St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 16, Number 3, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 12 July 1890 — Page 6

JANET LEE OK In the Shadow of the Gallows. ‘ BY DAVID LOWRY. (i t CHAPTER Xl—Continued. Nay,” said Proctor, “I will pay my own score. We will be none the less' friends. And since yon seem interested in the matter, I can tell you John Lee was always considered one of the most courageous men in Salem, No man did more for his friends in the Indian wars, and there are men in high places who will see that justice is done his family.” All in the inn looked at Proctor, whose voice was lifted so that all there could hear him. The sailor extended his hand. “A steady tack I can keep run of; it's the fellows that veer about I’ve no patience with. As well speak to a weather vane as some I’ve met here. So, mate, V’lMl OTA A I.^l T _ ’ - •! w

you are standing by John Lee's family. I like your cut, more because it’s like drawing teeth to get a hearty answer to a simquestion in Salem. Tell me. what like is this John Lee, whose wife and daughter are in league with witches?” A man of goodly 7 presence; a very upright but unhappy man. His wife and daughter are sadly misrepresented.” If so be I and my mates were asleep, and some one should find signs of a witch, what though I nor my males had naught to do with the witch, dost tell me I and my mates are to be held to account for harborin’ witches in the fo’csle? Tell me what the law says. I want to take my bearings—proper bearings—on this matter, because no man orwomancan be, so they 7 do say, free from witches when they choose to come anigh. That be like the story they tell of John Lee.” * No,” said the landlord, breaking his s lence. “It were well it was no worse. ’Tis said his wife or daughter practice witchcraft. 'lhere be other things, too—much that gives color to the rumors.’’ “So?” said the sailor; then he muttered, “Many a man has hanged on rumor.” Meantime Grizzle Meade left the room, and her husband served the customers. He advanced to receive the sailor’s score; at the same time Arthur Proctor produced a purse and held it across his knee carelessly. The purse was of peculiar make. It was composed of minute scales, curiously wrought, cunningly fastened in such a manner as to conceal the means employed to hold them together. The ! firelight sparkled on the fine scales ns : Proctor moved his hand; at times the ) purse shone like a ribbon of silver. Proctor had taken a coin from the purse; i he was holding it in one hand, when the ' sailor, looking at the purse, sad: “A rare thing as my eyes ever looked | on—and I’ve seen something, too, abroad • —is that, mate.” Several turned to see what it was that excited the sailor’s curiosity. Giles Ellis peered across at the purse exposed on i Proctor’s knee. Daniel Meade, who had ! returned the sailor his change, slowly ; turned, too. One of the customers at, ' moment stooped to examine the purse ' closer. When he raised his head, Daniel i Meade uttered a hoarse cry, and fell heavily upon the floor. “Stand aside,” said the sailor. “Give him fresh air, ve lubbers. He ic in a At.” Grizzle Meade, entering at that instant, said in an authoritative tone: “Help me to bed with him. ”

She did not seem alarmed; her manner was deliberate, as her words were decisive. It was Giles Ellis who raised the landlord’s head and held his shoulders; the sailor lilted his feet, and Grizzle led the way into the adjoining 100 m. Presently the sailor re-entered the tap-room, and looking about him, said: “Is Daniel Meade often taken -with fits?” No one answered. Arthur Proctor’s se st was vacant. The sailor looked from one to the other, smiled grimly, then left the inn wnhoiv waiting for the"slow-coin-ing answer. When he returned an hour later there was no one present save Giles Ellis, who was taking his leave. CHAPTER XII, THE SOMNAMBULIST. "If you should hear any noise through fche night, pay no attention to it, ” said • 'Grizzle Meade, as she showed the sailor •to his room. “Unless it’s cannon, 01 something like, it’ll not disturb me. I’m a sound and a long sleeper, afloat and ashore,” the sailor answered. “My husband may speak loud—when tw is this way, which is not often. Ghe yourself no concern, sir.”

