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"0 . I 'M ;iki KVKICY W l;l)N I.HDA Y, BT
crnon iv ro3ixson & bonner'8 building
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VOL. XIII. NO. 37. TIONESTA, PA., DEC. 1, 1880. $1.50 Per Annum.
The Loom of Life.
AH lny, all nl :ht, I can hear the jar
Oi the loom of lilo, and near and lar
It thrills with Hi do?p and muffled sound,
As tireless ttio whorls go always round.
Busily, ceftpeleisly, goes the loom,
n tlie light ol day and the midnight's gloom,
And the wheols are turning early and Lite,
And the wwof if wound in the warp ot late.
Click, cliofct there's a thread oi lore woven
In;
Cliok, click! another of wrong and sin;
What a checkered thipg this Hie will be
Whoa we see it unrolled in eternity!
When Bhall this wonderfnl web be done?
In a th on sand years, perhaps, or one;
Or to-inorrowl Who knoweth? Not thou
or I;
But t!;o wheols turn on and the shnttles fly.
All! Sbd-oyed weavers, the years are slow,
But enoh ono i nearer the end, I know;
And soon the Inst thread shall be woven in
God griint it be love instead oi sin.
Are we dpinucm of good in this lile-web
ray?
Do we ltirnish the weaver a thread Men dny ?
It were bettor, oh, my friends, to spin
A. bea'ititiil thread than a thread oi sin.
T WON'T AND I WILL.
"Aunt Bel, I shell never marry him!"
""-Tho speaker was a young girl scarcely
lhtoen, and she was addressing a mid-lle-agcd
lady, who wore a look of an
noyance that showed that the remark did
t please her.
"He is far superior to Sylvester St.
lin," the lady said in reply,
"lie is conceited; and I don't like
was the answer. And the young
1 walked away.
Laura Moore was the only child of
Monroe's brother, who died a few
in before, and left his daughter in
r rare.
i'ho headstrong waywardness of her
re had caused Mrs. Monroe no little
hie in many ways. Lately she had
vu'a decided preference for a music
. her in the neighborhood, Sylvester
. John, a young man whose simpering,
td manners had fully disclosed to
Monroe the utter shallowness of his
ioter.
a had talked with Laura, but with-
fleet, and, anxious to prevent the
ndship from growing into more inti
: o relations, she had decided upon a
rt that she thought might avert such
dimity.
; lerald Brown was the son of an inti
.ie friend of Laura's father, and a
mg man with whom Mrs. Monroe
i well acquainted, and for whose
al worth she had the highest respect.
Thinking that Laura might be di
rtod if she had the Bociety of another,
a had sent a pressing invitation to
raid to come and spend his summer
cation there; and it was accepted,
erold arrived at the house a few days
vfore the conversation "just reoordod
nok place, and, as chance would, have
t, overheard it all.
A few moments later he stepped out
on the balcony, where Laura was stand
ing among her flowers, and said.
"Miss Laura, will you take a walk
with me down to the elms?"
The young lady assented, and when
they reached the rustio seat, he con
tinued: " I asked you to come here with me
because I wished to have a little private
conversation with you. I overheard all
that passed between you and your Aunt
Bel this morning, and I wanted to tell
you that you are not in the least pos
sible danger, as at present I have no in
tention of marrying any one.
Hero he stopped, for Laura's painful
embarrassment made it impossible for
him to proceed.
"I did not think you were going to
hear mo," she half sobbed.
"I do not blame you for one wordfjou
said," ho continued. "A young lady
should never allow herself to be coerced
into a marriage with any one. And you
.did perfectly right; and, as there is no
jK)ssil)ilit,that we can ever be lovers, I
wanted to- know if you were not willing
that wo should be friends. I cannot
stay hero unless you consent to this, and
I do not wish to go away. Are you
willing?"
"Oh, certainly," shejanswered, too
mortified to look up.
"Well, don't annoy yourself thinking
about it," he said, kindly. "If you will
excuse me now, I will go, as I promised
to take Mrs. Monroe to the village this
morning."
The minute he was gone Laura burst
into tears, and sobbed out of pure
vexation.
"Oh, I wouldn't have had it happen
for all the world!" she moaned. "How
he must despise me! And I don't dis
like him at all. It was only because I
wanted tdV'ase Aunt Bel that I said it."
