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HEALTH IN MICHIGAN.
BULLCT1N 7 Report U the State Board of Health, Ljuising, for ilia week ending Novem ber 12, 1881, by lorty-nlne observers of diseases in different parts of the state, show earned ul iicemm us tallow Numoiir and pur cant. t oorTr by whom dUATUT ARB A Of CKltViUII'i ?cfl dlM wi rs uortl Nuiulmr. Per Mill. 1 IUttMTIUkUUl rtVHT . . 2 Rbeumatlss.... . . 48 m 88 7 78 80 88 80 00 61 40 48 89 81 21 18 18 18 11 12 10 10 8 8 8 4 4 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 8 Consumption (or ltinns. ' 4 Neuralgia 8 Trp bo-malarial favar .... 81 tt Bronchitis 2 7 Bamittaot tovw 27 x Tonailitafc 25 9 Diphtheria 22 10 Ditrrboaa 21 11 Typhoid few ( eutcrle) .... 19 12 Pneumonia 10 18 lutluenzn 14 14 Krysipelas 9 15 Whooping cough.... 9 18 Cholera morbus 9 17 lanainuiaUon of Bowel.. 7 18 Scarlet favar 8 19 Cholera infantum 0 20 Membranous Croup 0 21 Cerebro-eplual Meningitis. 4 22 Measles 8 28 Puerperal fever 8 24 Inflammation of Brain 8 26 Sore Throat 2 2tf Dyseutery 2 27 PUaryngltls 1 28 Puerperal convulsions 1 28 Diphtheritic Paralysis ... 1 U Blight's Disease 1 20 Metritis 1 29 Continued fever 1 30 Catarrh 1 31 Hemorrhage, Lungs 1 Comparing the week ending Nov. 12 with the preceding week, there has bean a considerable increase in the area of prevalence of diphtheria, and a con siderable decrease in that of diarrhea and remittent fever. Judging from past experience diarrhea has now reached about its least prevalence but remitteat fever may be expected to still further decline during the nextthiee months. Special reports have been received of small-pox at St Joseph, Berrien Co., and in Bingham and Leelenaw townships, Leelanaw County. The disease was brought to St. Joseph from Chicago. In Leelanaw county it be gan with two Indians who contracted it at Traverse City while loading a ves sel with wood. One case ef smallpox at Albion is reported November 20, 1881. Because smallpox may be brought to any locality at any time by g immigrants or travelers, it is prudent for all persons to seek protection by vaccination or revaccination with pure bovine virus. Local boards of health are authorized by law to make provision for free vaccination. Henry B. Baker, Sec'y State Board of Health. Lansino, Mich., Nov. 14, 1881. Nature's Undertakers. How often do we hear the query, "What becomes of all the dead birds!" The seoret of their mysterious disap pearance was but just now half told by the buzz of those brown wings, and the other half is welcome to any one who will take the trouble to follow their lead. This beetle is one of man's in calculable benefactors. It is his mis sion to keep fresh and pure the air we breathe. He is the sexton that takes beneath the mould not only the fallen sparrow, but the mice, the squirrels, and even much larger creatures that die In our woods and fields. Beneath that clump of yarrow I found just what I had expected a small dead bird and the grave-diggers were in the midst of their work. Al ready the rampart of fresh earth was raised around the body, and the cavity was growing deeper with every mo ment, as the busy diggers excavated the turf beneath. Now and then one would emerge on a tour of inspection, even rumaging among the feathers of that silent throat and climbing upon the plumy breast to press down the little body in to the deepening grave. These nature-burials are by no means rare, and where the listless eye fails to .discover them the nostril will often in dicate the way, aid to any one desirous of witnessing the operation, without the trouble of search, it is on ly necessary to place in some conven ient spot of loose earth the carcass of some small animal. The most casual observer could not fail soon to be at tracted by the orange-spotted beetles. Entomologists assert that these insects are attracted by the odor of decay; but from my own humble investigations I have never been able to fully reconcile myself to this theory. If it were the question of odor alone in this dead bird, for instance, it would he difficult to explain the bee-line flight of these humming-beetles, two of which came swiftly toward me even from the direction of the wind, and dropped quickly upon these feathers hidden f rom sight among the grass. Perhaps in such an instance we might imagine that they had been there before, and knew the way; that they had noted this clump of yarrow, maybe: but I have observed the fact before when there was every reason to believe that no such previous visit had been made. I am al was glad of the opportunity to watch these meadow burials. And had you accompanied me on that morn ing walk, you would have looked with interest at those little undertakers seen that