bine water wheels, circular saw-mills, improv¬ 
ed head blocks, etc., etc., giving directions for 
setting, balancing, etc., water wheels and 
machinery, containing important tables for 
the practical mill man. 
Dr. Jos. Haas, Indianapolis, Ind.—Hog- 
ology. or information concerning swine—a 
little book of some 60 pages, which contains 
much useful information. Of the value of the 
remedies recommended, we know nothing per¬ 
sonally, so all we can say is, read the book 
and judge for yourself. 
Puck’s Annual. —A handsome and very 
funny book of some 100 pages and 200 comic 
original illustrations. Price 25 cents. Send 
to the publishers, Keppler & Schwarzmann, 
New York. 
H. S. Gilbert & Co., Chambersburg, Pa.— 
Catalogue of force and lift pumps, specially 
designed to show the Gilbert pumps. 
A. M. Smith, St. Catherines, Ont, Canada. 
—A catalogue of small fruit plants,grape-vines, 
fruit and ornamental trees, etc. Free. 
George S. .Tosselyn. Fredouia, N. Y.— 
Catalogue of currants, raspberries, blackber¬ 
ries and grapes. Free. 
for tVomm 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
THE BRAMY RUSETER. 
“ Phileny,” sez Jeremier one mornin’ at 
brekfust as he buttered his flap-jack on both 
sides and then put on two big spoonfuls of 
strained honey, “Phileny,” ses he, “I believe 
our poletry is gittiu’ kinder ran out, and I’ve 
bon a tkinkin’ of gittin another ruseter.” 
“Well, sez I, as I swallered my baked per- 
tater dry, (I am obleged to ekonomize to off¬ 
set his extravagance) it might be a good idee, 
pervided you made a good selection of breeds,” 
“Breeds,” ses Jeremier sarcastically, “they 
don’t use that word madam in spealdn’ of pole- 
try. That word applies only to cattle. I’ve 
ben a kinder runniu’ over in my mind the 
good pints of the diffei'ent birds I’ve seen, 
and I’ve kinder settled on the Blue Meshan- 
nock.” 
“ The Blue Meshaunock ! why good land, 
Jeremier, that’s the name of a pertater. 
Father used to raise 'em as long ago as when 
I was a gii’l 1” • 
" Taint no sech thing, Phileny, 1 guess I 
know what I'm a talkin' about. I mean them 
big, glossy, black fellers, with blue legs, we 
see to the fair last Fall.” 
“Why them's Black Spanyards. We don’t 
want them. Their meet would be as dark as 
your boot when ’flwas cooked, and pretty nigh 
as tough. I’m in favor of the Buff Coaches.” 
It allers riles Jeremier to correct him and 
he jerked back from the table spiteful, and 
ses he, “It don’t make much difference to us 
whether the meet is black or white, you are so 
blamed stingy you w< >n’t never cook any. ” 
“That’s a falsehood, Jeremier, sez I, and 
you know it! I alters cook 'em Thauksgiven’ 
and Fourth of July, and your birthdays aud 
lots of other times, and you eat the most on 
’em too. Come to think it over, I don’t know 
as we want to change. Ourn is good enough.” 
“Well madam, sez he, I’ve made up my 
mind to change, aud I’m a goin’ right off to¬ 
day and get one, and it don’t make no differ¬ 
ence whether its called a Blue Pertater or a 
Buff Street car, if it only suits me.” 
“You was in a terrible pucker yesterday to 
get your oats iu, ses I, and here you are tra- 
pesin’ off ruseter huntin’ this nice mornin.” 
“Madam, sez he, who’s a runnln’ this ere 
plantation, you or me? ’cause if you be you 
cau jest hitch them horses up aud go to plow¬ 
in' yourself. The interests of my poletry yard 
require me to goin search of a ruseter, and I’m 
a goin’ till I (ind one if I take the week fur it.” 
“Go,” I replied, a wavin’ my hand theatrick- 
ly, “go, but there’s a big storm a brewin’, and 
when It comes and catches you behind your 
naybors. don’t be a whinin’ around ’bout Prov¬ 
idence bein’ alius against you.” 
A nd be went, aud lie staved, and he never 
showed his face agin till arter sun-down, then 
he come back with sunthin under his arm that 
looked like half ostrich and half camel, for it 
had the humpedest back, and the longest neck 
and legs I ever see outside of a managery. 
“There, Phileny,” sez he, a settin’ of it down 
on the door step, “I reckon I’ve got sunthin’ 
now as is sunthin’. 
“That’s a pure-blooded, double-strained pet- 
tigreed, White Brainy, that is. No sham ’bout 
him; guess old Jones 'll own up beat this time. 
