TURN SURPLUS COCKERELS INTO CAPONS
Í1B KM STODY
ILLUSTRATIONS (6 RAY WALTERS
cOPYR/CAT by THE B0B85-MIERR/LL COMPYY
SYNOPSIS.
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Diagram showing where incision should
be made between last two ribs.
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Many farmers and poultry fanciers
have found it profitable to turn all
their surplus cockerels into capons by
altering or castrating them; others
think they can do better by selling
the cockerels as broilers as long as
prices hold up and caponize only later-
hatched chicks.
The capon or castrated rooster bears
the same relation to a cockerel that a
steer does to a bull, a barrow to a
boar, or a wether to a ram. As with
other male animals so altered, the dis
position of the capon differs materially
from that of the cockerel. As a result
of the more peaceful disposition of the
capon he continues to grow and his
body develops more uniformly and to a
somewhat greater size than is the case
with a cockerel of the same age.
Selection of Breeds.
It does not pay to caponize small
fowls. Yellow legs and skin, as in
other classes of poultry, are most pop
ular. The Plymouth Rocks, Light
Brahmas, Cochins, Indian Games,
Langshans and Wyandottes are all
recommended by different producers,
as are also various crosses of these.
The Brahmas and Cochins possess
good size. The Plymouth Rocks and
Wyandottes are somewhat smaller, but
sell readily and possess the advantage
of yellow skin and legs. The Lang-
shan Is largo and is easily operated
upon. The Indian Game is probably
most useful as a cross upon someone
of the other breeds, thereby improving
the breast meat without materially re
ducing the size of the fowl.
Time to Caponize.
In so far as the effects oí the opera
tion and the rapidity and ease of heal
ing are concerned, the time of year
when the operation is performed is of
little importance. The age and size of
the cockerel, however, are very impor
tant. As soon as the cockerels weigh
two to three pounds, or when two to
four months old, they should be opera
ted upon. The lower age and weight
limits apply particularly to the Ameri
can breeds, while the higher apply to
the Asiatics.
The fact that capons are in greatest
demand and bring the best prices from
the Christmas season until the end of
March, and that it takes about ten
months to grow and finish them prop
erly. makes It Important to hatch the
chicks in early spring so that they will
be of proper size for caponizing in
June, July and August. These are by
.far the most popular months for the
operation, though in some cases it is
' performed still later.
|
Operation of Caponizing.
Before beginning the operation two
conditions are absolutely essential. If
these are not favorable, do not at-
i tempt to operate. The first of these is
that the intestines of the fowl should
be completely empty, so that they will
fall away and expose the testicle to
view. This can be accomplished by
shutting up the fowls and withholding
all food and water for twenty-four to
! thirty-six hours before the operation.
Thirty-six hours is better than twenty-
four, especially for a beginner. The
second condition Is a good, strong
light, so that the organs of the fowl
may be clearly and easily distin
guished. Direct sunlight Is beat for
this, and in consequence it is well to
operate out of doors on a bright day.
Methods of Holding the Fowl.
When ready to operate, catch the
bird and pass a noose of strong string
about the legs. Do the same with both
wings close to the shoulder joints. To
the other end of the strings are at
tached weights of sufficient size to
hold down and stretch out the bird
when placed upon the head of a bar
rel or box of convenient height, which
la to serve as operating table.
Having fastened the fowl, be sure
that all the Instruments are at hand.
It Is also well, though not necessary,
to have ready some absorbent cotton
and a dish of water to which has been
added a few drops of carbolic acid
Having once started, carry the opera
tion through as quickly as possible
Moisten and remove the feathers from
a small area over the last two ribs
Just in front of the thigh. With the
left hand slide the skin and flesh down
toward the thigh. Holding It thus,
make the Incision between the last
two ribs, holding the edge of the knife
away from you as you stand back of
the fowl. Lengthen the incision in
each direction until It Is one to one
and a half inches long. Now insert
the spreader into the incision, thus
springing the ribs apart. The intes-
tinea will now be visible, covered by a
thin membrane called the omentum.
