Newspaper Page Text
SYMPATHY.
Friend, art thou drowning! So ana
Hold by mv hand
Nearer Ls my vain help, than help
From yonder land.
Friend, art thou starving! So. too, I.
Therefore I come
To the -not to the overfed—
To ask a crumb
Fi iend. hast thou nothing' hav<
5 et. Iteggared ones
oj\o more to those who beg. than ec>
Earth's richest sons.
(truce I) Litchfield in Inde/tendtnl.
The Langley Burglary.
I lie large party, assembled as usual at
Langley lowers to celebrate in approved
fashion t Ik- approaching 1 t of September,
were all collected on<- night after dinner
in the drawing room, wln-n tlm conversa
tion. hitherto rather languid, chanced to
turn on a burglary that had lately taken
place in the neighborhood. Every one at
konce sci/cd on the topi . and proceeded
to relate more or less irrelevant, but all
•like gha-tly. stories of famous burglaries
""d robb r'i. -. till suddenly Miss Cecil
( lifTord. a raisin of Lady Langley's, a
very pretty girl and an heiress to boot,
who had hitherto taken no part in the
talk, looked up suddenly and said:
•1 do wish you would not all discuss
such horrors. How do you expect us
to sleep quietly in our beds if you will in
sist on retailing such frightful stories,
especially as tim e wretches who broke
into Colston Park are still at large! I
feel as if | should find a burglar in mv
room to-night, so if I should rouse the
house w it h a false alarm don't blame me.”
“I think I should die if 1 were to wake
and see one in my room." exclaimed little
Lady Langley, shrugging her pretty
shoulder- in not wholly affected fright.
“At all events, the man would not
trouble you long enough with his com
pany if that tin ease of yours, with your
diamonds in it, were lying on your dress
ing table as usual," returned her cousin.
“1 know you'll be murdered through
those diamonds one day!”
“I)o you really mean that Lady Lang
ley keeps her jewelry in her dressing
table!' asked Captain Le Marehant, an
impecunious young man, who was sus
pected on very good grounds, of being in
love with Miss Clifford, and who was, in
consequence, rather out of favor with her
guardians,
“To be sure she does,” laughed the
host ; “and i|S Cecil says, I know we shall
wake up some line morning to find our
selves corpses because of that whim of
hers."
“What’s the use of having jewelry if it
is always to he at the banker's!" retorted
Lady Langley.
“i wish to goodness you’d be sensible,
Flo',” remonstrated her cousin, “and
have it kept in the plateroom at all
events. I know that 1 shall do noth
ing lmt dream of your diamonds.”
Lady Langley laughed gayly, and
seemed to take a malicious pleasure in
keeping the conversation on the same
subject, despite her cousin’s very evident
dislike of it, in which she was assisted by
Captain Le Marehant, who chaffed Miss
Clifford a good deal about her nerves,
until the party se pit rated for the night.
Next morning the house was in con
fusion, for the diamonds were gone.
Lady Langley missed them the moment
she rose, for, her maid being far from
well at the time, she had bidden the girl
not to sit up for her, and had undressed
herself, leaving her diamonds, which she
had been wearing, loose on her dressing
table, where Cecil Clifford found them
when she came to her cousin’s to bid her
good night as usual, and she put them in
their ease. Of course every hole and
corner was searched, but in vain. The
police came, but were equally unsuccess
ful. Not a trace of either the thieves or
the jewelry was to he found. The police,
including the detective hastily summoned
from London, were positive that the rob
bery had been committed by someone
in the house—a conviction that did not
add to the comfort of the inmates of
Langley Towers. Suspicion ran riot; the
household ten ants, one and all, belonged
to well-known and respectable families
in the neighborhood, and had mostly
been for considerable periods in the
Langley's service, while the visitors’
servants, it happened, seemed equally
above suspicion. The only person who
ventured to differ from the officials was
Captatu Le Marehant, who openly poo
poohed the whole thing as simply in
vented by the police to screen their own
incompetence.
Whether from conviction or opposi
tion. Miss Clifford embraced the police
theory, and before long her suspicion fell
on the maid of one of her visitors, who
she felt convinced was at least an accom
plice. Unfortunately for this poor girl,
Cecil Clifford confided her doubts to her
cousin, who in her turn unconsciously
betrayed them to the detective, so the
unlucky maid was immediately placed
under a surveillance that rendered her
life a burden to her. and ultimately cost
her her situation.
Captain Le Marehant remonstrated
several times on the subject with his
fiancee t lor such she really was, though
the engagement was not officially ac
knowledged!. but without effect. She
somehow -corned to distrust hiui, us of
late, from some cause or other, his usual
sunny temper had quite deserted him;
his tongue had acquired a bitterness new
to his friends, while his handsome, merry
face had grown to look worn and haggard.
Miss Clifford, though -till persisting in
her opinion, bore his strictures with
gentle patience, laying the very evident
temper lie showed to the account of some
money to üble> that she well knew were
worrying him. but at last he went too
far, and ere their interview on this occas
ion terminated, the engagement between
them was summarih broken off bv the
lady.
Captain Le Marehant never took auv
steps to bring about a reconciliation,
which, on her side, Cecil Clifford was
far too proud to dream, though what the
estrangement co-t her only she could have
told. All she knew about him was that
he had exchanged into a regiment
stationed in India, and beyond one other
fact she heard no more of him till three
or four years later the newspapers told
her that he had joined the army in Egypt,
and formed one of the band sent to the
rein fof Gordon and Khartoum. Strangely
enough, the one fact that she did hear
privately—namely, his having before
leaving England provided for the future
of the poor girl who had suffered so
severely from the suspicions that were
east upon her about the lost diamonds—
only seemed to render her more incensed
against her erstwhile betrothed.
