3 
SEED-T1S1I &TO HABVEST. 
week was committed to a felon’s cell for 
tforgery, where he ended his life with his 
•own hands.” 
“Oh, how shocking,” said Annie shud¬ 
dering. “But where is his wife ?” 
“I don’t know, I fear she has few friends, 
Rere at least.” 
“Poor Kate, how sorry I am for her.” 
“She hardly deserves your sympathy, 
Annie. She never had a heart to feel for 
other’s woes. It is but just that—” 
“Hush !” says Annie, laying her hand on 
his arm, “Forgive ns ye would be forgiven.” 
At this juncture, the door is pushed 
rudely open, and Kate Jones, with hair 
streaming in tangled masses around her 
head, and purple cheeks, and with eyes 
glaring with delirium, rushes in and throw¬ 
ing herself on the floor at their feet, 
screams in heart-rending tones “Oh, for the 
sake of Heaven, hide me, hide me—Oh, 
save—they are coming—they are coming 
for—my—husband,” and sinks into uncon¬ 
sciousness. They place the poor fainting 
•creature on the sofa, and Fred immediate¬ 
ly runs for assistance. 
Our good old friend, Aunt Eunice, is soon 
upon the scene, and with her camphor and 
brandy soon arouses her from her stupor. 
“Poor creature,” says she in pitying 
tones as she bathes the burning brow. “How 
awful hot her head is. She’s got an 
^amazin’ fever. How on airth do you ’spose 
she come here/” 
“I cannot imagine,” replies Annie. “She 
must have eluded her watchers, in some 
way. She surely is very ill, and her cloth¬ 
ing has been thrown on in a great hurry. 
But how could she have walked this dis¬ 
tance ?’’ 
“Oh,” returns Aunt Eunice, “crazy folks 
is awful stout, and awful cunnin’, too. 
Somebody’s most likely huntin’ for her 
now, this minute. Wall, they’ll find her in 
good hands.” 
Fred enters with the old physician, who 
shakes his head omniously, as he examines 
the symptoms. “Malignant Typhoid, dread¬ 
ful case. Nervous system so enervated, 
cannot give much hopes of recovery. Has 
she no friends? poor lady.” 
“She will remain with us, doctor,” an¬ 
swers Fred, *‘do all you can for her.” 
“There is no hope for her, sir; she needs 
good care though.” 
“And she shall have it,” earnestly replies 
Annie, “Oh my poor Kate, how she suffers.” 
“She won’t suffer very long, its my 
opinion,” remarks Aunt Eunice. “Now I 
must run over licme for a few minutes. 
The deacon will be home, and he'll t>e 
dreadful oneasy if I aint there.” 
A short time after the entrance of Kate, 
her father who had found where his poor, 
ill—fever-demented daughter had gone, 
arrived, and with much emotion, gazed on 
the unconscious form of the once proud 
and brilliant Kate Miller. Now she moves 
and sighs, and then starting wildly up, and 
throwing her arms frantically about, she 
cries “Oh, don’t leave me,—take me home, 
—give me wine—wine—wine I say. Oh, 
don’t take him, see—see—he is—dead— 
dead, and with a piercing scream she falls 
back again on her pillow, a purple stream 
oozing from her parted lips, and dyeing the 
snowy pillow. All efforts are unavailing— 
in a few moments, all is over, and with 
horor-stricken faces, the friends turn away 
from the sad sight. 
After the solemn burial rites are ended, 
Mr. Miller, a sad, heart-broken man, is 
earnestly requested to take up his abode 
with Fred Smith and his gentle wife, and 
all use their united efforts to raise fallen, 
erring humanity, and aid and cheer the 
sorrowing, wherever they may be found. 
THE END. 
Wliat Bill Nye Knows About 
Farming. 
During the past season, writes Bill Nye 
to the Northwestern Miller , I was consider¬ 
ably interested in agriculture. I met with 
some success, but not enough to madden 
me with joy. It takes a good deal of suc¬ 
cess, to unscrew my reason and meake it 
totter on its throne. I’ve had trouble with 
my liver, and various other abnormal condi¬ 
tions of the vital organs, but old Reason 
sits on his or her throne, as the case may 
be, through it all. 
Agriculture has a charm about it which I 
cannot adequately describe. Every prod¬ 
uct of tne farm is furnished by nature with 
