Newspaper Page Text
—
1 „a spcmvl- class matter at the Samlors-
& , tered ‘-iUo Postofllco, April 27, 1880.
SandorsTillo, Washington Couity, Ga.
published by
A< j. JENNICAN,:
PnnrniETon and Published,
Subscript 011,
.. .$1.50 per Year.
G. w. H. WHITAKER,
denti s t,
8ANDEBSVILLE, GA.
'facts Cash.
Ollii i' nt his ltosiclonco, on Harris Htreot.
April 8,1880. ‘
B. D. EVANS,
Attorney at Law,
SANUEBSVILLE, GA.
April 3, 1880.
DR. WM. RAWLINGS,
Physician & Surgeon,
SANDKUSVILLE, OA.
0filro at Satnlersvillo Hotel.
April 10, 1880.
E. A. SULLIVAN,
NOTARY PUBLIC,
SANDE118VILLE, GA.
Spi’iial attention givsn to tho collodion ol
■l.iims.
Oflloo in tho Court-house.
0. H. ROGERS,
Attorney at Law,
Sandorsvillo, Ga.
I';,,mpt Rtsention given to all business.
(Mil • ■ iii northwest wing of Gonrt-honso.
C. C. BROWN,
Attorney at Law,
Sandorsvillo, Ga.
Will practice in tho State and Unitod State,
nmrta. Ollico in Court-houso.
H. N. HOLLIFIELOT
Physician and Surgeon,
Sandcrsvillo, Ga.
Office next door to Mrs. Bayne’s millinery
(lore on Harris Street.
DR. J. B. ROBERTS,
Physician and Surgeon,
Sandcrsvillo, Oa.
May lie consulted at his office on Hayn s
Sire, t, in the Masonic Lodgo building, from D
i. m. to 1 p. m.. and from ‘1 to 5 p. m.; during
ather hours at his residence on Church Street,
den not prof mionally engngod.
April 3, WHO.
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Bp become lnnrs i ™ nourishment from the soil.
SMhV'In n,v hroinA , ’• J ' 4 "™ES,WH,MII(GT0tl, til.
t" miMMr.) “ ' (cpk "6°, "”'l 1
I'm I l<r ‘ I , 1. 1 !"°. r ' * heat Where It km drill**
‘T 0 °t tbc ,>11" iii 11 /• . n'l'i' 1 "“‘■wured rows, *u<]
' Vu .' of (ii iiii, 1 „' nrae ll,,, 8 l h of row agatnai/orty-
" UA c, -*VTON. Jk., Ml. IMcaeant, Del.
A. J. JERNIGAN, PnorniETOR.
VOL. II.
To-Morrow.
Tho sotting sun, with dying beams,
Had waked tho purple hill to lire,
And citadel, and ilomo and spiro
Wore gilded by tho far-off gleams;
And in aiul out dark pine-trees crept
Full many a slender lino of gold;
Good motos athwart tho river swept,
And kissed it ns it onward rollod;’
And sunlight lingered, loath to go.
Ah, well 1 it enuseth sorrow
To part from those wo lovo below;
And yot tho biui bb bright shall glow
To-morrow.
Tho tide was ebbing on tho strand,
And stooping low its silver crest;
Tho crimson seaweed lny at rcHt
Upon tho ambor-ribbod Band;
Dashed o’er tho rooks and on tho shore
Flung parting wreaths of pearly spray,
Then llod away; yot turned onco more
And sent a sigh across tho bay.
As though it could not boar to go.
Ah, well 1 it causoth sorrow
To part with those wo lovo below,
Yot thitherward tho tide shall How
To-morrow I
Two hearts havo mot to say farewell,
At oven, when tho sun wont down;
Each life-sound from tho biwy town
Smote sadly as a passing bell.
Olio whispered: “ Parting is sweet pain—
At morn and ovo returns tho tide;”
“Nay I parting rends tho heart in twain,”
And still they linger sido by side,
And still thoy lingor, loath to go.
Ah, well! it causoth sorrow
To pnrt from those wo lovo below—
For shall wo over mooter no,
To-morrow ?
A TALE OF ROME.
