Read Ebook: Prairie Farmer Vol. 56: No. 4 January 26 1884 A Weekly Journal for the Farm Orchard and Fireside by Various

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While we have no lack of treatises upon artificial fertilizers, there is no work in which the main stay of the farm--the manure made upon the farm is treated so satisfactorily or thoroughly as in this volume. Starting with the question,

"WHAT IS MANURE?"

the author, well known on both sides of the water by his writings, runs through in sufficient detail every source of manure on the farm, discussing the methods of making rich manure; the proper keeping and applying it, and especially the

USES OF MANURE,

and the effects of different artificial fertilizers, as compared with farm-yard manure, upon different crops. In this he makes free use of the striking series of experiments instituted years ago, and still continued, by Lawes and Gilbert, of Rothamsted, England. The

REMARKABLE TABLES

in which the results of these experiments are given, are here for the first time made accessible to the American farmer. In fact, there is scarcely any point relating to fertilizing the soil, including suitable manures for special crops, that is not treated, and while the teachings are founded upon the most elaborate scientific researches, they are so far divested of the technical language of science as to commend themselves to farmers as eminently "practical." It is not often that the results of scientific investigations are presented in a manner so thoroughly popular. 12mo. Price, postpaid, .50.

PRAIRIE FARMER PUBLISHING CO. Chicago.

HOUSE PLANS FOR EVERYBODY.

One of the most popular Architectural books ever issued, giving a wide range of design from a dwelling costing 0 up to ,000, and adapted to farm, village, and town residences. It gives an

Estimate of the Quantity of Every Article Used

in the construction, and probable cost of constructing any one of the buildings presented. Profusely illustrated. Price, postpaid, .50. Address

PRAIRIE FARMER PUBLISHING CO., Chicago

NOW is the time to Subscribe for THE PRAIRIE FARMER. Price only .00 per year is worth double the money.

HOUSEHOLD.

CHRISTIAN CHARITY.

O stay not thine hand when the winter's wind rude Blows cold through the dwellings of want and despair, To ask if misfortune has come to the good, Or if folly has wrought the sad wreck that is there.

When the Savior of men raised His finger to heal, Did He ask if the sufferer was Gentile or Jew? When thousands were fed with a bountiful meal, Was it given alone to the faithful and true?

If the heart-stricken wanderer asks thee for bread, In suffering he bows to necessity's laws; When the wife moans in sickness, the children unfed, The cup must be bitter, O ask not the cause.

Then scan not too closely the frailties of those Whose bosoms may bless on a cold winter's day: And give to the wretched who tells thee his woes, And from him that would borrow, O turn not away!

A correspondent writes:

Will give the readers of THE PRAIRIE FARMER the favor of telling us all about making sandwiches. How thick should they be when complete? Best made of bread or biscuit? and if chicken or ham, how prepared? Please don't say shred the meat and sprinkle in salt, pepper, and mustard, but tell us how to shred the meat. Do you chop it, and how fine? and how much seasoning to a given quantity? or do cooks always guess at it?

MRS. C. H.

--Will not some of our lady readers tell us how they make sandwiches. The question is an important one for city as well as country, where so many thousands of "lunches" have to be prepared daily.--

OUR YOUNG FOLKS

Jule Fisher's Rescue.

It had been an unusually severe winter, even for Northern Aroostook. Snow-fall had succeeded snow-fall, with no interval that could really be called "thaw," till the "loggers" had finished their work; and as they come plodding home on snow shoes, they all agreed that the snow lay from ten to twelve feet deep on a level in the woods.

No wonder, then, that the warm March sun came to shine upon it day after day, and the copious spring showers fell, there should have been a very unusual "flood," or freshet. Every one predicted that when the ice should break in the river, there would be a grand spectacle, and danger, too, as well; and all waited with some anxiety for the "break" to come.

One morning, we at the village were awakened by a deep, roaring, booming, crashing noise, and sprang from our beds, crying:

"The ice has broken up! The ice is running out!"

In hardly more time than it takes to tell it, we were dressed and at the back windows, which looked down upon the river!

It was indeed a grand sight!

