FEB 2? 
<42 
TKfc 
quarreling. It must be admitted that in feed¬ 
ing a single hen and brood, the attention so 
given is but little less than that required for 
several. It requires, therefore, no argument 
to prove that the larger the number of chicks 
the cheaper the cost of production, in propor¬ 
tion to numbers, and that it is simply custom 
that permits us to accept 00 percent. loss on 
the part, of the hen, though regarding the same 
ratio of loss as excessive when it occurs in 
brooders. 
I venture to affirm that a majority of far¬ 
mers would make the hatching of early chicks 
a matter of greater interest if they could he 
assured that they would lose only two out of 
teu, and the farmer who uses incubators and 
attempts the hatching of large numbers, will 
find that he can afford to 1< >se "200 in every 
1,000 better than two in ten. I am prompted 
to make the above comparison for the reason 
that figures can be used with terrible effect 
against incubators and brooders, and though 
entertaining the greatest respect for the “old 
hen,” and willing to give her all the advan¬ 
tages in the comparison, yet when the facts are 
presented in their true light, she isshown to be 
far in the background. 
Atlantic Co,, N. J, 
WYANDOTTES AND LANGSHANS. 
Last year I raised 15 Wyandotte chicks, 
which hardly came up to my expectations as 
layers. The Laugshaus arc very large fowls, 
and with me better layers. The eggs, too, are 
larger and the birds more profitable. I keep 
my hens in a large, warm barn-cellar all Win¬ 
ter, feed corn, buckwheat and baked potatoes, 
ami give them plenty of gravel, coal ashes 
and old plaster, and I have never had a sick 
fowl. If I found one in that state, I would 
cure it and save the others by cutting off its 
head. o. h. a. 
Charlotte, Vt. 
Plaster in Hen Manure.—I sprinkle land 
plaster freely twice a week under the chicken 
roosts. I think it keeps the house sweet aud 
improves the manure, making it easier to 
handle. F. I. 
Dundas, Ontario, Cau. 
CONDUCTED BY MISS KAY CLARK. 
AN "OLD HOME" DREAM. 
Back to my Old-time Home again— 
Last night, in a dream, I say 
I stood a* real beneath Its roof 
As I stand 'noath my own to-day. 
My hand on the cherry rail, again. 
That led up the winding stair— 
Going a "skipity-liop and jump” 
With my child feel, warm aud bare, 
To the sunny chamber where we slept— 
My darling sister and I; 
To the bed, with Old-time coverlet 
And Its curtained bedstead high; 
To the roses oa the mantle shelf— 
Three tumblers full brimming o'er— 
Picked in the dew of the early morn 
From the bush by the hall-way door; 
To the chimney-place, with narrow hearth; 
To the snowy-white, pine floor. 
Much worn by sand ami the scrubbing brush, 
During forty years and mure. 
Wc heard the touch of a weary foot 
Come softly across the floor. 
Then a face looked in, with a smiling “good night”’ 
And gently closing the door. 
Our precious mother.'—we heard the step 
To the old north chamber go, 
Then, down the stairs, aud aeross the hall 
Into the bedroom below. 
We knelt by the open window, where, 
June zephyrs were passing by, 
And called, “good night:” to three pet lambs 
That out in the clover lie. 
Nature was pouring an anthem, then, 
Abroad on the evening air,— 
We filled our child-souls with her sweets 
E'er we said our evening prayer. 
The mountains were echoing from their sides 
The rush of river below, 
To the minor tones of the insect world’s 
Small voices, that come and go; 
There was “whip-poor-will,” In lilac bush. 
And bleating sheep In the lane— 
A barking rox on the near hill side, 
And the morning doves refrain; 
The monotone of the poplar leaves. 
The owl in the "hickory tree,” 
The croaking frogs In the “willow ditch,”— 
All, all, a marvel to me.— 
We laid us dowu, my eyelids closed 
Repelling the moonbeams’ light, 
Lips pressing mine were whispering low, 
Sweet sister, dear “good night,” 
A dream—Oh, Heaven. 
Time has printed my brow ami frosted my hair— 
Aud fenced in tny life with sorrow and care. 
But why do my laggard pulses so thrill 
With the old-young love of the vanished years? 
And why, does my mental vision tints view 
My dream world's picture through mists of tear*? 
A1U—that darling sisters last good night!" 
Wjw spoken to earth, In the long ago," . 
And the-preelous mother soon had rest 
In her lowly, narrow bed, I know. 
And the dear old home! ah, bitter thought!— 
By the stranger hands has been swept away— 
Aud my childhoods ever sacred haunts 
By the stranger feel are trodden, to-day. 