Easter Sunday, 1808, rose bright and
clear over Rome. The beautiful city
glistened in the first rays of tho rising
sun, and tho golden cross on tho summit
of St. Totor’s shone like some fair star,
till it could be seen for miles away. In
one of the poorest parts of the city, far
removed from tho palace of the pope,
there aro as in other citios many houses
huddled close together, as if oven God’s
blessed light and air wore denied to the
poor creatures who are obliged to live
there; but in an upper room of one of
these same houses tho glorious Easter
sunshine looked in this Sunday morn
ing and lighted up two childish faces
bent over mugs of bread and milk.
Thoy wore such sweet little faces
to wear such heavy looks of care—
faces that could have been so
bright and happy, only there was
so much to prevent. In the next
room tho mother, so fondly loved,
lay ill; the money to supply tho family
want.'; had dwindled, till two small coin
wero all that was loft, and something
must bo done.
Thoy wero only a boy and girl, ten
and twelve years old, but ton and
t welve is very old sometimes.
Eight years ago thoy had left dear
America. The artist father was so sure
that fame and wealth awaited him, if lie
could only manage for a few years, while
ho gavo himself opportunities of study
in ltomc; and thoy could have managed,
for his pictures sold well ns ho painted
them', but tho hand ol' fever could not
bo stayed, and the poor mother was
left to struggle on with her boy and
girl! Ah ! tho hard experience for such
as those, and tho sad, sail days for tho
little children ! God pity them I They
had come at last to live in this wretched
quarter of the city, and the two coins
represented the family wealth.
“I have thought of a plan, Amy
dear," said Mark, as he raised his head
from his mug. “It may bring us some
thing. The crowd in front of St.
Peter’s to-day will bo very largo, and,
oh! if I can only get money enough to
buy tho wine and chicken for dear
mamma that the doctor ordered, I
shan’t so much mind tho crowd.”
“ What is it you would do, brother
Mark?” said little Amy—“would you
beg? Mother would never let you if
she knew.”
“ No, no, dear Amy; it is only to sell
something that I am going out to-day.”
“ But wlmt have we that any of the
grand ladies and gentlemen, who come
to see the mass at St. Peter’s, would
buy, brother?”
“ Did you not notice last night, little
sister, that mother’s Easter blossoms
were in bloom? I know slie is very
choice of them, and loves them dearly,
because they are all she has of the old
home in America; but, for all that, I am
going to pick every ono this morning,
and try to sell them in front of St.
Peter’s when the people come out from
mass. May it not be that there will bo
some Americans among tho crowd, and
that their heart may be touched at tho
sight of the dear, familiar yellow blos
soms, and that tho good God may put
it into their hearts to buy them from
me ?’’
Just at this moment a feeble voice
called, and both children ran to obey
tho summons. They were clasped in
loving arms, and kissed with passionate
tenderness, and then Amy, with cheei-
ful face, threw open the window to let
in the sweet spring sunshine and balmy
air, while Mark told liis mother he was
going out for a while, but would be
back presently.
Carefully closing the door between
their mother’s room and the outer ono,
the children went to a window-box and
stood looking at the flowers which filled
it. For the eight years they had been
in Rome those homely yellow blossoms
DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.
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had greeted their sight every spring—
at first in a pretty little garden, when
papa was living, and now only in a
window-box in a poor tenement. Tho
mother lmd brought them with her from
America, and they wero very dear to
hor, for they told a tale to her heart
which tho children could never know.
At first cherished by both husband and
wife for a dear association, and now
more sacred still to the sorrowful, lonely
woman.
“Dear Mark, leavo ono, that I may
take it in to mother, by-and-bye.” So
the boy gathered tho rest. Amy tied
them up ns prettily as she could, and
they agreed that somo one must buy
them, they looked so fresh and beauti
ful.
It was n walk of two miles, but Mark
took tho groat golden cross for a guide,
and when he came noarer, tho crowds of
people hurrying in tho same direction
told him ho was right. At last the
cathedral rose beforo him grand and
statoly, and all nt once n feeling came
over Mark that ho was n very Rinall
boy, and that his bunch of Easter blos
soms wns very insignificant, but ono
thought of homo and mother, ono re
collection of Amy’s troubled little face,
and ho pressed on.
Tho crowd was immonso 1 Ho could
not ut first get near tho door of the
church whero ho had intended to stand
and offer his flowers as tho pooplo came
out, but he need not wait for that, Peo
pie wore all around him, and surely ono
was ns likely to buy as another.