Six or seven years had passed since the
burglary at Langley, when one night to
ward the end of the season Miss Clifford
(Miss Clifford still, in spite of her wealth
and beauty) at a large dinner, fouud her
stlf introduced to ’‘Colonel la? Marehant”
by her host, who, ignorant of their pre
vious acquaintance, had been actuated by
a lieuevoient desire "to do dearold Denis
THE MONROE ADVERTISER: FORSYTH. GA., TUESDAY, APRIL 1837.—EIGHT PAGES.
a good turn" by making him acquainted
with the heiress.
The old lovers stood a moment face to
face in silence, scrutinizing one another,
the lady secretly, though not a trace of
the hard work he had undergone escaped
her: the gentleman oj>enly. He was the
first to speak :
"It is long -inee we met. Miss Clif
ford."
"Not since we were together at Lang
ley." she replied, softly.
"Yes, when the diamonds were stolen.
I wonder if that business will ever be
cleared up?”
Just then dinner was announced, and
the guests filed down in solemn proces
sion. Although Colonel Le Marehant es
corted Miss Clifford, her attention was at
first claimed by her other neighbors. But
when the conversation had become-suffi
ciently animated to all private conversa
tion, Colonel Le Marehant turned toward
her and their eyes met.
"What a wretched time that was,” he
said softly.
“At Langley, do you mean? Yes, in
deed it was. But wit- it not curious how
they found those diamonds!”
“Found them I you don’t say so!" he
exclaimed, eagerly. "When? Do tell
me, please, Miss Clifford. You see. I
only came home a few days ago and have
heard nothing.”
“Oh* it is nearly r. year since. Sir
James was out fishing with one of the
boys, when his line got entangled in the
branches of an old tree which had fallen
into the river at some time. In disen
tangling it they saw something wedged
in against the trunk of the tree which,
after a little trouble, they fished out. It
proved to be the identical case in which
Lady Langely kept her diamonds, and
when it was forced open there they were
safe enough, and reports which appeared
later declared that the box must have lain
there ever since the night of the robbery.
The theory is that whoever stole it must
have hidden it in the river bank, meaning
to fetch it when the fuss had blown over,
but that the current had swept it away,
till the tree stopped it.
“Curious!” said Colonel Le Marehant,
slowly.
“Yes, is it not?” she forced herself to
answer quietly, for the strange expression
on her companion's face troubled her,
she scarcely knew w hy. “I suppose there
can be no doubt that it was some of the
servants; though, after such a lapse of
time, it would be hopeless to try and
bring it home to any one.”
Le Marehant looked at her sharply, and
was just going to speak, when their host
interrupted him with some question
about the Soudan, and the conversation
became general till the ladies retired.
Miss Clifford had sheltered herself in
the drawing-room behind a large port
folio of rare prints to think undisturbed
over her unexpected meeting with her
old lover, when the subject of her
thoughts quietly came up and took a seat
beside her.
"I cannot tell you how glad I am that
those diamonds have been recovered,” he
said.
, “So am I,” she answered. “Do you
know, I feel as if I were a clairvoyante or
something of the sort, forever since the
robbery, whenever I have been at all un
well, my nightmare has been about those
diamonds and the river. 1 hear the rush
ing of the waters quite plainly,” she went
on dreamily, unconsciously dropping into
the old tone her companion remembered
so well. “I wonder why it is!”
“I suppose it is because you really liid
the diamonds under the bank of Langley
Water,” was the startling answer.
“I hid the diamonds'. What on earth
do you mean? You must be mad, Col
onel Le Marehant!”
“No, lam not. I saw you do it,” he
replied quietly.
"You saw me do it! Then why to
goodness did you not say so at the
time?”
“Because I was mad then, Cecil, and
made a horrible mistake.”
“You thought I stole the diamonds?”
lie was silent.
“Then that was why you were so keen
about that poor little lady’s maid?”
He nodded.
“You believed—oh—and were trying
to screen me all the time!”
“Forgive me, Cecil.”
“But do you mean that you actually
saw me take the diamonds?” she asked
in wonder. “Please tell me!”
Colonel l>e Marehant stooped over the
book of prints Miss Clifford was ostensi
bly examining, and answered in a low
voice: "I had sat up late in the smoking
room. worrying over some money
troubles, when, startled to find how late
it was, I was ret rating as silently as I
could to my quarters. As I was passing
along the bedroom passage I suddenly
saw you in your dressing-gown come out
of Lady Langley’s room carrying a tin
box. Instinctively 1 drew back behind
the curtain of the staircase window, and
you walked by without noticing me. I
followed you softly. You went to that
little side door in the garden by the
drawing-room, about which young I.ovat
had chaffed Langley so much, unfast
ened it, and went out right across the
lawn toward the river. Then to my hor
ror you went over the bank till I felt cer
tain you would slip in. and I was just
rushing up to catch you when you
scrambled back—without the box ! You
returned as you came, by the little door
(through which 1 followed you), and re
gained your room. I was too utterly
taken aback to speak to you. for the idea
that you were sleep-walking never struck
me till just now. Next morning when
the robbery was discovered. I remem
bered the box you had carried; and then
the recollection of the tin case you and
Lady Langley had spoken of the pre
vious night flashed across my mind.”
