IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY ; IN NON-ESSENTIALS,
Volume XXXIII.
THE TWO LIGHTS.
BT J. *. T.
"When I'm a man I" the utrippling criw,
And strive* the coming yean to scan—
"Ah, then I (hall be strong and tHsc,
When I'm a man I'*
“When I was young,” the old man sighs,
“Bravely the lark and linnet sing
Their carol under sonny skies,
When I was young 1"
“When I'm a man, I shall be free
To guard the right, the truth uphold.”
“When I wss young I bent no knee
To power or gold.”
"Then shat! I satisfy my soul
With yonder pi ire, when I'm a man.”
“Too late I found how vain the goal
To which I ran.”
“When I’m a man these idle toys
Aside forever shall be flung,”
“There was no poison In tuy joys
When I was young.”
The boy’s bright dream is all before,
The man's romance lies far behind.
Had we the present and no more,
Fate were unkind.
’“V" Putj brother, toiling in the night,
8till count yonrtelf not all unblest
If in the east therq gleams a light,
Ur in the west.
jSebdiong.
THE BOY WHO WOULDN'T BE WHIPPED
Gilderoy tells the following eiper
ience in the Nashville Advocate. It i>
as good for parents as children ;
I may as well tell the boys now
that my inotbor was a widiow, and i>
woman of great Urmuess and deci
sion of character, and of deep piety.
When she said anything she meant
it, and yet she was just as gentle anti
tender as a Iamb. One time in tin
fall of the year, whea I was about
fifteen years old, 1 was out in the
yard trying to piaveT» hftavjrjBfi^k.pt
timber. I asked my brother, then
twelve years of age, to assist, bnt he
stood stock still and laughed at me
while I almost strained my eye-bulb
out of my head. At last i lost'-my^
temper, grew hot, got mad, and pick
ed up a switch, and gave, brother •.<
whipping. That was one thing moth
er did not allow—she did not perrnil
one child to whip another on bet
’jjlace. When she heard the row, sin
came out of the bouse and gave broth
er it good thrashing, and made bin
help me put the timber in place, auu
then said to me: *
“Now, my sou, I am going to whip
you for whippiug your brother/’
1 had not had a whipping for a long
time, and Had begun to leet line x
man. la tact, 1 waited ou the girls
now and then, and some white,
downy-looking stuff Imd beguu to
grow upon mj lip and chit* and I felt
large over the prospect of a heard ai
no distant day. 1 had no idea ol tak
ing a whipping—none in the world
1 had violated one of my mother's
rules, bat the provocation had been a
great one to a boy. True, if I had
goue live steps to the door, and told
mother, she would have adjusted
matters and made brother do what 1
wanted him to do. Iustead of this, 1
had assumed authority, had taken
the law into my ow n hands, and had
done what I knew my mother did not
—allow.
Hi said, “Mother, you shan’t whip
“But I wUl d»it, my sou,’' she re
plied, and smarted towards me, with a
purpose iu her eje. I got out ot bei
way, and, bad boy that I was, I turn
ed my back upon home and mother,
and went off about four miles, aud
hired myself to a clever, thrifty, well
to-do farmer for five dollars pei
month. 1 told him what hud occur
ed, aud how I had been outraged at
home, and that, too, by my mother.
He told ine that 1 had done wrong
aud that I ought to go back home,
and he proposed to go with me aud
intercede for me. I had too much of
my mother in me to yield just then.
I went to work, but was not happy.