feathery body toss and heave with strange mockery of life as the busy sextons worked beneath it, dig ging with their spiked thighs, shoveling out the loose earth with their broad heads, and pulling down the body into the deepened cavity. -Harper's Maga zine. Ijouisiana has offered to the Israel ite Immigration Society of New York city 160 acres of land to each and every family the society may locate in a cer tain part of the State. In response to the offer a committee of ten has been sent to New Orleans to meet the State agent and arranged for the trans fer of a number of families. Upon reptiles the fluid secreted in the head of the toad acts as a power ful irritant. On man it produces no effect beyond a slight local irrita tion. One of the latest applications of electricity is to the working of a forge hammer, much like the steam arrange ment. The English steamers arriving at Boston are crowded with freight, and, according to the Traveler, some of the recent arrivals were unable to take all that was offered. It is only on the re turn voyages that cargoes are short. The Owosso Times. vol. m. AT THE GATE. WILLIAM C. KIOHABDt WhVSL-VT ome 1 f ftt tou1 of aar ; w,jr,ri my airong desire re Dill n.u hi me Darner, in iirrent, I linger. TheneM" look far beyoud,and harvest alow wim sneen u matob the temper of my sickle; Might I but reap thare, my glad seal should KUUW A band untiring; and a heart unnokle. liius plead I. with myself, before the gale wuuuor uHii.auu uaji in cnudiNlt Morrow rtiat while the reatrs work I nniv vnii And watch each fading day till dawns' to morrow. But am I sura that watting; Is not best- When Ood's own angel Is the closed gate'B warueu ; Since streogth, from dull, Involuntary rest HpruiK, in' inwK oi me sou I to nan! en? My waiting days are momenta in bis sight, Who of my tolls and tears the score Is keep uaai No Iosn to him befalls whose will Is rlirht nor Minis mo oiaae me Master stays from reaping;. And it may be the aate is not. bt.wonn my Harvest ana my band: that, round me mwlai ITp-springs where thistles aDd sharp thorns nave been. is grain I needed only faith for knowing ! And at the gate I shall net miss the voice, mat yet may bio me witn tne reapers rather ; Ho. here or there, to wait or work, the cbolo Till rent is heaven be thine, not mine, O Father 1 Wat-h Tow i- A WIFE'S CONFESSION. I did not marry for love. Very few people do; so in this respect 1 am neith er better nor worse than my neighbors. No, I certainly did not marry for love; 1 believe 1 married Mr. Cartwright simply because he asked me. This is how it happened. He was the Rector of Doveton, and we lived at the Manor House, which was about ten minutes' walk from the church and the rectory. We had daily service at Doveton, and I nearly always attended it, and it came to pass that Mr. Cartwright in variably walked home with me. It was a matter of custom now, and I thought nothing of it; it pleased him, and, on the whole, it was rather pleas ant to me also. I must confess, however, I was rath er surprised when, one morning as we got to the avenue which led up to the Manor House, Mr. Cartwright asked me to be his wife. I have never been able to (ind out why I said Yes, but I did; perhaps t was because he was so terribly in earn est that I dared not refuse him; per haps I feared his pale face and his low pleading voice would ever haunt me if I rejected his love; or perhaps it was because he only asked me to marry h'm he did not ask me if I loved him, for I think he guessed I did not; per haps it was all these reasons put to gether; but anyhow I said Yes, and in due time we were married. I ought to have been' very happy, for he was a most devoted husband, but I was not; and though I did not notice it then, I know now that for the first six months after our marriage he was not happy either. It was all my fault, I either would not or could net love him; I accepted all his devotion to me as a matter of course, but I made no effort to return it; and I am sure he had found out that he had made a mistake in marrying a woman who did not love him. One morning, about six months after our marriage, he told me at breakfast that he intended leaving me alone for a few weeks, to stay with his mother, who was not very well. He watched the effect of this announcement on me; but, though I was really displeased, I concealed my annoyance, and asked carelessly when he would start. He replied, the next day if I had no objection, and so it was settled. He was more affectionate than usual that day, and I was colder than ever; I only once alluded to his journey, and that was to ask if I might have my sister Maud to stay while he was gone. The next morning, 1 was anxious to avoid a formal parting, so 1 drove to the station with him; as the train mov ed off, I remembered this was our first parting since our marriage, and I wish ed 1 had not been so cold. When 1 got home, the house looked so dreary and empty, and there was no one to meet me; presently one of the servants came for the shawls, and with her Nero, Mr. Cartwright's retriever, which, when he saw I was alone, set up a howl for his master. 