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It came to an end at last, all soon for him, and he stood, as the music died away, panting a, little and very palt. He was thinking how he should be able to bear seeing her dancmg with other men for the rest of the evening, after the few delici- ous moments that had passed. He would go away, go home and shut himself up and think of_her. “Will you take me to those palms, Lord Clifforde '1” she said. “I have been longing to stand underneath them all day. How calm and soli- tary they look out there in the dimness. One can almost fancy that they have the scent of the desert in their leaves still.” â€" “Perfectly,” she said. “How can you ask? It is a delicious waltz. Oneflof Wpldtzeufel’s, isn’t it?” “Shali we go 01:? wAm ] you ?” he asked presently, a]!pgs_t tr_em_ulous whisper. “Oh, don’t stop, please l” said Floris, all unconscious of the storm within his breast. of the mad long- ing that possessed him to whisper: “I love you! Floris, I love you 2” I “Have I got your step l” he ask- ed, for the sake of saying some- thing, for he knew that they were moving in perfect accord, like one person instead of two. “Yes~â€"I don’t know,” replied poor Bertie, wondering how she could talk thus easily and carelessâ€" 1y: Floris’ Voice roused him from his abstractlon. Bértie got her cloak, and they made their way into the conserva- tory. Two or three people were standing about, but Bertie found a seat in a. quiet nook underneath the- palms, a, nook shut out from the gay ballroom beyond, and almost hidden amid the huge fronds of a royal fern. B'ertie stoovd beside her, his blue eyes resting on he.- downcast face, with a. passionate longing aching “This is delicious!” said Floris, leaning back and pulling the leaves softly across her head. “If I were rich, I would haxe a, very large Conservatory, with nothing but palms and ferns in it, with just a trickling fountain or two, but no birds to distrub the solemn quiet; and I would not permit, any one to speak above a, whisper,” and she laughed softly. A Fforis 5nd he were nicely match- ed and made a splendid picture of youth and comeliness. The band seemed to be a heaven- ly choir; he moved on clouds through joyous space; he was half intoxicated with passionate love and despairful longing. By the time they had taken a turn around the room, Bertie’s heart was beating fast, and the blood coursing through the veins with the ecstatic delight of having her in his arms. If there was one thing Bertie did better than another it was waltzing. Dancing was with him, indeed, the poetry of motion. “Would you like to have this one ‘2" said Floris. His handsome face beamed. . “Really? How fortunate!” and hei put his arm around her. “Mine is I” said Lady Betty, glee- fully, for the suitors for Floris’ band could not; do less than ask her chaperone for a (18.400. “I didn’t like to seem too press- ing, Miss Carlisleg,” he said, his blue eyes fixed on her wistfully. “but I hope you have saved me a waltz.” Floris danced one or two dances with strangers, then Bertie came up. “What md I tell you, my dear ?” she whispered. “You have created quite a sensation! Is your pro- gramme full 2” “Not quite,” said Floris for she had scribbled some makerbelieve nameg in sgne 9f Phe_ spaces. Never had Floris looked more beautiful than she did to-night in the simple white dress, with its trimming of swansdown ; and before they had been in the room a quar- ter of an hour, Lady Betty, much to her delight, found herself sur- rounded by friends and acquaint- ances, all of them “dancing men,” who begged an introduction to the roud-looking girl sea/ted so calmâ€" ~y and quietly beside her. CHAPTER VIII.-â€" (Cont’d) Fighting Life’s Battle; CHAPTER IX. 0R, LADY BLANCHE’S BITTER ° PUNISHMENT tiring m an ”Oh, hush !” she said, trembling, a great wave of tenderness and pity sweeping over her heart for the handsome, trueâ€"hearted boy. “Don’t say any more, Lord Clifâ€" forde. Youâ€"youâ€"mistake! It is 1 who would be unworthy of you.” “Floris!” reproachfully, pasâ€" “Yes, yes! Who am I that you should so humble yourself? Oh, do not say any more! I am sorry â€"-â€"very, very sorry I" “Yes, it is true. I know what you think. That I am light. and frivolousâ€"thatâ€"thatâ€"I am only one of the butterflies in the world, of no use or value; but, Floris, if you will let me love you, if you will love me a little in return; if you will only try to love me, I will prove to you that I will be less un- worthy of youâ€"” “Floris 1 sionately. “TF1én-tilenâ€"â€"-:â€"” he faltered, looking d9w_n at her. “InoTecd I am very sorry!” she repeated; “but 1 did not know, indeed I did not!” “Yes, I love you,” he repeated. “I don’t dare to ask you ifâ€"if you love me! I know that. it is not possible. I know that I must seem like a stranger to you. But though you may have known me only a few days, I seem to have known and loved you for years. Floris, have pity on me! I love you with all my heart and soulâ€"f” ‘ "'"HNo, no, Lord Clifforderâ€"J’ she falter-ed, at last. “No, or you would have treated m9 coldly and kept me away!” he said, sorrowfullyt A r Then with a {vild hope that was almost despair, he took her hand in his hot one and pressed fierpgl‘}'. “Floris, is it, must it be ‘No’? Will you not give me some little hope? I will be patient! I will not plague! You shall see how patient. I can be-â€"-â€"” “Oh, hush! hush!” she said. “Do not say another word, Lord Clil‘forde. 