St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 15, Number 51, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 14 June 1890 — Page 2

T —————— DEAD AT HIS FEET IN THE DRIPPING RAIN. BY CHARLES CURTZ HAHN, As “? the stream, unto the very feet Os Launcelot, the knight whom she revered, Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, By the dumb servitor was gently steered, Sa by the voiceless servant, Death, am I In silence borne away without one sigh, Up to the feset of him I loved, but who, Loving me not in turn, hath let me die. And in the cold gray morning I shall lie At the feet of him I love, that he may look On the face of her who. loving, trusted him, And trusting, both her name and home for800k, 50 go I forth with never a moan or tear, Forth from the world of hate and weariness, Qut on the silent sea of peacs and rest. Into God’s love and mighty tenderness. The sky is raining in my open grave, In which this sinful body soon shall rest. But it softens the mold and the sides of the grave, That they press not too harshly on my breast. But ore they place me in its cold, moist clasp, A moment I shall lie at bis dear feet, ¥or death will lead where 1 could not go In life, and give to me my boon most sweet. * * * * * * # To lie at his feet in the dripping rain, With his eyes upon me is better than life ! To be nmear him, though dead, will be sweet to me— The woman he would not make his wife, £ forgive him the sorrow, suffering, shame, For the Dbliss that I had, tho’ the loving brought pain, And my body will know when it lies at his feet, So much does it long to be near him again, HurcHlNsoN, Kan. e Ot In the Shadow of the Gallows. g ; BY DAVID LOWRY. ‘ CHAPTER 11. THE MURDER. The sailor was awakened by a draught on his hand. The draucht ecame from the opening in the window. He was, as many of his class are, a light 5" .eper. He lay quietly listening. The storm had expended its fury, but the wind was still high. -Above the sound of the storm he heard a peculiar sound against the side of the house. The sailor sat bolt upright in bed. The noise continued. The sailor slipped softly out of the bed, walked across the room, and felt in his pocket for the weapon he relied upon. Then he donned his clothes. As he was doing this a gust blew in the room. Stooping, the sailor was just able to discern a figure at the windew. The intruder was feeling his way cautiously. The distance between the window and the bed was not more than three feet. The man was well in the room: he was feeling the side of the ©ed when the sailor’s hand clutched his Chroat. I There was a smothered sound as the sailor pressed the intruder back on the i bed silently, At first the sailor was resolved to throttle the robber. Then as he t relaxed his grasp, the intruder said, in huskv tones, “For God's sake let me breathe.” “Who are you?”. “Take your hands from my throat.” “I'd serve you right to end your life here. Stealing in upon a traveler to murder him.” “lam no thief. I am the landlord’s 30n,” “A likely story. I'll call your father up, and you can tell him how you came in on me.” “For God’s sake, listan. I am powerdless. See—l bear no arms. lam a sailor—an honest sailor.” “(God save the mark!” : “ILtell you I have just escaped shipwreck. I am just coms from Marblehead on account of a foolish fight, but ¥’'m no more to blame——" “What! So you wereon the——" “Eliza. And wrecked before. Now the ! officers are hunting me. I can prove 1 am not in the wrong; but if my tather krows I am here, he will almost kill me. I've cost him trouble—and money. I thought to steal in—this is my own bed | @nd room-—sleep a while, and be off early hefore any one woks.” “Stop—let me feel your hand. ’Tis trae. This is no base liar after all.” “I tell you I've been away from home four months—four years it seems.” “Come—llet’s have a look at you.” The sailor held a tinder box in his hand. A flame illuminated the room, and in the brief period the light fell upon ¢he intruders face the sailor scanned him from head to foot. “I know-yvou—you were among the first to stave in the casks of rum. Here, lie down, and in the morning go like a man to your father——" “I dare not.” “Well, lie down, and go to sleep.” The landlord’s son cast himself, just as he was, on the bed. The sailor disrobed once more and laid down beside him and fell asleep tin second time. He was awakened later—he had no idea what time it was—by creaking stairs. He removed the cover, stepped noiselessly out of bed, ana, as he donned his clothes a second time, listened intently. A life of danger had sharpened senses naturally acute. