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THE JOURNAL.
WEDNESDAY. JAN. 3, 1883.
Zttirtl t tko TuteSci, Cckafca. He., J ii
eUu sitter.
TUANKSQl VINO.
When the orchards with blossoms were blush
ing. The willows unrolling: their leaves.
And the fields with the tender vrneat flushing:
That soon would be waring- with sheaves.
Not then went tho toiler to labor.
The task of subduing the earth.
With the sound of tho pipe and the tabor.
With anthems of Joyance and mirth.
Hor yet when processional flowers
Passed on tbrongh the light or the gloom,
When tho vivid and picturesque hours
Laaghed out in a splendor of bloom.
When the oriole, royal and golden.
Flashed forth like a gem in the sun,
Btill man by stern duty was bolden,
Not yet was the vlotory won.
When the vines on the trellis were burdened
With clusters all purple and sweet;
When the hand of the worker was guerdoned
With bouutyof harvests complete;
When wide over mountain aud valley
The banneri of autumn, unfurled
In a vast and magnificent rally.
Shed lustre and pomp o'er the world;
Then pausing: to think of the story
Of promise, f ulnllment aud cheer.
The hopa and the faith and the glory,
The crown of the beautiful year,
Frouuthe stress of our care-weighted livlaff,
Thpstrain of ourjfcrryingdays,
Wejttreuk, and -uplift a thanksgivingjf
rM aJr
ilnce the lojtfb that is vlgllar.
jllanjjp'er ut,
, Still answijfs the earnest enueavq4P
' With mn-e than a measured reward,
And suflffirs our woarinflM never
To slip from the grafp of the Lord,
Bo, silver-haired father and mother,
80. middle-age sturdy and strong.
Bo. dear little sister aud brother.
Join voices aud hearts In the song:
To the sound of the pipe and the tabor
Weave chorals of gladness and mirth,
For the toiler may rest from his labor.
And plenty hath dowered the earth.
liuards ever tne young
THE WIDOW'S FESTIYAL.
How long the days were!
Day after day he had lain there, weak,
uflermg, patient, enduring all thing3,
and rewarding all care with a look of
tender gratitude, a faint hand-pressure,
now ana then a word of thanks.
The accident had been dreadful.
Through the carelessness of a switch
tender'a fast train had left the track
and plunged over a high trestle-work.
Thirty people were killed at once aud
at least lifty injured. Among the latter
this man, "Judge Seymour, was hurt
worst of all. CHhers had broken bones
and bruised muscles; some were taken
up senseless, and, lingering unconscious
for a day or two, died without returning
to their senses a nerciful dispensation;
but the physicians in his case pro
nounced the spine seriously hurt and
feared internal injuries. He might re
cover, and he might not. Time would
how.
He was a vigorous man, of middle age,
with a lovely, loving wife and three
children, just elected Governor of his
native State; full of plans for a career he
meant to make noble and useful. His
reputation was wide and lofty; his per
sonal friends numerous aud warm; he
had a moderate fortune and a pleasant
home. What more could life ofler him?
Yet here he lay, the victim of a man's
carelessness.
It seemed to his wife that with him all
she cared for was fading away. Her
children were about her; but they were
young. They leaned on her, and she
had clung to her husband for help lo
bear the cares and burdens of living,
till she grew, as a vine grows, weak of
stem, unable to stand alone, prostrate if
unaided. Now she was wearing out
with a strain of suspense and anxiety;
trying to keep her face calm aud her
hands steady; leaving the bedside only
when flesh and spirit could bear the
stress no longer aud to stay would have
been dangerous to her husband and
agony unendurable to her.
So it went on, day after day. Some
times he was better, or she thought so;
oftcner he was worse. The alterations
of hope and tV.ir tortured her, and,
watching the minut symptoms, the mo
mentary aspects, the most trivial details,
she lost all power to jreneralize and com-
Srehend the case. She did no see that
e gained nothing in reality, that nodaj'
found him stronger; but that every week
he lost something and suffered some new
pain. But the end came, aud to her
came suddenly. She was called from
her troubled sleep to find him uncon
eciou. to see iiim die. speechless, unrec
ognizing, blind. Years before, in driv
ing .slowlv past a little country grave
yard, a new monument erected to the
memory of a young man killed by the
caving in of a samf-quarry had caught
her eye. She knew the incident and re
called the name she saw; but the fence
hid all but the first line of the epitaph,
which ran:
"Without one parting word."
It had touched her deeply at the time
and often since; but now she knew what
it meant. Over and over it rang in her
ear and moved her silent lips as she bur
ied her head in the pillow beside her
dead and longed to be dead, too. But
the children called from without Life
challenged her even in her despair. They
must not enter. So she rose and went
out to them and told them. The- were
children. They could not even know
what death was, and their questions,
their incredulity, their want of grief,
that w:ls ignorance instead of heailless
nes, stung her to the quick. She was
not generous or sptnpathctic enough to
uudrst:md them, and for the first time
he felt a fierce impatience of their pres
ence and sent thorn all away to the nur
sery. Then she was quite alone and be
gan to know it
But why should I describe the dire
experience we have almost all been,
through, in some form? What I have
to do with is Mrs. Seymour's life after
the funerat pageant was over, the grave
;reen, the children taught their sorrow
y those about them anil then comforted
out of it into practical forgetfulness.
