movement during sleep, no longer rested upon the dog's head, but was drawn under the blankets.

He called Grip, and when no answer came leaned over the cot to see what had become of him.

The dog had turned over with his fore legs up, and was stark and stiff in death. Fear had killed him.

There came soon thereafter a very decided change for the worse in Armstrong's general health. He had been so far in life very strong and healthy; and as a natural result had taken his share and enjoyed thoroughly all the good things that came in his way. He had the ordinary temperament of genius without it, a compound of misanthropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm. This was healthily counterbalanced, however, by a fair amount of good horse sense, and although at times somewhat unsocial, owing to his great fondness for reading, no more jovial, hailfellow well met companion in camp, on a scout, or in a club room could be found than John Armstrong when he felt like it. He found himself all at once, as it were, becoming nervous, irritable, and morose; lost his appetite, with a corresponding falling off in flesh, and a feeling of weakness and ill-health all over.

As time went on the case developed itself with a gradual and general breaking down of his whole system from some cause which, being unknown, could not be reached, for the post surgeon, while acknowledging the gravity of the situation, could find no trace of organic disease.

Armstrong's thinness grew into emaciation and day by day he became weaker and weaker, until, as he expressed it in a woebegone way, he felt as if he had the taste of death in his mouth and the smell of the grave in his nostrils.

As his disease progressed in seriousness and his physical strength became less, his spiritual faculties seemed to increase and preponderate in an equal ratio, — mind dominated matter in all the senses, and the feebler his body became the stronger grew the spirit by which it was governed.

His thoughts never bad at any time. became purer and purer day by day, for the holy and salutary thought of death was upon him as it shadowed him with its sombre wing.

Often at night, when despite anodynes insomnia drove sleep away from his lonely pillow, his mind would lose itself in speculations upon the hereafter that appeared so close to him, and the sad question so often propounded in the dead centuries — "Is this all there is of life? Is there nothing beyond it?"—would rise to his lips and still, as of old, would remain unanswered!

One night he lay on his cot, deep in his now usual sad musings. The fire was fading out in the fireplace. Now and then at long intervals a thin tongue of flame leaped up faintly against the ever-invading gloom, flickered for one instant on the bright and more prominent objects in the room, and then dropped back again with the darkness.

The profound silence was only interrupted by those weird house noises which live in the death of night and die in the life of day, the sudden cracking in the wall, the mysterious creaking in the furniture, - all those small ghostly sounds in inanimate bodies so familiar and yet so strange to us in the dead silence of the night.

All of a sudden a kind of physical repugnance and horror akin to terror came over him, and he sat upright on his cot wondering and shrinking in spite of himself.

The

The fire had leaped into spasmodic life once more, slightly illuminating the room with a dim cathedral light, by which the various objects could be plainly seen. haunted chair had moved once more, without any visible agency, from the foot of his cot to the front of the fire, and in it sat a dim, indefinite shape of a substance only denser than the moonlight.

As Armstrong summoning all his fortitude. gazed at it steadily, the shape became more opaque, lost its transparency by degrees, and gradually assumed the form of a human being sitting with his head reclining upon his hand, his elbow supported by his knee, and staring straight at him with yellowish, malignant eyes.

Armstrong returned the stare unflinch

As he did so a feeling of intense cold which grew more bitter and benumbing with every step he took came upon him, but he kept on resolutely until within a foot or two of the shape, when he extended his right arm. to seize it.

As he did so the same electric shock which he had felt before on touching the door knob passed through him, and he fell on one knee, while his arm, paralyzed, dropped useless by his side.

Dauntless in his determination to succeed, he raised his left arm, and the same shock came back with the same effect, and Armstrong stood kneeling powerless at the feet of his enemy.

Then, for the first time since it became visible to him, the shape stirred and changed position.

The supporting hand slid down by the side of the body, and the large, heavy, dark. faced head, with its long matted black hair, high cheek-bones, and massive jaw, lowered itself slowly until it stood on a level with Armstrong's own face, and the lurid, yellow eyes glared balefully into his own with a drawing, sucking action which, vampire-like, gradually absorbed his remaining vitality until he felt the blood freezing in his veins and his heart-strings snapping.

Suddenly when gasping with almost his last breath, his eyes, which had never for an instant left those of his tormentor, saw a change pass over his features like a cloud athwart the disc of the moon.