1 patted him, and tried to comfort him, -feeling rebuked by his grief, as he followed me, whining, into the house. Every room seemed empty, and each spoke of the absent master; at last F wandered into his study, where he spent his mornings, and liked me to sit and work; and now I remembered how often I had excused myself, saying I preferred the drawing-room, and this reflection did not mid to my happiness. There was a photograph of me stand ing on his writing-table, and another on the chimney-piece; on the walls hung two or three of my drawings, which he had begged of me when we were engaged; indeed, the room was full of little remembrances of me. 1 opened a book I had given him, and in it was his name in my handwriting, and underneath, in his own, "From my darling wife." I laid it down with a sigh, as I thought how carefully he treasured everything I had given him, and how little care I took of all his gifts to me. Everything I attempted, everything I looked at, reminded me or nig good ness to my, and of my coldness and in gratitude to him. At last I went to bed, where, after working myself into a fever f anxiety lest he should not have reached the end of his journey in safety, I at length cried myself to sleep. The morning I went down to break fast with a heavy heart, for I knew could uot hearlfrom him till the next day; it seemed so strange to breakfast alone, and Nero appeared to think so too, for he was most unhappy, sniffing round his master s chair in the most melancholy manner. My plate, for the first time since my marriage, was empty, as I sat down to breakfast, for my husband, who was a an early riser, always had a little bou quet to greet me with every morning; frequently I forgot all about it, and left it to be put in water by a servant; this morning I would have treasured it most carefully if he had gathered it. After breakfast I determined to rouse myself, and go and visit some poor people in the villiaire, so I filled my basket with some delicacies for the sick, and set out. w nerever i went it was the same story: all held forth on my husband's goodness and kindness, for all had been helped by him in some way or other, and all loved and respected him. As I listened with burning; eheeks.l felt as if I was the only person on earth who had treated him with cruel ingrati tude, and I was the very person whom he most loved and cherished. At last Iwent home, tired and sick at heart; but there was no one to no tice I was pale and worn out, no one to get me wine or soup to revive me. no one to make me lie down and rest as he would have done had he been there. Oh, how I missed him! What a fool I had been! Was there ever woman lov ed and cared for as I had been ? Oh, why had I ever let him leave me? I was sure he would never come back. Why had he gone away f And conscience answered: You drove him; he gave you all he had to give, and in return you gave him nothing but cold looks and unkind words; and so he left you to seek love and sympathy from his mother.' This thought almost maddened me. In fancy I saw her sitting in my place by his side, loving and caressing him, as I had the best right to love and ca ress him; 1 pictured her receiving ten derly the little loving acts 1 had receiv ed so coldly, and now I was seized with a jealous anger against her. I mentally accused her of estranging my husband from me, and of trying to win his love from me, as though his heart was not large euough for both of us. When Maud arrived in the afternoon, I treated her to a long tirade ef abuse against mothers-in-law in general, and my own in particular, and I vented all the anger I rei.lly felt against myself on the innocent Mrs. Cartwright. Why, Nelly,' said Maud, 'I thought you liked Mrs. Cartwright so much, and thought her so nice, that you even wanted her to live with you, only your husband very properly, as mamma says objected.". So I did, I answered; 'but I did not know then she would ever entice my husband away from me in this way, or, of course I should never have liked her." 