Demorraiic atc,
Bellefonte, Pa., Nov. 25,1898.
OUT OF ARCADIA,,
The country boy was in love, and young,
But he urged his cause with an eager tongue,
But the maiden bade him work and wait;
She wanted a man who was strong and great.
He loved his home and the country life,
And he wanted a tender, little wife,
He wished to live in peace and ease,
In the shade of his spreading old elm trees.
Buf the maiden bade him go and win
A name she could prize and glory in.
She said she would wait and wed him when
He had made his place in the ranks of men.
Then the boy plunged into the city’s roar,
And he learned the market's sordid lore,
And he learned that life is an awful fight,
Where the wounded fall to the left and right.
But on their bodies he slowly rose,
And he gained new strength from his vanquish-
ed foes;
As he overcame them and bent them down,
He grew in wealth and in wide renown.
But his heart was cold. He forgot to feel ;
His chilling smile had the glow of steel,
His brain grew keen and his face grew hard,
As he stood a victor, seamed and scarred.
Then his words were treasured throughout the
state,
And all men followed and called him great;
But he smiled when he thought of the country
boy.
And he sneered at love as a childish toy.
Harry Romaine in the Puritan.
A COUPLE O' CAPTAINS.
“Jiminy Christmas,’’ groaned Tom,
“how my arm aches !”’
“Don’t think o’ your arm,” said Gene,
twisting in his blankets. ‘I'd take your
wound for the prospect of promotion that
hangs over your head.”
‘‘Be quiet,”” said Tom, and he sighed
heavily.
The stars were burning like coals of fire
in the blue above them, and all about the
winds were breathing in the sage-brush.
The two boys had been in battle that day
—a hot fight with the Sioux—and Tom la-
bored and larruped a wily warrior single-
handed and alone under the very nose of
the Colonel, and for that reason and not be-
cause he had received a slight, tough pain-
ful, wound in his arm, his comrade Gene
argued that promotion would come to Tom.
It did come, and still another, and in less
than a month’s time he was a captain.
Gene was a big, brave, strong youth,
and it was not loug until he, too, began to
take on markers at the tops of his shoul-
ders. Without any of that invisible some-
thing commonly called ‘‘pull,”’ both boys
fought themselves up so that at the end of
the five years’ strife with the Sioux they
were captains of cavalry. It wasall very
exciting ; even thrilling at times. But the
war ended one fine day, as wars will, and
the two captains found themselves without
employment, and, one of them at least,
without tangible means of support. The
disbanding of the army had thrown some
thousands of men suddenly upon a country
in which all the good jobs seemed to be
filled.
“We must do something,” said Tom.
‘‘Yes,”” assented his friend ; ‘‘we’ll have
to get married or go to work sooner or later,
I suppose.”
“I wish we could get into something
together.”’
‘Like enough if we did get in together,
they’d put us in separate cells,”’ said Gene.
He had money—not much, perhaps, but
money—and parents well-to-do, and could
afford to joke. But it wasa serious matter
with Tom. He was as pooras a Greek and
as proud as a Spaniard. One day he hailed
Gene with a happy shout, and announced
that he had a job for both, where they
could work together by day and bunk to-
gether at night.
“So it’s work, is it?’’ asked Gene, look-
ing his friend over.
“Well, yes. You were not expecting a
job stopping balls in a tennis court, were
you n
‘Not exactly ; but I thought we were
going into some sort of business together.’’
“This is business—good business, and
you wind it up with a brake-chain every
time the whistle blows.’
“What is it ?”’
‘Braking on the Burlington.”
‘“W-h-a-t 2”?
‘‘Braking on the Barlington.”’
Gene smiled.
The Burlington had just been opened as
far as Omaha, and Ottumwa was only a
small settlement. Towa was right out on
the raw edge of the wide, wild West. The
Indians were wrecking stations and rob-
bing freight cars, and a flagman three cars
from the caboose couldn’t call his skin his
own.
“Passenger train, I
Gene, breaking the hush.
“Freight.”’
“What ?”’
“Freight.”
“Say, Tom, you're crazy. What do you
want to throw yourself away on a box-car
for? It won’t do—not for me—it’s pre-
posterous !”’
“It beats walking.”
‘Perhaps, but we haven’t had to walk
yet. Think of it! Society column of the
Chicago ‘Tribune,’ ‘Captain Smith and Cap-
tain Jones are breaking on a freight out of
Ottumwa.” Come, Tom, I’m not broke
yet ; besides, you are too young and hand-
some to be killed.”
“Then you won’t go?”
