should be taken by the elder class that they be properly organized and
conducted in an orderly manner. Youthful zeal and ardor will be apt to
break out into rudeness and disorder, unless held in check by the aged
and experienced. Let the older, then, wherever these associations exist,
see to it that they are prudently managed—else instead of blessings
they will become evils in the community.
The points to which these efforts should be mainly directed, should
be—first, plain rules for their government; second, a strict adherence
to them when adopted; a diversity of exercises—not too much debate, and
not too many essays; fourth, the avoidance of all personal matters; and
fifth, a judicious selection of subjects. With these points held well in
view, and with a serious desire for improvement, these institutions can
not but be useful; otherwise they should be discontinued.
Farmers everywhere ought to encourage the formation of these
institutions in their respective neighborhoods, and aid their sons and
daughters in carrying them forward. Give them your countenance and your
counsel.
T. G.
WALKING CANES.
The material of which walking sticks are made is as various as can
well-nigh be conceived of. Many are imported woods—some from the
tropics, China and the East Indies. The celebrated Whongee canes are
from China, where they are well known and celebrated for the regularity
of their joints, which are the points from which the leaves are given
off, and the stems of a species of phyllosiachys, a gigantic grass,
closely allied to the bamboo. The orange and lemon are highly prized,
and are imported chiefly from the West Indies, and perfect specimens
command enormous prices. The orange stick is known by its beautiful
green bark, with fine white longitudinal markings, and the lemon by the
symmetry of its proportions, and both prominence and regularity of its
knobs. Myrtle sticks also possess a value, since their appearance is so
peculiar that their owner would seldom fail to recognize them. They are
imported from Algeria. The rajah stick is an importation. It is the stem
of a plant and a species of calamus. It is grown in Borneo, and takes
its name from the fact that the Rajah will not allow any to go out of
the country unless a heavy duty is paid. These canes, known as palm
canes, are distinguished by an angular and more or less flat appearance.
Their color is brownish, spotted, and they are quite straight, with
neither knob nor curl. They are the petioles of leaf stalk of the date
palm. Perhaps the most celebrated of the foreign canes are the Malacca,
being the stems of the calamus sceptonum, a slender climbing palm, and
not growing around Malacca, as the name would seem to indicate, but
imported from Stak, on the opposite coast of Sumatra. Other foreign
canes are ebony, rosewood, partridge or hairwood, and cactus, which,
when the pith is cut out, presents a most novel appearance, hollow and
full of holes.
* * * * *
Shortly after Miss Alcott’s “Little Women” was published a quiet-looking
lady entered a Boston circulating library and asked a lady clerk to pick
her out “a good book that would rest and amuse her.” Naturally “Little
Women” was offered, and declined. “It’s very nice; you’d like it,” urged
the clerk. “I should not care to read it,” said the other. “But at least
look at it.” “No,” came the answer, firmly and with an odd smile; “it is
not a book that I should care to read.” Then the clerk, pretty angry,
walked away to the chief librarian and cried: “There’s a woman down
there wants a book, and if you want her waited on somebody else must do
it. I won’t.” “Why, why not?” “Why, she says ‘Little Women’ isn’t good
enough for her to read.” “Do you know who that lady is?” “No, and I
don’t care.” “Well, I’ll tell you. That is Louise M. Alcott. Now go and
get her a book.”
* * * * *
A Michigan girl told her young man that she would never marry him until
he was worth $100,000. So he started out with a brave heart to make it.
“How are you getting on George?” she asked at the expiration of a couple
of months.
“Well,” George said hopefully, “I have saved up $22.”
The girl dropped her eyelashes and blushingly remarked: “I reckon that’s
near enough, George.”
* * * * *
Illinois Central Railroad.
The elegant equipment of coaches and sleepers being added to its various
through routes is gaining it many friends. Its patrons fear no
accidents. Its perfect track of steel, and solid road-bed, are a
guarantee against them.
* * * * *
MISCELLANEOUS.
CAHOON’S PATENT
BROADCAST
SEED SOWER
[Illustration]
Sows perfectly all Grain and Grass Seeds. Hand Machine _sows 4 acres
while operator walks or rides a mile_.