But Eleanor Seymour did not forget;
time did not comfort her. She felt day
rafter day more deeply the loss of her
life; she fathomed its meaning; she
knew it past repair; in the language of
Scripture, she "refused to be comforted."
Her children were rosy, careless, happy,
and in health they had their school and
thek comrades; but she had made few
friends in Salem since they went there
to live, at the time she married Mr.
Seymour. She was not a women of
broad nature, and yet she was intense.
She had all she wanted or needed in her
husband's affection and society even
the children were secondary to him in
her heart, and. though she had acquaint
ances in her own social sphere and dis
pensed charity as freely as her means
would allow, there was no one now to
whom she could open her heart and find
therein the relief of "the grief that
speaks."
She came home from church one dark
November day, had her late dinner, saw
the children safe in their beds, and
seated herself by the kindled wood fire
in the library to spend her solitary
evening: for the rain beat fiercely now
against the northeast window, and in its
gusty pauses the roaring surf sent its
thundering echo on the wings of the wind
even th rough the heart of the town. For
this reason of the storm she stayed from
church to-night; and, as she sat stariug
into the flicker of the tire, something re
called to her the proclamation for
Thanksgiving Day that had been read
from the pulpit that afternoon. Her
lips smiled with a scorn sadder than
tears.
"Thanksgiving!" she murmured. "I
keep Thanks2riving!,r"and her thoughts
went back to all the times she had kept
that festival in her life, kept it outward
ly and in spirit for she was a good
woman'and meant to be a grateful one
jjji three months ago. She rauembwed
her childhood. How long the years
seemed then: how she looked forward to
the gathering of aunts and uncles and
cousins in the old red Greenvich farm
house; how much a new di ess meant
and what wonderful viands ur ndraother
always spread before them.
Then she was a girl, coming home
from school, and her brother Drought
his class-mates home with him-rsuch as
had no near homes, at least "to spend
Thanksgiving." So she had met her
husband. Her brother was dead long
since; and now James. A low cry part
ed her lips, the fire fell into brands,
flickered, grew dull; and she went on
with her review of the past. There was
her wedding-day that had been on
Thanksgiving. Her mother she had
never known. Oscar and she were all
the children, and of the three she and
her father were left then, and he only
lived to see the next feast, the first of
her matronhood celebrated in her own
house.
Since then were not all her Thanks
givings alike? All full of cheer, grati
tude, blessedness? And now
"I shall not try to have a Thanksgiv
ing," she said, dreamily; and, looking
up, saw her husband sitting opposite her
in his own chair, which she had never
moved from its place by the hearth.
Strangely enough, she felt neither sur-
Erise nor fear, nor did she remember
er loss. It was so customary and
natural to see him there that only a full,
sweet sense of peace stole over her.
She seemed to have just come home, and
to be so glad; but he did not smile. He
looked at her with tender gravity, and
very clearly and slowly repeated a
favorite quotation of his:
"Thouseestwe are not all alone un
happy," adding, " there are other wid
ows beside vou, Nelly."
Other willows! What did he mean?
She rose to her feet with a start. A brand
fell, blazed up, went out Tho chair
opposite hers was empty. The clock on
the shelf struck nine. It had marked the
half hour, she remembered, just as the
first brands fell together. It was a dream,
then. She shivered and came back to
life, lit the lamp, fed the dying lire and
returned to her new grref. New because
that face had been so real, her gladness
so deep, and now it was lost once more,
with a fresh bereavement. But, though
the tears fell hopelessly and fast from
her eyes, and her heart ached anew with
the rebellious anguish of loss, still his
words kept recurring to her. She had
not thought ot that before. There were
other widows, no doubt others sorrow
ing with her sorrow, in kind, if not in
degree. She remembered one whom she
had been to see in her charitable rounds,
and then another, and among her ac
quaintances she recalled one whose hus
band had, not long since, died abroad,
and another widowed suddenly years
ago, and still another who had married
an old love when he was smitten with
consumption and nursod him to his
death. She was startled to see how she
had passed by all these sorrows as more
matters of course, without any real sym
pathy; and a sense of companionship
stole upon her, as if, suddenly wrecked
on some desert shore, she had" met with
beings of her own race after long lonely
weeks of silence and despair.
Then the thought flashed across her
that all these women must dread the re
currence of Thanksgiving, just as she
did. Why could she not ask them all to
keep the day with her? It would be, at
least, a sympathetic, if a sad festlvla.
