Frostburg mining journal. [volume], January 06, 1872, Image 1

About Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913

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J. It. GROVE & J. B. ODER,
VOLUME I.
Two.
Two Kilther lilies and wade the sweet clover.
Shouting glad songs in their morning and
Gold are tin* dreams and the clouds that float
And golden the future far stretching away.
Two launch their boats for a voyage long-sail-
Th< "bright ripples play, and the wind is off
shore.
"While ih red light of the morning is failing.
Sturdy and strong sails the bark—dips the
oar!
Two, hand in hand, climb over the mountain.
Footsore and weary from tempest and toil.
With only a moment to drink irom the foun
tain. ,
Renewing their strength for to-morrow s tur
moil.
Two, when the autumn has put on tts glory.
Sit by the snore of the beautiful past;
Whose solemn waves break with a wonderful
story , ~
Of fanciful ships that went down in the blast.
Two, in the chill of the snowy December,
Talk of the winter that leads to the spring!
Two sit and dream, over faggot and ember.
Of castles in air. and of birds on the wing.
Two lie at rest under the blossoming roses :
Winter sifts over them g.ntly the snow ;
Sunlight of summer above them reposes;
Their places are filled and the years come and
go! ___________
V NIGHT OF MISERY.
It was in London, a cold, Mustering
winter's night in the year 1861. The
wind came in heavy gusts, rushing down
the streets, and tearing round the
houses as if in search of any opening
liy which to .'liter and gain shelter from
the fast falling snow. It beat against
th(> windows, rumbled in the chimney,
and even went so far as to tear off
some of the slates on the roof in its
mad impetuosity. Now and then the
sharp patter of hail-stones was heard,
and a few of them rolled down the
chimney, falling, spitting and sputter
ing, on the blazing coals beneath.
But the stor . did not affect me per
sonally, for I was comfortably seated
opposite a roaring tire in a snug, cosy
library, enjoying a cigar and a chat with
my old friend, l>r. Fielding. The library
—it was Fielding’s—was one of the
most perfect 1 ever saw ; the walls were
covered with hooks, excepting over the
chimney-piece, and that part was hid
den by a handsome looking-glass. The
furniture was all carved oak, and—oh,
rare luxury ! —every chair an easy one.
The deep, red curtains were drawn, and
hung in graceful folds from theirgolden
cornices. A huge moderator lamp shed
a mellow light over the table, which, at
the present moment, was entirely de
void of books, they having given place
to a box of Havanas, a good sized de
canter of brandy, sugar, lemons, and all
the other ingredients for a good, old
fashioned glass of punch.
Fielding was a line, clever fellow, who
had not only made a great name in iiis
profession, but a good-sized fortune,
which lie had settled down to enjoy.
By •' settle down” one mustnot imagine
that my friend had entirely retired ; far
from it. Perhaps lie never worked
harder in his life than at the period 1
am now speaking about, only lie selected
his own patients. Lord Tom Noddy
might write him a hundred times, offer
ing as many guineas if he would but
come and and look at a pimple that
had presumptuously dared to grow on
his lordship’s face, but Fielding would
not budge an inch. On the other hand,
if he heard of any real case of sickness,
he would hurry off to it, although he
knew he would never get a penny for
his trouble.
Fielding’s great delight was in litera
ture ; he had dabbled in a little, and
belonged to all the literary clubs in
London. Ife would do anything for a
man of letters, aud no sooner did he
hear one was ill than he would call upon
him as a friend, and, if desired, attend
ed as a doctor, but would never take a
a fee. His best reward, lie declared,
was to see his friend reinstated in health,
seated in his snug library smoking a
cigar, and chatting over literary af
airs.
We had ju.-t lit our second cigars, re
filled our tumblers, drawn our chaiis
closer to the fire and settled down in
them with the selfish feeling of satisfac
lion which every one experiences at
being warm and comfortable on a cold,
heerless night, when we were startled
by a singh' knock at the street door.
Now a single knock at any time is a
most unpleasant tiling. A gentle one
sounds mean and despicable; you can
fancy the person who gave it starting
hack, like Fear in Collins’ Ode to the
Basse ns—V Even at the sound himself
I had made,” —but a bold, heavy
K 1 bang” that wakes up the echoes all
I through the house, especially if given
I -about ten or eleven at night, is terrible,
Blciu-ing a cold shiver to pass through
■ \eur body as if something evil ap
■ proaclied you.
I “ That’s a strange knock,” said I.
I “Very,” replied Fielding, “I wonder
I who it can be.”
I We were not left long in doubt, for
I the servant entered the room and an-
I non need that a boy wanted to see l)r.
H Fielding.
■ “ What does lie want? Can’t he send
■ a message by yau?”
H “ Please, sir, he says lie can’t; he must
■ see you.”
■ >“ Well, show him up,” said Fielding.
