OCR Interpretation

Signal-Copiahan. (Hazlehurst, Copiah County, Miss.) 1885-1888, June 17, 1886, Image 4

Image and text provided by Mississippi Department of Archives and History

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn87065177/1886-06-17/ed-1/seq-4/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for

«Thr Signal Copiahan.
Published Every Tlntrwdny.
Yto discover a sprinkle of gray In your beard.
Aud a t Inn no** of crop where the upland Is
To no to how you take your slippers and
And bug to the Are when you get home from
tow n—
Ah. that's what It U to be forty.
And that your shadow ha* portlier grown.
That your voice ha* a practical, bus-nets like
Tbst your vision la trtoky, which oooe was so
And a hmt of a wrinkle Is coming to light—
Ab, that's what It Is to bo forty.
To And all the dreams of your boyhood dts
And that i.iu hare tolled vainly where others
That your fortune Is scanty where other s
That you're only worth pcnco where you
should be worth pounds—
Ah. that's what It Is to be forty.
A *lelgh ride, a party, a dance or a dlno;
>v hy, «>f course you'll be present, you never
But. aUm there'* no Invite; jrour'e not “young
folk*,'* you *ee.
You're no longer a poach, but a ormb-applo
Ah. that's what It Is to be forty.
A daughter that grows like a Illy, a queen.
And that bloom* like a rose la a garden of
A dapper y oung clerk In an ice-cream saloon.
Doth a dude and a dunce, is to carry off noon:
And a boy that ts ten. and the prldo of your
Is caught smoking vile cigarette* on the sly—
Ah. that's wbst It is to be forty.
At twenty i» man dream* of power and fame;
At thirty bl* tiro ha* a *obrnr ttame;
At forty hia dreamt and hie vi-lotit are o'er.
And he know*, uud ha feels, a* ho no ur did
That a man It a fool till he's forty.
Ah. we n* young and we're old. an«l we're
green and we're gray,
And the luw of our livlug !• change uud de
Come, tee the lone tpot In tho Valley of
Where your baby Ilea low In tho crudlo of
When no longer on earth ho It forty.
Curried Out in Both Muuly ami
Womanly Fashion.
••I'll go ami try my fortune with
Uncle Robert,” said Jack. “Bess and
Maria failed because he could not stand
girl* with such tiue ideas; but 1 won’t
trouble him that way. Tho old fellow
ia all right if one only stirs him up in
the right way.”
• My child.” said the geutle Mrs.
Raymond. “Ido not like to hear you
speak in that boyish, rude manner. 1
fear your uncle would have less pa
tience with you than witli your sister*.
No. ho does not intend to forgive me.
nnd we will make no further ad
“O, yes, we will, dearie!" and Jack's
curly hair buried itself in the mother’s
shoulder, ooaxlngly. “Do. do lot me
try to win the obstinato ohl—well!
then*, then—to win our honored rela
tive to a proper sense of his obligations
towards hi* ouly sister ajid her inter
e-ting family. IIow will that do, oh?
Now, marmio, don't shako your head
so; it's no use. Why did you give m<‘a
boy’s uumo and bring me up on top*
and marbles if you wanted me to bo a
real girl?”
“It was your father’s wish, you
know, dear. He was so grievously dis
appointed that ho had no son. Hut
Jacqueline is not a boy’s name,” and
Mrs. Raymond shook her head smiling*
ly at her wayward daughter.
“No, but Jack is; and I’m nover
called any thing else,” that young lady
replied, triumphantly, with au obsti
nate little shake of tho jetty t iris that
gave such piquancy to her bright face.
“If father were only here he would let
me try any thing that would take the
burden from off your shoulders; and
now that he is dead, uncle mu>t surely
forgive you for marrying against his
wishes. What right had ho to have
wishes, any how?”
“lie was my only living relative and
guardian,” answered Mrs. Raymond,
who was always ready to excuso her
brother’s harsh treatment
“Well, mother, do lot mo ‘go beard
the lion in his den, tho Douglas in his
ha’,’” sang Jack, gayly. “You know
we must do something, for wo can get
no work of any kind in this place,
though we've tried so faithfully.”
