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"A Day With Dr. Brooks"


  By  Mary E. Dodge.
Scribner's Magazine,
Volume 0001, Issue 1, November, 1870

     From all these points and considerations, Theophilus and I came to sundry sage conclusions -- chief among which was, that it was no joke to carry on the New York Juvenile Asylum.

     To be sure, the Doctor modestly quoted the Board of Directors and extolled his family of officers; but indispensable as these are, the fact remains: In all reformatory institutions, it is the superintendent, not the system, that, under Divine guidance, must the good work. The personal magnetism of the man, his zeal, his tact in drawing forth the best abilities of his assistants, his sense of serving the highest Master, are the forces that prevail. Lacking these, the very best organization must fail of real success. Muller in England, Heldring in Holland, Martin in France, Fingardo in Germany, and such men as are the glory of reformatory institutions in our own country, are, under God, the rescuers and preservers of thousands of children, their machinery being the institutions under their control. I wonder if our bed-time hymns floated into the children's dreams that evening, or if the cheerful laughter that came from the rooms of the lady-officers after we closed our doors for the night rang through the girls' dormitory as it rang through mine. It was not the sort of laughter that disturbs, but a kind that made you feel like going to sleep in peace, since all the world was happy. I did go to sleep, falling straightway into the silence of some dear stupid deaf and dumb dream that held me till ------ Mercy! What was the matter! A red light was forcing its way through the blinds, and such a noise! It was not thunder nor rain, nor a whirlwind, nor the roar of wild animals, nor a general collapse of the building. It was all of these sounds combined. Next, the trees -- every tree in the grove near by and for miles around seemed falling with a tremendous rush, and every branch of every tree shouting. I sprang to the window. Could that be all? Was it only the boys of the institution going to their play-ground? Rubbing my eyes, I again looked down upon the flagged foot-path; yes, the long procession still was pouring out of the building -- an endless string of bare-footed boys walking two-by-two, talking, shouting, laughing as they went. That was all. But of all the noises that ever I heard, the din of those boys was the most bewildering. What wonder -- with nearly a thousand bare feet pattering on the flagging, to say nothing of all the voices. The tramping in the cold weather, when stout shoes are worn, may be louder; but certainly it is not so strange. They had their bath and their breakfast; this was their morning constitutional. I wondered if Theophilus had looked out on the girl's playground from his side of the building, and what their noise was like; but when we met for breakfast there was so much to talk about I forgot to ask. In the chapel again, to see the fresh, clean children seated at their desks, with their morning's play in their eyes. Was it play? I looked more keenly. No it was simply themselves. Of all the things, it is the rarest to see individuality in the eyes of a charity child. Aha! thought I, no repression here. But let us see, perhaps they are too much for the Doctor. He stood up. "Good morning children!" "Good morning sir!" with an electric heartiness not to be mistaken. After the brief prayer came his little morning chat or lecture -- fresh, simple, clear, and practical. He spoke of the cherries which they had been enjoying, and set their young wits thing on the wonders of the fruit from its starting to its full development, suggesting quietly that though pigs might swallow such things with thinking about them, it was not quite the same for human beings to do. Then he told them of one of their schoolmates having lately written a letter, and that another boy had criticized it superscription, saying that it "pitched up." Explaining the expression, he said, "Though it is not well in addressing a letter, to let the lines slant toward the upper corner of the envelope, it gives a good hint in the matter of school-marks and of daily life. I want to see all your lines of conduct 'pitch up.' Whatever you do, don't let them pitch downward.

Scool room and Chapel NY Asylum
School and Chapel

    The upward pitch is always the best." He went on asking questions, making the children laugh one instant bring a reflex of his own earnestness the next. Theop looking proud, and with cause. Meanwhile, taking in every word of the ten minutes' speech, I glanced about the hall. It is the main schoolroom and chapel combined. A vase full of pretty flowers stood upon the speaker's desk; assistant teachers were seated or standing near by. A few monitors stationed about the hall kept perfect order by means of an occasional gesture. The children were all attentive and seemed interested. On the walls hung maps, various national coats of arms, illuminated Bible-texts, and near us, on the side walls a message sent to the children in 1860. It is printed in large letters, the American flag is draped above it, and beneath, in illuminated text, are the words, "God Bless our country."



