Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 June 1891 — Page 5

CHUB.

A Romance of West Virgiuk

BY DAVID LOWRY.

CHAPTER XtX. A STARTLING CHARGE. All who had heard of the missing bridegroom were anxious to see Dan Bash. People came to the Corners from all quarters to see the man who was held captive by the counterfeiters. They would talk to Eli Potts or his wife; if they were so fortunate as to be on speaking terms with Hank Dawson they made no delay, but rode up to his door, dismounted, entered the house, and congratulated the man who was well out of the “clutches of that gang.” Chub Dawson, now for the first time known throughout the State as Miss Belle Dawson, as the newspaper correspondents described her, was invariably sought out, complimented highly, admired, and wearied with hand-shaking. “Such ■ a fuss about nothing,” said Chub one day, as she sat down beside her father. “Well, yes—just what I was thinking myself.” His daughter looked at him in surprise. “Pve ‘bout made up my mind, as we’ve found Dan here, that the weddiu’ may as well go on now I’m tired seeiu’ so many folks hitchin’ up liyar, ’u never a one wanting a shoe for their horse. I’m getting out of practice. If they ve made up their miuds'to call —well, let us give ’em all a good excuse. I guess we may as well send out word to the folks to morrow. I can’t stand three days more of this crowd. Let ’em all come together, or else spread themselves along more over the year. ” There was a quizzical smile on his faee as Hank Dawson said this. Dan Bash did not speak. Chub wason the point of replying, but her father put out a hand.

“See here, Chub. I reckon I’ll manage this time. You go to work and nurse Dan up to his old color. That arm o’ his ain’t any too comfortable — but them doctors isn’t to blame. It’s coming on right well considering they had to set it up that way. It won’t be in the road of the dancers. And he doesn’t dance with his arm anyhow.” “No,” said Dan. “And I’m not likely to dance much with my feet for a few days. ” “Well, I’m iu dead airnest, Chub. Let’s get through with all this fussin’. If we’ll just give the word out that all them that was invited beiore are invited again, I reckon that’ll be about all that’s necessary. ” “Oh, no, dad,” said Chub. “What else is there?” “You’ll have to send and have just the same things you got before for the supper—and the music. ” “To be sure—to be sure. ” “And that will require time to give them notice, and to get the things here.” “I am reckoning all that, too,’’said her father. “I d like to have the Monks in prison," said Chub “They’re in jai,. That’s good enough, ain’t it? They’re not likely to bother any one for a spell, I reckon. Leastways, I ain’t afeard of them catching hold of Dan again soou. ” As Hank was in earnest, no more was said. There was really no objection to his project. The interrupted we lding, the lovers .agreed, should De celebrated at the earliest day possible. An objection was made however from an unexpected quarter. A maueame up the road slowly at that moment, dismounted JeJsurly and approached the house. /*- “It’s Tom Walker, the sheriff,” said Hank Dawson. “What’s he after now, I’d like to know. ” The sheriff approached the group on the porch, and was cordially welcomed by the blacksmith. “Mighty tine weather, Mr. WalkerHave you lead y cwar supper?” “Thanks, yes.” The sheriff looked at Dan Bash and Chub curiously. He made a sign to the blacksmith, which Hank Dawson did not compreheud on the instant. “How’s the eounlerleiting gang, sheriff. All in the same row of cells? If they are, they’ll get out. ’Taint safe to trust that crowd, sheriff.” “We ain’t trusting them, Mr. Dawson. ” He made another sign, which Hank Dawsou understood. But it did not suit his notions. He was resolved the sheriff should say what he had to say, then and there. “Well sheriff, if you've got any particular business with me—speak out. There's nobody but ourselres here. My daughter, and Dan Bash,/my son-in-law that’s goin’ to be as soon as we can arrange to have the wedding, just as it was before that gang and bad luck interfered. ” The sheriff cleared his throat “It’s rather a delicate matter I’ve come on.” “Eh? Well, now, that’s unexpected. But let’s have it, Sheriff. We can stand it if you can, I reckon ” “Why, the fact is, the Monks —Ned, Bill, and Pete, and Dick Treddle—all of them make a serious charge against Mr. Bash. ”

