Milk River Valley news. [volume], June 08, 1904, Image 7

About Milk River Valley news. [volume] (Harlem, Mont.) 1904-1908

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
OLD AND IN THE WAY.
I nit in the chimney coftier, nn’ hear the yoiuig folk* say
‘•The world Is weary of her—she is old, and in the way.
And * v Aeantehahr ware batter— «a- solitary phicc=
Than the palsied, wrinkled hands of her, and the tear-wet. furrowed face!"
I nursed ’em at my bosom ere Life’s sun went down the West;
I sang Love’s sweetest songs to them and roeked their hearts to rest;
And now, that the sad time hastens —the closing of Life's day—
I am only a useless woman—l am old nnd in the way!
Thunk God. it will soon be over—Life's sun is sinking fast;
My feet are in the valley and I see my horpe at last!
And I say, while the angels beckon, “Poor, and old. and gray.
There is room for me In heaven, where I'll not be In the way!"
—Atlanta Constitution.
A Club. Woman’s Essay
WHEN the chairman of the Pro
gram Committee of our club
Invited me to write a paper
for one of the literary afternoons it
was a very easy matter to say “Yes."
The subject—"The Rise and Fall of
Superstition”—lnterested me, apd It
was a pleasure to treat it from my
own point of view. But when I re
ceived the club book for the new year
and saw the subject for the 13th of
November with my own name in fat
black letters as the essayist, when I
realized that I was to read the produc
tion not only before the members of
the club, but in the presence of visit
ors from various parts of the world,
my very soul began to quake with fear
and bitterly did I repent me of my
easy yielding to persuasion. I had ap
peared before the public ninny times
kin print, but never in person where I
■van the chief attraction, excepting
bpon two occasions; one of them when
■ read a sentimental commencement
Address in a quavering voice and tile
■tlier when I walked up the aisle to
Tne tune of a certain march from Loh-
Ifngrin.
* So far I had made but one acquaint
ance in the fasjilonnble apartment
building which was our home at the
time of which I write. But Mrs. Her
bert was worth a dozen ordinary
i
. /wwjw _
HEB PASSION WAS THE niZAna
friends, for to me there could not be a
more fascinating personality. She was
not beautiful, she was not even pretty,
but sho wns one of those mercurial be
ings whose very changetulness is more
attractive than mere perfection of fea
ture. She had a way of relating the
most trivial incident that compelled at
tention, her manner of relating anec
dotes was inimitable nnd about her
there was ever a quality of efferves
cence and sparkle rarely found even
in tlie women of the Latin race. She
had been a widow for half a dozen
years, she told me, and although rich
in tlie world's goods she.cared nothing
for society and never had belonged
to a woman's club. Most of us have
a favorite pastime, however, and Mrs.
Herbert's ruling passion was the thea
ter. She saw every reasonably good
troupe that came to Chicago, attend
ing the play about four evenings a
week, upon which occasions she usual
ly was attended by her brother, a
quiet, pale young man with a wooden
expression. She had told mo but little
of her past, and I decided in my own
mind that sho had been brought up in
a quiet country town where the de
lights of the theater were unknown,
and that she was now bent upon grati
fying an inordinate taste for the
drama.
Mrs. Herbert enme to my rooms one
evening just as I had finished writing
my club paper, which at her request
I read to her. Seated on a low In
dian stool, with her soft draperies bil
lowing about her, and with her slen
der hands clasped about her knees, she
listened Intently, her earnest eyes fixed
upin my face. But when I had fin
ished I noticed that her straight brows
were puckered into a slight frown.
"It is very Interesting.” she said,
■lowly, “but. my dear woman, you
would ruin the finest literary produc
tion ever born In mortal brain by the
rat-tat-tat way In which you read it.
Now, those anecdotes would be thrill
ing, positively thrilling, If properly re
lated, but under your treatment they
become commonplace.”
“I shall read It In a large hall, and I
■ball raise my voice, of course; it will
sound much better there than here.” I
replied, sbmewbat nettled by her caus
tic criticism.
"Pardon me,” she returned. “It will
sound much worse In a largo room
than in this one. You have a way
of dropping your voice nt the end of
every sentence which would be abso
lutely maddening to an audience anx
ious to hear you. You must get rid of
that fault, nnd pray raise your eyes
from your notes when you are telling
those stories.”
“Oh. I couldn't!” I exclaimed, terri
fied at the very Thought, “I should be
■ure to catch the glance of some one
I know which would confuse me, and
when I returned to my manuscript
again I should lose my place and suf
fer an agony of embarrassment.”'
She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“Then read it to me again nnd I will
conch you a bit.”
I obeyed while she moved restlessly
al>out the room, occasionally interrupt
ing me with such remarks as: “Now
that little Incident really was pathetic,
but you tell it with no more feeling
than a phonograph,” or “if you don’t
raise your voice there the point you
are trying to make will be entirely
lost.” When I had finished she pro
nounced It much better, but frankly
added that there was still much to be
desired.
