AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
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1 1 1 * ■ ■. ^„.. | r — ' _!A1 1 1,1 . ! — 
pains to draw the manure from the yard and 
from the sheds in equal quantities—though 
he said he did not think it was hardly fair, 
for in the yard manure he had to cart off a 
large quantity of water, making—if there 
were no other difference—a sheltered load 
worth one-third more than an unsheltered 
one. (This was the first idea that really hit 
him on the subject. He saw he could save 
the cost of a simple shed, just in the expense 
of cartage.) Both kinds were treated in the 
same manner—the crops were sowed and 
cultivated the same ; but he did not need to 
wait until harvest to decide that he would 
shelter his manure, hereafter. 
Where the sheltered manure was applied, 
the corn and barley came up first; and they 
kept ahead all the season. The cut-worm 
worked less in the corn, and the barley 
seemed to escape all injury from insects— 
though that part to which the yard manure 
was applied, suffered from the Hessian fly to 
a small extent. The difference in the two 
was very plainly marked, and at harvest it 
was estimated that the shed manured land 
gave a crop one-third greatest. 
Now our friend has erected two manure 
sheds. One covers the dung heap from his 
horse stable, the other is intended to con¬ 
tain that from his cattle stalls, and the ma¬ 
jor part of the yard droppings,gathered from 
day to day. Some time, we doubt not, he 
will go into manure cellars, and stables for 
all his stock; but this move is a creditable 
one, and in the right direction. He will also 
learn the benefit of muck as a material for 
cheaply increasing his stock of manure, and 
then we shall see a shed for that, to be used 
as an absorbent of the liquid—now, some¬ 
thing stronger than rainwater, and worth 
saving and cartage. 
His sheds are simple and cheap affairs.— 
Crotched posts are set for the front, the back 
is the barnyard fence—one shed is covered 
with boards—the other with poles and straw. 
We expect to hear more of their success or 
failure hereafter. That other improvements 
will follow, is very sure ; for a good exam¬ 
ple, specially if a man sets it himself, is cer¬ 
tain of influence on those who see it.—Rural 
New-Yorker. 
MILK FOB CEEDKEN, 
There is much force in the reasoning of 
Dr. Heckerman, of Tiffany, Ohio, in regard 
to the unfitness of the milk of breeding cows 
for children. It is the generally received 
opinion of physicians that under certain con¬ 
ditions of the mother infants should be weaned 
without delay. But the great proportion of 
milk from cows is liable to the same objec¬ 
tions. It was found by the chemist Lasigne 
that the milk drawn from cows for sometime 
previous to calving was devoid of caseine, 
milk-sugar and lactic acid, but abounded in 
albumen and uncombined soda; while after 
parturition the first three substances were 
found in due proportions and the albumen 
was absent. 
May we not attribute to this cause much 
of the mortality among children ? The rem¬ 
edy is simple. Letchildr’en be fed onlyupon 
the milk of farrow cows, or of those which 
have been spayed. 
SOMETHING FOB THE BOYS. 
“A boy”—who gets up as good a letter as 
many men— writes us that he has sent a 
large number of subscribers to the American 
Agriculturist, and means to send several 
new ones to begin the year ; and he wants 
to know why we do not have a “ Boys’ Col¬ 
umn.” We are much obliged to him, and to 
several other boys who have, from time to 
time, taken a copy as a specimen and 
gone around and procured a list of new 
names for the Agriculturist. We hope many 
will do so now to begin this new year with. 
Boys can do a good deal in this way. W T e 
got up a large list, when a boy, for Judge 
Buel’s agricultural paper, and this was our 
first business as a “ newspaper man.” 
But how about that question! We will 
tell you, boys. W T e think almost all our ar¬ 
ticles in this paper are plain enough for boys, 
and just as appropriate for them as for men; 
and we do not quite like to make up a column 
of “ small talk"—as much as to say, “ Here, 
boys, is something for you—the rest is for 
grown-up folks.” We want you to read the 
whole paper. We have, however, a good 
story to tell you, which is especially appli¬ 
cable to those now forming habits for after 
life. Though you may not follow the same 
pursuit as Joseph, the economical and indus¬ 
trious habits, and the scrupulous honesty 
that led him to a high station and success in 
life, will do the same for you, whether you 
are farmers or follow any other occupation. 
