Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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HERALD PARLINCTOIm, S. C., FRIDAY, JUNE 8, 1894. IM THE HEART. > kindlv fbomght or vord som« soallo b1«Mi Four band*, from hour to hour, Do no deed* of gentleness; If to lone and weary ones 'We no comfort will Impart— jBfcVtls summer In the sky, Vet Vis winter in the heart t ,/ft tfd at sire to lift the ^oom Kom a dark and burdened life If ws seek to lull the storm 1 ; .QTourfalleo brother’s Strife; ‘ If we bid all hate and soom Vjrom the spirit to depart— , Tho' ’Mfi winter In the sky, Yet ’Bs summer In the heart! orgs Cooper, In Sundaj^ohool Times. joVlNG BT BBUJE O. OREBNB. H dear, Abner! / ex claimed Mta Bqd gers to her Imsbanc one Star morning ai she Wstled pboul the kitchen,"! don’l see how in this world I’m ever going tc get through with all my spring work— Mpaning nnd ererything 1 If I didn't nave to keep one eye on gran’pa I could do more. Seems as if he grew worth Msd worse. ” v She paused with a sigh. Her hue- band waited'silently for more. “When the peddler called yesterday he was setting quiet as a lamb by the stove, with the cat in his lap, kind of playing with her, 10 I ventured to go up garret and pick over the rags—it makes such a litter down here—and when I got back gran’pa was still set ting there and fast asleep. I thought everything was all right, bat oome to make my fin for dinner a few minutes after, there was an awful towsing and mewing in the oven. I opened th< door and out jumped the eat I II there’d been a hot fire he’d done just the same I suppose!” Abner, who was sitting by the table looking over a lot of garden-seeds for the spring sowing, laughed shortly and shrugged his shoulders. “You know what I think about grau’pa’s doings,”he said; “youknow where I think folks had ought to go when they lose their faeulties and are no good to themselves nor anybody else." “Now, Abner,' said his wife, re proachfully, “don’t aay you’d send grandpa to the poorhousel Think what a good man he’s been, and what a smart man. How can yon be so un feeling! Yon wouldn’t want your children to do so by you, in your old ■aje ” “I sha’n’t probably outlive mv use fulness, "answered Abner, coldly." “My father worked till the very day of hit death—more’n paid his keep till the last." i “And father Finney has already more than paid his keep, if he lives to be a hundred, and you know HI” re- turned his wife, indignantly. “You always lay out to forget that he’s give us the old place 1” “Well,” said Abner, “I sha’n’t hire help at present; wo can’t afford to, not while we have such an expense a-going on in the family.” lb father, when he came to live with nem, had made over to Abner the old homestead, the “Finney Place," as it was called. It was a good farm lying adjacent to theirs, bnt the honae was old and of little value. So, also, was the honae they now occupied, and the plan waa to sell the “Finney Place” and with the money build a new house where their owu uow stood. But Abner seldom chose to remem ber the ample provision grandpa had made tat his support, and on this oc casion, instead of replying to his wife’s reminder, he picked up a pack age of early lettuce seed, and started off - At the door he turned, however, and said, perhaps with some idea of encouraging her: “Ain’t it about time for gran’pa’s May-moving? He won’t be round un derfoot ao much when he gets up in his tree.” “1 hope he won’t go. I hope he’s forgot all about it,” she said, anxious ly. “I tell you, Abner, it isc’?. safe and it isn’t respectable for an old man like father to sleep outdoors in a tree 1 Seems a« if I couldn’t have him do it again.” She dashed the tears away from her eyes as her husband went out. "I do wish 1 could ever learn to hold my tongue, complaining to Ab ner l” si e exclaimed, bitterly. “He always blames everything off on to that's Ml tui have help through houae-cleaniu’; but if gran’pa ’ll only give up his May- moving this year I won’t say another word—not if I work my fingers to the bode!” Two years before, when the oama round, Orandpa taken a queer freak into his head. As Abner expressed it. “he got crank on air.” When the weather gr .. warm, and the trees leafed out and the btrda began to ting in their branches, the old man b«ame strangely restless and uneasy, talked incoherently about “stifling” end “smothering,” and in sisted on having all the doors anl windows in the house wide open. Later on. he seemed unwilling to stay in the house at all, and moved his armchair out under the great twin oaks aoroas the road. There he spent most of his time, reading his large print Testament or watching'the birds and looking contentedly off over tbs pleasant fields. They had hard work to get him in doors for his mealii. The idea of sleeping onteide, however, had not then occurred Ao hist. This wss two years ago; the next year, sot content with ai ting under the trees, he built a sort of rude plat form around them, just below where the main branches joined the trunks, and made some steps to lead up to it Then on the last day of May, which wss unusually wnrm for tho seaun., in spite of his daughter's coating and scolding, he insisted on dragging his bed and bedding up there. A single chair and his Testament completed the furnishing. From that time on, not only did ht spend his days in the tree chamber, but he actually slept there at night Nothing but a smart shower could drive him into the houa*. What seemed strange, no harm came to him from tho exposure. Ho did not get the terrible colds nnd rheu matism that Belinda had feared; on the contrary, ho seemed to grow stronger mid happier every day. And she found she could accomplish twice as much work. It was true, as Abner h d said, “he was ont of her wavi” still, she did not feel quite easy slbout him. It seemed a dreadful thing to have her old father sleeping out there alone iu the darkness cf the night I Bo she Anxiously hoped that he would not think of going this year. But a few days after tha recorded conversation, Belinda came home from an errand to a neighbor’s house, to! find that the “May-moving” had taken! place. Abner, who had been a wit-1 ness to the proceeding, only said, carelessly: . » “Let him be, he’s all right; nothing happened to him last year.” Whst finally reconciled Belinda more than anything else was a remark' her father made iu his rambling way, which gave her new insight into liis feeling. “Belindr, darter,” he sat,I, “don’t bender me. Everything is free out- of-doors, free and welcome.” She knew then that he realized how gr-'dgiugly ho waa housed and fed. His withdrawal from the house seemed but a natural instinct, the .protest of bis self-respect. After that she could not oppose him farther. Hlfe allowed him the most perfect freedom to come and go as he liked. “God ’ll take care of him, as H« does of the birds and the rest of Hw. creatures,” she said to herself, trust fully. One day Abner- came in very mncli elated. “Belindy I” he exclaimed, “whai should you say to an offer of four thonsand dollars for the old place 1 What kind of an ofer is that, hey?” and he rubbed his hands in great sat isfaction. “I should say it was a bouncing good-offer, aud you’d better take it,” said bis wife. He went on excitedly to tell her the particulars. “And now, Abner," she said pres ently, iu her coaxing way, “I do hope you’ll fry and feel a little more pa tient with gra'd’pa. Just think of all that money coming to us through him!” “The best of it is,” continued Abner, who just now could think of nothing but the money, “the best of it is, Belindy, it's going to be paid down! So all I’ve got to do is tc elap it into the bank, and let it stay till after the crops are in. Thei we’ll begin the new honae right awaj —have it all done and ready to move into by spring 1’’ “And when we get luto the nev house, we’re going to have Msry and the baby come homo to live with ns, ain’t we? Yon know you’ve prom ised,” reminded his wife, bent on tak ing all possible advantage ot her un- usual opportunity. Mary, their only daughter, had married a poor man, and was now a widow, supporting herself and child by working in the factory in s distent town. To have her child and grind- child st home with her had long been the wish of the mother’s heart; bnt her hnsband had always put her off. “Wait till we got into the new house,” he had always said. “Then there’ll be more room. ” But she had feared that ho never really meant to consent, how, to her astonishment and delight, he answered good- uatnredly: “Yes, yes; let ’em come!" His good Inok seemed to have warmed his heart, and made him for once fatherly and benevolent. The next duy the man who had bought the Finney farm paid to Abner the price