Tear apart this membrane with the
hook, and the upper testicle, yellow or
sometimes rather dark colored and
about the size and shape of an ordi
nary bean, should be visible close up
against the backbone. By pushing aside
the intestines this can easily be seen,
and the lower one also, in a similar
position on the other side of the back-
bone. Expert operators usually re
move testicles through one incision.
Inexperienced operators will usually
find it well to attempt the removal of
the upper or nearer testicle only and
to make a second incision on the op
posite side of the bedy for the removal
of the other testicle.
If both testicles are to be removed
through the same incision, remove the
lower first, as the bleeding from the
upper might be sufficient to obscure
the lower. Each testicle is enveloped
In a thin membrane. This may be and
probably is best removed with the
testicle, though some operators tear
it open and remove the testicle only.
The delicate part of the operation is
at hand, due to the close proximity of
the spermatic artery, which runs back
of the testicle and to which the testi
cle Is in part attached. If this Is rup
tured the fowl will bleed to death. The
cannula, threaded with a coarsejhorse-
hair or fine wire. Allow the hair or wire
protruding from the end to form a
small loop Just large enough to Blip
over the testicle. Work this over the
testicle, being careful to inclose the
entire organ. Now tighten up on the
free ends of the hair Or wire, being
careful not to touch any part of the
artery. If the spermatic cord does not
separate, saw lightly with the hair or
wire. When the testicle is free, re
move it from the body. If only the up
per testicle has been removed, turn
tho bird over and proceed In exactly
the same manner upon the other side.
After removing the testicle, if the
bleeding is at all profuse it is well to
remove a portion of the blood by in
troducing small pieces of absorbent
cotton into the body by means of the
hook or nippers, allowing them to be
come saturated and then removing
them. Be sure to remove all blood
clots, feathers or other foreign matter.
After the testicles and all foreign mat
ter are removed, take out the spread-
era, thus allowing the skin to slip back
over the incision.
Some birds are sure to be killed even
by experts, but the loss Is small.
Care of Fowls After the Operation.
Upon being released from the oper
ating table the capons are usually put
in a closed yard where they can find
shelter, food and water and can be
kept quiet. No roosts are provided, as
the less flying and jumping they do
the sooner will the wound heal. The
capons seem to be very little incon
venienced by the operation, and water
and soft feed mixed with sweet skim
milk can be given immediately.
For a week or ten days the newly
made capons should be carefully ob
served to see whether they become
“wind puffed.” This Is a condition
caused by air gathering under and puff
ing out tho skin near the wound. When
observed it can be readily relieved by
pricking the skin with a needle or
knife and pressing out the air. In
about ten days or two weeks the in
cision Into the body should be entirely
healed and, although no special anti
septic methods are employed in the
operation, blood poisoning or any other
trouble seldom results.
UTILIZE MANY SPARE HOURS
Odd Jobs About Farm May Be Done
on Wet Daye During Summer When
Work In Field Ie Impossible.
The wet days of summer are the
time for odd Jobs about the farm and
the farmhouse. A new shelf needed
here, or a hinge there: making the
henhouse snugger or cleaning a piece
of machinery; and a hundred more
small Jobs can be found by any farm
er on any wet day when nothing can
be done in the fields. The wise man
will take advantage of these spare
hours to do the odd tasks. He who
does not generally finds them press
ing upon him at a time when he is
busy with more Important work.
Plow Up Strawberry Bed.
Plow up the old strawberry bed as
soon as it has fruited. Some late veg
etable crop, such as late celery, cab
bages or turnips, may bo planted on
the land.
Le Comte de Sabron, captain of French
cavalry, takes to his quarters to raise by
hand a motherless Irish terrier pup, and
names it Pitchoune. He dines with the
Marquise d’Esclignac and meets Miss Ju
lia Redmond, American heiress. He is or
dered to Algiers but Is not allowed to
take servants or dogs.
Miss Redmond
takes care of Pitchoune, who. longing for
his master, runs away from her. The
marquise plans to marry Julia to the Duc
de Tremont. Pitchoune follows Sabron to
Algiers, dog and master meet, and Sabron
gets permission to keep his dog with him.
