Volume XXXIII. SUFFOLK, VA„ FRIDAY AUGUST 6, 1880. Xuinbei 31
jfjotlrg.
BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR AND
KNOCK.
Knotting, knocking, ever knocking I
Wbt^is there?
’Tin n pilgrim, strange and kindly,
Meter each >u *en before;
Ah i tweet tool, lor tucb a wonder
Cqdo the door.
No I that door it hard to open ;
Hinges mitt, latch It broken.
Bid Him go.
Wherefore with that knocking dreary,
Scare the tleep from one to weary ?
Say Him—no.
Knocking, knocking, ever knocking 1
Vi hat! still there?
0, tweet soul, bat once behold Him,
With the glory-crowned hair,
And thote eyet, to strange and tender;
Waiting there I
Ope.nl open! Once behold Him—
i’lm to fair 1
Ah, that door ( Why wilt thou rex me,
Coming ever to perplex me ?
For the key it stiffly rusty,
And the bolt It clogged nod dusty,
Many fingered ivy vine
Seals it fait with twilt and twine;
M eede Of years, end years belore,
Choke the passage to that door.
Knocking, knocking ! What? still knocking?
lie still here?
What’s the hour! The night is waning—
la my heart a drear complaining,
And a chilly, and unrest!
Ah, this knocking I It disturbs me I
Scares my sleep with dreams unolest!
Give me rest;
lies!—ah, rest I
Best, dear soul, He brings to tbee.
Thou hast only dreamed ot pleasure—
Dreamed of gitu aod golden treasure—
Dreamed ofJh'Welt in the seeping,
Waked to weariless of weeping—
Open to thy soul’s out barer,
And thy night of dreams is over—
The true gilts Me brings have seeming
More than all thy faded dreaming.
Did she open ? Doth she? Will she?
So, as wandering we behold,
Grows the picture to a sign,
Dressed upon your soal and mine ;
For in every breast that liveth,
Is that strange mysterious door;
The forsaken and befraugled ;
Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;—
There the pierced hand still knocketh;
And With ever patient watching,
With the sad eyes true and tender,
With the glory-crowned hair,
Still our God is waiting there.
THEATERGQ.NG.
There are mauy professing Chris
tians, in all our churches, who make
a practice of attending the theater,
and some of them vigorously con
tend that the drama is not only en
tertuiuiug but instructive; and that
as a school of art it is worthy of pat
ronage. There are many persons,and
some of them well informed npon the
subject, who enteitaiu a very differ
ent opinion. The declaration of oue
of the most celebrated actors in the
country,and whose attempt to main
tain a pure drama resulted in finan
cial failure, that be would uot allow
his wife or daughter to attend the
performance of a play that heihad not
first examined, coming from one
knows whereof he speaks, is very
damaging to the modern theater, ana
should possess great weight with all
candid, and sincere persons. Many
ladies laying claim to modesty aud
refinement, will listen to utterances
in the theater, which would hot be
tolerated for a moment from their
companions in their own hordes.—
Profane, indelicate, aud even obscene
allusions, calculated to bluut ever;
refined moral taste are listened to uu
til the mind becomes familiarized to
them, and they cease to be repuj/^ve.
The lact is, it is the most objections
ble things in modern plays, that make
them attractive to the masses, The
managers care only for the money,
and they consult the popular taste,
which is a corrupt oue, and if others
will attend, they must do so at the
risk of having tbeir finer feelings
shocked, or of becoming assimila
ted to the character of those around
them.
Not only are the plays corrupt, but
the actors, as a general thiug, are
morally impure, and the better class
who witness their performances would
net for a moment think of receiving
them into tbeir personal soeiety as
social companions. As an illustra
tion of this, we refer to 9 single in
stance. The celebrated Sara Barn
bardt, noted for her beauty and l4
complishments as an artist, and w(k>
has attracted so muoh attention
among the aristocracy iu England, is
reported to have been secured by a
theatrical manager in New 1 ork city,
for an engagement for sixty nights
at six hundred dollars ;a night. Thp
announcement, it is said, has created
quite a sensation among the theater
going class, and the engagement will
no doubt prove a paying one. Bnt
this woman, so much admired, and it
is reported socially recognized by
some ol’ the aristocratic class in Eng
land, although she was uever mar
ried, has several children, and makes
no attempt to conceal the tact. Yet
notwithstanding she sets at detiance
both human and divine lu*, and dis
regards even common decensy, her
performances will no doubt be attend
ed by refined Christian ladies so
called, who will join with the multi
tude in their admiration and applause.