“Well, go. my dear, and I shall pray
for your success,” said the gentle moth
Mr. Robert Doran sat cowering be
side a dull, spiritless tiro one bright
spring morning. His room was dusty
and disordered, through its furnishing
was good, and oven luxurious, lie
looked moody and discontented, as if
the wealth that showed itself in the
handsome surroundings brought no
pleasure to its owner. Perhaps he was
thinking of the fair young sister who
hsd once made sunshine in the now
gloomy home, and wishing that his
pride would let him beg her to come
back, and care for him in his lonely,
dreary old age.
▲ tap at the door aroused him.
“Who is it?” ho demanded in sur
prise; for his servants never came un
The door opened slowly, and a
bright face peeped in.
“It's Jack Raymond, at your serv
tec, uncle,” and in the venturesome
girl walked, and stood before him.
She wore a long ulster, closely but
toned to the throat, where a standing
collar and neat black tie showed them
selves. while on the short, glossy curls
was a jauuty “Derby,” guiltless of
any trimming save the simple mascu
line band.
“Why, I didn’t know my aister had
a son!” exclaimed the old gentleman,
his wrinkled face showing something
very like satisfaction ss be looked at
tbo new-comer
“She hasn’t,’ said Jack, with danc
ing eyes, “but it Uq't my fault I do
my twat Vra awfully sorry I’m not a
boy, undo, if It would pleas* you; but
Just lot ins stay nwltilc, and you'll boo
what a first-class substitute l am,” re
moving her hat and bowing with easy
grace. “But, dear mo! llow dull it
is in here. Your lire wants a good
stirring up!" and seizing tho poker who
attacked tho ooals in tho grate with
an energy that seemed to imply she
would liko to treat him in the same
▲ bright blase followed her vigorous
action, dancing on tho walls, and
showing the bright hues of pictures
and furniture, despite the dust that
covered them; bringing a cheery look,
too, even to Mr. Doran’s prim face.
“There!” said Jack, giving a last
approving poke; “ that's better. Now,
if 1 just open this window and let in
the sunshine so (suiting the action to
the word), you’ll feel as bright aa a
spring morning.”
The girl was like a Mny-dtfb herself;
fluttering around the room a* if wafted
by invisible breezes; her bright face the
embodiment ot sunshine; and as the
lonely old man watched her light
lingers bringing order out of the turn
fusion that had reigned so long, a quiz
zical smile dawned on his face.
*• For a would-be boy. you seem to
know a good deal about snob things,"
he remarked, dryly.
“That’s the mother-part of me."
said Jack, as she “settled” tho chairs
and furniture with a touch that ouly u
woman has.
Then she came and sat down on a foot
stool be-ide him, and. claapiug her knee
with both hands, looked up with smil
ing audacity, saying:
“You’d better let mo stay awhile,
uncle; you’d be a great deal more com
fort able.”
I here was deep anxiety Doneatii
the merry exterior, for she knew well
how vital her mule’s favor was. Her
mother was too delicate, her sisters too
line ladies to work; ami the child (she
was m>t much more. In spite of her
seventeen years) felt as though the
burden of the family rested on her
shoulders. Her uncle was very wealthy,
ami if lie could only bo brought to for
give her mother, what happy days
tluy would see. Ho had sent once for
her two si-ters to spend a Week at
(•tenside, a step toward reconciliation
which her mother had hailed with
thankful Joy; but, before the week was
out, lie sent them Initii home, saying
lie couldn't stand their line airs; that,
since his sister had chosen to bring up
her family to such idle habits, he would
have nothing more to do with them.
The one longing of the old man’s heart
hud been for a -on to l»ear bis name.
That hope disappointed in the early
death of his wife, lie hud gradually
grown into the sidiisli, gloomy ilian
.lack found him this fair spring morn
Then* was something in her bright,
boyish face that fascinated him; and
now, with a warmth that surprised
himself, lie sal 1;
“Stay if you like, it,y child. It’s a
dull place within doors; but then* are
llowers ami sunshine outside.”
It was so iiiiit*h kinder than Jack
had dared hope that she eould have
cried for joy.