'Really, Nell, you are very hard on the poor woman; for, as I understand, Mr. Cartwright went to her of his own free will, because she was not well. and he thought his company would do her good, said Maud. Nonsense; I am sure he would never have left me alone, unless she had put him up to it,' I replied, rather crossly. The truth is, Nelly, you are so much in love with your husband that you are jealous even of his mother; and you are making yourseit miseraoie about nothing. Why, Mr. Cartwright will be.back in a fortnight, and I dare say you will get a letter from him ev ery day; so cheer up, and let us go for a drive, said Maud. I agreed to this plan, and giving Maud the reins, I lay back and thought of her words. Was she right after all ? Was I jealous? Was I really, as Maud said, in love with my husband? Had I only found it out now I was deprived of his company t Was this the reason I could donothingbut inwardly reproach myself for my conduct to him? And the longer I thought the more convinc ed I became that Maud was right, that I was jealous, and that I was in love, as she called it. The knowledge did not make me happier, for 1 no sooner knew I loved him than I longed to tell him so, and make up, as far as 1 could, for all my former cruelty; for I conld call my con duct by no milder word. I passed a sleepless night, and as I lay awake I composed various letters of confession, which I resolved to send the following day; but when morning came my pride stepped in, and I began to feel it would be impossible to write, and I settled I must wait till my hus band came home, and then tell him how his absence had altered me. I got up early and walked out to meet the postman, so anxious was I to get a letter from him. It was the first I had ever received from him since our marriage, and no girl was ever so anx ious for, or so pleased with, her first love-letter as I was over this. It was a long letter, full of loving messages and terms of endearment, all of which cut me to the heart, for they sounded like so many reproaches; in reality, I think there was a tone of re proach throughout the letter. He gave me an account of his jour ney and of his mother's health, and begged me to write to him a few lines every day, but he said not a word about returning. I spent the morning in answering it, much to Maud's amusement, who, of course, thought I was pouring out vol umes of love and complaints of my temporary widowhood. After tearing up about a dozen sheets of paper, I at last sent a short note, cool, and with no allusions to my mis ery; the more I tried, the more impossi OWOSSO, MICH., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1881.0 ble I round it to write any expression oi love or penitence, though l was hungering to do so. For a whole week 1 went on in this way, suffering more acutely every day, every day receiving long, loving letters from Mr. Cartwright, and writing short cold answers. I lost my appetite, 1 could not sleep at night , and the torture I was endur ing made me look so ill that Maud be came frightened,and declared she would write and summon my husband home, and tell him I was pining away for him. I forbade her doing this so sternly that she dared not disobey me; for I de termined he should never hear from any lips but mine that at last his heart's desire was attained, for I loved him. At last, when he had been away ten days, I could bear it no longer, for 1 felt I should have brain-fever if I went on in this way; so I determined to go to Melton, where Mrs. Cartvright lived and see my husband. I came t this decsion one night, and went into Maud's room early in the morning to tell her my intention; I ex pected she would laugh at me, but mink sne guessed something was wrong, for she seemed glad to hear it, and helped me to pack a few things, ana set on in time to eaten the morn ing train. It was theee hours journey; they seemed three years to me, for the near er I got to my husband the more impa tient I was to see him. At last we got to Melton, a largish town. Of course, as I was not expected, there was no one to meet me, so I took a carriage to Mrs. Cartwright s house, where I ar rived about three o'clock. I learnt afterwards that Andrew was with his mother in the little drawing room when I drove up, but thinking I was only a visitor he escaped into an other room; so I found my mother-in law alone. By her side were some of my hus band's socks which she was darning socks which I had handed over to the servants to mend, and which I now longed to snatch away from his mother. His desk stood open, a letter to me, which he was writing, lying on it. The servant announced me as Mrs. Andrews, my voice failing as I gave my name, so t hat Mrs. Cartwright held up her hands in astonishment when she saw who it was. My dear Nelly! Has anything hap pened? How ill you look! What is it?' she exclaimed. I want my husband!' I gasped, sink ing on to a chair, for I thought I should have fallen. Without another word Mrs. Cart wright left the