I lost my appetite and could not sleep
I grew worae and worse, but hoped
all the time that mother would seud
for me, aud" apologize, and lake me
back “scat free,” bat I heard nothing
from her. I began to feel that 1
needed mother aud home than
mother and norne ueeded me—a les
aon mosh boys do not learn uutil it is
too late. At the end of the week, or
''Baturday inornUig.U told my employ •
«r I wanted togjijlJpe. Heapprov
amity offered to
erred to go
like lead in my pocket-, and grew
heavier and heavier as I got nearei
home, till finally i pulled it out and
threw it as Tar as I could send it inti
the woods, I didn’t go home in t
hurry. It was lour miles and Ij was
four hours on the way—and mortal
hours they were. I hesitated and
turned back, and resolved and re-re
solved. The better thing in me said
‘•Go home, and yield to your motbei
and obey her but some other thing
said, ‘‘I’d die first.” Those who had
never beeu in the shoes of the “prod
igal son,” do not know what an ef
fort that trip home cost the poor boy,
nor how long - he was makiug it
When I felt that I could go uo larth
er, I would kneel down and pray.—
i That always helped me. I felt firm
er afterward. The" last hundred
lards before I got home seemed to bt
a mile long. If it had been night
and uo lights burning, so motbei
could not see me, how glad I -.would
have beeu ; but there it was, a beau
iiful suubright day iu the calm, cowl
November. Oh, how black the bright
light inakes’a guilty heart look I The
last hour before day is said to be
the darkest hour. When I got near
enough to hear, mother was siugiug—
‘Je*u», loverof my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly.
Ah I that 4o»g! what mingled feel
ings it stirretMu my heart, aud how
appropriate it was. Hope and shaint
uad a struggle, but, thank God, hope
prevailed just as I reached the kitch
ill door, where mother was settiug
the table for dinner.
“Good morning, my son,” sbe said,
just as pleasently as 1 bad ever beam
ter speak in all my life. “Come in,’
-he continued ; “have a seat,” setting
t chair tor me. “I hope you are Well
ny sou f” That word “son,” how n
turt me. I was not not worthy 01
it,
“Very well, I thank you ’— I did
not venture to say “mother.” “Arc
all well f”
“Well, I thank you, my son,” and
she went on chatting away just a>
pleasantly as if I had beeu a neigh
nor called in. I wanted Jtp tell ^hfti
uy win and stiame ; but did not Ruow
where or how to commence. Dinuei
was soou ready, and mother askeo
-ue to dine with her, with ail the p->
liteness and deference due a visitor.
When seated at the table, motbei
said,
“Will you please say grace for us?’
That was awful. The words cbok
ed me, though I had been uccustoui
oil to asking a blessing for a year 01
wo. I could uot eat: I was too full
already. Mother hoped I was well
I told her I was.
When dinner was over l said,
“Mother, what work do you warn
me to do V’
“None at all, my son ; I do not ex
pect visitors to woi k for me,” she an
swered.
“But, mother, 1 have come home
and I waut to go to werk and qui
his foolishness,” I said.
She replied tirinly.
“Weil, my son, to be candid will
\ou, if you will now take a whipping
you can stay ; but if not, you cai
have your clothes and leave.”
1 jumped up aud pulled off my coa'
and vest, and sat down with my faoi
(oward the back of the chair', and my
back toward mother, aud said :
« “Well, mother, 1 will take tin
whipping aud stay at home with you
So get your switch aud give it ti
uie.”
Just then mother burst into tears
caught me iu her arms, and said.
“That will do, my soil. Let u>
pray.”
She led. O, that prayer, that pray
erl It Ungers yet like the refrain o
some old song, grand with the inelo
dy of heaveu. I then had a houu
.md a mother, aud was just about a
happy as boys ever get to be in tin
life. Now, boy s, I am ashamed of m.
sin to this day ; but I am so proud o
my motbei I thought I would tell yoi
this story.
9 "WILL YOU, BROTHER?"
By Mbs. Annie A. Tbeston.
One bright afternoon during the
stimmer of 1880 a number of cheerful
faced, as well as sty lish-iookiug pe<>
pie, were grouped on the shady suit
oi a little country railway station in
Vermont, waiting to take the next
rain to New York.
