734 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER. 
Nov.  5 
PARNY  ANN  ON  KEEPIN’  HENS. 
( Concluded. ) 
When  I  was  to  the  hen  man’s  I  was 
greatly  taken  by  the  Plymouth  Rocks  ; 
the  name  kinder  took  me,  seein’  as  all 
my  folks’  forebears  traced  back  to  the 
Mayflower.  Then,  too,  they  was  mighty 
pretty,  neat-lookin’  fowls,  so  I  sent  on 
for  some  of  the  Plymouth  Rocks. 
I  put  the  Game  fowls  into  a  nice  yard 
with  a  house,  so  as  to  have  ’em  handy  if 
I  ever  needed  ’em  again. 
I  got  a  man  to  fix  some  other  yards 
and  build  a  good  house  for  each  one,  and 
I  went  into  the  hen  business  in  tip-top 
shape. 
But  my  !  how  them  Plymouth  Rocks 
did  act.  Forever  flyin’  about  as  spry  as 
pigeons,  it  took  the  highest  kind  of  a 
fence  to  keep  ’em  in  at  all.  If  I  ever  let 
’em  out  to  have  a  little  run  toward  night, 
they  roosted  on  the  ridge-pole  of  the 
house  or  on  the  tops  of  the  apple  trees, 
and  night  after  night  I  was  out  heatin’ 
them  apple  trees  with  bean  poles  tryin’ 
to  get  them  birds  to  come  down  and  go 
inter  their  yards,  but  ’twarnt  no  kind  o’ 
use.  Half  the  time  the  aggravatin’ 
things  roosted  outdoors,  so  in  the  day 
time  they  did  a  master  lot  of  damagin’  in 
my  garden  spot.  Ilowsumever,  you  can 
stand  your  own  hens’  diggin’s  a  good 
sight  better  than  you  can  those  of  your 
neighbors’. 
I  put  wire  nettin’  around  anythin’  very 
chice,  so  got  on  pretty  well,  considerin’. 
It  took  so  much  of  my  time  to  see  to 
the  hens  that  I  had  to  hire  a  man  to  help 
when  it  come  to  plantin’  time,  and  the 
hens  used  to  foller  right  in  his  track, 
and  when  I  did  get  ’em  shut  up  for  a 
day  or  two,  he  said  it  was  real  kind  of 
lonesome  to  be  a-plantin’  seed  and  not 
have  the  hens  right  behind  him  a-diggin’ 
it  up 
Wall,  after  a  spell  I  concluded  it  was 
about  time  for  me  and  the  Plymouth 
Rocks  to  part,  for  what  do  you  think  I 
ketched  ’em  at?  There  was  a  heap  of 
pretty  sin  gin’  birds  about  the  old  place, 
and  I  used  to  enjoy  ’em  so  much  and 
loved  to  have  ’em  so  near  and  tame  ;  they 
was  lots  of  company,  too,  when  I  was 
lonesome. 
I  often  see’d  them  Plymouth  Rocks 
walkin’  and  pickin’  about  in  the  field 
near  the  house,  and  I  used  to  think  what 
an  awful  lot  of  medder-moles  they  did 
find  to  eat. 
But  one  day  I  found  out  it  warn’t  med- 
der  moles  at  all  they  was  eatin’,  but  little 
young  birds  !  Teeney  yaller  birds  and  all 
kinds  just  outer  the  nests.  I  was  fairly 
took  aback. 
I  hadn’t  been  partial  fond  of  them 
Plymouth  Rocks  from  the  very  first, 
they  was  so  exasperatin’,  and  now  this 
was  the  last  straw,  and  I  was  clean  dis¬ 
gusted.  “  Off  you  will  go,”  sez  I,  “  from 
these  premises,  in  double  quick  time.  I 
ain’t  goin’  to  harbor  cannibals  on  this 
here  farm,”  and,  as  good  luck  would 
have  it,  a  hen  peddler  came  by  the  very 
next  day,  and  I  sold  the  whole  kit  to 
him.  Good  riddance,  too,  I  thought. 
Then  I  began  once  more,  for  now  that 
I  had  got  out  to  keep  hens  I  was  bound 
to  do  it,  raise  ’em,  too, 
So  I  sent  for  some  Light  Brahmas,  and 
I’ve  kep  ’em  ever  sence,  and  I  think  they 
can’t  be  beat. 
When  the  stage  man  brought  ’em 
along  he  sez  :  “I  tell  you,  marm,  you’ve 
got  some  handsome  birds  here.”  And 
they  was  fust-rate — real  noble-lookin’.  I 
put  ’em  into  a  fust-class  house  and  yard 
and  went  into  the  hen  business  more 
regular  than  I  had  before. 
But  I  soon  found  out  the  Brahmas 
wasn’t  just  the  build  for  settin’.  They 
was  so  powerful  heavy  that  often  they 
squashed  the  poor  little  chickens  as  soon 
as  they  got  outer  the  shells. 