When he was alone, the sailor looked about him. Undressing himself speedily, he lay down on the bed, and feli sound asleep. His clothes—his moneyall that he possessed—was tossed on the floor beside the bed. This man seemed to have no fe .r, or nothing to lose. His sleep was dreamless, sound as a babe’s, and as quiet. • It was well on in the morning when he awoke with a start. Some one was approaching his room. The sailor sat up and listened intently. There were footsteps approaching his room. He heard them distinctly. The door of his room was pushed open slightly. The sailor could not hear the hand on it. But there was no light. Whoever was at the door did not require & light. The intruder was nearing his Led. The sailor slipped out of it on the side nearest the wall, and stood still. He could hear the intruder breathing. Who could this intruder be? The step was heavier than that of the landlady. The sailor smiled—he had so little fear in bis composition that he smiled at the thought of the landlord attempting anything with a man like him. The intruder stepped silently to the Hide of the bed. His breathing became painful. There was a blow. The sailor knew well what that sound meant. Then he reached out a hand with a grip like a vise, and caught that which had driven a knife deep into the bed-clothes. The intruder uttered a hoarse cry. It was the voice of the landlord. “ ’Tis as I thought. But you do not escape me so easily,” said the sailor, as he wrestled with the landlord. Now there was a sound of steps below. The s eps approached the room quickly. There was a ray of light, and then the landlady hastily entered. Her face was drawn with terror. Her bands trembled violently. She could icarceh peak, “Daniel! It is me. Daniel!” The landlord, released by the sailor, passed a hand over his head like a man dazed. He looks 1 at the sailor, at the knife in the bed clothes, at his wife. “What is it, Grizzle? What are you doing here? Why is this man here?” “Come; you have been dreaming, .Daniel. ”

| I She took him by the arm and was lead ini him away, when the sailor steppec I [ forward, withdrew the murderous kuifi j from the bed clothes, and handing it t< i her said, with a meaning look: “I think you had best take this wit! i you. And I’d advise you to get your bus ( ■ band into some other calling, lest hi: dreams cost some' ody their life." Grizzle Meade took the knife without answering a word and led her husband, who staggered like a man suddenly bereft of understanding, from the room. Then the sailor struck a light for himself with a tinder box, lit the rush, looked at the window carefully, pushed the bed by main strength over to the door, and after satisfying himself that no one could enter without waking him, once more laid down and fell sound asleep. When he rose the next morning he was inclined to think he had been dreaming, but there was the bed agaiust the door. Then, as the extraordinary experience of the past night was recalled, the sailor’s countenance grew severe. When ho went downstairs it was with a very stern face. Grizzle Meade evidently anticipated a call for an early breakfast. The table was spread, but the landlord was nowhere to be seen. The landlady dared not meet the sailor’s eyes. She trembled, too. A palsy seemed to have overtaken Grizzle Meade. I have never had so much trouble as

-.— .—a ...... OV. XUUVU UUUUW ns I had last night,” she said, as she helped the sailor. “My husband has been beside • himself.” t “Aye! And did he not got any rest?" 1 “He never closed his eyes until just now.” “So? And has he had these—fits—often?" 1 “Never before." “Well, mistress, there's some would ' i s av, if they saw what happened to me, ‘ , it is enough to hang him. Many a man 1 ! has been hanged for less." ’ । "O, sir, if you speak of it it will ruin I us.” i “No doubt—without doubt. But if I ■ I do not speak of it it wil' be because I must not.” “If you heard the story you would have . pity on us both. My son—our only son — I was murdered in that bed.” The sailor laid down his knife and fork and looked at her. “It is true. All Salem knows it. But my son was killed by a stranger. He came the night before. He shot my son and ran away, and no one has ever seen him since. My husband has never been the same from that day. He would kill ■ the murderer if he could lay hands on I him. He has murder in his heart, and not । much wonder!” “So? Now I understand the case, I’ll | not be the one to rum any m«n. Only—- ■ if I had been asleep." “We wil! give up the inn. I will—you ' can depend ou t. ” j “It will be best, Mistress 'Meade." I “I give you my word it will never hapi pen again." ; “And yet it will be hard to let the bust- ■ j ness go. 'Tis likely a good penny you । make in a year.” j “That is the pity. But it can not be 1 helped.” “I nl.es you could cure him. Whut < o the bone-setters say, eh? Have they ■ looked into it?” “Aye, have they. The best advice, and there’s no medicine for it.’’ “That’s bad.” | “You’ll not think he meant it ” • “No? Why, didn’t he come in the dark ! straight to the bed? Didn’t I see him ; wake up? He was as sound asleep ns : ever man was. That I could swear, A ! sleep-walker—that is what he is.” “But he never walked until this trouble befell us.” “I can believe that. Well, it will done good spreading repoits. Do you keep an i eye on him. ’Twere best you guard all lodgers well. No. no! I’ll do you no 1