It was suuie time before she recovered
her usual manner when in Gerald's pres
ence, although he took every means in
his power to make her forget what had
happened.
Dunns?
young ""
to par
two following weeks tlio
fe received many invitations
ind picnics, and Laura did
not
i
p see now much superior
a to most of the young men of
Gerr
hi
.unanee.
hen at home he engaged in
j arguments with Airs. Monroe,
k a tine talker and a very intelh
' ly, he often earned his point by
il sound logic, that showed a mind
- 1 - J J -A J J.. .
luaucbu uuu stores wua uuor
in.
"Luxurious easo never calls out the
best qualities of any ono," he said, one
evening, while talking with Mrs. Mon
roe. "Women as well as men are im
proved by the discipline of worldly con
tact. A few hard knocks don't hurt any
one in fact, thoy are rather beneficial
than otherwise
Laura sat and listened attentively.
But she noticed that Gerald never tried
to engage her in any such conversation,
much as he seemed to enjoy talking to
Mrs. Monroe on these topics.
"Ho treats mo as if ho thought I was
only a butterfly," she said to herself,
with some bitterness; and ther added,
"and I don't know as he has any reason
to think me anything else."
The weeks passed quickly by, and one
morning Gerald stood waiting for the
stago, valise in hand. He bid Mrs.
Monroe an affectionate farewell, and
then extending his hand to Laura, said
"Good-bye" pleasantly, and, bowing,
walked away.
Laura flew to her own room when he
was gone, and, while she tried to force
the tears back, thought:
' "He don't even respect me and there
is no person whose esteem I would so
like to have. He thinks I am one of
those light, frivolous persons that I
have heard him bo often describe, and
that I know he despises. And, oh! what
can I do? Hero I am, the heiress of
father's large property, and when Aunt
Bel dies I'll have all her wealth! There
noems to be nothing but fashionable
folly for mo to engage in. I wish I
hadn't a dollar in the world!"
The days passed drearily to Laura
after Gerald left. Aspirations for a
higher and better life had taken pos
session of her, and made her restless
and unhappy.
Sylvester St. John had been bo fre
quently repulsed that he was at last
obliged to withdraw, and he began to
pay attention to the next wealthiest girl
in the neighborhood.
It was some weeks after this that, one
day a gentleman, whom Laura had never
seen, called and wished to see Mrs.
Monroe. The interview lasted for some
time, and when Laura again saw her
aunt, there were traces of tears on her
face.
"Laura," she said, "the gentleman
who called is a lawyer from New York.
He came to inform me that every dollar
of your money, and all of mine that
your father invested so securely, as he
thought, is lost; nothing can be re
claimed." Mrs. Monroe had dreaded not a little
to make this announcement to her neico.
But w hen she finished Laura only Bmiled
and said: "Well, Aunt Bel, I can take
care of myself, and you still have the
little place at Springville; you can go
there and live."
"What will you do, my dear?"
"I can teach music. I have" a very
thorough knowledge of it. I don't
donbt but that I will succeed. I will
try, at least."
"Preparations were immediately made
for leaving the grand home. The little
place at Springville was fitted up and
made as comfortable as possible. Laura
had never been so helpful before. Aunt
Bel was daily surprised by the quiet de
termination she displayed, and the
willingness she showed to accept the
situation as it was, and to make the best
of things. :
A letter had been Bent to a friend in
the city, asking her assistance in secur
ing music-scholars for Laura, and a
week after they had taken possession of
their home an answer was received, Bay
ing that she had obtained three pupils,
who were ready to begin as soon as
Laura could take charge of them.
A few days after, one bright Septem
ber morning, Laura stood on the plat
form at the depot, waiting for the train,
and bv her side was Mrs. Monroe.
"Now, Aunt Uer. she said, just De-
fore starting. "I am going out into the
world to make my way if I can. I shall
try my best to succeed; but it 1 tail, I
will come back to you. Good-bye.
And Aunt Bel held her to her heart for
a moment, too affected to speak, and
then, with a faint, "God bless you!" she
turned away.
Laura soon obtained more pupils, but
she found that working for one's living
is not an easy task, at best, borne of
her scholars were dull, and others were
irritable and peevish.