"But did you never go to look at the
place?”
"Yes. that very day; but though I felt
certain that I was on the exact spot, I
could find nothing. This confirmed my
suspicions that you had an accomplice,
for I watched you closely enough to know
that you had not again visited the river.
So you can imagine my feelings when I
found you, as 1 thought, trying to fix
the crime on Mrs. Crompton's maid."
“Good heavens! Then that was what
you meant that last day when you made
me so angry. Well, confession for con
fession, Colonel Le Marehant. You saw
me, as you thought, steal the diamonds.
For my part, judging from your agitation
at the time, and your energy in defend
ing that poor girl. I grew convinced that
you knew more of the robbery than you
should have done, and actually believed
that your subsequent kindness to her was
simply remorse for having let her be sus
pected of what you had only too good
reason to know her innocent."
“'What a chapter of accidents!” said
j Colonel Le Marehant. slowly. “If only
we had spoken out at the time 1 I can
! hardly complain of your doubt, but vet I
think you should have known me better.”
• ‘Y'ou doubted me. Denis!"
• ‘But I saw you 1”
Miss Clifford smiled.
Still sheltered by the portfolio which
they were both apparently interested in.
, Colonel Le Marehant caught his compan
I ion’s hand and whispered .
"Let bygones be bvgonec, Cecil, and
set one mistake against the other. They
have lost us years of happiness already.”
Though their tete-a-tete w as interrupted
by their hosto-. Miss Clifford mut have
found means of answering the appeal, fur
before the week was ant all the world and
his wife were discussing the impending
marriage of Colonel Le Marehant and the
hitherto unapproachable heiress.
A Strange Story.
Speaking of superstition reminds me of
a story which a thoroughly truthful friend
of mine tells, though 1 don't know why I
should think of it in connection with su
perstition, for I believe it is only the op
eration of a natural law which we do not
vet understand. Savs mv friend: “I was
a little boy of about ten years when the
war broke out. My elder brother and my
cousin, who had lived in our family for
many years and w as as much like a brother
as if he were one. enlisted and went to
the front. Before the battle of luka, I
think it was. the papers told of the pros
pect of a battle, but gave no idea of when
it would be fought. One day I wasplay
ing in our sitting-room at home and 1 no
ticed that my mother was very miserable.
She would walk the floor for aw hile and
then stand and look vacantly out at the
window. Several times she sat down and
quietly wept. Presently she said : My
God. they must not go there.’ No one
was in the room with us and not a
word had been spoken for a long time.
Her manner frightened me, I remember,
and I asked her what was the matter.
Snatching me to her breast she stood ft>r
a long time like a statue, vouchsafing me
no further information than that my
brother and cousin were in great danger
and would probably be killed. I sup
posed she knew—l supposed my mother
knew everything—so without asking how
she knew I, too, fell to crying; and there
we stood close to each other and wept as
if we already had seen the mangled
bodies of our ioved ones. For more than
an hour, I think, we continued to mourn,
when, as I was lying on the sofa at one
end of the room and she was sitting by a
window at the other, she all at once ut
tered a joyful ‘Ah'.’and said in almost
hysterical excitement: ‘They are safe;
they are all right now.’ By this time I
had gathered my wits enough to wonder
and to ask how she knew, and she told
me she didn’t know how she knew, but
‘something’ told her.
“The next letter that came from ‘the
boys’ told of the battle and related tliis
incident: Company A, cavalry, of the
Thirty-sixth Illinois Infantry Regiment
—the company of which my brother and
cousin were members—-had been sent in
advance of the army to reconnoiter a road
running through a forest with dense un
derbrush. The company passed down,
the road and entered tlie woods through
which they went a considerable distance.
Finally Captain Albert Jenks, I believe
it was, made the discovery that the un
derbrush on both sides of the load was
‘alive’ with Confederates. With great
presence of wind he halted his men, or
rather stopped them in an unconventional
way, and said to them in a loud tone:
“ ‘Well, boys, this road is all clear; I
guess our army can go through all right.
Anyway, we’ll go back and report it all
clear. ’ Then in a lower tone lie cautioned
his men not to look to the right or left,
but go back quietly as they had come.
The upshot of it was that the Confed
erates, thinking they would catch the
whole Union army in their ambush, lay
perectly still and let the little company
go back unmolested.
“Now, continues my friend, “as nearly
as wo could, got a* the fact*. it was wh.au
the company was going iuto those woods
that my mother said they must not go
there, and it was when they halted and
turned about that she said they were
saved.”
There is a well know n theory that there
is some sort of occult connection between
certain minds, no matter what nor hoxv
much distance may intervene between
them, but tliis hardly explains my friend’s
case, for his mother seemed to know of
the special danger in which “the boys”
were placed, while “the boys” themselves
seemed to be ignorant of it. At any rate,
it is a tough nut to crack, and 1 leave it
to the metaphysicians with the assurance
that l believe all its essential points to be
unquestionably true.— Chicago News.
Right Treatment of Horses.
Horses are not cowardly. They are sim
ply nervous and easily excited. Once
taught that an object will not injure
them, they care nothing more about it.