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Somebody was ascending the stairs stealthily. ‘T'he sailor felt his weapon, and moved back to the bench. The door was opened slowly; then in the darkness the sailor thought a man’s figure was dimly outlined. The stature was that of the l#mdlord. Now another step was heard on the stairs. In the darkness the sailor was { unable to perceive the movements of the figure until suddenly he became sensible of the presence of some one near at hand. “Then the sailor realized that he was unable to prevent a terrible, a monstrous crime. The figure hovering between him and the bed stooped. At a venture the sailor aimed his pistol at the figure, fired, and then bounding past the man he fired at, he sprang ascross the bed, darted through the window, and falling. on a plank placed against the house (placed there by the landlord’s son), slid to the ground and disappeared in the darkness. When the report of the pistol was ( heard, Grizzle Meade was approaching | the door with a light. The sudden fright caused Grizzle to drop the light, which was extinguished. When the landlord, who had been fiung headlong to the floor by the sailor, regained his feet, he cursed his wife for letting the light fall, stumbled against her in the dark, then hastened down stairs for a fresh light, and gpeedily returned to the bedroom. Grizzle Meade was wringing her hands in terror, and crying. “Wa are undone—we are undone, Danisl.” “Peace—be quiet,” her husband commanded, as he approached the bed and Q@eld the light over it. Grizzle's eyes were

GS T X 53 RS L DS T B e s on his every meovement. iSuddenly ne Eut a hand over his face and staggered ack, Grizzle seized the light from his trembling hand and looked at the man on the bed. As she looked her frame seemed to be rigid, the blood receded from her lips; her face grew . ashen-gray as shel stared stonily down on the face now veiled forever with the awful shadow of | death. She opened her .nouth, but no sound issued from her lips. Then she turned slowly, her body seemingly as rigid as stone—turned, with horror dilating her eyes, and stared awe-stricken at her hus- _| band, cowering, groveling on the floor, with the knife in his hand. Then, with a cry that sounded like that of a wild animal, Grizzle Meade fell in a I heap beside her husband. CHAPTER 111. IN EVIL DAYS, a The early dawn saw Grizz'e Meade moving * briskly about the house. The | landlord of Globe Inn was gulping a glass of liquor, when the glass was wrenched from his hand. “What! Do you want to put the ropes round our necks that you must fly to the liquor? Must I tind wits for both? If you had not been so cowardly you would have made sure,” | “Have done, Grizzle. It is the hand of God. How could we know he was there—how came he back?” “You'll drink no more till all is over, or | we will hang. Hang! Do you hear that, | Daniel Meade? Will we help matters by babbling? I have washed and dressed him. No hand shall touch him.” Her husband shook his head. “Fool! I see our way clear. Listen! We will say it was the bullet. The boy came home, sand we put him to bed. Are vou listening; Daniel Meade? Then the drunken sailor fought him in the night, shot him, and fled.” The landlord looked at his wife with lack luster eyes. “Rouse, man, and leave liquor alone

unless you want to hang.” X “I promise, but we might as well le done with it.” “You wouid think differently an’ the rope were about your neck. [t is not above understanding. The wound in his head will satisfy all. Now, then, away—speed ye, and tell how our boy's been murde:ed. We must alarm our neighbors and the authorities. Away now.” Daniel Meade repeated the story his wife put in his mouth reluctantly. As he repeated it he regained something like the assurance that characterized his dealings with the world. The announcement of the murder created a profund sensation. The elements i of agreat mystery—a mystery thatseemed | impenetrable wore recognized by the intelligent, while the uneducated regarded ' the event as additional proof that supernatural agencies were daily demonstrated | in the affairs of mankind. The anthorities, on the other hand, calmly noted: first, that the poor boy who had twice escaped death at sea in a miraculous manner, came home to be murdered by a drunken, quarrelsome sailor; second, that the murderer effected his escape easily and in a manner that woull have suggested itself to the dallest comprehension; third, that the authorities owed it to themselves to capture, conviet,'and hang the murderer speedily. The news spread {ast and far. Great I crowds thronged the Globe Inn to view the rema'ns. The marshal of Salem was l notified by William Ayers, Daniel Meade's creditor, to postpone the collection of his debt for the present. Such a proceeding at that time would have made Mr. Ayers very unpopular, and he was look- l ing forward to politica! preferment. The authorities viewed the remains, made due note of the testimony snomitted by the grief-stricken parents, Marshal Hobbs, Giles Ellis, and Ezra Easty, and accorded due prominence to the statements made by the marshal and Ellis in the record. Scare:ly any note} was made of the sworn statement Ezra Easty made. Ezra was only an apprentice to John Lee. Thus the remains of the innkeeper's son were committed to their last resting place with much ceremony and public | manifestations of concern. l Contrary to the expeetations of the landlord, the notoriety given Globe Inn ] was the means of re-establishing the cus’tom the inn enjoyed in its best days William Ayers, Meade’s creditor, was paid 1 promptly a week after the funeral. Principal and interest on the sum of one hun~dred and fifty pounds was paid on the | nail. There were many who expressed