■ And the next moment a lad of about
H welve years entered the room.
■ He was a short, shambling lad, with
H a fierce, rough head of hair, large, star-
Hing, blue eyes, and not too clean hands
Hand face, both of which worked ner
and hung close around his
figure.
” Wh cli of you is the doctor,” asked
■ lie boy.
H “ I am,” replied Fielding. "What do
mi want, my boy?”
“ Here is a note for you,” said the
at the same time handing over
■i carelessly folded half sheet of pa
H Fielding took the paper and read it,
Hii'l then passed it to me. It ran as fol-
Hmvs
"Dear Fielding: I’m worse and
S^worse —in fact, I have only to be a little
so, and I shall be much l etter. In
words, [ am about making a farc-
BHoll b nv "ii this world's great theatre.
and see the fall of the curtain.
performance is entirely for my
Do come, old fellow ; Charon
show you the way.
“Yours, Arthur Burdon."
!§■ - D is as I feared." said Fielding.
|||Hi>f emirs • I must go. Will you ac-
me?”
HHAs Burton was an old friend of mine,
once consented, and in a very few
m the street, following
youthful guide.
“Where does Burdon live?” I in
quired.
“ This is more than 1 know,” replied
Fielding; “although we have been on
friendly terms for so many years, he
lias never told me his address. lie has
all his letters sent to iiis music pub
lisher’s. ! think lie resides somewhere
ill Westminster.”
“ And this boy Charon, as he calls him
—is he his son ?”
“That I can’t say; this is the first
ime 1 have either seen or heard of the
oung gentleman.”
“ Burdon must have made money.”
“ Undoubtedly. His songs are always
successful, added to which he is a good
man of business, and retains a right in
all he does. Then, again, he is so care
ful, almost too careful, with his money.
So I thir.k there can be little doubt
about his being well off."
“ Do you know his family ?”
11 No; 1 have questioned him a good
deal lately on that point, for I could see
that he was breaking up, but lie would
never answer. He seems to have a
morbid fear ol poverty.”
< Jur conversation was interrupted at
this point by our young guide stopping
at a small, dirty-looking house. Draw
ing a whistle from his pocket, he blew
on it shrilly, and then did a breakdown
on the grating over the area. These
signals had the desired effect of bring
ing an old, withered crone to the street
door, who was, without exception, the
ugliest specimen of humanity I ever
beheld. In one hand she held a thin,
consumptive-looking candle, which she
shaded from the wind in a such a man
ner as to throw its light fully upon her
own hideous features. She placed her
self in the doorway so that we could
not pass, and glared at us with her pale,
filmy eyes, and murmured and moaned
in a terrible manner.
“ Don’t mind old Sycorax,” said the
boy; “ she won’t hurt because she
can’t; she would if she could.”
As he spoke he shoved the woman on
one side and led the way up stairs into
a small room, the walls of which were
entirely covered with hooks. On a low
couch opposite a small fire, lay Arthur
Burdon, his thin, white hand working
nervously with the coverlet, his eyes
closed, and his lips moving slowly as he
murmured the lines of a love song.
The noise of our entering caused him
to start, and turning round with a faint
smile, he held out his hand to Fielding,
saying:
" Well Fielding, old hoy, ‘the anchor
is weighed,’ but you are not alone.”
“ Oh, yes ; I see. llow are you, old
fellow?” said Burdon; but I saw by his
manner that lie was displeased at my
being there, so, making some excuse, I
prepared to leave the room.
“Don’t go, old fellow,” said Burdon.
“ I confess 1 did not want you at first,
hut now you have come, I would rather
you stay. You and I have always been
friends, so you may as well see the end ;
besides, you might do me a favor.”
I hastened to assure him that any
thing 1 could do lor him I would dowitli
pleasure.
"Now let me see what 1 can do,” said
Fielding, feeling his pulse.
“ I can tell you the exact amount,”
replied Burdon, with a faint smile;
“ You can do—nothing.”
T looked in my friend’s face and saw
that Burdon was right.
“ You see I know what is coming—-I
have felt it creeping on these six months
or more. I was certain nothing could
stop it, and, as you see, I was right. I
have no fear of death—the only regret
T have is for poor little Charon there.”
“ Is he your son ?”
“No; 1 found him shivering on a
doorstep some eleven years ago. I don’t
think he could have been much more
than eighteen months old. I had just
lost my dog at the time, and felt lonely,
and he, poor little wretch, looked so
lonely too, that it struck up a sort of
sympathy between us, and I brought
him home.”
“ But why on earth did you call him
Charon ?”
“ Because he was son of Erebus and
Nox, at least be was found in the night,
and I don’t know who his parents
were ?”
“ What do you want us to do for this
boy?”