    When the Doctor had finished, he telegraphed smilingly to a gentleman standing near. The gentleman nodded. Straightway we saw a little tot of a boy coming down the aisle toward us. Reaching the open place in front of the platform, he bumped his head gravely against the air, and, without so much as a breath of preparation, began: ----

"I'm the boy that's gay and happy, Wheresoe'er I chance to be;
And I'll do by best to please you If you will but list to me.
CHORUS (sung by all children).
So let the wide world wag as it will,
We'll be gay and happy still;
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
We'll be gay and happy still.
If the President should sit beside meI'd sing my song with usual glee;
Fools might laugh and knaves deride me, Still I gay and happy be.
CHORUS. -- Then let, etc."

     If the words were jolly, the speaker, feeling the responsibility of his position, maintained his gravity to the last. At the close of the chorus he threw us a quizzical look, bumped his head again, and returned to his seat.

     Next followed a beautiful movement-song by the entire school. Amid the soft clapping of the hundreds of hands they began --

"Hear the music of the rain falling down
On the roof and window-pane, falling down;
'Murmur not,' it seems to say,
'For our Father's love to-day
Orders only in our way
Good to fall.
Like the gentle falling rain,
Over mountains, lake and plain,
Will His tender care remains
Over all.' "

    The rhythmic sweetness of this song was charming, and with the appropriate sounds and movements of the flashing hands, gave so strong an idea of a summer shower, that, seeing the sunlight streaming in through a corner window, one involuntarily felt there must be a rainbow somewhere.

    What now? A sweet little girl, stepping to the front, out of the rain as it seemed, to tell us in a faint voice about -- we could scarce make out what, except that on account of something happening to a nest, she would never in her play,

"Steal the little birds away to grieve their mothers breast."

     Next came a part-song by a dozen or more picked singers, who, at some invisible signal, glided from various parts of the hall and formed a semi-circle about the melodeon, girls on one side, boys on the other. They sang admirably, and the richest voice of all came from a black boy who stood nearly midway in the semi-circle. It was a sight to be remembered -- that great room alive from end to end with young faces, some bright, some lowering, some tender and winning, others stamped with inherited wrongs, and around and above all the sweet hymn floating:--

My faith looks up to thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Saviour divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
O! let me from this day
Be wholly thine."

     After the general exercises, the children divided off into their respective class-rooms -- in the manner of their going, certainly reflecting great credit on the drill-sergeantry of the establishment.

    We went the rounds, staying awhile in each apartment, listening to the recitations and enjoying the enlightened, progressive character of the teaching.

     The range of study is about the same as that in the ward schools. All the rooms are pleasant, spacious, thoroughly ventilated, and provided with comfortable seats for the pupils. Maps, charts, pretty chromos and lithographs, adorn the walls. Illuminated mottoes abound. If the walls have ears, these certainly have tongues: "SPEAK THE TRUTH," they say to the little one; LOVE ONE ANOTHER;" "WELL BEGUN IS HALF DONE;" "THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE." Again and again they insist that "NO LIE THRIVES." Sometimes they throw back a sort of echo to the child's conscience, in this wise: I AM LATE;" "SLOUTH IMPOVERISHETH" or; "I AM EARLY;" "DILIGENCE ENRICHES."
    Although their play-grounds were separate, girls and boys recite together. We noticed here and there a colored child studying or reciting with the others -- attentive pupils they seemed to be, though larger than the average of the white children in the same classes. The Institution has had some very bright negroes in charge, chief among who stands an orphan boy, who, with his brother and sister, found a home in the Asylum some years ago. He was unusually clever, and had so remarkable a memory, that though only about ten years of age, he could call by rote the school-roll of over five hundred names. When requested, he could as correctly call it off, including in their regular order the names of those who had left in the last year or so -- the whole amounting to one thousand names. The brother and sister were, after a while, settled in good places, and he was installed as office-boy in the House of Reception, where he renders excellent service. He writes a fine hand, and is moreover a living directory of the names and residences of all the managers and patrons of the Institution, as well as of almost every one whose address he had ever known. Often he is left in sole charge of the office. I have seen him lately, a fine, clear-browed fellow, very boyish, with a good face, yet full of true negro playfulness. It is hard to say whether he is happier laboring at his book-keeping duties or when out on the sidewalk driving his dog before a little wagon. None of the black young shoulders now at the Asylum, however, seem quite ready to catch his mantle. In the infant department we saw a big woolly-headed girl, very much bothered with words of three letters. She was sitting beside a golden-haired little creature, not more than six years of age. They apparently were warm friends; it was pretty to see the anxiety of the little one that the other should come out creditably in the recitation. The class were spelling in concert from the blackboard.