“Oh. you dear uncle,” she said; and
kiss«>d his wrinkled old face with an
honest henrtiness that he was quick to
"There, there,” he said, impatiently,
as if ashamed of tho unwonted soft
ne»s he had shown: “go and tell cook
that you’re going to stay, and that she
must give you a mom ami sec to your
meals. Ho not he afraid if she’s cross,”
he added, somewhat anxiously. “She
does not like trouble or work.”
“I won’t,” said Jack, as she ran olT.
Half an hour later she looked In tho
door again, saying;
“Coine to lunch, Uncle Robert. Yes
(as lie stare I at her in amazement), I
know cook always orougni you jiim
what she liked up here. I*ccau*c she
did not want you downstairs. There
has been a skirmish, but it's all
right now. Come for my sake, please.”
Mr. Doran drew his dressing-gown
more closely around him and followed
Jack down into the small breakfast
room, which -ho had chosen, because
it was much pleasanter than the great
oak-wainscoted dining-room. A most
tempting lunch was spread upon the
round table, and flowers were inter
mingled with the dishes in profusion.
It was pretty to see the air with which
she led her uncle to his place, then took
her own opposite him, almost forget
ting -in her eagerness to serve him—to
satisfy the demands of her own healthy
young appetite.
“Did cook do all this?" Mr. Doran
asked, with some curiosity.
“No," replied Jack, blushing. “She
wanted to take you up some smoky
soup, and because I said no she
wouldn't do any thing else, so 1 slid it
myself. Don't youlikn it all?” and she
looked anxiously at him.
“You are not like your sisters,” he
•aid, not replying to her question.
“O, no!” and Jack shook her head
somewhat dejectedly. “They an* very
accomplished—real young ladies, you
know, lhit then, I can cook, ami
sweep, and do things that they can't.”
“Hut I do not want a cook and a
house-maid,'* said Mr. Doran.
“I think you do,” laughed Jack. “If
you had only tasted the soup!”
“Child!” cried Mr. Doran, suddenly
catching at her hand. “I’m a disap
pointed. heart-broken old man. If you
could only love me a little—”
“I Jo. Uncle Robert; I do truly!”
said Jack. And she meant it; for her
warm heart had gone out at once to
the lonely old man; and she comforted
him now, in the best way she knew,
with loving words that, skeptic as he
was. he felt were honest and true.
“I fear master be a goin’ to die; he
wor never so gentle afore." said cook,
a week later, who. under Jack's skill
ful handling, was herself so gentle as
to warrant forebodings of sudden d*
Jtiat very night Mr. Doran wu
taken suddenly HI. Jack hoard hl«
groans, and hastening to his ass'stanoo,
found Idni suffering Intensely.
“You must go for tho doctor, cook;
there's no one else to go,” said .lack.
“’Deed I’ll not.” replied cook, de
cisively; "he’ll been none so good a
master to me that 1 should risk myself
tu the dark for him.”
“Then watch him while I go,” im
plored Jack. “Do not leave him, or
he'll die.”
She had been down to the village
once, on an errand for her uncle, and
knew she could tind her way; hut it
was so ditVerent now, at night. Itrave
Jack for going! How her heart flut
tered, and her limbs shivered with fear
as she hastened on through tile star
light. The way seemed interminable,
lint lit last the few lights which
yet hunted in the village shone out
close at hand, nod one part of tier
Journey was over. I’liestiey was one
of those unfortunate villages with
houses so painfully similar tlint a
stranger might well wonder how each
inhabitant knew Ills own home. Little
wonder, then, that Jack, after much
uncertain pausing Indore various doors,
should at last decide upon the wrong
one. She rapped gently, then listened.
A footfall sounded on the pavement,
n hiiml was on tho gate, mid—yes —
the steps were coming towards her,
swiftly, certainly. Site drew herself
close to the side of tho porch, allltosl
fainting with terror, when a hand out
stretched touched her arm, and u voice
“Who are you? Speak! Who come*
so late to uty door?’’
(lathering her courage with one last
effort. Jack faintly replied:
*•1 want l)r. Kohldii*. My I’nele
Doran is very ill, at (ilcnsidc.”
