double at the end of the year, which, at $2 each, is $650. This added to the product of the wool, gives $1,308 as the annual production of the farm. There is still another item of profit. With a view to avoid over-stocking, the farmers select in the fall their largest, strongest sheep of the older class, and fatten them over winter, and in the spring, after clipping, they are sold East for mutton purposes. About 200, generally wethers, are annually sold on such a farm, at $5 each, thus enhancing the total profits to $2.308.

"The more you feed and care for a sheep in the winter, the heavier and better in the staple will be his fleece. Just after the war wool brought as high as $1.10 per pound. The very old ewes are sold in the fall at fair prices -say $2 each-are shipped eastward to the neighborhood of the cities, and then sold to a class of farmers who manage to have them drop their lambs early in February, feed the ewes on milk-producing slops, which rapidly fattens and increases the weight of the lambs. These lambs are tender and delicious, and

often bring $5 each. The ewes are then clipped and slaughtered, the carcass thrown to the hogs, and the pelts turned over to the leather men. The large bank deposits in our town are mostly from the wool-growers of Harrison county.

"The sheep, as his coat shows, belongs to a cold climate; hence he flourishes in the mountain countries of Europe north of the 40° latitude, or in Australia south of the 40° latitude, where it is alike cold.

Sheep-raising in Texas is comparatively a failure. To find there the proper climate, elevation is required, and then grass is scant. On the warm lowlands his wool is not required, and nature allows him to grow hair.

The most certain productive crop in our county is the corn, which averages seventyfive bushels to the acre-have known 120 bushels. The average wheat is twenty-five bushels-have known forty. Oats average from sixty to 100 bushels; hay, one and a half to two tons often have the heaviest hay on the summit of the hills.

We append to the sheep statistics from Mr. Shotwell, some items from an article, "The American Wool Industry," by E. H. Ammidown, in the North American Review, August, 1888.

The American wool-clip amounts to about 300,000,000 pounds per annum, and varying in value from $75,000,000 to $95,000,000. It stands sixth in value as an American agricultural product, being surpassed only by corn, hay, wheat, cotton and oats. Our 50,000,000 of sheep are worth over $2 each, say in all $100,000,000. If the annual product of mutton for food, and the increase of the flocks, were added to this, it would totalize $125,000,000. Sheep husbandry is the only great farm industry in which every section of our country shares. The annual gain

from the fertilization of the soil by the droppings of the sheep is estimated to be fully $50,000,000.

If this industry was abandoned, the decline in value of the sheep-farm lands, comprising 112,000,000 of acres-much of which would be then unused and all deteriorate in fertility

at $2.50 an acre, would be $280,000,000. So the advantages of continuing the industry seem imperative to the well-being of the country. We now supply one-sixth part of the wool produced in the world, so far as is statistically known.

REMINISCENCES OF EDWIN M. STANTON.

Edwin M. Stanton, the great war Secretary, had his beginning in Cadiz as a lawyer. The great example of his life was intensity of purpose. Not another member of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet, not even Mr. Lincoln himself, could perhaps here compare with him. He was a giant in will, with mighty passions to enforce it. To crush out the rebellion at all hazards absorbed his full powers. Governor Morton, in acknowledging on a certain occasion receipt of money from Mr. Stanton, wherein authority was assumed to meet a great patriotic end, wrote him: "If the cause fails, you and I will be covered with prosecutions, and probably imprisoned or driven from the country." To this Stanton replied: "If the cause fails, I do not wish to live." Whatever he undertook he went in to the death. If death was to come, it would be for him no more than for others; he could die but once. His care was in what he engaged, and, as a lawyer, never undertook what he thought was a bad case. The cause succeeded, but his intense labors, under the might of an intense patriotism, killed him as effectually as ever soldier was killed by bullet.

It has been our privilege to make the acquaintance here of Mr. Stewart B. Shotwell, attorney-at-law, who was a student two years in the office with Mr. Stanton. To us, in conversation, he made the following statement:

Stanton I knew intimately. He first. studied law in Steubenville with Daniel L. Collier. He came to Cadiz in 1836, and went into partnership with Chauncey Dewey, and remained here until 1840, but the partnership existed until 1842. Dewey was an old lawyer of the Whig persuasion, and shortly after his coming, Stanton was elected prosecuting attorney on the Democratic ticket-an office he held three years.

