California Agriculturist 



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E^m-wm e'x'ooK JOuri^Ei'Ai* 



Vol. 7~No. 2. 



SAN JOSE, CAL., FEBI^UARY, 1876. 



JSpBECRiPTiON Price, $1.50 a Year. 

 X Single Copies, 15 C'«nts. 



A Valentine. 



Oh, little loveliest lady mine, 



Wbat shall I send for your valentine? 



Summer and flowers are far away: 



Gloomy old Winter is kin^ to-day. 



Bnds will not blow and eun will not shine; 



What shall I do for a valentine? 



Prithee, St. Valentine, tell me here. 

 Why do you come at this time o' year? 

 Plenty of days when lilies are white; 

 Plenty of days when sunbeams are bright. 

 But now, when everything's dark and drear, 

 Why do you come, St. Valentine dear? 



I've searched the garden through and through. 



For a bud to tell of my love so true; 



But buds were asleep and blossoms were dead, 



And the falling snow came down on my head. 



So, little loveliest lady mine. 



Here is my heart for your valentine! 



— [St. Nicholas. 



RALPH'S VALEN- 

 TINE. 



A Story .as Aunt Abby Told It. 



BT NELL TAN. 



One rainy February day Dr. Pember- 

 ton's children, witli their cousin George, 

 were all gathered around the dining-room 

 table preparing valentines for the ap- 

 proaching festivity of St. Valentine. No 

 one could excel Cousin George, so the 

 young folks thought, in the making of 

 comic valentines. He had the faculty of 

 producing burlesque likenesses of any 

 one he knew, with bodies of birds or 

 or beasts arranged in the most killing 

 positions, and causing the most intense 

 satisfaction among the j'oung folks, 

 ■while Bertha selected suitable verses 

 from a book of promiscuous poems. The 

 sedate Arthur was arranging sentimental 

 valentines of gilt and perforated paper, 

 profusely ornamented with decalcomanie 

 birds and flowers and tinted tissue paper 

 trimming. They were having a most de- 

 hghtful time, when, as is often the case, 

 an altercation arose between the younger 

 ones because George could not draw fast 

 enough for Susy and Jane to color, and 

 Tom declared it was his turn to have the 

 iif'xt to paint, and so on, when A.nnt 

 \l'liy stepped in to quell the tumult. 

 She was a kind, motherly soul, with- 

 lit kith or kin in the world, but known 

 -rywhere as Aunt .\bby. Whenever 

 li 'If was a murmur of discontent among 

 ilir children. Aunt Abby invariably ap- 

 !" iiihI upon the scene and took her sta- 

 I n by the fireside with her everlasting 

 viiitting-work, and before she was aware 

 1 it she would be telling a story of by- 

 ■ 'ur days to the listening crowd. 



"Flutter, flutter! what's the buzz now 

 mil' folks?" said she, cheerily, as she 

 iit'-red the room just as Arthur was try- 

 u^ to pacify the youngsters. " What's 

 ,'omg on here, with all these picters and 

 lapers? Makin' valentines, do ye say? 

 Well, well, when I was yoiing" — 



"Yes. that's right, .\unt Abby," said 



■usy, brightening up, for well she knew 



hose to be the words used to preface a 



itory. 



"Yes, a story!" cried another of the 



Ijl ^o"P- 



[ " We'll be good if you'll tell us one," 

 I :iid little Jane, qiiite penitently. Aunt 

 I il.by replied: 



" Well, I was jest savin', when I was 

 young we never had nothiu' of that sort 

 for valentines. Real flesh and blood 

 valentines were none too good for us in 

 them days. On the mornin' of the 

 fourteenth of February up we would 

 jump and peep out the window, for the 

 first lad we clapped eyes upon was to be 

 our valentine for the year; and though 

 we felt a little shy about naming it, yet 

 somehow or other 'twas sure to come 

 out, and there was no end to the fun we 

 had at the spellin' match, quiltin' bee, 

 or any of the frolics where we young 

 folks were sure to meet." 