“Against Dan Bash?” Hank wasn't quite sure who was meant. “You see, there's another Bash The man who came here to catch the gang cal s himself Basil.” “They skid Dan, the school-teacher. ” Chub looked at the Sheriff wonderingly. She listened like one in a dream. Was it possible anything would come between her and her lover now? What did the Sheriff mean? “Well, what do the Monks say? Mind, before you answer, Mr. Walker, I wouldn’t believe all the Monks and the Treddies back to four generations if they could bring them out of their graves—no; not. if four generations of that gang could get on a stack of Bibles and swear to it, I’d not mind it more’n the wind blowing. ” “That’s just my way of looking at it, Hank,” said the Sheriff. “But I’ve sworn to do my duty.” “In course. Well, go on." “Why, they’ve pintedly said Dan Bash is in the same line they arc in." “What’s that. Sheriff?” It was Chub’s voice. She had risen from her seat on the ;»d of the porch, and was now standing

with her hand on Dan Bash's shoulder. She looked to the 'Sheriff like some one guarding him. “Yes—l want to know," said Hank Dawson. “Them’s strange words ” “If I must put it plainer, they swear or allege he deals in the queer himself. ” “Deals in the queer! Queer! What’s queer, Sheriff Walker?” “Counterfeit money.” The blacksmith laughed derisively. “Sho! Humbug. You know it’s humbug, Sheriff.” “I don’t believe a word of it.” “I knew it. ” “But that isn’t all.” “Eh?” Hank Dawson looked half angry. “Well, what else?” “They do say,” here the Sheriff hitched his chair uneasily, “that they can prove it. And to begin with, they say his name isn’t Bash at all. His real name is something else.” “Humbug again Sheriff. Humbug. You don’t believe it?” “No.” “Of course not.” “Dan Bash, who was looking calmly at the Sheriff all the while, now turned and looked up at Chub. “Would it make any difference to you whether my name is Bash, Brown or Buff?” “Not the least. ” “It might to others,” said the Sheriff. “I’ll own up it might make a heap o’ difference in this case,” said Hank, carelessly. “The looks of the thing, under the circumstances, might make people think maybe the Monks wasn’t altogether wrong. ’Tain’t usual for a man to change his name.” “Of coure they are wrong, ” said the Sheriff. “But why they are such fools as to pretend to be able to prove your name isn’t Dan Bash, but altogether another name, which they will reveal at the right time —that’s what puzzles me, unless it’s to gain time and help put in time. They’ve sent me here on a fool’s errand, of course, but duty’s duty, Hank. ” “Of course—of coarse,” said Hank Dawson.