And in some cases parents were exact
mg; but she was rapioiy learning to
preserve her soul in patience, even un
der the most trying circumstances.
But vet she was weaned at times by
the daily care and fret, and it was with
unspeakable delight that she looked for
ward to two weeks of unbroken rest at
Aunt Bel's at Christmas-time. And, oh!
how delightful it was.
"I never enjoyed my old home as 1 do
this!" she said one day, when she and
Mrs. Monroe were together in the little
sitting-room.
"Because you never needed the rest,
replied Aunt Bel. "A busy lite carries
its own recompense to some extent.
Appetite gives food a relish, and wean
ness gives to rest'an exquisite flavor that
nothing else can.
At the end of the vacation Laura re
turned, refreshed iu body and mind, and
prepared to go steadily along till the
summer months would come and bring
another delightful change.
It was one day about the end of
January that Gerald Brown was huny
ing on through the light snow that wus
falling, and saw a young girl just before
him also hurrying. Something in the
slight, girlish figure attracted his atten
tion, when just as she turned to mount
the steps of a house, he saw enough of
her profile to recognize his old acquaint
ance, Laura Moore.
Not a little surprised, he watched and
saw her take a key from her pocket and
enter.
"She boards there," he thought.
'What can have happened?"
That evening the servant announced
to Laura that "a gentleman an old
friond was in the parlor, and would like
to see her." Laura went down, wonder
ing who it could be, and was a little
abashed when she met Gcif dd.
"You are no doubt surprised to Bee
me," he said, as he greerted her cor
dially and asked her to be seated.
And then he told of see ing her that
afternoon, and how anxio as he was to
meet her. "Are you staying with friends
here?" he in d.
And Laur. lainod all the changes
that had tak lace, and told him that
now she was teaching music.
"It was the only thing that I could do;
and I would not burden Aunt Bel with
the care of me, although sho wished me
to remain with her."
Gerald listened with surprise to the
recital, and conld scarcely make himself
believe that the quiet, lady-like girl be
fore him was the same young miss, full
of petulant willfulness, that he knew a
few months before
"I take it that you are very fond of
music?" he said, after she had finished
telling her btory.
"I love it dearly."
"WTill you allow me to accompany you
to the opera of 'Les Huguenots' next
Thursday evening?" he asked.
Laura assented gladly, and on that
night was treated to the greatest pleasure
of her life. Gerald enjoyed the music,
but he enjoyed her delight more.
"Oh, it is grander than anything that
I ever conceived of," Bhe said, when, be
tween theacts, she could bring herself
to speak.
During the remainder of the winter,
Gerald was frequently in her company;
and the admiration that he felt for her
the first evening that he saw her in the
city constantly increased.
The last quarter was just begun, when,
one evening, he sat again with her in
the parlor. She had been speaking of
the great pleasure she anticipated from
the coming vacation, when Gerald said,
in a half-laughing way:
"Laura, do :you remember a remark
you made the last time I visited your
Aunt Bel?"
Instantly the hot blood erimsoned
her face, and tears filled her eyes, w she
said: " '
"Oh, Gerald, how could you! I did
not think you would ever speak of it
again."
"Laura, forgive nie. I wouldn't, if I
thought you cared bo much;" and then,
taking both her hands within his own,
and, with all the laughing light gone
from his face, he said: "Laura, then I
did not care; I smiled when I heard
your remark that morning. But I do
care now more than. I could ver tell'.
Would you say the same thing again?"
It was a very happy lace, but one on
which there were still traces of tears,
that looked into his a few moments
later. But there was mischief in her
tones, as she said:
"I thought you did not , think of
marrying any one just yet?"
"Laura, the first night that 1 met you
here, I could not help thinking how the
wheel of fortune moves around. About
the same time that you lost your prop
erty, a rich relative of mind died, and
left me all his money, which was con
siderable. And I am now junior part
ner in the firm where for years I had
been bookkeeper."
Laura taught to the end of the quar
ter, and then went home. But when
she returned in the fall, it was to take
possession of a pleasant house all her
own, as Mrs Gerald Brown, and Aunt
Bel came with her. The little house
at Springville was improved and beauti
fied, and there every summer they spend
some months.