So,  after  a  few  trials  I  got  some  com¬ 
mon  hens,  real  barnyard  kind,  but 
proper,  good  setters  and  mothers,  and  I 
set  the  Brahma  eggs  under  them,  and 
raised  as  pretty  a  lot  of  chicks  as  could 
be  found  in  the  county. 
As  I  began  so  late  in  the  season  I 
didn’t  get  no  spring  chickens,  but  good 
fall  ones,  and  I  sold  lots  of  the  pure 
Brahma  eggs  to  people  who  wanted 
thoroughbred  fowls. 
I  really  got  up  quite  a  repertation  and 
sold  all  the  eggs  I  could  muster  for  a 
dollar  a  dozen,  and  that  was  a  pretty 
good  price  for  the  country. 
I  used  the  eggs  of  the  common  kind  for 
cookin’,  and  givin’  away. 
The  Brahma  rooster  was  such  a  fine 
bird  and  good  fighter  that  the  neighbors’ 
fowls  steered  clear  of  my  place,  so  havin’ 
no  further  use  for  the  Games  I  sold  ’em 
back  to  the  hen  man. 
I’ve  lieern  tell  that  anybody  could  raise 
hens;  that  ’twas  awful  easy  work;  about 
all  you’d  have  to  do  was  throw  ’em  a 
little  corn,  then  run  out  and  pick  up 
the  eggs.  But  I  think  ’tis  dreadful  put¬ 
terin’  work,  always  somethin’  to  be 
done.  I  got  some  first-class  hen  books 
and  studied  ’em  well  and  do  think  I’ve 
carried  on  the  hen  business  fair  to  mid¬ 
dlin’  well,  but  I  hain’t  made  my  everlast- 
in’  fortune  by  it  and,  what’s  more,  don’t 
never  expect  to. 
The  hen  business  is  jest  like  other 
kinds  of  business,  sometimes  up,  some¬ 
times  down,  and  full  as  often  down  as 
t’other  way. 
Hens  seem  always  ready  and  waitin’  to 
get  sick,  they  sartainly  have  more  dis¬ 
eases  than  humans  to  my  thinking. 
My!  how  I  used  to  coddle  them  hens 
when  I  first  got  ’em.  I’ve  set  hours  be¬ 
fore  the  kitchen  fire  holding  a  sick 
rooster  rolled  up  in  a  blanket  tryin’  to 
keep  the  breath  of  life  in  him. 
I  turned  the  old  brick  oven  into  a 
chicken  run  and  did  manage  to  save  a 
few  chickens  which  had  frosted  feet 
owin’  to  bein’  so  late  in  hatchin’  out. 
There  was  times  when  my  whole  house 
seemed  full  of  ailin’  hens  and  chickens, 
in  boxes  here,  in  barrels  there;  how  them 
chickens  would  peep  hour  after  hour,  it 
grew  awful  tiresome. 
At  last  I  give  up  my  doctorin’  business 
and  concluded  to  try  a  recipe  I  saw  in 
one  of  the  farmin’  papers  as  a  sure  and 
cheap  way  of  curin’  all  hen  diseases.  A 
quick  blow  with  a  sharp  hatchet  jest  be¬ 
hind  the  ears  does  for  ’em,  cures  ’em, 
effectual. 
I  got  a  boy  in  the  neighborhood  who 
was  willin’  to  “  ’commodate  ”  and  I  often 
have  a  call  for  his  kind  of  doctorin’. 
My  hens  always  pays  for  themselves 
and  sometimes  I  make  a  little  money,  but 
I  can’t  see  my  way  clear  to  no  fortune. 
I  go  by  the  hen  books  and  any  other 
good  advice  I  can  get.  I  don’t  keep  over 
any  real  old  birds.  My  henhouses  is  kep’ 
clean  and  neat;  whitewashed  often.  All 
have  dirt  floors.  Ashes,  sand,  and  pounded 
shells  is  kep’  handy,  fresh  water  always 
pervided. 
In  winter  I  make  a  nice  warm  mash  for 
’em  about  every  day,  and  I  feed  ’em  all 
the  green  stuff  I  can  spare  and  the  odds 
and  ends  from  the  table. 
They  is  proper  fond  of  cabbage  heads 
hung  up  where  they  can  pick  and  pick 
for  quite  a  spell.  It  amuses  ’em  to  have 
some  such  thing  to  do  and  keeps  ’em 
from  pickin’  feathers  outer  each  others 
backs  and  sich  work. 
But  in  spite  of  a  heap  of  fussin’  and 
cajolin’,  hens  is,  and  always  will  be 
mortal  contrary  critters. 
When  everybody  is  jest  dyin’  for  eggs, 
they  just  shut  down  on  the  layin’  busi¬ 
ness,  and  when  eggs  is  dirt  cheap  they 
keep  at  it  as  though  they  couldn’t  never 
produce  enough. 