harm. I’ll mako no trouble for honest people. It’s only rogues I d hang.” AVhen he had eaten breakfast—and he ; ate heartily, like a man who relished his victuals—he paid his score and went ( away. CHAPTER MH. A WICKED COMI’AI I. At the hour when the Globe Inn was ' free of customers Giles Ellis entered it snd inquired after the welfa e of the J landlord, who was abed. “I came." said Giles Ellis in his insinuating manner, “to ' inquire how he is, 1 was sorry to tee him in such straits.” “Nobody knows what he suffers—what I I have gone through in the past twenty- I lour hours. ” “What think you caused Daniel to fall , in a fit. Mistress ilea le?” ” JbM nefds no guess. Ever since my ’ poor soil was kil’ed, the very sight of a sailor distresses him. ” “I see. ’Tis very natural.” “I am almost tempted to give up the ■ ' business." “Aye—but it is a fine, profitable busi- ■ । ness." “There have been times when it was bad, too.” “Think you, if the man who killed your j

j son were bunged. Daniel Meade would not rest easy?” Giles Ellis leaned over ; i the table at which the.’ were sitting, and _ I looked at Grizzle Meade meaningly, , Grizzle was seized with a tremor. j • “I would rather, weie lin your place, . or your husband’s, see the man who murdered your son hanged, than OWO ail Salem. Daniel Meade may rest easy s when justice is meted out to the murderer.” । Grizzle Meade looked at him as if she would read his soul. “My mind is not on blood. I’ve had enough of blood.” “But justice—justice should be done.” “Aye. Let them that makes the laws execute them.” “But the authorities are tardy, methinks, or this matter would have been cleared up before this. Did you mark what the sailor said about Martin Leo la«t night?” “I did not hear all he said,” Grizzle replied, cautiously. "Did you not hear him tell how he was marked by Martin Lee in a quarrel?” “Yes; and how he was Martin Lee’s friend. I heard him answer you that.” “And how he knew that Martin Lee was coming this way, and should be in Salem now.” “Yes; I heard all.” “Think you Martin Lee is here?” “How do I know?" “Was it not a sailor killed your son?” It was. Grizzle bowed her head and end put her apron to her eyes. “That sailor—was he not Martin Lee, think you?” “I never thought more about him than of the sailor who slept here bst night,” said Grizzle. “Why should you chaige Martin Lee?” “Because this man says he was coming here. This is a matter none can hear. I came to speak to you alone. Mart n Lee did come to Salem. He was here—where he is now no one knows. But in good time it will be shown he was in Salem. Grizzle Meade, if you use your wits, you will see just ce meted out to Martin Lee.” “And how are we to do this thing? What would you have us do?” “First, promise that you will never breathe what I will tell you?” “You can trust me as I trust you,” answered Grizzle Meade, slowly. “Know then that Martin Lee was seen.