A Theater of Novelties.
A curious report has been issued bj
the managers of the Folies-Berglsre
theater as to the number of novelties
put forth before the public during the
year between September 16, 187l, and
September 13, 1880. There were 3&4
representations, in the course of which
212 fresh performers appeared, being at
the rate of about two novelties every
three days. The following are the de
tails, viz.: Fifteen ballets, eight panto
mimes, one marionette theater, one
American rifleman (Dr. Carver); one
Bleieht-of-hand performer, one dislo
cated man, one manipulator of "epilep
tic plates," one crocodilo charmer, one
instantaneous portrait painter, ten boIo
ists on different instruments, one Zulu
company, two Japanese jugglers, two
stuffed orang-outangs, one company of
comic gnomes, five dancing troupes,
eight equilibrists, nine gymnasts, three
velocipedists, one spiral aseensionist,
one rink skater, five troupes of perform
ing animals, including a learned cow,
two clown dancers, two athletes, ten
symphony marches, twenty-two fantas
ias, nine quadrilles, thirty-one over
tures, twenty-three waltzes, three galops,
cloven polkas, seven mazurkas, two fan
faes, one gypsy band, one company
Spanish students. London 2Vis.
A silent man is easily reputed wise.
A man who suffers none to see him in
the common jostle and undress of life
easily gathers round him a mysterious
veil of unknown Banctity, and men honor
him for a saint.
A great deal depends upon a man's
courage when he is slandered and tra
duced. Weak men are crushed by de
traction, but the brave hold on and muc-oeed.
Flonr Manufacture.
Until recently, Bays the Caliornian, it
was believed that the only thing to be
sought for in the production of a good
article of flour was a more or less fine
disintegration of the kernels of wheat.
As long as millers held to the theory
that " grinding " was all that was re
quired, a large percentage of the flour
had its nutritive powers greatly re
duced by boing ground to an impalpable
dust. Science, by aid of the micro
scope, has shown that no really good
bread can be made from flour in which
any large portion of the starch globules
have been thus broken down. The ris
ing of bread is due to the starch glo
bules which remain whole, while the
dust from the disintegrated ones, by
souring, impairs the lightness and sweet
ness of the loaf. It is but recently that
these facts have been made known to
millers, and since that time they have
been discarding their old theories and
machinery and devising improvements
with the view to separating the starch
globules rather than pulverizing them.
Another important advance in this in
dustry consists of an improvement in
belting machines. Until recently the
bran was separated from the flour by a
powerful air-blast, which blows off the
light particles of brau. Considerable
power is required for this process, and,
although it is carried on in a closed
room, there is not only a great waste of
the finer particles of flour, but the im
palpable dust penetrates every part of
the mill, and often gives rise to destnic
tive explosions. By a recent invention,
electricity is made to take the place of
the air-blast. Just over the wire bolt
ing cloth, which has a rapid reciprocal
motion, a number of hard-rubber cylin
ders are kept slowly revolving and nib
bing against strips of sheepskin, by
which a large amount of frictional elec
tricity is evolved. Then as the mid
dlings are sieved by the reciprocal mo
tion, the lighter bran comes to the top,
whence, instead of being blown away
by an air blast, it is attracted to the
electrically-charged cylinders, as light
substances are attracted to a piece of
Eaper or a stick of sealing wax, which
as been smartly rubbed. The removal
of the bran from the rollers and its de
posit on one side are readily effected,
while the flour is carried in another
direction. The separation is thus made
complete, with very little loss or dust.
Still another device has also been in
troduced to remove from the wheat, be
fore being ground, small pieces of iron
which, despite the utmost care, will find
its way into the grain, working great
injury to mill machinery. This trouble
is now remedied by the use of a series of
magnets, directly under which all the
grain is made to pass. These magnets
readily capture all the stray pieces of
iron from the wire bands used in bind
ing; and they have also revealed the
singular fact, that, of the scraps of iron
and steel which find their way into the
grain, fully one-third are something be
side the binging wire. They are of
larger proportions, of varying character,
and much more hurtful to the machinery
than the wire. Thus it is that science
is constantly coming to our aid in all
our varied industries, lightening the
labor of the workman, decreasing the
cost of products, and in every way im
proving all the various processes which
are involved in the improved and con
stantly advancing civilization of the age.