“ Bring him up. Please to hand me
that paper. Thanks. This is my will,
whereby 1 leave Charon property to over
the amount of five thousand pounds. 1
want you fellows to become executors,
if you will, and see that the little imp is
cared for. You will? I thank you;
till in the names and I will sign. There,
thank goodness that is over. You can
alter his name when 1 am gone to any
thing you like. You must take care of
him for my sake.”
“Have you no relations?” we asked.
“None! You have often asked me
for my history, Fielding, and now that
i am so near my end you shall have it.
Now don’t stop me, old fellow ; 1 know
what you would say—l must not excite
myself to talk much. You see I am
almost as good a doctor as you are, hut
I feel that 1 cannot last another day,
and as a few hours cannot make much
difference, 1 prefer dying my own way.
I may as well keep my mind employed
as not, so sit, old fellows, and listen to
what no one has heard but yourselves.”
We took our seats on each side of the
couch, and Burdon commenced his
history.
Six and twenty years ago I was a clerk
in a merchant's office. I can’t say I
liked the business, but stuck to it and
got on, for 1 loved my master’s daugh
ter, ami hoped by hard work one day
to be able to make her mine. 1 was an
orphan with neither kith or kin to look
after me, but the love I bore Milly kept
me quiet and industrious. I rose step
by step in the office, and Mr. Bruce, the
merchant, was never tired of sounding
my praise.
All went on happily until he discov
ered that I loved his daughter, and
then his passion knew no bounds. I
need not enter into the particulars. 1
was turned from his house, but not alone,
for Milly and 1 had been secretly mar
ried three months before.
We took a quiet little lodging in the
suburbs, and 1 went every day into the
city in hopes of getting another situa
tion. I had a little money that I had
saved, on which we lived —lived, oh f so
happily, that even at this distance it
seems a heavenly dream too bright for
earth. Milly was always trustful that
her father would relent, and I always
believed that I should soon obtain an
other appointment; but we were both
An Independent Paper—Devoted to Literature, Mining, Commercial, Agricultural, General and Local News.
FROST BURG, ALLEGANY COUNTY, MARYLAND, SATURDAY, JANUARY (I, IB7L -
deceived. Time rolled on; our little
capital was almost gone, our hopes
almost exhausted, out our love bloomed
as fresh as ever. 1 tried literature and
made a few pounds, but my manuscripts
but too often came back without being
read; still 1 struggled on, and wrote
several songs which had a certain
amount of success, arid once more hope
seemed to beam upon us.
Milly—He iven bless her!—fancied
that I should soon become famous, that
all England would ring with my name,
and then her father would be able to
forgive us. What might have happened
had I not met with such misfortunes
Heaven alone knows—-1 cannot sav;
but in the midst of this blight happi
ness my wife was taken ill—it was con
sumption. I worked hard day and
night to procure the necessary medi
cines and food for her; I wrote to her
father, but received no reply ; 1 went
from publisher to publisher hawking my
songs about, selling them almost for
anything to buy bread. Oh 1 how they
ground me down 1 Men who had had
successful songs from me, now that they
saw me in poverty, cut down the prices
until starvation was close upon me.
One afternoon—l shall never forget
it—l left poor Milly in bed—she could
not rise—and I went to seek for work.
1 called at her father's but was turned
from the door. I wandered about from
one place to another, but all my efforts
were fruitless ; I could not gain a penny.
Heart broken and weary, f turned
homeward ; I had not money to buy
even a loaf of bread. Several times I
paused as a well dressed man ap
proached me, and determined to beg ;
but the words choked me, and they
passed on without noticing my distress.
When they had passed I was ashamed
of having thought of begging, and yet
angry with myself that 1 had not done
so.
I was standing at the corner of a
street, thinking what I should do, for 1
could not go home to Milly—my poor,
hungry, sick wife—empty handed, when
1 received a hearty slap on the shoulder,
and turning round, saw Gilden, the
music publisher.
“Well, Burden,” he cried, “you don’t
seem happy. You look as pleasant as
if you bad lost half a crown and found
sixpence.”
“Happy!” I exclaimed; “happy!
with a wife dying of consumption and
—and starvation 1”
“ Dear me 1 that’s very sad ; why don't
you work 1”
“ Work 1 I have sought it far and
near; I have done everything, but
without success.”
“ The music trade is bad, and no mis
take; but still l think something
might be done. Your songs have gone
pretty well. Now what time would it
take you to write me four songs?”
“ That all depends upon what sort
you want.”
“ They must be strongly bacchana
lian—fast, full of life—you understand.”
“ Yes.”
“ And I must have them the first
thing in the morning.”
“ That is a short time.”
“ Ii is, but ready money, you know.”
“Under those terms I agree.”
“ Very well, then ; there is the price ;
you know the music trade is very bad
at present; 1 can’t give much, so we
will say two pounds for the lot.”
“What I” I exclaimed, “only two
pounds for the four songs ? W hy, you
gave more for one.”
“Things were different then; two
pounds for the four songs, and half a
sovereign in advance; I can’t give a
penny more.”