••And have you come alone ‘from
(ilcnsidc, poor child?” the voice in
“Yes, sir,” she said, impatiently.
“Hut arc you the doctor? Will you
I hurry? I'nelo may he dying now. 1
have been so long in coming.”
The poor girl had hurried till she was
almost exhausted, and stood leaning,
breathless aud panting, against the
••The doctor lives two houses beyond.
Shall 1 go with you and call him?”
Hut then* was no response, for poor
Jack, who had never in her life done
! any thing so womani-h, had fainted
! quietly away. She was only dimly
conscious of being lifted in strong arm-,
that hold her close, and of being rap
' idly driven over a rough mad; and at
last of timling herself lying on lierown
t bed at (ilcusidc, with a gray-haired
1 gentleman bending over her. She
started lip, pale and anxious.
“How is uncle?” she cried. “1
must go to him.”
“No. no, child; lie still; he Is bet
ter,” the doctor said.
“Well, then, toll me all about it.
Win* was it, and how did I g t hone?”
The doctor knew what sin* meant
••You were at tint minister’s floor,
and he (coining home from visiting a
sick parishioner) carried you, when you
fainted, to my house; and l drove you
both over here. Now drink this; then,
if you feel able, you may go to your
uncle; lie wishes to see you."
Jack obediently swallowed the
strengthening potion; then -mouthed
out the tangled curls with her hands,
and. without stopping to look ill her
mirror, hastened to her uncle’s room,
lie was not alone, for by his bedside
sat a grave, pleasant-faced young gen
tleman. who looked at her with kind
ly, .smiling eyes. She gave him but a
hasty glance, for her uncle's hand was
outstretched to her, ami she ran to
take it.
“And this is th • brave girl who went
two miles through the dark night to
bring help to her cross old uncle?” hu
said. “I know all alioiit it, dear. I
would have died if tin* doctor ha.l not
come so soon. You saved me. What
reward can I give you, dear child? ’
•• Forgive my mother,” whispered
Jack, softly.
Mr. Doran s lace iingnieneu.
•*l was sure you would -ay tbatP"
In* cried. ••Jack, dear, I have forgiven
her already; and a- soon as it Is morn
ing the nilnit-t-r lien* I- going for her.
Do you think she will forgive me, and
come? Site must come, and stay; fot
I can never let you go, Jack dear,
hrave Jack! You have t ;;'s: tn • v
lesson.” And lie drew the blushing,
happy fare down, and kissed it with all
a father’s tenderness.
There were tears hi the bright eyes
when -lie looked lip For the second
time within a few hours Jack forgot
her manliness, and was crying. But
the tears and the blushes gave a soft
ness and charm to her fac» tint made
it wonderfully attractive to Malcolm
Boyd, the young minister; and she
looked so sweet and lovable and
womanly that he felt an almost irn
si-tilde inclination to take her to his
••She will be a woman worth the
having,” he thought; and then and
there resolved to win her for his own.
Jack had meant to make some
pretty speech to the minister, to thank
him for helping her; but she only re
niembered now how she had felt hh
arras around her in the starlight, and
blushing, she hung hor head in silence.
That was two months ago. She sniilei
now when she thinks of it; for she if
no longer shy with the minister. Cac
you guess whyP Mr. Doran is build
ing a beautiful little parsonage close
by the village church, and Humor sayi
that, when it is completed. Jack will
go there as the minister’s bride. Per
haps it is so; for she is growing s<
quiet and womanly that her bappj
mother (who is renewing her owr
youth in beautiful Glcnside) says thaf
God has doubly blessed Jack's venture
—.V. Y. Lrdgtr.
—The Lick Observatory at 8ar
Francisco has ordered a set of in^trv
naents for automatically regisUru»|
earthquake shook*.
A. Wlnrun*ln »'Hriiier,« M»W|»I*»
(Jarfill I'uMlrlvMiM'r.