They will stand fearlessly the beating of
drums, the putting of the locomotive,
the rattling of cars, or any other sound
naturally terrifying to animals. If the
trainer shouts at them and beats
them at first sight of that which causes
fear they will ever after be unsafe, ex
cept. perhaps, in the hands of the same
brutal driver. They may be controlled
when young in any place and under all
circumstances if in their early training
they have been made to rely on the voice,
calmly used, of the driver. Once a trick
is acquired it is never forgotten, and once
a horse has run away he is ever thereafter
unsafe, except under the driving of an
expert, and then he is always unpleas
ant.
Many persons suppose horses under
stand spoken language. The probability
is they do not. The language of the
horse is more by signs than by voice.
They, however, understand tones and
signs perfectly or can be made so to do.
It is the tone, therefore, that should be
cultivated in training horses,and, in fact,
all animals, and these tones should al
ways be low. Hence the reins and the
whip should be used principally as sig
nals: the voice to indicate action or in
action. The latter should “whoa" or
“ho," to stop; “back" to back up; a
cluck to indicate going forward: "get
on" or "go on,” to indicate increased
speed, and "steady" to slow up. In this
the emphasis is always to be on The last
word when more than one is used.
There is. however, no objection to
talking to horses. They like to hear the
sound of the human voice. The first
thing a colt should be taught is to know
his uame. and to come promply at the
call. Give them something they like—a
lump of sugar or a slice of carrot—when
they come. They will soon learn what
the call means and be eager to obev.
Then talk to them while stroking the
hair or patting the shoulder. Horses es
pecially like being slightly scratched cin
der the mane.
In training to the saddle ’lie reins are
not to be used to pull the horse about,
and particularly if it be a sharp curb.
The hand is to be raised for galloping
and to be lowered in trotting, and the
bridle is to be swerved against one or the
other side of the neck in turning. With
no bit, when the horse is going at ease,
is there to be more restraint used than
i just enough, so the mouth of the horse
; may be lightly felt. Especially in the
| saddle must the rider understand the
science of equitation. The grip of the
saddle must be by the thighs. The legs
and heels convey the signs of what the
i horse is to do, in connection with the
bridle, and the spur or whip should never
be used except to punish a horse or to ex
cite him !<> some extraordinary exertion.
AfiKHTLITRAL
TOPICS OF INTEREST RELATIVE
TO FARM AND GARDEN.
Experiments in Feeding Sheep.
E’our pens of eight sheep each were
tested during a period of 10G days. The
loods were, all of good quality; the lin
seed cake was a pure and superior one.
During the first period of thirtv-three
days, the several pens increased in weight
from 5.0 ounces to 7.(5 ounces daily
apiece—the mixed linseed and cotton
cake doing worst and the mixed oat and
barley meal the best. In the second pe
riod of similar length the sheep increased
in weight only from 1.3 ounce to 2.5
ounces daily. The period wa oue of se
ven' weather and the results prove what a
waste of food is inevitably incurred in
the winter sheepfold. The combined oats
and barley now did the worst and the
linseed cake did the best of all the foods;
the wheat flower being, however, almost
as bad a> any of them. Several of the
“beep during this period fell ill and some
of them died or were slaughtered. In
the third period the increase per head
varied from 8 ounces to 14.7 ounces daily,
and here the wheat stood highest of the
whole and the crushed oats and barley
lowest.—/)/-. John 1 'odder.
A Fertilizer Hint.
•T. B. S. has a light, gravelly and poor
soil which he proposes to seed to wheat i
with grass, and has salt. lime, plaster and
ashes as a fertilizer. As the land has .
never had salt or lime, their application
may be very beneficial. We advise sow
ing alternate strips with the salt, lime
and plaster, to see how they act. That
is the only way to tell—experiment for 1
yourself. Nor should we bother to mix I
these with the bone and ashes, but apply 1
them separately and in varying quanti- i
ties; but don’t get on more than two bar- (
rels of 'alt per acre, and less may be as |
well. The ashes, if pure and unleached, j
will contain about six percent, of potash
and two per cent, of phosphoric acid:;
pure fine ground bone contains about j
twenty per cent, of phosphoric acid and j
four per cent, of nitrogen (commonly j
called ammonia). Mixed together in j
equal proportions, we have a fertilizer
running two per cent, of nitrogen, eleven !
per cent, of phosphoric acid and three per j
cent, of potash; apply this at the rate of
500 pounds to 2,000 pounds per acre. ac>
cording to your purse, and you should i
get results that will please you. The !
bone and ashes should be composted and
kept moist for two or three months be
fore using, so that the potash will cut and
soften the bone. We should drill this in,
and broadcast ancl harrow in the salt and
plaster, though broadcasting for both may '
be better. Form ancl Garden.
How Horses are Spoiled.
When we have succeeded in inspiring i
the horse with entire confidence in him
self and in hi- master also, there is but
little likelihood, unless lie is a very ner
vous or a very perverse horse, that he
will become troublesome through any
vicious act, or want of honesty. “Balk
ing,” that one vice that pretty nearly
takes all the virture out of some horses,
is undoubtedly always, or very nearly al
ways, chargeable to indiscreet manage
ment on the part of those who have had
the breaking—training—and after man
agement at work. Thus, if a horse is
overloaded while yet young, stops to rest
without being told to do so. and finding
Uic rest agit c..blc, nint" tftc' idarting--be
ing weary—disagreeable, it is not to lie
wondered at that he forms the habit of
stopping, and thenceforward becomes a
“balker." If. when this first inclination
to stop and hesitate is observed the temp
tation be taken away by getting onto an
easier piece of road, lightning the load,
or giving the horse rest, and feed if need
ed, after avoiding a similar occasion for
stopping, the danger of having a con
firmed balky horse may be averted. But
when under these circumstances the
horse is hit with a whip, and sharply
reprimanded, then look out for a retalia
tory effort. The horse assumes that you
are his enemy, and from that moment he
places himself in an antagonistic posi
tion, looking upon his master as an en
emy.