_PRICE, $6.00._
Every farmer should have it.
HIRAM SIBLEY & CO.,
SEEDSMEN,
ROCHESTER, N. Y.,
CHICAGO, ILL.
* * * * *
MATTHEWS’ SEED DRILL & CULTIVATOR
[Illustration]
sows perfectly all Garden Seeds. Chicago Market Gardeners prefer it to
all others, calling it _Best in the World_. Do not buy without
investigating the Matthews. BEWARE OF WORTHLESS IMITATIONS. Send for
circular and prices. We are General Western Agents.
SPECIAL PRICES TO THE TRADE.
HIRAM SIBLEY & CO., SEEDSMEN,
Rochester, N. Y., Chicago, Ill.
* * * * *
TOOLS AND IMPLEMENTS
We carry a large and complete stock for the _Lawn_, _Garden_ and
_Greenhouse_.
PHILA. LAWN MOWERS. HEDGE SHEARS.
MATTHEWS’ SEED DRILLS. BORDER SHEARS.
CAHOON SEED SOWERS. PRUNING KNIVES.
HAND CULTIVATORS. BUDDING KNIVES.
LAWN & GARDEN RAKES. HAND WEEDERS, ETC.
Send for Illustrated Catalogue and Price List; free.
HIRAM SIBLEY & CO., SEEDSMEN.
ROCHESTER, N. Y., CHICAGO, ILL.
* * * * *
Philadelphia LAWN MOWERS
Are used on all the celebrated Chicago Parks. They are light running,
clean cutting, and are the BEST Lawn Mowers made. Write for descriptive
catalogue and prices. We are the General Western Agents.
TRADE SUPPLIED.
HIRAM SIBLEY & CO.,
SEEDSMEN,
ROCHESTER, N. Y.
CHICAGO, ILL.
* * * * *
CARDS
40 SATIN FINISH CARDS, New Imported designs, name on and Present Free
for 10c. Cut this out. CLINTON BROS. & Co., Clintonville, Ct.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
LITERATURE.
LOGIC.
_I. Her respectable papa’s._
“My dear, be sensible! Upon my word,
This—for a woman, even—is absurd.
His income’s not a hundred pounds, I know;
He’s not worth loving.”—“But I love him so.”
_II. Her mother’s._
“You silly child, he is well-made and tall;
But looks are far from being all in all.
His social standing’s low, his family’s low,
He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
_III. Her eternal friend’s._
“Is that he picking up the fallen fan?
My dear! he’s such an awkward, ugly man!
You must be certain, pet, to answer ‘No.’
He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
_IV. Her brother’s._
“By Jove! were I girl!—through a horrid hap—
I wouldn’t have a milk-and-water chap.
The man has not a single spark or ‘go.’
He’s not worth loving.”—“Yet I love him so.”
_V. Her own._
“And were he everything to which I’ve listened;
Though he were ugly, awkward (and he isn’t),
Poor, lowly-born, and destitute of ‘go,’
He is worth loving, for I love him so.”
—_Chambers’ Journal._
DON’T WAIT.
If you have gentle words and looks, my friends,
To spare for me—if you have tears to shed
That I have suffered—keep them not, I pray,
Until I hear not, see not, being dead.
For loving looks, though fraught with tenderness,
And kindly tears, though they fall thick and fast,
And words of praise, alas! can naught avail
To lift the shadows from a life that’s past?
And rarest blossoms, what can they suffice,
Offered to one who can no longer gaze
Upon their beauty! Flow’rs in coffins laid
Impart no sweetness to departed days.
THE CURFEW HEROINE.
The story that is the basis of the well-known poem, “Curfew Shall Not
Ring To-night,” told in prose is as follows:
It lacked quite half an hour of curfew toll. The old bell-ringer came
from under the wattled roof of his cottage stoop and stood with
uncovered head in the clear sweet-scented air. He had grown blind and
deaf in the service, but his arm was as muscular as ever, and he who
listened this day marked no faltering in the heavy metallic throbs of
the cathedral bell. Old Jasper had lived through many changes. He had
tolled out the notes of mourning for good Queen Bess, and with tears
scarcely dry he had rung the glad tidings of the coronation of James.