The Duc de Fremont finds the American
heiress capricious
Sabron. wounded in
an engagement, falls into the dry bed of
a river and Is watched over by Pitchoune.
After a horrible night and day Pitchoune
leaves him. Tremont takes Julia and the
marquise to Algiers in his yacht but has
doubts about Julia's Red Cross mission.
After long search Julia gets trace of Sa-
bron's whereabouts. Julia for the mo
ment turns matchmaker in behalf of Tre
mont.
Hammet Abou tells the Mar
quise where he thinks Sabron may be
found. Tremont decides to go with Ham-
met Abou to find Sabron. Pitchoune finds
a village, twelve hours Journey away, and
somehow makes Fatou Anni understand
his master's desperate plight. Sabron is
rescued by the village men but grows
weaker without proper care.
Tremont
goes Into the desert with the caravan In
search of Sabron.
Julia follows with
Madame de la Maine, whom Tremont
loves.
CHAPTER XXIV—Continued.
At night as he lay in his bed in his
tent, Tremont and Hammet Abou
cooled his temples with water from
the earthen bottles, where the sweet
ooze stood out humid and refreshing
on the damp clay. They gave him acid
and cooling drinks, and now and then
Sabron would smile on Tremont, call
ing him "petit frere,” and Tremont
heard the words with moisture in his
eyes, remembering what he had said
to the Marquise d’Esclignac about be
ing Sabron's brother. Once or twice
the soldier murmured a woman’s
name, but Tremont could not catch it,
and once he said to the duke:
“Sing! Sing!”
The Frenchman obeyed docilely,
humming in an agreeable barytone the
snatches of song he could remember,
"La Fille de Madame Angot,” "Il Tro-
vatore;” running them into more mod
ern opera, "La Veuve Joyeuse.” But
the lines creased in Sabron’s forehead
indicated that the singer had not yet
found the music which haunted the
memory of the sick man.
"Sing!” he would repeat, fixing his
hollow eyes on his companion, and
Tremont complied faithfully. Finally,
his own thoughts going back to early
days, he hummed tunes that he and a
certain little girl had sung at their
games in the allées of an old chateau
in the valley of the Indre.
"Sonnez les matines
Ding—din—don,"
and other children’s melodies.
in those nights, on that desolate
way, alone. In a traveling tent, at the
side of a man he scarcely knew, Rob
ert de Tremont learned serious les
sons. He had been a soldier himself,
but his life had been an inconsequent
one. He had lived as he liked, behind
him always the bitterness of an early
deception. But he had been too young
to break his heart at seventeen. He
had lived through much since the day
his father exiled him to Africa.
Therese had become a dream, a
memory around which he did not al
ways let his thoughts linger. When
he had seen her again after her hus
band's death and found her free, he
was already absorbed in the worldly
life of an ambitious young man. He
had not known how much he loved her
until in the Villa des Bougainvilleas
he had seen and contrasted her with
Julia Redmond.
All the charm for him of the past
returned, and he realized that, as
money goes, he was poor—she was
poorer.
The difficulties of the marriage made
him all the more secure in his deter
mination that nothing should separate
him again from this woman.
By Sabron's bed he hummed his
little insignificant tunes, and his heart’
longed for the woman. When once or
twice on the return journey they had
been threatened by the engulfing sand
storm he had prayed not to die before
he could again clasp her In his arma.
Sweet, tantalizing, exquisite with
the passion of young love, there came
to him the memories of the moonlight
nights on the terrace of the old cha
teau. He saw her in the pretty girl
ish dresses of long ago, the melan
choly droop of her quivering mouth,
her bare young arms, and smelled the
fragrance of her hair as he kissed
her. So humming his soothing melo
dies to the sick man, with his voice
softened by his memories, he soothed
Sabron.
Sabron closed his eyes, the creases
in his forehead disappeared as though
brushed away by a tender hand Per.
haps the sleep was due to the fact
that, unconsciously, Tremont slipped
into humming a tune which Miss Red
mond had sung in the Villa des Bou-
gainvilleas, and of whose English
words De Tremont was quite Ignorant.