surprise at the ability of Daniel Meade to meet this and other obligatiens, but as | the custom grew, and Globe Inn flonr- | ished, the thoughtful, held their peace, | and rejoiced in the presperity of a man | sorely tried. : f * * L - * * On the morning the murder was made t known, Ezra Easty, apprentiee to John ! Lee, one of the most respectable citizens ] of Salem, overheard pertions of a conversation between his master and mistress and their daughter that made a profound impression upon him., Ezra was not where heshould have been when he heard l the conversation. His master theught ha was in the shop—indeed, had sent him there. The shop was a considerable distancs from the house, but Lzra, whose curiosity (always easily aroused) was then aflame; made an excuse to return to the house, and hearing loud words in the best } room, glued his ear to the door, holding the outer door in the narrow .passage leading to the shop conveniently open. As soon as he could contrive it he made an excuse to leave the shop shortly after I his master entered it. John Lee’s manner as he looked at his apprentice that 1 morning was peculiar, or perhaps the ap- l prentice felt guilty. | ' Izra’s purpose was to speak to the ! maid servant, Ann Bigger, who seemed equally anxious to place a distance be- ] tween herself and the house. They en- | countered each other at the end of the shop opposite the house. “Oh, lizra! You heard them, too?” “I could not help hearing. 'lf peeple talk so loud one might hear them half way across the lot.” | “Such sharp things as DMaster Lea | said.” “But did not his own daughter answer him promptly?” “Aye, and so did the mistress speak out boldly. I did not think it was in her.” “Who, think you, Ezra, is all this quarreling over? I was setting the milk, and was fearful the mistress would come on me every minute, so I dare not remain longer.” “That is plain. Heard ye no name?” “I have told you 1 was fearful of the l mistress.” | “I heard plenty—more than master or mistress would like me to know. Johnl Lee had best not make such an ado an a man stops & few hours late with his friends.” “What did you hear? I have my own suspicions, but first tell me what you know.” “Woll, then,” Ezra answered with a backward glance, ®it iz pldin to me all this talk is about Martin Lee, John Lee’s brother, who must have donesome dreadful thing,” : “Aye, that is clear, else Janet would not defend him so warmly, Sha was

NSR A OAV TRO i o e e T over talking of her uncle—ana when he} comes hiome how it will be this way or that way. ’'Tis likely she remembers him ] when she was a child; all the presents she places store by are her Uncle Maxtin's. ‘ But what terrible thing has this brother l done to set his own tlesh and blood against him?” | “That is plain, too,” said Ezra. Then ' he coined a lie solely to make the maid servant think he was much wiser than he really was. “Master is, as you kuow, proud of his good name.” “And so is mistress, for that matter—aye, and Janet thinks she is as good as lives."” “So it is not much wonder John Lee is l angry because of the disgrace his brother may bring on the Lees. I heard enough. I make bold that this brother is in trouble, and has written or sent to his brother to help him. Janet was hot to help her uncle in his strait, and I heard ——" here Ilzra Fasty looked around him and whispered, “Ann, I heard John Lee say his brother should never darken his door until the matter was cleared up. But it is best we say nothing for the present. Mayhap this will prove something. There are strange rumors going.” “Yes, and we must take heed, Ezra.” “What! Art not afaid?” “I am-—and so are you. There's none living are not afraid of witeches. Why, an a witch were to come now.” Euzra started, then blushed. “Ann, it is not well to invite them.” “Pooh! 1 but did it to try vou.” “Why, what can a man do more than a woman if the witches are at hand. There! I must be going—master will miss me.” “Say not a word of this, Ezra—we will speak of it again,” said Ann Bigger, as she hastened into the house. When they separated Ann Bigger could scarcelv restrain the inclination to run to her sister, who lived near by, to inform her of the mysterious quarrel she had overheard. It was later in the lay when R b 31 e A- 1 . " » . ”~ x

’ she availed herself of the first opportunity to visit her married sister and reI tailed all, and much more than she had heard. The air of New Engiand at that time was full of strange rumors. The evil one, it was said, was lying in wait in every imaginable shape, ready to pounce upon weak humanity, When Ann Bigger's sister listened to the story Ann related, she instantly assumed Martin Lee had incurred the ill-will and fear of his brother by making a compact with the devil, _“lt is all plain to me, Ann. This Martin Lee we have heard of has come back with the devil's art, and has cast a spell on Dorothea and her daughter. John Lee will see his brother burned for the good of his fellows rather than bear him near.” “I nevor thought it could be like that. An that be so—why, I'll not tarry in the house longer lest I be bewitched like my mistress. " “Tush! Have you no fear. Say vour prayers