Who will lie tlio llrst lo bulkl Unit
light, 0111*1111, portable fence. wbirli
farmers linvo boon looking for
many years? Mirny patents linvo boi,u
taken out to prntuct tin* Inventors of
this kind of fence. As far as I know,
these patents were all unueeess iry, fur
no farmer would ever build one of those
patent fences, unless some smooth
tongued ngent talked him out of his
senses. One idea runs through the
heads of all these inventors, however
much they may differ In regard to de
tails—then* must be no post or stake
driven into the ground. They throw
out of the account labor, lumber and
distance. I have seen a cut of a pat nt
fence that would weigh live hundred
pounds to the rod. and take a Ilian half
a day to luiild it, and tli -n it was built
tigzag In order to make it stand with
out posts in the ground, thus greatly
increasing the distance. 1 hey gain oil
one point, hilt lose on three.
Last spring I had forty rods of fence
to build on rented land, 'lo build a
permanent fence was unnecessary. »s I
would want to remove it at the expira
tion of my lease. To pattern after any
fence 1 had ever seen or heard of was
o<|tial!y absurd. At first I fell into tho
old error of building with braces. This
I found would reipiirc too much labor,
and it could not be loaded on a sled or
wagon without taking apart. I hit
upon a plan that suited me. I built
two rod* ami was di*gii'ted with it.
Finally I bought board* 1<» feet long
ami 0 inches wide, and *Jx I scant
lings lg feet long. The scant
lin"* were sawed ill the middle, shar|»
. ... . . .i.i..
nini iimi umni imw im- .^
10 feel apart. Four boards were nailed to
cleats with steel nails and these wcra
clinched. Three cleats arc siillicicnt
for one panel. Those at the end should
be long enough to rest on the ground
when the lower board is about six
Inches above. Then I fastened the
panels to the scantlings withasinglu
holt. If the stakes are driven so that
the panels lap four inches, the holt
will go through both. In winter these
1 mils may be taken out and the fence
carried on a sled wherever it mat he
wanted. This fence requires les. labor
'hail All) other kind 1 ever built. It ill
a windy place stakes may In* driven in
the middle ami fastened together with
, wire.
While not perfect, stteh a fence is
very convenient to move a great dis*
t a lire once in two or three years, lo
move a few rods every day, 1 use a
small pen with two wheels, -ter.
. Country Uaitlcnuin.
Why Fitrimts ('mi Not .\ITiinl I•» Italso
1'imr I.It •••Muck.
Stock-raising and farming are tho
same in a certain sense. No farmer
can keep stock unless he grows grain
and grass, and no Inrm can he kept to
n standard of fertility unless contain
ing stock. K\cry farmer aims to im
prove his farm with his stock, and en
deavors to secure the greatest Jidda
possible per acre, using the latest im
proved methods for that purpose.
All farmers are quick in pointing out
the mistakes of their neighbors and as
sisting them to avoid such 111 future.
Hut in stock-raising the conditions
seem to be changed. The farmer who
spends time and labor to secure a largo
crop of wheat or corn, resorting to tho
best seed and the most available ma
chinery. allows Ids crops to be wasted
by inferior stock. We use the term
wasted lor the reason that any portion
of tin* food consumed that does not
contribute to the production of aotnu
other article is wasted. True, it is in
the manure, hut a waste of time re
sults, as tin* henetit from the manure
can only he gained later.
The importance of the stock being
of the best can not he too strongly
urged. Labor, shelter, time and mon
ey are factors in stock-raising, and the
better the stock the cheaper the cost.
There is no necessity for using ten
UUSIICIS 01 leou wnere live ousnci* win
accomplish the same results, to say
nothing of the fuel that the expense
of HautUing tho smaller quantity is also
lessened. How is tills saving to he ef
fected, may bo usked. It is simply Jo
such stock as will digest and assimilate
the greatest nnmuut of food in tho
shortest timo. Wo do not mean tlio
aniuial that eats tho largest quantity,
but the one that digests the food and
converts R Into a more salable product.
Can the farmer regulate tho matter?
lie can by using those breeds adapted
to the objects desired by him. As he
is careful to grow wheat on soil best
adapted for such a crop, so should ho
use care in the use of stock designed
for special purposes.
All breeds have their characteristics
and merits. They are ditloreut in
many respects. Though some of them
are unprolitnblo when used for other
purposes than those for which they aro
intended, yet their places can not be
tilled In some other respects. As differ
the crops so do the animals, and tho
farmer should govern his management
accordingly.—National Stockman.
