The Canadian Crescent. (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 40, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 2, 1888 Page: 3 of 8
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THE CANADIAN CRESCENT.
* ' ' ' i h • * .. \ *.f ; ^
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TMSBMAN E. MIZABB, Edito* * Pub'*.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT
OATVAr>TATSr. - TEXAS.
THE OVERLAND TRAIL.
Over the sage-brush desert gray—*
Thrdugh alkali patches pale,
It stretches, away and away and away—
The weary Overland Trail.
Wbere those who followed have smoothed the
path
For the track of the iron horse,
.Between the rocks and around the hiil3
It threads its sinuous course.
And ever the wagon tracks diverge
L,fke strands of a parted skein—
And anon the old trail straightens out
And gathers them in again.
Who runs may read as he speeds along,
Its record of blood and tears;
Way see dim specters, wan and worn—
The glrosts of the vanished years.
These deep worn ruts that divide the bank
At this dry arroyo's brink
Still tell of the awful, maddening thirst
Of the beasts that rushed to drink;
Hushed down to drink, too oft, alas.
To iind but a bed of dust,
Or here and there a sunken pool-
White with alkali crust.
And many a ghastly heap of bones,
Bleached white by the sun andWind,
I the final record of man or beast
That faltered and fell behind.
And many a rock was an ambuscade
That sheltered a skulking foe—.
And wild shrieks eohoed. the Indian yell.
While men and women and children feU,
And arrows fiew like snow.
'Hi * £ X' ^ |||
:iy heart-beats quicken; the trail grows dim,
SMj|eyei are snffused with tears,
Ah I think with pity and pain and pride
Of those brave old pioneers.
And tefjincy I see, as my palace winged
pies Over the Iron rail,
Tife long, slow-creeping wagon train,
That traveled the Overland
«f
—O. Ihivis, in WildtvootT << Xaga'. 'r.é.
THE FAKM HAJSD.
. & ■£ « 5 / & ' k
„ ■ -* t ,* --ift wk-"' «"wf -jv
How Rosamond Became the Wife
of a Rich Man After AIL
"I always thought there weren't no
good eorne o' that visit to New York,"
feaiil Luke Calthorpe, shaking his griz-
zled he&d, as he sat in the March twir
light with the red glimmer of the blaz-
lli|^io##iHuíniriatin^ his upright form
and Strongly marked features.
Close beside him on a little stool sat
a slender, fair-faced girl with brown
^iv^d limpid h¿izel eyqs, and a pink-
Touch <id eheeki where a solitary dimple
went and came atfevery word she spoke.
This was Rosaniond Calthorpe, the
farmer's only child.
'•I enjoyed it very much, papa," said
Rosamond, softly.
44Yes, but it's the consequences I ob-
ject to," insisted Luke. "Here's my
little gal hasn't been home three weeks,
before there comes a letter from some
young highflyer or other, and I'm told
she's engaged to him. I tell you, child,
I never wanted my Rosamond to marry
a rich man's son."
"But, papa, dear, he's none the
worse for being rich,1' coaxed Rosa-
mond, laying her little velvet hand
softlv on the old man's freckled wrist.
"How do I know he's none the
wox*se?" demanded Luke Calthorpe, al-
most fiercely. "/ think he is; he vuist
be. Why, just look at the common
sense of the thing, child. Rich and
idle and shiftless—a fellow that smokes
cigars all the morning, drives fast
horses on Bloomingdale road all the
afternoon, and gambles all night.
There's your rich man's son for you."
44Oh, papa, Geoffrey Everleigh isn't
a bit like that! I wish you would con-
sent to see him."
4\J>ut I won't consent. I never will
■consent Child, I won't give you up
lo such a man as that. I haven't loved
you and cherished you like a little ewe
lamb all these years to see you thrown
.away at last. You've been dnea^xnin1,
_mr £■ Q ^ j. $ S
tide sprinkled all the v^les with per-
fume afid color, while Rosamond Cal-
thorpe's heart was sad and unrespon-
sive to the great rejoicing of nature. She
had strictly enjoined it upon Geoffrey
Everleigh not to answer her letter, yet
when day after day went by and no
missive of love or remembrance reached
her, she was almost tempted to re-
proach him in her inmost soul for obey-
ing her orders too literally.