Charles I. had been crowned, reigned, and expiated his weakness before
all England in Jasper’s time, and now he who under army held all the
common wealth in the hollow of his hand, ruled as more than monarch, and
still the old man with the habit of a long life upon him rang his matin
and sorrow.
Jasper stood alone now, lifting his dimmed eyes up to the softly dappled
sky.
The wall of his memory seemed so written over—so crossed and recrossed
by the annals of the years that had gone before, that there seemed
little room for anything in the present. Little recked he that
Cromwell’s spearsmen were camped on the moor beyond the village—that
Cromwell himself rode with his guardsmen a league away; he only knew
that the bell had been rung in the tower when William the Conqueror made
curfew a law, had been spared by Puritan and Roundhead, and that his arm
for sixty years had never failed him at even-tide.
He was moving with a slow step toward the gate, when a woman came
hurriedly in from the street and stood beside him; a lovely woman, but
with a face so blanched that it seemed carved in the whitest of marble,
with all its roundness and dimples. Her great, solemn eyes were raised
to the aged face in pitiful appeal, and the lips were forming words that
he could not understand.
“Speak up, lass, I am deaf and can not hear your chatter.”
“For heaven’s sake, Jasper, do not ring the curfew bells to-night.”
“What! na ring curfew? You must be daft, lassie.”
“Jasper, for sweet heaven’s sake—for my sake—for one night in all your
long life forget to ring the bell! Fail this once and my lover shall
live, whom Cromwell says shall die at curfew toll. Do you hear? my
lover, Richard Temple. See, Jasper, here is my money to make your old
age happy. I sold my jewelry that the Lady Maud gave me, and the gold
shall be yours for one curfew.”
“Would you bribe me, Lily De Vere? Ye’re a changeling. Ye’re na the
blood of the Plantagenets in ye’re veins as ye’re mother had. What,
corrupt the bell-ringer under her majesty, good Queen Bess? Not for all
the gold that Lady Maud could bring me! Babes have been born and strong
men have died before now at the ringing of my bell. Awa’! Awa’!”
And out on the village green with the solemn shadows of the lichens
lengthening over it, a strong man awaited the curfew toll for his death.
He stood handsome, and brave, and tall—taller by an inch than the
tallest pikeman who guarded him.
What had he done that he should die? Little it mattered in those days,
when the sword that the great Cromwell wielded was so prone to fall,
what he or others had done. He had been scribe to the late lord up at
the castle, and Lady Maud, forgetting that man must woo and woman must
wait, had given her heart to him without the asking, while the gentle
Lily De Vere, distant kinswoman and poor companion of her, had, without
seeking, found the treasures of his true love and held them fast. Then
he had joined the army and made one of the pious soldiers whose evil
passions were never stirred but by sign or symbol of poetry. But a
scorned woman’s hatred had reached him even there. Enemies and deep
plots had compassed him about and conquered him. To-night he was to die.
The beautiful world lay as a vivid picture before him. The dark green
wood above the rocky hill where Robin Hood and his merry men had dwelt;
the frowning castle with its drawbridge and square towers, the long
stretch of moor with the purple shadows upon it, the green, straight
walks of the village, the birds overhead, even the daisies at his feet
he saw. But ah! more vividly than all, he saw the great red sun with its
hazy veil lingering above the trees as though it pitied him with more
than human pity.
He was a God fearing and a God serving man. He had long made his peace
with heaven. Nothing stood between him and death—nothing rose
pleadingly between him and those who were to destroy him but the sweet
face of Lily De Vere, whom he loved. She had knelt at Cromwell’s feet
and pleaded for his life. She wearied heaven with her prayers, but all
without avail.
Slowly now the great sun went down. Slowly the last rim was hid beneath
the greenwood. Thirty seconds more and his soul would be with God. The
color did not forsake his cheeks. The dark rings of hair lay upon a warm
brow. It was his purpose to die as martyrs and brave men die. What was
life that he should cling to it? He almost felt the air pulsate with the
first heavy roll of the death knell. But no sound came. Still facing the
soldiers with his clear gray eyes upon them he waited.
