Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1881-11-23

The Method Of Cultivating tho Mos
Delicate Of Edible Plants.

The Method Of Cultivating the Most
Delicate Of Edible Plants.
From the N. Y. Sun.
In brick house close to the brow Of q preci-
pice at the corner OF Palsade avenue and
Charles street, West Hoboken, lives French
man not yet 60 years Of age, but looking much
older; his form being stopped by years Of work
IN STOPPING posture. He is Jean Conord. a
mushroom cultivator. His father followed the
same trade in a small village in the Department
OF the Seine. His earliest years were associated
with mushroom beds, and when his father died
he succeeded him in the business. which he fol-
six years ago he came to New York and estab-
lished himself at FOrty-ninth street and Sixth
| avenue where he remained one year perfecting
his arrangements and securing contracts and
customers Then he moved to the place he now
occupies in West HobOken, where reporter re-
Gently visited him.
Before entering the cellars at the rear of the
house. where the mushrooms are grown, NJ.
ConOrd showed the reporter handful of rich
earth. Here and there upon its surface he
| pointed out what looked like very fine short
white threads. and these he said were the germs
of the mushroom. He had planted them in the
nutritious soil, where they would. all things
being favorable. in few hours throw up the
little bntton-shaped heads that he loved to Sec
The cellars in which the cultivation is in pro-
gress number fourteen. each siXty-five feet by
fourteen. They are arched over the top. and
are very dry and quite dark. Taking candle
and giving his visitor another NJ. Conord en-
tered one of the cellars. the reporter following
him. The atmosphere was heavy with the odor
of mushrooms. and the dim light of the candles
showed rows of earth, similar to that already
described, placed on narrow benches about four
feet high and extending all around the cellar.
In these the white germ was everywhere vsi-
bic, while in certain places little punches of
mushrooms were Seen. The rows of earth were
conical, and not more than six or seven inches
in height. They were very smooth. and not a
particle of soil was permitted to fall upon the
cleanly-swept floor Everything in the cellars
was in the most perfect order. The mushroom
is so sensitive that the presence of any sub
stance with strong or rank Odor would, in all
probability. destroy the entire crop.
"My life is passed in these cellars" said the
old mushroom cultivator, meditatiyeiy, as he
emerged from the dark cave. Z" | have no in
terest in any other pursuit. For years have
lived only to grow mushrooms. l force nothing
but merely try to remove out Of natures path
some of the obstacles that she encounters in
this country. In France l had no such trouble
but here the intense cold of winter and the
scorching heat OF summer have to be carefully
guarded against. The cold especially is ruin
| GUS, and in winter | have to be constantly on
watch to prevent the destruction of my little
buttons. But l have raised something larger
than those you have seen. l have more than
once produced mushrooms weighing over nine
ounces. but such are rare even in France"
A Narrow Escape.
From the Detroit Post.
1t was Saturday night and Mr. and Mrs Jones
were shutting up the house preparatory to
retiring, when there came loud ring at the
front door bell that startled them both, as it
was too late for either business or callers. Who
could it be? Mrs. Jones declared she would not
open the door for the world and begged Mr.. J.:
to arm himself with the umbrella stand or the
hat rack, for it might be masked robbers or
something of that sort. At which Mr.. Jones
pooh-poohed rather family and nervously, and
marching valiantly to the door threw it wide
open and next fell back over Mrs. Jones, who
had kept cautiously behind. Then the two re-
cOnnOtred the situation. There was no human
being In sight, but on the doorstep there was
some kind of Notwithstanding object. Mrs.
Jones looked at it a moment then she burst
into tears.
'Its IA covered basket. Oh. J-J-Jones. you
wretch, how could you? and Iii trusted you
'Mercy on me, Marie, what are you crying
about? don't know what it is! Maybe it's an
Internal machine. to blow us up" gasped Jones.
"Oh, you know what it is well enough, Mr..
Jones! Don't add falsehood to your other base
ness. Oh, Jones, Jones, hOw-how c-c0uld you
deceive me so, and she wiped away another
flood of tears.
'I'll throw the thing into the middle of next
week. shouted Jones in fury. "rIr'-
stop, stop, wretched man, cried his wife,
grasping his coat-tails. ''Don't add murder to
your other accomplishments; and to think l
have tr-tr-trusted'-
"Maria," said Mr.. Jones. with the calmness of
desperation, ''unhand me! will find out what
this means. That's our old market basket" he
exclaimed suddenly, and the next moment he
had dragged it into the hall. 'Why. it's our
dinner for tomorrow. l forgot all about it and
left it at the butchers, and he has sent it home
then! hope you're satisfied
II never saw such a careless man in nv
life. said his wife, in relieved voice. 1--WE
might have had to go without our dinner, for
all of you.''
Jones says it was the narrowest escape ever
he had