The question is often asked whether a
confirmed balker can be cured. This ad
mits of a double answer—yes and no. If
the horse is in good hands, managed bv
some person who has firmness and judg
ment, he can sometimes be cured by driv
ing a stake and hitching him at the
spot where he stops, until he is glad to
move along to where his rations are.
Horses have been cured by. as the saving
is, “taking them at their word,” and if
they want to back, then keep them back
ing, giving the animal to understand
that that is just what you want him to do.
Y'ou can. in half an hour to an hour, con
vince him that backing is a very much
harder motion than going forward.—
National Lire Stock Journal.
Live Stock Notes.
It is recommended that to prevent cows
or steers from jumping over fences a
horseshoe be nailed to one of the fore
feet. which prevents the hoofs from
spreading and consequently renders the
animal unable to spring.
To train a flock of sheep take a lamb to
the house and teach it to came at the call
of a certain sound, and then put it with
a flock. As sheep follow the leader, the
whole flock may oe called by the obedi
ence shown ou tne part of the petted
sheep.
An excellent mixture of hay for all
classes of stock is one-third clover hav
with timothy and red-top, which is much
better than eivher one alone, as the mix
ture is more complete in food elements.
It should be fed with an allowance of
ground grain also.
How to induce cattle to eat cornstalks
is a difiiculty that has been overcome by
a Maine farmer, who sprinkled hot brine
over the stalks. The cornstalks are fed,
with the fodder and husks, without cut
ting. and if well cured, he says the stock
will leave but little uneaten. It is more
economical, however, to pass them
through a fodder cutter.
Estimating the value of the hog as a
producer of manure, a practical swine
breeder states that a hog. if kept to the
age of twelve months, will convert a cart
load of material per month into an excel
lent fertilizer for corn. He thinks that
with twelve loads of manure a year from
each hog on the farm, the hogs should
provide enough fertilizer to pay for the
corn they consume, and that by estimat
ing the value of the manure the hog is
kept at a less cost than he is credited.
To indicate the influence of the food
upon the growth of bone in animals. Pro
fessor Lehman fed a young pig 126 days
upon potatoes alone, the result being
rickets or softening of the bone. Other
pigs, from the same litter, fed upon po
tatoes, black oat meal and additional
phosphates for the same length of time,
had normal skeletons yet there was a
difference according to the phosphate
added. Two that were fed on phosphate
ef potash had porous bones that were spe-
cifically lighter than, others that had been
fed upon phosphate and carbonate of
lime. The experiment demonstrates the
importance of feeding a variety of food.
“The Curious* iu Dairying.”
An Ohio farmer says in the New Y'ork
Tribune: One comes across "queer wrin
kles" in dairying; some of them really
have a “scientific" side, but the operator*
for the life of them can give no reason
for their practice. One lady says she al
ways puts a pint of cold water in the cen
tre of each milk pan when she "sets it;’’
why. she does not know, but she always
ha good luck getting cream. Now there
ri more science about this than appears on
the surface. Milk contains more or less
albuminous matter which makes it slightly
“sticky “ In some instances this is very
marked, and amounts to pronounced vis
cosity. Water is a solvent of it. and the
addition of pure cold water makes the
milk get more fluid and enables the but
ter fats to rise with more resistance, and
hence the better cream. The cooling ef
fect of the water at the centre of the
milk might aid more thau one would
think possible. The only effect would
be that of making the milk more limpid,
and would not be objectionable, but the
question comes up. would there not be
more certainty about cream rising if the
milk were put in can-pails and set in
tanks of cold water, and the lower, uni
form temperature of the milk secured?
Another curious custom lately came to
my knowledge—that of washing out the
butter with sweet skim milk, as it did
not give the butter a "fiat" taste like that
imparted when water was used. It' old
or strong butter be washed out with
sweet milk, it dissolves and liberates
some of the elements, notably acids, that
cause the change in butter. 1 suspect this
lady churned very old, or sour cream,
and the sweet milk takes out the ele
ments wrought by the chemical action of
sonrine. and leaves the butter with a
flavor not influenced by these objection
able features. The thing that all au
thorities now say makes butter bad
(caseine) has not been got out of the but
ter, and, with the little remaining de
composing caseine and sugar, it must be
sooner hastened on its road to question
able flavor, and consequent low price.
Had this lady churned oftener, and used
cream less acid, she would have found
that salt and water is everyway superior
to sweet milk as an aid in butter-wash
ing. It is always safe and more profit
able to let the consumer judge about the
• flit" taste in butter than to try to force
upon him a flavor he has learned to avoid.
The market is strongly drifting toward
fresh-made butter, churned from slightly
acid cream, washed free from butter
milk with weak brine, and salted not to
exceed a half ounce to the pound.
Fattening Pigs on Pasture.
A notion prevails that pigs cannot be
fattened unless closely shut up in a pen.
