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o ititrt 13,ottrp..
Written for the Montgomery Watchman
AND HAS THE SUMMER PLED
BY "WILLIE arnenE."
"Leaves are but wings on which tho
Summer flies."
And has the beauteous Summer fled?
It seemeth but a day
Since to our vales the flowers were brought
By laughing blue eyed May I
Now o'orhead's the Autumn sky,
And red no more the rose's dyo,
And faded is the violet blue,
The lily—that has withered too.
Sweet melody in Summer flung
From off a harp of thousand strings,
A harp—alas! that's now unstrung,
While scarce a single minstrel sings.
The murmur of the rippling stream,
More hoarse unto the ear doth seem;
The feathered songsters of the grovo
Have ceased to warble lays of love.
The balmy breath of summer time,
That kissed the dew drops from the flowers
With all its sweets has fled afar
To sport 'mid softer hours.
Tar upward in the mellow light
The blue hills rise upon the sight,
And mid the sunset's golden flush,
The forest leaves in beauty blush.
A few short days, and winter will,
With hail and snow come striding on;
The woods, no longer lulled in sleep,
Sway to the mighty tempest's plume.
Thus roll the seasons : varied still,—
The falling leaf, the frozen rill,
The budding flower, the brazen sky—
Now the smile, anon the sigh.
How swiftly flies each passing year!
The Summer's ended—bar vest passed—
And forest leaves of brilliant hue
Float an the wintry blast.
'Tie thus when sun-bright youth has fled:
How dark and deep the years ahead;
But vain the sigh that sorrow heaves,
When Winter's winds close up fmn's leay.
Cypresselale, October, 1857.
d.ect t.nr j .
BREAK OR BEND.
A STORY FOR BOYS
" Hallo ! Ned," shouted a tall, fine looking
boy, to a poorly clad, but neat school fellow.
"I want you to ruu down to our stable, and
tell our man to saddle my pony, and bring
him to school by four o'clock. I'm going to
have a race with Joe Hunter; hurry your
self."
" There will not be time before the hell
rings" replied Ned, coloring, " and I should
not like to be absent then. Why don't you
go yourself'? You can get an excuse."
" You impudent, disobliging fellow-," re
torted Frank Wales, taking out his little gold
watch—the object of many a boy's envy in
that school—" there's five minutes yet and it
won't take you more than ten or fifteen to go.
If you don't you will rue it ; and if you do
I'll give you sixpence to buy a loaf of bread,"
that will save your mother a few stitches."
Ned's passion was aroused, but he pressed
his lips together, lest wrong words should es
cape them. He knew that Frank was called
rich, and he was poor; but saw in this differ
ence no reason why one should be master,
and the other servant. Had Frank asked
him kindly to do a favor, no boy in school
would have more readily obliged him. But
the tone of command, and the taunting jeer
about his poor mother's stitches, were more
than his proud spirit could brook. 0! how
he did want to reply, "if the truth was
known, perhaps you would be no richer than I;
if your parents were honest as mine, maybe
your mother might have to stitch too ;" but
the lesson of returning good for evil had been
so strongly impressed upon his mind that he
dared not; the eye of God seemed on him,
and opening his clenched fist, Ned walked
into the school and took his seat before the
bell rung:
Had. Ned known his own true standing, he
need not have hung his head before any boy
in town. While the sons of many a family
above his own station were smoking, gunning,
and racing horses, he was at his books. This
diligence showed its fruit, and he stood at
the head of all the boys for scholarship and
deportment. But, being modest and sensi
tive, his life was made, for a time, very miss
erable by a few idle and envious boys. He
could not bear to be despised. When the af
ternoon session of the school closed, Ned lin
gered behind the rest lest he might meet
Frank going for his pony, and he did not care
to walk. the same way with him just then.—
When he reached the door, however, there
stood his tormentor, with two friends, await
ing him.
Stop, Ned, don't be in such a haste," he
said, " I want to talk with you."