I- । in John Lee’s nouse on the mornin'’ aftei ■d the murder.” fe ; “Well, and if he were?" ■° “Can yon not sue? Is it not plain? : W hy did not John Lee bid him stay? 801 l ll cause ho dare not. ’Tis well known Mars' j tin Lee was a wild youth. Nay, then, to is tell you more, John Lee forbade him bis j house. ” it j “How know vou th>' J " i, i “That is my secret, Grizzle Meade." t I “But even if it were as you report ” “I thought you were keener. 'Twas - [ Martin Lee I and the Marshal saw in this d ' very room. The sailor from Africa, with d j stories of diamond fields.” d I " Why, then, that could never bo, and I I ' not know it.” d I Giles Ellis looked at her keenly. A struggle was revealed in Grizzle’s man3 | ner. Something was combated — re- , । pressed. “It is all clear to me now. It was none f other than Martin Lee. I verily believe, s who found shelter here that night. But t why — why did he not make himself . known?” 1 “Why? He had good n a ions. doubt - a less; think you he had plenty to do with- - out revealing himself to us here, else 1 John I-ee would not drive him from his - door.” “That is reason, too,” said Grizzle Meade, slowly. ’ “But, if ever it comes to the authorities, I you must be sure ’twas Martin Lee was » here. Aye, and so must Daniel Meade.” “There need be no doubt on that hand." “Thore must not be." t “Nor will there. Whut one knows, both will swe ir. ” “I am glad you perceive where justice lies in this matter. Grizzle. Somebody should hang for your son. When Martin , ! Lee is hanged. Daniel Meade may sleep I easier." I This was another of his speeches with i j a double meaning that terrified and anI gered Grizzle. She shot a fierce look at i him, and answered sullenly: “I mu not traveling at your gait always, (tiles I Ills. It may be you are mistaken ■ about M-irtin Lee. ’ Once for . 11—I’ll sav i this- neither I nor Dani 1 Meade will say ■ aught o’ Martin Lee till I see mv wav <l-arer than 1 see it now. No treath of Martin Lee shall escape our lips till 1 see where your interest lies. ” [ Grizzle Meade’s suspic om were fnlly I aroused, nnd, unless they were allayed, all Giles' labor would ba lost. j “’1 is true. I have a r jhsou. It is not that [ want Martin hanged. There you i wrong me.” j “It would boa pity to wrong so good a i man.” I would lower the piidt of Dorothea ; i nd her daughter. " “Ah! Now I understand.” I "I will confide in yon. All Salem will I know soon Martin Lre has I o >n hero and ; committed a terrible crime. ’Twas he i who cut the throats of Winslow’s horso and sheep. " Grizzle Meade hold up hi r hands. ; “ 'Tis monstrous!” "Ave. is it. And it will be proven with- [ out doubt he did it. 1 here was one saw [ him do it." “Monstrous! 'Tis past belief,” said i Grizzle Meade. I “Now. ';is bad enough to kill a man's sheep and horse-'tis worse to kill your i son. ’I will tea mar>el if ho escapes the ' hangman.”

I "Aye. will it. Wo must seo that he does not," said Grizzle, with sudden I resolution. Irust mu to make it a straight p ith tothc scaffold. If anything 1 can say, or anything Daniel Meade may I swear, will do it, it s ns eoo I as done. And I thank you, Giles Ellis, for tour j confidence. And when you have Janet Lee to v ife, be snte I will l e among the I first to wish you joi an I long y. nrs." She sho’, a glanc ■ a h.m then that disi concerted him. All this time he hid i deluded himself hid thought he was I tuis ingber round his finger, and bending her. through her fears, to bis ”1",, i until ,1] a moment's'i o ;. hi; G”’ lyupTo , ^as laid bare, in. Utz. MTXemi- sat I looking at him composedly. 'Now th r t we un lerstand each othef, i have a glass of wino before you go?" । He was going to refuse bluntly, but । craft came to his aid, ami bone epte t the offer. As he sipped Li; wine, ho muste;. d a smile. Prepare yourself for news. I will make the first move. A good dav to vou. Mistress Monde." And Grizzle M-wde was alone. She looked after him wrathfui y. It will go hard with me if I canno! hold him ■ s fast as ho holds me." |TO BE VO-ISl'l?.! Peaceful Termination. The head porter of a h >tel nt Selma. Ala., had got mad at a colored hack driver, says the New York Sun. Ho wasn t “common, low-down mad,” but pleaded guilty to dignified indignation. “Sah!" he -aid, “I scorn to stand lieah an' excruciate wid you.” “An’, sah!” replied the other. “I

, : repiieu me enner, t wouldn t similitude nr-self bv striking I : - ‘ It it wasn t agin de law., I should I call you out. sah!” Lucky for vou dat dere is sich a - , law !” 1 “Hu!” ' i “Hu!” “Dey sold you fur fo’ hundred dollars I befo’ de war!” * ! “I inform you dat vou ar a liah, 1 sah!” ■ “De same to you. sah!” ; “111 draw cuts to >ee who makes pizen an’ kills hisself.” “Shoo! You’d run!” “Doan vou believe vo’self, nigger •” “Who’s nigger?” 1 “You is!” , “So’s you!” “Git dem cuts ready! De one who i draws de shortest has to take pizen an’ kill himself.” “Heah’s de cuts; take yer pick “Lookout, nigger! Ton’s gwine to git de short one!” “Hu! You’s got it! See! Now, don, we’ll see how brave yon is. If ver’s a gem’len you'll be founded dead" in de mawnin’. If you’s a loafer you’ll be alive. ” “111 kill myself, but I'll ha’nt ve.” “Shoo!” i “ res I will—ha’nt ve all de rest of yo’ life!” “Dat’s combatable, sah.” “Can’t help dat. I'll ha’nt you night an’ day—all the time. ■ “Den you hadn’t better die. Heckcn we hain’t no cause ter be mad.” “Beckon not. Did you call me nigger ?” “ Yes, but Ize dun sorry.” “Den Ize dun sorry I called you a liar. Shake.” I think winter a pretty wide-awake old boy, and his bluff sincerity and hearty ways are more congenial to my i mood, and more wholesome for me, I than any charms of which bis rivals ■ are capable.— Lowell.