“You can prove your name is Dan Bash very easily, I suppose—can bring those who will identify you, Mr. Bash, very soon. ” There was a lengthy silence. Hank Dawson stared silently at his daughter’s affianced. Chub Dawson’s Ups were parted. Her eyes seemed to read her lover’s soul. At last her lover turned to the Sheriff and said slowly: “Wei!, suppose my name is not Bash—what then?” “Oh, why,” the Sheriff said awkwardly, “why, I don’t know as it won d prove anything, or go for much when the facts are all known ” “Well, then, my name is not Bash, Mr. Walker.” “Not Bash!” “Not Bash—not Bash!” exclaimed Chub, as she caught her hands, interlacing the fingers, “You don’t mean it, Dan!” “But Ido mean it,” said Dan, deliberately. “Then I’m sorry,” said the Sheriff, “for my instructions were to bring you with me, and now ■” “Stop, Sheriff !” Hank Dawson Walked slowly opposite his daughter's lover, then he bent down and gazed steadily in his face. “Let me hear that again. Is your name Bash or not?” The lover’s countenance was equally solemn, his manner grave, as he replied, slowly: “It is not” “That's all, Sheriff. For God’s sake, take him now—now! I can’t bear to see him, for he was like my own sou! He was—he was —Sheriff. ” And Hank Dawson bowed his head between his hands. Chub stood spellbound several minutes. Then she rushed on her lover, caught his sound arm convulsively, and said: “There’s some dreadful mistake. I believe in you. I'll die if you am not all I think you are! Say you are what we think you are—O! Dan! Dan! Speak to father!” The Slieriff turned aside and made some suspicious movements, like a man who was wiping his eyes. But the (blacksmith’s head was still bowed in humility. CHAPTER XX. AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. Dan Bash—or the man who had been known as Dan Bash—looked at Hank Dawson strangely. He seemed to be revolving something in his inind. Then he said, very deliberately: “Sheriff, I am ready to go with you!” “Dan! Dan!” Chub looked at him appealingly. “But before I go,” said Dan, quietly, “let me take you into my confidence ” “I don’t want you to tell me anything. I don’t want to know nothing about this miserable business.” said the Sheriff. “I’d rather than fifty dollars! I would, plum sock out of my pocket, than see a young fellow as handsome and as smart and with such ways as yours ” “Well?” said Dan, looking at him soberly. “Get mixed up with these blamed counterfeiters. Don’t you tell me nothing. If they prove it on you, they shan’t do it by me—no, sir. That ain’t Tom Walker’s style. I’ll execute the law, but blamed if I’ll furnish the proof!” “I like to hear you say so, Mr. Walker. But what I was going to say is just th£ opposite of what you imagine. ” Hank Dawson lifted his head at that. “The very opposite. To begin with—my name is a very good name. It is Ross. My people are very respectable people. My father is as well known as any man n the State. And he is very well known in other States, too. And in Washington. ” A peculiar smile played around his mouth now as he glanced at Hank Dawson.

“Your name may be Ross, and your folks hrst-class, but you was going to marry my daughter as Dan Bash. How do you make that gee with respectability?” Hank spoke sorrowfully. He could not speak harshly to the.young man. “I had not the least intention to marry your daughter under the name of Dan Hash. ” “No?* The Sheriff stared at him. “It never once entered my mind.” “No?” Hank Dawson began to arouse himself now. He shook his shoulders, straightened out his arms, brought his hands together again, and looking from one to the other said, slowly: “This is getting too much mixed up for me.” “P'raps you'll make it clearer for us all,” said the Sheriff, politely. “In good time. I intended reserving a surprise until the minister was ready

to marry ns. Had I been permitted to reach the house in time I would have said to all the company what I am now going to say to you. I am not Dan Bash. That name was assumed—it is the name of another, who is indebted largely to my father for his position in the world. And It was assumed with the knowledge and consent of the real Dan Bash—the detectiva” “I knew you were true, Dan ” Chub stole to his side and put her hand on his sound arm. “I would havo told the company that my father represented his district In Congress four terms in succession. That he has represented tho nation abroad. That he is abroad now. ” “What!” exclaimed the Sheriff. “You don’t tell me you are a son of the Hon. Dan Ross, do you?” “I am.” “What!” Hank Dawson peered in Ross’ face eagerly. “You a son of Dan Ross!” “Is there auything wonderful in that—or strange or startling?” “Well, but coming up hero in the mountains—leaving all your fine folks behind you—starting out for a school! Blamed if it ain’t too much for me to gra«p just at once. Give me a little time,” said Hank Dawson, in a dazed way. “I don’t ask time. I know all about it, I think. ” Chub nestled closer to his side. “My name is Dan, too. People who know me call me Dan Ross junior. ” “This beats all. It’s more wonderful than a play—like the novels one hears about,” said Tom Walker. “My reason for coming here under an assumed name was to avoid friends, who would, perhaps, follow me. They have a habit of hunting me up. They pop down on me in unexpected places. I had another reason, too —a powerful reason. A lady friend —the most inveterate matchmaker in the State —has resolved I shall marry some one of her young lady friends.” He might have added, one niece in particular was designed for him; but his gallantry and sense of propriety would not permit Dan Ross to hint so much even to his affianced. “I was desperate. I know stranger things have happened than marriages brought about simply to secure wagers. Finally, I was on my mettle for another reason. I argued—still hold —that a young man may go out in the world in this country without a friend, without money, and by honesty, earnestness and ability win his way first, providing he has no bad luck, such as sickness or other misfortunes ” “By George!” sa d the Sheriff. “And you undertook to prove it?” “I have proved it, haven’t I, Mr. Dawson?” “Hang your mister! Call mo Hank. Proved it! Well, I reckon rather—rather. “The gang must have found out your real name some way,” said Chub. “No! They do not suspect who I am. I was too quick for that. I tell you what they did find. When I resolved to adopt the name of Bash I wrote a memorandum stating my name was not Bash. That in case anything happened to me any person addressing John Anderson — an uncle, by the way—at such a place, giving a description of my effects, and certain things in my possession, and on my person, would find out who and what 1 was.” “That was right sensible, too,” said Hank.