Ned knew very well that he only wished
to get him into a quarrel, which he and his
friends might report, with their comments to
the teacher. So he said, " I cannot stop, now,
I'm in haste to get home ;" and walked rap
idly oil:
" Poor fellow, see his limbs fly!" cried one.
" I believe to my heart he is afraid of us 1—
He thinks we'll turn highwaymen in the
grove and rob him of his cash and gold
watch."
This sarcasm on his poverty brought a
shout of triumph from the cruel trio.
"01 no, boys," cried Frank, loud enough
to be heard by his receding victim, he isn't a
coward ; fear is not the cause of his haste.—
Yiis charged him to hurry home to do
up the house-work, while she stuck to her
binding. Say, now Ned, didn't I catch you
taking the clothes off the line, Monday, like
a girl, ha. ?"
Ned stood still at the top of the hill, and
replied, No, you didn't catch me, for I didn't
run ; I take them down every Monday. I
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIII.
DM not ashamed to do anything which will
relieve her."
" That's a good girl, Betsy," cried Frank,
in a tone of mock approval ; run, it's nearly
time to put the kettle on."
Poor IVed! between anger and wounded
love, he was very unfit to go into the house
to mother. His eyes were red, for he could
not keep back the hot tears beneath this un
provoked insult. He mounted a hill before
he came to the house, and threw himself
down on the grass under an old oak tree,
which, for its size, was the pride of the sur
rounding r,egion. No one knew how long the
monarch had stood there, but all knew that
many a generation had passed away from
him, and that growth after growth of his
own descendants had been hewn down since
he had reigned king of the trees. His mag
nitude and beauty had shared him from the
woodman's stroke. A tender sapling stood
beside the towering oak. It was not thicker
than a man's arm, and every blast had power
to bend it to and fro, until at times it almost
touched the ground. " Ah," said he to him
self, " Frank is like that oak ; I like the poor
and weak sapling." As he looked up a
strong breeze passed by, but the old tree
stood firm in its grandeur, seeming to defy
the wind to shake his huge trunk. Ile nod
ded sarcastically with his leafy head, and
with his brawny outstretched arms beckoned
the winds to conflict. When the gust dallied
with him, he seemed to turn his top around,
and with a scornful whistling among the
branches, began to pelt the little sapling
most unmercifully with his acorns. And
what did the little sapling do in return, think
you? Did she whistle back, and taunt her
powerful foe ? She had nothing of which to
boast, not a missile to throw, she had not yet
borne one acorn. So she just bore it, bowing
her head when they struck it, and raising it
as soon as they ceased falling. Ned looked
cheered, although he did not speak. He had
learned from nature a lesson of endurence.
He ran blithely down to the spring at the
foot of the hill; bending over its velvet brink,
he took a long draught of the diamond water,
bathed his heated brow and cheeks, and then
felt happy enough to meet his weary mother.
Boys, this course of Neil's was a wise one.
When vexed or'insulted, you should rest an
hour, take a good drink of spring water, and
bathe your red cheeks, and the wounded heart
will feel easier. You will not wish to retali
ate ; you will try to endure.
The wind began blowing pretty fiercely as
Ned walked on. It increased all the evening,
and at midnight a perfect tempest raged
around the home of the boy. It was such a
night as we sometimes have, when the air
seems laden with sounds various and inde
scribable. Moaning, creaking, flapping, rus
tling and waving, it shook the cottage to its
very foundations, and forced itself into every
crack and opening of the doors and windows.
The heart turned towards the deep, and all
who were in danger there ; and ninny prayers
rose in their behalf from those who realized
that there was " sorrow on the sea." The
night waned, and ere daybreak, the storm
had
_spent its fury. Ned rose and. looked
from the little chamber window. But alas !
-what desolation ! an object familiar as the
spire of the village church—the king oak—
was gone ! The boy hurried on his clothes,
and despite the wet grass, he sought the spot.