'It must be ‘No’l IMI cannot love you. I am very, very grateful for the honor you have done me, and I know now great an honor it is! I wishâ€"yes, I will say itlâ€"I wish that I could have answered differently, but; I can- not.” A swift tide of c-rimson flooded Floris’ face and neck, then he, too, turned pale. She let her hand rest in his while she' spoke ,t-hen she drew it gently awayx HE: let it go, slowly, reluctantly, and his lips parted with a long It is a strange, mysterious sensa- tion which a. girl experiences the first time a man tells her that he loves her, and the quiet, hurried words had thrown a spell over her for the moment, rendering her powehless to grieve. A “Miss Cavrlisle1â€"Florislâ€"I love you 1” he said, bending over her; his face white, his lips tremulous: » “Can you not guess '2” he said, half fearfully, and yet with intense earnestness. “Mnss Carlisle, I know that you will think me mad. I expect that. you will be offended and angry. But I must speak, even though by speaking I anger you past forgiveness.” Floris half rose, but sank back again, and opened her lips, as 1f about to stop hlm; she did proâ€" nounce his name, but almost inâ€" audibly. “There is only one thing worth having in life,” he said. “What is that 2” she asked, look- up with a. smile, which died away as she saw the paleness of his face, and the light in his eyes. He drew a little nearer, the qulet of the place, her sweet; voice wergdriving him to rashness. “And he works as hard as a. city clerk, or harder, I suppose, and is always tired and worried to death. What a puzzle life is!” and she sighed. “If you were rich,” he said, scarcely above the whisper she had almost commanded. “Perhaps you will be some day.” She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know that I care to be,” she said, as if communing with her- self. “Rioh people seem to have a. great deal of care and trouble, and are no happier than poor people. I suppose Sir Edward is very rich ?” “Yes,” said Betrie. “Immenseâ€" in them. so l” She asked hersslf these quesâ€" tions, and did not dare to answer them. There are times when we shrink from examining our own hearts. lest we should discover the truth, and Floris shrank Irom examining hers, lest she should find an anâ€" swer there which would fill her with shame and confusion. With a sigh she rose, then sud“ denly remembering that she was alone, and that; she could not Very well enter the ball room unattend- ed, she resumed her seat, quite contented to remain in the quiet and cool for a time. Why had she sent him away? Why had she not tried to love him? At any rate, why had she not ask- ed for time? Presently the band, which had been playing a square dance, ceas» ed, and the couples began to find their way intO'thc conservatory. Unwilling to be discovered, Floris rose and retreated still further in- to the dim region of palms ans1 ferns, and found another seat still more secluded than the last. It was so far removed from the ball- room, that but for the sound of voices, and reflection of the lights. on the fountains. she might have fancied herself in the recesses of some Atropical forest. While she was sitting the-re, a gardener passed by, and half startâ€" led by the apparition of a beautiful lady in a, white dress, touched his hat respectfully and apolog-etically, and turned off through a (1001' Dart 1y concealed by creeping plants. g It was of himself she thought, as she sat with downcast face, and hands listlessly in hel: »lap. His merry, boyish laugh, his frank brotherly way had been very pleasant to her; she only just dis- covered how pleasant now that she had lost them‘perhaps forever. Another girl might also have re‘ membered and regretted that she. had refused a Viscount; but Floris gave no thought to Bertie’s rank. No girl who is worth anything refuses an offer from an honorable man without being sad and sorrowâ€" ful, especially if she really likes the man, and only just stops short of loving him, and Floris really did like Bertie. She did not speak, but her eyes, in which the tears were standing. answered for her. Poor Bertie kissed her hand twice, then turned and hurried away. Floris sat. under the stately palms sad and troubled. “May I!” he asked, simply, too noble and chivalrous to snatch a kiss by stealth. He took her hand, held it for a moment, then raised it toward his lips. His voice, the boyish voice which only this morning had rang out merrily, the musical voice which to Floris’ ears had always some- thing of laughter in it, was very grave and sad, and his eyes rest- ing on her face were full of a. great despair. She put oul, her hand in silence, feeling that any word from her would be worse than useless. 