      They have object-lessons in this room, exercises in enunciating the elementary sounds of the letters, instruction in numbers, colors, forms, pretty pictures on the walls, and a bright New England girl presiding.

       The fifth class, as we entered, seemed full of miniature lightning calculators. They were exercising in mental arithmetic. Such a time, such a shouting of figures, such eager little faces, such an upward flourishing of tiny hands yet the discipline was excellent. Soon they were busily giving the shouts of sh, th, tr, and other combinations. Next came reading, not quite in Fanny Kemble style, but with a nice quality of its own.

     Glancing at the fine view from the window, we went into the fourth and third rooms. The former class was devoted to Geography just then; the latter was in the midst of a spelling match. As we entered, the entire class was in a quiver of alertness. The word under treatment evidently was having a hard time of it:

     e, n, y  any, b, o, d, d, y  body," called out a youngster way off on the back seat.

     Up went a dozen hands, the most frantic of which belonged to a little girl, who, having succeeded in winning the teacher's nod of permission, shouted,

     "a, n, n, y, --- b, o, d, d, y."

     Ah! how the hands went up, and how patient and calm the grave young teacher stood!


     "a, n, y, b, o, d, y."

     came from a meek little colored girl on the front bench, who from the first had been gasping for a chance.

     The pupils of the second and first classes study from advanced text-books, and some of them as we understood from their teacher, are capable of entering the high school.

     The blackboards in one room displayed some gorgeous sketches in colored crayons, that had just been drawn by the inglorious Vandykes and Raffaelles of the establishment. Sundry writings on other boards were suggestive of a good understanding between teacher and scholars. Grammar is not taught by rule, in the old-fashioned way (for which let all concerned be jubilant). In every department, as far as possible, the object system of teaching is pursued.

     We saw cabinets of minerals, shells, and various interesting relics, all of which, when required, are used for practical illustration. In one class the children put their pennies together and subscribe for a juvenile magazine, from which, at times, their teacher, very much to their delight, reads aloud.

     One of the young teachers has lately made the daring attempt of training every boy and girl to salute her politely on entering the room. The result so far is the funniest thing conceivable --- such bows, such curtsies --- but she is sure to succeed in the end. Bless her sweet impulse! Who knows to what these germs of civility may grow --- what courtliness of heart and refining social ambitions may follow? Still the process is amusing. As the last long line passes by, you find yourself involuntarily looking on the floor for heads, feeling sure that at least two or three must have tumbled from their owners necks.

     Occasionally during the morning there was a cheery shifting about of the children that did not at all interfere with the general order. Certain companies filed softly out to their farm labors or to their work-rooms. Other bands came in just in time for classes, and periods of general intermission for out-door air and exercise were frequent. It seemed like some stately machine in which study- slides, play-slides, and work-slides shifted themselves silently in and out by means of internal clock-work. How much better this than the old-style wearisome six hours of study, relieved by only one intermission.

     At one time while a roomful of children were finding a certain page in their atlases, and we were noticing how like a shower of rain the movement sounded, Dr. Brooks came in and took a seat beside us.

     "You were asking," said he in a low tone, "whether children ever come to us from other institutions. Here is a letter just received, which will give you a fair idea of many of the little ones admitted to the Asylum."

     We read it, and so may you, good reader, though you may not be shown the entire heading or the signature.

 NEW YORK, July 23, 1870.


     DEAR SIR --- There is a boy under my care who needs stricter discipline than we can exercise in this Institution. What steps can I take to have him placed under your care? He is 10 or 11 old, lies, swears, fights, and flings missiles at any one who attempts to control him. If you can manage to take him, if only for a short time (although I would like you to keep him altogether), I should be much relieved. Pray take him, if possible.

     Yours respectfully,


     After the reading we looked about us. Surely, we saw no children that ever had answered this description.

     "Plenty of them", said the Doctor, amused at our surprise. "They come in a few at a time, and generally take their cue of conduct from the rest."