There like a fallen hero, laid the tree, splint
ered, wrenched and torn. Its length and
breadth, as it lay along the ground, was very
great, but ah! when Ned examined it, the
heart was decayed. Outside it - was brave,
fresh, and green, but within it was hollow,
unsound, and filled with loathsome things.—
The boy, who had almost envied the one he
compared with the oak, looked around for
the sapling; there it stood, strong and green,
as if no tempest had swept over the hill where
it dwelt. Truly it is better to be humble and
sound in heart than to be lofty and proud,
- with impure and unlovely temper. The
spirit that will not bend has often to break;
and in that breaking sometimes reveals the
dark secrets of the existence of which the ad
miring world little dreamed. "I will strive,"
said the boy, "to keep my heart sound, and.
to keep low that I may bend rather than
break."
EEC!
When early manhood had set his signet on
the brow of these two youths, they had ex
changed stations in the world. Poverty came
upon Frank Wales, but he wouldn't bow be
fore it. He chose rather to be dishonorable,
to earn his luxuries darkly at midnight, than
to have the poor to say, " He who held his
head so high, is now like unto us." His se
cret deeds whereby he kept up his horses, his
tobacco and his wine, we do not seek to pry
into. The pure and lovely shun his presence
as they would not do, were he under only the
veil of honest poverty.
The poor plodding boy, who even when in
sulted, was brave enough to declare, " I am
not ashamed. of anything that will relieve
her ;" the boy filled an honorable place in
one of the learned professions. He was not
rich and probably never will be; but he is
above want, and very useful among men.—
The poor mother, on whose account he was
taunted, was relieved by his love from the ne
cessity of stitching, and long filled the seat of
honor at her son's table.
" Pride soeth before destruction, and a
haughty spirit before a fall." " The Lord
will destroy the house of the proud, but He
will establish the house of the widow."—N.
Y. Examiner.
TO RAISE GIANT ASPARAGUS.—In the au
tumn, as soon as the frost has blackened the
tops, mow them.; when dry, burn them on
the bed, and scatter the ashes evenly over it.
Mix thoroughly half a bushel of hen manure,
with each load of stable manure, and spread
a thick coating over the bed, and dig it under
with a three-pronged fork, as well as can be
done without disturbing the roots. As early
as possible in the spring, turn the top of the
bed over lightly, and cover it with salt quar
ter of an inch thick: In a short time you
will have the largest kind of shoots. Repeat
the same process every year:
1A fortune in the hands of a fool is a
great misfortune-:
:.i.C:.
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:-...-...
3 - i*‘l l ' . .. ,
,' L X
's
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"itttr.esting ntisttilang.
Our readers can spare us space enough to
say a word or two in favor of a radical re
form in our present school system, as well as
in favor of a radical reform in the currency
with which the country has been so long
cursed.
We have alluded to the terrible slavery,
the repelling drudgery of attending to such
a multitude of studies at once, overtaxing
the brain, benumbing the intellectual facul
ties, and paralyzing the mental powers, mak
ing the precocious youth that gave such high
promise of intellectual renown, a dull, plain,
plodding individual, with scarcely mental
stamina enough to enable him to keep out of
harm's way.
It is an undeniable fact that not over one
in a hundred of the native born population
of our city, is perfectly healthy—possessed
of strong muscles, strong and steady nerves,
free and uniformly good digestion, with all
the functions and faculties - working in har
mony. We do not pretend to affirm that this
almost universal lack of that which the an
cients were so desirous of securing, viz., a
sound mind in a sound body, is exclusively
and entirely owing to the too great number
of studies at once, or to too long confinement
in the school room; but we do affirm that it
has a great deal to do with it--it has caused
so much of it that it is quite time it was
abandoned.
One thing more. It is a fact of such com
mon and universal occurrence that it has
grown into a proverb, that he who takes the
highest honors at college is seldom heard of
afterwards. This is because the natural
equilibrium between the mental and vital
power has become permanently lost, and by
a predominance of the mental over the vital,
nature cannot supply the requisite fuel for a
longer continuance of the effort.