The idea laid hold upon her. It was
the first reaching out of the detached
tendril toward another and a, surer sup
port She fell asleep, thinking the mat
ter over, and awoke in the morning with
a shamefaced sense of some light and
interest creeping into her life, hitherto
so sacredly wretched. Then she re
membered her dream her husband's
sad, grave face. Perhaps she had done
wrong in mourning him so devotedly
that even her children had been set aside
from their place. Possibly it would
please him better if she carried out her
plan. The children welcomed her with
more caresses that morning than for
man a long day. With childish instinct
they felt she was not so cold or so un
willing to return their tender way. They
dared to laugh now at tho breakfast
table, for she smiled with them. She had
learned the first letters of the lesson
meant for her, and learned them thor
oughly; the next were to come. When
the earl' day's duties were over, she sat
down again by the library fire not to
dream now, but to plan for action. But,
whom should she invite? For she began
to see that Mrs. Broome, who HveiT in
the fourth story of a tenement house
aud carued a precarious living, would
hardly be a fit companion at dinner for
Mrs. Gray, whose husband, dying in
Florence, had left her more money than
she could spend and a house and grounds
money could scarcely improve. A text
from the Bible flashed into her mind, as
texts will on the most convenient or in
convenient occasions, sometimes to our
aid, sometimes to ourconfusion: "When
thou makest a feast call the poor, the
maimed, the lame, the blind."
With a thrill in her dumb and dark
ened soul, she recognized the Master's
call. She was a good woman, at heart
a sincere Christian; but her love and her
loss had come between her and her duty,
her hope of Heaven, her living work.
With shame aud contrition, she saw her
place befote God, and recognized her
own deserving, and His hand of love
and power. Ft was the work of a mo
ment and had but a moment's sway, for
the old anguish came crowding back
and surged over her once more, Rke an
angry wave across a wreck. She, made
her first effort to master it, however, in
returning to the thoughtof Thanksgiving
Day. The matter of her guests was
settled for her now, and she felt that it
would be easier far for her to feel and
express sympathy with these sufferers
than with persons who mu-t observe the
usages and reticences of higher social
spheres. So she drew out the old visit
ing list of poor, so long neglected, and in
the afternoon set out on her errand.
Charity of any sort is not always easy
or pleasant to administer. The poor, at
least in this country , are hedged about
with their own self-respect, and a cer
tain barrier of jealous pride, a feeling
that they are just as good as anybody
else, and will not be condescended to.
All this Mrs. Seymour had to contend
with, besides the individual traits of
character. The shyness, the real humil
ity, the want of fit clothing, the dread of
being uncouth, and the natural instinct
of refusal to anything proposed by an
other that is a marked and almost uni
versal trait of New England character.
It was the work of several days, much
weariness, more patience and many
promises to insure the attendance of six
Eoor widows at her table, who would nof
ave feasted, but probably fasted, at their
own homes; but the effort done her good.
Her sense of humor awoke, her interest
in something beside her own grief was
strongly aroused, and the patience that
was only retained by a constaut inward
reference to the Master's brought him
more nearly, more dearly to mind every
hour, and with him the word of the
angel at the sepulcher a word meant
for every mourner at the prave of the
body: Why seek ye the living among
the dead? He is not here. Heisrien!"
It was an invaluable teaching, that
long week's experience; and when, at
last, Mrs. Broome was certain of a new
cap, Mrs. Perkins understood that Mrs.
Seymour knew as well as she did that
her uncle's widow always sent her a
turkey and a squash from Deerfield
(when sh-s had them to se d) for
Thauksgiviug; when Mrs. Peck had
made her feel that her own ancestors
had been much better off in their day
than the Seymours, and Mrs. Hutchins
really took to heart the fact that Mrs.
Seymour could and did want a "poor old
cretui' " like her to sit at her table and
share her feast; when Aunt Hannah
Brtnmfield saw that "Mis' Skuttles- she
that was old Jake Brown's darter' al-
though asked would not be well enough
to go, so that Aunt Hannah would not
have to "demean herself' by the en
counter; and, last of all, "Widder John
son" received the ear-trumpet without
which she refused to enter into the so
cial circle; then Mrs. Seymour felt that
there was a weight off her mind, anil
felt also that she had been a happier and
better woman for the last week than for
long before. She had. indeed, gone out
of that cell of self which isolates us all
in a new grief, and tasted once more the
light and sweetness of that heavenly
day which shines on the evil and the
good, bul is reflected only from the un
selfish and sincere spirit.
The children entered joyfully into the
idea of a Thanksgiving so novel, and all
the more that their mother told them,
with trembling lips. "Papa would like
it" Eleanor Sevmour had begun to
find that her children had not forgottan
their father, and that in their tender
talk about him, which now she encour
aged, after so long a silence, she had
heretofore lost a consolation and a
pleasure. Faster and faster she was
learning.
At last Thanksgiving Day came. Mrs.
Broome, smiling in her new cap, and
Mrs. Perkins, trying to look blandly in
different, were the first comers. Then
the carriage came again, with lame Mrs.
Hutchins, meek and deprecatory, in her
alpacca gown: Mrs. Peck, proudly
dangling an old miniature of one of her
aforesaid aucestors done up as a locket
in a pinchbeck setting; and Aunt Han
nah liromlield, as "genteel" a3 shecould
make herself in a clean muslin neck
erchief and a hair-painted breastpin.
"Widder Johnson" lived round the cor
ner only and walked, coming in with a
brandished ear-trumpet in her haud and
her face beaming. The dinner was a
great success. The "baby" of the house
satin his high chair, by mamma; but the
elder boy aud girl waited on the guests
and enjoyed their office.
"Them is sweet children of your'n,
Mis' Sevmour." sighed Mrs. Broome.