“Yes; and now I begin to see through the whole thing, Mr. Dawson, ” said tho Sheriff. “The gang jumped to the conclusion Mr. Ross was ashamed of something—had done something he had to run forchanged his name, and was just the chicken they were looking for to help fling dust in tfte commonwealth’s eyes when the trial comes on.” “I see—l see it now just as plain as you do, Sheriff,” said Hank, eagerly. Than grasping Dan’s hand Hank said, with deep emotion: “Don’t mind a durned old fool like me a mite—l didn’t b’lieve it! I couldn t b’lieve it; but it kinda’ obfusted me —twisted me all up, when you said you wasn’t Bash. Chub! Chub! He’s worth a million common men! He is. Chub!” “Darned if I don’t thinK you are right, Mr. Dawson,” said Tom Walker. “But now, as sheriff of Pine County, I’m in a blessed predicament here, ain’t I?” “Why? It’s all clear now, ” said Han k Dawson. “You forget. I’m expected to arrest Mr. Ross as a confederate, or a dealer in the queer. Which is a mighty queer thing to do, if you’ll allow me to make a pun on this occasion.” “No! On the contrary,” said Chub, quickly: “it is the very best thing that could have happened. ” Whereupon tlisy all looked at Chub- “ Explain, Miss Dawson,” said the sheriff. “Yes, Chub, out with it I want to know, ” said her father. “I dare say Chub is perfecting a plan that will ‘promote the ends of justice, ’ as the newspaDers say, and land the Monks and all their associates in the penitentiary. ” And Dan Ross looked at her proudly. “Well, then, listen.” said Chub. |TO BE CONTINUED. |

A Boy’s Essay on Girls.

Girls is grate on making believe. She will make believe adoll is a live baby. She will make believe she is orful sweet on another girl or a feller if they come to see her, a'id when they are gone she will say, “Horrid old thing!” If you do what a girl tells you she says your horrid. I drather be horrid than be soft. If you do what a girl tells you you will d# all sorts of foolish things. Girls can be good in school every day if they feel like it. I shud think they would git tired, and have to do sumthing .wonse in a while; I know a feller does. Girls say fellers act orfull, but when a girl gets a-going it, she acts order than any feller durst. They don’t care ror nuthing. If a|girl wants a feller to carry her books home, she ain’t satisfied unless she gits the same feller the other girls want whether she likes him or not Girls is great on having secrets—l mean, telling secrets. They make a secret out of nothing at all, and tell it around to all the girls, orful quiet, just as if it was sumthing dredful. I bleeve a girl likes to make b.eeve they are doing sumthing dredful. Girls always gits their joggerfy lessons better than a feller; fjut if they are going anywhere, they don’t know their way a bit and they are sure to get lost. If a girl don’t feel like doing a thing, you can’t make her, no matter whether she had orterornot If she wou’t she won’t, and she will git out of it somehow. That is all I kiiow about girls this time.—Home ueen.