Dewey was a man of very decided ability, had been educated at Schenectady, a pupil of the celebrated Dr. Nott, was a thoroughly read lawyer, and had especial ability with a jury. Stanton was then but twenty-two years of age, with broad shoulders, but light in person, weighing about 125 pounds, and height five feet eight inches. He was very near-sighted. The people here at first called him "Little Stanton.

He appreciated the ability and skill of his senior partner, at once placed himself under his tutelage, and owed much of his early success to him. He would often say to us, "Well, we are all Dewey's boys." Often, in coming into the office in the morning, Dewey would say, "Stanton, what do you think about this case?" After Stanton had expressed his ideas, Dewey would take pen and put the points as he thought they should be presented, and hand the paper to Stanton, and Stanton invariably followed his guidance: he was his mentor. Mr. Dewey was then forty years of age; he died in 1880, aged eighty-four.

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Stanton was very methodical, kept his papers and office in perfect order, and his industry was marvellous. He would read law sixteen hours a day and keep it up ever. never saw a man with such capacity for work. I have known him to work all day in court and until nine o'clock at night, trying cases and then filing them. Then he would get into his buggy, ride to Steubenville for some paper or authority bearing on the case, be back at court-time next morning, after riding a distance of fifty miles, and work all day fresh as ever. He was physically compact; put up exactly for the labor a lawyer has to endure.

Ordinarily he cared nothing for society of women, but he was exceedingly attached to his first wife. When she died he shut himself in his room and spent days in grief. Then seeing it was breaking him down, he rallied and plunged into business.

He seemingly was of a cold nature; never any gush. He was thoroughly upright; and if he had an important case he would make full preparation to win, even eating in reference to it, so as to have full possession of his powers. He was temperate; but sometimes, if he had a tight place to go through, would take a little stimulus. He spoke with ease, voice on a high key, and monotonous in manner, but strong and combative, hanging on with a bull-dog like tenacity, brow-beating and ridiculing witnesses. He did not care if the whole public was against him. would face them all, and feel he was their

master.

He

I once heard this anecdote, which illustrates how everything had to bend to his main purpose. He had travelled into the then wilderness of Illinois, in pursuit of evidence in an important case, when, in a cabin where he had put up for the night, he found the family were originally from Steubenville and neighbors, living within a square of him. They had known him in his child days; he had been playmate with their son, but he had outgrown their recollections. Any other man, in the glow of feeling consequent upon such a discovery, would have made himself known, but he refrained, from the thought that it might in some way militate against his success in the main object of his journey, if it should be known he was in the country, and so left as he came an entire stranger.

Ordinarily men would wilt under his denunciations; sometimes feel like retorting with physical violence. He knew this, and sometimes, when the court adjourned, asked the sheriff to take his arm and accompany him to his office, as I believed for protection. This was not from cowardice, but because he felt it was wise to avoid a physical combat. He stood in awe of no human being. Every man was alike so far as that was concerned. His moral courage was immense. His likes and dislikes were very strong, and with his especial friends he was exceeding social and courteous. He was profound in legal principles, a safe lawyer in a good case; but if he thought a case was desperate, would not go into court. The stories of his rough language to the people who came to the waroffice are true. Simon Cameron, his predecessor, when he sent for Gen. McClellan, would wait for hours; when Stanton summoned him there was no delay.

TRAVELLING NOTES.

VISIT TO THE BIRTHPLACE OF A HERO.

After Cadiz, my next objective point was New Rumley, a hamlet high on the hills, three miles northeasterly from Scio, at which last I arrived by the cars about noon. New Rumley is a spot of historic interest, for here was born, Dec. 5, 1839, Gen. Geo. A. Custer, the famed cavalry leader of the war. I wished to sketch his birthplace and learn of his beginnings. I had scarcely got off the cars at Scio, and was standing on a narrow platform running from the depot on a line by the railroad track, when a young man at my side cried, "Look out!"

It

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was the Pittsburg and St. Louis express coming at forty or fifty miles an hour, and close on to us. In a twinkling I saw an object coming for me, end over end. I gave a spring and as it came threw my entire weight on my right leg, and as it passed it struck the other a stinging but glancing blow on the inner side. Then I saw it was the Scio mail-bag.