Trade Diseases.
In his address before the British
Medical association, Dr. Arledge classi
fies, under the following heads, the
various causes of disease in the different
trades: First, the evolution of dust;
second, the evolution of unwholesome
vapors and gases; third, materials of an
irritant or poisonous nature acting
through the system or only locally;
fourth, overheated air, whether dry or
laden with moisture; fifth, compressed
air and rarified air; sixth, oxtornal con
ditions acting upon the organs of special
sense; seventh, over-exertion of particu
lar parts of the body; eighth, mechani
cal appliances productive of bodily in
jury. Dr. Arledge pronounces the evo
lution of dust the most widely-spread
source of disease flowing directly from
the labor pursued its presence and ac
tion being observed in all textile fac
tories, in mining, for coaljor metal in
ores, in cutlery manufacture, in cutting
and polishing stone and ivory, in the
process of grinding flour, and likewise
in a large number of the smaller trades.
How (lauibctta Lost His Eye.
The tale that Gambetta, the eminent
French statesman, when a child, volun
tarily put out his right eye in order to
be removed from a seminary which he
abhorred, is pronounced an absurb
fiction. The real facts are that one day
when only eight years old, while look
ing at a cutler boring holes in the
handle of a knife with a drill fastened to
an old broken foil by a piece of catgut,
ihis rude machine gave way bv reason of
too great tension, ana me uroken iou
stmek the right eve of the child with
great force, perforating the cornea
This terrible accident causing him to be
one different from his kind, he was
petted, pampered and spoiled by his
parents, his every whim and fancy in
dulged, and every caprice of his ardent
and violent character allowed free play.
Gilhooly got come up with yesterday,
He had bought a barrel of apples from
Do Smith's grocery, which did not give
satisfaction. "What is the reason
said Gilhooly, indignantly, " that the
further down I go in the apples the
worse they get ?" " The reason for that
is that you didn't open the barrel at the
other end. If you had only done that
the apples would be getting butter all
the time. uaivttton Jbtws,
A FIGHT WITH A BOAR.
Va'n of an Old Hunter Abont a Sa-raire
Tussle In the Woods A Hid that was
vrjr Hard.
A letter from Rockland, N. Y., says
that Peter Stewart, a hunter, at the age
of eighty-six is as vigorous as a
man of eighty. He never tires in re
lating his advonturea with wounded
bear and deer and panther,
one of each of which he had killed
before he was twelve years old. His
favorite story, however, is the one re
counting his fearful fight with a wild
hog in the "Eockland Beech," in 1825.
The writer heard him tell it in his quaint
way on a recent visit to the Beaverville
wilderness. Said Feter:
" The season of 1820, I'm a-thinkin',
laid a leetle over any one they ever was
in producin' beech-nuts. They was so
many nuts on the trees that they wasn't
hardly no room for leaves. When they fell
off on the ground in the fall I'm a-draw-in'
it mild when I tell you that they laid
two inches deep on the level. That Tear
a crazy port of a chap that had made a
clearin' in the beech got it in his head
that they was money in fattenin' pork
that year on the nuts. He calo'lated that
every hog that was turned in the
woods was wuth five dollars more when
it come out than when it went in them.
So he made up his mind that if he put a
thousan' hogs in the beech they'd come
out -with a little fortune o' five thousan'
dollars a-stickin' to their ribs. Well
sir, he goes to work and gethers up
every pig he could buy in the hull
country. I guess he got nigh on to the
number he wanted. He marked 'em
and let 'em loose into the woods. Jest
afore the time come around for gather
in' his pork crop together an awful cold
snap dropped in on the country, and
they was a two days' snow come along
with it. WTien the weather ceased up
the pork speculator went into the beech
to look after his stock. He found it
layin' all around the woods in heaps.
Out o' the lot he turned in he didn't
find morae'n seventy or eighty alive. A
few of em run wild, and if they hadn t
I never would a had the best rassle I
ever had in the woods, and I've had
some good lively matches with b'ars,
wild cats and painters, at that.