“I have asceriained that there an
wo New York trains from here thi
ilternoon, mother,” said a tall, baud
mine ljnl, emerging from the station
Igeut’s office with a handful ol tick
•ts. “We can go as far as Spriug
Held on the mail traiu, which passes
here first, and then, alter haviug oui
supper at the Massasoit House there
we will continue our hoine«ani
journey
•White Mrtuutuiu’ex
“Delightful1” exclaimed a blithe,
sweet voiced lady, who seemed to be
the roling spirit of the party in her
own gentle way. “One gets such an
excellent and dainty meal at the
‘Massasoitand then we can speak
for seats in the parlor cars from
Springfield to New York while we
are waiting here,can we not, my son!’'
and crossing the passengers’ room
over to the little pigion-hole window
which opened into the ticket office,
she called out pleasantly to the sta
tion-ageut, who was busy at his desk.
“Brother, when the White Moun
tain express arrives here this after
noon, will you be kind enough to eu
gage seats in the parlor car lor a par
ty of six from Spriugtield to New
York! We would like to take the
next train so as to have more time to
take in the scenery of your beautiful
Connecticut river valley.”
“I suppose I could,” replied the
station-agent, brusquely and in an
unwilling tone.
“But will you, brother !” persisted
the lady in her soft, cheerful voice,
which was inure persuasive than any
imperious manner or tone.
“Yes, madam, I will,”came through
the little window from the station
agent, decisively, without, however,
turning his head or lookiug up from
his accounts.
“Oh, dear me, mother I” groaned
ihe lad with a scowling visage, sit.
ting down by the richly dressed auti
benign-looking lady, and putting an
arm across her plump shoulders. “1
do wish you wouldn’t call every man
von are obliged to speak to, brother;
it-does grate on my ears so; I jus
nate to go on any visit- or journey
with you because f am sure to heai
you‘brother’ or ‘sister’every siugh
matt and womau whom you have t<
addrgss, and it spoils all my pleasure
Don’t you see how these depot loal
ers even remark and laugh about it f
“I am very sorry, my sou, to si
shock your sense of propriety, as )
have' often told you,” replied the la
dy; “but I fear you will never feci
hiv differently about it until you
.it}u_d von r,proud spirit and su-'cndei
flour rebellious wTITto Odd, your »ia
ter, and to Jesus Christ,your Saviour,
then .yon will look 11 poii,,^, ~i$.»uItLh
is a brother, and the term you now
.•.(insider so objectionable will spring
. oyour lips as naturally as it does t<
The lad shook bis bead in a doubt
i'ul way, almost contemptuously. Tin
expected mail train rolled iuto tin
station just then, and the pleasain
party were speeding away, with litth
bought of the lasting and salutary I
impression. that, ./luring., their sbon j
t they had made upon two souo
a tl>« littio wayside passenger depoi
The brusque station-agent wem
iack to his desk, but uot to write,
the lutle interrogatory, “Will you,
■irotber't” which the beautiful Chris
ciau lady bad addressed to lmn in
such a fraternal spirit, had awakeueo
many touching and regretful memo
. les. He recalled fragrant., murmur
ug pines aud swayiug curtains 01
ountless white tents in a great en
•awpmeiit of God’s people by the sea
.ears ago. Again he could hear the
iweet tones of h.Vmus tloatiug up
ward to the blue heavens, aud eu
treating voices in earnest prayer.
His heart swelled again in respouse
m that key note of memory as beouci
uore heard a soft voice at his side.
<ay iug, “Have you accepted Christ a
.our Saviour!” and as he regretfully
eplied in the uegative, the voice con
liuued persuasively, “But, ic*M you,
orotbert” “Yes, madam, I will,” be
lad teplied, kneeling, with a group
«f believers, on the smooth carpet ol
line needles, in silent prayer. Ami
low he had accepted Christ in all
.ove, loyalty and sincerity, and fora
irief, joyonsly-meiuorahle period ol
iis life he had walked and talued as
oecame a Christian. In those far
m ay days it was uot unusual for him
to be addressed as “Brother,’’and the
familiar, kindly salntatiou always
■irouglit a grateful warmth to his
i-esponsive heart. And uow that dear
Christian lady had just accosted him
as if lie were now* indeed a brother in
Christ, and walkiug worthily in His
footsteps!