Daniel Webster is represented to have been
considered next to a dunce while at school,
and to a considerable extent even after he
entered college. The consequence was his
brain was not overworked and had time to
develope those wonderful powers that after
wards were the admiration of the whole civ
ilized world.
William L. Crandall, Esq., of the State of
the New York, very ably contended that three
hours a day were all that could profitably be
employed in school. He labored energeti
cally and industriously to emancipate the
children from what he terms "school sla
very"—he contended that it was an arrange
ment of the Almighty that children should
grow, physically; that our present system of
confining children in close, ill-ventilated
rooms, six hours a day, where the constant
breathing of impure air, stupifies the mind,
and where the lack of exercise, at the right
time, robs the body of those agents necessa
ry to the proper performance of its diges
tive functions, is one that is rapidly making
of the American people a nation of crip
ples, intellectually, morally, physically. Di
gestion cannot be perfected without exercise
in the open air; a person in a close room
cannot take to the blood, by respiration, suf
ficient oxygen and electricity to supply the
requisite nervous energy. This confinement
is contrary to nature, and she rebels against
the outrage; hence the numerous complaints
of "irregularity of school attendance."
These three hours must be devoted to ac
tual work, which amount of labor is all, any
being, under 21 years of age, can endure,
and live up to the laws of his being.
School attendance should cease 12 o'clock,
IVI., as at that hour, if the afternoon can be
devoted to play, children will go directly to
their meals—the laws of our nature requir
ing that no active exercise be taken immedi
ately before or after eating, as such exercise
invariably sends the electricity, and blood
indispensable to perfect digestion, from its
true and natural place in the body, the stom
ach, to the extremities and surface. Under
our present system, 12 o'clock is the signal
for the most active exercise on the part of
children, and dyspepsia must sooner or later
be the result of these constant violations of
natural laws. By their observance ahcalthy,
strong, and perfect body is secured, without
which a corresponding developement of
mind, cannot be attained; for intellectual la
bor exhausts rapidly the energies of the body
and this mental activity ceases when the
body refuses longer to supply the fuel.
Parents often need the services of their
children, a part of the day, and under the
proposed reform a systematic pursuit of
knowledge, and practical devotion to the la
bors of life would be combined.
Again before growth is completed, the hu
man system cannot endure as much intellec
tual labor as it can after.
The prime objection to this system is "it
will take much longer to get a school educa
tion, than it does now." This is answered
by the proposition that the change proposed
is in harmony with the natural laws, while
the present system is a violation of them;
consequently greater progress will be made
in the business of a thorough education in a
given number of years, under three hours a
day. Secondly, if less, then less ought to be
accomplished. Under the six or eight hours
a day system, there is an attempt to over
work; consequently little or no real work is
accomplished—or if accomplished at all, at
how much suffering and injury' to the vic
tims. It is notorious that the present bond
age, the high pressure system, .vorks in the
mind of the child a loathing repugnance to
the school room, which cannot be scolded,
coaxed, or flogged out of him, and that not
more than one fourth of the six or eight
hours of confinement is devoted to hard
work.
We desire that the school room should be
made so attractive that the children would
look forward to the hour when it is to begin
with pleasure and delight; instead of terror
and apprehension. Everything should have
a pleasant appearance; it should be governed
with love and the power of persuasion, never
by brute force. The rod is a relic of unmit
igated barbarism, and should never desecrate
a school room. There should be no tasks in
HUNTINGDON, PA., NOVEMBER 4, 1857.
SCHOOL REFORM.
-PERSEVERE.-
school—studies should be a pastime and not
onerous burdens.
Another reform proposed is to teach the
natural laws. Facts in nature, such as the
science of man, of mechanics, of farming,
of housewifery. Teach children, things,
facts, events; for children do not want to
know anything of words, the shadow or sign,
until they all know about the thing, or sub
stance. Above all, teach our youth the laws
of their existence, physiology.
It is a wrong impression that the only time
a person studies is when perusing a book.—
An intellectual organization is studying and
improving most when not confined to a prin
ted page.