‘‘No,”” said Gene, and he began to sing :
“Don’t you go Tommy, don’t go;
Stay away, Tommy, don’t go.”
**Well, I’ve always feared it would come
to this sooner or later,”’ said Tom. He
held out his hand, and Gene took it.
“I love you, Tommy,” said he, ‘but I
‘can’t join you in a blue jumper and go
“skating with you over the icy tops of roll-
ing cox-cars.’’
*Good-by,”’ said Tom.
“Good-by ! God be good to you, cap-
tain—my captain !”’
“The same to you,’’ called Tom, and his
friend watched him wander away down
among the cars in the newly railed freight
yarcs.
presume ?’’ said
#* * %*
“Ticket,” called the conductor.
The man was reading.
“Ticket,” and he touched the man’s
shoulder, and the man looked up.
*‘Why—hel-lo, Tom. What youn doing ?”’
“I'm trying to run this train,” said
Tom, passing the punch to his left hand in
order to shake the hand the passenger held
out.
When the conductor had worked the
train, he came back to the passenger with
the book. a
‘Say, Gene,” said the ticket-taker, ‘I
was 80 elated over this unexpected pleasure
that I forgot to get your ticket. You ought
to be ashamed to make me ask the third
time for it.”’
‘Well, you can keep right on, for I’ve
got no ticket. I had barely time to throw
myself aboard as the train pulled out.”’
‘*Well, you've got money, haven’t you?
"Cause if you baven’t, I know where you
can bhorrow.”’
Gene smiled and gave up, and then the
two ex-captains of cavalry sat and talked
of the old days, when there were no rail-
roads there.
‘Well, Tom, you've made a great suc-
cess of this railroad business, and I'm proyd
of you,” said Gene, glancing at the bright
blue uniform the Captain wore.
Tom smiled “What are you driving at,
Gene ?”’
“Readin’ law.”’,
“Well,” said Tom, “I guess that’ll beat
brakin’ on freight.”
And so the two men'talked on to the end
of the run, the conductor dropped off, and
the law student went on to Chicago.
* * * * *
In the jam and crowd about the gates of
the Burlington station at Chicago men often
bump up against old comrades unexpected-
ly, and so it fell out that as Gene was
sweeping through a narrow gate he ran
bang into a man.
‘Hello, Gene,” said the man, ‘‘wait a
moment.’’
Gene waited impatiently for five min-
utes, it seemed to him. He was glad
enough to meet an old friend, but the dia-
gram had gone to the sleeping-car con-
ductor, and Gene wanted to secure a place.
Finally, as the train was about to pull out
—in fact, the time was up by the big clock
on the wall—the waiting traveler was glad-
dened by the re-appearance of the busy
man.
“What’s the matter with you, Tom ?
Do you want me to get left 2’
Tom smiled. “My dear Gene, don’t
you know this train would not pull out
without you !”’
“That’s all very funny,’’ Gene replied ;
“but I’ve got no place to sleep.”
“Well, you won’t sleep much to-night,
for you are going to sit up and visit with
me.”’
By this time Tom had been met by a
smart black porter, who, at a faint signal
from the master, took the hand baggage
from the over-anxious traveler and ran up
the rear steps of the rear-most car.
*‘Is this my car ?”’ asked Gene, stopping
and glancing along the platform.
*‘No, it’s mine ; but you can ride. Come,
hand yourself aboard ; I shan’t make you
put up this trip.”’
The train conductor, ever alert. saw the
two men enter the car, lifted his white
light, and the big engine breathed softly,
and moved out of the station shed.
Gene, following the trail of the black
boy, stood upon the platform of a car that
seemed to be all plate glass, and stepped
hesitatingly into a luxurious drawing-
room.
“Now what's all this folderol, Tom ?’*
asked Gene, for he had been abroad and
bad lost track of his old ‘‘pal’”’ of the
plains.
Tom was a modest man. and so told his
friend in a modest way that he was the
General Manager and that this was the
private car that the company had given
over for his comfort and convenience. We
may suppose it was a pleasant evening that
the two captains passed as the train carried
them away to the West.
A few years later Tom left the Burling-
ton and went over to take charge of the
Union Pacific. He had an agreement that
gave him a fabulous salary, and the writ-
ten promise of the owners of the property
that the road should be run by him from
Omaha and not by anyone else, and, above
all, that he should not be compelled to
take signals from the seaboard, given by
men who were in the habit of puttinga day
coach in the shops to have the stove chang-
ed to “‘the frontend,” instead of turning
the car on the table or running it round
a Hy.”