FOR OUR RURAL FRIENDS

A CHOICE SELECTION OF USEFUL READING. Plowing and Subaolllng Fending tlie Weight of Live Stock— Churning and Salting Butter—How to Feed Light Brahman for Eggs- Egg Condlineut—Kent—lt Is Said—Notes. THE FARM. Plowing and Subeotllng.

PLOW deep each season and subsoil plow every fourth or fifth season to thedepth of twenV ty inches or two \ feet, to breuk up \ and loosen the V soil, making it L#J capable of ab--1 sorbing the rains l i and melting |snows, storing K 512 the moisture deep Tpr down in the earth, "> to be brought up by the capillary B|C action of the soil, .wC to be used by plants as needed, Ja writes E. is. Tea-

garden, of Boone, lowa, to tho Farm, Field and Stoclanan. Instead of vainly wishing and waiting for rains while tho crop is perishing for want of moisture, let there be a due preparation to take caro of tho moisture when it comes down in rains or snows by deep pipwing and occasional subsoiling, that it may bo stored deep down in the earth for future use when needed by plants, so preventing its evaporation before it can be used by the growing eiop. To “till the ground”—not merely scratching two or three Inches of the thin surface—is the single simple requirement of nature’s laws. When this is properly done all the sources of supply of plant food and moisture, in tho surface soil and deep down in earth, and in that “great reservoirof fertility,” the air, can be utilized for tho promotion of tho growth of plants and the yields of all farm crops. There need be and will be no “depletion” of soil, but a constant increase and improvement in fertility and yields, and in this way only can the demands of advancing populations be supplied with tho various productions of the earth which go tolsustain human existence. \ Deep culture of .tho soil allows an excess of moisture to pass away from tho roots of plants and prevents injury in a wet “spell” of weather, and in a dry time the moisture is supplied from the stored rains which find their way into the earth instead of escaping by evaporation, as is the ease when shallow plowing is practiced. Let every cultivator of the soil reflect for a moment only and behold the withering effect upon all crops of a short spell of dry weather. See what great lamentation and complainings prevailed the past season on account of the fallqre of rains. Think how short a time it takes for either a dry “spell” or a wet “spell” of weather to injure the crops, and then ask the question has the great Creator established such a withering, blasting necessity, or rather is it not caused by tho neglect of the tiller of the soil to comply with the edict to “till tho ground?” The great principle of agricultural \frork must be simple to be comprehended and practiced by the average cultivator. The earth was not made for tho smart, the intelligent, the comprehensive farmer alone, but for the average, and those below him. The single thing, deep culture of the soil, will do more to restore the waning yields of farm crops and to establish a prosperous state of agriculture, than all other things combined. It is more important than the Bank question, the money question, and that has more inlluence over the prosperity of the country than all other questions relating to governmental-polit-ical questions combined.

THE STOCK-RANCH.

Feeding the Weight or Live Stock. In relation to estimating the daily gain in weight of an animal from birth, the Mark Lane Exprewt makes some points from an English standpoint, which it thinks stock-owners there, in their impatience for early maturity, are apt to overlook. It will bo interesting reading for readers here, wherein our contemporary states: At the very outset an essential to perfect accuracy in results is in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred lost sight of. We refer to the weighing of calves at birth. This may seem a matter of trifling importance, but with regard to animals shown at the Christmas fat stock exhibitions, it ought to be the basis of all subsequent calculation as to the live-weight and beef gains. We admit that it is not very clear how this fundamental difficulty can be satisfactorily overcome. It is impossible to tell from the appearance of an animal in calfhood how it is likely to develop with age. But in view of the fact that calves vary in weight at birth from forty pounds to eighty pounds, we feel that a little more attention to the gains of live-weight at different periods, beginning at birth, would not only insure perfect accuracy in computing the increase resulting in a given time frbm foods of known feeding value, but probably throw fresh light on the question as to the period at which the animal is likely to benefit most from increased liberality in feeding. In the feeding and management of live stock more skill is required than many people suppose. Stock-owners have learned much with regard to feeding during the past quarter of a century, yet there is a wide field of inquiry before them. The expenses involved in bringing a 30-monthß’-old steer to maturity are very heavy—too heavy, indeed, to be borne by the average stock-owner; and in order to economize this outlay without retarding the ripening of the animal, a more intimate knowledge is required not only of the composition and tendencies of the animal constitution, but also of the feeding value of the different foods used. The component parts of the animal’s body vary according to its age, its stage of progress, and the nature of its food; but as a rule some 40 per cent, of water has to be converted into or replaced by solid meat during the process of fattening. Some 80 per cent, of the animal body at birth may consist of water, whereas a thoroughly matured carcass should not contain much more than half that percentage. In the course of natural growth of the animal close on SO per cent, of water is solidified, but as much again has to be disposed of within