in full—four thonsand dollars; more money than either Abner or his wife bad ever seen be fore. In the midst of thi-ir joyful excite ment, they were both suddenly struck with an anxions fear. Since Abner gran’pa, and that's Ml the good it ,, /“C*. till the next day, where should they put it for safe keeping through the night ? After much deliberation they de cided to hide it in a little clipboard over the mantel in the parlor, and 6 s p r ’ n S j accordingly, while Belinda tiptoed to • a* Ih® window and made sure no one was ns bead. As u ig^ geej Abner wrapped the money carefully in a large bandanna ligndker- chief, aud put it in a dark corner of the cupboard. Several times Abner left his work and stole into the parlor to make sura that tha money was safe, aud as often questioned nervously as to whether they had chosen- the best hiding- place ; bnt finally he concluded to let it remain. “I shouldn't suppose anybody would be likely to look there for money; they'd be more apt to think I bad it under my pillow,” he said that night. “At any rate, we’ve got to mu tho risk of losing on it wherever we put it" Thus philosophising they went to bed, and notwithstanding their anxiety, dept soundly, as hard working people ore wont to do. Well along toward morning they >oth awoke with a terrible feeling ot inffoeation. The rooM was full of imoke! They sprang ont of bed, to tee the flames Mready bursting through ;he door opening into the parlor. “The money! the money!” screamed Vbner, frantically, and rnshed into lames, only to be driven quickly back. He flew outdoors and round to the tarlor windows, hoping to gain en- ranee there; bnt he was too late. The -vhble honse seemed to be in flames; t burned like tinder. Before any of the neighbors were iroase.l, before Abner and his wife thonght of anything bnt the money, the whole honse and all it contained was gone—money, furniture, clothing —everything gone in a night I first the thonght of his loss drove Abner almost wild. He raved like a madman, and his wife looked into his face in speechless agony. What could she say? How was she to comfort a man like him for the loss of his property? She did not think of herself for a moment; she only felt for him. Bnt all she conld do was to pray silentiy that God would mercifully help him to bear his grief. And as if in answer to her humble prayer, a miracle began then and there to be worked in Abner’s sordid soul. Whils he sat on the great ohopping-blook in the doorysrd, in the midst of the min of his hopes, gradually his misery seemed to abate. ■ The enn had risen, the birds wore twittering in the trees, and by and by the cows came up the lane one by one of their own accord to tho milking. The old horse and the colt in the field, put their heads over tho fenoe and rhinnied/and finally the great rooster strutted up quite close to Abner and crowed encouragingly, Abner, looking up into bis wife's face, almost smiled. “1 forgot the ereatnres, ” he said, slowly. “Thev’re left to ns—and mere’s the land. If we only had the money to bnild the new honse with I wouldn’t care.” "Nevermind; we shall get along somehow. I reckon the Lord’ll pro vide.” she answered cheerfully. "Belindy,” said Abner, tremulously, "the worst of it is I deserve it all. And see here,” hesitating and speaking with evident effort-, "I—I’m afraid I’ve got nobody but myself to blame for the fire. Belindy—I suppose—it was my own hsnd that set that fire. Yon see I went into the parlor just at dnsk to make sure the money was safe be fore going to bed, and not contented with feeling it, I lit a match to see. I expect that match done the mischief; it most be I And I believe it’s a judg ment upon me, too. "Yes,” he sobbed, breaking down entirely now, "yes, I’ve been a grasp ing, wicked man, and now granpa’a money—” At the mention of grandpa Belinda sprang np with a cry, and hastened to the chamber in the tree, closely fol lowed by her hnsband. In their sel fish grief they had quite forgotten grandpa! Was he safe ? They clambered qniekly np the steps and reached the landing. There on the bed lay the old man, still sleeping. He was a very sound sleeper always, and evidently the fire had not wakened him. As they looked npon him, the thonght of what would probably have been his fate had he been sleeping in the house, trade their blood rnn cold. , • "We should have forgot nim—and we