"My! if'l'd had chick or child, 'twould
have been seeh a blessin' ; but when he
died I was the lonesomest! Seemed as
though there wan't nothin'."
"That's so!" chimed in Mrs. Perkins.
"I had two on 'em, to be sure, when
Perkins was took; but they wan't no
comfort to speak of, for they went and
had dipthcery inside of six months, and
one of 'em died rightoff, just as sudden.
T'other one held by quite a spell, but
she was the miserablest you ever see. I
couldn't feel to keep her here a mite
longer, I wanted for her to get rest and
easement so."
Eleanor's arm stole round little Jacky,
and Mrs. Hutchins said, gently:
"I expect folks each has their special
troubles. I can't butremember't when
Josiah died and left me nigh about help
less with hip trouble; and a young babe,
too. It did seem as though nobody ever
had or could have no trouble like mine,
the world over: but somehow I got
along, and I fouud that there was others
quite as bad off as I was, 'and the Lord
helps the lame and the lazy.' folks say.
I do' know about the lazy, but I do
about the lame," and a smile and tear
together set their bright seal to this con
fession of faith.
"Well!" said Mrs. Peck, with an
audible sniff and a hard, shrill voice. "L
din't think I was the worst off that ever
was when Mr. Peck died, now I say for't
His folks was real respectable, so to
speak; but he was a drinkiu' character.
I didn't know nothin' of it when we
was married. My folks didn't really
fellowship him. They said he was low
lived and opposed my havin' of him con
sider'ble: but I wa3 sot in my way to
have him, and, come to find out. he
wa'n't steady. He had the tremens in
five years and died on't; and I went out
a sewin', to keep body and soul together.
There was them that counseled me to
marry again, and there was them that
asked mo to; Uut I nllers said once was
enough. I hadn't no pleasant recollec
tions of the state o' matrimony and I
wa'n't a-goiu' to try it no more. I
could take care of myself, an' so I could
ef my eyes hadn't ha' give out a spell
Mrs. Seymour looked at her with
infinite pity. Not even a blessed past,
a taste of earthly felicity to look back
on, but a life all bitter disappointment
and grinding work; while she had the
dear memory of years underlying her loss.
"You dou'tnoneof ye hev jest my
trial," said Aunt Hannah Bromtield.
" Jeems Bromlield was fust mate to a
whalin' ship when we was married. My
sakes! what a feller he was to joke an'
to carry on! He had means, too. We
was real well off. 'Twas kinder harrow
in' to hev him up an' off for a three-years'
voyage right away, and then he didn't
stay to home no time when he did come;
but I had twins for to show him when he
come back fust, and you never see a man
so pleased. Well, them boys was com
pany for me, you'd better believe. They
was always a-talkin' about Pa, an' where
he went to an' what he did, and a-tellin'
about whales and harpooners, aud hed
their little ships a-sailiu in the tide-pools,
rigged as nateral as life; and I declare
for't, they trapped a yonng rat one day.
The trap killed it, and I smelt the awf ul
est smell afore long out 'u the yard, an1
they was a-strippin' an' fleusin' an' try
in' up that rat, a-pretendin' 'twas a
whale. Makes me laugh now."
And Aunt Hannah drew her yellow
silk handkerchief across her eyes, not as
if she were laughing.
"Well, 'twas part my fault I let'em.
It fetched Jeems to mind, somehow, aud
I didn't hanker after him half so bad
when them little fellers was a-chirrupin'
and a-carryin' on all the time. But, fust
I knowed, they was eighteen year old,
and they hadn't seen their Pa more'n
five times; but he came back then, and
there they was as likely men as you'd
see; and he hed mouey in the bank, and
he and Jehiel Styles they clubbed and
built a whaler o' their own, and Jeems
was cap' en and 'Hiel fust mate, and
nothin' would serve but them boys must
go along fust voyge. Well, it's thirty
year ago. I'm goin' on sixty-eight now;
but I don'tllke to talk on't. The upshot
is, sea and waves roarin' day an' night,
and night and day; winds a-blowin an'
tempests howlin', and no more boys, nor
husband, nor nothin', and here I be. I
do' know so much as where their bones
do lie, nor I haven't this thirty year."
There was a dead silence. Nobody
felt like breaking it; but little Rachel,
who had listened, with her sweet brown
eyes wide opened and her lips apart, put
both her arms about Aunt Hannah's
neck and, with a child's quick wisdom,
gave her a resounding kiss.
The old lady laughed.
"That done me real good, pussy," she
said.
"I kep' a school for children twenty
odd year to Gloucester. I do' know
but what I should ha' died but for them.
Waitin' is work, now, I tell ye; but I
hain't got nothin' to wait for now
only for the sea to give 'em up, and
that's pretty fur ahead."