He brought his life to a later period,
it was not long ago a lien the railroad
lorporatiou, of which he had becu lot
many years an employee, sent him up
nere to the teriniuus of the line,where
dhere was no church in the vicinity ;
where, if there were auy
people, they did not
diiue before uien.
his feeble light under
now for
^tended
nor a
record since hisconversion.be thought
it was a dark one for a professed dis
ciple of Christ. Had he kept his
I'aiih alive by good works, he (bight
have been largely instrumental iu or
ganizing a church of Christ here iu
this little village surrounding this
station ere this. At least he could
have held religious services, Bible
readings and a Sunday-school here in
the waiting-room of the station on
Sundays, and so stayed the tide of
Sabbath desecration, profanity and
-mpurity that was poisoning the mor
al atmosphere of the village. No
doubt he could have awakened a
goodly interest at first among the
women any children, had he shown
his colors like a loyal, valiant soldier
of his King. «
Thus the sad retrospect of these
fruitless, dismal years went on until
the evening shadows that now gath
ered about the little railwa.v station,
reminded the station-ageut’s assist j
uit, the telegraph operator, who had j
been sitting with his elbows on his
table and his head in his hands, that!
it was time to lock the doors of the |
oow deserted building, and, with the :
agent, go home to supper.
“Wait a moment, John !” suddenly j
cried the remorseful man, awaking j
from his painful reverie. “Wait a!
moment, I must tell you what a mis j
erablf, mean, traitorous Christian I
have been all these years, hiding uu
-elf away under my cross, instead of
'landing up like a man and hearing
it, while with my daily life and with
my lips I proclaimed Christ’s undying
love and recommended His loving
service!”
“lean sympathize with you with
ill uiy heart,” replied the assistant.
‘That good woman callingyou‘Broth
er’a little while ago, stirred me all
ip. But I had uo idea that you were
i Christian. Had I known it I should
not have read my Bible in secret all
liese mouths I liav^been here for
ear of your ridicule.’^
“Oh, how wrong, how wrong we
noth have been !” ihoaned the station
agent. “Let m get right down
ind aaN Gwtto foody
nun niBt tbe sea
>ur eyes at last.”
That was the begiuning’o
jval up there'iu the v'ciwr
ittle railway station, but
aster who dropped the tiny
which a great, most salutary1
kindled, will not kuowof all t
ier kindly Christian habit of spl
uas done until ber Iruits are garu
in eternity.—Church and Home.
a revt
of that
ihe dear
Liark by
re was
THF. Wtf tff ACHILO,
It is easy to be disturbed by the
my ot'a child in a pnblio conveyance
>r in a public assembly ; and expres
sions of impatience or of disgust are
very common to those who are thus
disturbed. But a child’s cry is one
of the most potent ibices in all na
nre. How it takes hold of a moth
er’s heart ! And who has power like
t mother f How it takes hold ol'an.\
rruo heart, wheu it really comes
uome as a call to that heart f It was
ihe cry of a child, which, humanly
■speaking settled the fate of Moses
and of Israel. When the daughter
of Pharaoh saw the Hebrew babe in
its ciadle of rushes, ‘-behold’the babe
weptjaud she had compassion on
him.” And because of the potency
of that cry, Moses was brought up as
a king’s sou, and became “learned in
all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and
was mighty in words and in deeds,”
and did a work for God as the leader
of Israel and the founder of its com
mouwealth, when otherwise he might
have perished by the river side.—
And our Lord seems to represeut the
guardian augels of little children as
always having the Father’s ear wjjjpL
i he objects of their care cry for "help
■•‘Take heed that ye despise not one
of these little ones,” he says; “for 1
say unto you, that in heaven their
angels do always behold the face ot
my Father which is tu heaven.” It
God is always leady to listen to the
cry of a child, ought we to feel above
it I And is not (his potency of a lit
tle oue’^t cry, in the ear of our heav
enly Father, a source of comfort to
each of us in our personal helpless
uesa !