Huge cakes of ice of every shape and size were driving, tumbling, crashing past, as if in a mad race with each other. The river, filled to overflowing, seemed in angry haste to hurl its icy burden down the falls below.

But after a few days the river ran clear, save for the occasional breaking of some "jam" above. Along the margin of the broad stream, however, there were here and there slight indentures, or notches, in the banks, where the ice had escaped the mad rush of waters and still clung in considerable patches.

It was upon one of these still undisturbed patches that "Jule" Fisher, a rough boy of fourteen, with several of his equally rough comrades, was playing on the lovely morning upon which my story opens.

These lads were not the sons of the steady, intelligent, church-going inhabitants of this quiet Northern hamlet, but were from the families of "lumbermen," "river-drivers" and "shingle-shavers." For some time they had been having boisterous sport, venturing out upon the extreme edges of the ice and with long poles pushing about the stray cakes which occasionally came within their reach.

At length they grew tired of this, and began to jump upon ticklish points of ice; and as these began to crack and show signs of breaking away, the boys would run, with wild whoops, back to shore, the very danger seeming to add to their enjoyment. Then, with poles and "prys," they would work upon the cracking mass until it floated clear and went whirling down the rapid current.

"Ahoy, boys!" called Jule, who was seemingly their leader. "Up yender's a big cake that only wants a shove! Come on! Let's set 'er a-going!"

No sooner said than done. Away went the noisy fellows to the projecting point of ice. A few smart jumps sent it creaking and groaning, as though still unwilling to quit its snug winter bed. One more jump, and the boys all ran with a shout beyond the place where the ice was cracking off--all save Jule.

It had not broken clear, and he was determined to set it going, when he would spring on the firm ice beyond, as he had done once or twice before.

But this time he was over-bold and not sufficiently watchful. A large cake of ice had come floating down the river unnoticed either by him or his friends, and striking the edge of the nearly loosened mass, shoved it out into the swift, black water.

Poor Jule! He ran quickly to the freshly-broken edge--but, alas! too late for the intended spring. The swiftly-rushing current had borne him many yards from the shore and from his companions.

There he stood--for an instant in dumb amaze--balancing himself upon his rocking raft with the pole he had been using. To attempt to swim ashore would have been useless. He was a clumsy swimmer at best; and the cold, rushing waters and floating ice cakes made swimming almost impossible.

He could not get off. To stay seemed sure death. Dumb with fright, for a moment he stood in speechless terror. Then there rang across the wild, black river and through the quiet streets of the village, such a yell of abject fear as only a lusty lad of that age can give. It was a cry that chilled the heart of every one who heard it.

A "four-days' meeting" was in session. The village church-goers were just issuing from their houses in answer to the church bell, when that pitiful cry and the shouts of "Help! Help! A boy in the stream!" reached them, and drew them all quickly to the river bank.

In a few minutes the shore was lined with excited men and women. Yet all stood helplessly staring, while poor Jule on his ice-raft was floating steadily down toward the falls.

Never shall I forget how he looked as he stood there in the middle of his floating white throne! There was something almost heroic in his calm helplessness. For after the first wild cry, he had not once opened his lips.

Downward he floated, drawn swiftly and surely on by the deep, mighty rush of waters setting into the throat of the cataract. The heavy roar from far below sounded like the luckless lad's knell. He stood but a single chance--and that was hardly a chance--of his ice-raft lodging against a tilted-up "jam" of cakes and logs which had piled against a jagged ledge that rose in mid-stream, just above the brink of the precipice.

This "jam" had hung there, wavering in the flood, for thirty-six hours. Every moment it seemed about to go off--yet still it clung, in tremor, as it seemed, at the fatal plunge which would dash it to pieces in the thundering maelstrom below.

Good fortune--Providence, perhaps--so guided Jule's ice-raft that it struck and lodged against the "jam," just as the horrified watchers on shore expected to lose sight of the lad forever in the falls. "If it will only hang there!" muttered scores, scarcely daring as yet to speak a loud word.

They could see the cake, with Jule on it, heaving up and down with the mighty rhythmic motion of the surging torrent; and all ran along down the banks, to come nearer. The boy stood in the very jaws of death. Beneath, the cataract roared and hurled up white gusts of spray.

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