     Then I remembered what he had said the night before on the importance of forming a high public sentiment among the children; that he had assured us there were no set rules, no severe forms of punishment, but that the victory is gained whenever a child, thoroughly respecting those in authority, feels the sweetness and dignity of good behavior.

     "Theoph," I whispered, after we had seen and heard more, when one by one the practical developments of the Doctor's theories had appeared, "I believe in him!" -- "Certainly," answered Theoph, and do you notice how the children look at him? That speaks for itself."

     Just then a very little girl was passing us in the hall. "What is your name?" I said, catching her gently.


     "Are you glad you are here?"

     "Yes, ma'am. There are two of us. We haven't any other place. My mother is lame and can't take care of us."

     "Is your father living?"

     "He drinks," she said so bitterly, and with such a darkness over her wee face, that I wished with all my heart I had not reminded her of him.

     Poor little thing! It was a relief to see her afterward come laughing and tripping out from one of the bathing rooms.

     Ah, the bathing-rooms, what grand places they are! None of your paltry tin basins, but great circular wooden tanks, fifteen feet across, with warm or cold water, in which the children may plunge and swim to their hearts content. Our artist represents them at the jets before the tank is filled. Here, morning and evening, the little ones stand washing their hands and faces, each for the time sole proprietor of the clear, bright little stream pouring out for its benefit wise precaution against the spread of ophthalmia or cutaneous affections.    

As the number of boys is usually very large, their bathing-room is furnished with two tanks; the girls have but one. Every child's towel, marked with his or her number, when not in use, hangs conspicuously spread out in its own particular place on the back of one of the benches, arranged in the dressing-rooms like seats in a lecture hall. lt makes one think of the famous journey to St. Ives to go through these rooms. Every boy has a towel ---  every towel has a number --- every number has place, and every place has a comb laid on the seat, just in front of the towel. Twice a week the laundress gathers in these standards of the grand army and puts clean ones in their places, and twice a week, as the rotation is managed, comes each child's turn to take a plunge in the tank so many to a shoal, like minnows. After seeing the bathing-rooms, we strolled into the wardrobe.

 After seeing the bathing rooms, we strolled into the wardrobe.