4 4 Perhaps it is better that ho should
forget me," she mused, 44 but, oh, 1 did
not think I should pass away from his
memory so soon." *
44Rosamond," said her father, one
June evening, 44 that's a capital hand
Squire Martin's got for the spring
work; as sterling a young fellow as I
ever saw."
Rosamond sewed on, her head droop-
ing over her work. In truth she was
but little interested in the matter under
t r ' ^ -J ' J
discussion.
44 Good-looking, too," added the
farmer, meditatively. 441 s'pose one
of the Squire's daughters '11 be mákin'
eyes at him. By the way, they want
you to come over there to-night.
There's tobe a dance or something."
441 don't care to go, papa."
44 But I wish you would, Rosamond.
I'd kind o' like you to get acquainted
with this George Ellis. He's the very
man I should like beit for a son-in-law.
T*Ve treeÉjlfna o* watching him all
a.\6ng*tóf I had a Soft b* notion when
he first come to. Squire's that he was
a milksop, and wouldn't be o1 no ac-
count. But I warf never so mistaken
in all my life. I tell you he's the
finest fellow hereabouts. Got the
spunk of a red Indian, and a wül like
■
■Jk> MB
Rosamond, it's high.tim^yqu wjBdted up.
You'll be a deal happier manried to
some one of your own station in life, who
does u fair day's work foj&a sweat of his
brow, as the Lord meant him to do,
and ain't afraid of fioneat labor. Don't
speak to mo on this subject again,
child—we won't never agree on it; and
believe me, Rosamond, tfye old father
knows what is bestior^you."
Rosamond Calthorpe said never a
word in reply, bat when the fitful fire-
Jight again touched her Cheek, the
roses were gone, and the lashes
drooped sadly over the downcast,
♦dewy eyes.
And the letter she wrote that night
to Geoffrey Everleigh was stained with
the traces of many tears:
"Papa says I must gfre yotl up, tmñ I fear
"bis resolve is unalterable. I shall be just s
true to you always, Geoffrey, as if we were
married, but I can not disobey my father. If
you had only been a farowr's ion upon these
bleak uplands and mountain sides, we might
have been happy, but papa has a strong dislike
ta my marrying what he terms 4 a rich man's
son.' Please don't a&swtr my letter—it would
only make us both miserable; bat remember
oh. fbr sweet Heaven's sake, remember that
I shall be forever and ever youra, and yours
cnly. ROSAMOND."
And then, ere sha sealed it up she
¿cisse<} the paper over and over again,
-remembering that his hands would
üold it, his eyes rest tJpn its pages.
The days and weeks glided quietly
fcy, and tha w¿ít blo#aoia ol ike May-
4 t t T y
441 dare say he is very nice, papa,"
said Rosamond, listlessly, 44 but I shall
never marry."
"Never marry! Why, what nonsense
ll this, my girl? Of course you'll
ene of these days. It's the na-
of women. Come, put on your
•below% aad we'll go
to Squire Martin's."
it^W-night papa," said Rosa-
mond, wearily. 441 do not feel in the
humor for going out."
And the farmer was finally com-
pelled, after much futile coaxing and
useless reasoning, to go alone.
Rosamond was sitting in the half
ligjit between sunspt and darkness,
tier cheek leaning idly on her
with
hand, thinking, she herself- could hard-
ly have told of what, wheita light foot-
step disturbed the gravel in the path,
and there was a rustling among the
full-blossomed syringa bushes in the
door-yard. She started up, and part-
ing the vine-leaves with one hand,
gazed nervously out.
44 Geoffrey!" '
Geoffrey Everleigh it was—tall,
straight and handsome, with brown
hair half concealed by a drooping straw
hat, and his dark, mirthful eyes shin-
ing out from its shadows.
44 Then you didn't expect to see me,
Rosamond?"
He folded her to his bosom as he
spoke, and pressed his lips tenderly to
her Hushed cheek.
