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I Time Heals Most Wounds A Tale of Love and Disappointment CHAPTER I. The late Prinio Minister could have chosen no one more competent ti>an the Right Hon. Felix Shelby tu he his literary executor. A great friend.ship had existed bet»veen tiiem that had never heen marred by those political disagreements V'hkl) are so apt to !>e fierce, anl estrange the closest relationships. }iut the tabic, a difficult and respo'i- bible one, was proving a great con Riimer of time to a busy man ; for Mr. Shelby was a member of the present Cabinet. He, too, was an eminent man of letters, and it was f< It by the public that Providence bad designated him as the only pos- sible person who could fitly "write the biography for which the world was waiting impatiently. In front of him lay three open deed boxes, which were filled with letters and documents. Now anti again he would take up a paper- glance through itâ€" and throw it back with the others. "An endless task," be muttered tn himself, "I must have some as- sistance. " He throw himself back into an ai-m-cbairâ€" crossed his legs, and his head seemed to sink into his shoulders; a pose that had been im- mortalized by Punch. He was interrupted by the en trance of a servant. "A Mr. .\ckroyd to see you sir," lie said in that sauve, smooth voice «(' affected by the well-trained ser- vant. . "Ackroydâ€" Ackroyd," Mr. Selby repeated to himself. Recollect!, n appeared to come to him, for he rose briskly from his chair. "Ask him in, James." The door opened, and there ap- peared a tall, elean-bhaven man uf quiet appearance. He was woil groomed, and bis cUilhes were neat ly pressed, but ttiere was a tell- tale shabbiness at the seams that betokened much wear. "How do you do, Ackroyd? It i» a long time since I have seen you." "Yes, Mr. ^helby, but 1 haven't cared to worry you with my tr-.u- Lies." "Troubles? I am sorry to licar that. Let me socâ€" you are writing, are you not'}" "Yes, and I have not fou id it '. ery profitable. Rut your time is valuable, I know, so I will at once come to the object of my visit. Can vou find me ii billet of any kind / To l)c frank, I am 'broke.' I thought cf.rhaps in memory of our "Var- bity" days, you might " "Quite right, Ackroyd; I am glad you came to me. In fact you are the very man for whom I am seek- ing, and yiiu will really he doing iiio a favor by taking some work off my hands." "It is very good of you to put it i'l that wayâ€" if you only knew what it means to me at the present time," mid Ackroyd. "We all hay,' our 'ups and downs.' But I am surprised that you are not at the top of the tree. We all prophesied a groat future â€" for you were the man of promise of our year.'; A hitter smile appeared on Ack- royd's face, but only for a moment, and he turned to the other with a forced clieerfulnoss. "A promise that was not to fruc- tify, as happens in so many cases," bi,_said quietly. "Rut what can I do' for you V "\ am the literary executor of the late Prime Minister. Those three boxes contain a quantity of miscel- laneous correspondence. I want tlieiii t<» be carefully read, and the important ones set on one side. You will understand that it is some- what delicate; as the private <'or- respondence is included, hut of ceiirse I trust you, Ackroyd." "Thank you. When do you wish me to begin?" "The sooner the better. As for (he financial part of itâ€" perhaps we had better settle that when the Work is finished." He sat down at his desk and filled in a cheque. "This wUl do to go along with, ch?" he remarked with a smile, as be handed him the slip of paper. "You are more than generous." "Nonsense, nonsense. Come along with me. There is a rootn that I can place at your disposal, and you can commenco as soon as you like." .Julian Ackroyd was alone with the papers. There was no smile of ([tatificntion on his face, although this employment had come to him bt the mnmnnt that he had reached the end of his resources. Rut it wos not the first time that he had faced starvation. A man of consummate ability, Lut from the outset he had been cursed with the propensity of spend- ing more money than he earned. Had he been content to live quiet- ly upon the fair income that he de- rived from his writing, he would coubtless have made his mark. The need of money drove him to the City, where he engaged in "wild- cat" financial schemes. Upon oc- casions there had been every pros- pect of success and wealth, but some imp of bad luck had pursued him through life, and he was forced back to literature for a bare living. He had set out in life with a char- acter of average morality, but con- tact with people of shady principles bad gradually debased him, until he had resolved to make money in any way possible, whether honest or otherwise. He listles.My began to turn over the papers. 