Marietta Huntley. 
-- 
WHAT TO READ, AND HOW TO READ 
IT. 
II.—BIOGRAPHY. 
If each period of time could be distiu- 
guished by its most prevalent species of liter¬ 
ary composition, oui-s would surely be known 
as the Age of Biography. Almost every re¬ 
view that falls into our hands contains a notice 
of some recently published work of this class. 
“A Biography,” says the author of “Rab aud 
his Friends.” “is either a golden goblet wherein 
a man holds on high the memory of his friend, 
or a millstone tied around that, memory to 
drag it into swift oblivion.” A large propor¬ 
tion, certainly, of the biographies of our own 
time belong to the “golden goblet” order: aud, 
if the overtaxed student or the wearied work¬ 
man had ever an excuse for taking up a worth¬ 
less story by way of relaxation, he has none 
now. All around ns lie the garnered memo¬ 
ries of high aud heroic lives, of. genial and 
charming characters, of severe aud untiring 
searches after wisdom, of sweet and saiutly 
souls. We may have, as we lie resting upon 
our lounges, a society around us which we 
would vainly seek in the world of the living. 
In former days men made loug aud even dan¬ 
gerous pilgrimages to enjoy the privilege of a 
single interview with some intellectual giant, 
whose works claimed their reverence. Now, 
by our own firesides, we take a little volume 
in our hands, and lo! the giant rises before 
us, like the famous imprisoned genie of the 
Arabian tale! We are admitted into his con¬ 
fidence, we read his letters, we see him in his 
family, we know what he thought, what he 
suffered, how he fell or conquered. And we 
leara to separate what was great in him from 
what was small: we learn,—to quote from a 
noble letter handed me since I began to write 
this paper—that “The grand lives are those 
that endure, and repress self and self-indulg¬ 
ence: that submit bravely to the quenching of 
light, taste and ambition. Anybody with ed¬ 
ucation aud talent can write grand things. 
Who can live them?” We learn that nothing 
worth the doing has ever been doue without 
strenuous toil, and “a great patience,” 
We learn to be very pitiful to the fail¬ 
ings of these children of genius so 
high-strung, so quiveringly sensitive, so 
tried in a thousand ways that we know noth¬ 
ing of, und, lastly, we learn that all faithful 
work bravely and honestly done, puts us into 
the same guild with these, the world’s groat 
workers. Do you remember how i>oor Mrs. 
Carlyle, struggling iii the watches of the night 
with her obstinate loaf, was cheered and 
strengthened by the recollection of something 
in the biography of Benvenuto Cellini; 
“What matter,” thought she, “whether the 
aim be jierfeet bread or a perfect statues’ I 
am one with the artist in my labor ami in my 
patience.” When we “stand in our lot,” aud 
do “with our might” the work before us, we 
touch bands with every one of those who have 
made the world better because they have lived 
in it! And who shall estimate how great a 
privilege it is to go from our dish-washing 
and our sewing-machine, from our laundry 
and our cooking-stove, into the illustrious 
society which admits us through the magic 
power of a well-written biography? 
1 shall pay my tribute to the educa¬ 
tional and moral influence of the best novels; 
aud yet, when I recall the many admirable 
biographies so little known to the general 
public, I am tempted to Bay: “Leave for awhile 
all novels, even the greatest, and learn to 
know the real men and women who have toiled 
aud achieved, on this earth of ours! 
Time would fail me to name the biographies 
of soldiers, statesmen, or specialists—such as 
artists, or musicians. I can only recommend 
to you such memoirs as are of interest aud 
instruction to the general reader. These are 
chiefly lo be found in two classes, the literary 
and the religious, That the parent of all good 
biographies is Boswell’s Life of Johnson, is 
perhaps, unnecessary to name; and yet I fear, 
after the fashion of our age, we are more 
familiar with the title than with the pages of 
that unique book. I oflcc knew “a man of one 
book,” aud that book was Boswell's “Johnson!” 
I used sometimes to thiuK he knew enough! 
Read it, aud decide for yourselves. But we 
people of the 10th century—particularly 
young people—like our own lime. T am half 
afraid to recommend old Boswell as your bi¬ 
ographical pioneer. Begin, instead, with Mrs. 