The others said nothing. Doubtless,
they too had their sorrows, but they
would sound tame after Aunt Hannah's;
and when tea had been sent in to them,
as they gathered round the open fire,
and they at last went off in relays in the
carriage Eleanor Seymour had sent for
them, she sat down in the library and
hid her face in her hands. What had she
not to be thankful for? Living, loving
children, a long, sweet memory of love
and care lavished on her, of honest hap
piness, an ample provision left not only
for her needs, but her comforts, and the
certainty that her husband was in a bet
ter home than the earthly one he had
left He had not perishedon the "deso
late, rainy seas," with beloved children,
helpless to rescue or be rescued beside
him; she had been with him to the last,
and his grav was made in the
bosom of his native earth. fTo
ungrateful, how uuthinking, how
sinful she had been. Ouly one crj
could burst from her lips: " I do thank
Thee! Lord, be merciful to me a sin-
nr ' " And it seemed to her. assh
lifted her strcanuus: evi. that she could
see her husband's face sm'liugjit her
across the fire-place: but it was an im
agination, not a dream.
"She had, at last found that hex grie
did not exceed all other sorr.w, that hai
loss was not unique of immeastirj Ule,
that life had still abund mt g.fts &nilet !
and Heaven an ever-brighteniug-fL "
ise. Not that she forgot her husb.re !
ceased to mourn for him; but !SjgTD
ory became a sacred treasure, instjf 0- '
a sharp regret, and her mouminjF pi t
the face of a veiled joy, as it led h ftnU
the hearts of her fellow-suiferJaniI
taught her how to console them V th J
comfort wherewith she herself was com
forted of God. And neither she nor he
o-uests of that occasion ever forgot hv
first, but not her last, widowed Thanks-
fiving. Rose Tart Cooke, in N. I
ndependent.
Lire Stock an 1 Prosperity.
The furor among rich fancy farmer
for fancy live stock has some absurdities
about it, and yet it is. on the whole, ex
erting an influence very welcome to all
who would see farming advauced, par
ticularly in the direction of pleasure and
profit Not many pursuits are thor
oughly profitable unless they are loved
and enjoyed, and the breeding of im
proved stock generally calls out ajnan'a
admiration and makes him something ot
an enthusiast. He likes to handle, tt
look at and to talk about his stoeanc
when that is the case he do&Vhou,
quite as much of the dark side orJbriM
ing. An animal, or even a chickeEyc.
be petted more naturally than a field, a
fruit tree, or any other inanimate object.
A farmer may put up a house or a barn
that mav be his pride, or lay out and
plant a fawn that always pleases, aud
yet he cannot pet it as he would an ani
mal beautiful in form and color and with
eyes of speaking intelligence. And the
more things one has to admire or love
about oneN home the harder it is to
break from its associations.
On the contrary, poor stock rather
disgusts. We feci no pride in it. .It re
flects no credit upon us, and so it tempts
to more neglect than admiration. It
lirinnr npitlipr nrnlit nrr tilensiirp. Thfi
mind wanders off to other things, and
these may steal away one's interest in
his home and farm. This is the dangei
with boys. If everything is humdrum,
if thereis little to relieve the daily mo
notony, lots of hard work, few holidays,
few or no pets, and no chance for boy
ish energy or ingenuity to be exerted, no
little "nest-eggs" of money in view,
what more natural than fcr the boys to
get discontented with farm life, to com
pare it with other pursuits, and to vows
perhaps, to go to the city as soon as pos
sible, "where something is going on"
to learn a trade, be a clerk, keep books,
be an editor, a professor, a preacher, or
a politician? The farmer who thinks
these longings can be put down by any
word of command makes a mistake. He
had better study into the cause3 and
try to exorcise them by judicious treat
ment. And he will find improved stock
a great aid, and especially if he will ,
allow the boys to share in the profits
when they come.
More live stock on all farms is the need
of the hour. There is constantly in
creasing demand for meat, and also for
all the products that come from stock.
Horses are wanted for work and pleasure,
and their numbers will swell just as rap
idly as other stocks increase. No work
people in the world consume as much of
good living as those in the United States.
The working foreigners who come here,
though unused to much meat at home,
soon catch the infection, and improved
wages or incomes from farms of their
own enable them to enjoy the prtrilege.
Tho constant ml rupkl Increase ofianu
factures, in addition to other causes, in
creases the number of consumers in a
greater ratio than the stock increases.
The opening of new markets in foreign
countries for meat and other live stock
products is also increasing on the whole,
in spite of occasional set-backs. And,
lastly, the farms all need more stock for
their development through the use of
manures. Commercial manures are ol
great value, but nothing can permanently
take the place of stable manure.
He is a wise farmer, then, who aims
to supply himself with live stock to the
fullest extent that his capital and his
acres will admit He needs manure, and
as the mass of farmors cannot find it to
buy, the must make it or go without.
To go without, or make it only in the old
way (a few animals to several hundred
acres.) means little or no increase of fer
tility, no increase of home comforts, no
better education for the children, no en
hanced attractions to farm life. The
burden that dairymen formerly brought
to the farmer's wife and daughters is
now relieved by the creamery; the farm
er's own burdens, if increased in amount,
are relieved in part by a greater diffusion
of work through the seasons, greater
variety and greater profits. For his
crops machinery is rendering vast aid,
and, if properly and systematically
handled, his stock soiling points the
way. The wasteful and barbarous sys
tem of pasturing must give way to the
necessity for more stock, and with that
farming becomes far more a strictly
business pursuit than before. Every
thing about farm work will be studied
with more care, and the large haphazard
or happy-go-lucky element eliminated.