441 thought you were in New York,
Geoffrev," she faltered.
He sat down on the low, calico-cov-
ered lounge at her side.
44 You were mistaken, then," he said,
quietly. 441 have be^n in Cedar Vale
these ten months."
44 In Cedar Vale? And not seen
mcV
44 And I have been your near neigh-
bor, too, my little Rose of the World."
441 don't quite understand you, Geof-
frey," faltered Rosamond.
44 Allow me to introduce myself, Miss
Calthorpe," said Geoffrey, rising and
bowing with the upmost gravity.
44 Squire Martin's new farm hand,
George Ellis."
Rosamond looked at him with wide-
open eyes of astonishment.
44 Geoffrey," she said, entreatingly,
44you are deceiving me."
44 Indeed, I am not; haven't you
heard your father speak of me?"
44 Yes, but Geoffrey—"
•4 Well, what is it?"
44 What is the meaning of this strange
masquerade?"
44 Darling," said Geoffrey Everleigh,7
his simulated gravity changing sudden-
ly to a sort oí playful seriousness, 44in
the old Bible times, Jacob served.seven
years for a wiie, aad they seem
him but ¿S a diy for the lovft h
unto her. Even so am I serving, and
you are dear to me as the dark-eyed
Rachel was to the patriarch of old."
44 And yon have gained papa's heart
already," árfid ltosamOnd, smiling ra-
diantly. 44Oh, Geoffrey, you will let
me tell him?"
44 Not just at present, Rosamond, the
time is not yet opportune for such a
revelation. Let matters work them-
selves out, and we ourselves will pos-
sess our soids in patience. Trust it ail
to me, Rosamond, and I shall carry you
back to New York with me, this com-
ing autunui, as my darling little wife.
I don't think your father will object to
my being a rich man's sol wh^en he
sees what a day's work I can do at
husking corn or cutting upland hay."
hen Farmer
Kvortoigh
- 9 * *e í
had to en:
big elm trim!
before he could make his escape, so
calmly did the old farmer stand on
the door-step, looking iníisíhgly aroutid
ere he made uf^ his inirid to enter the
house and draw the huge iron bolts
for the night.
" Did you have a pleasant evening,
papa?" asked Rosamond,..demurely.
44 Yes," said the farmer, meditative-
ly, rubbing his chin. 4&es, pleasant
enough. George Ellis wasn't there,
though. I'd like to ha' seen him."
44 You seem to have taken a great
fancy to this Mr. Ellis, papa."
44 He's the finest fellow I have seen
this twenty year, child! A pity there
wan't more of his cut now-a-days*"
Mr. Calthorpe, in his unconscious
way, as artful a maneuverer as any
fashionable Fifth Avenue mother, never
rested, after this, until hehad achieved
the grand object of a meeting between
George Ellis and his daughter.
441 do wish they'd fancy each other,"
thought the old man, as he sat watch-
ing them, on the evening of this tri-
umphant exploit. 44 Oh, dear, why
can't we order these things to suit our-
selves?"
Apparently the course of this new
true love was destined to run smooth.
George Ellis and Miss Calthorpe be-
came firm friends and allies, greatly to
the disgust of Squire Martin's three
•« i i -i t i* / '■ •. .
apple-cheeked daughters, who had,
each and all of them, a special interest
ill the handsome youngf farm hand.
And wlien, finally, mfetters culminated
in a formal proposal made to Mr. Cal-
thorpe by George Ellis, for permission
to woo and win If osam<
farmer's delight was beyppc
4'God bless you, irfy boy!11 he ejaculat-
ed, wringing Ellis'hand u^Lthe young
fellow actually winced. 'Tiótfre mak-
ing
ve.
*<
ü
me the happiest tfd/m&a
Ask her. I'll be bouñd Itíe* won t re-
fuse ! Or, if you Vóuld ^prefer *to have
me speak to her first—11
I would much prefer it, sir." .
Then I'll do so*; But don't worry.
It'll be all rijfht, sir? if it's ijoSí *; ^
Farmer Calthorpe could scarcely
wait for George Ellis to depart before
he went straight to Rosamond, and an-
nounced to her the good fortune in
store for her.