three times a day. If vou eat a crust when you get up, or before you go out.” “A crust! I'll eat half a loaf if it will keep the evil one off.” “I'here are many ways of spiting witches besides haviug a clear conscience, else there'd be none tree from them. But you are sure Martin Lee bhas returned’” “As good as sure—Ezra Easty agrees with me. He heardall, and he says—" “Then come to me to-morrow, and keep your ears and eyes open. We'll see { what 15 at the bottom of this.” | When Ann Bigger's sister was alone she did not permit mwmch time to elapse i before she shared “her secret with a neighbor, | And this was the way the trouble began that imperiled the lives of the Lees. i CHAPTER IV, I A BALD LOFER. | “And so,” Giles Ellis said, musinglr, | “Martin Lee has returned. Art quite sure this 1s true?” he asked his cousin. Now, this cousin was the neighbor with { whom Ann Bigger's sister shared her i secret before the day was over. It was ] now evening, and Giles had called to see | ] his cousin’s husband upon a business | matter. “Strange,” continued Giles, | “that John Lee has not made his broth- | er's return known. He is not a man to keep secrets.” “They may have good reason to be silent.e I have always heard Martin Lee | was of a headstrong nature.” i “And so is John Lee, as all well know. | He was never known to turn, ence his 1 ! foqt was well set on the road. But your | meaning—" ’ { “Ought to be plain to a man as keen- ‘ i witted as Giles Ellis,” ° | “De you think Martin Lee is not a wel- i eome visitor—that it is as well he keeps | indoors? Is that notit?” | | “God preserve us!’ his cousin ex- ] claimed. *“You take the words out of my mouth.” “There is no mistake—DMartin Lz2e you are sure has returned?” “Nay, I said not so 0.” l And then Giles Ellis’ cousin teld him now the news came to her—if she added to it she was, as most people are, wnconseious of it., Upon hearing this Giles Ellis smiled, but it was not the smile which made people think they wrenged him when they suspected a man with } such keen black eyes, so closely set in his head; for his was, st best, a sinister face. “This is worth pondering over,” he said to himself when he was alone. He was walking toward Joba Lee’s I house rapidly, when a sound attracted his | attention. He had a quick ear and eye. l There was light enough to see the lamb | that was crossing a field near him. Giles | Ellis looked savagely at the lamb, then, casting a swift glance around him, ran ‘ toward it. As he ran he produced a keenl bladed knife. The lamb avoided him—it ran into a corner, but Giles grasped it and drew it toward him, saying between his set teeth: “Now, then, John Winslow, this, too, will show thee what I can do to repay | the man who bears witness against me.” .. g teeth gleamed. The smile on (Giles Ellis’ face was sardonic as he turned the lamb’s face up to him roughly and held its mneck over his left knee while he slashed its throat. The lamb straightened its lags out as the blood spurted from the great wound. Griles Ellisrose, and, looking down at the dying animal, said: “And had I a score here I would serve them the same way as I did thy fine horse, Master Winslow. Blame that, too, on the witches,” he added, scornfully, as he thrust the lknife-blade into the soft earth repeatedly. Then wiping it carefully on the | grass, he replaced it in his pocket and reIturned to the path. He was walking { away from the field where the lamb lay, when he paused suddenly, stood still, and listened. Then he vented a terrible oath, darted to a clump of undergrowth, and there, in a depression in the earth, beheld a man crouching. [TO BE CONTINUED.] WaAT others claim from us is not | our thirst and our hunger, but our lbread and our gourd.—dAmiel’s Journals

IS OPR TR TSR, RN AT O Ve e ——————————————————— % X { | RURAL TOPICS. - e ‘ INFORMATION YOR THE HUSBANDJIflAN AND HOUSEWINFE, Sfome Practical Suggestions for the I'armer, stock-Breeder, FPoulterer, Nurserymian, and Housekeoper, ey, . THE FARM, » i Pigs in Clover. Pigs raised on clover are becoming very profitable, for people are beginning to appreciate the dtfference between the meat of pigs raised on a diet of corn. and those which are fed clover and grasses. Where the swine are raised upona large scaie for the pork factories, it doesn’t matter much what their dies is, 80 long as they grow rapidly and increase in weight. It is quantity and vot quality that takes. The great farms of the West, devoted to raising pork for the market, are largely to blame for bringing pork into disfavor. Many people won't eat pork, for they think it 18 unclean, and. liable to contain the germs of some disease. One cannot wonder that this impression has gone abroad, when slops and dirty dish-water, with corn added, are supposed to be the diet of the pigs, whose time, when not eating this filthy compound, is spent in wallowing in dirt. In order to raise pigs for profit, it is necessary to feed them food that will improve the quality of the pork, a3 well as inerease the quantity. In the spring of the year the question of raising more swine on the farm comes up anew, and new methods of treatmént of them should also enter into consideration. The farmer that gets the name of raising pork of a superior quality, never lacks for customers who are ready to pay good prices forit. There are those who are