He cleared his throat and turning to
ono lady near him he held up tho
flowers and asked her to buy with an
instinctive feeling that Indies wero the
ones to appeal to whero flowers wero in
question. But his voice must havo been
very low, for sho pressed on to get a
nearer position to the church, never
heeding him. No one seemed to notice
him, and his few timid nttempts to nd-
vortiso his wares wero unavailing. Every
ono wns intent on tho religious cere
monial going on in the cathedral. Rich
ly dressed ladies and gentlemen crowd
ed past him, carriages rolled on the out
skirts of the densely-packed spaco in
front of the great church, wealth ami
fashion lmd como to satisfy their curi
osity nnd no ono felt tho little human
tv»ed so close to them. At last Marie,
being slight and small, edged between
the people till lie stood directly in front
of tho balcony over the central doorway,
whero tho pope alwnys stands at Easter
to pronounco tho benediction over the
assembled multitude.
At Rome, ns might bo expected,
Easter Sunday is celebrated with
elaborate ceremonials, for which prepara
tions have been making all the previous
week. The day is ushered in by tho
firing of cannons from the Castle of St.
Angelo, and about 7 o’clock carriages
with Indies and gentlemen are beginning
to pour toward St. Peter’s. That
magnificent cathedral is richly docorated
for tho occasion, tho altars are freshly
ornamented, and the lights around the
tomb and liguro of St. Peter aro blazing.
According to usage, the pope officiates
this day at mass in St. Peter’s, and he
does so in tho most imposing manner.
From a hall in the adjoining palace of
tho Vatican, ho is borne into the church
under circumstances of tho utmost
splendor. Seated in his clmir of state 1
his vestments blaze with gold; on his
head he wears the tiara. Beside him tiro
borne the flabelli, or large fans, com
posed of ostrich feathers in which are
set the eye-like parts of peacock feathers,
to signify the eyes or vigilance of tho
church. Over him is borne a silk
canopy, richly fringed.
After officiating at mass at the high
altar, the pope is, with the same cere
mony and to the sound of music, borne
back through the crowded church and
then ascends the balcony over the cen
tral doorway. Tliovo, riuing from bln
chair of state, nnd environed by his
principal officers, he pronounces a bene
diction with indulgences and absolu
tion.
This is the most imposing of all the
ceremonies at Rome at this season, and
the concourse of people in the area in
front of St Peter’s is immenso.
Mark had not been near enough to
get even one little peep into the cliurclu
much as he should havo liked to see tho
grand procession, the pope being car
ried in his chair of state, and all the at
tendant ceremonies, but he was now
where ho could see tho final net and
hear' he pronouncing of tho benediction,
and for a few moments the cause of his
beiDg there at all was forgotten and the
flowers in his hand unheeded.]
By this time the crowd was moving,
some leaving and others, who had not
been able to get into the church before,
making their way there now, for there
were many strangers among them who
wished to witness the inner beauties of
St. Peter’s.
The choir was chanting loud and clear
inside the church, and Mark was carried
aloDg with tho stream of people until
he found himself within the building.
He had never been there before, and
the exquisite beauty of the place almost
overpowered him. The air woe heavy
with incense and the perfume of flowers,
and Mark sank down in the nearest seat
tired nnd exhnustod with the pressure of
the mass of the pcoplo outside. His
flowers wero Btill unsold, nnd a drowsy
feeling crept over him as ho sat there
holding them, looking at the blossoms
which hod been so fresh and beautiful
an hour or two ago, lmt\vhich wero fad
ing now.
Gould he have fallen asleep there, un
noticed by any ono ? It must linvo beon-
for, when ho opened his eyes tho church
was empty, except for ono old man who
seemed to bo going mound putting
things in order preparatory to leaving.
How glad lie was ho had awakened be
fore night came* on. But his Easter
blossoms—whero wero thoy, and wlmt
lmd become of the grand hopes of tho
morning in regard to soiling them?
The flowers wero surely in his hand
when he sat down there, where lie lmd
fallen asleop, but now they wore gono.