Along in September, as soon as corn is
large enough to be fed to them, the pigs
must be confined in a stuffy little pen,
where they cannot get a sniff of fresh air
or green grass. This is an unnatural and
unreasonable theory. Animals that have
had the freedom of a pasture range all
summer, cannot be contented when thus
suddenly deprived of it; and when not
contented they will not readily take on
flesh. I think the idea must have origi
nated in the fact that a few hogs, shut
away from the main drive, will do better
lon the same feed than the others. This
separation usually occurs at fattening
time. The advantage gained in this way
may somatiiuv exceed the loss occasioned
by removal from grass, and thus give rise
to the notion that close confinement on a
plank floor is just the thing for fattening
j piK s -
Again there is a breed (I am glad it is
1 now almost extinct) that can never be
fattened unless they are ringed, ham
strung and tied down, for they are inevit
able land-sharks by nature as well as by
name, and will root themselves down to
■ bristles and bones if given space enough
in which to do it. In times when this
breed (?) was the prevailing oue,
it was quite likely to cause
the farmer to think that a hog
could not be fattened while allowed any
degree of freedom. But, as I have said
before, we have now gotten out of this
kind of stock, aud as a natural conse
quence, we want to get out of this way
of managing our swine. A modern, re
spectable, well bred pig will not root his
flesh off if he is fed in satisfying quanti
ties. as fattening pigs out West usually
are. In fact, it has been clearly demon
strated that he will take on fat much
faster if allowed room to exercise and a
chance to add something to his diet of
dry corn. Hogs of this kind do not root
much if given a good clover pasture.
Unless given something besides dry corn,
they ought to root, for their systems de
mand something more than the corn con
tains. They will not root for fun. nor for
food if they can find what they need on
the surface of the ground.
As to the quality of pork fattened on a
clear corn diet, while the pigs so fed are
closely confined, little need be said. The
I diseased pork that is inflicted upon the
I country is grown in these same putrid,
infected holes. Pure, wholesome milk
or flesh cannot come from filthy food or
filthy surroundings.— Practical Former.
Eskimo Traditions.
But. speaking of traditions, I migli
say that these people possess a grea
many of them. It is. however, verydiffi
cult to induce an Eskimo to speak ol
such things or of his religious beliefs.
The only wav of extracting such informa
tion from an Eskimo is to make him your
friend, and then getting him away from
his companions promise that you will not
tell them what he may tell you, and hav
ing done this to draw hirn step by step
into the line of conversation you want to
get at. One of their traditions is about
the flood, ancl I think it is particularly
interesting, as it is one of many similar
j legends held by the savage tribes. The
i Eskimos say that a very long time ago
; there was a great ram, which flooded the
earth and destroyed all men except a few
who constructed a large boat out of a
number of small ones and used it as a
means of escape. After a while the pooi
creatures, being exposed to the fury ol
the storm in their open boat, began to b<
cold and uncomfortable: so their chief
standing up. threw hi< spears and orna
ments into the waters, and this was suffi
cient to pacify them aud they subsided.
They ha\ e also a romantic legend about
the origin of the sun and moon. Torontc
Ifad.
To keep postage stamps in the jrocket
or memorandum book without sticking,
a New Orleans postoffice clerk advises
people to rub the sticky side over the
i hair two or three times. The oil of the
hair coats the mucilage and prevents it
from sticking.
A small and retrousse nose betokens
cunning and finesse: a straight and thin
nose taste and delicacy: au aquiline nose
judgment, reason and egotism: a shape
less, clumsy nose intellectual dillness and
want of savoir faire.
( Ilid'S SECRETS.
IHK FINANCIAL DKPARTMUXT
OF A “BIG SHOW.”
I .ip Cost of Transportation—Wlint
it Costs to Feed Animals—
Pay of Performers
and Agents.
In a stay of a week in a city like Phil- ;
idelphia, Boston or Chicago, a big circ us
usually puts out from 12.000 to 15.000
sheets of paper, which costs from nine to
fifteen, cents a sheet to get on the walls,
printing posting and all. Railroading or
transportation requires from $l5O to SSOO
per day. according to the distance be
tween the “stands" and the magnitude of
the show. Barnum. Forepaugh. Cole,
both Robbiues. Doris. O'Brien and a few
others own their own cars. Forepaugh
has sixty-two cars in all. Each i- sixty
feet long, and on them are carried 385 1
people, 250 head of horses, forty-five
rages of animals, sixty baggage wagons,
tableau cars, etc., and thirty elephants.
A circus pays a certain sum. previously
agreed upon, to a railway company for a
“run." that is. transportation from oue
plact; to another: and it usually costs lit
tle or no more to run 100 or 150 miles
than it does to make twenty-five miles.
All that the railway company furnishes
are the engine- and train men. The cir
cus attache- (licit including, of course,
the performers! load and unload the
show, and a- most of the hands are ex
perienced. they are able to handle a great
deal of property in the course of a few
hours.
The salary list of a good-sized circus
runs anywhere from SSOO to $1,500 a
day. Forepaugh's pay roll calls for the
latter amount, and the list of the Barnum
show is claimed to lie even higher. These
figures include the pay of performers,
agents, hostlers, canvas-men, grooms and
trainers, or “razor-backs,*’ as they are
facetiously called. Of course, the per
formers get the most money. Last sea
son the Barnum people paid an English
trio of trapeze performers, Lolo, Lola and
Sylvester—the latter a man—s2so a week
and their expenses. Forepaugh pays
William Showles, the bareback rider,
$250 a week, and yet has some eques
trians in his employ who draw as low as
$25 or SBO weekly. Acrobats are always
well paid when their act is graceful and
diverting. They generally travel iu
teams of two and three, and do what are
known as "brother ac ts.” The three
Lamartine brothers, for iustance, draw
$l5O a week from Forepaugh's pay clerk.