I limped up to the village tavern, dined and then found a farmer who was going within two miles of New Rumley, and would take me in his wagon there for a consideration. I got in, we turned round a little hill, left Scio behind, and went up the valley of Alder creek, Thursday, 1 P. M., June 11, 1886. My companion was a little man with black hair and little black beads of eyes set back far in his head, his face thin and shrivelled, and, what is rare for a farmer, he wore glasses. He said his age was forty-three years, his name G. M. Toussaint and that he and Gen. Pierre Gustavus Toussaint Beauregard, of the Confederate army, were second cousins, their grandfathers having been brothers. It enhanced my interest in him to thus learn he was of French Huguenot stock, for I have a sprinkling of the same blood in my veins.

Upon

A Ride with a Farmer.-The wagon we were in was on springs, drawn by two mares, each having a little colt trotting lithe and pretty by its side, so we counted in all six, two of a kind, two men, two mares and two colts. He was anxious to know my business; thought I had something to sell. telling him, he said his wife went to school with Custer. He was quite a dressy young man, and when he came home on furlough from West Point, brought home among other things full twenty pair of cadet's white pantaloons for his folks to wash. My companion was a horse-fancier, and bragged about his horses; they were of an honored ancestry, and he went on to give their pedigree. On naming over their ancestors, he was astonished that I had never heard of them; he doubtless would have been more astonished if I had told him what was a fact, that in my entire life I had never put a horse in a carriage, nor had buckled on a curry-comb. The colts as I looked down upon their petite, graceful-rounded forms, each trotting by the side of its mother, looked very sweetly. asked him about how much each would weigh. I He replied two hundred pounds. I could scarcely believe this until he told me he had failed only a few days before in an effort te carry one of them into his barn.

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A Bit of Natural History.-The valley we were passing up was perhaps a third of a mile wide, with bounding hills of some two hundred feet high. We passed some sheep grazing. At one place they stood still and in silence in a ring, perhaps fifty of them, their heads down to the ground and noses together; their bodies ranged like the spokes of a wheel from a centre. I inquired, is that for?" There had been a slight What shower, and the sun had come out warm. "The flies bother them, stinging their noses," he said. In the fence-corners were other sheep and their noses were also to the ground. I subsequently learned it was an instinct of nature. There is a peculiar fly, the Oestrus ovis, which crawls into the nostrils of a sheep and deposits an egg. This hatches a worm

which makes its way into the brain and inoriginated the expression as applied to a variably kills the sheep. From this doubtless human being, He has got a maggot in his

head.

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Everything that has life, man, animal or vegetable, appears to receive injury from some other life. The innocent sheep are not the only victims to the winged enemies. Late in the summer there is a large fly, the Oestrus bovis, large as a bumble-bee, which annoys cattle, punctures the skin and deposits an egg along the spine. Under the spring sun that egg develops into a grub with an ugly black head, and makes his way out of the hole to the infinite annoyance of the animal. The grub is thus occupied for weeks, while the itching at times is so intolerable that the animal runs around the field with tail out, perfectly frantic. Then the common expression among the farmers is that it has warbles." Often twenty or thirty grubs will at the once make their way out. has largely been infected with the pests, it When an animal injures the hide for the purpose of leather.

Having come out, the grub goes into the ground and after a little he puts on wingsthey are not angel wings-and some day he starts on his aerial flight, becomes the great ugly fly we have described, to follow the same egg-hatching, egg-depositing business of his illustrious ancestors. The fly from which the horse gets into his greatest trouble is the Oestrus equi. He often alights on the front of the horse, where stinging him the animal nips at, catches and swallows the fly. That is just what the fly was after-to be swallowed. Housed in the stomach of the horse, he then proceeds about his business, to lay eggs. These hatch grubs sometimes to the number of a hundred or more, which attach themselves to the coats of his stomach and feed thereon and often to the death of the horse. This affliction is called "the bots."

Friend Toussaint opened upon another topic dear to his heart-religion. A neighbor of his was far gone in consumption; notwithstanding, seemed as worldly-minded as ever

The high places of earth like this are the glory spots for the lifting the heart Earth and sky are there full spread before his vision to bring his spirit into the very presence of the Infinite. At night the stars pass over him in their grand procession athwart the mighty dome, and by day the bright sun moves over the vast expanse, the sun, blessing mother of morning, noon and night, which in its day's journey typifies the life of man.