Slowly risiug to go, reluctantly too, for
ho thought now, perhaps, ho should
havo to beg to get a little money for tho
dear ones at home, he saw in flio seat
boliind him n gentleman sitting, with
Iris head bowed, n thoughtful expres
sion on his face, and in his baud—yes I
it certainly wns his own bunch of Easter
blooms. At tho noiso Mark made in
rising the strange gentleman looked lip,
nnd tho thoughtful expression changed
to a very kindly one, ns ho hold out tho
flowers.
“My boy," said ho (and Mark thuight
thero was n little tremble in his voice),
“why did yon sit thero sleeping, with
these dear yellow blossoms in your
hand?—for they are dear to me, nnd
as I hnve been sitting here, waiting for
you to awake, thoy havo whispered to
mo of my far-off homo in Americn 1"
That word was enough. Though
Mark was too young- when ho left his
native country to have any associations
well up in his miud nt mention of its
name, his lovo for it had been kept alive
by his mother’s intense love of her
home, nnd her eonstnnt endeavors lo
keep around her something of tho old
life. Tired, hungry and well-nigh dis
couraged, poor littlo Mark hailed this
kindly stranger ns heaven-sent, and sat
there, telling him all the story of his
lifo—his father’s sad death, his dear
mothor’s present illness, and of the
sweat littlo troubled sister at homo.
How he wanted so badly to do some
thing for them,-nml was so littlo able.
The old man left at last, and they
followed him. Taking Mark’s hand his
new friend walked silently along by his
side, Mark wondering where ho was
going, until at last ho spoke.
“ My boy, will you take mo homo
with you that I may have a talk with
your mother about tho home across tho
sea and sco the littlo sister you lovo so
well ?’’
Tho voice surely trembled now, and
Mark wondered if this elderly, gray-
haired gentleman had a sister, too,
whom ho loved nnd could not sec be
cause sho was fur aw’ay.
They walked along together till they
eamo to the row of poor houses whero
Mark’s home was.
“ It is only npoor place, sir, but we
lived in a much prettier part of tho city
when papa was alive.”
“Yes, my boy, yes,” hastily said
the stranger, and Mark wondered why
ho brushed his hand across his eyes
and held tho Easter blossoms, which he
still kept, so close to his face.
Two flights of stairs to climb and the
room was reached. Mark soitly turned
the handle of the door lest his mother
should bo sleeping, but what was his
delight to see her dressed and sitting
in her ensy-clitir by the window, the
mellow sunshine over her, nnd tho one
flower he had loft for Amy to give her
in lier hand.
With a glad face ho was just going to
introduce his now friend, but wlmt I
was it possiblo his mother knew
him ? A sound like a smothored sob,
oml tho stout, grny-nairect gentleman
was on his knees beside tho invalid’s
chair, a murmur of “ Amy I" " Morris I”
and then a silence.
Little Amy and Mark crept softly out
of the room, for they had seen a look
of joy on mother’s face it had not worn
in many a long day, and know all must
be well.
When they returned the gentleman
was saying; “It was the Easter blos
soms, Amy, that brought back to me as
I sat in tho cathedral the old home-
gniden, nnd the dear, blessed time
when yon and I were like these youngs
ters hero. The boy’s face as ho slept
was so liko yours years ago that my
heart told mo I lind found you again;
and when I drew from him his story
and heard his brave words I knew he
was Jack Melton’s son. So poor Jack
has gone, and I have never been able to
get trace of you since, coming back from
travel in the East, I found you had left
America—never, till to-day, when these
poor, faded flowers whispered their
message to me of renewed hope. This
is a glad Easter, indeed, to us all, is it
not, children? Come, little Amy, and
sit on Uncle Morris’ lap. It’s hard for
you to realize that mother there was
once a little fair-haired girl like you,
and that the old gentleman who holds
you was her boy brother, but it was so,
and next Easter, God willing”—but a
great sob of joy choked his voice, and
thoy could only hear tho words—“Ens-
tor blossoms and—home."
CURRENT NOTES.
The Scientific American expresses re
gret that babies havo not n markot value
like hogs. There is moro of solid fnct
n tho suggestion than may appear nt
first glauce. Children die in New York
and other overcrowded citios as tho
result of unhealthy, disease-breeding
surroundings and close confinement in
miserable and ill-ventilated tenements.