room. I feel sure now si ir guessed all about it, and I can nev er thank her enough for forbearing to worry me with questions as to what I had come for. She came back in a few moments with a glass of wine, which she made me drink off, saying she would send him to me at once if I took it. I com plied, and she went to fetch him, in an other minute I heard his step outside the door, and then he came in. Nelly, my love, my darling! what is it?' he cried, as I rushed into his outstrecln d arms, and hid my face on bis breast, sobbing bitterly. For some moments I could not speak at last I recovered myself enough to sob out: Oh, Andrew, my love my dear love can you ever forgive? I came to ask you and to tell you I can t live without you!' I would have said more, but his kiss es stopped my mouth, and when at length lie let me go, there were other tears on my cheeks besides ray own. That was the happiest hour of my life, in spite of my tears; and before my motner-in-iaw again joined us. which she discreetly avoided doing till dinner-time, I had poured out all I had to tell into my husband's ears; and I had learnt from him that he had left me to try what effect his absence would have on me; for he had felt for some time that my pride was the great barrier he had to overcome to win my love. He had judged right. He was too generous to tell me how much he had suffered from my indifference, but I know it must have grieved him terri bly. He is a different man now, he looks so happy, and I know he would not change places with any one on earth. We went back to the Itectory the next day, but we could not persuade Mrs. Cartwright to come with us; she said we were best alone, and I think she wss right. SomeVery Strong Men. In the year 1371, a man known as " Monsieur Gregoire, " astonished the people ef Europe by his feats of strength. It is said that he was afraid to carry his own baby, for fear he might squeeze it to death without knowing it. Joseph Paspichilli was in the habit ofamusing the Hungarian public by holding a table in the air by his hands and teeth, while a couple of gypsies danced upon it. He and his. brother could bear upon their shoulders a wooden bridge, while two horses drew over it a wagon loaded with stones. si nihil, an Arab, whom Mr. Stanley, the explorer, met, could toss an ordin ary sized man ten feet into the air, and catch him in his descent. He would take a large white Muscat donkey by the ears and, with one jerk, throw the surprised beast upon its back. He once trotted arotmd a house, carrying twelve men. William Joy, who in his day, was known as the "English Samson." could hold a strong horse by the reins though the horse might be lashed ever se furiously, and though Joy stood on the ground. THE FARM. The "pink-eye epidemic, now raging among the horses at Baltimore, Wash ington, Chicago and some other cities is thus described "The animal affect ed llrst shows weakness, declines to take food, the pupils of the eyes be come discolored, the lids in Maine, and the tongue shows evidence of high fe ver, being veiv hot to the touch. In some cases swelling and stiffness of limlis ensues, tins being a serious symptom, and most frequently worse to the hindmost than in the foremost limbs." Grapevines do much better when planted in the Fall. They will not thrive on low wet soil, but succeed best on high dry ground with enough slope to cany off the surplus water. The soil should be enriched by wel rotted manure, bone dust, or some fer tilizer that is not rank and coarse, and should be thoroughly and deeply plowed. Set the vines in rows eight feet apart, the strong growing kinds being planted eight feet apart in the row, and weaker sorts at six feet apart. Make holes about one foot deep and two feet across, having two or three inches of good ricn soil in the bouom of each hole, and spread out the roots carefully in every direction. Put line rich soil around and in among the roots, and till the holo to within two inches of the top. Then place around each vine a shovelful of line, well rot ted manure. Cut back the vine to within two buds, and at the approach of winter mound up the soil over the vine to the height of eight or ten inch es, to protect from freezing and thaw ing In winter. When planting, it is better to set a small stake in the cen ter of the hole before the vine is set than to drive it in the ground after wards. VnicU Returns. The making of quick returns in any kind of business is always a desirable matter where it is a possible thing to carry out this principle in any business enterprise that may be undertaken. In the production of live stock it is desir able to have this kind of principle pre vail to the fullest possible extent. It is very certain