The crimson banners in the west were paling to pink. The kine had ceased
their lowing, and had been gathered into the rick yards.
All nature had sounded her curfew, but old Jasper was silent!
The bell-ringer, with his gray head yet bared, had traversed half the
distance between his cottage and the ivy-covered tower when a form went
flitting past him, with pale, shadowy robes floating round it, and hair
that the low western lights touched and tinted as with a halo.
“Ah, Huldah, Huldah!” the old man muttered; “how swift she flies? I will
come soon dear. My work is almost done.”
Huldah was the good wife who had gone from him in her early womanhood,
and for whom he had mourned all his long life. But the fleeting form was
not Huldah’s. It was Lily De Vere, hurried by a sudden and desperate
purpose toward the cathedral.
“So help me God, curfew shall not ring to-night! Cromwell and his
dragoons come this way. Once more I will kneel at his feet and plead.”
She entered the ruined arch. She wrenched from its fastening the carved
and worm-eaten door that barred the way to the tower. She ascended with
flying and frenzied feet the steps; her heart lifted up to God for
Richard’s deliverance from peril. The bats flew out and shook the dust
of centuries from the black carving. As she went up she caught glimpses
of the interior of the great building, with its groined roof, its
chevrons and clustered columns; its pictured saint and carved image of
the virgin, which the pillages of ages had been spared to be dealt with
by time, the most relentless vandal of all.
Up—still—up—beyond the rainbow tints thrown by the stained glass
across her death-white brow; up—still—up—past open arch, with griffin
and gargoyles staring at her from under bracket and cornice, with all
the hideousness and mediæval carving; the stairs, flight by flight,
growing frailer beneath her young feet; now but a slender network
between her and the outer world; but still up.
Her breath was coming short and gasping. She saw through an open space
old Jasper cross the road at the foot of the tower. Oh, how far! The
seconds were treasures which Cromwell, with all his blood-bought
commonwealth, could not purchase from her. Up—ah—there, just above her
with its great brazen mouth and wicked tongue, the bell hung. A worm
eaten block for a step, and one small white had clasped itself above the
clapper—the other prepared, at the tremble, to rise and clasp its mate,
and the feet to swing off—and thus she waited. Jasper was old and slow,
but he was sure and it came at last. A faint quiver, and the young feet
swung from their rest, and the tender hands clasped for more than their
precious life the writhing thing. There was groaning and creaking of the
rude pulleys above, and then the strokes came heavy and strong. Jasper’s
hand had not forgot its cunning, nor his arm its strength. The tender,
soft form was swung and dashed to and fro. But she clung to and caressed
the cold, cruel thing. Let one stroke come and a thousand might
follow—for its fatal work would be done. She wreathed her white arms
about it, so that with every pull of the great rope it crushed into the
flesh. It tore her, and wounded and bruised; but there in the solemn
twilight the brave woman swung and fought with the curfew, and God gave
her victory.
The old bell-ringer said to himself: “Aye, Huldah, my work is done. The
pulleys are getting too heavy for my old arms; my ears, too, have failed
me. I dinna hear one stroke of the curfew. Dear old bell! it is my ears
that have gone false, and not thou. Farewell old friend.”
And just beyond the worn pavement a shadowy form again went flitting
past him. There were drops of blood upon the white garments, and the
face was like the face of one who walked in her sleep, and her hands
hung wounded and powerless at her side. Cromwell paused with his
horsemen under the dismantled May-pole before the village green. He saw
the man who was to die at sunset standing up in the dusky air, tall as a
king and beautiful as Absalom. He gazed with knitted brow and angry eye,
but his lips did not give utterance to the quick command that trembled
on them, for a girl came flying toward him. Pikeman and archer stepped
aside to let her pass. She threw herself upon the turf at his horse’s
feet; she lifted her bleeding and tortured hands to his gaze, and once
more poured out her prayer for the life of her lover; with trembling
lips she told him why Richard still lived—why the curfew had not
sounded.