Many of these performers do two or three
different acts, and, indeed, they will
tackle almost anything, from a flying
trapeze to a horizontal bar, while nearly
all are good tumblers and leapers, easily
and advantageously used in "the grand
tumbling and finale ' so familiar to circus
goers. There are many groups of per
formers who turn themselves into “fami
lies,” and by doing a daring act of some
novel kind, are often able to get S2OO or
S3OO a week. (downs are exceedingly
plentiful, and may be engaged for as low
as S2O a week.
Besides what we classed as the regular
expenses of a circus, each show has its
so-called “locals.” the term applied to all
incidental outlays, such as for licenses,
rent of lots to show on, hotel bills, feed
for the animals, provisions, and any other
items not included in the departments
already enumerated. The feeding of the
animals does not amount to so much as
might be imagined. There are c ertain
Gu-sses of animals, known to cirrus men
! as hay animals, bread animals, meat ani
! mals. etc. Three hundred pounds of
meat, three tons of hay and 250 pounds
| of bread will till the whole menagerie of
| any of the big shows. When the snakes
i eat, which is only once in every three
months, they must be fed with doves,
, rabbits or pigeons. It takes the romance
out of your early knowledge of natural
| history, by the way, to hear a well-posted
[ circus man tell you that it's all non
| sense to talk about “snakes fascinating
i their prey.” When hungry, he asserts
most positively, snakes will strike any
live animal within reach, and lay hold of
it without the slightest preliminary move
ment. When a snake has a particularly
! good appetite lie will get away with five
or six birds at a single meal.
As lor the feeding of the people them
selves. some circuses provide the meals in
| cook tents of their own, while others ar
ranged with hotels. Forepaugh runs a
! special dining car in conjunction w ith his
train, and all his principal performers are
served with their meals on this car, in
the most perfect order. He also erects a
special camp, or cook tent, for the pur
pose of feeding his men on the grounds.
Putting all these items of expense into
a lump sum, it will be seen that the cost
of operating a big circus reaches from
$3,800 to $4,500 per day. The cost of
collecting a really good menagerie is a
good deal more than most people would
suppose. Probably it would take at least
$200,000 to stock any kind of a preten
tious menagerie, such as Barnum, Cole or
Forepaugh would carry, and then the
original purchase is nothing at all to the
expense; of maintaining, and from time to
time increasing, the collection. Ele
phants are pre-eminently the most ex
pensive features iu the get-up of a
menagerie, their value running among
the thousands, according to their age,
size and nature of their training. As all
the big circuses carry quite a number of
the pachyderms, it is not difficult to see
where SIOO,OOO would be represented in
that branch of the menagerie alone. In
i deed. Adam Forepaugh is wont to boast
that his thirty elephants are worth fully
SIOO,OOO. anil that his entire collection
of animals counld not be bought for less
than $500,000.
I had almost forgotten to include the
hire of the agent in thi- enumeration of
a tent show's expense-. He is übiqui
tous, yet necessary, and when there are
many of him—as happens in the make
up of alt the leading circuses—he is a
gilt-edged item on the pay roll. I know
it to be a fact that when, not many sea
sons ago. the Barnum people hired about
all the agents they could flourish contracts
at, they found that they had agreed to
pay no less than $50,000 for this branch
of their work for that year. Many circus
agents are employed by the year, in spite
of the fact that the'tenting season proper
lasts only a portion of the twelvemonths:
but. when they are -o hired, they must,
when not on tour, hold themselves in
readiness for service at any moment.
Other agents, who contract to work only
a portion of the year, are, of course, at
liberty to hire out to other attractions—
dramatic, musical or variety—during the
remainder. When they are en route ail
their expenses are paid. The hustlers
among them are great spenders, too.—
Boston Htroltl.
The Yeta Mad re silver vein, in Mexico
is at some places 200 feet wide, and has
been opened at various points for a length
of eight or nine miles. It is estimated
that sti,ooU?O<>o worth of ore is at present
produced from it per year. The Valen
ciana Mine on thi- vein has avera‘oil
$500,000 a year for forty \cars.
HOrSFHOI.H AFFAIRS.
The Kitchen Table.
One of the most important features of
a kitchen i- the kitchen table, xwd Go--
Honstkeepin<t lias this to -ay abouf keep
ing it clean: "The ideal kitchen table >->
the one scrubbed to i\or\ whiteness, am.,
as scrubbing seems one of the lost art-. I
will give direction- for scrubbing prop
erly. To a woman whose own hamt
must compa— all the woak of the hoi?-
and who would naturally be careful <■>
her own possessions. 1 recommend cover
ing the kitchen table w ith white enameled
cloth: it will wear a couple of year-it
it is neatly nailed on: boilinu wat r
will not mark it. nor will it readily -tain
If the tabic is to be unco\ red it need
daily surubbing to keep it white, but il
sorublied daily in the usual way it may
get darker day by day . Old flannel <>i
all kind- should be kept for -crubhin
and cleaning paint undervest-, drawer
shirts. all come in for it. In England,
where scrubbing i- -till the glory of tie
poorer people, cottagers vying w ith ea< i.'
other on the color of their boards, then
is a coarse, gray flannel made called
“house-flanuel,” expressly for that put
pose. Next to flannel, i- old, coarse, -oft
linen, old kitchen towels, crash, etc. v
necessary to good cleaning i- -oft. ah
sorbent ‘ material that I would alum-,
nither my maid'* destroy article- of far
more value than the scrub-cloths, because
the supply is so limited.