“As he spoke he drew half a sover
eign from his pocket and held it invit
ingly between his thumb and finger.
The sight of the money was too tempt
ing, so 1 agreed to write the songs.
“Mind 1 have them early to-morrow,”
he said. “If you do not bring them
down by ten, I shall send for them.”
I hurried away to purchase food for
my wife, and also to procure her some
medicine. I bought a roll and ate it,
so 1 could tell her that I had dined out,
for I needed all the money for her.
Among the things I bought was some
brandy, the doctor having ordered Milly
to drink it. Loaded with these poor
things, which looked to me like heaps
of riches, I hurried homeward.”
Door Milly, when I leached her bed
side and showed her what 1 had
brought, met me with a smile of patient
love that nearly broke my heart. She
tasted a little food and drank a small
glass of weak brandy and water, and
then fell into a light sleep. Illness, at
the best of times, is terrible; but when
we sit alone and see all we love lading
fast, the disease aided by want, to see
the thin pale face, so like death in life,
to know that before long even the sad
pleasure of attending on it will be lost
—this is indeed awful. As I sat watch
ing and thinking I became desperate ;
my brain seemed on fire and my mouth
was parched. Seizing the brandy bot
tle, I poured out a large glass of spirit
and drank it oft'. It steadied my nerves
and I sat down to commence my songs.
For some time 1 could gain no
thoughts ; the dull silence of the night,
broken only by the heavy breathing of
my wife, and a low purring sound that
rattled at her chest, palled upon me,
the thin, wedge-like face, half in shade,
that reposed on the pillow ; the ghost
like hand that lay so still, stretched out
on the coverlet—all seemed to crush
me. How, with such things around
me, could I write of mirth, drink and
ollity ?
1 pressed my hands over my eyes,
and the hot tears fo.ced themselves
through my fingers, i grew hysterical.
I felt ss if 1 could have screamed with
laughter. I could not wiite, but the
songs must be done, or I should not get
the money. In hope of gaining more
calmness I drank more brandy. Glass
after glass of the fiery fluid I poured
down my throat. 1 felt mad; 1 was
not tipsy, but delirious. 1 could hear
the rattle of glassses, the merry shouts
of laughter; strange tunes, such as
would have suited orgies in praise of
Bacchus, rang in ray head. I seized my
pen and wrote rapidly. Some fiend
seemed whispering the words to me,
they were so full of recklessness and
abandonment.
My candle burned out, but I contin
ued writing by the cold grey light of
daybreak that came slanting over the
housetops. At last my task was done,
and springing up I hastened to my wife,
to tell her my success and to cheer her
with the assurance that these wild songs
would make my name. I felt my Flood
ruahing through my veins as I leaned
over to kiss her; our lips met, hut I
started back with a wild cry of terror
—she was dead !
As he spoke, Burdon stretched forth
his thin hands and closed his eyes, as
if to shut out the painful memory, but
the tears that rolled slowly down his
hollow cheeks showed the intensify of
his agony.
I do not remember anything after
that for some weeks, he continued, af
ter a short pause. W lien I recovered
she was gone. I had never kissed her
dear dead lips. It was some time before
I was able to crawl out, but orders for
songs poured in thick and fast. Mv
last songs had been a success; their wild
dissolute tone had suited the young
fools with money, and had become a
small mine of wealth to the publisher.
Years have passed since then, but
from that time I have never written a
song of that kind, although large sums
have been offered me. I hate them.
Day and night I hear them buzzing in
my ears. Scarcely awe k passes but I
hear one of them shouted in my ears by
some drunken wretch as lie staggers
home, and then the whole of that terri
ble night of misery comes back tome.
They are devils that have haunted me
night and day ; they have made me
shun my fellow men: they have made,
me live in this seclusion. Day and
night I live in terror of hearing them.
Sometimes in my dreams I hear Milly
singing the first song l gave her, and in
the midst of this happiness some devil
seems to chant those cursed so* f in
praise of wine.
Hush! I hear her voice; she sings
the song I gave her in those happy days.
She is going away ; 1 must follow her.
Ilush ! she is singing mo to sleep.
Milly ! my own dear Milly !
******
It was broad daylight when we re
gained Fielding’s house. Little Charon
was with us, weeping bitterly for the
kind friend he had lost.
Self-Supporting Wives.
Col. Iliggiuson in the Woman'u Journal.
For young married women to under
take to contribute to the family income
is in most cases utterly undesirable, and
is asking of themselves a great deal too
much. And this is not because they
are to be encouraged in indolence, but
because they already, in a normal con
dition of things, have their hands full.
As, on this point, I may differ from
some of my associates, let me explain
precisely what I mean. As I write
there are at work, in other parts of the
house, two paper-hangers, a man and
bis wife, each forty-five or fifty years of
age. Their children are grown up and
some of them married ; they have a
daughter at home who is able to do (he
housework and leave the mother free.