44 Of course you'll say yes," *$ie qon-
vcluded. There's not a fin^r f^l|o|v in
all the world, not one I Jboiw^feel
better satisfied to|cail yoiir husbahd."
44Papa," said Roi^i^ii'd,iiev# lift-
ing her eyes from herwork, 44 I'll never
marry any one but Geoffrey Ever-
leigh." *
44 Geoffrey Everleigh be hanged!
There, there, child, I didn't mean that,
but you must see th£ folly of that old
love affair yourself. * He's foígottén all
about you long ago, and—"
44 He has not forgotten all about me,
and he will be here this evening to
plead in his own behalf."
The muscles round Luke Calthorpe's
lips grew fixed and rigid*like iron.
44 I'll see him ij^ Alaska before he
shall be your husband," was his sole
answer, as he turned avyay^with a face
of such bitter disappointrrlent that Ros-
amond's heart almost misgave her for
the moment.
At four o'clock precisely, Mr. Cal-
thorpe came to call his daughter.
44 George Ellis is here to receive his
answer, Rosamond," he said, wistfully.
44 Papa, Geoffrey Everleigh is here
also."
441 won't see him," said the old man,
hastily.
44 Yes vou will, papa,," goaxed Rosa-
mond, drawing his arm tJirough hers.
44 In the parlor."
44 George Ellis is there."
44 So is Geoffrey, papa," and Rosa-
mond entered, leading the unwilling
paterfamilias. 44 Geoffrey, plead your
cause with this obdurate father of
mine."
Mr. Calthorpe stared in open-
mouthed amazement.
44 Yes, sir," said Squire Martin's
farmhand, 441 am Geoffréy Everleigh,
and a rich* man's son, but I trust you
will forgive the strategy by which I
won your sanotlon to my marriage
With your daughter. Let George Ellis
speak for Geoffrey Everleigh."
44 Is this the truth, Rosamond?"
asked the old man, turning to his
daughter. ^ ^
Well," said Farmer Ckthorpe, 44 if
Geoffrey Everleigh is as good a fellow
as George Ellis—and I've no reason to
say he ain't—why, I s'pose I may as
well «ay yes." * . T
And Rosamond Calthorpe became
ike wife of a rich man, after all.—
Woman's Magazine.
it
*4
—Michigan University has received
from the Legislature pf the State $155,-
000 in the past two years. Of the
1,506 student^. President Anjreli finds
that %he parents 4# 6s trere farmers,
171 merchants, 93 lawyers, 83 physi-
cians, 52 manufacturers, 54 mechanics
and 51 clergymen.
. — ' • m
- ,
clergyman prayed fervent-
ly for those of his congregation who
wei
si
CHICKEN CHOLERA.
A. Number of Recipes for the Treatment
of Sick Fowls.
The disease must be made out be-
fore death, rather from its sudden,
epidemic character than any thing
else. It comes suddenly in some cases;
a fowl well to-day may be dead to-mor-
row, and a whole fiock may be thus
rapidly carried off.
The discharges are thought by some
authorities to be decisive. They are
mild at first, are yellowish-green, 4 4 or
like sulphur and water," becoming
thinner, greener and more frothy as
the disease goes on, and never stopping
until the fowl is dead. " The breath-
ing becomes heavy and fast, the crop
fills with mucus and wind; at last the
food is not digested, the eyes close, and
in a few hours the fowl dies."
There is weakness, sometimes ex-
treme, at the commencement of the
disease; the fowl may eVen be unable
to stand well. It does net plume itself,
and has a general sleepy, moping ap-
pearance. At a later period, the dark,
thickened blood may turn the comb
and wattles dark, or may not readily
flow through them, so they become
pale.
The fowl may die from the digestive
disturbances, or apparently from
paralysis of the heart or lungs, caused
by the poisoned blood.