“For what ain 1 ? /~
An infant crytng in the night ;
An iutaal cry ing for the light
And with no language but a cry.”
—rllie Christian.
Get at the root of things. The
gold mines of Scripture are not in top
tayi; you mast otteu a shaft. The
Aireciousdrf~~JHj^>erieiico are
4 , " : theu'
■Meitiowh
SOMETHING TO SHOW.
There are a good many persons who
are anxious to do work that will show;:
when their work is done they want
to have something to show for it. In
some cases the show is a big church,
a high steeple, or a new bell; some
thing which everybody sees, aud
which stands as a memorial of the
toil and diligence of the earnest i
worker.
But there is other work done which,
thoogh apparently invisible, may
show by and by. Yon may have seen
invisible writing, where a whole page
was covered with characters which
could not be seen, and yet the work
was done, and when by and by the
sheet was submitted to the proper
processes, the writing would shine
out, visible to all. There is much
good work done in this world which
is invisible here. The men who love
the chief seats iir the synagogues are
sure to have their doings duly eliron
icled and published; but there are
others who wurrk lonely, unseen, and
often sad; whose work is no less real
and useful. Ou board of an ocean
steamer there are officers in uniform
moving about the deck, or standiug
where they can see and be seen, aud
their position and occupation is oi
great importance. But there are
other men, blackened and griDimed,
who toil iu the depth of the vessel’s
hold nuseen, unnoticed, and uukuowu
throughbufr-the whole voyage, who
feed the devouring furnace, aud main
taiu the glowing tires, without which
the boilers would grow cold, the
steam go down, and the vessel would
roll helplessly amid t lie storms, or sii
“Idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."
The toil of the unseen workers lies
at the very foundation of all success;
and without the grimy fireman the
steamer could never make her voy
age. So there are many who art
working to day nuseeu aod unknown
but God sees aud knows tbe work
they do, and iu the great day in
shall bring it forth to view. Iu tin
light of the great white throne nian.v
liueis that are here invisiblebci
then<be found that those wbonav"
made the least show have attorn,
plisbed the greatest amount ol'pew
manent work. Steeples may totter
to/ers may fall, aud palaces may/ser
iyn; tbe man who has devote^ bi
fife to some great heap of brhtK auo
mortar may see it tumble info ruin
d ^ l ninimoif. ; but 8lll
rt lesson of love uputi
, V- nJP"
the heart o'' a little child, he wh.
has led a sinner to the Lamb of Go<
aud hasisaved a sout irom aearu, m
who has sought a wanderer am
broughi him back to the heavenly
Ibid, shall find that the work which
is thus done shall “stand as the Bock
of Ages,” sure.
A kind word spoken to a litth
child, a friendly adiuonitiou givei
to a wayward soul, an hour spent ii.
patiently instructing some perplexed
aud doubting disciple, a stern re
proof of some wrong which needs cor
rection, or an honest word for som<
right which needs defence, these Hi
tie things which the world may nev
er know or notice, may in their re
suits out weigh, out measure, and
out last all that millionaires can ac
cotlpltsh with money, or that osteu
tut to us givers can do to be seeu 01
men. 'Whatever work you cau do
for God, it] accordance with his will
and Word, you may be sure then
will be something to show for it; some
thing in time, something in eternity.
Mtu shall bless you for your faithful
uess in this world, aud God shal
bless you evermore in the world to
come.— The Christfan.
“Crossing the Line.”—A boy
vWlitrvveut with his father on a voyage
to South Ameri a. was anxious to sec
the equatorial line, and said to an
old sailor, “Jack, will you show me
the line when we cross it 1”
“Oh yes, my boy "
After a lew days the boy asked
whether they had crossed the line.
