ttubli»hed Every Thursdvf,
RF.mvon?) FA M.S. MTXXFSOTA
The bells of Lent ran? up, ran* down
Th oujrh all the btoel of th™ own!
?"f* rrtnir clear, ransr loud or low.
As loud or low March winds did blow.
Through wide-flung doors the hurrying
hint of rsilm nnd snatch of sonir—
no irh-strunir son* of plaint and prayer,
or cioss, and passion, imd despair.
One toirryiiijr by mmM the thrwif,
y ho rntitrht th* swpotrio-is of the*
Above the turmoil of ihe street.
Turned suddenly her weary feet,
nd through the wMe-'iunc door* passed In
mm out the week* lay w' _«rl and din.
all me awnf from fl sb and sen*'—
hy ft, noe. O Lord, can draw me thence,"
Ih fervent tone* the slnrers sangr,
yiiile soleninlv the oriran rang.
Iwm "'esh and sense:" the words struck
fTpon the stranger's listening ear.
-f^orn fle«h btvJ sense:" slw looked across
ihe sun-lit nisles. where srlitit and grlosS
111 iH.uiKni'l-tive mil satin shone-
A princess* rutmeiit, that had Worn
A ptinco's ransom In the past
Air. ss the aisles, then downward
Her seekinir tl uii-e in hitter HimhI
Of raiment that scarce met the need
That winter keen and merciless
Urouiriit home to her with savajre stresa.
An i tbey, they tic ther t-il nor sp.n,
ThMo-liifes ftUr, appareled in
These costly robes, while others strive.
And mourn to rind t.iemselves alive
Bcnca the 1 unions of the day,
liiat icave small time or need to pray,
••Can me away from I'esh and sense,"
When #esh itself seems half drawn thence.
Fo on for you. O favored on ««.
These silken stalls, these orjjan tones,"
Her bitter thouirht ran. as the prayer
gkwwed tn-mtisic on the air.
•*. vo.i. to i u. th 3 ho is" you call
The ni-e of uod for me the thrall
"Of toil nil 1 toil. fr (lay to day,
While I i'e wastes s ndidly away
111 vnine-t hone a dnil despair
Oi atMue sweet Uuie, when one from MM
pause find rest a lltt'.e spttoe*
An?! itn ct life's T: Ijrht Things ic to flW®.
But taint ot heart, ami \ery Knv
©1 hope and comlurt, 1 Init know
In th dark tys the n-eds of etrtlb
All he seems now of little worths
And little worth your silien prayer
Agaitist my wall of dull despair."
—.Vim I'erry, in u Magazine,
THE BLACKBIRDS' NEST.
Put it back. Jim. Do put it back.*'
"Whv? Jim whispered, with a
atfti'tled glance alonr the wood path,
"Is the master in si^ht, Ned?"
We are in sight ol the Master,
ina drew a Iong breath of relief, and
pot his linger into the open mouth of
one of the untiedired blackbirds. You
frijrliteued me for a moment," he said,
"but I see you were only ta'kinr Sun-
»ay-*chool stuff. Of course, as Square's
us to touch the nets here, we
must mind he doesn't see. that's all."
"I'M it back, Jim, lad,'' pleaded the
elder boy, without relenting his com
panion's sneer. "It's as much a home,
j\»u know, as your own cottage ami
those four little blackbirds can no more
live and prow if you destroy it, than
your babv sisters could live ana grow if
tbey 1 ad no home and no mother."
*'i a«n't harming' the mother," mat
-Suppose your mother came home
one nijrht. after lier work, feeling hap-
v, and ill nkin^ of the re.-t she would
in her own sung litf.e house,
where you would all be looking out lor
her, and just when she came close up
to your cottage—just at the old lilac
tree by the gate, \ouknow—she looked
up and saw there were no little ones to
meet her, no bright littie room to rest
in, no si^n, even, ot where the de ir old
home lia 1 been: if you could sed her
then. ni. would you say that anybody
who'd taKcn it all awav hadn't harmed
I don't kno* noth'n' 'bout that."
Btanmiced Jim. moodily. "It ain't
pot to do with a nest. The old bird can
I suppose your mother could find
another cottage, but would it be the
Same without you and the babies?"
it's very dillcrent." grumbled Jim,
but a litt e less defiantly now.
iatiier sa\ s the mother birds often
die of yriet when they find their nests
gone. You'll put it back, Jim?"
•'Not very likely, when I've had all
this fuss to get it."
Just put it back for ten minutes,"
••And take it again after?"
Yes, and take it again after—if you
What good would that do?" inquired
Jim, with a laugh.
"Just put it back for ten minutes,
while 1 tell you a story."
You 11 promise not to talk Sunday
School stuff when I take 'em back
again, or tell the master, or serve me
anj' snea y trick like that?
I promise. Stay, I'll help you put
tfci nest back in exactly the old spot."
**111 do it myself," returned Jim,
ungraciously. I fetched it myself
first, and i 11 fetch it again when your
tale's over. There. I've put it."
Look, Jim! look!" cried Ned, joy
full j". l'hat blackbird Hying straight
to the tree is sure to be* the mother.
Aren't you glad the nest's there now?"
Ten nutes ain't very long," ob
served Jim, as he threw himself at full
length on the turf, looking longingly
up at the branch on which the nest was
built, while the white blossoms of the
hawthorne fell upon his upturned face.
"I'm safe to have 'em in ten minutes
to do what I like with. Now, then,
lor the tale. Is there a giant in it?"
Not this time,"' said Ned. gently.