When we can get farmers to think more,
to study aud plan in advance, to rigidly
note cost aud production, how to in
crease the latter and reduce the former,
though his hand work may be less hi?
head work will be more effective. The
man who owns and runs a farm should
be a manager rather than the head work
man merely.
The idea that the owner of a farm
must of necessity "hold the plow or
drive," or do both, is a mistake natural
enough to be made, perhaps, in view of
what farming has been, or even what it
is and must be in many quarter' but
there Is something better for the edu
cated farmer, or the man who, with t
good education, applies business princi
ples and capital to fanning. It is not
good business, for instance, to keep a
cow and not know what she is worth in
milk and butter, nor what it costs to
keep her, nor whether she is annually
improving or deteriorating. It is not
good business to guess at the cost of a
crop, or to conclude that because your
great-grandfather raised it therefore you
can wisely raise it It is not good busi
ness not to know what are the annual
sales and expenses, nor to sneer at an
annual inventory as a "foolish notion."
So it is not good business to let one'i
farm run down in fertility on the ground
that manure is lacking and that it cannot
be bought profitably. The way to do is
to keep" stock. If the necessary capital
is really wanting, it may be a lame
wretched sort ofiarming which is fol
lowed, but it is not business farming by
any means. I know very well that many
a man is unable to follow his ideal of
what a business duty is, but in thou
sands of cases this is not the reason, at
all. It is the force of old habits, preju
dices, dislike of change, mental inertia,
or conceit Cor. N. Y. Sun.
A man of Berks County, Pa., whi
hunting, laid his gun upon the ground.
A rattlesnake crawled into one of the
barrels and refused to be dislodged until
the weapon was discharged. After that
his snakeship offered no further ob
jections. m
A farmer who has tried it says tur
keys will lay on more fat in two week
when confined in a comfortable pen thaa
they will in four when suffered to. rank
bie about. N, J. Herald.
Tie Morgme ef St. ucrnard.
The great curiosity at the monastery
of the Mount St. Bernard is the morgue.
If the day is a little warm the brother j
who attends to visitors hesitates a bit
before opening the door of the wooden '
huuje jusi outside the chief building. He
first drives away the dogs, who come
prow-ling about, snuffing the4 air sus
piciously, and has them shut into their
room opposite the huge refectory. Then
he marshals the little company 01 inter
national tourists in line before the mys
terious door, and opens the chamber of
honors. The keen mountain air mshes
in, and presently you are conscious of a
faint, sickly odor not strong enough to
be repulsive, but eminently suggestive
of death. Then, as you stand there neer
ing with strained eyeballs into the dark
ness, you become vaguely conscious that
. face' is looking at you. I defy any one
who is posseted of the smallest grain of
imagination to see that mysterious face
growing slowly out of the obscurity with
out a sudden sinking of the heart and a
chill which no effort of the will can sup
press. It is the face of a woman and
yet of a ghost; a kind of corporeal pres
ence divested of life and yet so horribly
like life that you are almost afraid the
bony aud skinny frame to which it be
longs will arise and stretch out its dread
ful arms, aud drag you down into the
depths which you so instinctively shun.
The good brother does not say anything;
he watches the effect of this curious spec
tacle upon you. Pretty soon you can
discern that the face belongs to the body
of a woman aud that this woman is
clasping to her breast the form of a tiny
babe. The mother is seated on the ground,
and appears to be dazed by the light
pouring down into her darksome habita
tion. But oh! the horror of her face!
Here is death without a decay; here, in
this wondrous air, on this pass more than
eight thousand feet above the sea level,
putrefaction is unknown; uud bodies
found iu the snows in winter or after
the white shroud has melted away from
the bosom of nature in the spring are
preserved entire so long as the monks
care to keep them. Thegrimness of the
spectacle is enhanced by the fact that
nearly every body found is contorted,
twisted, strained and knotted in fantastic
shape. Now aud then one which bears
all the appearance of tranquil sleep is
brought iu; but in most cases there are
indications that man and woman, in
their battle with nature, fought hard.and
desperately and refused to be overcome
until every particle of force was ex
hausted. The brethren gather up the
bodies with tender care and place thei 1
in tho dead-house in the usually vain
hope that some relatives may come to
recognize them. Where is the father of
the child which this strange spectral
mother clasps in her arms? What was
the history of the woman who had thus
wandered in the wild winter from the
Rhone valley toward tho kinder and
warmer Italian slopes ? Perhaps her hus
band was with her and perhaps his
body now lies at the bottom of some prec
ipice where even the 'pious monks of
Saint Bernard" cannot find him or per
haps he is here, in the dead-house;
perhaps that prostrate body, seeming to
grovel on the rocky floor, is his. The
peasants rarely carry any paper which
can completely identify them, and some
times the unfortunates found dead in the
pass led such wandering lives going to
Switzerland for harvest work in the
summer and to Italy when the winter
nips them that their passports even give
no clew to to their birthplaces or native
villaires. Cor. Boston Journal.
Stickers."