Lady Maud looking out of her latticed window at the castle, saw the
great protector dismount, lift the fainting form in his arms and bear
her to her lover. She saw the guards release their prisoner, and she
heard the shouts of joy at his deliverance; then she welcomed the night
that shut the scene out from her envious eye and sculptured her in its
gloom.
At the next matin bell old Jasper died, and at curfew toll he was laid
beside the wife who had died in his youth, but the memory of whom had
been with him always.
—_Bulletin, Haverhill, Mass._
* * * * *
Work every hour, paid or unpaid, see only that thou work, and thou canst
not escape thy reward. Whether thy work be fine or coarse, planting corn
or writing epics, so only it be honest work, done to thine own
approbation, it shall earn a reward to the senses as well as to the
thought. No matter how often defeated, you are born to victory. The
reward of a thing well done is to have done it.
* * * * *
No one loves to tell a tale of scandal but to him that loves to hear it.
Learn, then, to rebuke and silence the detracting tongue by refusing to
hear. Never make your ear the grave of another’s good name.
* * * * *
There is nothing by which I have through life more profited than by the
just observations, the good opinions, and sincere and gentle
encouragement of amiable and sensible women.
* * * * *
Self-control is promoted by humility. Pride is a fruitful source of
uneasiness. It keeps the mind in disquiet. Humility is the antidote to
this evil.
* * * * *
Those beings only are fit for solitude who like nobody, are like nobody,
and are liked by nobody.
* * * * *
A noble heart, like the sun, showeth its greatest countenance in its
lowest estate.
* * * * *
OUR New Clubbing List FOR 1884.
The PRAIRIE FARMER IN CONNECTION WITH OTHER JOURNALS.
We offer more liberal terms than ever before to those who desire to
take, in connection with THE PRAIRIE FARMER, either of the following
weekly or monthly periodicals. In all cases the order for THE PRAIRIE
FARMER and either of the following named journals must be sent together,
accompanied by the money; but we do not require both papers to be sent
to the same person or to the same post-office.
We send specimen copies only of THE PRAIRIE FARMER.
Our responsibility for other publications ceases on the receipt of the
first number; when such journals are not received within a reasonable
time, notify us, giving date of your order, also full name and address
of subscriber.
WEEKLIES.
Price of The two
the two. for
Harper’s Weekly $6 00 $4 60
Harper’s Bazar 6 00 4 60
Harper’s Young People 3 50 2 55
New York Tribune 4 00 2 50
Toledo Blade 4 00 2 20
Chicago Times 3 25 2 50
Chicago Tribune 3 50 2 50
Chicago Inter-Ocean 3 15 2 50
Chicago Journal 3 25 2 50
Peck’s Sun 3 75 3 00
Milwaukee Sentinel 3 00 2 50
Western Farmer (Madison, Wis.) 3 00 2 00
Burlington Hawkeye 4 00 3 00
The Continent (Weekly Magazine) 6 00 5 00
Detroit Free Press, with Supplement 4 00 2 50
Detroit Free Press, State edition 3 50 2 20
Louisville Courier-Journal 3 75 3 00
St. Louis Globe-Democrat 3 00 2 15
St. Louis Republican 3 00 2 15
Scientific American 5 20 4 15
Interior (Presbyterian) 4 50 3 60
Standard (Baptist) 4 70 3 60
Advance (Congregational) 5 00 3 35
Alliance 4 00 3 00
New York Independent 5 00 4 00
Christian Union 5 00 4 00
Boston Pilot (Catholic) 4 50 3 50
American Bee Journal 4 00 3 50
Florida Agriculturist 4 00 2 75
Breeder’s Gazette 5 00 3 50
Witness (N. Y.) 3 50 3 00
Methodist (N. Y.) 4 00 3 50
Chicago News 3 00 2 50
Globe (Boston) 3 00 2 75
Youth’s Companion, new subs 3 75 3 00
Youth’s Companion, renewals 3 85 3 25
Weekly Novelist 5 00 4 25
Ledger (Chicago) 3 00 2 90
American Bee Journal 4 00 3 25
MONTHLIES.