"It's only about myself and the chil
dren anil mother. That won't be like
Jack the Giant-Ki'ler. and Robinson
Crusoe, will it? B(t the story isn't
long. Jim. I was a very little chap,
antl the twins were act's of things, and
baby only a mont or stS old. Father
worked for the master here, and loved
him as all the men do now: but I didn't
love him, because he wouldn't have us
boye take the eggs or nests. But one
darv when I was Lroing through this
very woods, and nobody was by to see
me, I look a thrush's nest with live
tiny thfostles in it. I it in the
basket I was bringing to mother, and
went off so cheerfully, remembering
we had an old wicker cage at home!
and thinking how I'd put the birds in
it, and watch how they'd manage to
fledge and how I'd burn the nest—it
was dry and crisp, and would burn
beautifully— that I mightn't be found
out. Mother was sitting by the tire
ntwlg* httoy ippor mother was sick
that time, and baby hadn't ever been
well), and I went behind her to the
cage, and put my rds in without her
see nr, for I knew well enough how
6h«'f tell bio I was wrong to disobey
the master, and cruel to tne little crea
tures I'd stolen. I didn't care to be
told that, for I wasn't sorry, and I
didn't want to give mother the chance
of spoiling my fun by anv of her quiet
speeches about the other Master—up
there beyond the blue—who cares for
every little bird in every tree. I had
p'enty of opportunities for slipping
away to the dim corner where the cage
was, for I was let stay up waiting tor
father but at last mother sent me to
bed. I slept in a little bed in a corner
of the kitchen, so it Wasn't the same as
ffo'ng up-stajrs: and I watched the
nana of the clock go rouud, for I
cou dn't sleep for thinking how queer
my orphan birds looked, and how
je$)oua *ome of the lads at school
would be. 1 saw mother get to look
wlylej jmd whiter, and .tireder and
tirMes .iulr lather d'da'4 colne home.
Then baby begun to moan, and mother
up and walked about with her, and
watched ho# troubled she looked.
Then I fell asleep. It seemed like the
middle of the night when I awoke, and
1 jumped up, for I seemed to know in
asecoud that everything wasn't like
other nights. The cottage door was
wide open, and there was mother
standing there, looking out into the
darkness, and listening. When I went
up to hex, she just put her arm round
my neck, but she didn't look at me
•he only looked into the darkness.
"•Come in, mother,' i cried *you
oughtn't to stand here while you are
"But she only stood there trembling,
till baby began to cry and move restless
in her cradle then mother came in, and
took hfer up, and held her close to her
neck, sobbing as I'd never heard mother
sob before in all my lite—never. I held
to her, and begsred her to stop, but I
was crying myself too all the time.
And still father didn't come. I was a
Billy lad, Jim, and a wicked one, but I
Wasn't a coward and so I begged
mother to let me go up to the Hall to
ask about father. For a long time she
wouldn't, but at last I got her just to
whisper 'yes' in her crying, and I was
only too eager to set off. She came to
the door with me, still shivering, and
holding baby wrapped in a shawl and
While she kissed me she whispered
something I couldn't hear but 1 sup
pose it didn't matter my hearing, for
she was speaking up to Heaven. I
wasn't long reaching the Hall, for I
knew every inch of the road, and could
run safely enough even in the darkness.
I went up through the yard, and when
I saw a light in the saddle-room, 1 know
one of the grooms was sitting up to
take the master's horse, and I went in
at once. It was Tom Harris, and of
c.iurse I was sorrv, because he hated
father, and didn'tlike me but whoever
it had been, I should have gone in then
to ask for father. Tom scolded me
first for startling him. then he laughed
at my questions, and then he got cool
agaih, and stared at me.
You won't find your father here,'
he said -.'you won never find him here
again. He's tnrned off. The master
won't have nothing mora to do with
him. You'd best go and ask for him at
the public, for he went that way when
the master sent him off. The public's
a good place for him to forget his
•'I stared at the man. trying to un
derstand what he said, and trying to
him. 'Father never goes to the
public,' I stammered. What do you
"•lie's never been turned Off Work
before to-night,' laughed Tom, 'That's
what sends a man to the public. If he
aiti't there, something's happened to
him. io you and see after him. Don't
stare,' he went on, crossing his arms,
and leaning back in his chair by the
fire. 'Can't ye hear what I say? Your
father's been turned oft here, and to
morrow you're all to be off out of your
"I caught hold of the table, for the
room was spinning round and round
and then 1 remember Tom laughed,
and said it again, as if I questioned
Yes, I mean just what I say. Your
father's been late every morning this
week, and the master won't stand it—
not like'v. So you're all to turn out
of your cottage to-morrow for the new
shepherd. Go home and make as much
as yo:i can of the place to-night, as it'll
be gone to-morrow.'
"At first I was afraid to stir, for I
thought if I did I should fall but as
soon a3 I could I crept away from the
man's s:ght. Out in the dirkness
again, all my strength came back, and
I ran home fa-ter even than I had run
to the Hall, crying mother s name all the
way. without knowing what it meant.
"The cottage door was open when I
reached it. I think she'd put it open
to guide us—father and me and I
looked in, actually afraid for the first
time in my life of meeting mother.
She was sitting by the fire, her face
white, and the teirs .falling all the
time. While I stood wondering how to
tell hor about father, mv sobs burst out
and frightened her. But was by her
side then, and fell on my kuees, and
laid mv heul inkier lap. It was just
then. Jim. that I remembered my little
untledged birds and their ruined home,
and the mother who had lost them,
and I folde 1 mv hands and looked up
into mother's face almost as if she had
been God. 'I'll never do it again—nev
er! never! I didn't Know it was so ter
rible. I'll put them back.'
"Afterward, while I told her all that
Tom h:td said. I tried not to see her
face, and tried still more, Jim, not to
see that old cage in the far corner of
the kitchen, where my little prisoners
were. When I'd done, mother got up
from her seat, and put on her shawl and
No, no, mother,' I cried, quite
quietlv. though, for fear of waking baby
'you mustn't go out: you'll be ill a .rain,
and it's quite dark. Oh, let me go!'
"She stooped and kissed me. 'It's
no place for vou,"my child. Take care
of baby.' She couldn't say another
word, and I could only watch her go, as
she had watched me. thinking what I'd
have given to be able to go and take
"I sat close to baby's cradle, and!
stared intothe fire as if that wide stare
could keep the tears away but all the i
while I didn't see the fire at all, but'
other things—oh. Jim, so plainly!