There is no possible way of organizing
the labors of tlie household so judicious
as this ; the married pair work together
during tlie day and go home together
to their evening rest. A happier couple
I never saw ; it is a delight to see them
cheerfully at work together, cutting,
pasting, hanging; their life (teems like a
prolonged industrial picnic, and if I
had the luck to own as many palaces as
an English duke, I should keep them
permanently occupied in putting fresh
papers on the walls. But the merit of
this employment for the woman is, that
it interferes witli no other duty. Were
she a young woman witli little children,
and obliged by her paper-hanging to
neglect them, or to leave them at a
“day-nursery,” or to overwork herself
by combining all her duties, then tlie
siglit of her would be very sad. So
sacred a tiling does motlieraood seem
to me, bo paramount and absorbing tlie
duty of a mother to her child, that in a
true state of society I think she should
be utterly free from all other duties—
even, if possible, from the ordinary
cares of housekeeping. If she has
spare health and strength to do these
other things as pleasures, very well; but
she should be relieved from them, as
duties. And as to self-support, I can
hardly conceive of an instance where it
can he to the mother of young children
anything but a calamity.
Anecdote of Handel.
Handel was one of tlie most humor
ous of mortals, and at the same, time
one of the most irritable. His best
jokes were perpetrated frequently dur
ing his most violent bursts of passion.
Having occasion to bring out one of
liis oratorios in a provincial town of
England, he began to look about for
such material to complete his orchestra
and chorus as tlie place might afford.
One and another was recommended, as
usual, as being a splendid singer, a great
player, and so on. After a while such
as were collectable were gathered to
gether in a room, and after prelimina
ries, Handel made his appearance, puff
ing, both arms lull ot manuscripts.
“ Gentlemen,” quoth ho. “ you all read
manuscripts?" “Yes, yes,” responded
from all parts of tlie room. “We play
in church,” added an old man behind a
violoncello. “ Very well, blay dis," said
Handel, distributing tlie parts.
This done, and a fow explanations de
livered, Handel retired to a distant part
of the room, to enjoy the effect. The
stumbling, fumbling and blundering
that ensued is said to be indescribable.
Handel's sensitive ear and impetuous
spirit could not long brook the insult,
and clapping his hands to his ears, lie
ran to the old gentleman of the violon
cello, and shaking his list furiously at
the terrified man and the instrument,
said, “ You blay in do church! —very
well—you may blay in de church—for
we read, tlie Lord is long-sutß ring, of
great kindness, forgiving iniquity, trans
gression and sin ; you shall blay in de
church, but you shall not blay for me!”
and snatching together his manuscript,
he rushed out of the room, leaving his
astonished performers to draw their own
conclusions.
The marble quarries of Vermont are
literally mines of wealth. Over a thou
sand men are emp wed, and many of
tho mills where ilie sawing is done
is valued at SIOO,OOO. The marble is
sold at prices ranging from $1.50 to sl4
per cubic foot.
Tue Dubuque farmer who, in addi
tion to his profits from produce, lias
made, this season, nearly two thousand
dollars by the sale of honey, has de
rived as much from mer beeiiig as from
acutual doing.
Farm ami Garden.
Chicken Cholera. —The symptoms of
chicken cholera, as, known in the
West, are a dropping of the wings and
a ruffled appearance of the feathers,
those of the head particularly seeming
to stand out instead of laying close over
each other as in health. The comb and
wattles become dark, and tlie fowl
mopes along in some .corner, or remains
on tlie roost. When disturbed, it moves
at first with reluctance, and a heavy de
jected gait. Yet once aroused it seems
much alarmed, and hurries out of the
way with a wild and crazy stare. When
alone again it resumes its quiet, moping
attitude, with wings slightly drooped,
and neck contracted, so as to tiring the j
head back near the body. It usually
refuses food, but its thirst seems un
quenchable. Discharges from the bowels
are frequent and of a green color,
streaked with white and straw color,
and the crop is distended with a dark,
watery and very nauseous fluid, which
runs from the mouth when it is held
up by its legs. The course of tlie disease
is from two days to a week ; some live
ten days or more, while a few are carried
off in less titan two days from the ap
pearance of the first, symptoms. .Some
die as it they were strangled, and oth
ers, as if from mere exhaustion.
I believe, from observations made
during the past year, that this disease
is entozoic in its character. The varia
tions in symptoms and manner of death
in different fowls—which arc due per
haps, to the variations in point of at
tack by the parasites, as lungs, liver,
heart, or other vital organs—and the
great variety of substances which appear
to prove efficient in arresting tlie spread
of the disease, are very strong indica
tions that entozoa are the cause of the
trouble. Frequent dissections of dis
eased fowls, as mentioned in a late
number of tlie Poultry Bulletin, have
given evidence of the same tiling. Soon
alter that article was written, another
case of cholera occurred The drink
ing vessels were immediately sup
plied witli alum water. The sick bird
was placed in an apartment alone where
he could get neither food nor drink.