Grasses for Rotation.
Tho professor of botany and liortl
sulturc in tho Agriculture College of
Colorado, in his experiments on grass
es. found tho earliest cultivated grasses
to vegetate in that vicinity last year to
be meadow foxtail. English rye, tall
oats, alfalfa and orchard grass. These
grasses afforded excellent feed thcro
early in May, and were followed by
meadow fescue, blue grass, red top
and timothy, in regular order, so that
with tho five clovers animals wore pre
sented with a succession of food-pianti
throughout tho season. Tho five clov
ers are mammoth and medium red
olorer, alfalfa, alsiko and white olover.
—Chicago Tribune.
—Any breed is better than no brood
for the good farmer, and no breed is
better than any breed for the poor
| tarmef.—Montreal Witntu*
—Tlio practice of pegging down
svcr-blooming roses ho that they will
cover completely the Hiirfuco of the
bed Is known to produce very ploasunt
results. It is said Unit pegging down
dahlias proves quite satisfactory.—N.
y. rout.
—Prof. J. W. Sanborn, of tlio Mis
souri Agricultural College, haa boon
experimenting with prickly oomfroy aa
a forage plant, and whllo ho finds It
making a good growth from cuttings,
lie has boon unable to induce oows to
I eat it.
j _True economy in farm matters li
wise use of resources, with care to pre
vent waste. The word signifies some
thing more than saving, for there is
economy in dispensing the proceeds of
I labor as well as in husbanding.—/«
itiaiiii/tolis Sentinel.
- Nearly every thing that a farmer
must buy is low, and this operates as
Bn offset to low prices of farm product*.
(bn id courage and faithful luhor, skill
fully directed, will effect ft cure of all
, the ills that now depress and discour
i age farmers. —Exrhuiuje.
—No pruning at all is safer to prac
tice than the putting a sharp knife iuto
the hands of an ignoramus. It re
quires -.kill and kn iwlcdgu of varieties
mid their peculiarities, which few pos
sess, to prune apple and pear tree.*
properly. What would he good treat*
; merit for one variety would ho rulnouj
to others. - .V. E. J’anncr.
One thousand pounds of dry corn
coli* will hum down to four and a half
pounds of a*h, and of this two and a half
pounds will Ire pure potash. The fact
j that cows often like corn-cobs may bo
Illlc to (ill1 |M»U!*il (III j i uiiuiiiif mm
wliirli mny sene t<* correct disordered
digestion, Corn-cobs also contain about
two pounds of nitrogen to one thousand
of dry ooh«, but this is, of course, lost
by burning.—A'.}'. 1 Ur aid.
The air permeates all soils union
tilled with stagnant water. If there if
motion in the water through tho sol',
it is evidence that some air is present
even there. All soils excepting puru
muimI absorb and retain ferlili/.ingprop
erties from the atmosphere, though
heavy ami loamy soils do this most.
Winn the country was new it was
noticed that fever and ague developed
from malaria was worst on sandy
soils, though these were generally dry,
and the malaria itself was most apt to
originate on low, wet lauds, where
there is an abundance of decaying veg
etation.—A*. F. Time*.
■ ^ »
A I.lttl® Snallilr riill.*s<>|ihr with a Ml. !
Ilf ( lifiulsiry Thrown In.
This subject contains nn epic poem,
for, upon the cooking in our families,
depends in a large measure the men
tal and physical health of its members.
With poor cooking comes poor diges
tion. followed sooner or later by dys.
pepsia, with its attendant train of |
evils, in the sad dy-pcptic we often,
see tho ultimate result of poor cooking;
sometimes one or two generations re
mote, but nevertheless true. As Amer
icans even as New Kngland people—
We are a race of dyspeptics, an! if this
means one-half the present population
have disordered digestion, the fact is
self-evident that tho generation next
to follow must be two-tliirds, or even
more dyspeptics. From the present
out-look it would seem our Nation may
soon lie described as “blue, bluer,
The questiou that now arises is, from
win uce is the saving power to come?