■ DOMESTIC ECONOMY. TOPICS OF INTEREST TO THE FARMER AND HOUSEWIFE. i ’ Some Valuable Information for the Plowman, Stockman, Poulterer, Nurseryman, and Everybody Connected with the Farm. THE FARM, Corn Ensilage for Reef. At the Ontario Agricultural College experiments have been made with corn ensilage as a food for making beef, with the following summary of results: 1. That shipping Steers can be fed ata fair I profit with prices of grain as at present, when of good pes, when they are purchased at reasonable rates nnd where there are suitable facilities for feeding. 2. That corn ensilage and meal will fatten as effectively and as cheaply as a ration of roots, buy and meal, and with a less expenditure of labor. 3. That steers fasted twelve hours by simply turningthem into a yard at night will ; shrink from sixty to seventy pounds each. 4. That with food at present prices, such uh that used above, steers weighing from 1,300 to 1,500 pounds can be made to gain on an nverag 1.801 i pounds per day, and at an average cost °f 21.053 cents per day for the food fed. 5. That the value of the animals for beefing purposes was increased by the fattening process an average of 1J cents per pound from commencement to finish. Oat Culture. After three years experiments with oats the Ohio Experiment Station summarizes its results as follows: 1. In the comparative test the verities giving the highest yield in 1889 were the Improved American, Monarch, Rust Proof, Welch, and Colonel, Kansas Hybrid, Probsteier and White Shu men remain among the highest producers. 2. Varieties weighing most to the measured bushel were i Ceutenial, Early Prize (’luster, White Bonanza, Race Horse, White Victoria, j and Baggett's White. 3. The highest percentage of oats standing nt harvest । was in Hopetown, Wole Wideawake, Improved American, and < ast Proof. 4. Thu varieties giving the highest average yield in a senes of years are the White Shivnen, Monarch. I’robsteier, Early Dakota, and Burst Proof. These have averaged sixty bushels and above. Some of them have done this for years, , some five and six. 5. Seeding at the ( nite of five. six. seven, and eight pecks per acre in issu gave yields almost identical. Seeding nt less than five and j more than eight pecks gave smaller ! yields. In the average of two seasons’ 1 experiments a larger yield has been ob- j tainod from sowing at the rate of six pecks than from a larger or smaller ; quantity of seed. Tlilnlng < i>i n. Ono of the disadvantages of poor ‘ seed corn is tmit there is a constant ten- ! deucy on the part of planters to put in \ too much seed, says the Am’n’ran Cwl- I tirufor. The idea, of course, is that i sonitwill fail to grow. Oftener, how- < ever, the poor seed nil grows. lut