Yot nothing is said about it ; while one-
third tho dentils nmong hogs*from dis
ease leads tho government to costly
investigations and diplomatic corre
spondence with foreign powers. Produce
exchanges and tho nowspaper press
grow excitod over trichinro or hog
cholera, while tho epidemics that arc
annually carrying off thousands upon
thousftuds of precious littlo ones receive
scarcely more than a passing notice,
nnd are tho occasion of no agitation
except in the bleeding lienrts of bereft
parents, or in the minds of neighbors
who sympnthizo or fear that thoir own
mnv be tho noxt victims.
FARM, GARDEN AND HOME.
When an apothecary rocomiuends
somo particular rornody for your cold,
ho is not usurping tho function of a
physician to a dnngorous extent. Ho
may also give medical advice about your
corns or yonrtoothneho without subject
ing you to much risk of injury. Just
so far ho ought to go in proscribing is a
difficult question to sottlo. Tho Medical
association and the College of Pharmacy
of Washington havo fnllon out over it.
Somo of tho pharmacists in that city
havo taken it upon themselves to
practice medicino ns well ns sell it, not
hesitating to ileal with dangerous
diseases. Tho dootors demand a law
against this evil. Thoy further insist
that a prescription shall not be made
up a second time unless permission to
repeat it is marked on tho papor. Their
argument on this point is that tho uso
of perilous drugs is often continued
longer than tho physician intendod.
Tho apothecaries reply that the doctors
aro simply looking out for a multipli
cation of fcos, nnd that somo pharma
cists can euro an unimportant malady
as woll as some physicians.
A Washington correspondent, in a
letter describing tho workings of tho
postofllco department, says that tho
postago stamps are manufactured under
contract by ono of tho bnnk note com
panies in New York city. This is dono
under tho supervision of a government
agont, nssistod by a corps of clerks
stationed in tho factory. The dies from
which tho stamps aro engraved aro
owned by tho government, and are de
livered to tho company each morning
nnd returned to the agont each evening,
who locks them in tho government safe.
Au ndmirablo system of checks has boon
adopted by which every sheet of blank
paper delivered to the employes has to
bo accounted for in finished, unfinished
or spoiled stamps, nnd tho number of
every impression takon from tho dies
is registered by automatic machinery.
A report of the condition of stock
is furnished tho department each
week. Tho styles of stamps at present
issued comprise tho ordinary lotter
stnmps in denominations of 1, 2, 3, 5, (5,
10, 15, 30 and 00 cents; otlicial stamps of
a differont design and color for each
department of tho values of those just
given, except those for tho department
of state, which also include denomina
tions of $2, $5, $10 and $20; postage-
due stamps of 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 30 and 50
conts, and newspaper and periodical
stamps for prepaying postago upon pub
lications mailed to subscribers in de
nominations of 2, 3, 4, 0, 8, 0, 10,12, 24,
30, 48, 00, 72, 84 and 00 cents and $1.92,
$3, $0, $0. $12. $24. $30. SUX
each. The envelopes are manufactured
anil printed at Hartford, Conn., and the
postal cards at Holyoko, Mass., a gov
ernment agent being stationed at each
place. The stamps, envelopes and cards
are sent directly to tho postofflees
throughout the country and from the
respective agencies upon daily orders
sent from the department at Washing
ton.
Diet for Walking.
Homo time ago a pedestrian named
Smyth, appearing under tho name of
“The American Postman,” accomplish
ed the task of walking three hundred
miles in six days at Dublin. His regi
men during the walk was as follows:
He takes a small chop and somo cocoa
for breakfast. In two hours afterward a
raw egg beaten up. His dinner consists
of a sago pudding and a small quantity
of very raw beef, without drink, and his
supper of as much cocoa and bread and
butter ns he wishes. Each day he is al
lowed a quait of milk and occasional
sips of ginger ale. He takes no alco,
holic boverage whatever.
A cigarette machine, making over one
hundred thousand per day—the work of
sixty hands—has been invented by J.
Cowman, of Now York. The machine
is so perfect that it is estimated four
teen of them would suffice to supply the
entiro demand for (his country.
I’nlntn Kxpcrliiirm.