The white light crept through the
kitchen window, then the sun rose, and
etill father and mother didn't come,
The sun was shining now. and this was
the very day we were to go. so I woke
the twins and dressed them, and!
wrapped baby ready, and put the room
in order, all without a word, for I wa3
too miserable to cry. At last father
and mother came in, very slowly and
silently, and father put his hand on my
hea 1, and mother took baby, and then
I knew we were bid ling good-by to the
little home where we had been so hap
py, and I didn't want to cry, though my
heart was breaking, so I crept away to
the woods for a few minutes. I felt that
evervthing would seem better there,
where I should see the sunshine on the
leaves and grass and flowers, and hear
the birds' songs among the boughs,
making the leaves seem full of music,
as I had so often heard them and even
higher still, among the. soft white
c'puds, where I'd often thought that
e \en the anrcls must like to hear them,
sUvping to listen when their own songs
were silent for a bit. But, Jim, when
1 came into the wood, there was no
note of all these bright glad son^s.
"The whole wood was heavy with a
dismal silence: and then I knew that it
was my fault that the birds were un
happy. and would never din? again.
"What could I do? Was it all too
late? Sobbing bitterly, I ran home to
fetch the little orphan birds, and give
the mother back her children and her
home. Ah. Jim, what a chancre I found
in our own dear home! The little
kitchen that had alwavs seemed so snug i
and brieht and cheerful was empty and
bare. Nowhere in the cottage was
there a step or voice to be heard: onlv I
was left there, and with me. in that i
nest in the old cage, five little dead
The dream had been so re$l, Jim, i
that my cry terrii ed a gentleman who
was riding past in the darkness, and i
heard it. He dismounted, and came
into the cottage kitchen, and I saw it
was the master.
•"Were you asleep, Ned?' he asked,
in his kind way. l)id you ory out in
your sleep?' i
Scarcely knowing I had dreamed, 11
told him all about taking the nest, and
disobe ing him, and about the woods
being silent, and how I came home and
lound our home ruined, and father and
mother gone, and the birds dead and
when he looked kindly at me, I fell!
down on my knees and begged him to
forgive me, and Mt take our home
away from mother, but to send only me
away, because I'd taken the nest," and
to let father and mother and the chil«
"dren stay. Then he questioned me till
I'd repeated all that Tom Harris had
told me when I went to ask for father
and I said how father had never been
to the public before that night, and how
mother had been to fetch nim, though
she was ill. Then he put out his kind
hand, and lifted me up.
'lam glad I heard you as I passed,'
Harris has beeu deceiving
you, Ned. You might have guessed
that, because he is so fond of frighten*
ing you, and has a grudge against your
father. But this amounts to wicked
ness, and he shall be punished. I guess
how it is, my lad. Your father is in
the shed in the far meado-v with the
sick cow. I dare say he couldn't send
a message from there, and has all the
while expected he would be able to
come home in a few more minutes.
You may be sure he is as anxious to
come as you are to see him. but he
never neglects a sick animal. Dry your
eyes, my lad, for the cottage is" your
home still, and it doesn't look at all
"ruined," I think. Now build Up the
fire, and wait for your mother. I'll see
about your father.'
Oh, Jim, can yod fancy what it was
like then? I put 'mv head into the cra
dle, and smothered baby with kisses I
made the fire up, and put on the kettle.
Then I ran a little way down the dark
road, calling out to mother, 'Make
haste, mother! make haste!' At last she
came, Jim—not white and crying and
alone, as she had gone, not silent and
sorrowful with father, like in my dream,
but talking happily with him. And
then how longed that I could have
given back my dead birds to their
mother—given them back their home,
as ours had been given to us! I don't
know what I did for a bit, but when I'd
got father and mother to have some
tea, I laid my head down upon the cold
nest, and while I held so teuderly the
little dead birds—killed by these hands
of mine, while the master who was
kind to the birds had been so kind to
me—I asked God to forgive me, and I
made a promise to Him that He has let
mo be able to keep, for I ask Ilim again
every night and every morning. Don't
you think it's true,* Jim, what mother
says, that the more we love the things
He loves, the more we lova Him?
That's all. It's quite ten minutes, isn't
it? Are you going to take your nest
"You might have told a cheerfuler
tale. Ned. Tell another. There's no
hurry about taking that nest agrain just
CecU Hay, in Harper"t
Soot in Horticulture.
Soot is a despised thing, at which
everyone lifts up his or her. hands
in horror. Yet it.is one of our soot
most valuable fertilizers, and for boost
ing insects it stands very high. The soot
from soft coal is the best, and any one
who wastes it wastes wealth for we
need every ounce in the gardens and
fields of the country^ This is no whim
or theory its uses are well known to
ever v practical gardener. Our cabbage
fields and gardens are all visited with
the common whitish-yellow butterllies
each year, yet this insect is easily driven
to seek its food in some other place if
soot is sprinkled over the plants on
mornings, or when they are wet. The
writer had once charge of a garden
where it had been unfortunate in the
production of any of the cabbage family,
from cauliflowers to Brussel sprouts.
Soot solved the problem. The opera
tions were to first scatter a thin coat of
soot on the soil, where the seed had to
be sown. This was worked in so as not
to touch the seed, either with a rake or
fork, ior it is fatal to seed if touched
when germinating, but after the roots
begin to spread thoy like it. The wire
worm that makes all the cabbage tribe
form a club-shape at the bottom of the
stem and stops them from forming
proper roots rarely ever does this mis
chief. Our professors have been try
ing to make "club root" in the cabbage
tribe a disease, but if soot is used as de
scribed the disease is seldom or never
seen. After cabbage plants of any kind
are raised and ready to plant out for
heading, if their roots and stems, right
up to the leaves, are dipped in a paint
made of soot, soil, and water just thick
enough to stick to them, few ground
insects will attack them. Land where
carrots, turuips, or onions have to be
sown is always benefited if a good dress
ing of soot is applied. The turnip crop
is an important one in England, and
were it not for a free use of soot it
could not be grown, nor could wheat
and it is a common thing to see a train
of soot leaving the large towns for the
market gardening and farming districts.
