that God he had so long forgotten he was 
saved. But alas, when he returned to his 
old home, neither note or tidings could he 
learn of wife or child. Believing that God 
had taken them to Himself, he went on 
the mission to whcih he had resolved to 
devote his life. He travelled from city to 
city, success crowned his efforts, even fame 
and honor were accorded him, but for that 
he cared not. He was happy in doing good, 
but he never ceased to sorrow for the dear 
ones he had abandoned. 
After years of toil, he again found him¬ 
self in his native town. Sad and alone he 
walked at early evening, aimlessly along 
the street. A childish voice arrested his 
attention, and as he listened to her clear, 
sweet voice and looked into her innocent 
face, an impulse seized him to care for this 
little waif. He took her to his hotel, placed 
her in the care of a lady, making known 
to her his wishes. She soon returned, with 
the little girl so metamorphosed as to be 
scarcely recognizable, and handing a small 
locket attached to a delicate chain, said, “I 
found this around her neck, carefully hid¬ 
den beneath her dress.” With trembling 
fingers he unclasped the tiny ornament and 
looked upon the lovely face of his long lost 
wife. The little girl looked tenderly at his 
grieving face and said timidly, “It is my 
mamma, sir. She gave it to me when she 
was dying, and told me never to part with it. 
Will you please give it back to me sir?” 
The scene that followed I cannot describe, 
but,” and the speaker turned and brought 
out from one of the large chairs behind the 
desk, a lovely child whose dress of shimmer¬ 
ing white, long golden curls and large blue 
eyes, made the audience listen instinctively 
for angel wings, “my patient hearers, 
behold before you the reformed “inebriate 
and his newly found treasure.” Then to 
the little one, in a voice choking with 
emotion, “Now will my darling sing for 
them ?” 
Lifting her eyes to his noble face with a 
look of perfect trust, then casting a timid 
glance over the audience she sang again, 
“Father’s a drunkard and mother is dead,” 
and as the clear ringing strains floated on the 
air until the lofty arches were filled with 
melody, and then sank in tremulous tones 
of almost unearthly sweetness at the close 
of the song, the silence was intense, then 
long, deep drawn breaths, then a burst of 
applause, so wild and prolonged that the 
little singer flew like a frightened bird into 
her father’s arms and was folded to his 
breast in a close and rapturous embrace. 
And when, a moment later, he invited 
all who would to come forward and sign 
the pledge of total abstinence. Hundreds 
hurried to the front, he again thanked God 
from his inmost soul for restoring to him 
his beautiful child with her wonderful gift 
of song, to be to him an inspiration ' and 
helper in his glorious work. And ere the 
vast assemblage dispersed, a shower of gold 
pieces were poured in the lap of the prima 
donna who in childish glee exclaimed, “Oh 
see, papa, how many pennies, and all so 
bright and new, and I’ll give them all to 
you, for you see I kon’t need them any 
more, for, please God I’ve found my papa.” 
Vitality of Seeds. 
The question of the duration of time 
which different kinds of seeds will retain 
their vitality when buried in the ground, 
has of late been discussed by several agri¬ 
cultural papers, and experiments with 
buried seeds are under way at some of the 
experiment stations. It is an old saying 
that “one year's seeding makes seven years 
weeding,” but from some testimony re¬ 
cently produced it appears that several 
times seven would be nearer correct. Mr. 
Jonathan Talcott, a careful observer of 
Rome, N. Y., writes to the Country Gen¬ 
tleman as follows: “I notice in your in¬ 
quiries and answers, of Aug. 6th, that Mal¬ 
colm Little, said, in the Clyde Grange, tur¬ 
nip seeds will grow after remaining in the 
ground over fifty years. I have no doubt 
that this is true, and will relate a fact that 
occured on my farm under my own obser¬ 
vation, that is the growing of turnip seeds 
on ground which had a crop of turnips on it 
nearly, or quite seventy years ago. The 
turnips were grown on new land cleared 
for that purpose. The crop was so abun¬ 
dant in this section, at the time that it was 
not harvested, except enough for family 
use, and the following year the turnip* 