Wall,  I  don’t  know  as  I’ve  got  much 
more  to  say.  I  could  give  a  master  lot 
of  advice,  but  ’sperience  is  the  best 
school-mar’m  you  can  find. 
Some  likes  one  kind  of  hens,  some  likes 
another;  so  all  I  can  say  is  buy  a  good, 
likely  breed  of  a  honest  hen  trader,  and 
look  after  ’em  well.  Don’t  get  mor’n  you 
can  see  to  in  proper  shape.  Keep  ’em  in 
good  condition,  don’t  let  one  sickly  bird 
stay  in  your  flock. 
Somewhere  I’ve  hear’n  tell  of  a  doctrine 
called  “The  survival  of  the  fittest.”  Wall 
a  real  good  place  to  carry  them  senti¬ 
ments  out  is  in  the  hen  yard. 
When  you  get  to  know  hens  real  well, 
understand  ’em  as  it  were,  carrying  on 
quite  a  hen  business  won’t  come  very 
hard  on  you — if  you  don't  want  your 
time  for  nothing  else. 
If  you  are  a  poor,  lone  woman  you’ll 
find  hens  is  pretty  good  company  after 
all ;  kinder  cheerful  like  to  have  about  a 
place  ’way  back  in  the  country,  l.  b. 
ODDS  AND  ENDS. 
About  Fried  Meat.— A  writer  in  one 
of  our  contemporaries,  hailing  from  Vir¬ 
ginia,  has  the  following  to  say  : 
Do  not  let  ourselves  be  fooled  into  be¬ 
lieving  that  fried  food  is  unwholesome. 
We  were  brought  up  on  it,  and  have 
done  lots  of  work  while  sustained  by  it. 
Let  us  have  fried  ham,  fried  eggs,  fried 
fish,  fried  chicken,  fried  hominy,  fried 
apples,  fried  potatoes,  fried  tomatoes, 
fried  mush  and  everything  else  we  can 
get  to  fry.  We  can  fry  things  on  top  of 
the  stove  with  less  wood  and  in  a  much 
shorter  time  than  any  other  way. 
We  know  an  old  gentleman  who  drank 
exactly  half  a  pint  of  whisky  every  day 
and  finally  died,  aged  92,  and  he  used  to 
gravely  argue  that  a  half-pint  daily  was 
necessary  to  health.  The  argument  of 
the  writer  quoted  above  is  much  the 
same ;  she  has  eaten  lots  of  fried  food 
and  has  done  lots  of  work  on  the  diet, 
ergo,  it  is  wholesome.  It  is  poor  logic. 
It  only  proves  that  she,  like  the  old  man 
alluded  to,  was  wiry  and  tough,  not 
that  the  diet  is  a  good  one.  A  little  fry¬ 
ing  is  all  right,  perhaps,  but  to  go  into 
it  as  this  wholesale  advocate  advises, 
would  ruin  the  health  of  a  nation. 
Old  Starch  Days.— There  was  a  time 
when  the  idea  of  starching  cloth  to  give 
it  “  backbone  ”  was  little  thought  of.  A 
writer  in  Harper’s  Bazar  gives  this  bit 
of  history : 
It  was  Elizabeth  who  introduced  fash¬ 
ions  that  established  the  laundry  on  a 
permanent  basis,  and  created  starch  fac¬ 
tories.  She  not  only  enlarged  the  ruff, 
multiplied  under-garments,  increased 
the  lady’s  inventory  and  the  bride's 
trousseau,  but  it  was  she  who  began  the 
fashion  of  the  farthingale  or  crinoline. 
This  wheel-shaped  arrangement  puffed 
out  the  dress  like  a  balloon,  and  right 
royal  was  the  rustle  of  the  stiffened 
skirts  as  the  Queen  and  her  ladies  moved 
about.  So  great  was  the  demand  for 
starch  with  which  to  stiffen  properly  the 
ruffs,  collars,  cuffs,  and  crinoline,  that 
it  seriously  affected  the  price  of  wheat. 
Complaints  were  loud  and  long  that 
bread  was  being  taken  out  of  the  mouths 
of  the  people.  The  potato  was  then  un¬ 
known,  or  too  much  of  a  novelty.  Its 
virtues  and  potencies  of  supply  to  the 
laundress  and  the  alleged  sugar-maker 
were  then  unsuspected. 
The  first  starching  in  England  was 
done  by  the  wife  of  Guilliam  Booner.  a 
Dutchman  who  became  coachman  to 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Don’t  Run  the  Risk  of  your  Cold  fretting  well 
of  Itself— you  may  thereby  drift  Into  a  condition 
favorable  to  the  development  of  some  latent  ten¬ 
dency,  which  may  give  you  years  of  trouble.  Better 
cure  your  Cold  at  once  with  the  help  of  Dr.  D.  Jayne's 
Expectorant,  a  good  healing  medicine  for  all  Coughs, 
Sore  Lungs  and  Throats.— Adv. 
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