Haskell’s “Life of Charlotte Brouti*,” or Tre¬ 
velyan’s “Life and Letters ol' Macaulay,” or 
the delightful series of “The English Men of 
Letters,” or Trollope’s charming “Autobiogra¬ 
phy.” Then you will lie ready for Boswell, 
aud %id Boswell, for Johnson’s own, “Lives of 
the Poets,” ludeed, among so many admit’ 
able lives, it is difficult to discriminate. It is 
safe to say, in the region of secular biography, 
read what most attracts you. Not so, how¬ 
ever, in the region of religious memoirs. The 
Roman Catholic Church has its bagiology, and 
the Protestant Church is not far behind. Es¬ 
chew in both what may be termed the school 
of dyspeptic piety—the people who spout their 
lives “f lookin’ i* their own insides”—who 
have minutely recorded every sympathy of 
their spiritual malaise in diaries intended for 
“no eyes save their own.” Avoid especi¬ 
ally the sad. sad little stories of the mor¬ 
bid children, nurtured in the shadows of 
gloomy creeds, tne poor little “Nathan 
Dickerman’s” who found, let us hope, in a 
heavenly home, a natural, spontaneously 
gleeful childhood, never accorded them on 
earth. It is not good for one’s own spiritual 
state, to think of their parents—they seem 
scarcely less cruel than the parents of the 
famous Welsh Fastiug Girl! 
But there is a religious biography far dif¬ 
ferent from these—a biography which is like 
a fresh mountain breeze in its bracing .tonic to 
our souls. Read Stanley’s record of Arnold’s 
manly piety. Read Mrs. Kingsley’s story of 
her great-sou led and loving-hearted husband’s 
Christian ministry. Read the recently pub¬ 
lished “Life and Letters of Frederick Denison 
Maurice, whom Kiugsley loved to call his 
“dear master,” and to whom Tennyson dedi¬ 
cated his “In Memoriaiu.” Read, above all. 
the “Life aud Letters of Frederick Robert¬ 
son,” aud when you have finished it, read 
again; aud then turn to the end of the volume, 
and read the addresses, especially those to the 
workingmen. Never lived a more gallant 
spirit, a purer heart, a more sensitive nature, 
a more consecrut d soul! 
What would not be our own possibilities, if 
we threw away now and forever all the maw k¬ 
ish sentimentality of romance and religion, 
aud lived during our leisure hours with these 
high aud holy souls, whose manhood and 
whose Christian faith were one! 
A COUNTRY HOUSEKEEPER. 
“A MAN MAY BUY GOLD TOO DEAR.” 
—Old Proverb. 
A max who for mere desire to accumulate, 
toils unreasonably long and hard, every work¬ 
ing day of his life; denying himself the com¬ 
forts which he can well afford, and depriving 
his family of books, papers aud other intel¬ 
lectual enjoyments, until, although he may 
show a large bank account, his health has be¬ 
came sadly impaired, aud his mind narrowed 
dowm to one idea, that of saving and hoard¬ 
ing money, lias paid too dearly for his wealth. 
Other things besides money may be too 
dearly purchased; a woman who for love of 
excitement spends an undue part of her time 
in society, leaving her domestic duties unper¬ 
formed, leaving her little ones to the care of 
others, tuns losing the purest affection; who 
allows her mind to become filled with frivo¬ 
lous ideas, and who wastes her time and 
means in vain display which is beyond her 
means, pays too dearly for her enjoyment. 
The student, who in the. pursuit of knowl¬ 
edge gives the time to study, which rightly 
belongs to sleep, or recreation, until health is 
broken, and himself become a mere book¬ 
worm, with no practical experience to assist 
him in making his way in life, will find that a 
good and desirable thing may lie when carried 
to extremes, a ruinous investment. 
Whatever worthy thing in life is too exclu¬ 
sively pursued, to the detriment of other 
things equally desirable, will even if the point 
is gained, have been too dearly bought, if the 
mind has by means of it lieen unequally de- 
veloi>ed. solitude sweetened . 
Domestic Ceonomi} 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
A KITCHEN CONVENIENCE. 
At Fig. Itt, is shown a little device which 
I have found very ser¬ 
viceable aud conve¬ 
nient. It is a box in 
which I keep mate¬ 
rials for scouring ta¬ 
bic cutlery, und for 
polishing silver-ware, putting the scouring ma¬ 
terials on one side of the partition, aud the pol¬ 
ish on the other. When not in use, it may be 
hung up by the screw eye. or it may be stood 
up on the broader end iu any convenient place. 
The shallow part in front, forms a convenient, 
place for scouring knives, forks and spoons; 
aud whatever scouring material that is drawn 
out but not used, falls back into its place 
again when the box is hung or stood up. The 
box is made of half-inch pine Itoards, und is 
13 inches loug and seven inches wide, outside 
measurement, und about four inches in bight 
at tiie broader end. To make one like it for 
mother, will give Johnnie a chance to tuke a 
lesson in the use of tools, housekeeper. 