Here Is a new source of employment
for American citizens, and if it were
collected as in England it would sell.
If rose-bushes were dressed about the
first week in May with soot, when
they are moist, we should not see those
bad-looking roses or bashes that we so
often see now, that look, in fact, as if
they had been burned when the little
caterpillar hM-ie$sted on them a few
days. The caterpillar that goes by the
name of roller-Hy, because it rolls itself
up in the leaves of roses and other things
and eats into the buds of roses, when
feasting is driven away by soot sprinkled
oyer the bushes freely about the latter
end of April or beginning of May, as it
is about that time that the eggs begin
to hatch that have been laid on the
bushes, and it is well to repeat the dose
about a week before the roses are likely
to open. The soot will generally be
pretty well off before the roses ave fit
to gather, and ladies will not be an
noyed by finding a big, ugly grub inside
th 'ir handsome llowers the smell of
the soot is soon gone, when it is ex
posed to the atmosphere, as its smell is
chiefly ammonia, which is very volatile.
Soot increases the color of the leaves
and llowers of most plants, and gives a
A gentleman at Indianapolis, who
was advised to use soot to drive insects
from his plants, reports that his wife
thought that he had killed her pets, and
after a few days he thought the plants
grew so fast that t'le insects could not
catch them, and now he gets a barrel
of soot from a round-house to use on
his garden, every week.
The pretty, yeVow-stripped bug that
attacks our squishes and cucumbers
has no affinity for soot or ashes,
and soon leaves for other places, where
it don't get such seasoning at its
Apply soot whenever the leaves of
plants are moist, and four or five dress
ings in a year are not too much. Soot
and Hour of sulphur in equal parts
mixed in thin flour paste make a
paint for all kinds of trees that does not
injure them, but makes them grow as
it washes off, and will keep insects and
rabbits, mice, or other vermin from
them if applied to the stems three or
four times a veal* and mildew will
seldom be Seen when this mixture is
frequently used on vines or other things
subject to it.—Cor.
—Drinks made from fresh or pre
served frtaits are sometimes useful in
levers. Khubarb tea is a very refresh
ing spring beverage. Slice about two
pounds of rhubarb, and boil for a quar
ter of an hour in a quart of water strain
the liquor into a jug, adding a small
quantity of lemon pceT, and some sugar
to taste when cold it is fit for use.
Apple water may be made in the same
manner. The apples should be peeled
and cored. Sugar should not be added
to either of the above until after the
liquor is refeoved from the fire. In the
absence of fresh fruit, a pleasant bever
age may be-prepared by stirring suffi
cient raspberry jam or currant jelly
into the requited quantity of water,
straining the liquor before "giving it to
On many farms that have been under
cultivation for some time there are gul
lies worn more or lees deep by the run'
ning of the water that accumulates in
fields during the prevalence of contin
ued rains. They are of no value to the
farms they disfigure, but on the other
hand are a great disadvantage to them.
They occupy a large amount of land,
prevent passing from one side of the
farm to another with wagons and ma
chinery, and have a constant tendency
to become longer, wilder and deeper.
Generally the sides break down every
spring as the frost leaves the soil, ana
the earth which falls to the bottom is
carried away by the running water.
The deepening of the gullies increases
till stone or hard clay is reached. Often
bushes and weeds fill up a large portion
of the sides and bottoms of the gullies
ahd they become the resort of small but
very mischievous animals. The loss
Sustained by the presence of gullies on
many farms is very considerable, and
pains should be taken to prevent it.
In many instances a gully may be
utilized. The past season has taught
the majority of farmers the value of
having a better supply of water on their
places. Ordinarily a sufficient amount
of water runs through a gully during
the spring to entirely fill it. If this
water is stored up it may prove of great
advantage for the summer, especially if
there is a protracted drought. It will
be needed for stock, may be wanted for
washing purposes, and can always be
used to excellent advantage for irri
gating the land, whether it is devoted
to grass or cultivated crops. Last sum*
mer a scarcity of water for stock was
felt in most parts of the country.
A gully may be converted into a pond
by simply building a dam across the
lower portion of it. This dam may be
built of earth, timber, brick, or stone,
the latter being in every respect pre
ferable. The stone should be laid up
with mortar, composed in part, at least,
of hydraulic cement or water lime.
The stone wall should extend into the
embankment on either side sufficiently
to prevent the water from washing
around ft. It should also extend below
the bottom of the gully at least as far
as the frosts ever penetrates. On top
of the dam should be a depression for
the overflow of the pond when it is
full. Near the bottom should be a
large metal tube, furnished with a stop
cock for use in drawing off the
water as it is desired. The tube should
connect directly with the watering
trough, which should be where stock of
all kinds can readily approach it. If
desirable the water can be co»ayed to
a distant pasture by means of a wooden
or metal pipe. The same tube may be
employed for conducting water for irri
gating purposes. An arrangement of this
kind will save much labor in drawing
water from a well or cistern.
It often happens that a small but
constant stream of water from a spring
near its upver extremity flows through
a gully. When this is the case it is a
very easy matter to construct a fish
pond, after the manner suggested for
making a pond for storing water for
stock and irrigating purpose. By build
ing several dams along the course of
of the gully the pond may be divided
so that fish of different varities and
sizes may be kept within proper bounds,
and all danger of preying upon each
other can be completely avoided. By
constructing a series of falls over the
dams the water will become charged
with air, so that the fish will be in "no
want of material for purifying their
blood. The water of a pond designed
for fish can be drawn off when in
abundance for the supply of stock as
well as for washing and irrigating pur
poses. The oftener it is changed the
better it will be for the fish and cattle.