My experience in planting small and
largo potatoos may throw Romo light
upon this mooted quoBtion. Several
years ngo I seleoted a pioee of ground,
not very fertile in character, from
which on tho previous yenr I had takon
a crop of buckwheat. I plowed tho
ground twico and furrowed, tho manure
having boon previously hauled out and
iled. I had the manure forked over
thoroughly, putting a shovelful iu each
hill, wit It alRO n small quantity of
1 plaster. 1 pursued this method until I
; liad manured ton rows of thirty hills
j each. I carefully weighed tho seed
plantod in each row, and also the po
tatoes as harvested, with tho following
results:
First row: Hero I plantod five pounds
of potatoos, giving three pieces to each
hill. I secured a yield of seventy pounds
of potatoes.
Second row: I planted seven pounds
in weight, using two wliolo potatoes of
medium size to each hill. I harvostod
seventy pounds.
Third row: Planted three pounds of
seed, using in each bill two pieces cut
from middle-sized potatoes. Harvested
flfty-oiglit and a half pounds.
Fourth row: Four pounds planted,
consisting of throo small, wliolo pota
toes to each hill. Weight when dug,
sixty-threo pounds.
Fifth row: Planted two and a half
pounds, using three very small, wliolo
potatoos to each hill, giving but sixty
pounds weight when dug at harvest.
Sixth row: Used in planting twolvo
and a half pounds, placing in each hill
two halves of largo potatoes; yielding
when dug sixty pounds.
Sovonth row; Plantod four and a half
pounds, or tliveo pieces to each hill, cut
from largo potatoes. Weight at digging
time sixty-threo pounds.
Eighth row: Total woight planted
thirteen pounds, dropping one largo,
whole potato to each hill. Harvested
oighty-flvo pounds.
Ninth row: I planted in this row seven
anil a half pounds, or throo pieces to
each hill cut from stom end. Harvested
seventy-five pounds.
Tenth row: Five and one-half pounds
planted, consisting for each hill of threo
piecos cut from sprout end. I dug but
ilfty-flvo poundsi
Tho above formed but ono of several
sots of accurate experiments, in ovory
ono of which I am satisfied tho largo
potatoes, when used as seed, produced
tho largest amount and tho greatest
quantity of sizable potatoes, showing to
mo conclusively that “liko produces
liko.”—L. O. Jirirwn, in Lul/ira/or,
(Irapoi.
Grape vines should be plantod in
warm, dry, rich soil. Thoy will not
snccoed in cold, wet, poor soil. They
should not bo planted closer than six
by eight, which allows forty-eight square
foot to each.
Tho cultivation should bo shallow, so
as not to disturb the small roots near
the surface. They should not bo allow
ed to overbear, as it injures tho vines.
Two or throo tons of grapes per aero are
enough for vines four to five years old.
Wo liavo sometimes taken doublo that
amount, but injured the future crops by
so doing.
In planting dig holes twelve to fif
teen inches deep, and of a size amply
large to accommodate the vine. Thoy
should then be filled to within six to
eight inches of tho top witli fine, rich
soil, throwing in while doing so a few
bones or some wood ashes, if to be had.
Cut back onc-year vines to two oyes,
placing tho lower one below the sur
face. Spread out the roots (which
should have previously had one-half
their lpnatl) out nfiT). r 1 --—a 11 —
of tho vine at one end of tho hole, and
fill with fine soil, pressing it firmly
about them. When planted, set a stako
at the stock, to which the plant should
be kept tied and which will be all the
support required for two years. Keep
old wood trimmed off, growing the
fruit on new canes. Any manner of prun
ing in tho fall or winter that will ad
mit the sun to the fruit will insure a
ciop of fruit; and laying the vines on
the ground, even without covering, will
increase both the quality of the fruit
and the size of the bunches, besides in
suring the safety from injury by frost.
For mildew, dust with flower of sulphur
while tho vines ore wet.
There are various modes of planting
recommended by different authors.
Each grower can select for himself.
The following plan has proven satisfac
tory here, viz:
First Year—The plants were eight
feet distant, in rows six feet apart, and
but one cane allowed to grow up a pole.
Second Year—Trellises were erected
by planting posts eight feet long, set
two feet deep and eight feet apart in the
rows, with one rail (two by three inches)
on top of the posts and another fastened
two feet from the ground, with wires
extending from the lower to the upper
rail, about ten inohes apart, to support
the young vines. The cane which grew
the first year was cut oven with the
lower rail, and only the two upper buds
'Vn'&LiL
allowed to grow, one in each direction,
along the lower rail.