1 “How little you understand!” ‘he murmured. “I know what you think, Miss Carlisle. You have heard, you know, that I do not bear the highest character for wiS» dom, and you think that because my past has been frivolous and foolish, that I shall get over this and forget it. ' Ah, you do not understand how deeply I love you! All my life will be changed from this hour.” “Oh, Lord Cliffordel” “Yes, Floris; I shall not get over this so easily; I shall not try to forget it. If I cannot have your love, I can at least endeavor to be less unworthy of it. You ask me to remain your friend! Floris, all my life I shall think tenderly of you, and of myself as your lovâ€" er. Do you think I could bear to see you day after day, knowing that there can be no hope for me; that I could endure to meet you as an ordinary friend when all the time my heart was burning in the desire to make you my wife! No! I must go away. Goodâ€"by Some dayâ€"who knowsâ€"I may be able to meet you without the pang of mis- ery and disappointment which I Feel now. Goodâ€"by.” 1 Poor Bertie smiled and shook his head. “There shall Le no word of 'goodness’ or ‘patience’ between as, Lord Clifforde,” she said, “and‘if we cannotâ€"if I cannot be to you all that you wish, at ltavst we flan be friends still.” “You have been very good to me, Miss Carlisle,” he said, and his voice rang with pain that tor» tured him. “You have been more patient, than I deserve. I will say Good-by,’ now.’f sigh,‘ as' if something had‘ gon: from his life; then with a Bram effort he forced a smile. First of all you must- have a. good bull. Not simply an ordinary good one, but an animal that will imâ€" prove your stock decidedly, a bull iha-t you will have to pay a good round figure for. If you are not. in shape to put up the cost yourself, get your neighbor to join with you. The bull will more than pay fox himself if used equitably. “I don’t know how to tell you, Bruce! And yet I must. Yau seem the only friend, the only one sue to whom I can come when 1 mm in trouble. It seems so natural to think of you as a friend and ad- viser, Bruce!" and she glanced up at- him, with a soft, lingering sigh. (To be continued.) BREED YOUR DAIRY STOCK. Th-s farmer who overlooks the possibilities of breeding dairy stock is losing one of his best chances to make money. The bull should be kept for something besides ke'cp ing the cows in milk. In buying a dairy cowâ€"-â€"just a general purpose milk cow at a private or public salewyou may buy abortion, tuberculosis or bad habits. Of couse this does not ap~ ply to the breeders who raise stock *‘or breeding purposes, That’s their business and they must make :ood. But when a general purpose :lairyman wants to sell, you ‘may be sure there. is some reason for it. “Yes,” he said, with a, polite~ mess that was worse than the most- pointed indifference, and he look‘ ed down at her patiently. Lady Blancheâ€"hung her head an ‘ pullgd_at‘th_e pealjls on her_fan. “I don’t mind in the least,” she said. “If you would rather sit it out, let us do so. We can find a seatX’ “The only legitimate excuse for a. ball is dancing,” he said. “We will go back.” ' Floris drew a breath of reliet. “Wait a moment or two, Bruce,” said Lady Blanche. “I have some- thing to tell you_." “If you like,” he assented. “But hadn’t we better go back and dance this waltz? You won’t care about missing it, you know.” To be found by them, pIaymg. as it would seem, at eavesdropping' The idea. was terrible! But then was no exit save by a. narron path in which they stood, and hop ing that they would turn back, Floris drew still closer into bar leafy shelter and tried not to H: be 11 . “Shall we sit; down, Bruce '2” mk- e'd Lady Blanche. Floris’ heart quaked. Floris looked around for sum: means of escape. “I changed my mind,” he said, if not coldly, carelessly. “That is a woman’s privilege, and one they do not extend to men, Bruce,” she .ctorted, with a smile that seemed significant ‘to Floris. “Oh, men have all your weakâ€" nesses as well as thelr own. Blanche,” he sald. But there was no responsive hapâ€" piness on Ms face; grave, almost grim, it seemed by contrast with hers, and Floris saw that ,though he :W'as prqsumavbly listening, to her, his attention was straying, 1nd that he was thinking of some~ thing else than the beautiful woman clinging so lovingly,'so appeal» ingly, to his arm. “I am so glad you have come. Brucq!” Floris heard her mur- mur. “You said you did not in- tend to, and I was looking favâ€" ward to a. blank evening.” Then Floris looked at him. Sure» ly there would be an answering smile on his face ‘I No man could resist the entreaty in those dark. velvety eyes! As they approached, Flori:1 saw that she had clasped Lord Nar- man’s arm, on which she. leaned with her other hand, and that her face was turned up to his with a happy, childlike