Many farmers decline to engage in fish
culture on account of the trouble and
expense of excavating suitable ponds,
but when a gully can be utilized for
holding water the expense of construct
inga pond may be greatly reduced.
Gullies may also be converted into
ponds for the use of water fowls, and
hogs, which greatly enjoy, and are
benefited by, a place in which they
can wash themselves. A gully that
has long been offensive to the sight
may be made to ornament the premises
to a very high degree. Nothing is re
quired but to fill ft with water, to plant
lillies in the soil of the bottom, to sod
the banks above the water, and to plant
some ornamental trees, shrubs and
vines along the sides. A few rustic
bridges thrown across it will greatly
improve its appearance. Many public
parks owe much of their beauty to the
gullies that have been improved by in
expensive methods. Some of those in
Druid Park, Baltimore, are marvels of
Occasionally gullies are found that
are constantly dry, the water that
formed them now flowing through
other channels. When this is the case
they should, if practicable, be filled up.
This may often be done by throwing
stones, stumps, brush, corn stalks, ana
other rubbish into them and finally
covering the whole with soil. Some
times a dry gully may be utilized by
planting the sides with berry bushes
and grape vines. -Many varieties of
berries do best when grown in a partial
shade. A sort of semi-jungle may
often be formed in a dry gully which
will make a very pleasant resort for
children. By having it partially
shaded by vines growing on the banks
and trained over the tap, it will be cool
even during the hottest weather.—r
Cultivation of Currants.
A few years ago, the cflrrant was
found in nearly every garden. It was
often neglected, but it rarely failed to
produce something of a crop. Now it
is seldom planted, and the little fruit
that is produced is generally poor in
quality. The reason for this state of
things is that the currant-worms eat the
leaves and prevent the fruit from ripen
ing. If left unchecked for two years,
they will kill the bushes.
A great many remedies have been
proposed, but there is only one that is
well known and that never fails. One
ounce of powdered white hellebore,
which costs five cents, mixed with ten
quarts of water, and sprinkled over the
bushes in a dry day, will kill every
First put in the powder with just
water enough to wet it mix it well,
and then put in the rest of the water.
Soon after the leaves come out the
worms appear and may be found near
the ground. If taken early, it is only
necessary to sprinkle that part of the
bush where they have made their ap
We have fifty bushes, twenty-five
White Grape and as many Versaillaise
and two ounces of the powder have been
sufficient. It is only applied once.
Of course Paris Green or Ixmdon
Purple would be effectual, but they
should on no account be used for this
purpose. No harm can come from the
nellcborA, as it is no more poisonous
About the t'me the fruit ripens, some
worms may be found but as the cur
rant ripens its wood in July, they can
do little or no harm.
In the fall of 1879, we covered the
ground under the bushes to the depth
of three inches with tan-bark, and in
the spsing added a quantity of surplus
mulch from the strawberry bed. Al
though the season was dry till the frnit
had its growth, we never had liner cur-*
rants.—Cor. Examiner and Chronicle.
—Pennsylvania farmers claim that
bran, when mixed with corn-meal
USEFUL AND SUGGESTIVE.
—Buns.—A cupful each of milk,
sugar and yeastj and flour to make a
batter. Let it rise over night, then
add half a cupful of melted butter, a
cupful of sugar, and flour to knead,
after which let it rise again, then roll
out and cut into cakes, and let it rise
—To keep bread moist, keep a large
earthen jar—a cover of the same ma
terial is better than a wooden one—and
have it well aired and fresh let the
bread be well cooled after it is taken
from the oven, and then place in the
jar and cover closely. It will keep
moist and fresh a long time.
—A good way to keep the earth moist
in a hanging basket without the trouble
of taking it down, is to fill a bottle with
water and put in two pieces of yarn,
leaving one eud outside on the earth.
Suspend the bottle just above the bas
ket and allow the water to drip this
will keep the earth moist enough for
winter and save a great deal of time and
—China and Glass Cement.—To one
pint of milk add one pint of vinegar
separate the curds from the whey and
mix the whey with the whites of five
eggs beat it well together, sifting into
it a sufficient quantity of quicklime to
convert it into a thick paste. Broken
china or glass mended with this cement
will not again separate and will resist
the action of fire and water.
—French Cakes.—Two cups of sugar,
one cup of butler, one cup of milk,
three cups of flour, three eggs, one tea
spoonful soda, two teaspoonfuls cream
tartar, one cup chopped raisins. Beat
butter and sugar to a cream add the
eggs well-beaten dissolve the soda in
the milk, and mix the cream tartar with
the flour add raisins and spice to taste
bake in rather a quick oven.
—In packing eggs away in lime, the
lime may be prepared in any conven
ient way, but it should be at least as
thick as whitewash that is used for
walls that is, as white as milk, and
somewhat thicker. This is called cream
of lime, and not lime water. The fresh
er the eggs the better they are kept.
One bad egg will spoil a whole package,
so that care should be taken to have
only fresh oaes. The lime will not eat
the shell, for the shell is lime. Half
barrels, pails, jars or anything that will
hold water, will serve to hold the eggs.
Any kind of lime will do.
—Periodical Opthalmia, or Moon
Blindness.—This disease, to which
horses arc subject, is caused by con
stitutional disposition, or by the pun
gent vapors which fill the air of un
clean stables. It appears as a bluish
cloud in the center of the eye, the cor
nea, which gradually thickens, and an
increasing in liammation of the whole or
gan until the horse is unable to see,
when the inllammation is resolved into a
free discharge, the film disappears, and
temporary relief is obtained for three or
four weeks more. Each attack is worse
than the preceding one, until a cataract
is formed and permanent blindness oc
curs. The treatment is to remove the
causes, to avoid any irritating circum
stances, to give a full dose of salts,
twelve to sixteen ounces, (two ounce
doses are useless,) and when the fever
is relieved to maintain good health by
the best of feeding, not using much
corn, but more bran and linseed, and
by strengthening the eyes by oold bath
ing and the occasional use of a lotion of
one grain of sulphate of zinc in one
ounce of rain-water, a little of which
should b% put into the eyes.—N. Y.