ON THE CARE OF THE HANDS. 
At this particular time of the year most 
women are apt to suffer from chapped ami 
cracked hands. This state of the skiu is ex¬ 
ceedingly painful,and to be avoided if possible. 
There are many popular formulas for giving 
to the hands the softness and smoothness 
which comfort requires. Some of these are 
very desirable, taking kindly to the skin of 
some persons, while to others they render mat¬ 
ters worse. If the hands are extremely sensi¬ 
tive it is advisable to avoid the use of soap 
as much as possible. This cau be done to a 
much greater extent than one would suppose 
from first thought. Even' dishes can be 
washed without soap if one is careful to have 
good hot water. When through using your 
hands, wash carefully and before wipiug them 
put a few drops of glycerine on them, rubbing 
it in thoroughly and then drying. This will 
be found effective in almost every instance. 
But if it docs not act satisfactorily, try vase¬ 
line, applying the same way. Iu using either 
vaseline or glyceriue in this way there will be 
no sticky or greasy sensation left on the hands. 
It is often recommended to wear gloves at 
night or about your work, but this will not be 
found to be necessary. Iu blaeldug stoves it 
is advisable to cover the hands, aud you may 
slip a pai>er bag on the baud that holds the 
brush. 
The finger na i Is seem to come in for their share 
of attention iu this connection They should 
1 m? properly trimmed, neither cut too short 
nor allow ed to grow long. Follow the contour 
of the finger in paring them, and have them 
of medium length irrespective of Fashion’s 
dictates which, just now, decrees that they 
shall be allowed to grow abnormally long. If 
cut too short, Nature, to protect herself, causes 
the ends of the fingers to grow fat aud broad, 
and so gives an ungainly appearance to the 
finger which should Ik? rather small and taper¬ 
ing. Have a dull instrument to clean the ac¬ 
cumulation of earthy matter from under 
them. A small bone paper cutter with one 
cud pointed, will be found very good for the 
purpose, and remember always to clean them 
while they are wet, scrubbing them with a 
brush after. In tins way you will avoid 
breaking the smooth surface of the nails, and 
will be able to keep them perfectly clean and 
polished. If the flesh has grown over the root of 
the nail, force it down, while still wet, and in 
drying your hands be certain to rub around the 
finger nails with the towel, pushing the flesh 
back to its proper place. An exceedingly 
small scissors is often used to cut this trouble¬ 
some skin away, but by following the direc¬ 
tion above given you will experience no diffi¬ 
culty in keeping your hands iu that nice order 
in which every lady likes to have them. 
AUNT ADDIE. 
OMELETS. 
ARTISTIC AND APPETIZING. 
“NEITHER FISH, NOR FLESH, NOR GOOD RED 
HERRING.” 
We do not think that omelets could have 
been invented, when Horace wrote, “The vul¬ 
gar boil, the learned roast an egg.” For cer¬ 
tainly the perfect omelet—a symphony in 
golden —brown, luscious, and quivering like a 
jelly, is more a poetical subject thana roasted 
egg. In the hands of the ordinary kitchen 
fiend, an omelet, tough and scorched, or 
half-cooked and colorless, is a thing to be 
shunned. 
The principal causes of failure are in using 
too many eggs in one omelet, or iu having the 
pan and fire too hot or not hot enough. The 
pan to be used for omelets .should be of 
wrought iron, and about nine inches across 
the top. Most cook books insist upon having 
a pan to K* used exclusively for omelets, and 
Professor Blot says further, that this pan 
should never lie washed, but simply heated 
aud wiped with a clean cloth before using. 
With due deference to higher authorities, we 
have learned from actual exiierience that to 
have a clean, smooth pan is sufficient. The 
smoothness is essential, as the least particle of 
roughness will cause the omelet, to stick. Use 
no more than five eggs at one time; break 
these into a bowl, season with salt and fine, 
white pepper, and boat just enough to break 
the yelks; add three tablespoonfuls of rich 
cream, put the pan over the fire with one 
tablespoonful of butter—the fresher the better, 
as very salt butter will often cause the omelet 
to stick—melt this slowly, shaking the pan to 
DKisccUancoua lirimtisittfl. 
"When Baby was sick, wo gavo her Castor!a, 
When she was a Child, she cried for Castoria, 
When she became Miss, she clang to Oftstoria, 
Whou she had Children, she gave thorn Cnatorio, 
Fig. 1)3. 