The discharges from the bowels were as
above described, and iii a short time lie
was so weak as to be scarcely able to
stand. A piece of alum the size of a
small hazel nut was given, and the next
day lie was fed a little wheal bread
soaked in curds. He was kept on this
diet for nearly two weeks, having been
twice during that time well dustad with
sulphur. By the end of the second
week liis appetite began to improve,
and lie was then allowed, for a change,
pie cruses and wheat bran soaked in
curds ; but not a drop of water did lie
get during that time, not a spear of
grass or any other green food. In about
three weeks he was considered well
enough to be turned out, since which
time lie has continued to improve. His
comb and wattles now have their natural
color, and lie is looking nearly as sleek
and fat as ever and crows as heartily as
any young cock on the place.
The course of treatment is not
claimed as a certain cure, although in
each case in which we have tried it,
recovery and not death has been the re
sult. There is, therefore, some encour
agement for further trial. The disease
has thus far, in every instance, cheoked
up as soon as the fowls are required to
drink alum water. There may, however,
be oilier preventives equally efficient—
as sulphur, carbolic acid or sulphurous
acid. Combinations of sulphurous acid,
as the sulphitis of soda, kc.., might also
be good. Extensive observation and
careful study, with repeated experi
ments, will be necessary before any
thing like a specific remedy can be
determined ; and the object in writing
the above has been to direct the atten
tion of those interested in poultry
breeding to a more careful examination
of the subject. P. M. s.
Value nf Pototoes as Feed. —A subscriber
asks us whether potatoes are worth
more than twenty-five cents per bushel
for feed. Wo do not think they are
worth so much if fed raw, but when
cooked we have fed them to stock rath
er than sell them at forty cents. Pota
toes contain a large percentage of starch
(from eleven to twenty-live per cent),
and are estimated to be worth more
than carrots, and half as much as hay,
weight for weight, but if fed raw, much
of the starch, which would be utilized
if they were cocked, escapes undi
gested.—Hearth and Home.
Feeding Straie. —Straw, if properly
managed, can be made to serve a more
profitable purpose than mere littering,
or to add bulk to the manure pile. In
England, and among tlie English
farmers in Canada, most of the bullocks
are fed and fattened on straw, with
roots and meal. No hay is ÜBed, that
being kept lor the horses. Thus a lar
ger number of stock can be fed. Straw
cut, wetted, and sprinkled with ground
feed or oil-meal, will carry cattle very
well through the winter. Oat, barley,
rye, and wheat straw are proportionately
valuable in the order in which they are
placed. Pea-straw is more valuable
than oat straw.
Balky Horses. — Turf, Field and Farm
gives the following means of starting a
balky horse : “ Take a couple of turns
of common wrapping twine, such as
grocers use, around the fore leg, .just
below the knee, tight enough for the
iiorse to feel, and tie in a bow knot. At
tlie first cluck he will generally go
dancing off', and after going a short dis
tance you can get out, remove tlie
string, to prevent injury to tlie tendon
in your further drive. The philosophy
or tlie appliance is something on the
same principle as that whereof we once
read for preventing liens" from scratch
ing up the garden. Put gaffs or spurs
on tlie liens, reversing them—instead of
the points up, have them pointing
downward. Then when the hen lifts a
leg to scratch, as it decends the point
of the spur catches in the ground,
placing that foot forward; and the
stroke with the other leg is attended
with like results, until the hen walks
herself out of the garden.”
Hints for the Housewife.
Howto Judge Poultry. —We give a fow
general rules by which tho age of fowls
of all descriptions can be judged. In
following these rules no reasou need be
assigned by any grocer, much less
housekeeper, for purchasing other than
good, wholesome and tender fowls.
If a hen's spur is hard, and the scales
on the legs rough, she is old, whether
you see her head or not, but her head
will corroborate your observation. If
the under bill is so stiff that you cannot
bend it down, and the comb thick and
rough, leave her, no matter how fat and
plump, for some one less particular. A
young lii'ii has only the rudiments of
spurs; the scales on the legs are smooth,
glossy and fresh colored, whatever the
color may be; the claws tender and
short, the nails sharp, the under bill
soft, and the comb thin and smooth.
An old lien turkey has rough scales
on the legs, callosities on the soles of
the feet, and long, strong claws; a
young one the reverse of all those
marks. The old turkey cock has along
tuft or beard, a young 011 c but a sprout
ing otic; and when they are off, the
smooth scales on the legs decide the
point, besides the difference in size of
tlie wattles of the neck and in the elas
tic shoot upon the nose.