Third year—Each of tho canes which
grew the second yenr was cut off about
threo nnd a half feet long, and one cane
trained to grow up each wire, the later
als or side branches being removed as
thoy made their appearance during the
summer.
Fourth Year—Tho top of every other
upright enuo was cut off even with the
op rail and allowed to produce fruit.t
The alternate canes wero cut short near
tho arm by tho lower rail, from the
bnso of which a strong cane grew up,
to produco fruit, tho following year*
Fifth Year—Tho canes that produco
fruit tho preceding year should be
removed, and allow a new growth from
its bnso to be made for fruiting the fol
lowing year, and so alternately remov
ing tho wood that has borne fruit to
give place for a new cane to produce
fruit tho following year.
Tho object in pruning is to control
tho growth of the vine, so that its
strength shall be properly divided be
tween ripening the present crop of fruit
nnd producing a strong, healthy growth
of wood with well-developed buds for
fruiting another year. Hence the error
of talcing an over-crop of fruit at tho
exponso of a proper growth of wood.
Tho nbovo method of training and prun
ing answers well, is simple, and an or
dinary hand can do tho work after onco
boing showing how.— William Parry,
Cinnamimon, AT. J.
Household lllnlo.
To fix penoil marks so they will not rub
out, tako well skimmed milk and di
lute with an equal bulk of water. Wash
the pencil marks (whether writing or
drawing) with the liquid, using a'
soft, flat camel's-hairbrush, and avoiding
all rubbing. Place it upon a flat board
to dry.
Itis said two parts tallow and ’one of
resin, melted together and applied to
the soles of new boots or shoes, as much
os tho leather will absorb, will double
their wear.
Woodwork strongly impregnated
with tungstate of soda or silicate of
soda—by treatment in strong aqueous
solution of theso salts—will bo found to
bo quite uninflammable.
Brush silk with a piece of cotton vel
vet rolled uptight. For washing pour
a pint of boiling water on a tablespoon-
ful of ulcohol. Let it stand till tepid
and sponge tho goods with it.
Silk neckties can be washed in rain
water, to ono pint of which add a tea
spoonful of white lionoy and one of
hartshorn. Do uot squeeze but let
thorn drip, nnd when nearly dry press
betwoen folds of cloth.
When water has once been made to
boil tho fire may bo very much lessen
ed, as but littlo heat is required to koep
it at a boiling point. There is no ad
vantage whatevor in making water boil
furiously; tho heat will escape in steam,
without raising tho heat of tho water.
A Card-Collecting Mania.
A leading feature of young America
is that the boys and girls always have a
mania for collecting something. First
it is foreign postago stamps, next birds’
eggs nnd then buttons; and so on
through a long list of articles that are
collectiblo. Tho latest craze is that for
collecting illuminated business cards;
and judging from the way in which it
has taken with tho younger elemont it
is safe to say that for a yenr at least it
will bo the uppermost of all the fnsh-
ionnble crazes. It has taken root in
every city and town in the country, it
would appear, and in the larger cities
the lithograph establishments are driven
night nnd day in turning out the
cards, and designers are at their wit’s
cuiu uu jnuuuce someuiing new ana so
much of n novelty that the collectors
will think they must have it. Tho
cards are put up in sets and range in
price from ten cents to $1 a set.
Boston has the fever the worst
way, many of tho papers of
that city having special de
partments for the advertising of
the cards. In one issue of the Boston
Herald recently there were forty-five
different advertisements of card dealers
offering their wares through the mails.
Here in Hartford the rago not only in
cludes the children bnt takes in lots of
grown people, and collections number
ing several thousand varieties are spoken
of. One young man on Asylum Hill has
just received from England cards that
cost several dollars each. The mer
chants, many of them, are taking ad
vantage of the fever by a free dissemin
ation of the merits of their stocks, while
others fail to see any advertisement in
it, and place a notice on their doors
which says “no cards.” The school
girls trip along from sohool with their
card albums clutched tightly under
their arms, probably having traded
several duplicates with schoolmates
during the session. It has its effects on
the mails, too, by a noticeable inereaso
in the amount of mail matter. While it
can hardly have the advantages pos
sessed by the stamp-colleoting mania,
it may be as harmless and inexpensive.
—Hartford Courant,
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