smile. The beautiful face, usually sn cold and impassive, wore a faint, soft smile, that played about the perfect lips and shone in the velv vety eyes. It; was studded with pearln in the oriental fashion, and fitted hel to perfection. Nestling in her golden hair were flowerets of dia» mands, that sparkled and gleazne'} ‘ike fireflies in the fitful light. Lady Blanch-e was magnificentlg iressed in an Indian silk of thc ';hinnest fiber, and of the painst pink. It was Lord Norman’s I She look 3d around anxiously, and saw. through the fern leaves, Lord Nor nan and Lady Blanche gaunt/crimp iown the narrow path. At the sound of the voice Florif started. Although it had only utr Seged on? W9qu she recognized it. Floris was just thinking that; 1: he chose she might remain undis- tovered till the ball broke up when she heard the rustle of a. we nan’s dress, and a. man’s mice ‘lose behlnd her. wish you were a man?” asked Mr. Potts, during the little discussion he was having with his spouse about some latters of domestic management. “Because I don’t “13h anythmg of the sort,” she re- tm'ted. “1 only wish. you were one." Compared with well-rotted barn manure, there are 48.60 lbs. of phosâ€" phoric acid in hen manure; 41 lbs. of potash to ton in barnyard man- ure; and 67 lbs. of nitrogen to eleven in barnyard manure. The analysis is based on a ton of hen and barnyard mavnures. It pays then to take care of the hen manure. Give them a-com- fortable house and make them live in it. Don’t let them roost all over the buildings and machinery. It's not possible for a cow to be a remarkable succpss along two lines at the same tlmc. She can’t It is not a. good plan to take all she pigs from the sow, unless one if two of them can be turned with her some hours after, to draw the milk she will have at that time, tnd again, say after a lapse of 24 hours. The preferred way is to leave about two of the smallest with her for several days, and after that leave only one for two or three days more, by which time the flow of milk will have so gradually di- minished that no injury to the sow will result by keeping them entirely away from her. This extra, supply of milk helps also to push the smallâ€" er pigs along in growth and put them more nearly on an equality in size with their thriftier mates. make milk and meat, from the same feed. It’s an 1111poss1bility. Provided with, and taught to eat, suitable feed some weeks before- '1and pigs are not noticeably check- ?d in their growth by weaning, but dose that have been dependent nainly upon the mother’s milk, lhen abruptly taken away from it, Frequently seem to have their growth partially suspended for .veeks. Many breeders successfully et the sow wean her pigs, as she vill in time, and the change is so gradual that no pause in growth Indicates when the milk diet ceased. \ modified application of this, in vhich the pigs are separated from .he sow at an age suiting their ’eeding and the convenience of the )reeder, will not infrequently be: 'ound advisable, but by no means should the pigs be allowed to re- nain with a sow until she is virtu- Llly devoured by them, as is some- »?imes done. ‘ At eight or nine weeks old most pigs are, or rather, should be, fit to take away from the sow; some litters are individually older at; seven weeks than others at, ten, and better fitted for weaning. Sometimes it, is necessary to wean vhen ..1e pigs are five or six weeks >1d, and in other cases it. may be Ldvisable to wait until the pigs are ten weeks or even older. Breeders who wean at early ages generally 10 so in order to more profitably 'aise two litters a year. Nothing else is so well calculated :0 make pigs grow as a bountiful supply of wholesome sow’s milk, and the pigs that have plenty of. )ther feed with the milk of a well: flopped sow for eight weeks will )rdinarily have much the start of‘ those weaned atfive or six weeks, 30 matter how much food and at- tention the earlier weaned pigs: "may have had. From the first Wuek after farrow- :ng until weaning time the sow lvill be little else than a milk ma- :hizie, andto be a. highâ€"power ma.â€" xhine‘in perfect operation she must Llave proper care. A hog is half made when past he weaning period Without a stunt Jr kink in its growth. Every check )r halt in prosperity through its lrst two months is more expensive :hat at any later period. Too mucn aich, feverish milk of the dam, musing thumps or other ailment. nay leave harmful results, perhaps ES much so as scant feeding or other neglect of the sow. More injury nay be done to a. pig’s growth in No or three days than can be re- gaired in a, month, even if he is made the subject- of special care,. vhich, where many are raised, is: lot the rule, nor ews1ly practicable. . ‘Good luck” with pigs calls forf ittention, and that, not occasional, 'mt frequent and regular. “Well, why don’t {911 _Sa.V_ 13'?“ H +H+++++§+++++6+++fi ZOUN G PLG MANAGEMENT. Q+++++++++++++¢+v¢+,+t + + Eflhout the Farm VALUE OF MANURES. SHE CAN’T BE BOTH.