      The Doctor, who goes in with us, remarks that they sometimes purchase a case of goods at a time. We can readily believe it. What a quantity of pegs! The gowns hanging there look like so many husks of girls. Somehow, I think of the Giant Blunderbore, and look involuntarily at the Doctor. He is telling Theoph why the children are not dressed in uniform. It is best to give them the benefit of variety, he thinks. It prevents the charity-badge idea. So it does. We remember now that the girls wear their hair long or short, as they please. There is no universal cropping of heads, as in some institutions. Pink and lilac calico dresses for Sunday wear abound; so do high-necked gingham aprons. Newly made garments and clean clothes are placed in this room, ready to be dealt out as needed.
     Observing that one side of the room is nearly covered with wooden drawers about a foot square, each drawer numbered, Theoph and I looked interrogatively at each other.
     "Oh, those are the girls' treasure-boxes" says the cherry voice of the matron introduced as Miss Sanford. (The lady looked so like our Phoebe Cary, I wondered whether she wrote a poetry or not.)
     "May we open them?"
      Ah, what a slight thing sometimes sets one's eyes swimming! In the first, a soiled fan, a bit of colored paper, a printed scrap of poetry; in another a piece of bright calico and a pasteboard box; in another, some faded ribbon a photograph, and a pretty glass button. How meager these, their precious possessions! But it is beautiful thus to provide each girl with a little nook which she can call her own. Meantime, Miss Sanford looks on, her face sparkling with hearty kindliness. Recalling what the Doctor has told us of her years of faithful service, I exclaim inwardly, "She acts poetry, anyhow, whether she writes it or not."
    "This way," said Theoph, looking back at me, as he followed the Doctor out-of-doors.
We went to the little work-shop, close by, where, under the direction of a master-cobbler, the boys made the shoes of the establishment. A few little fellows on benches were busily pegging away at their work.
    "They do pretty well," said their 'boss;' "but our boys never stay long enough to get a trade. It helps them ever after, though, the little cobbling they manage to learn."
     "What is that mountain of shoes in the corner?"
     "Those are the mended ones ready for cool weather."
     He showed us the patches with no little pride. Shade of St. Crispin - what patches they were! The original shoe sank into insignificance beside them.
     Thence to the main building again, and into the tailoring room. The click of a sewing machine greeted us. It was odd to see the boy operator, and odder still to see another boy pressing seams with a big "goose," and about twenty other boys sitting in rows on low chairs, sewing away, with silent whistles in their faces.
     Another bright-eyed lady here, who surveyed her sewing-class proudly, with a special appreciation of the good button-hole boys.
     She tells us all about it in a few words. There are fifty little tailors, in two divisions of twenty-five each, including two sewing-machine workers. Each division works three hours a day alternately, giving also an extra hour before school. The little tailors make all the boys' jackets and trousers, and make them well too.
    "They would do better," said our pleasant informant, "if we could have them longer; but the divisions are constantly changing."
    "Constantly changing." That is what the Doctor said last night, thought I; it is easy enough to see the difficulties to be encountered on that score. He has to cleanse and re-plume his draggled birds on the wing, as it were. It is impossible always to succeed, but how he accomplishes so much is a mystery.
     All the children's clothing, bedding, and towels are made in the institution. The girls do their full share, though they are not expected to accomplish the dress-making and mending unassisted.
     A beautiful view of the Palisades is seen from the windows of the tailoring room; but we had no time to spare.
     Going out, Theophilus threw some figures at me, which any one who wants them may have, and welcome.
     The boys last year made 5,907 articles, including jackets, pantaloons, caps, and suspenders. The girls made 4,474, including clothes, bedding curtains, table-covers, and eight carpets. The articles repaired in the institution numbered no less than 43,912*
*("The working children have been paid small sums of money according to their industry, amounting to from ten to twenty dollars per month. It is believed to have been a good investment." Report of N. Y. F. Asylum, 1870.)
     Again, in this labor matter we see the Doctor's views in full flower and fruit. He wishes the children not to suffer from the common error that time devoted to an employment which is not ultimately to be a means of livelihood is time thrown away. They are all the better off, he believes, for doing a reasonable amount of work. Their hands are made skillful, their faculties of calculation developed, and their tastes cultivated. Indeed, the experiment of reform is a failure, unless a love of labor be instilled.
     So the boys who are large enough dig and hoe, and rake and plant, or make beds, wash dishes, mop floors, and do scores of other things; while the girls, just as active, are busy with their own employments. The truth of the adage - "Many hands make light work." is admirably illustrated here. If it were not so, we may be sure the labor system would be reorganized so as to spare the children. Very tender is the Doctor of their undeveloped strength, very careful to impose no undue burden on their young shoulders, and especially anxious that the children should be child-like - as unrestrained and joyous as is possible under existing circumstances.
This admirable system, overtaxing none, gives the proper employment to all. Still there is no noise, no confusion - the little busy bees do not even buzz. You see them silently speeding hither and thither and mops and pails, or poking invisible dust out of corners with little sticks. The dust they see you cannot see, for all the place is breezy and shiny with cleanliness. If you want noise and merry voices, you must hear them at their play.

     The children may well be happy, and it would seem most of them are so. They are kindly cared for, their rights duly regarded, their confidence respected, and every pains taken to do away with the slightest sense of stigma in connection with the Asylum. They have their high days and holidays their excursions, their winter home amusements, and under proper regulations are allowed to receive visits from their friends. The twenty acres about their pleasant home, barren and bleak enough twelve years ago, are made fertile and beautiful. Rocks have been blasted away, and flower-beds put in their place; trees have been planted, and the gray lintels and cornices of the stone-buildings tinted, so as to do away with the old prison look. When they leave, the beneficial effects of their surroundings go with them into their old homes, or to new ones. Snatches of hymns and remembered Scripture lessons do a good work, an in after years experience is constantly emphasizing for them the lessons of their Institute life.

The Gym, New York Asylum
The Gymnasium

     Successful good men and noted rascals are apt to have certain natural attributes in common, such as ingenuity, foresight, shrewdness, daring, and love of gain. Well if such traits be directed rightly while the blood is young, the mind impressible!
Over-worked boys are not prone to patronize turning poles. We were glad to see that the youngsters who had appeared saints in the chapel were monkeys in the gymnasium. They climbed, and sprang, and leaped, and spun round till we were dizzy. One little chap, especially, seemed homeless. He slid, head first, down the long ropes; he rolled along the floor like a wheel; he rested the back of his head on the soles of his feet, and brushed his ears with his toes. Soon a colored boy, with really a lovely fact, joined him, and the two tumbled about together.