"I used to hunt a good deal with
Sam Darbee, whose father come into the
wilderness soon after mine did. Sam
was one o' the best woodsmen I ever see
and wa'n't afeerd o' nothin'. Along early
in the winter o 1825 me and him was
out in the beech on a b'ar hunt. We'd
settled three or four b'ar and hung up a
nnmber o' deer, and war thinkin' about
gittin' back to the cabin, when Sam
yelled at me from a holler off to the
left o' where I was standin' to come
there an' see what kind o' tracks them
was he d found in the snow, i went
over to see the tracks, but I couldn't
make out what they had been made by.
They wa'n't deer tracks, certain, an
they couldn't be sheep tracks, 'cause
they wa'n't a sheep within forty mile.
All to once it struck me what they was,
an' I says to Sam that I'd bet them
tracks was made by some o' the progeeny
o' them hogs that the speculator o' 1820
had left over. V e put the dogs on the
track, an' I'm blowed if we didn't foller
it fer two days without seein' anything
o the animal as made it. we could
find now an' then a place where the hog
had rooted up a place, an' where be had
wallered once in a while. An' the third
day I was jest on the point o' givin' up
the race when all oi a suddint one o tne
biggest boars I ever see jumped out
of a bunch o laurel, ms brusseis stood
up on his back more'n six inches per-
Eendic'lar, and his tushes stuck up on
oth sides o' his snout like spare ribs
sharpened on one end. The minute he
see me an' the dog he begun to chomp
an' froth at the month as if he was eatin'
soap. I guess he must a been more'n
three foot high. An uglier-lookin' beast
never stood before anybody. The dog
were good crit, an' he didn't lose no
time, but buckled right on to the boar.
Nor the boar didn't lose no time neither,
for he jest met the dog half way, gave
one lunge at him and ripped him open
like a buzz-saw goin through a hemlock
log. He tossed the dog more'n ten
feet off into the laurels and then waited
fur me.
" Think, says I, I guess I don t want
to keep no coinp'ny with the dog just
now, so 1 11 try the virtue of a leetlo cold
lead on the old cuss's hide. I give him
the slugs, but I guess they glanced oirn
bin shoulder like water slips on n a
duck's back, for they didn't faze him a
bit. The noise o the gun kind of
skeert him, though, an' he turned an'
made off' into the swamp. Darbee came
up when he hecred the gun, an' we
started on after the boar. Wo come
onto it afore we know'd it. He didn't
wait for us to git in on him, but made
for us nght away, a gittin rid o the all
firedist snorts anybody ever listened Jo.
Darbee was in front o' me. The boar
dashed plumb atwixt his legs and
tumbled him into the laurols 'fore Sam
scarcely know'd what was up. He'd a
ripped Sam as clean-cut as he did the
dog in another second, but I jumped
ahead and fotchod the hog a fearful kick
behind. Sam was in such a position
that I didn't dare to shoot for fear o'
hittin' him. The boar turned on mo
when I kicked him and I Bpmngou ono
side. He tore past me an' before he
could turn and get at mo I give him a
ball. It hit him in tho fore-shoulder
an he droppod. Ho was up agin and
come for me in less th'n no time. He
come cn throe legs, though. The ball
had broko the other one. The blood
was runnin' from the wound liko sap
out'n a maple, an' I know'd it were only
a question o time with the tough crit
ter. The froth that came out'n Lis
ft
mouth was Btreaked with rod. Darbee
had got on his feet and jumped between
me an' the boar an' give it a thundoidn
whack 'twixt the eyes with his huntin
axe. That whack would have floored
an ox, but it never even staggered that
boar. On he came and give a lunge at
Sam that I thought was a finisher, an'
I had to shot my eyes. But it missed
Sam's flesh by a quarter of an inch. The
tush struck the bottom o' Sam's cordu
roy pants and ripped that leg clean to
the waist better'n you could a done it
with a knife.
"Now things begun to get lively.
Sam's gun laid off in the laurels, where
he had dropped it when the boar
knocked him over. My rifle was empty
and I hadn't no time to load it. I
dropped my gun and ran to get Sam's
to give the boar another Bhot. I jumped
in the laurels. The bonr kept right on
after me, and 'fore I could find the gun
was straight on me. I sunk my huntin'
k"nife in the boar's shoulder up to the
hut and hollered to Sam to load my nfle
quick while I was keepin' the hog busy.
