86 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
[March, 
Why Don’t the Butter Come ? 
A correspondent of the Agriculturist writes that: 
“at times, particularly in Winter,great difficulty is 
experienced in bringing the butter. Sometimes 
the cream requires one or two hours’ churning, and 
occasionally the butter appears in small.globules, 
but can not be made to gather.” The trouble prob¬ 
ably arises from not having the cream at the right 
temperature when the, churning is commenced. It 
should be at from 50“ to 55° Fahrenheit. If lower 
than this, only a few of the minute sacs containing 
the butter will be broken, and the oily matter will 
coat over the remaining ones, forming the globules 
noticed by our correspondent. Try the cream with 
a thermometer before churning, and if too cool, 
sot the cream vessel in hot water, until the proper 
heat is attained. If the cream be made too warm, the 
small sacs containing the butter break very easily, 
and the oily particles run together, making grease; 
in this case also, much butter will be lost, as the 
contents of the sacs first broken, will envelop the 
remaining ones, and many of them will not be rup- 
t urod. A correspondent, “ Mary,” at Harrisouvilie, 
Me., gives the following suggestion on the same 
subject: “ In cold weather a double cream forms 
upon milk ; the top layer thick and tough, with a 
thin stratum underneath. It is not fit to be churned 
in this condition; the butter will not come. Nei¬ 
ther should it be mixed with sour cream which may 
be ready for ehurniug. If I want to use such milk, 
I always place the cream in a separate vessel, and if 
needed to make out the churning, it is set near the 
lire, where it will sour qruckly. When it is all thick¬ 
ened, it can be churned with the other cream.” 
Washing Comforters. 
Mrs. Margaret R. Ball, Rush Co., Ind., writes to 
the American Agriculturist as follows: “ Having 
noticed the statement that cotton comforters for 
bed clothing are not healthful, especially on account 
of the difficulty of cleansing them, I give my plan: 
First make them light enough to be quilted with a 
long needle. At any time they may need washing, 
but especially in Spring, spread them out on the^ 
grass before a heavy rain, and when thoroughly 
drenched, hang them on a line until dry. Then by 
beating them with a light rod, as a rattan, they may 
be made as light-and pliable as ever.” [It will re¬ 
quire a very heavy shower to wash a comforter 
much soiled. Mrs. B. may intend to recommend 
to wash them first, and spread out afterwards. 
The whipping or beating will doubtless aid in mak¬ 
ing them more light and pliable. Comforters filled 
with cotton, are out of the question, however, at 
the present price of that article. We shall have to 
raise more sheep, and use woolen blankets.— Ed.] 
The Clothes-Wringer a Good Thing. 
We can not too frequently speak of the value of 
the modern household implement known as the 
the Clothes-Wringer. From several years’experi¬ 
ence with it in our own family, from the testimony 
of hundreds who have used it, and from the con¬ 
struction of the implement itself, we feel certain 
that it is worthy a place in every family where the 
washing is done at home. It is set upon any wash- 
tub, no matter what its form, and then by turning 
the crank with the right hand, and picking up the 
wet garments with the other hand, they are quickly 
passed through, and drop out into a basket, quite as 
dry as when twisted in the hands. The garments 
pass between two India rubber rollers which set 
close together, but which yield at different points, 
as needed, so as to squeeze the water out of the 
smallest pocket-handkerchief, or the largest gar¬ 
ment. The fibers are not twisted and wrenched as 
in hand wringing, but are simply pressed between 
the yielding rubber, the water falling back into the 
tub. A child can readily wring out a tubful of 
clothes in a few minutes. It is in reality a clothes 
saver, a time saver, and a strength saver. The sav¬ 
ing of garments will alone pay a large percentage 
on its cost. We think the machine much more than 
pays for itself every year, in the saving of garments. 
There are several good kinds, nearly alike in gener¬ 
al construction, but we consider it important that 
the wringer be fitted with cogs, so that they shall 
both turn invariably together, otherwise a mass of 
garments may clog the rollers, and the roller upon 
the crank slip and tear the fibers. The cogs of the 
wheels should be long enough to fit into each other 
when the rollers are pressed apart by large garments. 
Our own is oue of the first made by the Metropoli¬ 
tan Washing Machine Company, Middlefield, Conn., 
audit is as good as new, after nearly four years’ con¬ 
stant use. They have introduced many improve¬ 
ments since ours was made. We have given away 
several hundreds as premiums, (see premium No. 2, 
in our list), and shall be ready to furnish others 
in the same way, whenever desired. We have a con¬ 
tract, under which this premium will be continued 
for some time, whether the others are or not. 
To Prevent Woolens Shrinking. 
A correspondent, “M. B. E-.,” objects to the plan 
for drying stockings, by stretching them upon 
blocks shaped to receive them, published in a 
former number of the Agriculturist. Though it 
would prevent their shrinking, she thinks it would 
be too troublesome in a large family. She recom¬ 
mends the following plan : In doubling the stock¬ 
ing up to wring it, fold it at the heel, and lay the 
foot upon the leg. Then roll it tight, and wring it 
cross-wise. The same method is recommended by 
another housekeeper, H. A. Ingersoll, and we 
think there must be something in it. The latter 
lady writes, that in washing woolen fabrics, they 
should be put into very hot water, which may be 
allowed to cool until the hands can be borne in it. 
In changing the water for rinsing, be careful to 
have it several degrees hotter than that from which 
the articles were last taken. This will in some 
measure prevent fulling or shrinking. 
Tim Bunker on the Farmer’s Old Age. 
“ Sallie Bunker Slocum, is the baby’s name,” said 
Mrs. Bunker, as she took off her spectacles and laid 
down the letter from Shadtown,-which I had just 
brought in from the Post Office. 