MPAAUEED ANVE 46 A MULE 41 RUOUDBC WilU UC willing to pay fancy prices for a high grade article. In this age of deception and fraud, city consumers are never certain of what they are eating, unless they buy direct from some farmer. Many prefer to buy their eggs, butter, milk vegetables, fruits and meat, direct from the producers, for then thay know that they are getting a genuine article. Farmers, living closeto large cities, can find nothing more profitable than establishing a name for raising nothing but the best, and then chargiag fair prices for all their prodncts. It is only recently thata change and reform in pig raising has generally been known by city people. They are beginning to understand now thatsome of the pork 18 raised from clover, grains, and clean food. The ordinary swill compound has been superseded by a diet ot milk. clover, grasses and grains. Grass fed pigs produce superior pork, and they ruu less danger of sickuess. There would be less mortality among the swine if they were given the range of fields, and allowed to root around in the clean soil. It wiilnot alwayvs pay to enclose large pastures for swine, but some good system of soiling should be adopted. They should have green food in summer, and roots, clover-hay and silage, in winter. Corn 18 probably the cheapest ration for them, but the pork of such hogs is always fat, and lacking in the flavor that always characterizes the clover-red hog. The pen and house for the pigs should also reeceive some counsideration from the owner, for the filth ot such places has much to f do in breeding diseases, during the hot { weather, and also in tainting the meat. { They should always have a decent pen | or house, and plenty of fresh, clean water near them. Those who raise pigs I in the best approval ways will inevitably find profit in them, and will find that, in the course of time, as his pork becomes I well known, the demand will exceed the Il supplyv.—Cor. Practical Farmer. Agrienltural Itemrs. Alfalfa grows rapidly and should be cut as soon as the blue flowers appear. It thrives better when eut, and becomes thicker. It is fully the equal of red ! clover for stock, and contaius a larger i proportion of nutriment Farmers ,should put in an experimental plot as soon as pessible, in order to test it in this section. Study the sile; the process of emsilage; the best crops for it; the great ! eeonomy ot it; and then go to work to | make a silo and growcrops tofill it with. |lt makes one aere produce as much l animal food as three acres ean do with- { out it, and it solves the problem of how ‘ to keep one cow or one steer for every acre ot the farm. i The greatest need of agriculture, at | the present time, is to grow all crops ‘ now produced at one-half the cost. | This is the true way te make profit, lessen the cost of preducts. The tendency is everywhere to the increase of population, which, in the absence of destructive wars and deadly pestilence, is growing as never before. This tends to reduee the value of laber or the proceeds of it, because the production eof food increases faster than the supply of labor. Henee it is necessary to increase the value of labor by making it more‘ productive. . THE DAIRY, Cottage Cheese. ; C. R. M., Tiftin, Ohio. gives the following directions, in the Daivy World, for making cottage cheese: Creameries that are located near towns and cities, and have more buttermilk than they can dispose of, can realize something for it by the manufacture of cottage cheese. We find quite a demand for it at ten cents a pound. We usually make it twice a weeck and are governed in quantity made by the orders taken ahead. When drawing the buttermilk trom the churn we fill into transpertation cans whatever we may want to set aside until we are through work in the afternoon, when we take a skimming pail and fill it with buttermilk, which we set in a vat of boiling water {a tank we use for boiling water with which we wash and scald,) being careful to have just enough water to come up even with the milk in the pail. Drop a thermometer into the milk and let it set until the milk shows a temperature of from 130 1140 degrees (Fahrenheit,) stirring occasionally to obtain a uniform ftemperature throughout. When it reaches the desired point we take it out and empty it in muslin sacks (the ones we use are about 16x20 inches and stoutly sewed,) when itjis tied with a string and hung up to drain. The operation is repeated until we have the desired quantity; then we leave it to drain until next morning, when, if properly scalded and drained, the curd will be quite dry. If scalded too much it will be watery. Now comes the mixing. It was this that discouraged us until we tried a Keystone Beater, when we cried Eureka! This little machine does the work to perfection. We use a No. 2 Place the mixing vessel about one-halt full of curd and pour on a small quantitv of cream or rich milk, then stir until it becomes somewhat smooth, put in more curd and more sream or milk, all the while stirring.