This good and useful man had heen at
his new post but one short year when he
was called in by the Great Manager of the
Universe, and when the news of his death
went over the wire itt made heavy the
hearts of thousands of railway employees
all over this Continent, for he was, without
question, one of the most humane man-
agers that has ever lived.
All night long, from North to South,
from East to West, as the conductor swung
down from a coach or a way car the opera-
tor would meet him and say in a low tone,
‘Tom Potter’s dead.” In most cases the
conductor would make no reply, but when
he handed the order up to the engineer he
would say, as the operator had said to him,
‘Tom Potter’s dead.”
“No !”” the engineman would say, turn-
ing to watch the conductor, who was al-
ready taking his way sadly back to the
caboose to break the news to the brake-
men.
“What's that ?”’ asks the fireman.
“Tom Potter’s dead.’” And then the
engineer would open the throttle slowly,
and if she slipped, he gave her sand and
humored her, and he didn’t swear.
The other captain, who has also made a
name and a place for himself, is still with
us. He is the ‘‘split-trick’’ in the pros-
perous law firm of Gleed, Ware, and Gleed,
of Topeka. He is the wholesome, happy,
two-hundred-pound poet of the Kansas
capital whose nom-de-plume is *‘Ironquill ;’
and if you doubt this story, it is probably
because you have been reading romances
and have lost confidence in the simple true
tales that from time to time appear in
print. By Cy Warman, in MeClure’s
Magazine.
Congressman Hicks.
He Brings Civil Action for Libel Against Rev. Dr.
Swallow.
Congressman J. D. Hicks, of Altoona,
brought a civil action for libel against Dr.
Swallow, late fusion candidate for Gover-
nor, Friday at Harrisburg, claiming $50,-
000 damages for the publication of an arti-
cle in the Commonwealth last January
charging him with mis-using the funds of
the Pennsylvania building and loan asso-
ciation, of Altoona, while acting as presi-
dent of the concern. Mr. Hicks alleges
that the article ‘‘was libelous and was pub-
lished maliciously to bring him into public
scandal, infamy and disgrace with and
among his neighbors and other good citi-
zens.” The building and loan association
is in the hands of a receiver.
Right You are, Malloy.
From the Lansford Record,
When the Americans sent soldiers to
assist struggling Cuba, the Cuban soldier
did not materialize. So it was with the
Philadelphia Democrats. When the
country districts took a hand in fighting
Quay’s Spaniards, the Quaker Democrats
were missing. But when it comes to
deals with Republican factions of Philadel-
phia, the Ryans and the Delahuntys are
very much in evidence.
shouting in a state convention or making |
Eli Whitney and the Cotton Gin.
Eli Whitney was one of those bright,
precocious Yankee hoys who in early years
revealed a great fondness for making things,
and who showed ingenuity in doing what
ever theyturned their hands to. His father
was a plain Massachusetts farmer, who
tilled his acres near Westborough, in that
State. Eli from the first disliked farming.
He avoided farming whenever he could,
and instead spent much of his time in his
father’s workshop. The good farmer was
in the habit of repairing his own wheels
and chairs aud mending his own fences, so
that he had a small collection of tools.
These tools were Eli’s delight. Whenever
he had a chance he would slip away into
the workshop and try to fashion some ar-
ticle which his already ingenious mind had
designed.
On one occasion, when Eli was twelve
years old, his father on a return from a
journey, asked What his boys had been do-
ing during his absence. The reply was
that the other boys, had been steadily at
work in the fields, but that Eli had spent
much of his time in the workshop.
*‘And what was he doing there ?”’
‘‘He has been making a fiddle.”
“Ah,” sighed the worthy farmer. ‘‘I
fear Eli will have to take his portion in
fiddles.”
Nevertheless, the fiddle proved to he a
very good one, and served its purpose very
well at the country dances in the neighbor-
hood.
Another time the farmer going to
church one Sabbath morning, chanced to
leave his watch, a big old fashioned silver
‘‘turnip,”’ at home. As soon as his father
was out of the house Eli seized the watch,
and eagerly took it to pieces, bit by bit.
When he saw what he had done he was
horrified, for his father was a very strict
man, and would be sure to punish him
severely for spoiling his watch. So Eli set
to work and by dint of his skill succeeded
in putting the watch together again just as
the farmer got back from church. So
neatly did he do this that his father never
discovered how his watch had been treated,
until years after, Eli told him what he had
done.
There are many other stories of Eli's
vouthful ingenuity, which there is not
space to repeat here. He was always try-
ing his hands at somethirg, and he usual-
ly succeeded at whatever he attempted.