couldn’t have saved him, anyway I” they said. While they stood there he awoke. Seeing his nnnsnM visitors, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, a little bewildered; then suddenly a wonder fully bright expression illumined his dim old face, and he langhed alond. •T know, Belindy. Ihaint forgot 1” he chnckled, and slipping his hsnd under the pillow, he drew ont the bundle done np in the bandanna that they had hidden in the parlor cup board, and delivered it over to Be linda. “I knew it would be safest here with me,” he explained simply. "Thieves don’t never look up in the trees for money. ’’ They built the new house, and grandpa’s room was tbe largest and best room in it. Mary and the baby came home to live, and mother an.I daughter did the housework together easily. The next year grandpa forgot all altont his May-moving. He was con tented and happy in the new honse, where he now fonnd everything "free and welcome.” Bnt he still likes his chamber in the tree, and sits there often of a summer afternoon, poring reverently over his Testament or gaz ing np through the trees, dreaming perhaps of heaven.—Youth’s Compan ion. Whitt Svlphjr Springs Sold. Bichitond, Vs.—The celebrated White Sulphur springs property whs sold to Jolian T. Burke, of Alexandria Va., agent for the preferred bond holders, for the sum of $265,000. The season st the White usually opens June 1st and while there is no definite information here to that effect, it is expected that Major Earle, who has conducted tbe popular resort for many years, will again become the lessee and that the springs will be opened as usual. Dynamite in Atlanta Atlanta, Ga.—A dynamite bomb was exploded Mmost under the houv of D. C. Wall, on Walker street. Wall is a railroad engineer. The side ol the house was shattered, but no one was injured. A narrow alley separates Wall’s house from the Methodist par sonage. occupied by Rev. J. H. Eakes. The bomb was thrown from the street, and it is a question as to which home was intended to wreck, TipS JOKER’S UIJDGETs IC8TS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. H*r Tender Solicitude--Ths Aet ef ■ True Friend- -The Menaroh ef the Pleee--A Remedy, Ete., Eto. HER TENDER SOLICITUDE. Young Wife—My dear, there is a f entleman waiting in the other room, [e wants to speak to you. He—Do you know him ? She—You must forgive me, dar ling, but of lato you have been troubled with acofigh; besides you take so little care of yourself, and— Oh, ifeijrou only knew how anxious I am about you 1 Suppose I were to lose you, love. (She bursts into sob bing and throws herself on his breast.) He—Gome, my dear, silly child, do be calm, do be calm. People don’t die of a cold. Still, if it will pacify you show the doctor lu. Who ia it ? Doctor IVllot, eh ? She—It isn’t the doctor,dear. It is —it is—it Is a life insurance agent 1 —[Harlem Life. THE ACT OK A TRUE FRIEND. ‘Does tliis new photograph of mine do me justice, love ? ” sMd MUs Giddy to her dearest friend. “It does more,’’ replied Miss Flypp. “It’s really merciful to you.”—[Harper’s Bazaar. IN THESE DEUENERATE DAYS. Of the twenty-six barons who signed tho magna charta three wrote their names and twenty-three made their mark. This is all changed now. Evefy baron can write, but only a few succeed in making their mark.—[Boston Transcript. A REMEDY. ‘Ah, doctor, my son is so poorly and jaded he never gets to sleep before ti o’clock. Cannot you do something for him ? ” “Hum I Suppose we try a simple remedy to start with. Let us make him give up his latchkey.”—[London Million. THE MONARCH OF THE PLACE. The two drummers were sitting 'n the office of a Chicago hotel, descant ing upon the manners of the clerk, who did not altogether please them when a man came in and the erst while haughty clerk became Ml obeisance. “Look at him, now, will you ? ” said one; "lie’s polite enough to that party; I guess it must be the head clerk.” “Not much,” dissented his com panion; “it must be the landlord.” “Or the owner of the house. Sup pose wo ask him,’’and they ap proached the clerk, In suppliant attitude. “Was that the head clerk ?” asked t he older drummer. “Naw,” replied the clerk acorn- fully. “Was it the landlord ? ” "Naw.” “Was it the owner of the house ? ” “Course not; what you take me for ? That’s the man that holds the mortgage on the whole shebang.” —[Detroit Free Press. f RURAL ADVANTAGES. City Man—Whew! Seems to me it’s about as hot in the country as it is in the city. Suburbun Host—Y-e-s; but if you get overcome by the heat here and fall in n faint yon are in no danger of being clubbed by a policeman. william’s in luck. Merchant — William, hasn’t the baseball season opened?” Clerk—Yes, sir. Merchant—Well, William, I don’t want you to kill off all your relatives so you can go to their funerals once or twice a week. Here’s a pass.