You can not save the lives of all
those attacked, neither will the same
treatment that is good in the North
succeed in the South. Remove your
whole flock at once to clean quarters,if
possible to some gravelly site that has
never been used before for stock, and
see that they are habitually housed
there and in all regards in a healthful
condition. Separate the sick from the
well, and, if it were possible, it would
be well to have every hen especially
every sick hen, have a place apart.
This is practicable enough with some
valuable pets.
The following is the treatment ?of
sick fowls recommended in the valu-
able treatise of Dr. Dickie: "Fowls
that are too sick to eat should have
every four or five hours a pill made as
follows: Blue mass, 60grains; pulver-
ized camphor, 25 grains; cayenne pep-
per, 30 grains; pulverized rhubarb, 48
grains; laudanum, 60 drops. Mix and
make into twenty pills. When they
have had time to act, give half a tea-
spoonful of castor oil and ten drops of
laudanum to each. Let them drink
scalded sour milk, with a gill of Doug-
lass Mixture, for every twenty-five
head a day. The treatment ought to
change the character of the evacua-
tions and make them darker and more
solid. When this happens, and not be-
fore, give them alum water or strong
white-oak bark tea to drink, and no
other drink. This will tend to check the
discharges."
E. O. B., of Penn Yan, speaks well
of the following recipe: Powdered
garlic, 1 ounce; aromatic tincture ol
rhubarb (or the common tincture), 1-2
ounce; tincture capsicum, 2 drachms:
tincture of camphor, 2 drachms; tinc-
ture of oil of peppermint, 3 drachms j
tincture of opium, 1 drachm. Mix and
shake, uritil the powdered garlic is
thoroughly suspended. Dose, six to
eight drops in a teaspoonful of water
three times a day.
Some other recipes are a tablespoon-
ful of a mixture of equal parts of red
pepper, alum, resin and sulphur, in
three pints of scalded meal daily; or
two tablespoonfuls epsom salts, four oi
lime and ten drops of tincture of iron
in a gallon of meal. A simple treat-
ment, but of doubtful efficacy, is to con-
fine the fowls to flour and water mad€
into a stiff paste.
For the well fowls, and those nol
very sick, Dr. Dickie recommends a
feed of warm, boiled potatoes, mashed
with bran, or wheat, or oatmeal, or
barley meal and sour milk, mixed with
a little bicarbonate of soda and pulver-
ized charcoal.
Petroleum is much praised, and is
very well worth trying; mix some drops
om
of it with the feed.—Poultry World.
summer dresses, even those of the oiost
inexpensive kinds. Velvet bodices,
HOME, FARM AND GARDEN.
—The grand secret of success in
gardening lies in having a deep, rich
soil, kept mellow and free from weeds
by thorough cultivation.
—Wire is preferable to poles, lath
or boards as a grape trellis, as the
tendrils of the vines seem better able
to take hold of the wire than when
other materials are used. The ends
should, of course, be well braced.
—To prepare cucumbers for the table
peel them and slice very thin, then salt
them well and pour water enough to
cover them, and let them stand five or
ten minutes. Before serving pour off
all the water and add vinegar and pep- ♦
per.
—Cherry shrub is an old but delight
ful hot-weather beverage. Boil the
cherries till tender; strain out the juice,
and te each quart put one pint of sugar.
Cook fifteen minutes, bottle and seal
the corks with wax. Put a tablespoon-
ful of this sirup in a tumbler and fill
up with ice-water.
—Batter Pudding.—All the berries
make good batter puddings. Fill the
pudding-dish one-third its depth with
the fruit; make a batter of three or
four eggs, a cupful of flour with a tea-
spoonful of baking powder sifted in it,
and a pint of milk. Pour over the ber-
ries and bake half an hour. Serve hot
with a liquid sauce.
—There is little nutritive value in
the first potatoes that ooine to market.
This tuber at its best is mainly starch,
but tftie unripe potato has not even
that. The potatoes whose skin can be
rubbed off by the hand show by that
fact that they are full ef raw juices
that need time to be developed in large
part into layers of starch.
—Most flowers are quite tender at
germination and should not be required
to penetrate a hard covering to reach
the air and light they seek. Make the
seed-bed very fine, and as most of the
seeds are quite srüall give them but a
light covering. It is a pretty good
rule to adapt the covering to the size
of the seed, making its depth about
twice the diameter of the seed.