Is her offence against virtue and de
cency to be condoned because she has
talent f If so, the arch enemy of
souls may yet become the admiration
of the world. How many persons
will be led to tbink that she, notwitb
standing her moral lesions, is so
greatly admired aud praised, that her
conduct, after all, can not be so rep
reheusihle; and if such acts are not
improper in her, why Should they be
improper in them f There is nothing
more natural than for persons to imi
tate those they admire; aud those
who attend the theater and learn to
admire the play and then the actor,
are uuturally aud imperceptibly led
to approve the one aud imitate the
other. We do not say that this incli
nation will he followed out; hut its
iufiuence is to weaken virtue,aud in
crease the power of temptation, while
our continued desire should be to
strengthen virtue aud lessen the pow
er of temptation.
The whole surroundings of the
modern theater, its associations, in
llucuce and tendency are of au evil
and corrupting character, and should
not be countenanced or sustained b,\
auy viituous, pious, aud God-fearing
person. There is uothiug in it thai
tends to the intellectual or moral ele
vation of those who attend it, but the
very reverse. Its influence teuds to
dissipate serious thoughts, to blunt
refined sensibilities, to corrupt the
moral taste, and often leads to the
ccmmission ol secret and open sins.
Shun it as yon would the gates ol
perdition.—Methodist Recorder.
HEALTH AND DISEASE.
“SABBATH SICKNESS.”
This remarkable disease has uot
jet been treated iii books of patholo
gy.
1. This disease is of the intermit
ting kind, attacking the patient by
violent paroxysms, which returns ev
ery reveuth day.
These paroxysms return only on the
Lord’s day,aud hence it is called Sab
bath sickness, but by the faculty it is
technically known by no other name
than Die Domini Morbus.
2. It partakes somewhat of the na
ture of ague, especially as it is atteu
ded with a great degree of colduess.
This coldness is first apparent early
in the morning of the Lord’s day, and
in many cases seizing the patieut be
fore he has left his bed. But it be
gins in the region of the heart, and is
attended with dullness of the head,
followed by yawning and lethargy.
3. The patient is sometimes depriv
ed of the use of his limbs, especially
the legs and feet, so that he is indis
posed to walk to the house of God.
4. In some cases this attack has
come upon them after they havegoue
to the house of God, aud has been at
tended with yawning aud slumber.
5. In other cases there has been un
easiness iu the house of God and a
disposition to complain of the length
of the sermon, though they have been
known to sit very contentedly in a
play bouse several hours at a time, or
stand on the streets in the cold sever
ul hours to listen to a political ha
rangue.
6. Persons affected with this disease
never mourn on account of their con
ilnement from public worship.
7. These personsoftensurprisetheir
neighbors with their great activity
and health ou Monday, however un
favorable the weather may be.
8. Most of the faculty agree that
there is u low, feverish heat, technic
ally called febris mundi, or fever ol
the world, which may be detected iu
these patients during the intervening
days of the week.
9. 1 here also seems to be a loss of
appetite for savory food, and a want
of relish for pants vtteo— bread of life,
which in this case is an indispensible
remedy for this disease.
10. Persons affected with this dis
ease generally have a disrelish for
private religious exercises of the clos
et and the reading of the Scriptures.
11. It is also contagions—neigh
bora take it from neighbors, and chil
dren from parents.—Free Frets.
▲ generous man places the bene
fits he oonfero beneath his feet; those
he receives nearest his heart.
THE HIGH MOUNTAINS.
Mr. Moody says in one of bis ser
mons: “There was a story gaing
tbrough the American religious press
that touched my heart as a father. It
was about the death of a little boy.