— [Detroit Free Press. MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES. “I undalistund,” said Chappie to Cholly, "that Willie Wibbles has gone into twade.” “impossible! ” replied Cholly. “Dweadful, isn't it ? Do you think we can pwopahly associate with him any moali ?” “I don’t know, we might make an exception in his case. You know he is really too stupid to have the first chawuce in the world'of being suc cessful aud wemaining a shop keeper.”—[Washington Star. THE RESULT. Willie Wilt—Do you know, I fancy I have quite a literary bent. Van Demmit—All right, my boy; keep on and you’ll be worse than bent—you’ll be broke.—[Puck. fishermen’s supplies. An enterprising-looking old coun tryman with a large basket full of fine brook trout, was standing in tlie doorway of a railway station. A passenger accostod Kim a , after admiring the fish, remarked: “Going to take them 1> i for supper, I suppose?” Not if I can help it,” '’ ■> m -.ning rustic replied, “there' 1 i.toy of city gents as went out , .i . ; from here this morning. They’n spected back soon,and I’m just a-lyii g round waiting to save their feelings.”— [Harlem Life. A QUANDARY. “Ah, Perkins, settled down in your new flat at last ? ” “Not exactly ; we’re in a dreadful quandary. We’ve signed a three years’ lease, aud now find the par lor’s four sizes too small for the piano, and the kitchen celling is so low we’ve had to discharge the cook we’ve had for .fight years, and got a shorter one who can cook standing up.—[Harper’s Bazaar. A Complicated mental statb. Horn—I notice that since Muggla# ■aid he’d thrash you you don’t 9* near his place. Are you afraid ? Dick—N-no. Only I’m afraid thtfi may be I might be afraid.—[Chicago Record. NOT A RETORT COURTEOUS. Old Taffeigh—A. very sweet reflee* Won, my love. Mrs. T. (before the looking glasl) —Nonsense, dear, you were the sub ject of my reflections just then.-* [Raymond’s Monthly, KEPT HIM AWAY. Bingo—How did my wife look HO the reception yesterday ? Witherly—Elegantly. Why weren’t you there ? Bingo—Didn’t have any decent clothes to wear. — [Detroit Freo Press. NOT TO BE TOLD. “No one can tell your age, dear girl,” I declared to my lady fair; And the sum of her years I made bold To ask her then and there. “No one can tell my age, forsooth?” And she shook her shapely head. “I do not claim to be mnarter Than any one else,” she said.— [Detroit News-Tribune. OPPORTUNITY POK EXERCISE. "Why in the world should a happy young girl like you think of mar riage ?” “Well, papa says ! have so much temper I’d better have somebody to exercise it on.” — [Raymond’s Monthly. A REPEATER. “I say, Fenilworth, you know that ten I owe you ? ” “Yes.” “You haven’t got it about you again, have you ?”—[Truth. THE MODERN MAID. that her Simmons at the "Did you tell the hired girl you couldn't put up with work?"asked Mr. dinner table. “Yes.” “What did she say ? ” “She said there was nothing keep ing me here if I didn’t like the place.”—[Washington Star. A CLASSIC GAME. Miss Hubbell, (of Bostpn, as the ball goes over the fence, and Dele- hanty makes a home run).—Now, what do they call that ? Her Escort—A homer. Miss Hubbell (delighted)—Homer ! Homer ! Why, this game can’t be so awfully vulgar, when they name one of the points after the greatest poet that ever lived.—[Puck. COLD TO SOME PURPOSE. May—What a cold manner Miss Elderly has ! Eva—Yes. Did you notice how she froze on to JackDashie?—[Truth. MATILDA’S SACRIFICE. A Dutch paper publishes the fol lowing significant advertisement from a disconsolate wife: "Adolphus. Re turn to your Matilda. The piano has been sold.”—[London News. RELENTLESS TIME. “Wilt keep,” I asked, “thy birth day ?” The girl misunderstood; She sadly shook her head and sighed, “I only wish 1 could ! ”—[Puck. A LOGICAL CONCLUSION, One of Them—There goes young Jack D’Or. They say his income is so large he can’t get rid of it 1 The Other Oi.e—Oh I 'so he’s a single man, then ?