AO T USRI ko, o A RN 5M3 e—— When you have the vessel two-thirds full, stop putting in the curd, and continue to stir, adding cream as needed to . l bring to the right consistency, which, as | We prepare it, is about the same as | good stiff butter, add a very small { quantity of salt during the stirring. . | When whipped nice and smooth we turn | into a large earther bowl from which it | 1s sold by weight. There is no speculation in this, but when the milk is going to waste, and those in the creamery have tae time, it offers an opportunity to add a few honest pennies to the cash account. To the » | consumer it offers a very wholesome and o | palgtable article of food, which many o | use'to lessen che butter account. 1 for- | ' got to say that the sacks should !)e care--1l fully washed as soon as emptied and 1| bungup to dry.” ‘ , ‘ In the home dairy where the butter is 'i sold to private families in cities this 1 l cottage cheese may be made to.l»rmg in 1 quite an income, as muph of it can be 5 disposed of to th, families you supply with butter and eggs and can be deliv- :: ered to them without additional expense ¢ of time. SRI t | THE STOCK-RANCH, E Live-Stock Items, " ProviDE a clover pasture for the , | pigs; it is equal to milk and corn to--5 ' gether, t ' WHEN a pig is nine or ten months old 1 its work 18 done; if it is not profitable pork then it never will be, and it might il as well be planted under an apple tree, 1 I to save further less in feeding. 1 WiTH good, wholesome feeding; thor- * | ough grooming of the skin; avoiding to ) | give water directly after eating, but all ways giving it previously to the feeding, ' no condition powders, medicines, or * | nostrums will ever be required for vour ' | horses. ; | THERE is no need for the long hair on : the legs at horses. It is not a j rotec- ‘| tion; but directly caontrariwise, tor the ' | hair prevents the skin from dryving, and ' | causes irritation of the skin, cracking | of it, and the resulting disease known | as grease. | WHERE there is plenty of absorbent | litter, as leaves, straw, or dried swamp . | muck, Lorses, cows, and Indeed all farm . ' animals, 1n loose stalls or pens, may be liberally bedded, and the manure may : ‘ remain until it is a foot deep. It will ; l be trodden hard and absorb ali the | liquid; it will not ferinent, so as to l throw off noxious vapers, and the { animals will be kept clean, while there | will be a great saving of the manure. For cuts, wounds, galls, and sores, on | animals, there is nothing beiter than an | | ointment made 1n this way: melt four ‘ l ounces of lard and to ounces of Venice | tarpentine together, stir inte half an t ounce of verdigris (acetate of copper) 1 l and two ounces of turpentine; and keep [ stirring untii the mixture is eold. This [ may be applied to the part in the even- | ing, and, if it can be done, a bandage | should be wrapped around it. WHEN any animal drinks water, the | water is absorbed into the blood very ’“uickl}'. We may kmow how this is ourselves, by nothing how soon the sen- | | I sation of thirst is relieved after drink- 1 ling. The sensation disappeass in cong sequence of the absorption of the fluid. 1‘ i Hence water should be given a few min. i { utes before feeding, and never directly afterit. If given after feeding it carries | the macerated food into the intestiuesl before it has been dissolved by the gasj tric fluid, and thus produces indiges- } tion. | | Joux Jacon ASTOR when questioned | as to the means whereby he made his large fortune, said: “I stopped all my losses and let my profits run on.” This is the true prineiple, which lies at the bottom of thes business of keeping all kinds of farm stock. Learn to distinguish the dead-heads, and take off their heads—somehow. lind out the profitable animals, and make them more PR THE AFPIARY, Honey from the Golden-Rod. There seems to be a disunion among bee men in regard to golden-rod as a honey plant. Mrs. L. Harrison, of 11linois, says: In August, of 1881, I was at Bethle- | { hem, in the White Mountains, and tbe} hotels were crowded. As i1 was hunting a place to lodge, I saw some old-fash-ioned box-hives, and as there was no ! fence, I went up tothem. and I never I saw bees carrying in honev faster—no, not in America or Heidelberg. Being| ] of an inqusitive turn of mind, I looked to see where the honey came from. Every fence