Hardly from the physician, for his
skill and power are but limited to stay
the growing evil, hroin whom then
shall wo expect salvation? 1 answer
from the daughters of our land. When
they shall bring their line brain of quick
Intelligence into tho work of healthful
cooking, a decade of years will not
have passed before a change for the
1 better will be noticed. With many it
is “not a iittle wine for thy stomach's
sake,” but, “eat whatever is set before
thee, asking no questions for con*
science s sake. *>ow wnon a young
l:idv—when every young lady—shall
take along with her studies physiology
Mini soienlitio cooking, when slio stud
ies these understanding!}’ and prac
tically, will nut questions sometimes
be asked, and will they not be con
science questions for humanity’s sake?
1 would censure no one, but am
moved to speak with earnestness upon
this subject. When a young lady
leaves school with a definite life-pur- j
pose or not, in nine eases out of ten, if
one-half the time and thought were
given to healthful cooking that is now
given to fancy work in all its multi
tudinous varieties, the human race
would doubtless lie greatly benefited
thereby. “But,” I hear some impul
sive miss exclaim, “1 An re tried and
tried and can not get good bread; the
witches are in my sponge;” and in
deed it may seem thus to you; but in
vestigate a little—find out the secret
place wherein the “witch” abideth.
If you are persevering, never fenr; in
the light of this nineteenth century you
will exorcise the evil genius. Haro
you not learned in your philosophy
and chemistry that thero is uo effect
without a cause? Find out tho cause of
a hundred at present mysteries to you
concerning domestic cookery and ob
serve tho effect.
If the same blunder is made in a loaf
of bread twenty-five times, will not
native common sense load one to seek
the cause and avoid it tho twenty-sixth?
Most surely.
But little faith is to bo placod in the
assertion that some people havo a
“knack” for cooking. If so it has
been asquired by years of practice and
observation. I am no enthusiast upon
the quostion. but since the daughters
must soon glide into the piaco of the
mothers and follow in this round of
I duties, how important, bow essential
' this underlying stratum of tho family
j happiness—good, healthful cooking—
be well understood. — !,. Eugent Eb
dndge, in Good HouitUeping,
Drugs, Patent Medicines, Paints,
Stationery, Tobacco, Cigars, Toilet Articles, Notions and Sundries.
I’roMTlidioii.t hi..I family rcw ripti yomp<.iuuded with the greatest care and at ell houra
of the night.
Kazletmrst, ■ Miss.
Lower Story Masonic Hall,
Croccries, and Receiving a Full Line of Staple and Fancy
Coods, Clothing, Boots, Shoes, Hats, Domestic, Cal*
ico, Hosiery, Handkerchiefs, Lace, Trimmings,
Canned Coods, Hardware,
And everything iimihIIv kept in a first .Ha** itur*. Call and axniuln* our stock and
,prior*. We will not lie under* dd.
Steam Pipes anil Fitting, Thread Pipes,
Farm and Machine Blachsmithing.
A !n’l Lino of Drv Grrod* and Groceries. Moot'*. Shoo*. lint* ami Cap*. Boya’
Youth*’ i»ml Gent*' Cloth in". UN Mock of l.ndie*’ Drc** Good* i* of
tho Very Latest Myles. and Prloo-n »re a-* Low a* the Lowest.
Ho ;.* now prepared to furnish
I’lANCQ, <0X%.0-^\.2NTS, VIOLINS
An I oilier M'udcal In*tiuui«ut* at Low Figure*.
Gonoral Farm Work
shop on Tront Street, - East Side of Railroad.
Dry Goods, Fancy Goods, Hats, Boots Shoes and Hard
ware. Highest Price Paid for Country Produce
of All Kinds.
ECaziloUnrert, Mississippi,
Chemicals, Druggists’ Sundries, Stationery, Etc.
ET rreacriptlon* * Specialty. Ordara from Country Merchant. BollclUd.
SaBlenurst, - a&lmm.
Saddlery, Harness, Whips and Cellars.
Baggies, Hacks, Phaetons, Milborn Wagons, Etc.
nr AM Kind* of Rtpalrlnt D n** on H»ort Notice at ReafonaMa friqn

xml | txt