—[Truth. ESTABLISHING AMICABLE RELATIONS. New Missionary—I hope that our new relations may be pleasant. Cannibal King—So do I. The fel low who was here before you was a regular roast.—[Indianapolis Jour nal. Tha Weasel. Game eggs and small birds alike are the objects of the foe, furred and feathered, who come behind man. The feathered ones naturally have the widest scope; for eggs, whether reposing on the ground or in a well- built nest in a lofty tree, come equal ly within their range of sight and swoop. Tito furred ones have to con tent themselves with the ground eggs, which are, of course, the best; perhaps, therefore, they have the best of the deal, though not so much variety. And among them we rank fmile princeps the stealthy, sinuous, ubiquitous weasel. Sloat and polecat like eggs, but they are rarer and more sparsely distributed than the smaller but much more effective weasel, 'phis wily creature is an egg sucker of immense enthusiasm and perseverance. Winding its way thrugh the purple heather, or the scrub and bracken, towards the nur sery of the red or black grouse,' creeping amid grass or clover, or scarcely rustling along the leaf-car peted ditch toward? Hie simple nest of tho gallant hen partridge, a verit able amazon in defense ol her family, poking its sleek head out of a dis used drain in the , farmyard, recon noitring the hen-houses, gliding through the long grass at the edges of the rides, and amid the hazels and hollies of tbe copses after the pheas ant’s costly eggs, the weasel is equal ly indefatigable. It will banquet on every egg it can find till gorged like a trout on the mayfly, and kill young birds till it desists only from sheer weariness; like its semi-tame relative the ferret, it is in blood thirstiness and its concomitants a four-footed Septembriseur.—[London Saturday Review. Last year the United States raised 1,610,404,000 bushel* of corn. FARM akb UARDEX. COST OF FEEDING POUI/TBf. A well-fed hen should ley ten dozen eggs in n year, Some will do bettei than this. One dollar a year will sup ply the hen with ample food, and lest if the wastes of the honse are kept foi them. At ten cents a dozen, the hen pays for her feed and she wilt rear t brood of ten or twelve chicks. This it a safe basis for figuring in the poultry business when the person is earefnl and experienced.—New York Times. BEGIN WITS CALVES. A cattle feeder insists that as a prep aration to the desired end—the pro duction of cattle large and fat at th( least expense—feeding shonld begin with the calves. They should be taught to eat while they are drink ins milk. • Keep oats in a trough near by for this purpose. Their future growth depends largely upon the care given the first year. After they are weaned continue to give them oats chopped on ground feed, have them well housed in cold weather, and keep them in good growing condition all winter. Yearling oalves are more easily win tered. but they should have the same sort of regimen and care. It takes no more feed, when properly and regu larly given, to keep the calves fat all their lives than to half do it. Then they can be fitted for market, if de sired, in a short time.—Chicago Times. PLANTING STRAWBERRIES. In the majority of cases, the upring of the year is the best season for plant ing strawberries. When the plants are received from the nursery, they should be unpacked at once and spread out m a cellar, to prevent heating, aud in planting the roots should not be exposed to the suu or air. The ground should be free from weeds, and well fertilized. The rou s may be thirty inches apart, plants one foot apart in the row. They need to be frequently eultivated to keep down all weeds, which arc the strawberry grower’s greatest enemy. In the autumn, after the ground has become firmly frozen, the plants should be covered with leaves, clean straw, or corn fodder. Stable manure should not be used on these beds, because full of seeds. Strawberry beds should be renewed ivery two or three years if the best fruit is desired.