The mother thought him sale in the
arms of Jesus—she thought he was
trusting sweetly in Christ." He theu
went on to say that as Eddy drew
tieur to death, his mother found him
gazing from the window, and he
asked her to carry him over some
dark mountains which lie saw, be
youd which angels were calling him.
The mother said: “Christ will be
with you, he will take you safe over
the mountains.” She then prayed
with her child, and said : “Eddy you
must take your eyes offyonr mother,
and fix them on Jesus. He will help
you.” She prayed again and again ;
until finally, after Eddy had prayed
for himself, he said: “Good bye>
mamma; Jesus is coming to carry
me over the mountains” and then he
died.
.Now this is a very pretty and im
pfessive story, and there is only one
trouble with it—it is not true. But
no wonder that Mr. Moody had it
wroDg. It has, as he said, been going
not once nor twice only, through the
American press; and everybody that
chose to do so seems to have taken
the liberty to alter, or add to, it.
The real story is much more rc
markable and impressive than any
of those that have been manufactur
ed from it. I give it, iu brief, below.
I was the writer of the story, giving
it as I had it from the mother of the
child, a friend of mine yet living
This mother was tot one who believ
ed iu early religious instruction, com
mnuly So called. She said: “Wait
uutil the child is able to understano
souietbiug of wliat you mean, before
j oil try to get ideas of sin and re
demption, ur of heaveu or bell, iuto
his ruiud.”
Had she seen a darling babe of two
years otd watching the heavens, as 1
once saw one, aud heard him, as i
heard him, murmuring softly to him
self “God lives far up above the pitty
bu sky ; but he sees baby;” she might
have felt differently; bat ber ideas
were vesj'fflrin Infixed, and she acted
upon them. She did not know thai
Eddy, op to his sixth year, had so
much as heard of heaven—aud the
name of “Jesus” he elearly did not
know.
At the age of six he was taken
sick; and lying nenr to death, on his
bed, with his eyes fixed on a corner
of the ceiling, he asked : “Mamma,
what country is it that I see beyond
tbe high [not dark; there was no
darkuess to the little, ransomed one]
mountainsT” Tbe mother replied:
•‘There are no mountains here, Eddy
You are with your parents in this
room at home.” But the boy insist
ed that he saw a beautiful conutry,
children were playing aud calling to
him ; but said be : “I cannot get
over the mountains. Mamma, papa,
won’t you carry me across I”
Then the mother wept, for in her
heart she felt that her child was call
ed away.
“Wbat country is it, mamma, that
I see t” be repeated. Tbe mother,
not knowing what else to say, asked:
“Is it heaven, Eddy l” She told me
she did not know that the word would
carry auy meauiug to the child’s
mind ; but be caught it instantly,and
answered: “Yes; it is heaven. O,
who will carry me over the mountains
tbe high mountains I” Tbe distress
ed parents tried to quiet their little
one, askiug him if he wauted to leave
papa and mamma, and home. He lay
still and silent for a time, and they,
anxiously watching him, hoped that
the trouble was past.
Tue trouble was past, isuuy unu
never in all liis little life said t he dear
word “mother;” but suddenly he tur
ned his face to her, aud with bis eyes
bright with more than mortal light,
aud with a voice clear and strong as
when be was well, he said : “Mother,
mother, don’t you be afraid. The
strong man has come to carry me
over the mouutaiws.”
And thus Eddy died. No chance
here for any to say: “Influenced aud
deceived by human teachings.” How
beautiful must heaven be, with its
countless hosts of little children, re
deemed out of every nation and king
dom and people under heaven. These
are they that are without fault before
God, that serve him day and night in
his temple.
And if no adult, scarred and stain
ed and blasted by siu, is ever count
ed worthy to obtain that life and the
resurrection from the dead, as some
times seams must be: Christ, when
he looks on the innumerable multi
tude redeemed from the earth before
they were transgressors of his known
will, will “see of the travail of his
soul and be satisfied.”
MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME.