Teachers would, by the change from six to
three hours school a day, be more useful; for
the labor of the teacher is fatiguing—ex
hausting; requiring a constant expenditure
of elretric force which must have more time
for a healthful supply. Impure air, bodily
inactivity at the very hours proper for exer
cise, tend to a sense of weariness, lassitude
and want of life at the close of the day, and
comparatively enfeebled powers at the close
of the term. It is the teachers business to
impress and arouse, and this cannot be done
after the exhausting process alluded to; while
it is palpable that this same occupation is so
prostrating, physically, as to be destructive
to health and life. So long as the system is
in fine tone and vigor, teaching in itself, is a
pleasure; but the instant it ceases to be a
pleasure, the teacher is worthless.
A teacher must be constantly learning by
observation and study. No preacher or
teacher knew at the commencement, all the
knowledge imparted by him during a long
life of usefulness; but he was every day ad
ding to his stock of information. To this
end requisite time must be given.
Finally, education is based on natural laws,
the same as chemistry and natural philoso
phy; and parents, for the sake of their chil
dren, should make themselves thorough mas
ters of these laws, which they can easily do.
We hope the truths above stated will be suf
ficient to arouse the minds of parents to a
sense of the fearful responsibility attaching
to them in the education of their children.—
It is the duty of parents to see that a health
ful body and a faultless mind are both at
tained by those committed to their guardian
ship and care. These suggestions, it seems
to us, are worthy of careful consideration.—
Philadelphia Argus.
Courting---Sad predicament.
An lowa paper tells the following good
joke which happened some time ago, but
will lose nothing by its age.
A certain young man, in search of a wife,
being out on a courting expedition, as is cus
tomary with young men, came late on Sun
day evening, and, in order to keep his secret
from his young acquaintances, determined to
be at home on Monday morning bright and
early, so that his absence would not be no
ticed. But his affianced resided several miles
from the 'town in which he sojourned ; and
so, to overcome the distance, required the use
of a horse. Mounted on his horse, dressed in
his fine white summer pants, and other 'fix
ins' in proportion, he arrives at the residence
of his inamorata, where he is kindly re
ceived, and his horse properly taken care of
by being turned into the pasture for the
night. The evening, yea, the night, passed
away, but how to the young man is nobody's
business. Three o'clock in the morning ar
rived. Our hero was awake—nay, he had
been so all night—but it matters not—three
o'clock was the time to depart, so that he
might arrive at home before his comrades
were stirring. Not wishing to disturb the
family or his lady love, who were then
wrapped in the arms of Morpheus, he sallied
forth to catch his horse. But here was a
difficulty—the grass was high and covered
with dew. To venture in with his white pan
taloons, would rather take the starch out of
them, and lead to his detection. It would
not do to go in with his white unmentiona
bles, so he quickly made his resolution. It
was three o'clock in the morning and nobody
stirring, so he carefully disrobed himself of
his whites and placed them in safety upon
the fence, while he gave chase, with un
screened pedals, through wet grass, after the
horse. But the steed was fond of clover, and
had no notion of leaving it. But our hero
was not to be thwarted, although he began
to realize the truth of the old adage about
the course of true love, &c., and finally the
horse was captured.
Returning to the fence where he had safely
suspended his lilly white unmentionables
-0! Nirabile Dicta! what a horrible sight
met his eyes I The field into which his horse
had been turned was not only a horse pas
ture, but a calf pasture too, and the naughty
calves, attracted by the white flag on the
fence, had betaken themselves to it, and calf
like, had almost eaten them up ! only a few
well chewed fragments of this once valuable
article of his wardrobe now remained—only
a few shreds—just sufficient to indicate what
they had been. What a pickle this was for
a nice young man to be in.