—American Agricul turist BEANS AND TEAS. There is need in onr farming rota tion to use more fully the leguminous plants, such as clover, peas, beans, lupines, etc. These plants not only furnish with hay and corn a more tomplete ration for feeding stock than Tay and corn alone, but they also furnish a means of improving the land in a manner that can not be done without them except by' buying ex pensive fertilizers. There is nothing that famishes a better preparation for a good crop of corn or potatoes or almost any other crop than a good elover sod; where laud is toe poor to start clover it must be enriche.l either by manuring or by green manuring with lupines and vetches, which will thrive on poorer land than clover. Peas an l beans are grown largely by our market farmers for selling green, and any surplus is often dried so l threshed; but a large part of the supply of dried beans and pe^s used iu our city markets comes from Cana da and various European countries where the culture-of these crops is better understood than here. The climate of our Northern States is well adapted to growing these crops, and there is no good reason why our farm ers cannot grow at a profit a large part of the million and a half of dollars’ worth of these crops uow imported. One drawback to the successful grow ing of beans of late years is the blight or rust which atticks the leaves an 1 pods and seriously damages the crop iu many cases. It is now well under stood that this disease is caused by a par sitio fungus and can be success fully warded off by spraying with Bordeaux mixture. There is danger that “Boston baked beaus” may have to be called by some other uame if we have to import out supply of them. Rally, then, all ye patriotic farmers, and save us fsorn such humiliatiou! The use of peas as a field crop sown with oats aud harvested either iu the greeu state for fodder or made into hay, later, is increasing iu New Eng land and deserves to increase still more. There are few crops that will give better satisfaction iu the long ruu, we believe, than these ou the dairy farm. There are also many farms at a dis tance from market where the growing of peas and beaus to be threshed and sold dry would prove an important addition to tho marketable products and a valuable addition to the farm rotation. —Massachusetts Pioughmin. HOW TO MAKE GILI KD3EO BUrtER. Whether a large or small amount of milk or butter is sold from the farm iu a year, one is seldom satisfied with the price that is paid for it, writes L. S. Hardin in the American Agricultu rist. The limit usually ruus from ten to twenty-five ceuts a pound, while the creameries are getting from twen ty-two to forty cents for the same ar ticle, only better made aud furnished in largo lots of a uniform quality. Here is a heavy loss to the firm. While it is true that good tools alone will not make fine butter or rich milk, yet they are indispensable to encour age the average maker to produce a better article. Tools are so cheap, too, that there ought to be a higher stan dard in the dairy output of the farm. In the first place, old dairy imple ments that have been used for years, especially if they nave any wood about them, become so thoroughly soaked with old butter grease that it is NO. 27. impossible to make a fine article with them. Tbe instant cream or fresh bat ter comes in contact with them, they take all the life and fine flavor oat of the fresh article. For instance, a piece of board, as is often seen, that has been used in the dairy for many seasons to cover the pans of milk, will deaden the cream as fast as it rises on the surface of the milk, so that good butter cannot be made of it. Anr old churn that smells strong from age will rob the butter of half its value. Milk as it comes from the cow is rich iu high flavors, but of an exceeding perishable nature. To hold those flavors, everything with which it comes in contact must bo as cool and dean and fresh as possible up to the time the bargain is struck with the mer chant. The first necessity is that the stables are clean, with no smell of rotting manure about them. Then use nicely scoured tin buckets to milk iu. Hurry the milk out of the stable, or away from the cows, nnd set it imwedjateiy for creaming in cans or pans thlfc aro perfectly clean, and covered net whlx wood, but with sheets of scoured tin.’ The can that holds the eresm must be sc tided in hot water every time it is emptied, so that no particle of the obi batch can get into the new. No chunr should bo used more than two season t, unless made of metal or kept immueil- lately clean. In this respect the chnru is the most dangerous of all the dairy utensils, and mnst be aired as much ah'. possible np to the point of cracking it with too much drying ont. Let tha sun shine into it often. While no ono should ever put the bare bands to but ter, it must be manipulated. To dir this, the best implements aro two flat paddles, made of bard wood. The table on which the butter is worked is easily kept clean, and should also bo made of hard wood. Bnt tue point of fatal error with many farmers’ wivei* is that they will not pack and market, the butter in the best shape togetgoorl prices for it. The trouble usually comes from making the butter at odd times, and having no regular time for taking it to town, intead of first de termining on what days of the month shipments can be made, and then reg ulate everything to that end. Baxter should always be delivered within two weeks of the time the milk cams front the cow; oftener if possible. Cream can be held from four to six days, de pending on how c lid it is kept aud how sweet it was when taken from the milk. Never let it get too old, or all your hopes for good quality and high price wBl be crushed. The farm output of butter will hard ly be large enough to warrant using the ordinary butter tubs, and that i-i not the best shape to sell farm butter. By all means put it into one pound or two pound cakes, and press ridge-x across the top of each pat with th s paddle. Now, for a bit of enterprise, get some of the paraffin paper to wrap the prints in, or use cheesecloth. Do not use old cloths, even though thor oughly clean. What you buy for this purpose will not cost a quarter of n cent to the pound of bntter, while ’A will add several cents to the market value of each pound. A little neat ness in this regard sharpens the appe tite of the buyer- THE LABOR WORLD - There are 30,000 union musicians. - Chicago p.ambers get *3.75 a day. BTBAcrsE, N. Y., has a labor temple. Lososhobehen have thirty unions Axbok, Ohio, does not employ foreign.**' There are 8000 Brotherhood bookbinders. Nebraska hasa (Rate Federation of Labor* Baltimore musicians have refused to join the national union. Mexicans and Slavs are working under guard nt Sopbris, Uo!. j Flint glass workers ot America meet at Montreal, Canada, in July. Detroit unions are agitating municipal operation ot street railways. , Hoxseshoers have just held their na tional convention at Washington. Austria contemplates revising her trade laws and establishing labor tribunals. The coal miners' strike caused a Urge de crease in the output of iron manufactures. There Is said to bo a great scarcity of farm laborers in the lower Mississippi Val ley. The Berlin International Miners' Congress declared in favor of an eight-hour working day. Fall Riveb (Mass.) weavers’, carders’, spinners' and loom fixers' unions may amal gamate. President McBbide, ot the Mine Work ers' Unioo. has served four terms in the Ohio Legislature. Eugene Dess says tbe victory on the Northern Pacific was won beoanse the em ployes were nnlted. East Liverpool (Ohio) striking potters have bought a large plant and will run It on the co-operative plan. Public Printer Benedict proposes to re duce the number of employes of the Govern ment Printing Offlce from 3600 to 2200. Chicago employers have raised $20,000 to test the constitutionality ot the law fixing eight hours as a day's work for women. Tax Chinese Government now tries strik ers tor high treason nnd promptly executes them when convicted, as they generally are. A little over 5000 book binders are or ganized in tbe United States. Nearly 30,000 find employment working at the craft in tha country. The American Railroad Union will assess its 3:0,000 members each three cents a week to raise funds for support of the Pullman strikers. The Euroosau International Miners’ Con gress adopted resolutions that colliery own ers should be held responsible for every kind of accident to employes. Terence V. Powdebly und some associ ates bsve been expelled from the Knights of Labor for their efforts to secure a union of fbat organizatiou with the Federation ot Li bor. England Is just now greatly interested in the coal mine (roubles in this country, ns the large orders being received abroad hnvo i -n.led to adjust the colliery troubles In Groat Britain. One ot the labor-saving improvements in machinery is an attachmert carrying four machine needles that make 1500 stltahes a minute. Th's is used on infants' sod oWJ- dren's white goods und corsets- 1