“I like the name well enough, excepit the spell¬ 
ing of it” she continued. “Sally was my mother’s 
name, it is my name, and my daughter’s, and if they 
wanted to keep up the name in the family, I don’t 
see why they didn’t spell it in the old way. If I 
set out to do a thing, I would do it right.” 
“ I suppose it is a little more genteel,” I replied. 
“That is the way they spell it among the aristo¬ 
cratic families of the South.” 
“That is just what I don’t like,” said she. “It 
is a miserable affectation of women who read nov¬ 
els more than they do their bibles. We have no 
aristocracy up here, aud judging from what I saw 
when I was down South, I never want to see any. 
Isn’t this wretched war carried on to bolster up an 
aristocracy, and that a few families may live in idle¬ 
ness at the expense of the poor ? I don’t want to 
see any aristocratic trumpery on my grand-children. 
Sallie won’t look well on a grave stone.” 
“What does Sally write about it?” I asked. 
“Not a word about the spelling. She seems to 
think it is all the same. She writ es: ‘ We carried the 
baby out to meeting for the first time last Sabbath, 
and it was baptized Sallie Bunker. We never 
thought of calling her any thing else, out of regard 
to you and grandmother, though we did not tell 
you at the time you were here, lest you should be 
too much puffed up with your honors. She is a 
nice child, and little Timothy thinks a world of her.’ 
That is all she says about it. I shall write her im¬ 
mediately,” said Mrs. Bunker, with emphasis, “ that 
my name is not Sallie .” 
Now we do not always agree on small points, but 
on the larger matter of having grand-children, we 
see pretty much alike. It is oue of the greatest 
comforts of old age to have children’s children 
around us, to cheer us while we live, and to bear 
our names and to take our places when we are gone. 
We can hardly have too many of them, and I shall 
not be very particular whether their names have a 
letter more or less, if we only have the children. 
This is a matter of considerable solicitude, not 
only here in ITookertown, but in a great many 
farming towns around us. The present generation 
is getting pretty well along in life, and we do not 
know who is going to take our places. You would 
be surprised to sec how few young men there are 
in the meeting-house on Sunday. The men who 
sit at the head of the pews are almost all gray hair¬ 
ed, and some of them are about as white as snow. 
It looks a great deal worse than it did a year ago, 
before so many went off to the war. Uncle Jo- 
tliam Sparrowgrass has no son to take his place, 
and Seth Twiggs, Jake Frink and myself have boys 
in the army, and a dozen more went from our parish. 
It is about an even chance, whether we ever see 
many of them again. The war bids fair to be a long 
one, and what the bullets don’t kill, the hospital 
will be likely to finish. But then we ain’t sorry the 
boys have gone, and if they don’t comeback,we 
are going ourselves, if the rebellion is not crushed. 
It is pretty certain that our farms wont be worth 
much to ourselves, or to our grandchildren, if Jeff. 
Davis is going to rule. It is the old battle of des-. 
potism and liberty, and we are bound to see it 
through, whatever may be the cost. 
We have got things fixed up pretty comfortable, 
and it will be pretty hard to go off aud leave them, 
but we might say that, I suppose, when we start on 
a longer journey. We can’t expect to stay here 
forever, and a few years more or less won’t make 
any particular difference with us, when w'C get into 
the promised land. Most of us here in Hooker- 
town have kept old age in view for a good many 
years, and I guess we are about as comfortable and 
jolly a set of old people as yon will find among your 
hundred thousand readers. We have most of us 
got good houses that keep us just as comfortable 
and entertain our friends as welh as a house that 
rents in the city for a thousand dollars or more. 
We are as independent as woodchoppers, on fuel, 
for if coal runs up to ten dollars a ton, as it has this 
winter, we can say to the coal merchant, “No you 
don’t Mr.” and turn to the wood-pile. We have 
been using coal for several years, because it was 
cheaper thafa it was to hire labor, and chop and cart 
the wood. But there isn’t a man of us but has a 
good wood lot, and I guess there is more wood in 
this town than there was fifty years ago. It is a 
great consolation to know where your fuel can come 
from, in case of a pinch. And then in case the 
house or barn wants repairs it is mighty conve¬ 
nient to know that you have a living lumber yard 
close by, where every shingle, plank, and timber 
you need, is on hand. Twenty acres of woodland 
that you have watched the growth of for forty years 
or more, is about as good as any baulc stock I know 
of. I suppose I could sell the timber on any acre 
of mine for two hundred dollars, to say nothing of 
the fuel. That same land only cost me seventeen 
dollars an acre. Perhaps some folks who are in 
such a mighty hurry to cut off their forests, might 
as well stop and cipher a little. 
And while I am talking of trees, as a shelter for 
old age, I want to say a good word for orchards, 
apples, and indeed fruits of all kinds. I waked up 
to planting apple trees when I was young, and I 
think I have now about as good an orchard as there 
is in town. With the low price of fruit this last 
year, it has brought me in over three hundred dol¬ 
lars, sold on the trees to the buyer. I only regret 
that I had not begun to plant pear trees sooner. 
They are quite as hardy as apples, yield as well, and 
sell for more than double. A man with a dozen 
acres in pears, of the right kinds, would have aHom- 
fortable income for old age, if he had nothing else. 
But aside from profit, a plenty of fruit in the family 
is a great comfort and luxury, and an important 
means of health. We have seen very little of the 
doctor in forty years, and we have had fruit in some 
shape every day in the year. Put these two thiugs 
together: long lived people eat much fruit. 
Perhaps we don’t live quite so well out here on 
the farm, as some of the nabobs in the city, though 