'The work was not con- Ren ial, for ho had no admiration for the late Prime Minister, but Sfon his interest was arou.sel. '•Rother indiscreet, some of these letters," he muttered to himself. "I wonder Shelby trusted me with them." At last ho came to a bundle con- sisting of half a dozen letters. "Written in cipher. This ought to be something important. Some Foreign Office business, I expect," he said to himseli-. The deciphering of codes was a hobby of Ackroyd'f, and it was not long ere he discovered the key, which was a simple one. He read twcr or three lines, and drew a deep breath. A rapid glance ot the door, and he hurriedly placed the litters in his bnast pocket. He t.nco more bog ,n his work, and kept steadily on until Mr. Shelby made his appearance. "Rather tedious, isn't it?" he re- marked kindly. "Yes, there is a tremendous lot f twaddle here, hut 1 think there ii a good deal of material for your book." "That is excellent. Rut I think you have done enough to-day. Needless to say the work is not very pressing, and so you may take your own time for it. This room is al- \\ays at your disposal." "Thanks once more, Shelby. 1 am very grateful to you." "Noneenso. It's the other way about. Oood-bye for the present." Ackroyd's first move was to go to the bank to cash the cheque which lif had received, and the jingle of gold in his pockets immediately raised his spirits. Then he took a cab to the 'fempi where he shar- C'l residential chan. )ers with a bar- rister friend. He at once started work to do cipher the letters, and his expres- sion brightened as he mastered the ccntents. "A gold mine," he muttered hoarsely. "Let me recapitulate the facts, and I shall know what cards I hold. "Some thirty years ago the Earl of Wolverholme was sent to St. Petersburg by the Rritish Govern- ment to negotiate a private treaty with Russia. He enjoyed the ab- solute confidence of that Prime Minister and was given plenary powers. It appears that the worthy Karl was contemplating marriage, but that his affairs were heavily in- volved. The negotiations were con- cluded, and very successfully â€" fiom the Russian point of view. As a reward for his complacency, and lor the sale of his country's inter- ests, the Karl received a heavy biibe. And here's the evidence of it." Ackroyd cried triumphantly. Ho gathered from the papers that the receipt of this bribe had come tn the knowledge of the Prime Minister. A scaniJal would have been very inadvisable, so the affair had been bushed up, and the Earl bad been permitted to retire. And now every one that know of bis ticachery was dead, and these let- ters contained the only evidence of his perfidy. The Earl enjoyed universal re- spect, and was amongst the ga/est, the wittiest, and most popular of the S()ciol leaders of the world. Here in the handu of an unscrupu- lous man rested a weapon that could hurl him from his proud po- sition. Ackroyd went to a small club of M-hich he was a nu-niber, and busied himself with works of reference. Ho found that the Earl had long been a widower, and that there was issue of the marriage, namely one son. Lord Harecastle, who was ap- proaching his thirtieth birthday. At the time that Ackroyd was gathering this inforn'ution the. Earl was at his club, impatiently await- ing his son's arrival. Tall, of ro- bi'st figure, he carried lightly his teventy odd years, but his face did not wear its customary genial smile. \l last he rose and went to the din- ing room, but he had only just tak- •'.n his seat at a table, when he was ji.ined by his son. "Good eveningâ€" father, an unex- pected visit." "Yes, Cyril, and an unpleasant rne. Rut sit down. We will dine. I have not much time to spare, for I am going to the Castle to-night." "To-night?" Harecastle repeated in surprise. "Yes. The liouse is full, you know. And why aren't you down there?" he a.skcd irritably. "I have been rather busy," Hare- castle replied with a slight flush. "Rubbish! You had better come d(^wn to-night." "Sorry, but I cannot. To-raor- row, if you like. Who is there at the Castle?" "Josephs and his daughter. And the sister, Mrs. Goldberg. Lady Hesty, and two or three others." "Why did not you let mo know earlier that you were coming to town ?" "My decision was sudden. I have been to see Lockyer." "Sir Simeon Lockyer, the speci- alist? Surely there's nothing the matter with you, father?" t.'yril leaned over the tabic and looked anxiously at him. "I am sorry to say there is, but I want you to keep it quiet. He describes it as temporary heart failure. I have had one or two Lcuts lately, and I was getting nervous." "Is it serious ?" The Earl smiled whimsically. "He does not say that I am going to die at once, hut I must take care. Lead a quiet kind of life and all that kind <A thing. It will be a wietched existence." "I am deeply sorry, father, but you will take care of yourself?" "Yes, I still find life pleasant, and worth the living. I don't want jou to worry about it, Cyril, but I thought it better that you should know.'' "I am very glad that you told me," Cyril replied with a look of afifection. "I will drive yoii to the station," he ctmtinued. "I have the car hire." They reached the station in good time, and he stood at the window of the carriage till the train moved ofi. "I will be down to-morrow after- noon, certain. 