His step-mother found him useful in a
hundred ways in the household, repairing
old utensils and making new ones. When
the Revolutionary war broke out Eli be-
gan to make nails, which were greatly
needed by the patriots. Then he turned
his hands to make the long pins which the
women of that day used for fastening their
bonnets ; and he also for awhile drove a
thriving trade in walking sticks, in which
he invented many striking and graceful
devices.
As Eli approached manhood he began to
feel sorely the need of a better education
than the country school afforded. He had
studied much by himself in the intervals
between work, and he knew more about
mathematics and mechanics than most lads
of his age. But he was not satisfied with
this. He wanted to go to College. His
father was resolutely opposed to this, and
refused to give him the means. So Eli set
hard to work, and managed, by making
various articles and teaching school, to save
enough money to enter college. He went
to Yale when he was twenty-three years
old, and graduated four years later. While
in college young Whitney gave many
proofs of his mechanical ingenuity. On
one occasion he repaired the apparatus of
one of the professors, who was about to
send it to Europe for the purpose, as he
supposed no one in this country had the
skill to do it.
Lli Whitney at first intended to adopt
teaching as his profession. His heart was
wrapped up in mechanics, but he was poor
and could see no way in which he could
follow his natural bent. Not long after
graduating, therefore, he accepted an en-
gagement as a tutor in the family of a gen-
tleman who lived in Georgia. It was a
fortunate accident that, while on his way
to the South, young Whitney made the ac-
quaintance of the widow of the famous
Revolutionary hero, General Nathaniel
Greene. This lady, who lived near Savan-
nah, at once took a liking to him, and on
their arrival in Georgia invited him to stay
for awhile at her home. This was all the
more agreeable as Whitney found, to his
disappointment that the gentleman had se-
Jected another tutor. Mrs. Greene kindly
cheered him, and told him to make her
house his home.
Thus left without employment which
had been promised him, Whitney again
turned his attention to his first love, me-
chanics. It happened that an occasion soon
arose when he was able to show his gener-
ous hostess and friends how skillful he was
in mechanical devices. The good lady was
fond of embroidery, but found that the
ambour or frame upon which she did her
delicate work, was not well fitted for that
purpose. Whitney eagerly assured her
that he could make a frame which would
serve hier much better He set cheerfully
to work, and had soon completed a frame
far superior to the old one.
This proof of his inventive talent greatly
impressed Mrs. Greene, and soon opened
to the young man the grand opportunity
of his life. It was not long after Mrs.
Greene entertained a number of her hus-
band’s old army friends at Mulberry grove,
her home. One day the conversation hap-
pened to turn upon the cotton production
of the Southern States. One of the officers
remarked that cotton could easily be raised
all through the South, but that so long as
it required so much labor to separate the
cotton from its seed the cotton crop could
not be made a profitable one. If any de-
vice could be made, he added by which the
cotton could be easily cleaned the produc-
tion of cotton would become an enormous
paying industry. ‘Gentlemen,’ said Mrs.
Greene, who was intently listening to the
talk, “tell this to my young friend Mr.
Whitney. I verily believe he can make
anything.”
Now Whitney had never seen a piece of
cotton in his life ; none the less he prompt-
ly made up his mind that he would devote
his every energy to solving the problem
thus put to him.
He first examined some cotton, and saw
at once what the task was he had to per-
form. He bad no tools with which to bhe-
gin his work, but he sturdily set about
making some.
In less than ten days he had completed
his first model of a cotton cleaning machine.
He was delighted with its success, and
went on improving it by every device he
could think of. In two or three months
he had perfected a perfectly practicable
working cotton-gin. It was speedily
proved that this machine, which could be
worked by a man or woman, could clean
more cotton in a single day than could be
done by a single man or woman, in the old
manual method, in several months. The
immense utility of the cotton-gin was at
once recognized throughout the South ;
and now Whitney suffered as so many in-
ventors had suffered before him, from the
dishonesty of greedy money makers. The
building in which the cotton gin was kept
was broken into, and the cotton gin taken
away. It was at once copied and put into
use in various places before he could get
his patent.
The fruits of his great invention were
thus stolen from him. Although he got
several patents, he never grew rich, as so
many southern planters did by the use of
his machine. In vain he petitioned Con-
gress for redress and compensation. The
inventor of the cotton gin, by which he
undoubtedly created the wealth and power
of nearly every southern State, lived and
died almost in a state of poverty. But his
was a patient and heroic spirit. He bore
the injustice of men and the ingratitude of
his country with cheerful serenity, and
died assured at least of a deathless fame,
with his name enrolled high up on the list
of America’s greatest inventors.