There is no invitation so common,
and none no seldom accepted, as this
free and easy tender of one’s home to
a guest. From the way in which
many people conduct themselves in
their own homes, what with their
peevishness, tardiness, sloveuliness,
surliness and the dreadful nesset—§e
shouldn’t care to have the invitation
taken very literally by them in any
home in which we have part or lot;
but it is not practicable, aud would it
not be pleasant around, to have
agreeable people feel more “at home”
than they often do in their friend’s
home?
All visitor’s feel that in some places
there is an atmosphere that is ponge
nial aud pleasant, and conducive to
freedom and enjoyment, while in oth
ers—though the welcome be just as
warm and the friends no less kind
and dear—they are never unconsci
ous that they are visitors. The house
is in an abnormal condition of spiek
andspan orderliness, to start with ;
and one feels that in no home are the
papers and hooks always picket! tip,
the work put out of sight aud every
thing kept with its best foot fo^vard.
In most sensible, uut to say cultiva
ted families, the essential vnlgariety
of loading down ihe tables with an
unusual and unnecessary variety of
food, because a friend chances, to be
present, is uo longer seen; but iu too
many the entire matter of tho family
eating is made to turn upon the
guest’s appetite or readiness. How
entirely ‘:at home’’ one feels (“this is
write ironical,”) as A. Ward used to
come down to breakfast a quarter ol
au hour late and liud pater familiae
reading the advertisements iu his
crumpled morning paper, with one
e.\e wandering to the clock; the
house wife with the shadow Of a
frown upon her politely uupuckered
brow, and the cbildreu palpably cross
from waiting I
The guest shouldn’t be late of
course, but he ofteu takes that liber
ty when at home, aud would feel
much better to find the family at the
table than waiting for him. The cou
sciousness of throwing every thing
out of gear in the family machinery
makes one realize very uncomforta
bly that he is not “at home.”
Then the childreu are often kept
on “dress parade,” duriug the pres
ence of transient guests. It causes
pain to a child loving and sensitive
mac to know that the children are
debarred of their natural blessed
freedom by his presence. His own
little ones at home climb to bis back
or knee, tease for stories, play games
and have a good time after supper;
andjfcbile the average parent doesn’t
take so much interest in other peo
ple’s children, no one not so utterly
selfish that bis comfort does not de
serve to be considered, likes to see
children robbed of any of their little
rights and customs by a stupid con
ventionality, requiring them to be
dressed up and keep still.
It may further be truly said of hos
pitality, that as a rule “entertaining”
does not entertain. Public, meu are
not the only people who like plenty of
letting alone.
The friend into whose home our
visit means only an extra plate and a
chair at the table, and room at the
fireside; whose easy chair is ours for
reading, resting or chatting; whose
home circle is enlarged, not broken
up by our entrance; whose greeting
shows that be is conscious of receiv
ing as well as imparting pleasure;
who preserves his own individuality,
and recognizes oars; over whose roof
tree waves the flag of freedom—isn’t
this the place we all love to gof—
Golden Rule,
The Imperative Mood.—Mrs.
L. H. Tutbill, a lady wrote several
charming books for youug women,
once said, iu speaking of good man
ners, that “human nature resented
the imperative mood.”
Think of this, girls. If .vou ask a
child to wait on you, say “Please.”
Be polite to servants and inferiors.
Be courteous even to the cat. Why
push her roughly aside or invite her
claws! If kiud, good nature, and
gentleness ruled iu every home, what
sunlight would home enjoy 1 A great
deal depends upon the girls—the Bis
ters, the daughters.
A String of Nkvebs_Never
talk slang.
Never say yon have been dished,
when you mean you have been disap
pointed.
Never say yon have been sold,when
you mean you have been cheated.
Never say a thing is “too tbiu,” or
“that’s the worst I ever heard,” or
‘‘fell that to the marines.’’
Never say awful for very, and try
never to exaggerate.
Never slam the door.
THE BIBLE.
I believe in the grand old Bible
from its Alpha to its Omega—the Bi
ble, the whole Bible, and nothing bnt
the Bible.