It was now daylight, and the industrious
farmers were up and about, and our hero,
far from home, with no covering for his
`traveling apparatus.' It would not do to go
back to the house of his lady love, as they
were now all up and how could he get in
without exhibiting himself to his fair one,
which might ruin the match. No, no, that
wouldn't do. Neither could he go to the town
in that plight. There was only one resource
left him, and that was to secrete himself in
the bushes until the next night, and then get
home under cover of the darkness. This he
resolved to do, and accordingly hid himself
in a. thick grove of bushes.
Safely hid, he remained under the cover of
the bushes for some time, and it may be ima
gined that his feelings towards the calf kind
were not of the most friendly character; but
ere long his seclusion was destined to be in
truded upon. The family of the fair one
seeing his horse' still remaining in the pas
ture, enquired of the lady what she had
done with her lover. She was nonplussed.—
She only knew he had left about three o'-
clock in the morning ; things didn't look
,
-,
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ii. :
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3 .1 . .. , :' .. Y.
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•
right; if he had gone, why did he leave his
horse ? Suspicion was awakened. Bye and
bye the boys, who had been out to feed the
calves, returned with the remnants of the
identical white garments which adorned the
lower limbs of their late visitor. They were
mangled and torn to shreds. An inquest was
immediately held over them. Some awful
fate had befallen the unfortunate young man.
The neighbors were soon summoned to search
for his mangled corpse, and the posse with
all speed set off with dogs and arms to the
search. The pasture was thoroughly scoured,
and the adjacent thickets, when lo ! our hero
was driven from his lair by the keen scent of
the dogs, all safe alive and well, but minus
the linen. An explanation then ensued at
the expense of our hero; but he was success
ful in the end. Ile married the girl and is
now living comfortably in one of the flour
ishing towns in lowa.
A STORY OP THE BATTLE FIELLi.-A. soldier
was wounded in one of the battles of the
Crimea, and was carried out of the field; he
felt that his wound was mortal—that his life
was quickly ebbing away—and he said to
his comrades who were carrying him:
"Put me down; do not trouble to carry
me any further; I am dying."
They put him down and returned to the
field. A few minutes afterwards an officer
saw the man weltering in his blood, and
asked him if he could do anything for him.
" Nothing, thank you." '
"Shall I get you a little water," asked the
kind-hearted officer.
" No, thank you ; I am dying."
"Is there nothing I can do for you ? shall
I write to your friends ?"
" I have no friends you can write to. But
there is one thing for which I would be much
obliged; in my knapsack you will find a Tes
tament—will you open it at the 14th of
John, and near the end of that chapter you
will find a verse that begins with ' Peace,'
will you read it ?"
The officer did so, and read the words,
" Peace I leave with you, my peace I give
unto you; not as the world giveth, give I
unto you. Let not your heart be troubled,
neither let it be afraid."
" Thank you, sir," said the dying man ;
" I have that peace; I am going to that Sav
iour ; God is with me ; I want no more," and
instantly expired.
Pr itt farmer.
Several agricultural journals contend that
there is no such thing as Horn Ail, or Hollow
Horn in cattle ; and that the boring of the
horn, and the filling of it with severe reme
dies, is only a needless cruelty to the poor
animal, and may result in inducing a dis
ease, instead of curing one. Dr. Dadd, the
able editor of the Veterinary Journal, of
Boston, says he has had several opportunities
of examining the bodies of cattle said to
have died of horn ail, and that among these
were cases of softening of the brain, which
the remedy of boring could never reach.—
Cold horns, which have been considered - as
evidence of hollow horn, is shoWn to be a
symptom of catarrh, colic, constipation, scour
ing, or any other derangement of the diges
tive organs. Such being the fact, horn bor
ing becomes a universal resort, and must add
very much to the suffering of the cattle, and
may, in some cases, actually produce death.
Timri Howard, in the N. E. Farmer, recom
mends the following as a remedy for Hollow
Horn, so-called : I had a cow several years
ago, that was taken, as we supposed, with
the horn ail. I tried almost everything, bor
ing the horns, putting in saltpetre, pepper
and salt, and salt and vinegar, to no purpose.