An old goose when alive is known by
the rough logs, the strength of the
wings, particularly at the pinions, the
thickness and strength of the bill, and
the fineness of the feathers ; and when
plucked, is known by the legs, the ten
derness of the skin under the wings,
by the pinions and the bill, and the
coarseness of the skin.
Ducks are distinguished by the same
means, but there is this difference, that
a duckling’s bill is much longer in pro
portion to the breadth of its iiead than
the old duck’s.
A young pigeon is discovered by its
pale color, smooth scales, tender col
lapsed feet, and the yellow long down
interspersed among its feathers.' A
pigeon that can tly has always red
colored legs and no down, and is then
too old for use.
Ground Bice Griddle Cake. —Boil a
quart of milk ; rub smooth a teaspoon
ful of ground rice, in a gill or two of
cold milk, and stir it into the boiling
milk ; add a little salt, and while it is
scalding hot stir in Hour enough to make
the right thickness for baking. When
cool, add a teacup of yeast and four
eggs. Let it rise light.
To Remove Mildew* —Wet the elotli
which contains the mildew with salt
water; rub it well witli white soap, then
scrape some fine chalk to powder, and
rub it well into the cloth ; lay it out on
tho grass in the sunshine, watching it,
to keep it damp with soft water. Re
peat the process the next day, and in a
few hours the mildew will all disappear.
Ointment for Chapped Hands. —Take
sweet oil, 3 ounces; spermaceti, 4
ounces, and pulverized camphor, one
ounce. Mix them together in a clean
earthenware vessel, by the aid of a gen
tle heat, and apply it warm to the
hands night and morning. Another
very good ointment for chapped hands
is made with a little, fresh newly
churned butter and honey.
To Remove Stains from Broadcloth. —
Take one ounce of pipeclay, that lias
been ground fine, and mix it with 12
drops of alcohol, and the same quantity
of spirits of turpentine. Whenever
you wish to remove any stains from
cloth, moisten a little of this mixture
and rub it in on the spots. Let it re
main till dry, then rub it off with a
woolen cloth, and the spots will dis
appear.
Quaker Plum Pudding. —Take slices of
light bread, spread thin with butter, and
lay in a pudding-dish layers of this
bread and raisins, till within an inch of
the top. Add five eggs, well beaten,
and a quart of milk, and pour over the
pudding ; salt and spice to taste. Bake
it twenty or twenty-five minutes, and
eat witli liquid sauce. Before using tho
raisins, boil them in a little water, ami
put it all in.
X Mathematical Cobbler.
The following curious history of a
mental prodigy is extracted from an
article in the New York Evening Post:
Another case was that of a cobbler,
living in London, England, who worked
at his trade from morning till night.
He was a man of very inferior powers
in all respects but one—in resolving
problems in figures he was unri<’alled.
He made his talent of use to himself
hy exacting a small charge for exhibit
ing it, keeping in his stall a black-board
and a piece of chalk. Any one who
paid him three pence might give him
any problem in figures he chose. The
cobbler would take tlie chalk and write
down the solution on the instant. For
a shilling he would . nswer questions
for an hour. He would multiply long
rows of figures hy each other apparently
without a moment's reflection, dealing
as rapidly and unerringly with fractions
and fractions of fractions as with in
tegers, and would set down the equiva
lent in a simple fraction of any number
of compound ones the moment he had
read them. Being asked how many
1 Is. 7jd. there were in £10,987,353, he
replied immediately, “Well, there will
he a remainder—ro much (writing down
the figures), and them's the figures for
answer” (jotting them down as fast as
his fingers could move).
Not the least curious feature in the
cobbler’s .case was tlie fact that he
seemed to have no intelligible notion of
the means by which 110 produced his
results; at any rate, if he had, lie was
quite unable to give any explanation of
them. He was invited to give a lecture
at a mechanics’ institute on mental
arithmetic, and proud enough he was
to accept the invitation. He was fitted
up in decent, second-hand apparel, and
he went with his long black-board and
chalks. Most astonishing things he
certainly did in the calculating way, de
taining tlie audience to a late hour, as
ho performed one marvel after another.
But neither by close attention or exact
ing questions could there be gained the
least inkling of the processes that were
passing so rapidly in his mind. He had
no information to give. It was utterly
impossible for him to teach others what
was as easy to himself as breathing.
His replies to questions put not only
betrayed great irritation, but were
vague, confused, and contradictory.
An Indianapolis paper thus sums uj>
tho divorce market : “ Brisk competi
tion among the lawyers has brought
down the price of divorces very low in
this market. We quote: “Common
separation, sls; small alimony, $25 ;
large alimony. S3O to SIOO. There
are but few of the latter in the mar
ket. General business good and in
creasing.”
Editors and Proprietors.
NUMBER 15.
llypocliondrical.
I bear about by day and night
The most acute of maladies:
To picture it in black and whlto
The object of this ballad is.
Permit me. gentle reader, please.
To breathe in your auricular:
T suffer from the fell disease
Called nothing in particular.