I do not believe in your trying to
get as little of God in it as you can,
explaining away this miracle and that
miracle, representing the pool where
the augel came down to trouble the
waters, as a sort of Harrowgate
springs.
I believe in going for it aslhe
great and only revelation that we
have of our great God. The infidel
has been at his work for these six mil
lentiinms—“Yea, hath God said it T”
This is the root of all. That was said
by the first infidel, and he will be
last. But where are all the infidel
works T Where are all the works of
meii I Three fifths of them never
pay for the paper or print. The man
has to pay it not the book. And a
thousand part do not survive a cen
tory. Bnt. the infidel has fought
against this blessed book from the
beginning.
He has brought his mightiest intel
lect to bear upon it ; lie has examin
ed every manuscript and translation,
and taken it to pieces as no other
book ever was tried. Why, he has
brought the very chemistry of the age
to sealwhat kind of ink it is made of,
and hi takes a microscope to see if
ibe ink will stand it. But microscope
and chemistry, and all his logic, and
ail his Vanr. of logic, and all his pow
er, audWl his weakness—we defy it
all. \
We say to him, “Come on. Ifyou
have a t|( Uiiiiul more tests, or ten
thousand times ten thousand more,
we will tubiuit the “Bible te- all oi
them; auu the wreck of literature,
and in th^ wieck of the whole world,
when hea'W and earth shall pass
away, audmot only the Alexander
Library, bit the British Museum will
he burnt i*>, and all we have ot
wrong will le burnt up ; aud we will
be glad to *e the blaze; the Word
of God eudiretb for ever.’-—B\ l\
Mackay. !
TRACKS.
One winter’i niorniug, after a snow
storm, a fathea took his hat fora
walk to atteud io some farm affairs
requiring atreutbu. As he start d,
his little boy of uivo summers also
snatched bis hatl and followed his
father with mock signify, and an as
suined business lin air. When they
reached the door me geutlemao uo
ticed that no track ir path had been
made in the snow, bud he hesitated
about letting his beyVollow him. But
the soft, fleecy snow boked so tempt
ing, so pearly white, mat he conclu
ded to allow the chiki to walk after
him. He took short strides through
the untrodden snow, when, suddenly
remembering his little Iby, be paused
looked backed after Bra, and ex
claimed : \
“Well, my sod, don’t Won find it
hard work to walk in\ this deep
snow 1” \
“Oh! no,” said the boy,\‘Tm com
ing, for, father, I step in kl of your
tracks. \
True enough, the dear lliild was
planting his tiny feet just \Uiere the
parent’s ieet had troddeu. TB» child’s
reply startled the father, i he re
flected that thus would his chid keep
pace with him,and follow iu hiatracks
through life. \
He was not a frieud to Jesuslnot a
man of prayer, and uot a Chriitiau ;
aud well might he pause and trekible,
as he thought of his child, ever ariv
iug to “step iu all his track,” onward,
through life’s mysterious mazes sud
myths, toward eteruity 1 The liltle
boy’s reply brought that strong, stub
born hearted mau to thifrk. when
even the preached word of tuid 'hid
no impression upon him.
.Finally, be repented, aud sougl*
and fouud peace iu .believing in
Christ. We believe he is now makiua
such tracks through life that at some
day that son may be proud to say,
“Father, I step in all your tracks.”
Among the last words written back
by Ur. Bushuell, the African miss
ionary, when on his voyage from
England, were the following:
“I am goiug back iu infirm health,
after thirty-six years of toil, to be the
only ordained missionary, till some
oue hastens to my assistance. The
days of miracles are past, aud I have
no reason to expect to be able to bear
the burden of cares aud toils alone
with the aid of lay aud nativo help
ers. Who will consecrate themselves
to this work !” .
Better fail a thousand times, and
in everything else, than attempt to
shape for yourself a life without God,
without hope iu Christ, aud without
au interest in heaven.