Thrilling Story oy Survivors of the Wrecked Atlan-
ta.—Only Three of a Crew of 26 Men Escaped
Death After a Fearful Battle With the Waves.
YAQUINA, Ore., Nov. 20.—Additional
particulars of the wreck of the British ship
Atlanta, Capt. Chas. McBride, from Taco-
ma to Capetown, Thursday ‘morning, five
miles south of Alssead, were brought here
by a correspondent who went to the scene.
Twenty-three lives were lost including all
the officers, and only three sailors survived
as follows : Francis McMahon, of Belfast,
Ireland, aged 18; John Webber, Tarry-
town, N. J.; John Fraser, Philadelphia.
The lost are : Capt. Chas. McBride ; —
Hunter, first mate ; N. C. Huston, second
mate, all of Greenock, Scotland ; David
Steward, Liverpool ; Aleck Beck, W. E.
Croger, M. O. Plikington, Joseph Cassa,
—— Williamson, T. Lewis, Michael Galla-
gher, David Green, Jacobson, Pedro
Gregory, John Marks, John Smith, seamen;
—— Hamilton, sailmaker. The unknown
are two cooks, carpenter, sailmaker, second
mate and one sailor. The body of Jacoh-
son was recovered and buried yesterday.
Wednesday night about 12 o’clock the
ship was steering southeast by east and
running under full sail, when suddenly
the lookout sang out ‘‘breakers ahead.”
Almost at the same time the ship struck
with a tremendous crash. She arose again
on the heavy ground swell, lurched for-
ward, struck again, was carried further
by the seas, struck a third time and com-
menced settling at once. The sea by this
time was washing completely over the ves-
sel. The crew had taken to the rigging,
most of them to the mizzenmast. Within
half an hour after striking the hull
broke in two, and this started the
mizzinmast, in which nearly all the
crew had taken refuge. At this mo-
ment George Fraser, a sailor, plunged
overboard, preferring to take his chances
by swimming. He succeeded in catching
hold of the main hatch and held on for a
few minutes, when he was told that the
port life-boat was near him. Fraser swam
to the boat after a desperate struggle and
succeeded in climbing into it, his ship-
mates in the rigging giving him three
cheers. After helping McMahon and
Weber into the boat, they soon drifted on
shore. Fraser, in telling the story of the
wreck, said :
“The first thing I knew the first mate
called me and said the ship was on the
beach. The other men came to the door
and sang out ‘All hands lay aft, we are go-
ing to wear ship.” The second mate
shouted ‘Clear away the boats, that’s our
only chance.” The second mate and my-
self jumped upon the boat skids to clear
away the port bow. I shouted out for
some one to give me a hand to the mizzen
rigging. As soon as I reached the port, I
was swept off my feet, but grasped a stan-
chion when the sea spent its force. When
the sea cleared off the poop I ran for the
mizzen rigging and climbed into it. I
stayed there, I suppose, 10 minutes, when
the ship righted and listed over to star-
board. I crawled across the cross jack
yard and got into the port rigging. when
the ship broke in two. Shortly after that
the main mast went by the board and it
started the mizzen mast. I then took to
the water and swam to the main hatch,
which floated close by the ship. I stayed
on the hatch about 20 minuntes. The sea
was throwing wreckage up, hitting me
over the head until I drifted clear of the
ship. Another fellow swam to the hatch,
but I told him to get off the hatch and look
for one of his own. He would not do it,
so I got off myself, as it would not hold
two up. There was another hatch nearby
and I swam to it, but the breakers washed
me off. The men in the rigging were
watching me and told me the boat was
coming. Iswam tothe boat and got one
arm over the gunswale, the crew in the
rigging cheering me all the time. TI crawl-
ed into the boat. which was full of water,
and, looking around, saw Webber on the
other side. McMahon was among the
wreckage and we hauled him into the boat.
We had no oars, but soon drifted clear of
the wreck and the breakers started us
ashore. I looked toward the wreck to see
if I could see anybody, hut only one man
was visible on the port aft davit. We
kept the hoat’s head to sea and were soon
washed ashore.’
McMahon said : “The only reason I can
think for the disaster was that the captain
had lost his reckoning on account of the
weather for three days preceeding, other-
wise the accident is quite unaccountable.
It was a pitiful sight to see the chief of-
ficers in the rigging crying and praying for
help. I consider the escape of myself and
two shipmates nothing short of miracle.”
Appointed by Governor Hastings.
Governor Hastings has appointed the
delegates to the National Pure Food and
Drug congress, to be held in Washington
on Jan. 18th to 20. Leonard Rhone, Cen-
tre Hall ; W. B. Powell, Shadeland ; Hon.