Care of Hones' Lsgs and Feet.
It is a well-known fact that horses
will work and remain sound for many
years with legs apparently much out of
order. Enlargements take place from
blows, where the parts become lined
with a thick coat of lymph and some
times the body of the bone itselt is
found thickened from a deposition of
bony lamina over the original bone.*
When all this has been in progress, we
question the propriety of any active
measures, unless, as is generally the
case, a feeling of soreness is exhibited
after work by a shifting or favoring of
the limb in the stall, or by a "feeling"
manner of goin£ on first being taken
out of the stable. When the legs are
really callous little impression can be
made upon them, unless by active
measures but rest and proper attention
are the best preservatives of these most
essential members of the horse' frame,
with the friendly* auxiliaries of hot
water, flannel bandages and freedom in
a box-stall after severe work, and good
shoeing at all times. Provided no in
ternal disease attacks the feet, they will
not only be as sound and healthy, but
in better form from having been prop
erly shod than if they had not beenshod
at all. Some hoofs, however, having a
greater disposition to secrete horn
than others, and thus called strong feet,
should never remain more than three
weeks without being subjected to the
drawing knife of the blacksmith, and
the shoes properly replaced. Neither
should stopping with damp tow be
omitted as moisture, not
the same weight, will produce more
weight in an animal than feeding pure
ficial to the health of the foot. DO'
what we may, however, horses that are
required for work on hard roads, or to
go the pace," will always be more or
less subject to diseased feet, quite un
connected with shoeing. The action of
the hinder legs of horses, reminds us of
one useful hint to those who have to
use their horses on long journeys. If
we follow a well-formed horse, with the
free use of his limbs, on a road upon
which h's footsteps are imprinted, we
shall tind the hinder foot oversteps the
fore foot in the walk, but falls behind it
in the slow trot. Exclusive of relief to
the muscles by change of action, then,
it is safer to vary the pace from a walk
to a slow trot on a journey, as causing
less fatigue to the hock joint, by which
curbs and spavins are freqently thrown
out. Add to this, the slow trot is the
safest pace a horse goes, because his
step is" shortest.—Prairie
There is a vast amount of false
economy in business, and it has found
its way to the homes of many of our
farmers. True economy, not parsi
mony, is the basis of success, and this
is as true in the farmer's occupations
in any other. The farmer who objects
to giving his son a liberal education on
tlife ground that he is going to be
"nothing but a farmer, is putting
into practice a most unwise ana inju
dicious principle of economy. Such an
one will not buy books, or take papers,
which rightly perused, would give him
reat assistance in his work, simply
he thinks he "cannot afford
His poor farming tools are "good
enough for him,'' though on every
hand he witnesses the rapidity and
thoroughness, of the work done oy im
proved machinery in the hands of truly
economical farmers—economical be
cause they choose methods by which
they can do their work most quickly
and, at the same time, most efficiently.
The ''economic" farmer wishes to
make money, so he sells off entire
those crops which, returned in part to
his soil in the shape of manure, would
make his land much more productive,
forgetting that the soil needs a certain
amount of food in order to produce.
He disposes of his best calves and colts,
because ''being nicer they will bring a
better price," and he retains the poor
oficasts for breeders—a sure step
toward ignominous failure in stock
keeping. The time is come when our
best-farmers are cutting loose from
these misleading principles, and are
taking broader views of things, and
when this false economy shoald be
superseded by the true,
When They Feand Her Dead.
Children are the sunshine of life.
They are the soft wind which thaws
away the snow and ice of selfishness.
They are the atmosphere in which old
age finds hours of youthfulness. On
Prospect, street lived an old woman
who made herself a terror to every
child who passed her door. Her house
was old and grim. The dark curtains
were always down, the doors were sel
dom opened, and no child passed it
without fearing the evil spirit that
seemed to lodge there. The old wom
an cursed any one who dared peer
through the fence, and if seen abroad
she was carefully avoided.
A few days ago the children saw the
inside of her house ior the first time.
The old woman had been found dead,
and men and women had assembled to
respect her cold clav. With them
came the children. They were the
first to forget what she had been, and
the first to shed tears over the close of
her earthly career. Men and women
were satistied when the body had been
dressed for the grave, but the children
brought flowers and laid them on her
grizzly hair until she seemed to wear a
crown of glory they placed a beauti
ful lily in her bony fingers, a green
vine over her breast, and when the cur
tain was raised and the sunshine
streamed in and fell upon the dead, men
and women said:
"It is the face of a mother and a
woman, and we were too harsh with
her. Let God remember that she was
all alone and had much to endure."
The work of the children had robbed
death of its look, and melted frozen
hearts, and as they stood around the
bier and sang:
Tcs, we II gather at the river
That Bows by the throne of God,"
Men pressed each others' hands and
"Would that our hearts Would always
be the hearts of children."—
Stonewall Jackson and the Wagon
Mr. Howell, one of the proprietors of
the Atlanta (Ga.)
saidof Stonewall Jackson:
His genius lay in two things—the
thoroughness of discipline and his de
votion. 1 do not think he was a man
of great natural ability. He could not
talk at all. He was not an entertain
ing person. He was a rigid military
man educated at West Point, he had
learned his lesson thoroughly, and ap
plied it unflinchingly. 1 renicm'/cr a
single order which he always enforced,
which, in my mind, accounted for a
good deal of his success. It was that
whenever we stopped on a march the
wagons must go to the side of the
road, and be unhitched with their
tongues pointing to the road, so they
could be driven either up the road or
down. Now that would seem to be a
simple thing but it accounts for the re
markable celerity of Jackson's marches.