the time the animal is growing If early maturity is the object of the feeder. The transformation of useless into useful material in the animal system can be effected contemporaneously with its growth, by the use of highly nitrogenous foods. It has been demonstrated by a German scientist that the character of the food supplied to an animal materially affects not only its fattening propensities, but also the percentage of edible meat in the carcass. The use of roots and straw alone, for example,.-tend to develop the inferior parts of an an imat - —to J ncrease the offal and waste, but when given in moderate quantities, along with more concentrated food, such as cake and meal, better if not earlier results are sometimes obtained than whon the fattening diet consists solely of the richer ingredients.

THE DAIRY.

Churnlncr ami Sailing flutter. To the question, “What makes butter cone?” the United Staten Dairyman thus replies: “It is not known whether concussion or friction, or both, cause the separation of the butter from the buttermilk in churning. But we suspect that concussion is the real agent that produces the separation, as we have really seen no churn that did not in some way produce more or less concussion. All the churns wo have soon used appeared to produce good results, and wo find every dairyman is satisfied with the work of the churn he uses, whatever the kind, stylo, or patent. We cannot, therefore, recommend any stylo of churn as superior to another, but we prefer the simple and less expensive forms, as not only costing less but being easier to keep clean. Tlio churning should be steady and not violent. A too rapid or sudden separation of the butter from buttermilk is not desirable. It is no recommendation for a churn that it churns quick. Such a churn is apt to injure the socalled grain of the buttur, and make it salvy and greasy. The least churning that will separate the butter from the buttermilk is the best. When to stop churning—the improved model method now in practice by the best butter-makers is to stop the churn as soon as the butter is collected in particles the size of a wheat kornal. Just beforo this, when the first signs of the separation of the butter is soon, the sides of the churn are washed down with cold water —usually below (30 degrees,- or about 55 degrees—to not only prevent waste, but to harden the butter and make it easier to handle. When the granules aro the size of wheat kernels the butter is drawn off, or the butter taken out of the buttermilk, as the case may be. If the butter is left in the churn water Is poured in to float the butter, which Is then gently agitated for a moment and the water drawn off. This operation is repeated until the water runs clear. Sometimes one of the washings is in brine, which coagulates the caselno into a soluble form and prepares It to bo washed out afterward. In this way it is believed that purer, longer-keeping butter can be made. In some cases, however, butter makers have customers who want a buttermilk flavor in the butter. They, therefore, do not wash the butter, or wash it very little. Such butter must be consumed atonce, as It will not keep. By this method of retaining the butter In a granulated form only sufficient working Is required to ovenlv work in the salt. The loss working the better. The salt, after the butter is properly drained, can bo carefully mixed with the butter by stirring. When thoroughly incorporated, barely pressing the butter together in a solid mass is all that Is needed. If one does not want butter very salty to the taste, it can be evenly and nicely salted by completely wetting It with saturated brine, then carefully pressing the granulated butter together and leaving In it as much of the strong brine as will remain. We have seen butter salted in this way, and It was very evenly and completely salted, having in It no undissolved grains of salt, but it was not as salt to the taste as some like. About an ounce to the pound is good salting, but more or less salt must be used to suit the taste of customers. None but refined salt should be put Into the butter. The principal office of the salt in butter is to impart an agreeable flavor in connection with the natural aroma of flue butter,but it is a fact that too much salt injures good flavor, and It may, to some extent, be used to cover up or neutralize the flavors. We do not recommend its use for this latter purpose, preferring that the natural flavor of butter from pure cream should be preserved.