corner, side of road, or pile of stones, was decked out with the rich, golden plumes of golden-rod. Idid | not take it for granted that the- honey | came from golden-rod, but I went up to I it, and I never saw so many bees together gathering honey, before or since. | A few days afterwards I was in Burlington, Vt., and I crossed a deep cut in the | | railroad, and one side was n bed of | golden-rod, and there were as many aga l score of bees on one clump. The peo- | ple there seemed to think the featnery| plames of golden-rod ornamental, as| large vases of it adorned their pulpits, and I saw a man in New York City selling it. | Apiary Notes. g THE honey-bee is a regular merchant. It “cells” combs for a living. BEES, at a public sale near Atlantic, lowa, sold at $4 per colony. Mr. HOLTERMANN, of Ontario, has made bee-keeping pay. He has averaged, he says, latterly, $8 per colony, incoma. He thinks that everybody can do as well in a fpir locality, providing they start with one or two colonies. No PERSON should keep bees unless he gives them the same attention that he gives to any other pursuit. Theperson that does not take interest enough I in the bees to study their habits, and provide for their wants, is unworthy the ; truit of their labors.—Farm, Field and Stoekman, I BEGAN the year of 1859 with sixteen colonies, and worked fourteen for ex- t tracted honey. I increased them to forty, took 2,000 pounds of honey; and they have yet an average of at least twenty-five pounds each. We had a frost in May that killed all the linden | bloom, and injured oibher tlowers con- | siderable; also a very dry fall, cutting the fall crop oft short in September—altogether not making more than about two-thirds of a crop. - O. P. Miller. THE HOUSEHOLD. Unnecessary Drudgery. Closet-room' I 8 no mere feminineg faney, but the good sense of the sex. It is as necessary to a housekeeper as a corn-bin is to a farmer or a tool-chest to a mechanic—that she may have somewhere to put things so that they shall be out of the way when one wants to move, and inthe way when one wantsto find them. It should be ambleand welldistributed, so that she may not have to be endlessiy moving one thingto get another. If a farmer had his grain in such shape that he had to shovel out a

bushel ¢f corn— and then put the oats back again—there would be sound of saw and hammer in that barn, and o new arrangement of things, 1t there was a i tree left on his farm and a saw-mill within o hundred miles. t Many labor-saving inventions are yet possible for the household. There will | be a machine to wash dishes, and such a cooking stove as Mrs. Livermore suggests, to which no woman shall bend the knee. They will come when do- | mestic work shall be held in such high ! honor as to enlist the best mechanical genius of the age in its behalf. So long | as the kitchen is cried down, like the jail, for those to keep out of who can } and thoseto endure who must it will be likely to be little more inviting than ] the aforesaid jail. Let our women's rights advecates only begin at the right end—combine all their argument, wit, | learning, persuasion, and agitation for improved domestic fucilities, and they | can make American manhood do anything they want done. The women's papers in farmers’ institutes are even i now working in this direction, of reform in dwellings and appliances. Why not have a Women’'s Domestic Congress that shall offer handsome premiums for improved implements, plans of dwellings, | ete. Say SI,OOO for the best model of a cooking stove as high as a table, so that every culinary operation could be performed without stooping, and as efficient | otherwise as those now in use. Then, by publications and addresses at public gatherings, and suitable agencies from { house to house, make their improvements known to all their sex. ] There is no reason, for instance, why any woman should now be lifting about i the o'd, unmerciful, iron kettles weighing some part of aton, when she can ‘| bave those of agate-iron ware, to be moved easly by the teeblest arm. As an immediate practical resource it is not much for a man. ; There is a merciless cruelty in many of our rural districts, which missionaries might well be sent to correct, in the name of Christianity and humanity. The farmer, besides all his costly improved machiney, has his “hired men” for plowing and harrowing, forsheepshearing