much of it Ims its vitality injured so much that it presents only a sorry and weik appearance. When it conns up with from five to ten stalks in a hill, the farmer thinks be will puli up nil but three of the lust, but he rarely, and practically, we may say, never does this, it goes against the grain of most farmers to thin out corn. Brsidts, to do it as it gbould bo done involves more labor than was ongimilly required for planting. Somethum the farmer thinks ho will tiuu out gradually. using the small plants to feed to cows; but this doc^ uot pav. Th y are ot little worth for fet.il fin’?! the fDut gyU mtot iss I, and by that time all are so crow th"! । there is uocbnnce far auytbr g except- । lug fodd< r. Drilled corn is more apt to suffer from overcrowding than that in hills. Ihe spaces < acb way give room for sunlight, even though the stalks crowd each other in the hill. Y ben the corn is drilled it at first looks to be very thin when the seed is put in right. Oue stalk to evh running foot of the rows gives more ears and more grain than to have it thicker. Euwlugv lor Sheep. At nn ensilage convention recently' hi 11 in Ohio, J. W. Bierce, of Indiana, gave his experience as to the value of ensilage for sheep as follows: “Last ! August, when we started out on the cir- I cult of the fairs thruughour State,which I lasted about eight weeks, we took five I coal oil barrels and burned them out on j the inside, drove to the field and got । cloverand ran it through the cutter.three- J eighths of nu inch in length, and put it into those? coal oil barrels, using an ordinary building jack-screw and pressing ' it down very firmly. After that was done I we headed those barrels up and rolled them out to one end of the barn and covered them lightly with horse manure. I AVe allowed them to remain there about | thirty days. In shipping our steep out through the State for exhibition pur- i poses we took along with us those Lar- ; rels of ensilage, which was clover in i bloom'or nearly so, second crop. From I the feeding value of that we concluded to till our silo last year, and also this, with clover, and it has proven ~ery beneficial to us and a very economical way of filling. Our method this year was to put in one of the pits the whole clover, one ton, and then take pulverized charcoal and sprinkle that over the clover, the same as we would sprinkle so many green ! hides with salt. One of the other pits j Wes filled with equal parts of corn alone. We fed from two of those pits. We ’ find from experience that the clover and corn fed in equal parts with other food is better for stock than to feed either one. corn or clover, exclusively. Mr. Mock—Did you feed any corn ensilage? Mr. Pierce—Yes, sir, I have for three years. I remember two years ago the corn was considerably smuttyjand in our rush to get it out of the weather we allowed more or less of thatsmutto go in. and by sprinkling this pulverized charcoal it seemed to destroy that, aud it took away the limburger odor that was spoken of this afternoon. That odor disappeared, and Dr. Stockbridge, of our experiment station, attributes it to that. So I conclude that we will in the future, in filling our silos, treat each layer of ensilage to a light sprinkling of pulverized charcoal. Our method of furnishing the charcoal was to dig a pit, build a slow fire in it,fill with corn cobs, and cover the cobs with about half a foot of earth, and when we got ready to use it we had a charcoal far superior to wood, anil much cheaper. The stock all eat it. The charcoal is mixed in a pulverized state. I put about a peck of charcoal to a ton of either fodder or clover. THE ORCHARD? Horticultural Hints. Chrysanthemums for fall flowering must not be allowed to become not bound. Shift into larger pL, as re-

—MiMWMMuwti niwinuaMiwißii— iißmnwawvu quired. Planting them out nnd pottina them in October is the best way, and the least trouble. The raised beds so common in many cemeteries should not be. Flat beds are better, as they do not dry out. Raised beds have to be watered every day in the bent of the summer, and are rarely satisfactory. It is said that the Brighton grape is sufficient in pollen, and that this is why the vine, when planted by itself, does not set fruit well. When planted among other kinds, the trouble is not experienced. In flavor but few kinds equal it. It is now generally known that pears fire of better flavor when gathered a week or ten days before they are ripe. ' With peaches, however, it is different. They are at their best when left on the tree until fully ripe. Unless from trees in their own gardens, the inhabitants of large cities hardly know the taste of a ripe peach. The fruiting of the fig is more of a curiosity than a source of profit in the North. It is true that if bent over and covered with earth for the winter it is ! secure, and so it is if wintered in the cellar. But the average man will not take this trouble, hence a solitary tree here and there is all that we may reasonably expect to see. S. D. Willakd, a noted or-hardist of J Geneva, tells the New York Hortieul- ! tural Society that he badly injured the ; foliage of his plum trees, and to some extent his pears, by syringing with Lon- | don purple, to destroy insects. Pans green does not injure them at all. I have used paris green in many ways on the foliage of different plants, and always without the slightest injury. We have known of the mounding of a little earth around the base of a peach and apple tree in spring, so that the borer's work, which is generally an inch or two under ground, can easily be got at later on by raking away the mound. But Secretary Wolverton, of the Ontario i Fruit Growers’ Society, says that when mounded up to a good height, no borers 1 will attack the tree at all, the wood be•mg too hard for them. They must have I the soft part near the ground or ingTHE I> lIKY. Falling OH in Milk. The reports of heavy yields of milk, ns fri quently published in live stock p riodicals, are of little value, says the I rruelteal Earmt r. In forming a just estimate of the adaptedness of a cow to I . dairy purposi s, a week s record of her ’ । duty nt the pail is often very misleading. We need to know more. Her age, time of dropping her last calf, and full i details ns to her keep, must accompany the record in order to make it profitable ; i rending. What is true of published ac- j counts of the yields of prize and other ! noted c.ittle belonging to others, may I i H'r i etrongi r reason be affirmed of our I I own ?owg. I'nkii^ 'UI records of the Tnilk each ond oT them j gives daily, and of her feed, we are nt : loss to know whether we are losing or making money by her; important items lof information just now. With a port-