“Will he last until Algiers, Hammet
Abou V'
"What will be will be. monsieur!"
Abou replied.
"He must,” De Tremont answered
lercely. “He shall."
He became serious and meditative
270
on those silent days, and his blue
eyes, where the very whites were
burned, began to wear the far-away,
mysterious look of the traveler across
long distances During the last sand
storm he stood, with the camels, round
Sabron’s litter, a human shade and
shield, and when the storm ceased he
fell like one dead, and the Arabs
pulled off his boots and put him to bed
like a child.
One sundown, as they traveled into
the afterglow with the East behind
them, when Tremont thought he
could not endure another day of the
voyage, when the pallor and waxlness
of Sabron's face were like death itself,
Hammet Abou, who rode ahead, cried
out and pulled up his camel short.
He waved him arm.
“A caravan, monsieur.”
In the distance they saw the tents,
like lotus leaves, scattered on the pink
sands, and the dark shadows of the
Arabs and the couchant beasts, and
the glow of the encampment fire.
"An encampment, monsieur!”
Tremont sighed. He drew the cur
tain of the litter and looked in upon
Sabron, who was sleeping. His set
features, the growth of his uncut
beard, the long fringe of his eyes, his
dark hair upon his forehead, his wan
transparency—with the peace upon his
face, he might have been a figure of
Christ waiting for sepulture.
Tremont cried to him: "Sabron,
mon vieux Charles, reveille-toi! We
are in sight of human beings!"
But Sabron gave no sign that he
heard or cared.
Throughout the journey across the
desert, Pitchoune had ridden at his
will and according to his taste, some
times journeying for the entire day
perched upon Tremont’s camel. He
sat like a little figurehead or a mas
cot, with ears pointed northward and
his keen nose sniffing the desert air.
Sometimes he would take the same
position on one of the mules that car
ried Sabron’s litter, at his master’s
feet. There he would He hour after
hour, with his soft eyes fixed with
understanding sympathy upon Sab
ron’s face.
He was, as he had been to Fatou
Anni, a kind of fetish—the caravan
adored him. Now from his position at
Sabron’s feet, he crawled up and
licked his master’s hand.
"Charles!” Tremont cried, and lift
ed the soldier's hand.
Sabron opened his eyes. He was
sane. The glimmer of a smile touched
his lips. He said Tremont’s name,
recognized him. “Are we home?” he
asked weakly. “Is it France?”
Tremont turned and dashed away a
tear.
He drew the curtains of the litter
and now walked beside it, his legs
feeling like cotton and his heart beat
ing.
As they came up toward the en
campment, two people rode out to
meet them, two women in white riding
habits, on stallions, and as the evening
breeze fluttered the veils from their
helmets, they seemed to be flags of
welcome.
Under his helmet Tremont was red
and burned. He had a short, rough
growth of beard.
Therese de la Maine and Julia Red
mond rode up. Tremont recognized
them, and came forward, half stagger
ing. He looked at Julia and smiled,
and pointed with his left hand toward
the litter; but he went directly up to
Madame de la Maine, who sat immov
able on her little stallion. Tremont
seemed to gather her in his arms. He
lifted her down to him.
Julia Redmond’s eyes were on the
litter, whose curtains were stirring in
the breeze. Hammet Abou, with a
profound salaam, came forward to her.
‘'Mademoiselle,” he said, respect
fully, "he lives. I have kept my word ”
Pitchoune sprang from the litter and
ran over the sands to Julia Redmond.
She dismounted from her horse alone
and called him: "Pitchoune! Pit
choune!” Kneeling down on the des
ert, she stooped to caress him. and
he crouched at her feet, licking her
hands.
CHAPTER XXV.
As Handsome Does.
When Sabron next opened bis eyes
he fancied that he was at home in his
old room In Rouen, in the house where
he was born. In the little room in
which, as a child, dressed in his dimity
night gown, he had sat up in his bed
by candle light to learn his letters
from the cookery book.