The old tarStsW, “Yes, my lad.”
“Why didn’t yoif tell me aud show
it to me t”
The sailor replied, “O, ray lad, we
always cross the fine in the dark.”
Moderate drinker, you always cross
the line bet a yen moderate aud iui
moderate in the dark. Mental aud
moral uight settle down on’ you as
yon cross the line betweeu moderate
drfhking and inebriety, binding you
to the awftil facts or ruin aud death
only a little way farther on m the
road you are travelling.—Christian
Advocate. '
Never exhibit anger,or impatience,
• tMtattent w beii an accident hap
gsr your subsuviptij
Jfarm and
AN AGRICULTURAL CREED.
1. Do not cultivate poor land. It
is a feeble mother which can give no
sustenance.
2. If your land is poor, yon must
limit the area of cultivation to your
ability to manure—let it be ever so
little—and you will be the gainer by
it.
3. Exert yourself to produce ma
nure on the farm. Such manure is
the flour which makes the loaf, and a
commercial fertilizer is only a leaven
to it. Home made manure cost some
labor and but little money, whilst
commercial fertilizers will bring you
in debt, and a kind of food which
motheT'earth cannot entirely rely
and faten upon. We are not their
enemy, but active friend, when judi
ciously used, and can be jiad without
roo great strain on the farmer’s cred
it.
4. Bring to the aid of your manure
pile green fallow crops, and try to
clothe the bosom ot mother earth
with the green verdne of grass, from
which live stock can be fed.
5. Keep as much stock as can be
fed well; for this adds to the manuri
pile and their increase, and a few fat
carcasses afford a big interest on the
uvestment.
6. Diversify crops as much as pos
sible, and do not rely on one staple,
i his will make your manure aud la
oor pay a profit iu some places when
they fail iu others.
7. Manure! manure! manure land,
is before suggested, rely on the farm
principally to produce ic. Iuvill“put
money iu your pocket.”
8. -‘>’0 grass, no stock; uo stock, no
manure. No manure; no permanent
mprovemeut of the hind.”—Planter
aid Farmer.
MANAGEMENT OF A COLT.
The following practical advice* on
of co'.ts is from the
Lancaster Funner : If a colt is nev
*r allowed to get an advantage, it
'ill uever know that it possesses a
mwer that man cannot coutrol; and
1 made inmiliar w ith strange objects
t will uot be skittish and nervous,
ft a horse is made accustomed, from
iis early daysAjto have ei-ij. • *—« i
iioirf>«n'Th8 tJeels, hack and hips, he
will pay no attention to the giving
nit of harness, or of wagons running
igaiust him at any unexpected mo
cueut. We once saw an aged lad\
Irive a high-spirited horse, attached
o a carriage down a steep hill, with
io hold back strays upon the harness,
iii*1 she assured us that there was no
lauger, for her son accustomed his
uorses to all kinds of usage and
• :ghts that commonly drive auimals
uto a frenzy of fear and fright. A
gun uau be tired in front of a horse.
An Umbrella..held over his head, a
mffulo robe thrown over his neck, a
Bilroad eugiue passing close by, bis
leels may be thumped with sticks,
uid the animal lakes it all as a nat
iral condition of things, if ouh
aught by careful management that
ne will not he injured thereby.
POTASH IN WHEAT.
Why is it, when growing wheat or
rye is being struck with rust, that a
ittle plot here and there where
stumps, logs or brush have been burn
ed to ashes, will he bright and free
from the attack $f rust! Because
he growing plants employ potash
and silica not only to give stiffness
md rigidity to the straw, but to form,
is it were a glass coat of mail over
the surface of every leaf, glume and
straw to fortify the tender and deli
cate parts against the attack ol
spores that are floatiug in the atmos
phere. We all know how readily sub
-taiices in the atmosphere are turned
away when they come in contact with
glassy surface. Potash and sand are
che essential elements of glass. The
roots ol growing plants have the power
to employ the sharpest sand aud pot
ash to form a thin, elastic glassy cov
ering which is spread over the sur
face to exclude moisture, and to re
pel any attack of fungus.—Practical
Farmer.