* — t I able plat form-scales a can, the tare of ■ | which is known, and ruled blanks on which to make the entries of feed and yield, the time required to keep the record is very trifling, and its employj ment for the purpose is richly repaid. Indeed, in no other way can wo mnin- | tain that "Dairy Control,” without which j our I usiness is at loose ends. How much of the present sericultural deim siou is due to the lack of control of fanning operations? through ignorance of whither we are financially running, i j owing to failure to keep regular ac- ; counts of our receipts and disburse- ‘ ju> is a primary question of the i hour. Vne of the most valuable pieces of 1 information to be derived from a milk record, is not only how well the cow milks after calving, but for how many months she continues to milk well, and Low quickly she fulls oft" at the eqd of that period. We apprehend that this is a point to which too little attention is given. KegurJing the cow as a machine for the ipanufneture of milk, if she gives very nearly the same quantity during, say, three-fourths of her milking period, and especially if sue continues ' milking until within a few weeks or days fl her next calving, without injury to herself or her calf, that is the maj chine we want. Some dairymen estimate the diminution m milk, as determined by the ; weekly average, at about half a pound I daily; others assert that the yield first I increases, then falls back to about the I normal average, where it remains, and i then rapidly decreases to the end of . the milking period. The latter condi--5 tions are best secured when the calf is dropped in February or March, and the cow turned out as soon as the pasture is j ready for her. Her yield then often ; mounts higher than when she was 1 fresh.

But even when always fed on the same ' ration, cows differ in the r ite of diminution of their milk, the majority proba- ‘ bly falling off regularly, and of the remainder, the number diminishing very ; slowly, about equaling the fast shrinkers. Our milk records, therefore put our cows under three principal groups, with some “scattering.” In preparing a weekly record we leave a blank soace on leit margin of sheet for names of cows, time of calving, etc. Next to it we rule columns from top to bottom, for gallons of milk per week. i At the top of the sheet we put the num- • tier of weeks from one to fifty-two, a I broad right-hand colume being left for I noting changes in feeding, condition, etc. Mrs. Joseph Paget, of Mansfield, England, has recently devised a milk chart in which the yield is shown in the form of a diagram, instead of in columns of figures. A gradual decrease is indicated by a nearly straight obliquely descending line; a rise in quantity by an ascending line; sudden alternations in the yield by a line more or less zigzag. This plan has long been in use for showing the rise and fall in the price of wheat, in the temperature of the air, etc. Any intelligent dairyman can outline a chart himself and see bow it looks compared with figures. THE STOCK RANCH. Oats for Young Stock. Oats well deserve their reputation as the best feeding gram for young animals. For calves, this grain is especially useful, being digestibl nd containing in the right proportions the different elements of nutrition. The large proportion of husk dilutes the more concentrated kernel of the grain, and furnishes the rough and coarse material which is required for the healthful digestion of tue grain itself. A three-months-old calf will eat a pint of good, sound oats twice a day with benefit, while two quarts twice a day will be excellent for a weaning colt. Oats contain the required material for bone and flesh; hence for young, growing i