The head became erect, and a look of annoyance and disappointment passed swiftly over the dark Indian face. The same heightened spiritual faculty which had enabled Armstrong to see what had been invisible before had refined and purified his sense of hearing, and a sound as the fluttering of many wings came upon his ear. The iron like band which had bound him at the feet of the shape seemed to snap asunder all at once, and turning he saw a host of dimly transparent forms enveloped in an effulgence of stronger, brighter light floating about the

coming and going, but all really swiftly converging towards him with extended, protecting arms, and then nature, unable any longer to withstand the terrible strain upon his weakened physical powers, gave way all at once, and he fainted dead away.

When he came to himself hours afterwards with the strong light of day shining full upon his upturned face, the room was in its normal state with the exception of the haunted chair, which stood where he had seen it last when filled with its dreadful occupant.

He gazed at it dreamily for awhile, and then gently picked it up and returned it to its proper place at the foot of his cot.

IV.

ONE day news came to Tony, the Redwood chief on the reservation, that As-bel, the Angel of Death, was hovering over his friend Armstrong, the white Nome-cult at the post, and he came over to see him, to bid him farewell and God-speed to the happy hunting grounds.

They were great chums and cronies, those two scions of races so antagonistic to each other, and between which so much blood has been shed.

Many were the tramps over hill and dale, on foot and on horseback, they had taken together in scouting or hunting, and many were the Indian legends and traditions poured into Armstrong's willing ear by his friend the Redwood, as lying in front of the same camp-fire at night the white and the redfaced heads were pillowed together in mutual trust and friendship.

Many had been the clear starlit nights under the grand old forest trees in the still grander and older Sierras, when with arms thrown lovingly around each other's necks they had gazed together at the bright stars shining above their heads, as Armstrong explained to his wondering Indian friend the different constellations in their majestic, everlasting march across the heavens, while they both pondered on what might be beyond.

And now Cla-la-hum, the white Nome

DAIRY Farming is one of the most important industries in the civilized countries of the world, and the health, wealth, and prosperity of a country is largely denoted by the extent and condition of its activity.

Before the advent of Americans in California the country was almost exclusively pas toral, overrun in fact with vast herds of wild cattle, valued principally for their hides and tallow. The climate, soil, and natural grasses of the country in favorable seasons produced such a prolific growth of animal life that a suppression, through occasional droughts and lack of feed, secured not an unmixed evil.

Through isolation and the survival of the fittest these cattle became in time a specific breed, truly Californian and unlike those of any other country, although in general appearance somewhat related to the native Texan and Mexican cattle. On the settlement of the country by Americans, who brought with them many domestic cattle from the eastern States, the crossing with the native cattle commenced, and this course was pursued until the natives and their crosses have entirely disappeared, and in their places, although less in number, may be found improved breeds of cattle from almost every portion of the world, until it may be fairly claimed that but few countries can exhibit a larger percentage of superior cattle.

A thorough examination of the reports of consuls upon "cattle and dairy farming" in other countries, as compiled by the Secretary of State, for 1887 with illustrations, shows very clearly that very few countries produce cattle that are superior in any respect to those now being raised in California, notwithstanding her youthful existence.

It is perhaps not remarkable that a mild climate, an abundance of food, with pure air and water, should produce such apparently wonderful results, without the skillful and devoted

While the whole of California, even in her mountain heights, is well adapted to pasturage, the coast counties are perhaps the most valuable for that purpose, because the moisture from the ocean gives a longer period of growth to the grasses. Most of the present dairies are located along and near the Pacific shore, although there are many small dairies in the interior valleys, supplemented by others in the mountain valleys for summer use, thereby rendering the business continuous.

After the spring grass in the lower valleys begins to dry up and turn yellow, in the middle of May or first of June, the drive to the mountains begins. One or two wagons are loaded down with dairy utensils, plain household furniture, groceries, and table supplies. Then the cattle are rounded up and started with the teams on the road to the mountains. It generally takes about a week, making from ten to twenty miles daily, and camping where good feed and water may be had along the road. Women very seldom accompany these trains, as it is a very rough and unpleasant trip through heat, dust, and bad roads; but when the mountain meadows are reached, and comfortable quarters have been provided with a good range for the cattle, the business becomes very enjoyable. It is profitable as well, and continues until October, when the frosts of winter signal their return.

Cattle raised in the mountains are more healthful and vigorous than those from the valleys below. The mountain grasses are much more nutritious than lowland, though more scanty, and these with the mountain air and pure cold water have a wonderfully.