Harper’s Monthly $6 00 $4 50
Atlantic Monthly 6 00 4 50
Appleton’s Journal 5 00 4 25
The Century 6 00 4 50
North American Review 7 00 5 50
Popular Science Monthly 7 00 5 50
Lippincott’s Magazine 5 00 4 50
Godey’s Lady’s Book 4 00 3 00
St. Nicholas 5 00 3 50
Vick’s Illustrated Magazine 3 25 2 25
Am. Poultry Journal (Chicago) 3 25 2 75
American Bee Journal 3 00 2 25
Gardener’s Monthly 4 00 3 00
Wide Awake 4 50 3 00
Phrenological Journal 4 00 3 00
American Agriculturist 3 50 2 50
Poultry World 3 25 2 75
Arthur’s Home Magazine 4 00 3 00
Andrews’ Bazar 3 00 2 40
Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 5 00 4 00
Frank Leslie’s Sunday Magazine 5 00 4 00
Frank Leslie’s Ladies’ Magazine 4 50 4 00
Our Little Ones 3 50 3 00
Peterson’s Magazine 4 00 3 30
Art Amateur 6 00 5 00
Demorest’s Magazine 4 00 3 00
Dio Lewis’ Monthly 4 50 3 50
For clubbing price with any publication in the United States not
included in the above list send us inquiry on postal card.
* * * * *
MISCELLANEOUS.
“FACTS ABOUT
Arkansas and Texas.”
A handsome book, beautifully illustrated, with colored diagrams, giving
reliable information as to crops, population, religious denominations,
commerce, timber, Railroads, lands, etc., etc.
Sent free to any address on receipt of a 2-cent stamp. Address
H.C. TOWNSEND,
GEN. PASSENGER AGT., ST. LOUIS, MO.
* * * * *
SCRIBNER’S LUMBER AND LOG-BOOK
OVER HALF A MILLION COPIES SOLD.
The most full and complete book of its kind ever published. Gives
correct measurement of all kinds of lumber, logs, plank, cubical
contents of square and round timber, stave and heading bolt tables,
wages, rent, board, capacity of cisterns, Cord-wood tables, interest,
etc., and has become the Standard Book throughout the United States and
Canada.
Be sure and get the New Edition, with Doyle’s Log Table. Price, 35
cents, by mail, postpaid.
PRAIRIE FARMER PUBLISHING. CO., Chicago.
* * * * *
FOR SALE.
Pure bred Bronze Turkeys and Pekin Ducks. Also eggs in Season.
MRS. J. F. FULTON,
Petersburg. Ills.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
HUMOROUS
OLD SHOES.
How much a man is like old shoes!
For instance, both a soul may lose;
Both have been tanned; both are made tight
By cobblers; both get left and right;
Both need a mate to be complete,
And both are made to go on feet.
They both need heeling, oft are sold,
And both in time all turn to mold.
With shoes the last is first; with men
The first shall be last; and when
The shoes wear out they’re mended new:
When men wear out they’re men-dead, too.
They both are trod upon, and both
Will tread on others, nothing loath.
Both have their ties, and both incline
When polished in the world to shine:
And both peg out—and would you choose
To be a man or be his shoes?
AN OBSTINATE WIFE.
The other night a policeman who was patrolling High street east, heard a
whistle blown, followed by shouts for “police!” and after a run of half
a block he came to a halt in front of a house where a second-story
window was raised and a man had half his length over the sill.
“What’s the row?” demanded the officer.
“Some purglars vhas in mein house!” was the answer.
“How do you know?”
“I hears ’em make a noise more ash six times!”
“Where are they?”
“Down in der kitchen!”
“Have you been down to look around?”
“No! no! I tells my vhife to go, but she won’t stir! She shumps into
bedt und covers oop her headt, und I vhas left to do all der fighting
und be kilt! Dot’s der kind of a vhife she vhas!”
The officer investigated, to find that cats were responsible for the
noises, and as he retired the householder was calling to his wife:
“Mary, if you go down I shtand on der stairs mit a light und a shot-gun
und shoot eafery burglar like tunder.”
WANTED WEATHER-STRIPS.