1 may have some news for you. Good-bye, and take care of yourself," he called after his father. He returned to his car, and direc- ted the driver to go to an address in Eaton Square. He was on hi.s V ay to the house of Ethel Fethcr- i ston, to whom be had been engaged for the last three days. The en- gagement had not been announced, and it had been his intention to tell bis father at the club, but the news (if his illness upset him, and he thought it better to defer the tel- ling until the morrow. Much against his will. Lord Harecastle had led a life of idle- ness. It bad been his wish to en- ter the Diplomatic Service, but UTr some reason which he could not understand, the wish had met with stout opposition from his father. There was deep affection between them, and he had forgone his de- sire. He was not one to easily make friendships, and his life had been a lonely one. A cold aloof manner covered groat shyness, as is so often the case. His life had been untouched by love until he mot Ethel Fetherston, but in her he met his heart's desire. Many found fault with her prido, but to I'im it was attraction, for he had no sympathy for the gush and lack of reserve which is so characteristic of the woman ot the present day. He was convinced that she loved l.im deeply, and it pleased him to think that in her his father would f'.nd a daughter after his own heart. She met him quietly and calmly, but her face flushed hotly as he pressed her lips tt> his. "I've brought .you this," he said simply, as he produced a ring from his pocket, and slipped it on to her finger. "How sweet!" she answered with a smile of quiet happiness. "I can hardly realize my good luck, dearest. What is there in mo to command your love?" he asked softly. "Do you really wish rae to tell vou, or are you asking for a com)- plimentary speech?" "Tell me," he said eranestly. "I know very little of your sex. My iiff has been lived very much alone. What do you women love in men?'' "That depends upon the woma.- Rut for myselfâ€" honor, clean liv- ing ; a man who koepB bis word ; one upon whom we can rely, not for a moment, but for a lifetime. And I believe I have found one," she said softly. "My darling," ho replied pas- sionately. "Y'ou may trust me with ><;ur life. I cannot put my feelings into words, but I love you, worship you. Your beauty, your purity, the perfect you, has won my heart." Her pale face flushed, and she placed her hand in his. "I think you would be very un- ff.rgiving," he said reflectively. "Not unforgiving, but I could be relentless, if I found that my trust was misplaced ; but I have no fear." He smiled gravely. "I am trying to understand you. Ethel. You must toaith me." An affectionate smile was her re- ply- "I am going to Wolverholme Cas- tle in the morning. I want to tell the Earl the news. He was in town to-day, but was rather upset, so 1 thought it better to wait until to- morrow. He will be delighted at niy choice. Have you told any one of our engagement?" "Only Cicely Stanton. We are such old friends, you know. You don't mind, do you?" (To be Continued.) tor than we are. We are slow to learn that forage is scarcsr than ot y<-re, in proportion to the number of animals kept, and tb»t we should either keep less stock per acre or arable land, or do more stable feeding.â€" Farmer's Advocate. 'i^A ^. AA^VW^^^ ^ ^^^^Aft^ W MIST.MvE OF CLOSE FALL PASTURING. On many farms pastures are ov- erstocked all summer long. Stock are necessary for the conserving of soil fertility, but when pastures are eaten bare by the end of July, as •n too many cases they are, and for the rest ot the season grass is kept nipped down to the roots, and flesh and milk fail steadily, that is having too much of a good thing. Rut many who have roughage enough in the fields until the first ot October make a similar mistake by pasturing too late in the fall. During October there is usually very little growth of grass. Stock generally thrive well, hut they are cleaning up what is left of the growth of previous inunths. Ry the end of the month there is little left. Rut for one reason o" another, he- cause work presses, and there is little time, and less inclination, to begin winter chores so early, or to save feed, or from simple lack uf thought, the housing and nioriii."g and evening feeding of stock are de- layed. Meanwhile, the animals roam the fields, poaching the new- ly-seeded fields, if wet weather pre- vails, appetite impelling them to bite still shorter the few remaining blades of grass, and almost dig fur their living. Now and again there a snowstorm, which quickens ap- petite, without adding to the com- fort. The condition of things by the end of November, or, as in too many cases, well on into December, ii>, unhappily, too well known â€" pasture ard meadow fields bare, and the flesh necessary to thrift and growth ot the stock wasted, its absence being hidden, to some ex- tent, as cattle-buyers well know, by extra growth of hair. Such a course works loss in two directions. The vigor of a grass field for the following season is or- dinarily in direct proportion to the amount of roughage left on it in the fall. If a field is to be plowed up ill the spring, close pasturing does no special harm, except to reduce the amount of vegetable matter, to be turned under ; but, exeept in such a case, it is a great