I kep' a diggin' away into the boar
wherever I could find a place, and he
staid right by me. By the time Sam
loaded up and got to my aid I hadn't
but a few rags left on me, an the boar
had got his tusks in on me in a way that
sliced me nppooty.bad. If Fd been
al hog ope that would a stopped all
future huntin' expeditions o' mine.
When Sam came up agin he was afeerd
to shoot, an so went to hackin the boar
with his ax. That turned him agin on
Sam. Sam mn back and grabbed my
gun. AMien he got the boar right be
gave him a ball in the other fore-shoul
der. That dropped hun. He tned hard
to get up, and tore the ground up and
frothed and hollered in a way that
would a skeert an army of Logins to
death. By-an'-bye he weakened and
Sam cut his throat. He lived nearly an
hour after that. I never went a boar-
huntin' agin, I kin tell you. I made up
my mind to give my attention to Bich
common game as painters, b'ar and
wolves in the future. I didn't git over
that hunt for two weeks, and I've got
the Bears o' that boar's tushes on me
yit."
Eggs as Food.
Eggs are an article of cheap and nu
tritious food which we do not find on
farmers' tables in the quantity economy
demands. They are very convenient to
take to market, and this is the disposi
tion which too many farmers make of
them. They probably do not compre
hend how valuable eggs are as food;
that, like milkman egg is a complete
food in itself, containing everything
necessary for the development of a pe"
feet animal, as is manifest from the fact
that a chick is fonned from it. It seems
a mystery how muscles, bones, feathers
and everything that a chick requires for
its perfect development are made from
the yolk and white of an egg; but such
is the fact, and it shows how complete
a food an egg is. It is also easily di
gested, if not damaged in cooking. A
raw or soft boiled egg is always as easily
assimilated as is milk, and can be eaten
with impunity by children and invalids.
The aveiage egg weighs a thousand
grains, and is worth more as food than
so much beefsteak. Indeed, there is
no more concentrated and nourishing
food than eggs. The albumen, oil and
saline matter are, as in milk, in the
right proportion for sustaining animal
life. When eggs bring no core than
twenty cents per dozen, it is much bet
ter economv to find a market for them
in the family than at the store. Two
or three boiled eggs, with the addition
of a slice or two of toast, will make a
breakfast sufficient for a man, and good
enough for a king.
An ordinary hen's egg weighs from
one and a half to two ounces, a duck's
egg from two to threo ounces, the egg
of the sea-gull and the turkey from
three to four ounces, and the egg of a
goose from four to six ounces. The
solid matter and the oil in the duck's
egg exceed those in a hen's egg by about
one-fourth. According to Dr. Edward
Smith, in his treatise on "Foods," an
egg weighing an ounce and three-quarters
consists of 120 grains of carbon, and
eighteen and three-quarter grains of
nitrogen, or 15.25 per cent, of carbon,
and two per cent, of nitrogen. A writer
in tho Scitmtijto Fitrmur estimates that
the value of one pound of eggs, as food
for sustaining the active forces of the
body, is to tho value of ono pound of
lean beef as 1581 to D'.H). As a flesh
producer, one pound of eggs is about
equal to one pound of beef.
A hen may bo calculated to consume
one bushel of corn yearly, and to lay
ten dozen or fifteen pounds of eggs.
This is equivalent to saying that three
and one-tenth pounds of com will pro-,
duce, when fed to a hen, five-sixths of a
pound of eggs. But five-sixths of a
pound of pork requires about five
pounds of corn for its production.
When eggs are one shilling per dozen,
and pork five ponce per pound, we have
a bushel of corn fed, producing ten
shillings worth of eggs and four shil
lings of pork. Judging from thee facts,
eggs must be economical iu their pro
duction and in their eating, and espe
cially fit for tho laboring man iu replac
ing meat. J'rovisioncr.
A little girl in Belfast, Me., recently
dropped her doll and broke its arm. Tho
doll was a favorite one, and tho accident
was to tho child a calamity of the
severest nature. Tho tears btarted, Hie
little lips were trembling with grief,
when a bright thought struck her. With
a beaming face she exclaimed: "Papa,
I don't know as I care, alter all. Per-
j haps it will be put in the paper."