THIS POULTRY YARD.

Bow to Feed Light Jirnlunn* For Eggs. Over-feeding is injurious to all breeds, but especially so to Light Brahmas. Corn should be excluded from the diet, except m extreme cold weather, when it may be given in a mixture of corn, wheat and oats, as a hot uiash in the morning. Oatmeal scalded and made the consistency of mush, into which a handful of dessicated fish may be mixed, is one of the best egg-producing foods that cau be given. On alternate mornings flaxseed meal may be used in place of the fish. A pint of whole wheat to every twelve fowls is sufficient for an evening meal, and this should be thrown among leaves or chaff to make them scratch for it. Haw meat should be given three times a week. A cabbage fastened by a string and suspended from the center of the hen house, just high enough to make them jump for ail they get, is an excellent thing. In short any means that can be devised to make them work for their feed, with the exception of their morning meal; and even that should be light, simply giving enough for an appetizer, will be found of great benefit to them. From actual experience we have found that pure-bred Brahmas, by careful feeding, can be made far better layers than half-breeds, and if intelligently bred can combine fancy points and eggs. The object to be gained in raising chickens for early market is to have them weigh from one and a half to two pounds in the shortest time possible. They should bo fed upon such food as will cause the least amount of shrinkage. Exclusive use of soft feed will put flesh upon the carcass rapidly, but of such « nature that the shrinkage will beat. least six ounces to a chicken (dressed.) To avoid this, whole wheat should enter largely into their diet. They can be taught to eat it when a few day* old by crushing a portion of it and mixing wltfc the whole grains. The flesh of a chicken raised on soft feed presents a shriveled appearance, especially on the breast after dressing, which never occurs when the birds are fed upon grains as well. Nothing can be more delicious than the flesh of chickens grown to weigh two pounds in eight weeks.

Egg Condiment.

Wo do not believe in condition pow- ; ders to stimulate the physical system, unless it is for the special purpose well defined, nor in eondimental food to tone up the system in a general way. Nevertheless specitie preparations for a special purpose are all right An authority, in relation to a special preparation in addition to the regular food, gives the following formula as accessory in promoting egg laying: Ground bone, ono pound (phosphoricacid and lime); ground meat or blood, threo pounds (nitrogenous, forming albumen); linseed meal, one-half pound (nitrogenous, carbonaceous, and laxative, used for regulating the bowels); charcoal, ono pound (used for promoting digestion and assisting to correct acidity); sulphur, one ounce (a necessary constituent of an egg, and assists in warding: off disease); salt, half pound (very noeessary, and often neglected); ground ginger, two ounces; red pepper, one tablespoonful; fenugreek, half a pound, gentian, one ounce (stimulants and correctives); chlorido of iron, ono ounce (an. invigorator of the system.) These contain the essential elements for producing eggs, in addition to tho ordinary food. Give a tablespoonful of the mixture once a day for ten hens, In. soft food.

THE HOUSEHOLD.

Rest.