The independent voter is responsible
for a great many things in modern poli
tics, lie not only refuses to be tethered
within party lines, but he establishes a
little party of his own. When he spies
the name of a man on a regulation
ticket, and knows that the man is unfit
for therottiee he is named for, he re
solves himself into a parjy of one.and sets
about to defeat that candidate. Years
ago, when the independent voter was as
scarce as a hen's teeth, almost, he con
tented himself with occasionally drawing
his pencil through the name of an objec
tiouable candidate and writing the name
of a suitable person for the oflico on the
margin of the ticket. Political man
agers cut the margins of their ballots
down so close that there was no room
for the independent voter to be J inde-
lendent. From this and a number of
ike causes sprung the '"sticker," or
"paster," the convenient little bit of
paper that has been such a power iu the
la: d and such a deadly enemy to unfit
and unpopular nominations. They are
no new thing, but there are a thousand
tried now where there formerly were
ynly ten. It's a great knack to print a
political sticker as it ought to be. The
paper has to be made specially for It, of
strong fibre, the gum should be of a
clean sort that a person can wet with his
mouth without poisouiug him. or with
out leaving an unpleasant taste on the
tongue, and then it must be very adhe
sive or it can be pulled oft" without spoil
ing the ballot. See here; I'll put this
sticker on the ballot, and it won't be
there thirty seconds before the surface of
the ballot with the name of the candi
date pasted over will come off with it."
He did so, and sure enough the paper of
the original ballot was fairly split in the
attempt to tear it off the sticker. "That
sticker means business, you see."
"The demand for stickers must be
very large?"
"Yes. In the State election for 1881
I figured up about 8,000,000 stickers
were printed. Every candidate, and
and a great many friends of candidates
order them, both Democratic and Re
publican. Eight millions look very
large, but when one man alone orders
500,000 it counts up. But I doubt if
there ever was as many 33 25,000,000 or
dered at one time, as I saw by an item in
one of the papers."
"The sticker hai arrived to the dig
nity of special machinery for making it,
has it not?"
"Yes. It is quite a simple thing to
print a sticker, but to put it in conveni
ent shape, all cut, ready for use, special
machinery has to be used, a machine
that will cut a hundred thousand at
once. That's a good deal better than
slitting them up with a scissors, one at a
time.'7
Inquiries '.in rather large printiug es
tablishments showed that the political
sticker has grown not only to be a
power in the land, but a source of profit
to the printer.
There is another matter connected
with the "sticker" that is a trifling an
noyance. It's common use so "mixes
up" the ballots that on the night after
the election it is a most puzzling job to
sort and count them. This frequently
causes delay in getting news, but the in
dependent voter cares not for that. He
is simply bent on voting as he pleases,
and the sticker helps him to do it. Bos
ton Qlobe.
At a hotel in Oswego, N. Y., the
other day, a couple from the country of
Milesian extraction took seats at the
dinner table. Directly after a young
couple seated themselves opposite and
the young man took a stalk of celery
from" the dish and commenced eating it
The old lady opposite looked at him a
moment with an air of disgust and then
nudged her husband and said in a stage
whisper: "D'ye moind the blackguard
atingthebokay?" Chicago Times.
An Indianapolis woman, asking foi
a divorce after twenty-eight months of
married life, says of her husband: "Of
his home he made a prison, of his wife a
prisoner, and of himself a prison guard."
Indianapolis Journal.
m
There are thirty-two Episcopal
newspapers in the United States.
FARM a!TC VIKb'SlDB.
Keep all stock thriving by giving a
stable' ration of some kiuu and uotby
feeding the meadows. When the cold
storms come give the animals shelter
and extra grain rations to keep up the
hoat Do not let the an'm lis take this
fuel from the fat already s'ored up, as it
is a practice that no stockman can
afford. Mirror nil fanner.
Ham cooked iu cider: Put a pint
of cider and a cup of brown sugar into
enough water to cover the ham; boil
three hours, or till theskin will peel off
easily .', Remove the skin, cover the ham
with a crust of sugar, and bake in a slow
oven three hours." Dissolve a cup ot
sugar in a pint of ridr And baste tho
ham frequently while baking. If the
cider is verv sweet, lists less sugar.
Chicago Journal.
To fricassee chicken cut it up and
boil with one or two sli es of pork, in
enough water to cover the chicken; fry
some pork, and when it has cooked a
little, drain the ehirki-u r.n.l fry it with
the pork until nearly browned; then take
the broth and pour It into the friug-pan
with the pork, and make a -gravy, thick
ening with brown flour; season well and
pour over the chicken. Chicago News.
The Agricultural Department at
Washington esti 1 atas the shortage of
the hog crop in the givat ho-raising
States as follows: " In Kentucky the de
crease from last year, as returned by our
correspondents, is 25 per ceut; 29 in
Ohio; 25 in Indiana; 24 in Illinois: 20 in
Iowa; 20 in Missouri. The decrease is
but five per cent, in Kansas and two in
Nebraska.'" It also says there is a small
decline in the South and in thJMiddle
States.