The room was snowy white. Out
side the window he heard a bird sing,
and near by. he heard a dog's smoth
ered bark. Then he knew that be
was not at home or a child, for with
the languor and weakness came his
memory. A quiet nurse in a hospital
dress was sitting by bls bed. and
Pitchoune rose from the foot of the
bed and looked at him adoringly.
He waa in a hospital in Algiers.
"Pitchoune,” he murmured, not
knowing the name of bls other com
panion. "where are we. old fallow T’
The nurse replied In an agreeable
Anglo-Saxon French:
"You are in a French hospital In Al-|
giers, sir, and doing well.”
Tremont came up to him.
"I remember you,” Sabron said. “You
have been near me a dozen times
lately.”
"You must not talk, mon vieux.”
"But I feel as though I must talk a
great deal. Didn’t you come for me
into the desert?”
Tremont, healthy, vigorous, tanned,
gay and cheerful, seemed good look
ing to poor Sabron, who gazed up at
him with touching gratitude.
"I think I remember everything, I
think I shall never forget it,” he said,
and lifted his hand feebly. Robert de
Tremont took it. “Haven’t we trav
eled far together, Tremont?”
"Yes,” nodded the other, affected,
"but you must sleep now. We will
talk about it over our cigars and
liquors soon."
Sabron smiled faintly. His clear
mind was regaining its balance, and
thoughts began to sweep over it cru
elly fast. He looked at his rescuer,
and to him the other's radiance meant
simply that he was engaged to Miss
Redmond. Of course that was natural.
Sabron tried to accept it and to be
glad for the happiness of the man
who bad rescued him. But as he
thought this, he wondered why he
had been rescued and shut his eyes
so that Tremont might not see his
weakness. He said hesitatingly:
"I am haunted by a melody, a tune.
Could you help me? It won’t come.”
“It’s not the "Marseillaise?” asked
the other, sitting down by his side and
pulling Pitchoune’s ears.
"Oh, no!"
“There will be singing in the ward
shortly. A Red Cross nurse comes to
sing to the patients. She may help
you to remember.”
Sabron renounced in despair. Haunt
ing, tantalizing in his brain and illu
sive, the notes began and stopped, be
gan and stopped. Ho wanted to ask
his friend a thousand questions. How
he bad come to him, why he had come
to him, how he knew. ... He gave
it all up and dozed, and while he slept
the sweet sleep of those who are to
recover, be heard the sound of a worn-
Threatened by the Engulfing Sand
storm.
an's voice in the distance, singing, one
after another, familiar melodies, and
finally he heard the "Kyrie Eleison,"
and to its music Sabron again fell
asleep.
The next day he received a visitor.
It was not an easy matter to intro
duce visitors to his bedside, for Pit
choune objected. Pitchoune received
the Marquise d’Esclignac with great
displeasure.
“Is he a thoroughbred?” asked the
Marquise d’Esclignac.
"He has behaved like one,” replied
the officer.
There was a silence. The Marquise
d’Esclignac was wondering what her
niece saw in the pale man so near
still to the borders of the other
world.
"You will be leaving the army, of
course,” she murmured, looking at him
interestedly.
"Madame!” said the Capitaine de
Sabron, with his blood—all that was
In him—rising to his cheeks.
"I mean that France has done noth
ing for you. France did not rescue
you and you may feel like seeking a
more—another career.”
HAVE QUEER ran
Extraordinary Electric Qualities
of Many Plants.
One In India Has Movement Very Sim
ilar to the Small Hands of a
Watch—"Vegetable Octopus”
of South America.
All plants are electric batteries.
Some are weak, others are strong
According to Royal Dixon, author of
“The Human Side of Plants,” who bas
an entertaining article in the Edison
Monthly on the extraordinary electric
qualities of plants, the strongest is the
well-known sensitive plant (Mimosa
pudica), but the iris, nicotina, nastur
tium and practically all the meat-eat
ing plants produce a current of from
.005 to .02 volt, which can be meas
ured with a galvanometer.
“A very peculiar plant,” writes Mr.