—Poultry-keeping is regarded by the
masses as an insignificant business,
adapted to and conducted by the wom-
en and children of the household. This
view will have to be modified. There
are at present in different parts of the
country men and women who are pay-
ing particular attention to the produc-
tion of poultry and eggs. In 1879 there
were in the United States of the com-
mon barnyard fowl, 102,272,135; of
other varieties, 22,235,135; eggs pro-
duced here in 1879, 456,910,916 dozen;
receipts of eggs from foreign countries
in 1884, 16,287,204 dozen, $2,677,360;
in 1886, 16,092,587 dozen, $2,173,454.
HINTS ON COOKING.
The Rage for Ribbons.
There is a rage for velvet or moire
ribbon garnitures abroad. They are
used upon every style of dress from
lawn to Lyons satin, to drape skirts, to
trim whole costumes, to decorate mati-
nees, tea-gowns, 44 hammock toilets,"
wraps, bonnets, parasols, and to run
through the open-work meshas of fancy
lace. The ribbons are also used with
a lavish hand upon white lace dresses
and for braces, shoulder knots and bró-
tenles. Lattice straps of velvet arranged
across the chest over guimps and
smocked plastrons of crepe lisse ox
tulle, with dog collar and Swiss girdle
to match, are made te enrich the dainty
the m
bodfc
with short sleeves trimmed with white
lace, cut In a deep square or V-shape
in the neck, are worn with diaphanous
.toilets of every description, except
those made with a long train. Rows
ot watered ribbon set on in straight
lines are seen upon many of the plain-
ly c&t skirts of walking añá visiting
dresses recently seat frook London and
Pari*? t \fi if
Why All Vegetables Should Be P.'aced In
Soiling Water.
When we wish to extract juices from
any thing we put in cold water and let
it gradually reach the boiling point, so
when we wish the viands to retain
their juices and use the water only as
a medium for cooking them the oppo-
site course must be pursued. Starch
enters largely into the composition of
many vegetables, and on the preva-
lence of this element depends the di-
gestibility of the vegetable. To free
this element and have it thoroughly
incorporate itself with the other ele-
ments in the vegetable a great amount
of heat is necessary, and hence it is
that all vegetables should be put down to
cook in boiling water. Some authori-
ties claim that even though the water
is boiling it extracts considerable of
the starch, and therefore the nutritive
element, and that steam is the oqjy
agent that should be employed in cook-
ing many varieties, potatoes, for in-
stance. There are as many opinions
against as for this method, and while it
undoubtedly seems probable, still equal-
ly good results have been obtained from
the older ipethod. Chemists say that
potatoes slfould always be boiled in
their jackets, as there are various ele-
ments detrimental to the wholesome-
ness of the vegetable that are absorbed
by the skin, and that potatoes that^are
peeled before boiling retain some of
these elements. Those who are accus-
tomed to have the potatoes peeled be-
fore being boiled think they have a pe-
culiar taste if boiled in their skins. Of
course it is ail the effect of imagination,
but no amount of talking will convince
them of that fact, so if the potatoes have
to be peeled see that quite a thick slice
is taken off, because there is a very bit-
ter acid lodged in cells quite near the
skin, and you must get rid of as much
of this as possible. The water, of
course, draws most of this out, but itr
is not as effective as the absorbent na-
ture has provided. Soft water should
be used in cooking vegetables, and the
only way city folks can soften water is
to add a little salt to it Six or eight
potatoes will need a teaspoonful of salt
added to the water; turnips and par-
snips require about the same—that is,
a teaspoonful of salt to a quart of
water. If any scum should happen to
rise to the surface when the vegetable
are boiling it must be carefully skimmed
off.—Brooklyn Citizen.
!*1
t'
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S&jjf #
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Miller, Freeman E. The Canadian Crescent. (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 40, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 2, 1888, newspaper, August 2, 1888; Canadian, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth183572/m1/3/: accessed May 15, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hemphill County Library.