If there are fence corners or other
places about the farm where weeds are
'rowing they should be moved out to
prevent the seeds fnmi being scattered
to adjoining fields. Farm fences afford
one of the most common sources for
nveed distribution, and it is poor policy
to allow the seeds to mature and become
scattered to the detriment of tho adjoin
ing land. Pasture land, too often pro
duces heavy growths obnoxious weeds
which should be cut before maturing
their seeds. Country Gentleman.
An almond sponge-cake mav be a
novelty to some one. It is certainly a
very delicate and nicely flavored cake.
Half pound of sugar, live eggs; beat the
velks first, and add the sugar lo them
gradually, then beat the whites to a stiff
froth and add; then sift in flour enough
to make a batter of medium stiffness,
flavor with almond extract, and. before
putting it in the tin, butter a paper well
and line the tin, and on the bottom put
at intervals bits of almond, which yoi
have blanched by pouring boiling water
over, and after removing the brown
skins cut in small pieces, theu pour the
batter over till the tin is about half-full.
Bake for an hour in a slow oven. iVr. Y.
Post.
How to Locate Liness in a Horse.
In examining a ca-e of lameness, we
should, if possible, first see the horse in
the stable, and without disturbing him,
observe whether he points a foot, and in
what particular manner he so favors it.
We should then have him led from the
stable and trotted gently in hand on a
hard road or pavement, giving him his
head at the time. Having thus ascer
tained what leg he is lame in. we should
proceed to discover the actual seat of
the mischief. For this purpose, the
finger and thumb should be carefully
passed down the leg. from the knee to
the foot, to ascertain if there be any un
due heat, or enlargement, or tenderness
from pressure; wo should also feel care
fully the front and sides of the pat
terns, as well as round the coronet. If
a splint be the cause of lameness, the
horse will evince considerable pain when
it is pressed, and so likewise will he in
lesions of the sinews.
Supposing that we have found no suf
ficient cause of lameness above, we
must now direct our attention to tho
feet. In nearlv every case, unless the
mischief should be very clearly ex
liibited elsewhere, it would be advisable
to remove the shoe; the foot should then
be paired out, to ascertain if there be
any wound or bniise in it The nail
holes should be carefully examined and
pressed with pincers, or gently struck
with a hammer, to discover any symp
toms of tenderness; the heels of the sole
should be pared down, aud the parts
struck gently with a hammer; this is
preferable to pressing the bar and crust
with the pincers, as "is usually done, for
this often produces pain in some feet,
when there is no disease, and often fails
in causing pain in others, when there is
a deep-seated corn.
After paring awhile, the smith will
very probably say there is no corn; but
we must not be satisfied until we have
pared almost to the quick. If the horse
be very lame from a corn, he will almost
always favor the foot; but in so doing he
will not, however, extend his limb out
straight to its full length, but will elevate
the heel without extending the foot very
far, which will give a knuckling appear
ance to-the limb. Should none of these
symptoms be exhibited, we must con
sider the disease to be deep-seated, and
then it is all-important to ascertain if the
animal points his foot, for, if such is
the case, in all probability the cause of
lameness exists in the navicular joint,
supposing it was a fore foot we were ex
amining. It will seldom be necessary to go
through these various manipulations
seriatim; we may sometimes pounce
upon the seat of lameness at once, and
very often delect it after a moderate ex
amination; but there are cases that
will demand our utmost attention and
experience, and will often put to a se
vere test the professional talents and
(act even of tho most skilled veterina
rian. Horses sometimes exhibit a slight
lameness immediately after being shod,
though quite sound before. Such cases
may arise from the shoe being nailed on
too tight, and are often relieved by re
moving the shoe and re-applying it more
gently; this lameness most frequently
occurs in horses with very thin horn,
and is ascertained by the manner in
which it comes on, and the absence of
any other visible causes. The shoe in
such a ease may also have an improper
bearing, pressing severely on weakspots,
or on tlie sole or heels; or the heels or
sole may have been pared too much, or
unevenly.
Persons unaccustomed to horses, will
more frequently pronounce the wrong
limb than the right in cases of slight
lameness. The cause of their blunders
may then be easily explained. They
perceive that a horse drops the moment
one foot comes to the ground, and they
immediately conclude that that must be
the lame one, fancying that he drops
from tho pain received when it meets the
f 'round; whereas the fact is, he treads as
ightly as he can on the lame foot, and
bears his whole weight on the sound one.
Prairie Farmer.
m m
A Murderer's Plan for Escape
De Bosnys, the tramp who lately mar
rfed a widow in Essex County. New
York, to obtain her property, and then
murdered her, is still in the Elizabeth
port jail, whence he recently made an
ngenious attemjt to escape. He wrote
an innocent letter which he handed un
sealed to the sheriff and asked him to
mail it to its address in this city. It
was mislaid, and in finding it several
days afterward, the Sheriff was amazed
to read between the lines a second let
ter, which had become visible during the
interval, suggesting a plan of escape,
asking aid and threatening himself. II
was afterward ascertained that the mur
derer had procured by some means Paris
green and vinegar, with which he had
mixed a first-rate invisible ink.
3STOTIOE
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A INt f Propiietory articles not ex
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3?" A powerful alterative and blood
puriti-M.
D.W.&Co'sCoTigh Syrup.
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tSDTThe most wonderful remedy ever
discovered fur chapped
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