              ................... What fine times the children will have when the new gymnasium and the forty-feet swimming baths are finished: Additional French-roofed buildings, now in course of erection, and others being planned, will cost not less than $100,000, to be paid for by donations, legacies, etc., $80,000 of the sum being already secured. These buildings are to be of red brick, to correspond with those recently added, as the effect is less gloomy than that of the gray stone formerly adopted. I hope the improvements will include a swimming bath and gymnasium for the girls. Why not?

     A gong sounds.

     "Shall we go in?" asks Theophilus; "the children are at dinner."

     "White table-cloths!" he exclaims softly, as we enter.

     Here a number of long covered tables, some with girls, some with boys, closely seated on each side, and always a monitor at the end. The monitors may be black or white, little or big, no matter; at their posts they are impressive and superb. The children eat with subdued ravenousness. They have soup, meat, plain vegetables, and all the bread they want. Hands are raised if supplies are needed. They glance pleasantly at each other, but not a word is spoken.

     Again the walls have somewhat to say from between the pictures- "Bless our Home" - and the knives and forks rattle briskly; - "The Lord will provide." Who, looking round, doubts it? "God Bless Our Daily Bread." Amen, amen to that.

     "May we walk about among the tables?" whispers Theophilus to the gentleman in charge.

     It is Mr. Appley, assistant superintendent and principal of the school, who, Dr. Brooks believe, has no equal in the country for thorough hyet mild control of boys. He has been connected with the Institution for seventeen years; and for nine, his wife has served it faithfully as matron. Many a vagrant boy have they seen lifted to a prosperous and worthy career; many a once homeless and perverted girl trained to honored and happy womanhood!

     Permission being given, we make a rambling tour of the room - Theophilas with Mr. Appley, and I with Miss Stickney, talking in an under-tone as we pass along. We know Miss S. by this time, and I have inwardly apologized for expecting to find her an austere, stern looking woman. Why, she is hardly more than a sunny girl, crowned with sweet womanly dignity. To be sure, one sees an expression about her mouth and chin that might make a bad child tremble; but just as surely it would make a good child long for a kiss.

     What a multitude of young faces we see - of all styles and expressions. Involuntarily we recall Hawthorne's description of the blue-gowned girls of an English charity school, where he was surprised to find "so many children collected together without a single trace of beauty or scarcely of intelligence in one individual; such mean, coarse, vulgar features and figures, betraying unmistakably a low origin and ignorant and brutal parents. They did not appear wicked, but only stupid, animal, soulless." We recall it, however, only to wonder at the contrast. There are some beautiful little ones here - children of whom it would seem any parent might be proud. But alack! these are quite likely to be the incorrigibles of the institution - sent in on account of utter insubordination or of crime. Our guides, evidently unwilling to break in upon our admiration, spoke kindly of their charges, finding some good even in the worst. But it was startling to hear of a sweet blue-eyed girl - "her trouble is stealing;" or of a noble-looking rosy-cheeked boy - "yes, but the poor child's temper is terrible;" or of yet another smiling youngster - "treated his mother dreadfully." On the other hand, it was delightful, while looking at some sallow, misshapen face, to be told, "that's a dear little thing, so good and faithful" - or of another with a downcast, unwinsome look, "he's had a hard time of it, poor little fellow! - but he begins to brighten a little. He'll undoubtedly turn out well."

     One youngster brought to mind something a teacher had said to me: "A few children yield to good influences right away; but some you have to tune, and tune, and tune." He looked as if no amount of tuning would make anything of him. His little failing was being "utterly ungovernable at home." What a saucy look he shot at us as we passed!

     On to the kitchen, where we saw steam-cooking apparatus, modern improvements, big windows, clean tables, tidy cooks. We were bewildered to learn of its serving up, daily, three hundred pounds of fresh meat, a barrel of potatoes, three hundred quarts of milk, besides startling quantities of beets, beans, cabbages, and other vegetables. Thence to the bakery, where three barrels of flour are cast into the oven every day, and on Saturdays nearly an extra barrel for ginger bread



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