" And was it the same rule for the 

 boys, Aunt Abby?" adding "for in these 

 days a fellow might watch out for half a 

 day and never see a girl go past" 



"Lor' bless you, no, child," saidAunt 

 Abby. "The lads had much the best 

 chance to choose their valentines. They 

 used to go about the town, peeping up at 

 the chamber windows of the gals thej- 

 knew, or into open doors, a'most sure to 

 see somebody they was lookin' for; and 

 it was droll to see how gallant they'd 

 be to the gal of their choice, or ill-man- 

 nered and rude if the wrong one ap- 

 peared first." 



' ' How well I mind the year that Mas- 

 ter Ralph, then a lad of fourteen, passed 

 the Winter at his Cousin Susan's house 

 in Amherst. He had been left an orphan 

 when a little boy, but was a prime favor- 

 ite among his folks. He was always a 

 studious lad, and so old-fashioned in 

 his talk and ways that it was curious to 

 watch and listen to him. There was 

 quite a tumult in the house on Valen- 

 tine's day mornin' that year, owin' to 

 the arrival, durin' the night, of a first 

 baby to Miss Susan, as I always called 

 her. You see, when but a slip of a gal, 

 I had gone to live at Miss Susan's moth- 

 er's house, and after Miss Susan got 

 married to a Colton, who was second 

 cousin to my brother's wife's uncle, X 

 became Aunt Abby to the hull tribe. 

 About this time Brother Tom was took 

 with the janders and died, leavin' me 

 alone in the world, for his wife, Polly 

 -Ann, died of grief afore the year was 

 out; so you see nothin' was left for me 

 but to go out nursin'. I did amazin' 

 well, and brought three families safely 

 through the measles and mumps, and no 

 end to the cases of chicken-pox and can- 

 ker rash I was called in to tend. Well, 

 I was with Miss Susan (Mrs. Colton, I 

 should say) with this iirst baby, and as 

 I was going down to breakfast that first 

 mornin', who should I meet on the 

 stairs but Ralph. He had heard the 

 news, and seemed proper glad, and 

 mighty anxious to take a peep at the lit- 

 tle stranger. 



" 'Mayn't I see Cousin Susan and the 

 babj'. Aunt Abby?' says he to me. 



"'Well, yes,' says I, 'certiugly; you 

 can walk right in and I'll show you the 

 purty creatur. ' 



"How softly he stepped in! and after 

 sayin' good mornin' to his Cousin Susan, 

 he watched me pick up the little mite of 

 a baby from its mother's side and lay it 

 across my knee in front of the fire. 

 " 'Oh,' said he, ' what tinv fingers 



and finger-nails, too!' Then comparing 

 the length of the little hand with his 

 own brown one, he said, ' Do you think 

 mine were ever so small as these?' 



"Then I uncovered the feet, and such 

 a time as he made over the funny little 

 toes, and he measured the length of its 

 foot with his fingers, sayin', in his quaint 

 fashion, ' Well, there will be a wife for 

 somebody, eh, .Aunt Abby?' 



" 'Who's your valentine to-day, 

 Ralph?' asked his cousin, from the 

 bed. 



"'Why,' said the lad, 'I had not 

 thought of that. This young lady here 

 is the first one I've seen to-da.v. She 

 must be my valentine this year, and I'll 

 take a kiss to seal the compact;' so, 

 pressing his lips to the soft baby cheek, 

 he said, ' Y'ou'U be my valentine, eh. 

 baby? silence gives consent, yon see,' 

 and with a murmur of applause from 

 baby's mamma, Ralph kissed his hand 

 to her, said ' bye-bye' to baby and was 

 gone. 



"Well, as the years passed on I was at 

 Mrs. Colton 's off and on, till that pretty 

 baby had grown into a blooming lass, with 

 dark, curling hair and eyes like night. 

 They named her Clarindy, and she was 

 right smart with the six younger broth- 

 ers and sisters, who gave their mother a 

 sight of trouble. The year that Clarindy 

 was sixteen, the measles broke out 

 among the children, followed by the 

 whoopin'-cough, and nothin' would do 

 but that Aunt .Abb}- must be sent for to 

 carry them through. Besides, Clarindy 

 had a beau, and folks said she was to be 

 married in the Spring. True, he was 

 a'most double her age, bein' close on to 

 thirty, and a medical man, having gone 

 through his studies, graduated and trav- 

 eled some, but come to Amherst to settle 

 into practice. I never mistrusted who 

 the Doctor, as they called him, was, till 

 one day I chanced to open the door for 

 bim, and there stood before me, as nat- 

 'ral as life. Master Ralph ! only the bits 

 of whisker half-way down his cheeks 

 made him appear more manly looking. 