Jason Sexton, Springhouse; Louis Emanuel,
Pittsburg ; F. A. Boericke, Philadelphia :
Francis B. Reeves, Philadel phia ; Thomas
Martindale, Philadelphia ; Sylvester S.
Martin, Pittsburg; William R. Warner,
Philadelphia ; Thomas J. Edge, Harris-
burg ; Professor John Hamilton, State
College ; Major Levi Wells, Harrisburg; Dr.
G. G. Groff, Lewisburg, and Dr. Charles
T. George, Harrisburg.
Mountain Peak 20,000 Feet High.
The G. H. Eldredge geological survey
party; which has just returned from the
Cook’s Inlet country, is said to have dis-
covered the highest mountain in North
America. The peak, which towers far
above Mount St. Elias, is situated in Alas-
ka to the right of the Sushitna River. It
is more than 20,000 feet high. Its Indian
name is thought to be Bullshae.
——Jack—I don’t see why you call her
a queer girl just because she told you to
see her papa when you proposed.
Algy—Ya-as ; but perhaps you don’t
know that her papa has been dead for five
years,
Chicago’s Big Duck Farm.
Where 20,000 Ducklings are Raised Yearly oh Land
Worth a Million Dollars.
Chicago has a duck farm, well in the
heart of the city, and located on land that
is worth $1,000,000.
Chatbam Fields, as the farm is called, is
located at the corner of Seventy-ninth
street and Cottage Grove avenue. The
cars go whizzing by all day long within
quacking distance of 20,000 ducks, which
enjoy all the advantages of city life. In
the end, every one of the 20,000 will share
the fate of the ordinary barnyard fowl,
however, and find its way to the broiler
and the spit. And these city-bred ducks
run their reckless and fin de siecle careers
in about half the number of weeks that it
takes their country cousins to round off
existence.
The duck farm on a big scale, located on
a $1,000,000 tract of land, is owned by L.
G. Fisher, a capitalist and manufacturer.
He holds the land as an investment, and
while holding it he decided to indulge his
taste for amateur farming. At first he in-
vested in a few fancy chickens, ducks and
geese. The chickens came more nearly
eating their heads off than the ducks did,
and were not so satisfactory. A year ago
Chatham Fields was converted into a duck
farm almost exclusively, with 400 or 500
chickens to make things more homelike.
These ducks are hatched in incubators
and brought up by hand. Mother Nature
is allowed to have as little to do with it as
possible. The fowls are turned out by ma-
chinery, fed by machinery, and meet their
death by guillotine at the tender age of 10
weeks.
The 150 acres of the farm are a rolling
piece of ground, sloping away froma clump
of trees. The main building is a big, flat,
steam-heated brick barn, 600 by 180 feet in
size. This is divided into two parts, the
larger section being subdivided into pens
which hold about 500 ducklings each. The
other subdivision is covered with steam
pipes raised slightly from the ground. A
louse burlap curtain swings between the
two. The little ducks are put into the
pens, which are kept at an even and mod-
erate temperature. If from any cause the
ducklings become chilled or damp, they
poke their knowing little necks under the
burlap curtain, push through and huddle
up under the steam pipes. The whole floor
is of clean dirt, the top layer being changed
often.
The entire philosophy of scientific duck-
raising may be given in a sentence. ‘Keep
the ducks dry and stuff them all the time.”
According to Manager Bellows, the
ducks don’t take to water. At Chatham
Fields they would not be allowed to if
they felt so inclined. On fine days the
pens are opened and the thousands of duck-
lings are allowed for a while to get out of
the big building and play in the sunshine.
At the least sign of rain back they are all
hustled indoors. They never swim and
never enjoy a drop of water, except what
they drink. This is provided ata water-
ing trough constructed like a saucer, with
a teacup inverted in it.
During the season about 1,000 ducks are
set aside for breeding purposes. These are
selected for their size, robustness, etc.
“The season’ on the duck farm reverses
the ordinary poultry season as the farmer’s
wife knows it. At the farm eggs must be
laid from December to April, and the ducks
hatched and sold from April to August.
The thousand fowls set aside for egg laying
are allowed to run about freely in a
big, grassy yard. They are given enough
to eat to keep them in fair condition, and
are expected to hustle for salads. This
they very much enjoy, as it gives them a
chance to dig their bills in the ground for
roots and worms.
The expense of keeping these breeding
fowls issmall. About December the ducks
begin to lay eggs. The eggs are put in the
incubators, 300 to a machine, and are
hatched in 21 days. The ducklings are
put at once into the *‘brooder,’’ where they
live out their 10 or 12 weeks of life. By
this patent process of raising ducks the per-
centage of loss is considerably less than
when the farmer’s wife persuades a good
natured hen to hatch out a setting of duck
eggs. The experts at that farm never
make the mistake of putting an egg into
the incubator unless itis sure to hatch.