Suppose a man would stop and his
wagon tongue would point the wrong
way, and at a certain hour in the
morning we would begin the march,
and that the wagon would block up the
road? If there were many such wagons
the march would be delayed a certain
time to let them get ship-shape.
Jackson rode up and down his lines
every day, morning and evening, to seo
if such orders as these were strictly
—The following anecdote is told of
Alexander II. A few years before his
death, while visiting Odessa, a cash
iered officer broke through his guards
and, casting himself on his knees, be
sought the Emperor to grant him justice.
The Emperor answerea that he would
consider his case. "No, no." ex
claimed the man. "if you do not see
justice done me at once I am lost.
Then the Czar heard his story, saw that
a cruel wrong had been done, and
promised that the officer should be re
instated. Even this, however, did not
satisfy the man. "Tell me here, be
fore everybody, that 1 am an officer of
yours, Father, and sfen this paper.
Your*mere word would not be obeyed
once your back was turned." Nicholas
would have bounded at this insinua
tion, but Alexander II. tacitly acqui
esced in it and did what was asked of
—A Deadwood firm of lawyers, in an
advertisement headed by a picture of a
skull and cross-bones, offer for sale
claims against a number of persons,
among whom is a Deputy Sheriff and a
man oescribed as "a professional dead
beat and amalgamator." The list is to
be kept stamiing until paid, and other
names will follow, if the accounts are
—"Woman's work is never done."—
Monday's work Is to wash, apace
Tuesday's work is to iron, with grace
Wednesday's work Is to bake and sew
Thursday s work is to clean—for show
Friday's work is to sweep, dust and brush
Saturday's work Is to cook—with a rush
The next that comes is the Sabbath day
And then she's too tired to rest, or to pray.
—Immense fields of pampas grass are
being cultivated in Southern California
—so great is the demand for those beau
tiful plumes. Perhaps in the not dis
tant future they will enter into the dec*
orations devised by milliners, and su
persede the plumes of the ostrich.
—A bill passed by the Connecticut
Legislature authorizes the Railroad
Commissioners, on petition from the lo
cal authorities and after investigation,
to prohibit the sounding of locomotive
whistles at such places as they may deem
[Iioutsville Home and Farm.]
Frank O. Herring, Esq, of the Champion
Safe Works, 231
and 252Broadway, New York,
reports the use of St. Jacobs Oil for a stiff
ness and soreness of the shoulder, with moat
pleasant and efficacious effects.
No kiss!" he said, p!eadinely "no kiss
from my darling to-night?" "No," she said
emphatically, no kiss, s hear there's
mumps In your family."
New York, April 30.1881.
i 12 «S
FLO U$—Good to Choiee
No. 'I Spring
BEEVES—Extra $# 10
Choice 5 75
Good 5 40
Butchers'Stock 3 50
Stock Cattle 8 40
FOGS—Live—Good to Choice 5 50
BHF.EP—Poor to Choice COO
Good to Choice Dairy.... 20
FLOCK—Winter 5 00
Spring 4 0)
Patents 7 U)
GRAIN-Wheat, No. 2 Spring 1 00:
Corn, No. 2 43'
Oats. No. 2. 35'/
Rye, No. 2 113V
Barley, No. 8 1 08
Red-Tipped Hurl 4!
Fine Green.... 8
PORK 17 40
Common Dressed Siding.. 18 50
Common Boards 12 00
Lath 8 25
Fair to Good 4 80
SHEEP—Best 5 60
SHEEP—Am to Choice.
[Freeport (111.) Bulletin.
There is now a substauce which is both pro
fessionally and popularly Indorsed and con
cerning which Mr. J. B. Ferschweiller, Butte
vllle, Oregon, writes: I have often read of
the many cures effected by St. Jacobs Oil and
was persuaded to try the remedy myself. 1
was a sufferer from rheumatism and experi
enced great pains, my lex being so swollen
that I could not more it. I procured St.
Jacobs Qil, used it freely and was cured.
Before marrixge she was dear and he was
her treasure but afterward she became
dearer and he treasurer, and yet they are not
Cared of Drinking.
"A young friend of mine was cured of an
Insatiable thirst for liquor, which had so
rostrated him that he was unable to do any
He was entirely cured by the use
of flop Bitters. It nllayed all that burning
thirst took away the appetite for liquor:
made his nerves steaJr, and he has remained
a sober and steady man for more than two
rears, and has no desire to return to bis cups
I know of a number of others that have been
cured of drinking by it."—From a leading
R. R. Official, Chicago, 111.—Time*.
It is said that the drinkinz water in Paris
is so very bad that if a spring of it were to be
discovered at one of the American summer
resorts, live hundred thousand persons wouUl
go there next summerfor the express purpose
of drinking it.—Norristuum Herald.
llenry's Carbolic Salve.
The Best Salve for Cuts, Bruises,Sores, Ul
cers, Salt Riieum, Tetter, Chapped Hands,
Chilblains, Coins and all kinds of Skin Erup
tions, Freckles and Pimples. Buy Hexky's
Cakboi.ic Salve, all others are counterfeit*.
Sr. Green** Oxygenated Bitten
Is the best remedy for Dyspepsia, Biliousness,
Malaria, Indigestion. dis'orJers and diseases of
the Stomach, Blood, Ki'.lneys. Liver, Skin, etc.
Dunso's Catakuh Sxuff cures all affec
tions of the mucous membrane of the head.
Dr. Mott's Livkr Pills are the best Veg
etable Cathartic Regulators.
Kot Bud to Take.
Fau can hardly tind a medicine which
is at the same time so effective and so pleas
ant as Piso's Cure for Consumption. For
•ale by all druggists at 25 cents and 1.00
speedy healing qualities. Price :25c.