no branch of live stock production can be worked on this principle to any better advantage than the raising of hogs can. This is espec ially the case since summer packing has been established at different lead ing points la the country as a regular business. It seems that since the es tablishment of this summer packing business it has never been possible for the packers to command as many bacon hogs as have been wanted. The sum mer packing-houses are all engaged in curing bacon for the different markets, and this has grown to very large pro portions as a branch of our American packing trade. The kind of hogs that is wanted for this large and increasing bacon trade can in a regular way be produced easier, quicker and cheaper than any other kind of livestock in the whole list. An average weight of about 200 lbs, and just middling fat is what the packers want tor the manu facture of bacon. And where proper arrangements are made to carry on the business of swine production iu a sys tematic way, hogs of this kind by the thousand can be got ready for market at 6 or 7 months of age, and when got ready for market they are always quick sale at strong prices aa compared with what heavy and very fat hogs may be selling for. During the summer sea son of each year a large portion of the feed given such hogs may le good clo ver; they should of course have enough corn to give reasonable firmness to the flesh so that they may not be ruled on to the list of 'grassers.' Taking the best breeds of hogs that are now known, and ten months with proper feeding and care makes a good mess pork hog. These want to be a thick, broad-backed hog, and weigh from 300 to 350, and as the case now stands there is not a month in any year but what hogs of either of these two kinds can be sold readily in a dozen different markets in the Western country and what kind of business is there on the whole list that will make quicker re turns or pay better profits than the rais ing of hogs will pay under all these conditions. SLEEP AS A FARM 0B0P. Mn. Editor: We were at. Pastor Spooner's to take tea, last evening, and a new crop cpme for discussion, which may be profitable for some of your readers to cultivate more system atically. The old style teadrink ing, confined to ahout a half-dozen, outside of the family, is the nearest approach to social dissipation allow ed in church circles iu llookertowb. The modern festival, with its buskin pei -tormann s, and other devices of filch money out of reluctant pocket for the support, of the gospel, has not invaded these parts. Mr. Spooner says: "If you want church privileges, pay for them squarely, as you do for your government ami your family ex penses. A thrifty church should be as much ashamed of begging as a thrifty farmer.'1 Dr. Blossom took the lead in the conversation, and when we were seated at the table, re marked: "Sleep, I think, is about the most profitable crop grown n the farm." "How do you make that out," in quired Mr. Spooner. I thought men and women were the glory of our Connecticut farms." "Very true, if they were only finish ed," the doctor said: " but, alas ! a large per cent, of them, especially the women, are broken- down in health, NO. 29. aud mainly for the want of seven or eight hours of sound sleep every night. Bleep m qu te as essential as food to vigorous health, and the bed and its surroundings should receive as careful attention as the tahle. In the oldeu time, when the habits were more simple, the food plainer, the houses better ventilated, aud the de mands of Hocial life much less than now, the women were healthy, and large families were the rule, as they are now the exception. Unwhole some excitements were rare, aud when nightfall came, deep sleep fell upon the household, and it remained un broken uniil the morning. The as pirations of men and women were limited, and there was little outside of the farm to worry about. Farm ing was more of a routine business; there were fewer crops, fewer wants, and less money. Now the city has pushed its iron arms out into the country iu every directiou, and, iu summer, our city cousins invade every rural region, and disturb the dreams of rural people with their boundless display of wealth. Our shore towns are dotted with villas, our harbors with yachts, and little steamers are crowded with pleasure-seekers all through the summer. Farm houses in more retired towns are open to summer borders; splendid turnouts, with gay trappings, whirl along coun try roads; dog-carts and other odd vehicles abound; society is penetrated with foreign elements; picnics, festiv als, chowders, exhibitions of all sorts are in order, six days in the week, and on buaday the old meeting house. with its gay bonnets and