They are all tested and must not be over a
week old. So altogether the loss will not
reach 25 per cent. from all causes. Baby
ducks are fed every two or three hours.
and yet they are hungry all the time.
They simply live to eat, and have no other
ambition in life. The food is made up of
a variety of things, all intended to make
white, juicy meat and small, soft bones.
The ideal hash for dncks is made on a ba-
sis of soup of boiled bones, scraps, ete.
With this seup cracked oats, corn meal,
‘‘seconds,’’ and various cereals are mixed.
Nearly all the food is cooked. This mater-
ial here in the city costs little. 1f meal is
damaged in bolting, or a lot of rolled oats
gets wet, the dealers are glad to sell iv for
a small amount. South Water street fur-
nishes cheaply all the green stuff that
ducks like so well. A few parcels of wilt-
ed celery, cabbage a little the worse for
wear, and salad greens of all sorts can be
bought at low figures by wholesale.
Ducks at Chatham Fields are expected
to be lazy. They are prohibited from tak-
ing century runs, and discouraged alto-
gether from flying. What with eating
every two hours and never taking any ex-
ercise, they grow wonderfully fast, and the
meat is light instead of dark. The breast-
bone of a young duck raised this way can
be cut with one swipe of a carving knife,
and nearly the whole duck can be sliced
into white pieces.
The cost of raising these ducks and put-
ting them on the market varies greatly
with the season, but the average is about
25 cents apiece.
‘‘We aim to take advantage of a season
and a market which is not overcrowded,’
says Mr. Bellows. ‘‘That’s the secret of
making a thing like this pay. Let into
the market when nobody else is selling,
and with something distinctive and curious
if you can.”
Nearly all the ducks raised are sold for
broilers. They stand on the same footing
as fried chicken, and are said to be far su-
perior to the ordinary roast duck.
‘‘Broiled tame duck is nothing new to
the people in the East,” said Mr. Bellows,
‘“‘but until recently there was no market
for them ‘n Chicaga. We have sold all of
ours anere to clubs, hotels and restaurants.’’
A duck which costs 25 cents to raise sells
for 75 cents. A young duck brings more
than an old one by the pound. A 10-weeks
old duck weighs from two to three pounds.
The old ones weigh from four to eight
pounds, and sell for from 14 to 16 cents a
pound.— Chicago Inter-Ocean. :
——Miss Annie Frances Bayard, whose
death is reported at Algiers, is the second
daughter of the late Thomas F. Bayard.
She was known as ‘‘Miss Nannie,” had
been absent from home for years and had
been living with her sister, Countess Lew-
inbaupt, in Paris. She went to Algiers for
her health, accompanied by Philip Bayard,
youngest son of the late ambassador.
No Excuse for Being Iil.
Mrs. Rorer Discusses a Diet for the Sick and tells
How to Keep Well By Eating Proper Food.
‘Nobody need be sick if properly fed,”’
says Mrs. Royer. ‘But people do not eat
the things which keep them in the best
condition. Every pound of fat more than
necessary means one pound of disease.
And there is no more excuse for thin,
nervous people than there is for excessive
fat.”’
Mrs. Rorer calls attention particularly to
the albuminous or the muscle making
foods, such as lean meats, eggs, milk and
cheese and grains. Man needs, she says,
both meats and grains to furnish him
proper sustenance. Vegetarianism finds no
support in Mrs. Rorer. She argues that a
haman being has both meat teeth and grain
teeth, and that nature never makes a mis-
take ; we were meant to use both kinds.
Milk, as one of the important diets for a
sick person, comes in as a large share of
her consideration. To those who complain
that milk makes them bilious, Mrs. Rorer
announced that pure milk cannot do this.
It is the over amount of nitregenous foods
which are taken at the same time. For
milk should not be treated as a beverage—
not at all. Milk is a food.
It is made most easily digestable for sick
people when the cheese is removed from it
and a little sugar of milk and white of egg
added. The acid may be removed by ad-
ding dissolved pepsin tablets, or by adding
wine and making wine whey. Koumys is
a very good form of milk and may be made
by adding ‘‘Kiefer’’ to milk and bottling
the product. Yeast and a little sugar will
give the same result as the ‘Kiefer’
does.
But milk should never he taken iced,
and it is better warm than boiled or steril-
ized.