He allers thinks he has the best of ev’rything 
iu the hen line. This feller shows his blood, 
he does,” 
“I should say ’twas a five storied, mansard- 
roofed grain elevator,” sed I. “He’ll eat all 
you can raise on the farm and then swaller the 
bui kiln’s.” 
“Yes, that’s you egsactly, Phileny, alles 
grudgin’ things what they want to eat, mebby 
you’ better run this institootiou awhile. Guess 
you’d And it took some one with a head on ’em,” 
and he picked up the ruseter aud carried him 
off to the poletry house, and never spoke to me 
agin that evenin’. 
“ 'Bout the middle of the night I woke up, 
aud g<x)d laud! The rain was jest a pourin’. 
Rattlety-baug went the blinds, and loose clap¬ 
boards, elickety-clack went the doors and win¬ 
ders. I knew Jeremier was awake ’cause he 
want a snorin’. I knew he wouldn’t say noth¬ 
in' for fear I’d hint at the oats, so I laughed in 
my night-gown sleeve aud was silent as the 
tome. 
When we got up in the mornin’ everything 
aud everywhere was flooded over, and still it 
was pourin’. 
“I dunno but we shall have to build an ark,” 
sed Jeremier, tryin’ to be unusually pleasant 
to keep my mind off the neglected plowin’. 
“I don’t think it will be necessary,” sed I 
dryly, “we can get aboard the Bramy.” 
The poletry was all astir iu spite of the rain 
and in less than half an hour that Bramy had 
laid out the two ruse tors, picked the tom tur- 
ky blind and bare, drove every hen off to the 
naybors, and was making a desert off the old 
gander. Jeremier had to tie him up in the 
wood-shed with the clothes-line. As we were 
eatin’ hrekfast we heard a loud eock-el-doodle- 
doo on the porch and there he stood with 
about two yards of rope bangin’ to his one 
foot, he had broke it in two. 
“How knowin' he is,” said Jeremier. 
“He is indeed,” said I, “he seems to say 
here am I and here is the rain, but how about 
the oats?” 
“Would’nt you like to have some churnin' 
done this mornin’? I can do it aswell as not, 
Phileny.” 
“Yes, there’s a four gallon crock of cream 
down suffer, you can bring it up if you’re a 
mind to.” I replied quickly for he don’t often 
offer to do sech things. 
He brought up the cream, and stepped out 
on the ixjreh where we allers churn in warm 
weather, but the floor was wet and slippery. 
Up went one fool , he spun ’round on the other 
half a minute tryin’ to get his balance, then 
down he went ker squash. The crock flew 
out of his hands onto the stone steps aud 
smashed, and the uream—well you can just, 
imagine it. He got up slowly, rubbin’ his 
hip aud groanin’ and 1 sez, sez I, “I've heerd 
tell of rotary churns but I never see one 
work before. That’s about the quickest churn¬ 
in’ I ever see done.” • 
‘Tin glad of it," sez Jeremier. “when a 
man’s fool enough to offer to do women’s work 
sunthin’ orter happen.” 
I turned and went into the kitchen, and 
there was the "Bramy on top of my work¬ 
table a gobblin’ tip the bread sponge. I 
shooed at him and he lifted up one foot and 
set it down in a bowl of warm pork fat. 
Lifted the other and put it in a tall glass 
dish, then he hopped off and strided across 
the floor 1 leavin’ the print of his foot in 
grease all the way. The glass dish rolled off 
into an iron pot and smashed, aud the grease 
bowl tipped over and the contents ran all 
over the table and off onto the floor. I 
flirted my dish-cloth at the ruseter and he 
grabbed it and swallered it quicker’u litenin’. 
Well, it rained steady three days ami nights. 
Nothin’ a growin’, aud that ruseter eatin’ all the 
time like a second Jumbo. He found a nest of 
young ducks a katekin’ and swallered ’em, hide, 
feathers aud shells, eat the bottoms out of two 
swill-pails, pecked chunks out of the calves’ 
ears, and begun on some old phosphate bags. 
Then it cleared up, and he went for tfle cur¬ 
rant and gooseberry bushes, and left nothin’ 
but the stubs. In course of time, Jeremier 
planted his airly pertaters—some new-fangled 
ones that he paid a big price for. The next 
mornin’he cum in with a long face. “Them 
pertaters is up Phileny,” sez he. “Up,” sez I; 
“whatever do you mean Jeremier?” 
“Up, and down too, I guess, for I belive in 
ray soul that Bramy has eat ’em,” he answer¬ 
ed. 
One day, aloug come old Jones, and he 
yelled out, “Bay, Stebbins, what’s that ereetur 
on stilts out iu your gardin’ eatin’ up your 
lima Viean poles? I thought it must be a giraffe 
got away from the circus.” 
