank you,” replied the object of his propésed benevolent inten- tions, “but as you decline my tale, I fear there is nothing further you can do for me. I do not think ‘hints,’ or ‘su‘ggestions,’ would be of much use in my case now." “Yet authorsâ€"young authors â€" often stand greatly in need of ad- vice,” urged Mr. Kearn. “Pray, do you often find them fol- low it, when given?” inquired Ju- dish. At t} :lergyman ab oration over ‘Than‘k you,‘ S 0111‘] d the . and Iudit loiuent she did so, Mr. :ed a. man regarding her i and puzzled stare, with on of such intense sur- agerness, that it at once 3 Editor~proprietor’s atâ€" d induced him to pause ant, to see what; would sity, dr gt to een m instance.” ed Judith, and 3 of an arm-chair arm rested, she but he he replied discover ; n ill-judge I} an gge st- as Mr. ,his en- the of- 0!] am said it lDeI your i} 11 turnlp milch many troubL Prof. J. C. Kendall an American dairy authority, has been making an investigation of the garlic odor in milk and cream. Cows, when turnâ€" ed out to pasture in the spring, eat the tender young sprouts 01 thus plant with relish, and the result is most disastrous to the milk and but- ter supply. The odor is closely as- sociated with the butter-fat, While bitter and other flavors, are most pronounced in the milk serum. Reâ€" moving the skim milk does not therefore accomplish the beneficial effect might be expected. In an hour or two after the animal has eaten garlic it is noticeable in the milk. In a. short time the entire system is permeated by the pungent ordor. It will damage the sale of the carcass of animals slaughtered, while on pasture infested by garlic. The only effective way found to overcome the effects of this odor was to turn the cows on the pasture for not more than two hours immediateâ€" ly after milking, and keeps them from access to garlic until the fol- lowing milking. Prof. Kendall found no trouble from it by follow- ing this plan. Prof. Kendall has niade a. close study of the influence of the weed upon the flavor of milk and butter, and has tried different methods of ridding milk and cream of the flavor. While this flavor can be got rid of, to a. certain extent, by pas- teurization and quick cooling, these are not sufficiently effective to make butter made from milk with gai‘lic flavor saleable. &+H+++++++++++++++++§ GARLIC FLAVOR IN MILK. {1+ ‘Hfi Htfid # + +.+ if}! 15+ it with, somewhat to the aston cf the publisher, who, as was the last person to heat which concerned him most. (To be Continued.) to every publisher with whom he came in contact. Whereupon, lon before Mr. Mason was himsel aware of the fact, all the trade knew that the two successful books he had recently brought out were written by Mrs. Mazingford, the lady who had run off; and a. tre- mendous demand followed forth- with, somewhat to the astonishment cf the publisher, who, as usual, Wft§ the last person to hear tidings â€" “Oh! the beautiful Mrs‘ Mining- fcrd, whose disappearance nearly two years since created such a. sen- sation in fashionable circles.” “Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Kearn, and be absolutely emitted a. Whisâ€" tle from between his closed teeth; after which impromptu perform- ance, which wonderfully amused his informant, he bowed to the gen- tleman who had given him such valuable intelligence, and hastenâ€" ing off eastwards, told the “news” mg eagerly torward to “see the sight,” surrounded the spot in an incredibly short space of time. “What is the matter 7” asked Mr. Kearn, of a. man who turned away from the circle after a glance into the centre, With a. peculiarly signi~ cant smile, “What is the matter ’2” “Only a. gentlenmn who has found his wife,” replied the person adâ€" dressed, who chanced to be a. Mem- ber of. Parliament.” “And who is the lady '2” demand- eri the other, feeling satisfied that the gentleman knew all about the parties cgncxcernedt had well recover ment the princ concealed from l‘, of delighted spe‘ ing eagerly f0) side, and touch! whispered appare Th mm m Farm : ear. W rned roun FARM NOTES iff genetatlons sunply aching her shoulder, mrencly a. single word With a, sudden start 1nd, and then withou't ’ell on the pavement. 