andmowing and repairing and feeding stock, and a solid, imported host to do his threshing, and his wite has then, too—to cook for, to wash for, and make beds tor, and sweep for. Yet she cannot have one “hired girl” to help [ in all those heavy tasks and pay her as much per week ns some of these men are :paid per day. No wonder the increase of insanity is remarked among farmer's { wives. When we see how things go in some districts, we only wonder there are any sane ones left. Church going used to be their one outlet; but with the spread of infidel:ty in many rural districts, this is now often denied them { almost the year round, and instead of a | ride in the fresh air and a chance at | least to sit down in the sanctuary and have thoughts of restin Heaven, there i is a great company to feed and Sunday is made the hardest day of the week.— | Home-Malker. i Hints to Housekeepers, | WasH out oil stains on clothes in cold water; ink stains dipin milk. } Haxs can be kept wrapped in paper and packed in a barrel of ashes. I A SEVERE but sure cure for corns is | said to be creosote. Wet the corns several nights in succession. l DusTinG cloths must be washed of- | ten or they will carry more dirt into the rooms than they take out. ! o AMMONIA and whiting will clean nickel | plating nicely. Make into a paste and apply; then rubuntilbright with another cloth. I'rusH meats and game should always be kept in a dry, cool place, but not where milk and butter are kept; the latter, being rapid abserbeuts, will soon | be injured in flavor if allowed to remain in the same small enclosure with meat or vegctables. ; . THE KITCHEN, . Spiced Beef Five pounds of the shank boiled five bhours with celery seed; drain off the gelatine and then chop the meat very fine, and pepper and salt to taste, and put it into a cloth on a platter. Cover | with the cloth and press it. - l e ‘ Breakfast Dish. i Peel eight tomatoes and cook them in | butter, seasoning well. Have eight ' pieces of fried bread larger than the { tomatoes and put the fried tomatoes on | them; then pluce a hard-boiled egg on 2 each tomato and serve very hot. l Pilain Graham Bread. i Take two cuptuls “sponge,” two table- } spoonfuls brown sugar, one tablespoontul salt and graham flour to make a soff I dough. Mix together. Beat hard, and set to rise, proceeding as with white ' bread. Immediatelybefore putting it in i the oven, wash over the top of each loaf | with water. Bake in a moderate oven ‘ about an hour. Make three loaves. | Cow’s Milk for Infants. | One ounce of pearl barley is to be well washed in ceold water. Putitina vessel with half a pint of water and let it heat gently and simmer for a few ' minutes over the fire; pour off this water, replace it by a pint and a half of l water and boil 1t down te u pint. With this water ailute the cow’s milk for in- ' fants, thereby rendering it far more nutritious than if diluted with clear l water. Clam Soup. Open fifty small, round, raw clams; put the clams, without the black, into a chopping bowl and chop very fine; put | them into a saucepan with the liquor and a cup of water; let them stew slowly ’ for an hour; let one quart of milk come to a boil, adding butter the size of an ‘ egg and pepper to taste; roll four (:racki ers and add to the clams a few minutes ' before taking up. Put the clams into a tureen, then add the milk before sending to the table. Cocoanut in Blanc-Mangse. Cocoanut is a great addition to blancmange. Soak one ounce of gelatine 1n a quart of milk tor two honrs; add a e small cup of sugar and place over the fire; when the sugar and gelatine are | mixed with the milk and the mixture 18 very hot, lavor to taste, and add one grated tresh cocoanut or a quarter wa a pourd of desiccated cocoanut. Stir while cooling, and when cool pour into a mould and set on ice. Itmay be eaten with or without sauce. Sp)mks. | One cup of sugar, one-fourth cup i butter, two eggs; reserve the white of one; one-half cup sweet milk, one and ,three-qunrtcrs cups of flour, and one teaspoonful baking powder. “For the chocolate,” one-fourth cup of powdered sugar, three tablespoonfuls of grated chocolate, the white of one egg well beaten and a little less than one-balsaf a cup of milk. Boil all together, stirring constantly. When the cake is cold pour this mixture over it while in the pan and do not move the cake or cut it until ‘the next day. v