To render it the mere intense.
And nearly unendurable.
My 1< >ctor says, in confidence,
Tis totally incurable.
My mind has threatened, ere to-day.
To lose its perpendicular.
And faH a melancholy prey
l'o nothing in particular.
—London Fun.
Wit and Wisdom.
Toilers of the see—Opticians.
Mere matter of form—Fitting a dress.
Nature’s optics must be her i’s-in
glass.
It takes all our learning to he simple.
—Archbishop Usher.
The coming Ocean Ferry from France
to America—dules.
Highiirawlics—The long-drawn ac
cents of fashionable swells.
Query for Spiritualists—Aro low spir
its less than medium sighs?
The champion reaper which secures
the largest harvest—Advertising.
Truth is as impossible to he soiled by
any outward touch as the sunbeam.
Every man who goes out West re
turns with his story of an arrow escape.
Avoid slang, my son; don’t say a
“swell” when it’s as well to say some
thing else.
The poorest education that teaches
self control is bettor than the best that
neglects it.
It is the ordinary way of the world to
keep folly at the helm and wit under
the hatches.
Spare no pains in beautifying your
homes and improving the roads that
lead to them.
AVlia t would a pig do who wished to
build himself a habitation? Tioaknot
in his tail, anil call it a pig’s-tie.
All fears of the cholera from Russia
seem to have subsided; Alexis only
brought the Iloopenkoff with him.
Tennessee hires out convicts to work
on railroads, which looks like offering a
premium for them to make, tracks.
A wise man looks upon men as lie
does on horses; all their caparisons of
title, wealth, and place he considers hut
as harness.
Griee knits two hearts in closer bonds
than happiness ever can ; and common
suffering is a far stronger link than
common joy.
Wiio is wise? lie that learns from
everyone. Who is powerful ? He that
governs his passions. Who is rich? He
that is content.
When Plato was told that he had
many enemies who spoke ill of him, he
replied: “Itis no matter ; 1 shall live
so that none will believe them.”
It is said that to flatter people effect
ively you must know wliut they are,
what they think they are, and what
they want other people to think they
are.
When you see a young man with a
good deal of religion displayed in his
shop-window, you may depend upon it
he keeps a very small stock of it
within.
Trying to do business without adver
tising is like winking at a pretty girl
through a pair of green goggles. You
may know what you are doing, but no
body else does.
“ We have no room for all this,” said
our night-editor, glancing despairingly
at a two-column obituary, “it musf be
cut down to a proper die-mention.”—
New York World.
A little girl from Schenectady, after
noticing for some time the glittering
gold filling in her aunt’s front teeth,
exclaimed : “ Aunt Mary, I wish I had
copper-toed teeth like yours I”
Bergh After the “ Great Showman.”
From tl)-' New York Sun, Dec. 9.
On Thursday Mr. Bergh visited the
show at the rink. Bergh and Barnum
have met before, und fierce have been
the battles between them. Barnum
would insist upon feeding his reptiles
upon live pigeons and rabbits, and
Bergh vowed that he should not. Bergh
had the Sun to back him, and won, hut
Barnum sent his reptiles over to New
Jersey, and there fed them as he
pleased. The humanitarian had not
got two yards beyond the entrance be
fore he was spotted, and offers of re
served seats were made by one of the
officials ; but Mr. Bergh had paid his
half dollar and was independent. All
the live animals were visited and their
cages inspected. The great African
eland was found in a small cavern
without room to turn around, and the
sacred Burmo-e hull was in alike pre
dicament. The royal Abyssinian lions,
the South African tigers and leopards
were found better located, and they ap
peared better contented. A fierce spot
ted hyena attracted Mr. Bergh’s atten
lion. Ho was chained down within
eight inches of the floor of liis cage. In
the next compartment was a beautiful
ly marked leopard, ami the hyena had
torn down a portion of the wooden par
titions to enable him to scrape an ac
quaintance with his neighbor. Long
nails had been driven through the par
tition to keep off the hyena. Mr. Bergh
requested that the chain might he
lengthened so as to allow the beast to
stand upright. It appeared that the
animal sometimes got ugly, and was
then chained down. The ant-eaters
anil the happy family were then in
spected, and their treatment and lodg
ings were approved of. Altogether,
Mr. Bergh thought the animals were
well cared for, though confined in
smaller cages than were needful.
The circus was also visited, and a
bare-hack rider nearly came to grief for
lashing his horse, a splendid grey, over
the nose with the but of his whip. Ho
had a little boy in his arms, four years
old, a poor little mass of what appeared
to the spectator flexible india robber
by the manner in which he was twisl,cd
about. This rider will be watched, and
if he treats his nng in the same manner
that part of the performance will be
abruptly closed and the noble equestri
an will lie hauled off some cold night in
his fleshings and lodged in the York
ville ice cellar.