'air scarcely occupied and before the Editor fared from his amaze- incipal figures were tat< wax ) press- ‘see the A young lawyer, not noted for in. telligence, succeeded in having a. client acquitted for murder. Meet- ing a. friend a-few days afterwards, the lawyer was greeted with warm congratulations. ' “Yes,” he said, mopping his brow, “I got him off, but it was a narrow escape." “A narrow escape! How ’1” “Ah, the tightest squeeze you ever saw. You know I examined the wit- nesses, and made the argument my- self, the plea being self-defence. The jury was out two whole days. Finally, the judge called them be- fore him, and asked what the trouble was. “ ‘Only one thing, my lord,’ re- plied the foreman. ‘Was the prison- er’s counsel retained by him or ap- pointed by the court?’ “ ‘No, gentlemen, the prisoner is a man of means,’ said the judge, ‘and engaged his own counsel.’ “I could not see what bearing the question had on the evidence,” con- tinued the lawyer, “but ten minutes Some women are naturally weak. That's why they are unable to hold their Longuea ladyâ€" “Why, ‘not of insanity.” later in filed the jury, and what do you think the verdict was 1” Every farmer should at least keep hogs enough to consume the waste products of the farm, garden and dairy, and more, according to cir« cumstances. The market demand is of primary importance. Every farmer should keep his own brood sows. Select those of good, rapid growing power, that fatten readily, at any age. A standard breed is preferable. fireed to a. standard bred male of same type. Market fall pigs in May or June, when they will usually bring a: good price. They will weigh, at this time, 200 to 300 pounds. If you don’t want to sell before fall, keep them growing thriftly all summer, and get them ready for an early market, as it is generally the best. Commence feed- ing gradually and in a short time they may have all they will eat. Sheep need looking alter every: day nearly, but they do not have to be milked twice a. day, like cows; neither do they have to be driven to the barn every day. They ought. however, to be changed from one lot to another about every three weeks, and that is not much of a, job if every time they are looked after Lney are glven a few handfuls of some kind of grain that they like. They are only too willing to follow the dish on being called. It is pretty generally understood at the present day that the feeding af animals is most economically per- formed hy the use of a. ration in which the elements of nutrition bear a. definite ratio to each other. The present state of agricultural science would seem to indicate that plants too should be fed by properly pro- portioned rations or in such a. manâ€" ner as will secure a. healthy and con- tinuous development of the plant until it fulfills the end of its exist- ence. In setting a hen late in the season ‘ when the weather is warm, it is weli either to make the nest on the ground: or to put a. sod in the bot- tom of 11:, so that there may be some degree of coolness and moisture. Weak legs in pigs show that the boneâ€"making material in their diet is lacking and that they need to be given a chance to get out on the ground. If weeds are to be kept at bay the portions of the farm once cleaned must be kept clean. Unless this is done it is quite impossible to clean a term at all. In order to do this efiectively every farm must be gone over once or twice a. year with spud in hand. Whether this work shall be done once or twice Wlll deepnd first, on the nature of the weeds found growing; second, on the kinds of crop grown in certain fields, and third. on the extent of the ow tumn cultivation practised. It is as- tonishing how eflicacious this simple process proves. Where it is prac- tised from ear to year it is quite impossible or a. farm once cleaned to get foul again, when the ordinary process of cultivation receives due attention. , Every form of weed life is thus nipped in the bud, and so never gets a. footing. plowed the ground and gathered the crops. We must manage very differ- ently to-day. We have been selling from the farm elements of fertility, which we must return in some way to the soil. 1‘1 LIVE STOCK NOTES adyâ€""You make a ith that flute.” B4 I’m sorry to hear it. So’s everybody else guilty SAVED. >u make an awful flute.” Boardera to hear it.” Land- the ground