Dixon, “and one which has tremendous
East Indian Telegraph Plant.
electrical powers, is the ‘telegraph
plant’ (Desmodium gyrans). It is a
native of India, and each of its leaves
is composed of three leaflets; the larg
er one stands erect during, the day
but turns down at night, while each of
the smaller leaflets moves day and
night without stopping. They describe
by means of jerking motions complete
circles, not unlike the smaller hand o
a watch.”
Then there is the Utricularia, or
fishing plant, which lures small fish
"into its capacious mouth and sudden
ly, as if an electric button were se
cretly pressed, closes in upon its help
less prey. In other words, it fishes
with a net electrically wired!”
Near Lake Titicaca in South Ameri-
éa and in the interior of Nicaragua is
found a really terrible plant, a sort of
vegetable octopus. This was first dis
covered by the naturalist Dunstan,
who heard his dog cry cut as if in
agony. Running to his relief, Mr.
Dunstan found the animal "enveloped
in what seemed to him a perfect net
work of what seemed to be a fine,
ropelike tissue of roots and fibers.”
He cut the fleshy fibers of the mag
netized plant only with great difficulty.
The dog was covered with blood. "The
twigs curled like living sinuous fin
gers about his hands and it required
terrific force to free himself from the
plant’s electric grasp, which left his
hands red and blistered."
"How’s the Wind, Sergeant?”
Every British soldier at the front
Is said to have become a close ob
server of the wind since the Germans
began the use of gas; if it veers to
the north and east it is an almost cer
tain sign of attack. The respirators,
or "muzzles,” as the soldiers call
them, are declared to give little pro
tection from the gas. "Just get some
one to throw a handful of chloride of
lime in your face,” says an officer tn
describing the gas. "That will give
,you a fair Idea of the preliminary
stages of the gas trouble.”
Of the Second battalion of Lan
cashire fusiliers, 403 men are report
ed to be "suffering from gas poison-
ing."
Scientists are believed to have dis
covered a means of combating the gas.
It is planned to squirt hyposulphite
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
of sodium in the air as the gas reaches
the lines, thus destroying the dead
St, Bride of Ireland.
St. Bride, the patroness of Ireland ly effects of the fumes.
and of Fleet street, whose feast fails
in February, was the beautiful daugh
No Hanoverian Orders.
The duke of Cumberland, struck
ter of a bard who became the religious
disciple of St. Patrick and abbess of off the roll of the Garter, cannot
Kildare. The story of St Bride, or retaliate by striking Englishmen off
Bridget, fired the Celtic imagination, rolls of his own as "rightful” king
Hanoverian orders
and in Ireland about twenty parishes of Hanover.
bear the name of Kilbride. The spire ceased to be conferred half a century
of her church in Fleet street has been ago, when Prussia extinguished the
twice struck by lightning and much kingdom of Eanover, and the duke
reduced from the original height, but of Cambridge was the last surviving
Is still one of the tallest steeples in British Knight Grand Cross of tho
London. It is supposed to have been Guelphic Order. This order was es-
designed by Wren's young daughter.— tablished in 1815 by our prince re-
Pall Mall Gazette.
gent, afterward George VI. After
Hanover and Britain parted. King
Ernest Augustus I established the
Have a Good Bed.
In Farm and Fireside a contributor, Order of St. George, In 1839. But in
writing a practical article about mat 1844 we find Queen Victoria refusing
tresses and other provisions for beds, permission to her subjects to accept
makes the following general comment: Hanoverian orders, explaining to Lord
"In furnishing a home the housewife Aberdeen that "it would not be ex-
should give most careful thought to pedient to give to the king of Han
the beds and their equipment. We over a power which the queen herself
spend at least a third of our lives in does not possess, viz., that of grant
bed. and it is worth while to make ing orders as favors, or for personal
that third pleasant and refreshing. The services.”—London Chronicle.
best mattresses and springs are none
Getting Nowhere.
too good when one la storing up
"What a lot of energy we expend
strength for some work. Besides, as is
the case with most household pur without making any actual progress! '
chases, the beat are really the cheap "Yes! Especially since the dancing
craze set in!”
est in the end.”