Here is the story of 
A PENNY. 
Thirty years ago there was seen to enter 
the city of London, a lad about fourteen 
years of age. He was dressed in a dark 
smock-frock, that hid all his under apparel, 
and which appeared to have been made for 
a person evidently taller than the wearer. 
His boots were covered with dust from the 
high road. He had an old hat with a black 
band, which contrasted strangely with the 
covering of his head. A small bundle, fas¬ 
tened to the end of a stick and thrown over 
his shoulder, was the whole of his equip¬ 
ment. As he approached the Mansion House 
he paused to look at t he building, and seat¬ 
ing himself on the steps of one of the doors, 
he was about to rest himself; but the com¬ 
ing in and going out of half a dozen persons 
before he had time to finish untying his bun¬ 
dle, made him leave that spot for the open 
space, where the doors were in part closed. 
Having taken from the bundle a large 
quantity of bread and cheese, which he 
seemed to eat with a ravenous appetite, he 
amused himself with all the eager curiosity 
of one unaccustomed to see similar sights. 
The appearance of the youth soon at¬ 
tracted my curiosity, and gently opening the 
door, I stood behind him without his being 
in the least conscious of my presence. He 
now began rumaging his pockets, and, after 
a great deal of trouble, brought out a roll of 
paper, which he opened. After satisfying 
himself that a large copper coin was safe,he 
carefully put it back again, saying to him¬ 
self, in a low tone, “ Mother, I will remem¬ 
ber your last words : “ a penny saved is 
two-pence earned.” It shall go hard with 
me before I part with you, old friend.” 
Pleased with this remark, I gently touched 
the lad on the shoulder. He started, and 
was about to move away, when I said : 
“My good lad, you seem tired, and like¬ 
wise a stranger in the city.” 
“ Yes, sir,” he answered, putting his hand 
to his hat. He was again about to move 
forward. 
“ You need not hurry away, my boy,” I 
observed. “ Indeed, if you are a stranger, 
and willing to work, I can perhaps help you 
to get what you require.” 
The boy stood mute with astonishment, 
and coloring to such an extent as to show all 
the freckles of a sunburnt face, stammered 
out, 
“ Yes, sir.” 
“ I wish to know,” I added, with all the 
kindness ofmannerlcould assume, “ wheth¬ 
er you are anxious to find work, for I want 
a youth to assist my coachman.” 
The poor land twisted and twirled his 
bundle about, and after only placing his hand 
to his head, managed to utter an awkward 
answer, and said he would be very thankful. 
I mentioned not a word about what I had 
overheard with regard to the penny, but in¬ 
viting him into the house. 1 sent for the coach¬ 
man, to whose care, T entrusted the new 
comer. 
Nearly a month had passed after this 
meeting and conversation had occurred, 
when I resolved to make some inquiries of 
the coachman, regarding the conduct of the 
lad. 
“ A better boy never came into the house, 
sir; and as for wasting anything, bless me, 
sir, I know not where he has been brought 
up, but I really believe he would consider it 
a sin if he did not give the crumbs of bread 
to the birds every morning.” 
“ I am glad to hear so good an account,” 
I replied. 
“ And as for his good nature, Sir, there is 
not a servant among us that doesn’t speak 
well of Joseph. He reads to us while we 
sup, and he writes all our letters for us. Oh, 
sir, he has got more learning than all of us 
put together; and what’s more, he doesn’t 
mind work, and never talks about our secrets 
after he writes our letters.” 
Determined to see Joseph myself, I re¬ 
quested the coachman to send him to the 
parlor. 
“ l understand Joseph, that you can read 
and write.” 
“Yes, sir, thanks to my poor dead mother.” 
“ You have lately lost your mother, then?” 
“ A month that very day when you were 
kind enough to take me into your house, an 
unprotected orphan,” answered Joseph. 
“ Where did you go to school ?” 
“ Sir, my mother has been a widow ever 
since I can remember. She was the daugh¬ 
ter of the village schoolmaster, and having 
to maintain me and herself with her needle, 
she took the opportunity of her leisure mo¬ 
ments to teach me not only how to read and 
write, but to cast up accounts.” 
“ And did she give you that penny which 
I saw you unroll so carefully at the door.” 