bright colore, looks more like a flower garden than a company of devout worshi oners. What average family with Yankee blood in their veins, is going to get seven hours sleep under all these social excitements?" "Well, Doctor," inquired Mrs. Hunker, "the railroads are built ; t ho folks keep coming what, are you going to do ahout it?" "Do the best we can, Mrs. Bunker," ontinued the doctor. "There is so much in society, and iu our artificial habits, that sleep will no longer grow, as a wild plant, and take care of it self. We must cultivate it ns we do corn and potatoes. There is no healt h without sound sleep; and thrift on the farm, as everywhere else, depends largely upon physical vigor. Sleep is a powerful medicine, which helps to cure irritability of temper, peevish ness, uneasiness of any kind, like nervous dyspepsia. It is good lor a broken spirit. We might change the hv,iiu a little, without damage, aud ng, 'Earth has no sorrow that sleep cannot, cure. Sleep, to be perfect, and profound, and restorative, should be so prepared for, that not a single discomfort should interrupt it. We should get ready for it just as we pre pare for a day s work have the tools all ready and every hindrance re moved." "Well, how are you going to get it when it don't come f inquired Mrs. Bunker. "It will come," continued the doc tor, "if you get ready for it, like any other welcomed guest. The sleeping room, if possible, should be in the mo3t quiet part of the house, above the first story, well sunned and venti lated, with as little furniture as pos sible in it consecrated to sleep. Put away your feather beds and comfor tables, as unfriendly aids to sleep, and wood bedsteads and bed cords, with their untimely squeaking. Have solid iiou bedsteads, with sheets and blankets that will take care of the perspiration, or, rather, prevent it, and keep the body at the most com fortable temperature. Kule your own house, aud have a set time tor going to bed, the sooner after nine o'clock the better, when every member of the household shall be ready for the main business of the night, no matter what is going on at the lodge, the hall, the ball, the temperance discussion, or the prayer-meeting," "What is going to become of our duties to Hociety?" inquired Mr. Spooner. "A man's first, duty to society is to take care of his body," responded the doctor. "'Thnn shalt not kill,' is a part of the decalogue, and neither man nor woman owes any duty to so ciety that is not compatible with a sound mind in a sound body. Sleep is the one thing needful, if we would have either. What is a man worth to society with shattered health? Cul tivate sleep and be worth something while you are awake." "I am glad you are so orthodox on sleep," interrupted Deacon Smith. "But I am afraid, doctor, if Hooker town adopted your views, you would soon bo without patients. I have fol lowed your theory tor thirty years, and have hardly had a doctor iu my house. And sleep is just as impor tant for our domestic animals as it is for men iu short, one of the best crops raised on the farm. It has a very important bearing on the pro duction of milk. Any excitement in the herd that disturbs their quiet al ways lessens the flow of milk. My pastures are provided with shade trees, where the cattle can lie down in summer during the day, and at night they are turned iuto the pas ture, where they always have the choice of a dry, clean bed. In the winter they have a bedded stall to sleep in, and after their evening ra tions are given them the barn is kept as quiet as the house. Sheep suffer very much from wautot quiet, but the dog la w has help, d that muit.i verv much in thinning out I he worthless cuiw thai used to chase iheni. f( j qui i poteibJe mm, in the towns win re Um la is inton ed, to ntite mutton, lamb aud wool, aud recujer ate our pastures. In making pork cheaply, a good deal depends upon cleau, dry quarters for the swiue. The common proverb, 'the breed is iu the trough, is only a half truth. The other half is :u the blood and in the sty. The common notion that any place is good enough for swiue is a very expensive heresy. The pig takes a mud bath in summer to keep cool and get rid of vermin, it may be: but give nim a cool, dry place, and plenty of straw, and he will keep himself as clean as any other animal. If well fed he will sleep a large part of the time by day as well as by night. The more sleep you can induce in the sty, the cheaper you can make pork." 1 his tea-table talk at the parsonage has a fair amount of common sense in it A perceptible change has gone over our iNew rMiinami tarms, in the last thirty years, in making provision for the comfort of our domestic ani mals. The old-style accommodations. foddering