I heard of a remedy which I tried, which ef
fected a cure in a short time. It was British
Oil, about a tablespoonful turned into each
ear ; I have tried the same several times
since, and always with good effect. I never
have had to put in but one dose to effect a
cure.
No manure is so well worth the saving in
October and November as the falling leaves
of the season.
According to Payen, they contain nearly
three times as much nitrogen as ordinary
barn-yard manure, and every farmer who
has strewn and covered them in his trenches
late in the fall or in December, must have no
ticed the nest season how black and moist
the soil that adheres to the thrifty young
beets. No vegetable substance yields its
woody tibe and becomes soluble quicker than
leaves and from this very cause, they are
soon dried up, scattered to the winds and
wasted if not gathered and trenched in or
composed before the advent of severe winter.
As leaves are poor in carbon, and rich in
alkaline salts, as nitrogen, they are especially
valuable in compost with menhaden fish ma
nure and dead animals, poor in potash, but
abounding in carbon and lime phosphates.
But the great' value of leaves is in the ex
tra nitrogen they contain. Prof. Jackson
truly says that the compounds of nitrogen
not only decompose readily themselves, but
they also induce the elements of either or
ganic matter with which they are in contact,
to assume new forms, or to enter into new
chemical combinations ; and according to the
long
. continuea Rotham.Rterl,
periments of the indefatigable Lawes and Dr.
Gilbert, nitrogen, in its compound form (am
monia) also exerts the same potent influence
on the inorganic or mineral elements of the
soil, rendering even sand into the soluble
food of plants. Yet every farmer or gardener
ought also to know that his own mechanical
aid in trenching or ploughing in order to
keep his soil permeable and absorptive is in
dispensable to aid nature in developing her
chemical process.—Rural New Yorker.
U7Persons of defective sight, when thread
ing a needle, should hold it over something
white, by which the sight will be assisted.
IfirNever nish a thing done, but & , 3 it
Editor and Proprietor.
The Horn Ail
Value of Fallen Leaves
The following are a few extracts from a
work recently published in England called .
"Acton's English Bread Book." They are
sensible and instructive, and are worthy of
consideration by all thoizie who eat fermented
bread in any country:
Wholesome and . Unwholesome Bread.—
Whether it be made with wheat flour or meal
only, or with a portion of sound floury pota
toes, or of well-cooked rice, bread will be per
fectly wholesome, provided it be sweet, light,
and thoroughly baked, though it will be more
or less nutritous. This will be the case also
if it be composed in part of rye, or Indian
corn meal, or oatmeal, or even of barley meal,
unless it should be for very delicate eaters,
to whom the Indian corn meal and barley
are not so entirely adapted as flour or wheat.
Hot, or quite new bread, is exceedingly un
wholesome. Heavy bread is dangerously so.
That which has become sour, either from
having been over-fermented in the making,
or from having been ill-managed afterwards,
is very objectionable, and mouldy bread also
is unfit for food.
NO. 20.
The Tests of Well-Made Bread.—Good
bread will feel light in the hand when lifted,
which will not be the case with that which
has been imperfectly kneaded. Good bread
when cut will resemble a fine sponge of uni
form texture, and be equally free from the
spaces caused by large air-bubbles, and from
the dark streaks which show either that it
has been inattentively prepared, or too heav
ily kneaded when it was made up for the
oven. The loaves also of well-made and well
baked bread will retain their shape, and not
spread about into unsightly forms, as they
will when the dough has been rendered too
moist. They will also be equally browned,
but not dark-colored, and the crust will be
firm and crisp, without being thick and hard.
Loaves which have been carelessly baked arc
sometimes burned in one part, while the
dough is scarcely set in another.