mistake. It is penny wise and pound foolish. It is saving feed now, at the ex- pense ot a much greater amount in grass-growth later. This is especi- ally true of fields newly seeded. The little bit of forage such fields af- ford is taken at the expense of a third or more of the following hay crop. In an article on this subject, some years agt), the writer said it was like taking off a barn door to stop a knot-hole. But even if no account bo taken of the effect on gra.sa fields, late pasturing of stock on short grass is mistaken policy, because it is much cheaper to keep an animal in thrif- ty condition than to restore the flesh and vigor once thoy are lost. Our best stock and dairy men un- derstand this, but it is a lesson that the average farmer is slow to learn. Wo are not removed far enough from the days of the pion- eers and the forests, when cows marched regularly to the woods with their masters, and kept fat and sleek on the twigs of the trees that were felled. Browse, they callad it, .\nd it is hard for us to gat over the idea that sti'ck should got the most ot their livn.g by browsing or graz- ing. Conditions are changing fas- DAIRYING CIVILIZES. Professor Oscar Erf in comment- ing upon the agricultural conditions as he found them in his recent trip to Europe, says: "In the countries where the most milk is used, there is the most civilization. In Spain, Italy and Roumania an(>other coun- tries where dairy cows are scarce, 1 found that land was extremely chefip and civilization not very far advanced while in Holland, Den- mark, Switzerland and the island cf Jersey, where dairying is the principal occupation, land was of- ten worth several hundred dollars per acre and in some cases $2,000 per acre. Upon inquiry, the peo- ple told me the dairy cows were re- sponsible and I find the same thing to be true in this country." THE COST OF A CALF. In an experiment to ascertain the cost of raising a calf. Professor Shaw, of Michigan Station, took a dairy calf and kept an accurate ac- count of the expenses of feeding for one year from its birth. The amount ot feeds used in that time were 381 pounds of whole milk, 2,- 508 pounds of skim-milk, 1,262 pounds of silage, 219 pounds of beet pulp, 1,2.54 pounds of hay, 1,- 2-17 pounds of grain, 147 pounds of roots, 14 pounds of alfalfa meal artH 50 pounds of green corn. The grain ration consisted ot three part« each ot corn and oats and one part ot bran and oil meal. At the end of the year the calf weighed 800 pounds at a cost of $28.55 tor feed. The calf was a Holstein. GER.MANY NEEDS MORE ROOM. I'xtendetl Colonial Possessions Ah- snluleiy Necessary. Herr Rohrbach. the well known writer on political questions, has just published a book on Germany's position in the world, which is the occasion of a remarkable article in Die Post. According to the Post, Germany at the present moment is in the same state of ferment which char- acterized her in the years from 1«82 to 1884, those years, namely, when she acquired her extensive colonial possessions. From the German na- tion rises a voice that the people are not satisfied with things as they are. This voice says that Germans are too many on a too limited area, and cries out for opportunities ot expansion ; more elbow room. Germany is different from other European powers, says this article. It is not satisfied to take up a sec- ondary position like Italy and Au- stria-Hungary; it is not rotten fin- ancially like Russia; its population does not remain dangerously sta- tionary like that of France. 'â- 'The sun of the future smiles on the three great Germanic nations. Great Rritain. the United States and Germany; but to secure our promising position we must have a strong fleet. As Germany's fleet is only in the building, and will re- quire ten years before it is ot use, it is. of course, only prudent to avoid every conflict with other pow- ers. It would almost appear as though in recent years Germany had become a sort of Cinderella among tho other nations, or, like Schiller's poet, had arrived too late on the scene." The Post states that, according to Dr. Rohrbach, Germany's African possessions will only be able to sup- port a white population of 100,0...^ but Anatolia, Mesopotamia and Southern America still offer nuraor- GHs possibilities. Something inust be done if Germany's population, which will shortly reach 80,000,000 is to be adequately cared tor. Let us, however, be patient, ad- vises the Post. Who thought of Schleswig-Holstein and Alsace-Lor- raine in I860; who of African pos- sessions embracing over 2,000,000 square kilometres in 1884? A na- tion with a history ot 2,000 years, with an upward tendency, can wait until the ripe^ grapes fall at her feet. Everything is ready. It is only necessary that German lead- ers keep their eyes open and miss no opportunity ot seizing the chance when the time comes. PLAYED SAtE. Mrs. Naggsâ€" "Oh, I'm not afraid of your leaving me. Even it you do, like Enoch Arden, you'll come lack." Naggsâ€" "And, like Fmoch, I'd tirobably wait till I was sure you had married again before I showed up." â€" ♦ The population of Norway, over which King Haakon rul^s, is rough- ly 2,300,000.