^ Jarm
MANUTiES,
Anything which! being added to
i tiie soil, directly br indirectly pro
i motes the growth of plants, is ma
nure. Manure directly assists vege
i table growth, eitberlty entering into
the composition of plants, by absorb
ling and retaining moisture from the
: atmosphere, or by absorbing from it
nutritive gases. Manure indirectly
| assists the growth of plants, either by
|destroying vermin or weeds, by de
j composing in the soil, by protecting
: plants from sudden changes of tem
perature, or by improving the texture
of the soil. The manure from cows
and all animals that chew the cud is
considered cold and suited to a light
soil; that of hogs, horses and poultry
is hot, and best suited to a cold, heavy
soil. A|l uew and fresh manure en
genders heat during fermentation,
aud has a tendency to lighten the
soil, while old, rotten manure is
! fhonght to render it more compact
and firm. The manure of birds is
| richer than that of any other animal.
Three or four hundred weight of ma
unre, fowls, turkeys, etc., is equal to
from fourteen to eighteen loads ol
animal manure. A thick coqt ot hog
pen or barn yard manure spread on
the garden and turned in every
spring, will enrich, warm, aud lighten
the ground better tliau any applica
tion of other manures. The piinei
pal animal manures are those of the
horse, the hog, the cow, and the
sheep. Of these, the horse is the
most valuable, in its fie.-li state, but
it should be exposed as little as pos
sible, as it begins to beat and lose its
nitrogen immediately, as may be per
ceived by the smell; mix it with oth
er manures, a ml cover it with absorb
eris as soon as possible. That of the
hog comes next in value, while the
cow is at the bottom of the list. The
richer the food givAi to animals, the
more powerful is the manure. If an
imal manures are employed in a
fresh state, the mauure should be
well injxed with the soil, aud given to
course feeding crops,, such as corn
aud the garden pea. Nearly all
plants do better il the manure is coin
posted aud fully fermented before use.
Bone dust mixed with ashes or pul
venzed charcoal aud sown broadcast
.over the ground at the rate of three
bushels per acre, is very beneficial,
aud the most valuable for turnips,
cabbage, etc., and the quantity need
ed for an acre is so small that the ex
pense is less than almost auy appli
cation. Common salt, at the rate ot
six bushels per acre, sowed in the
spring, on lands distant from the sea
shore, not only promotes fertility,but
it is very uselul in destroyiug worms
and slugs. Mari, w here it can be ob
tained, may be applied with advan
tage. Soot is excellent to drive off
insects and vermin. \ ery lime oi
this can be obtained, but it should be
carefully preserved and applied in
small quantities to cabbages, turnips,
eh c u hi be rs, m eld ns, sq u as ties, au d al 1
plauts mlected with insects. Char
coal renders the soil light and triable,
and gives it a dark color and addi
tional warmth lor early crops.—
Where composted with night soil it
becomes puudiette, aud is second only
to guano as a fertilizer.
Leaves and straw rubbish thrown
together aud moistened with a mix
ture of lime aud salt, if kept damp
unti decomposed, form the best known
manure lor trees aud shrubs. Swamp
muck, mixed salt, lime, or leached
ashes, is of value where it cau ba ob
tained, but of still more value is the
leaf mold, or black surface soil of the
woods. For the vegetable garden, it
is best composted with fresh animal
mauure, but cau be applied directly to
most plants in the flower garden,
many of which will not flourish uuless
this material is preseut in the soil.
ITanbark, decayed chips, saw dust and
shavings, covered with soil, are ol
treat advantage to potatoes. Wood
Ashes, leached or unleached, may be
iked with decided beuelit as a top
dressing to most growing vegetables,
especially onions aud turnips. Plas
ter sown upon growing crops is good
for' turnips, cabbages, beaus, eueurn
berg, squashes, melons, and broad
leaved plants.—Dixie Farmer.
Paesnips,carrots, Swedish turnips,
and especially mangel wurzel, will all
tatter* pigs. The roots ought not to
be given in a raw state, but always
cooked and mixed with beans, peas,
Indian corn, oats, or barley, all of
which must be grouud into meal.—
When pigs are ted on such cooked
I'ood as we have stated, the pork ac
quires a pecul arly rich flavor, nud is
much esteemed, especially for family
use.