Well, we got tired chasing after him, trying 
to keep him out of mischief, so we shut him up 
and fed him two quarts of corn und oats three 
times a day. And we went to work and 
planted our garding, and got along finely. 
We are amazin’ fond of cabbage, litid Jeremier 
laid off a big patch of ground, and made 
it rich and fine. Then ho was gone a whole 
day after plants. He found some extra nice 
ones, und we both worked half u day a setting 
of 'em out. 1 watered ’em night and morniu’ 
for two weeks, aud they were growing finely. 
We felt so encouraged, wo decided to rest 
from our labors for a day, and go to the lake 
with some of the nay bom. We went aud hud 
a lovely time. As we rode home, we conversed 
lovingly of our prospects, and spoke particular¬ 
ly of our promising cabbage patch and our 
young chickens, for we had 30 little yellow 
things just hatched. 
As we drove into the yard, we saw the 
Bramy a standin’ by the coops, and the two 
hens inside were squawkin’terribly. We ran 
out there, and, believe it or not, that old 
cannibal had eat up every last ehickeu and 
was a pickin' the feathers of the hens and 
swallei in’ of em\ He had got the door of his 
pen open somehow, and let himself out. Jere¬ 
mier caught him and bound him hand and 
foot, so to speak, aud cast him back into his 
dungeon,aud said,“Lay there you old heathen.” 
I took the sprinkler and went out to the 
cabbage patch. Could I believe my eyes? Not 
a green leaf was there. No, nor even a root. 
I called Jeremier, aud he looked and he said, 
“that blamed ruseter.” We went down to the 
garding. There was nothing there but the 
ground and the bean-poles. 1 looked at Jere¬ 
mier agin' and he said, sez he, “t hat old glutton 
of a Bramy.” Nothin'more; not a word. If 
there had been any chance of layin’ of it 
onto me he'd have talked 40 nots to the hour. 
But I s’pose he's like all men about that. By 
good luck a chicken peddler stopped the next 
mornin’ and wanted to know if we had any 
airly chickens. “Yes,” said Jeremier. and took 
him out and showed him the ruester. 
“Do you call that an airly chicken?” said 
the man. 
“Yes,” sez Jeremier, “early and late, both. 
Come, make me an offer.” 
The man hefted him, said he would make a 
good frame to a sailin’ boat, turned bottom 
side up, and offered forty cents. ‘'Forty cents pi 
gried Jeremier. “Why, man alive! he cost 
me three dollars.” 
“Can’t help that,” said the man. “He’s so 
old his teeth are all gone. He’ll be tuffer u’ 
tripe. I shall hev to sell him to some boardin’ 
house keeper at half price.” 
“Isthat the very best you’ll do?” said Jere¬ 
mier, sadly.. 
“That’s the very best I can do, and I don’t 
want him at no price,” replied he. 
“Take him, he’s yourn,” says Jeremier. So 
they put the ruseter in the coop and let his 
head stick out through the slats on top. aud 
the man drove off, and we shed not a tear. 
“Phileny,” sez Jeremier, sez he, “I'll get 
you a nice dress if you’ll never, so long as we 
two live together, alood, by word, look, or act, 
to that blamed ruseter.” 
I promise, Jeremier,” sez 1, “aud here’s my 
hand on’t.” 
And I never have.' 
. phileny stebbins. 
LEAVE THE WORK. 
MAY MAPLE. 
• 
“Don’t take work when you go for an after¬ 
noon visit,” said a friend, uot lohg ago. And 
the suggestion was a good one. 
Sure enough! Why should farmers’ wives 
and daughters pin themselves to work, from 
early morn till late at night, at home aud 
abroad? Why not make a friendly visit now 
and then and allow the tired Viands and more 
weary feet to rest from their labors, and give 
the mind something fresh to muse upon by al¬ 
lowing the eyes to wander through fresh scenes, 
to look upon, possibly, fairer flowers and new 
prospects? Our village sis tore think nothing 
of spending a part of every day in what, ap- 
l>ears to us perfect idleness. They have not- 
performed half of the allotod tasks of those of 
us who live in the rural districts. Y et you 
will frequently And them resting from the 
duties they have performed aud believe they 
have earned that rest. Arc they possessed of 
real estate or bank stock i No! There are but 
few of them who can lay claim to the roof 
that covers them. They are for the most part 
dependent on their husbands for their support, 
aud not unfroqueutly they purchase bread, 
pies and cake to save themselves the labor of 
making them. They toil not beyond a mere 
health-giving exercise, and when they go fora 
visit, be it for a whole day, no work disturbs 
the rejjose of their dainty fingers. They rest. 