cattle at the stack-yard, which used to be severely handled in the American AariculturUt iu the early days, though still in existence, has greatly diminished Sleep was a difficult problem on the frozen grouud, with the theiiuometer dowu to zero, and it took at least a third more fod der to keep the auimai in good con dition. As a matter of fact, all stock thus wintered fell off in weight. It deteriorated the stock, while it brutalized the owner. Now the model barn, and such are multiplying quite rapidly, is a tight structure, almost frost-proof, well veutilated, built over a manure cellar, where all the drop pings of the cattle are composed of muck, peat, leaves and straw, aud turned to the best account. There is a large root apartment, or vault, on the stall floor, and roots furnish a part of the daily rations. The stalls are kept well littered; and abundaut rations, comfortable temperature, and quiet, favor sleep. Milk production, in such a barn, is a possibility through out the season, and occasionally a far mer is experimenting in making win ter butter, on the whole, we concede the value of sleep as a farm crop. THE HOUSEHOLD. The ('are of Lace. Valenciennes is the cheapest, end, for many reasons. It is in the made with a round wliole thread. Worn care fully, not (hilly, it can hardly be worn out. It can be washed any number of times; and, not so peculiar as the point or applique laces, the Mechlins, etc., all of which are much more fragile, it gives the soft effect of lace without at tracting too much attention, so as to be recognized easily again. It is a very great mistake to keep laces (particularly Valleneiennes, which is not at all in jured by being washed) for years with out washing. Many women believe that all lace is ruined by washing, and will keep some cherished bits of lace for years and years, turning yellow with age, and rotting with the dust it has accumulated, till it really drops to pieces. Valenciennes does not need a skillful French blanchisseuse to "do it up," as the phrase is. Let the owner wrap a large bottle closely in white flannel, then sew. tightly over the flan nel a piece of cotton. After washing the lace carefully in lukewarm water and soap suds, in which may be dissolv ed a little borax (say a thimbleful of borax to a pint and a half of water), and rinsing the lace several times in clear water till no soap remains in it. wind the lace about the bottle which ou have prepared as above. See that the lace lies quite Hat without wrinkles: open the little loops that form the edge with a pin; stand the bottle in the sun. When the lace is quite dry, so that you may be sure ot its entire cleanliness, you may, it you itesire to give it the yellow appearance of old lace, take a soft handkerchief and dip it in a cup of black coffee, and sop the lace with it as a spouse, try ins to no so very evenly; then let the lace dry. Some people pre fer to rinse the lace in coffee before put ting it upon the bottle, but I have found the method described above bet ter. There are some kinds of old ecclesi astical lace, usually Italian, that in point of endurance are superior to the Valenciennes. Hut these are enormous ly expensive, and unless they may be an heirloom, have no place in a work on economy. Hut some kinds of lace made to-day by ladies fond of fancy work resemble it very much not enough to be mistaken for it at all, but more like it than like any other lace. It is made with a particular kind of tape and with thread on a piece of black or green leather. The amateur usually makes it for furnishing pur poses table-cloths, etc.; but a very line quality of this lace is beautiful for dress trimming. 1 have seen a piece made to cover the front breadth of a dress cut In the princesse fashion, reaching from the throat to the bottom of the dress, and the effect was really very beautiful. The lace can be made in the odd moments that many woman use for crocheting or knitting t hings of less use or lieauty. Lace! The word lace sounds like the "bagatelle" of the wealthy woman ; but although it is not an article to be bought by the severe economist who earns a limited income, yet it may be her very good fortune should she inherit any of it.forit will save her many a pen ny that she wills pend in less enduring fabrics. And one or t wo really good pieces of lace will be a wise invest ment for the economist, who, having a small capital to dress on, can afford to buy from time to time a good and last ing thing. Hi i ryv ' Magazine. A small loy testilied in an Austin justice's court that the affray took plare on a Sunday. 'How do you know it was Sunday?" "Because that day I had to go to the back door of the saloon to get beer instead of the front door."