SELECTED RFCIPES.
| ^ 11 clean silver, use aqua amomuia
and pulverized chalk or whiting to
the consistency of cream.
Opening the eyes and submerging
; them in clean salt water, hasT been
: found beneficial to those whose eye
| sight begins to fail.
TuENfVG a Hobn.—Rasp the born
on the outside if you wish to turn the
horn in. It will give life to that part
and increase its growth wonderfully
on the side rasped. You can give
the horn any shape you please by
■scraping.
Feed horses according to their
age and work required of them. Full
feeding and little work disorders the
digestive organs. Select only such
hay as is the best quality, that of in
ferior quality is dear at any price, as
there is no proper nourishment in if,
Feied Cucembees.—Cucumbers,
that have grown too large to nse in
the ordinary way, eveu when they
begin to turn yellow, may be sliced
and treated in the same way us egg
plant, but it is not necessary to salt
them first. Many are very fond of
them cooked in this manner.
CrBEEN Coen 1’udding.—Grate
the corn from four good-sized ears;
add one pint of milk, two well beaten
eggs, and a piece of butter the size
of au egg, salt and pepper to taste.
Stir three tablespooiifuls of tlonr in a
little cold water, add it to the rest,
beat all well together, and bake an
hour.
A Feexoh paper relates the follow
ling experiment: A cow was milked
i three times a day for elveu days, and
| yielded 17u quarts of milk. VVhe two
milkings daily, she gave only 146
[quarts in the same number of days.
Analyses moreover showed that the
milk in the first ease was richer in
butter globules by more than one
seventh than in the secoud case.
Ivevee water a horse directly after
feeding him, especially if he is fed on
corn. Tlirist should he allayed be
foie the feed is given add it any wa
ter is allowed after, it should he mere
ly a mouthful until the lapse of two
or three hours’ time has been had for
gastric digestion. Many valnable
animals have been lost by allowing
them to drink freely directly after
eating. <8
Fleas.—A simple and a very ef
fectual remedy is the harking of pin*
poles and placing them nnder the
house or shed infected. Fleas most
always hop on thiugs that are white,
either to satisfy their curiosity or for
other motives, and when they hop on
a freshly harked pine pole they gen
erally stick, and never hop any more,
as the poles are covered with sticky
rosin that exudes as soon as the bark
is pared off. 1>
Poll Evil.—This trouble is an ab
cess at the back of the head where it
joins the neck, and is not serions un
less it reaches the bones or joints t€
the neck. The remedy consists in
opening the ahcess, to allow the ac
cumulated pus to escape, after which
the cavity is dressed with a solution
of half a dtachm of chloride of zinc,
to a quart of water. If the neek
becomes stiff before any remedy is
applied, the animal is in many cases
beycnd help.
The Roup—Roup is caused by
dampness. The symptoms are run
uiug from the nose, very foul breath,
comb dark, and drooping manner,
with refusal of food. Take the sick
fowl at once from the others, and
place it in a warm (stove if necessary)
dry place, and give it a teaspoonful
of a solution of chlorate of potash,
which is prepared by dissolving a
teaspoouful of chorate of potash in a
glass of water. Give three times
daily, and pour a little in the trough
where the other fowls drink. It is
one o£ the best remedies known,
cheap, and a sure cura if used on first
appearance of the disease.
Sowing Rye in "Coen.—If farm
ers will sow one-half bushel of winter
rye to the acre in thefr corn, and
plow it in the last time, it will not
only have a tendency to choke ont
the weeds that start up afterwards,
but there will be no danger of dry
murrain among cattle from eating
too freely ot dry stalks, as the rye
will retnaiu green through the winter
and will be eaten by stock in prefer
ence to the corn fodder. It makes a
desirable feed for all kinds of stock,
aud aids materially in the quality and
quantity of milk produced, besides
proviug a saviug of from oue to two
tons of hay for every acre sown; and
last, but not least, it affords a green
I crop to plow under in the spring,
which will renew and enrich the land.
—Karol World.