We may not approve of so much, to us, 
wasted time; hut for the most part farmers’ 
wives go to the other extreme aud deem it a 
sin if a single moment is passed in idleness. 
Farmers, themselves, have their restful 
visits. You can see them sitting on the fence, 
hours at a time, talking over farm topics, 
politics, gossipping and cracking jokes, with 
great gusto. When the fence gets tired, they 
slip down and take a stroll about the farm, 
learning of each one something for pleasure 
or profit. They do uot carry their work with 
them; but when the other side of the house¬ 
hold sets out for a gossipping visit there must 
always be a bundle of work taken, aud not 
unusually, a bundle of humanity to tote or 
curt as well; and yet the great cry is for rest. 
What hinders? Custom, fashion, Mrs. 
Grundy—call it what you please. The fact is, 
we are all willing to make slaves of ourselves; 
and the more maehinei'y we have the more 
we task ourselves. Custom says we must cook 
so many vegetables, various cakes, cookies, 
pies and puddings: put up a great variety of 
canned fniits, preserves und pickles. We all 
faithfully follow her command. She says, 
“Clean house much or little three hundred and 
sixty-flvo times in the year.” We yield will¬ 
ing obedience. Fashion orders us to dress in 
purple and fine linen everyday, and si lies, 
satins and velvets every other day—Sundays 
in particular—with the adjuncts of costly 
jewelry aud expensive frizzes. Our purses 
are limited; the bottoms are easily reached, 
but to show our willing spirits we add to our 
already heavy burdens bv raising chickens, 
ducks and turkeys for market. We pureuade 
the head of the family to go into the dairy 
business, well knowing that the work of tak¬ 
ing care of the milk and butter will add so 
much more to our household duties. Then Mrs. 
Grundy exhibits fabulous gowns that are 
covered with trinuniugs, aud what the ma¬ 
chine cannot do the bauds must. What won¬ 
der, then, that there is never a minute to 
spare, to coat with a neighbor, without doing 
Some work! Our great grandmothers taught 
that Satan always finds something for idle 
hands to do. But there is a vast difference 
between the idleness to which our grand¬ 
mothers referred and that of my friend. 
Therefore, we reiterate her sentiments, and 
say leave the work at home when you make 
an afternoon visit. 
Domestic dTcononu} 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
KITCHEN TALKS. 
ANNIE L. .TACK. 
“They might allow something to good man¬ 
agement,” I said to the girls the other day in 
n “kitchen talk.” Our conversation was of a 
remark passed by a neighbor, who said to me, 
“Your boys help you a great deal, and your 
girls work hard to keep such a house in order, 
yet you always seem to have time to spare for 
your ch'oseu pursuits, It must be that the 
boys help the girls a great deal.” I did not 
• object to the boys haring the credit, for I 
have taught them that it is more honorable to 
help than to louf round and see their sisters 
doing everything for them, aud that it is only 
an exchange of work if they light fires, or 
sweep the kitchen, to give their sisters time 
to darn socks and mend torn jackets. It is a 
good education for them to sew on their own 
buttons and peel the potatoes in an emergency. 
But iu the matter of housekeeping manage¬ 
ment, I think too little stress is laid upon 
routine. “Oh, I can’t do my housework by 
the clock 1” is an oxprox-,ion often used by ir¬ 
regular people in talking on this subject. But 
it is just as easy to Joke york iti rotation and 
to keep to the routine as to leiive the lamps 
till night to be trimmed, and the ujv-staire 
work the same. Children take readily to 
$tU0fcUauc0u.s gtdwrtijtittg. 
Medical men are 
much ■ interested in 
discovering the fari- 
ous sources of dis¬ 
ease as, whether from 
foul air, impure water, 
- infected food, and 
possibly soap made 
of fat from diseased 
cattle. 
Hence I subjected, 
various samples ol 
“ Ivory ” Soap to a 
rigid microscopical 
examination. 
I find it to be free 
from any forms of 
animalcular or vege¬ 
table germ life. 
I therefore cordi¬ 
ally commend the 
Ivory Soap for its un¬ 
surpassed detergent 
properties and purity. 
Yours respectfully, 
R. OGDEN DOREMUS.M.D..LL.D. 
Prof. Chemistry and Toxicology, 
in Bellevue Hospital Mcdica’ 
College, and Prof. Chemistry and 
Physics in College of the City of 
New York-. 
Free of charge. A full size cake of Ivory Soap 
will be sent to any one who can uot get it of their 
grocer, if six two-cent stamps, to pay postage, are 
sent to Procter A Gamble, Cincinnati, Please 
mention this paper. 