When you are so tired as to feel “ready to drop,” sit down, comb your hair and change your shoes. This will rest tho head and feet, and give new strength for tho work which at house-cleaning or moving-time refuses to be postponed. That lying down ten minutes will rest one much more than sitting down has to be reiterated often for tho benefit of those ambitious women who sometimes scorn to rest in this way during the daytime, and others who fear that It will bo known to thoir discredit if they so indulge themselves. 1 once heard Mrs. Lincoln talk upon this topic, and I wish every farmer’s wife might have heard tho woman who has made housekeeping a study toll how to get rest enough to insure health. It was the wisdom not of tho theorist, but ono who has so nearly overworked as to have found It needful' to study means of making good housekeeping possible without slowly killing the housewife. —New England Farmer. it u Sum 1. That salt will curdle now milk; hence, in preparing milk porridge, gravies, etc.,the salt should not be added until tho dish is prepared. 3. That clear, boiling water will remove tea stains and many fruit stains. Pour tho water through tho stain aud thus prevent It spreading over the surface. 3. That ripe tomatoes will romove Ink and other stains from white cloth, alsofrom tho hands. 4. That a teaspoon of turpentino boiled: with white clothes will aid In the whitening process. 5. That boiled starch is much Improved' by the addition of a little sperm salt or gum arable dissolved. (3. That beeswax and salt will make rusty flatirons as clean and smooth as glass. Tie a lump of beeswax In a rag and keep it for that purpose. When the irons are hot rub them first with wax rag. then scour with a paper ordoth sprinkled with salt. 7. That blue ointment and kerbsenor. mixed In equal proportions and applied to the bedstead is an unfailing bedbug remedy, as a coat of whltowashis for the walls of a log house. 8. That kerosene will soften boots orshoes that have been hardened by water,, and render them as pliable as new. 9. That kerosene will make tin tea, kettles as bright as new. Saturate a. woolen rag and rub with It. It will also remove stains from varnished furniture. 10. That cool rain water and soda will remove machine grease from washable, fabrics.

Hints to HouiiektMipor*. A i.iTTi.K ammonia in tepid water wilf soften and cleanse the skin. Gas is always objectionablo in a sickroom, as it exhausts the air, and in bedrooms generally it should not be used. Oi,i> brass may be cleaned to look like - new by pouring strong ammonia on it, and scrubbing with a scrub brush; rinso in clear water. For burns, sweet oil and cotton aro the standard remedies. If they are not at hand sprinkle the burned part wiithw flour, and wrap loosely with » soft elbth. Don’t remove the dressing until the inflammation subsides, as it will break the> new skin that is forming. Am, delicate and fancy hosiery should be soaked in salt and water before wearing, and stains of leather on stockings can be takcu out by dipping them ink*, chlorine water before putting them intosoapsuds. Black hosiery is dipped in. water in which is a little ox gall. Bags of Chinese matting gilded witiv’ gold paint, and tied with a sash ribbon just above the fringe of the matting,, make pretty receptables for papers or pictures. The bag should be hung across a corner niche, and if cheery heads of children peep above the rim, the cornet has a very picturesque air. A comfort in a sickroom is a wooden bed-rest, which, whpn placed behind tho pillows, enables the patient to sit up easily. Another contrivance which I have seen answer admirably is a very iong net, the ends of which were fastened to the bedposts, and, being passed behind the patient and containing tho pillows, formed a secure means of resting, him when sitting up.

Patience Finds a Way.

A writer in the New York Ledger mentions a worthy old men, “Uncle* Alden Palmer, who uttered a good, many sensible sayings of his own and was fond of quoting the maxims of others. One old sentence that he often repeated was: “Patience and perseverance will accomplish all tilings.” Qaa< day in at the old man’s mill in Norway*. Me., he had repeated the old axiom in. good f«'th, when a self-important mixn. who was waiting for grist disputed him. “No, sir. I can tell you many things, which patience and perseverance cannot accomplish. ” “Perhaps you can,*' replied Uncle Palmer quietly; “but I have never yet come across the thing. Will you name one?” “Will patienoe. and perseverance enable yon tef carrywater in a sieve?” “Certainly theywill.” “I would like to have you tell, me how it is to be accomplished.*' “Simply by waiting patiently for water to freeze.” A country where they ba\ e to tore Tor ! water is a healthy one—it is a well country— I —Carl I‘rvUel'i Weekly.