 His eyes Ut up when he see me and he 

 said : 



" 'Why .\unt -A.bby, are you here? Do 

 you remember me?' 



" 'Indeed I do. Master Ralph,' says I, 

 with clear wonderment. 



" 'Is Clara in?' he asked; and says I 

 to him, ' Well, yes; she's fixin' to go 

 ridin' with' — — 



"Before I could say more one of the 

 young ones came out, and seeing who it 

 was, sung out, ' The doctor's come! The 

 doctor's come! Now mayn't I ask him to 

 let me go too?' 



".\nd this, then, was Clarindy's lover; 

 the same boy, Ralph, grown into a han'- 

 som' doctor, a goin' to claim for his wife 

 the valentine of his boyhood! Oh, chil- 

 dren, truth is stranger than fiction every 

 time." 



"Tell us more," said little Jane. 



"What became of them?" asked se- 

 date Bertha. 



"Do tell us more, dear Aunt Abby," 

 said Susie, with enthusiasm. 



"Well, children," slowly resumed 

 Aunt .\bby, " the last time I see any of 



the doctor's family was one rainy day in 

 February, when I stepped in to quiet 

 the children, who were skirmishin' over 

 the makin' of valentines." 



"Just like rae, " said little Xane. 



"So," continued the old lady, "I 

 dropped into a chair with my kuittin' 

 work and set out to tell them of bygone 

 days and the true story of Dr. Ralph 

 Pemberton's valentine." 



"Oh, that's a good one, " said George. 

 " I knew all along it was Uncle Ralph 

 and .\unt Clara you were telling about." 



"Was it Papa and Mamma, really, 

 truly. Aunt Abby?" asked little Jane, 

 while Bertha and Sue uttered little ex- 

 clamations of surprise. 



"Of course it's true, simpleton," spoke 

 Arthur. "Don't 3-ou know Mamma's 

 birthday is on St. Valentine's day, and 

 her name is Clara while Pa's is Ralph?" 



"Why no," said the persistent little 

 Jane; " Papa is only Pa and Doctor, and 

 Mamma is — well. Papa calls her Dearj- 

 and we call her Mamma, you know." 



FAVORABLE NOTICES. 



We arc under obligations to the local 

 press generally over the State for many 

 flattering notices of our new volume. 

 We make room for but one this month, 

 and give that because it comes wholly 

 unexpected from one of our home papers. 

 We value the notice all the more highly 

 for, as a general rule, there is a sort of 

 jealousy existing between papers pub- 

 lished in the same town, Avhich prevents 

 the expression of a good will. But the 

 Patriot, under its present management, is 

 able to be independent of and above petty 

 meaness, and is conducted in a manner 

 to gain the respect and confidence of its 

 readers. 



" The CiLIFOBXLi AoEICULTrTilST. — 



The first number of the seventh vol- 

 ume of this magnificent periodical is be- 

 fore us, and we are proud of it. The 

 Caliioksia Agricultukist akd Lh-e 

 Stock JonnsAL, to use its proper title, is 

 a publication which reflects honor on the 

 taste, intellect and progressive spirit of 

 San Jose. It is a magazine, no more of 

 the special interests indicated by its 

 name, than a journal of general art, 

 knowledge, literature and fine miscella- 

 ny. Thus, in the splendid number on 

 our table we find, besides a variety of 

 able editorials, whole departments well 

 filled with essays on many important 

 subjects, such as gardening, hygiene, 

 stock rasing, education, pisciculture, etc. 

 .A history of the State Normal School 

 (with illustrations) will be found, to- 

 gether with a week's reading of the most 

 interesting matter for old and young, 

 for the farmer, artisan, scholar, house- 

 keeper; in fact it is a magazine for every- 

 bodj', and better worth the subscription 

 price — $1.50 — than any similar work in 

 the country. Office over the San Jose 

 Savings Bank. — San Jose Patriot, Jan.lS. 



Stose jars which have become offen- 

 sive and unfit for use, may be rendered 

 perfectly sweet by packing them full of 

 earth and letting them stand two or three 

 weeks. 