How to .Make A Beil.
Ordinarv sheets, blanket-, and cover
lets are too short and too narrow; they
do not admit of a bed being well made.
A quarter of a yard all round, beyond
the edge of the mattress, i- necessary fur
tucking in and overlaying at the top. -<•
that the shoulders may be covered A
worn but clean blanket should cover the
upper mattress in winter, and over thi
the sheet should be spread smoothly and
adequately. The bolster, with its hem
stitched linen cover, should be laid a lew
inches below the top of the mattress, s<>
as to better support the shoulders when
lying down, and give a better pitch to
the pillows as they stand against tho
head of the bedstead. Blankets to be
large enough must be of good quality :
cheap blankets are always unsatisfactory,
i because inadequate both in -iz.e and
warmth. Care should be taken that they
! are not laid evenly together upon tho
i bed, but the upper one low ered from the
top of the other fully the depth of the
bordering. This graduates the bulk,and
will prevent undue weight about the
shoulders when the clothe- are turned
over; it also allows of abundant margin
for “tucking in" at the foot; a matter of
great importance, especially w hen a bed
' is occupied by* two persons.
The "foot blanket is another import
ant item. If the luxury of a narrow down
coverlet can be afforded for the feet, so
much the better; it is a comfort that
once enjoyed will never after be w illingly
dispensed with in cold weather.' It
) should not be too wide, or thick as a
feather bed, as they tire made in Ger
many. but large enough to cover thi
larger half of the bed, and extend ovei.
Ia few inches at the sides. The coverlet
laid smoothly over this, all the clothes
turned down twice at the top. and the
whole w’orked smoothly into the sides
and ends of the bedstead, the pillow
only need to be placed in tlicir propet
position to render the bed making com
plete. ('attiro tor.
Recipes.
Beef Tea. —Take two tahlespoonfub
of fine oatmeal and make it perfectly
smooth iu two spoonfuls of cold water
pour into this a pint of strong beef test
boil it eight minutes; keep stirring all
the time. It should be very smooth; it
j lumpy pass through a sieve.
Fried Celery. —Cut linn white celery
into pieces two inches long; put on tc
; boil in liot, salted water and cook twenty
minutes; take up with si split spoon and
drop into ice water. Leave them ten
minutes; take out. lay on a di-h to cool:
sprinkle with -alt and pepper, dip each
piece iu egg, then in fine cracker crumbs,
and fry in clarified dripping or salted
lard. Drain well and serve hot.
Apples and Bacon.— Core and slice
tart applas, but do not peel them. Fry
thin slices of breakfast bacon until clear
and ruffled. Take them up and keej
them wann while you fry the sliced
apples in the bacon fat to a light brown.
Lay the apples in the middle of a heated
platter and dispose the bacon about them
as a garnish. Drain both meat and
; apples in a hot colander before dishing
j them.
Plain Fruit Cake. — For a plain but
palatable fruit cake take one cupful of
i sugar, one-half cupful of molasses, one
i cupful of buttermilk, or sour milk, tw r o
and a half cupfuls of flour.oneof chopped
raisins, a half-cupful of currants, twe
tablespoonfuls of butter, a teaspoonful of
soda in the milk or flour, and half a tea
spoonful each of cloves, cinnamon and
nutmeg. Bake forty minutes in a mod
derate oven.
Chicken Croquettes. Melt a good
sized piece of butter in a stew-pan; add
mushrooms and parsley chopped fine, two
tablespoonsfuls of flour, salt, pepper and
grated nutmeg; let this boil till it thick
ens, then moisten it with a little cream
and two spoonfuls of broth or gravy, the
fat being previously taken off. Let this
sauce be as thick as pap. Take some
i cold roast fowl, cut it into little dice,
which put into the sauce: let it stand
till cold, anil make it into balls, which
roll in bread crumbs, and fry them a nice
• brow-n. Serve garnished with fried
parsley.
An Intrepid Savant.
A striking anecdote of M. Paul Bert's
intrepidity as a savant i- related by one
who, owing to his connection with the
hospital at the time, is in a po-ition to
vouch for it- authenticity in every par
ticular. Some years ago he visited Havre
while a severe epidemic of smallpox was
raging in that port. Noticing on hi
returu to Pari- that the mortalitv was
daily on the increase he began to enter
tain doubt- a- to the efficacy of vaccina
tion a- a prophylactic, and resolved to
solve the problem to his own satisfaction
by experiments on his own person. He
accordingly got himself vaccinated, and.
going a fortnight afterward to the Charity
hospital. he courageously had himself
inoculated with the virus of a man who
was dying of the smallpox. No ill-effects
having resulted from this terrible experi
ment M. Paul Bert was completely one
over to the cause of vaccination, which
throughout the remainder of hi- life hail
no warmer supporter. It i- characteristic
of the savant that he never breathed a
word about thi- to any one. evidently re
garding the trial to which he had sub
jected himself anil the fearful ri-k which
he had run as a commonplace episode in
the career of a votary of science. —London
! Telegraph.
Henry Ward Beecher ha- discovered
the secret of happiness. which consists of
looking away from our own troubles at
these uf our neighbor's, and learn tug by
I comparison liow much we have to be
thankful for.