Cleanliness in Bread Making.—lf instead
of being satisfied with the aspect of tho
loaves exhibited in the windows of the bakers'
shops, we were to descend into the offices
where they are made, and witness the want
of cleanliness and wholesomeness which at
tend their fabrication; could see herd a reser
voir of water which is never changed, their
supplies of flour exposed to the influenCe of
an impure atmosphere, either too damp or
over-heated; and above all, sickly, perspiring
men in contact with our food, we should turn
away with a very legitimate feeling of dis
gust. These are revolting pictures, but they
are true ; yet flinch which repels us in them
is beyond the control of the bakers them
selves, arising from the want of space, and
fitting accommodation for the trade they fol
low. How can the air of the ill-ventilated
underground premises in which their opera
tions are carried on generally in populous or
crowded cities, be otherwise than most un
healthy, foul, destructive to the men employ
ed in them, and having the worst effects on
the food which they prepare? No article of
our nourishment requires more scrupulous
nicety in everything connected with its fabri
cation than bread. Its value—which cannot
well be over estimated—is dependant on its
purity; and this can be preserved (even when
it is composed of genuine ingredients) only
by the utmost cleanliness in all the details of
its preparation, and the absence of every un
wholesome influence in the locality where it
is effected.
It is said that one of the most wholesome
kinds of bread that can be used is Made thus,
without salt, saleratus, yeast, or rising of any
sort.,
Take bolted or unbolted flour or meal,
thoroughly moisten the whole with pure soft
Water, Scalding hot, that is, about one hun
dred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit, make it
up firm, not sticky, then roll and cut into
strips, or any other form, not over a quarter
of an inch thick, and half an inch broad.—
Bake quickly in • a hot oven until the dough
has acquired a soft fine brown cokit, or until
the water has nearly all evaporated.
Ilydropathists say that a sweeter bread
than this was never tasted. It certainly is
pure bread, cannot sour, will keep almost in
definitely; and, if made of unbolted flour
must be the most healthful and nutritious
bread that can be prepared. But people
won't use it, because they have not been ac
customed to it—just as Hans would never use
an iron -are to his cart wheel, because lie had
never seen one used. Besides, most persons
have an unconquerable prejudice against
using or doing anything that has unmixed
food in it.—Dr. Hall.
A RECEIPT WORTH ONE TIIOUSAND DOLLARS.
—Take one pound of sal soda, and half a
pound of unslacked lime, put in a gallon of
water, and boil twenty minutes. Let it stand
till cool, then drain off and put it in a stone
jug or jar. Soak your clothes over, night or
until they are wet through—then wring
them out and rub on plenty of soa - p; and in
one boiler of clothes well covered with water,
add one teaspoonful of the wash fluid. Boil
half an hour briskly—then wash them thor
oughly through one suds and rinse with wa
ter, and your clothes will look better than
the old way of washing twice before boiling.
This is an invaluable receipt, and I want
every poor tired woman to try it. I think
with a patent wash-tub to do the little rub
bing, the washer woman might take the last
novel and compose herself on a lounge, and
let the washing do itself. The Woman who
can keep a secret, has known this a year or
two, but her husband told it while on an
electioneering tour.— Ohio Cultivator.
PRESERVED CATtnoTs.—Take one pound of
carrots, one pound of sugar, and four lem
ons. Boil the carrots separately, and cut
them in small pieces of an inch long, and a
quarter of an inch thick ; pare the lemons
very thin, boil the peels thoroughly, and cut
them like the carrots ; then put in the juice
of the lemons ; boil the syrup over next day,
until quite thick, and after you have flavored
it with the essence of lemon, pour it over the
carrots again.
GERMAN TOAST.-TWO eggs; one pint milk,
and flour enough to make a thick batter—cut
wheat bread into. very thin slices, and soak
them in sweetened water—cover each side
successively with the batter and fry brown
in lard. Eat while hot, with butter and
white powdered or brown sugar.—Cor. Co.
Gentleman.
ger Never expect to go the throne of grace
without having some stumbling block thrown
in your way. Satan hates prayer, and al
ways trys to hinder it.
Tnou canst not joke an enemy into a friend;
but thou mayst a friend into an enemy.
gerWealth has many friends
ffloustht.epre
Fermented Bread.
Bread.