In neai ly all the soils ashes are ben
eficial. Their action is manifold ;
they supply to plauts inorganic ele
ments, which they require ^they ueu
tali?e acids; they act chemically as
solvents upou other salts in the soifc
They ate more beneficial on sandy
[ and gravelly soils tbau on clay. For
plants that contain a large amouut of
car
SELECTED-RECIPES.
If yon buy carpet
choose small figures.
Bruised horse radish, applied
the wrist, is recommended as
for neuralgia and toothoebe.
Paint, varnish or japan may
softened or removed from
surfaces with a soin
soda.
ara
an
Glass should be washed in i_
ter, which gives It a brighter I
cleaner look than when cleansed Wi
warm water.
" hen cows are becoming too
stop the meal and increase i
A very fat milch cow is a losing 1
of property.
To heat the whites of eggs
put in a pinch of salt. The
'lie eggs the quicker they will
Salt cools and also freshens thei
In boiling eggs hard put them In
boiling water ten minutes, and tljbz^
I at them in cold water. It will pre;
vent the yolks from coloring black,
A lemon eaten before breakfast
every day for a short time will ;ed
rirely prevent the feeling of lassitude
peculiar to the approach of spring.
.Ink spots on floors can be removed
by scouring them with sand wet in
oil of vitroil, an<l water mixetL-*-^
Rinse them, when the ink is extract
ed, with strong pearl ash’ water.
Clam Fbitteks. — Twenty-five
dams,.chopped fine, add to these a
batter made with a half pint of th
< iam liquor, a heaping pint of
and two eggs well beaten, sod
the size of a pea, dii
try iu hot lard.
If there is aijy fa
modern neci
ought not to lit an
without providing
tilling each yetfc'p
house is once pnjp
cost of this is netl
Bread Hash.
cold meat quite fii
much dr.wbread »
When soft, drain^
meat; add pepp^
aud sufficients!^
it 8ufe)Hil»ntl^6
ere, re
lation
>! To
irin* aboK
to perfotO
Did you ever think that to make a
half bale of cotton to the
quires the same amount of <
as the acre that pr<Hiuceat
attain a bale, however, it
ly necessary to use more i
m preparing tt
extra expense in
average yield of < ^
easily be doubled with
small additional i 11 !
better cultivation, |
the same amount oi 1
the cultivation, aitt
the soil.
SO»T Gl
haifawi t
pet,
UnXMOOl
olsef
Bran or oat meal will
water. The bran should he t
innslin bag and kept iu the '
night.' The oat meal should I
ed as follows: Pat two tabh
tills iu a saucepau and pour aquan
t.y of hot water upou\and boil it a
quarter of ao hour; it rain and mix
with the water as neeo
Remove mildew from Hueu by wet
ting the spot, rubbiug on chalk,^nd
exposiug it to the air. Diluted hanE^
horn will take out mildew from wool
en stud's. A weak solution of qbio
roide of lime cau be applied to alipoat
any fabric, but must be used with
care, especially ou some colors.
There are many farmers who have
extra good butter cows who do not
know it. They have poor pasture in
summer and poor shelter and indif
ferent feed in winter. They have no
conveniences for making butter, do
auaugemeuts for keeping the milk
cold iu summer, and frequently in
wiuter it is exposed to the odors of
the kitchen.
Bittbebd Egos.—Break four
eggs iuto a basin, and beat them welh
put three ounces - of butter, three
t ab espoonfuls of cream'(or tniUt^ into
a stew pan ; add a little grated tongue,
pepper and salt to taste. Wbeu quite
hot add the eggs, stirring all the
time. Have ready some hot butter
ed toast, and spread the mixture
over it.