Beef, whose tendon is one of the most
difficult to digest, was made into appetiz
ing and safe balls and served upon tiny
squares of toast on the invalid’s tray.
Mrs. Rorer scraped the meat for this prep-
aration, but advised chopping it for a per-
son who had simply a weak stomach.
Albumenized Whey.—Heat one quart of
milk to blood heat (98 degrees) ; add two
junket tablets, dissolved. Allow the milk
to stand until chilled ; thenstirin the curd
and strain it, saving the whey. When the
whey is perfectly cold add the whites of
two eggs. The better way is to put a por-
tion of this into a shaker or fruit jar ; put
in the white of egg and shake until the whole
is thoroughly mixed. Now,you may add to
this a teaspoonful of brandy or whisky or
whatever stimulant is ordered, and it may
be given in feedings of about two ounces.
Another Method of Making.—Heat a
quart to a little more than blood heat, then
add four ounces of wine, sherry or Madeira;
stir for a moment ; strain ; add the curd
to the whey thus made: add again the
whites of two eggs.
Frozen Junket.—Make a plain junket.
using a half pound of sugar to each quart
of milk, and adding a half cup of cream.
When the junket is congealed turn into a
freezer and freeze quickly.
Chicken Panada.-—Chop fine sufficiently
cooked chicken to make a pint ; put it over
the fire ; add a pint of water ; when boil-
ing add a tablespoonful of cornstarch ;
moisten in a little cold milk, and just be-
fore serving season it and add a tablespoon-
ful of butter.
Beef Paste. — Scrape uncooked beef.
After you have sufficient quantity of paste
make it into tiny pats ; put each pat on a
square of bread ; toast quickly ; serve with
a little salt and butter.
Lumber in Wisconsin.
Facts About the Timber Districts in That State.
Lumberman in this vicinity will be in-
terested in following facts about the timber
districts in Wisconsin : According to’ a
report written by Filbert Roth, a special
agent of the United States department of
agricuture, the state of Wisconsin, with a
population of about 2,000,000, and taxable
property to the amount of $6,000,000, has
a home consumption of over 600,000,000
feet of lumber annually, besides enormous
quantities of other wood materials, which,
if imported into the state, would cost the
state over $25,000,000. Of its northern
half, a land surface of over 18,000,000
acres, only 7 per cent. is cultivated, the
rest forming one continuous body of forests
and waste land. From this area there
have been cut during the last sixty years
more than 5,000,000,000 feet of pine lum-
ber alone, and the annual output for the
past ten years has exceeded 3,000,000,000
feet every year.
The industries exploiting this resource
represented in 1890 one-sixth of the total
taxable property in the state, paid over to
5,000 men the sum of $15,000,000 in wages,
and the value of their products was equal
to more than one-third of the entire out-
put of the agricultural regions. Of an
original stand of about 130,000,000,000 feet
of pine, abont 17,000,000,000 feet ave left,
besides 12,000,000,000 feet of hemlock and
16,000,000,000 feet of hardwood. The an-
nual growth which at present amounts to
about 900,000,000 feet, and of which only
250,000,000 feet 1s marketable, is largely
overbalanced by the natural decay of the
old and overripe timbet.
At present nothing is being done either
to protect or to restore the denuded lands,
of which fully 80 per cent. are unproduc-
tive. This policy causes a continuous and
ever growing loss to the commonwealth,
which at present amounts to about 800,-
000,000 feet every year of useful and much
needed material. A further result is that
+| the spoiliation of these forests is making a
marked change in the natural climatic
condition and is operating injuriously on
the amount of rainfall the state should
receive.
To remedy this condition, Mr. Roth is of
the opinion tkat stringent legislation will
have to be immediately adopted, and
measures framed to preserve and restock.
He concludes his report by saying that, in
his opinion, it will be necessary for the
State to repossess itself of these lands,
either in whole or in great part.
All He Craved.
The proprietor of the restaurant had just
issued a new advertisement, intended to
call attention toa reduction in rates. Af-
ter quoting the prices of various articles to
conclusively demonstrate the fact that
everything was cheap, he added at the bot-
tom of the advertisement : ‘‘Bread, butter,
and potatoes free.’
He knows better now. If he had to do
it over again he would word it a little dif-
ferently, and all because a solemn-looking
man came in one day, and, after taking his
place at a table, pointed to the advertise-
ment and asked :
‘Is that on the square ?”’
‘‘Certainly,’’ replied the waiter.
“Then give me some bread, butter, and
potatoes,” said the man.
“Yes, sir. What
waiter.
‘Nothing else,’’ replied the man. ‘‘That’t
all that’s free, isn’t it 2’
else?” asked the