I GREAT GERMAN
ir the Cure ot Coughs, Colas. Hoarseness, Aathins,
nchltls. Croup, Influenza, Whooping Cough, Ioclp
Consumptlon. Ac. Price only St cents a bottla-
IRS. LYDIA P1NKHAM, OF LYH, USS,
LYDIA E. PINKHAM'8
f»r all tkaae Palaflri Cnpliliti tsd TmIonm
hc«mi tssirtaslfattls pspslstlss.
It Kill cure entirely the worst form of Female Conk
plaints, all ovarian troubles, Inflammation and Uleera,
tlon. Falling and Displacements, and the eonseqveat
Bpinal Weakness, and is particularly adapted to the
Change of Life.
It will dissolve and egpcl tumors from the uterus In
an early stage of development. The tendency to can.
cerooa humors there la checked very speedily by its nse.
It removes falntness, flatulency, destroys all craving
for stimulants, and relieves weakness of the stomach.
It cures Bloating, Headaches, Nervous Prostration,
General Debility, Sleeplessness, Depression and Indi
That feeling of bearing down, causing pain, weight
and backache, Is
always permanently cured by Its use.
It will at all times
and under all circumstances act in
tannonv with the laws that govern the female syrtem.
For the cure of Kidney Complaints of either sex this
Compound is unsurpassed.
LYDIA S. mKHAVR TEDETABU CMC.
POUND is prepared at tn and US Western Avenue,
Lynn, Mass. Price |L Six bottles for |S. Sent by mail
in the form of pills, also in the form of lounges, on
receipt of price, ft per box for either. Mrs. Pink ham
freely answers all letter* of inquiry. Send for pamph
let. Address as abov*. Mention thi* Paper.
Wo family Shoald be without LYDIA E. PINXHAYB
LIVER FIUA They cure constipation, hilioasMM
sad tartUUj of the liver. SS cents per box.
W HJ I0RUSQN, PLUISEB, I CI.. CHICAGO 1IL
gOM IT DKUWIIT*.
Dederick's Hay Presses
Im either Liquid or Dry Form acta i
the Mune tine the diseases tf the
ILiver, Bowels ai Kidneys,
1 Thit combined acfion gives It wonderful
power to curt all diseases.
WHY ABE WE SICK?
Becaune w« allow the** great m-ngn* to be
come clojqetbnr torpiii,
and poisoimuc humors
are therefore forced into the blood UuU should
be expelled naturally.
BILIOUSNESS, PILES, CONsnPATION,
KIDNEY COMPLAINTS, FBIXABT
DISEASES, FEMALE WEAKNESS,
AND NERVOUS DISOBDERS,
I by causing free action qf these organs and
restoring their potter to throw off dUeaae.
Why Suffer Billons pains ami aches!
I Why tormented with Piles, Constipation! I
Why frightened over disordered Kidneys!
Why endure nervous or sick headache,!
Why have sleepless nights!
KIDNEY-WOttT and rejoice in health I
I lyitisputuplnDry Vegetable Form, in tin
IrTflMM one package of which make* six quarts I
"jgrAlio in Ll««MFor*,very tV»ee»itr«ted, I
EVfor the convenience of those that cannot!
GET IT OK TOUR DRUOGIST. PRICE, ftl.SO.
WELLS, RICHARDSON CO., Prop's,
(Will send the dry post-paid.) Brill.IXCTO*, 1
I ALL OTHER PUIS
No on earth equals
St. Jacobs Oil a safe,
but the comparatively trifling outlay of
one suffering with pain can have cheap and positive proof of
PJRECTIONS ih kleten lakucagm.
ALL IIUQQISTS AID DEALERS IN MEOICMI.
A. VOGELER ft CO.
V. 8. jIu
IRISH READINGS AS*
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Book for Threshermsn
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make settlement* wiiii customers.
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Wealth surpassing even that ol Colorado?
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say the Agricultural Commissioners of that section,
ur new hook. Diseases of
their Rdmedleav!s now arty. Indorsed by Surgeon*
General of TJ.
8. Army snd leading Veterinary Surgeons.
siinvm Send for dcnTii'tioni
AGENTS WANTED. &: ».
14 Canal Street, Chicago, Ilk
Over 1,000,000 Acres
of Choice Farming Landa
in the ,'ear West*
For sale by the
Iowa R. R. Land Co. I
dar Rapids, Iowa. wmw
Branch Office, 93 Randolph St., Chicago, Ills.
for Father?. Moth*
era. Widows, Chil
yet entitled. Pensions for any wouud or disease. Boun
ty yet due to thousands. Pensioners entitled to increase
Of Pension. New laws and decisions. Tline limited.
Apply at once. Address, wltB two stamps for Imws«
blankaand Instructions, X. W. FITZOKliAI.D, U. S.
Claim Attorney. Box (18, Washington, D. C.
for Circular. Also send ad
dress of S or more Book .Agents, and 10 cents for cost of
mailing.and receive The People's Magazine free 6 montha.
T. W. ZIXGLKftftOO., 180 X. Adam* 81.. Chicago, 111.
ACENT8 WANTED QUICK tosellthe
REVISED NEW TESTAMENT
Now ready for Agents, Most desirable edition.
priced. Millions are waiting for It. Grand harvett
for Agent*. Particulars free. Outfit fiOc. Act
Address HUBBAtU) BROS,. Chicago, IU.
UIIUIVll Br LESLIE E. KEKLEY, M. D.. Sur
geon 0. A. B. 8.. Dwight, 111. B»k" frtfc
I Aim Warrant* and Soldiers' Additional Homeatcad
Floats bought and sold. Hi?h at prlcc Mia.
H. W. Fltxmrald. Land Ati'r, Bo* 588. Washington. D. C.
th* world ana*
WASTIB for the Best and Fattest.
Sclllnsfletortal Books and Bibles. Prices nduced
V per cenu national Publishing Co...Chicago. 11L
PIICCirQ UTumiE imiiaie co. cirri,
DWviUlwO Territory ffiTen. CttslomlMi
A. N. K. 85
wjncjr WMMTMWO TO A rmmrnun,
jplrnae My yen mmm tit*
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