' animals they are the best grain food that can be given to them. (alites Instead of liars. A necessary precaution in the management of a flock is to use gates instead of bars, to all inclosures used by the ; sheep and lambs. To let down bars at j one end frequently causes a broken leg, > the sheep stepping between the bars and I getting fust, iracture the bone in efforts Ito free themselves. When such an acci- . dent happens, the injury may be easily [remedied by wrapping the broken limb j with stiff paper, wetted and dipped in a thin paste or plaster of pans. This is wrapped in a bandage of cloth treated in the same way and fastened with strips tied around it. In an hour the plaster sets and the bandage becomes stiff and firm. The bone thus supported heals in i three or four weeks. Broken legs of poultry may be thus mended, and larger animals may be treated in the same way if supported in slings until the bone unites. Thus t is not necessary to kill a valuable animal when it is thus dis- ! abled. THE HOUSEHOLD. A Country Sitting-Room. There is nothing prettier in a country sitting-room than a few pieces of rattan furniture, either in natural color with cushions of India silk, or enamelled in I white and gold and fitted up with striped ■ tapestry, cretonne, or any artistic mai terial the owner fancies. There are two I kinds of furniture classified under the j head of rattan —the genuine rattan and ; the reed or wicker. The wicker chair is less expensive than the rattan, but it is not to be despised for this reason. It certainly possesses one advantage over rattan—it cannot be twisted into such preposterously ugly shapes as rattan has been by some manufacturers. The nature of the material prevents it being woven with backs in the shape of Japanese fans and various other styles which are parodies of Oriental art. The Chinese chairs that come to this country are combinations of rattan and wicker-work. It is difficult to get these chairs here in as line a quality as they are made. The American rattan-work I is finer than anything that comes from China, but the shapes are far inferior to the Chinese or English work. The English make a delightful student chair in wicker-work, with a basket at the side for papers. It has a high, square । back, a broad, roomy seat, and is made i more comfortable by the addition of soft j tufted cushions, which can be removed ‘ when necessary to be beaten. It is j altogether an example of the excellent I effect of using material in a manner I adapted to its nature.— New York TriI bunt:. Hints to Housekeepers. White spots pon varnished furniture will disappear it you hold a hot plate । over them. Spots may be taken out of wash goods I by rubbing them with the yolk of eggs | before washing. To clean tinsj making them look al- ' most as nice iis new, wash in hot soap suds, dip a dampened cloth in fine, sifted coal ashes, scour well, then polish with dry ashes. A spatvla or palette-knife is the best thing for scraping batter, porridge, etc., from the sides of bowls or pots; it is not expensive, and soon saves its cost by preventing waste. Floweks can be kept fresh for some time if a pinch of soda or saltpetre is added to the water. Wilted roses will regain their freshness if dipped a moment or two in hot water. Sock milk would better be removed, from a tin vessel as soon as possible, as ; it is never well to permit an acid to reI main in a metal receiver. For this reason many people object to canning fruits in tins. } OU1 ’ shoos tenderly. Have one pair sacred (o rainy weather, for rubbers ruin fine leather. Avoid varnish and blacking of all kinds, and subI stitute vaseline. First, rub your shoes with a piece of old black silk, then apply the vaseline with a soft, black kid glove. " > In washing all body linen, hapcry and bed linen the practice of soaking them fbr Sofflul ’>oljrs in water in which borax has been dissolved is a good one. Nor should clothing be boiled beyond fifteen or twenty minutes at the most. None but the best soaps ought to be used in any kind of washing, and after clothing I has been rubbed in the first water, and put loosely into the boiler, with plenty of water to scald it in, it should not require rubbing again in the sudsing water. THE KITCHEN. Quick Biscuit. Two cups flour, one tablespoonful mixed lard and butter, one cup milk, one heaping teaspoonful baking powder, pinch salt. Handle little, roll and cut quickly, and bake in a steady oven. Chocolate Icing. Allow one pound of icing sugar to

every two ounces of chocolate; grate the । latter into a saucepan, and mix with it eight tablespoonfuls of water; stir well, and let it cook gently for ten minutes, then add the sugar, and use while warm. Potato Soup. Three pints of rich milk, one pint of mashed potato, two tablespoonluis of butter, salt and pepper to taste. Boil the milk, add the potato and boil again, stirring frequently, that the potato may become thoroughly dissolved, and season just before serving. Serve very hot. l*uree of Celery. Boil two heads of celery in plenty of salted water with an onion, a blade of mace and some whole pepper. When done drain them and pass them through a hair sieve. Melt a piece of butter in a saucepan, mix a little flour with it, then the celery pulp and work it well on the fire, adding a little cream of milk and some of the gravy of the ducks. Baked Rice with Cheese. One pint of boiled rice, half a cupful of grated cheese, place in alternate layers in a buttered earthen dish. Spread powdered cracker over the top with bits of butter, and over the whole pour one egg, well beaten, one cupful of milk, one saltspoontul of dry mustard, half a teaspoonlul of salt and a shake of cayenne pepper, thoroughly beaten together. Bake twenty minutes in quick oven, and serve very hot. A Cup of Coffee. Coffee is far more delicious when made with egg than it is without. One egg to a teacupful of ground coffee is about the right proportion for a rich extract, but less than this can be easily used, by adding a teacupful of cold water to a well-beaten egg, "nd using enough of this mixture to thoroughly wet the ground cc-ffee. Beat an egg thoroughly, add two tablespoonfuls of cold milk; pour this mixture into a pint of boiling milk, let scald but not boil. Try this when you have no cream for breakfast coffee. i