Events seldom slip into expected
grooves, nnd upon the morning of the
,13th of November I awoke with a pain
in the back of the head which clutched
me like an iron hand. It was my old
enemy which two or three times a year
comes to blot a day from my calendar.
The present attack was so acute that
my husband, who was planning a
week’s absence from the city, wished
to postpone ids departure, a sugges
tion to which I would not listen. But
the little hammers beating in my lirain
could not drive out the recollection
that an audience would assemble this
afternoon to hear me, and that a sub
stitute must be found. “Please take
my paper to the club rooms," I said.
“Leave it in the hands of the custo
dian and explain the situation. Then
ask Mrs. Herbert if she will send me
the headache cure she brought from
India. Set the catch of the door so
that she may enter." When the good
man returned from breakfast in the
case I heard him moving about in the
adjoining room as lie packed his valise,
after which he took his departure, safe
ly closing the door behind him.
Shortly afterward Mrs. Herbert
came In with the desired medicine.
"This Is the day I was to have read
my paphf,” I murmured as she poured
a small quantity of amber liquid into
a tiny glass she lind brought with
her.
"Too bad!” she replied. "What will
they do about it?”
“1 sent it down to the club. Some
one will rend It; 1 hope it will be well
read, for 1 should hate to have It fall
flat.”
My friend offered me the little glass,
saying. “This will make you sleep for
three or four hours, and It will make
you feel like a different woman.”
She took a chair by the bed where
she seemed to fade slowly away like a
phantom which reluctantly returns to
the nether world.
When I awoke the clock wns strik
ing 6 and my headache had entire dis
appeared. A maid entered bearing an
appetizing dinner ordered for me by
Mrs. Herbert, pn tlie tray was a note
stating that my friend had been called
to New Y'ork by a telegram and bid
ding me good-by for a week.
The evening papers gave brief no
tices of the club meeting. ui;d 1 search
ed those of the following morning to
find who had read my essay. The no
tices of the paper on "The Rise and
Fall of Superstition" were full and
most gratifying, but none mentioned
the fact that the writer was unable
to read it. My astonishment may be
imagined when on the inside sheet of
a sensational journal I found a sketchy
portrait of myself. The likeness was
not striking, but the dress and the hat
were my own. The unusual embroid
ery pattern on the corsage was faintly
but unmistakably Indicated, and the
shape of the hat was the same as that
which now reposed In the bandbox on
my top shelf. My usual style of head
gear was a small bonnet, but listening
to advice from Mrs. Herbert I had
for this occasion purchased a hat with
a brim nnd drooping plumes. So far
I bad not worn either of these arti
cles, yet here they were reproduced In
the portrait! I hurried downstairs and
telephoned to the chairman of the pro
gram committee. “Oh, you dear
thing!" she exclaimed. “I was so sorry
you were obliged to run away yester
day iscfore we had an opportunity to
congratulate you upon ybur charming
paper.”
“Run away! I?" I gasped.
“Of course your explanation was
sufficient, but how horrid of your
friends to choose Just that day to leave
for Euroite! I am sorry you could not
have heard the fine things that were
said of you.”
The president and several members
of the club called me up to congratu
late me, and not one expressed a re
cret that I was not present, though
all were sorry that I had not remained
for the usual reception and the “so
cial cup of tea.” I could arrivc«lt but
one conclusion. Leagued together they
were playing a practical joke upon
me which I. deemed In the circum
stances very ' bad taste, to say the
least. I then called up a new mem
ber, who was a comparative stranger
to me, and who was not likely to be
in the plot. “Did you attend the club
meeting yesterday?” I asked.
“Yes. Who are you?"
“Never mind just now. The essay
ist was very ill yesterday. Will you
kindly tell me who read the paper for
her?"
“Ill! Then she was the liveliest In
valid I ever suw, for she was there
nnd read It herself.”
"Indeed you are mistaken.”
“Indeed I am not! I know her very
well by sight; moreover the president
Introduced her by name.”
“Very well.- Good-by." Even she
is mixed up in this silly business, I
thought, with disgust, as I bung up
the receiver. ——
The afternoon mall brought a letter
| from my husband, which made me
wonder- If I were going mad. "You
know it by this time of course,” he
wrote, "nnd 1 know that you have a
choice rod In pickle for me. You see,
I left In such a burry. Usually, you
know. I am not a bad fellow at re
membering things, but I laid your es
say on the hall table and never
thought of it again until five minutes
ago.”
His letter dropped from my hand as
I rushed to the ball. There on the
table lay my manuscript, where he
had left it. Then it had not been read
at the club, which was the cause of
all this joking. But the daily papers
declared that it had been read, and
more than one of them bad given a
synopsis of it. What was the expla-
T
“HUS. HERBERT CAME JUST AS I HAD
FINISHED."
nation of this mystery? Could it be
that my otherself, the fetich and ghost
of me, had read the paper and, judg
ing from the commendatory remarks
of my friends, had' acquitted Itself
better than my corporeal self could
have done? An examination of the
gown, however, showed a tiny rent
in the lower ruffle, a discovery which
brought with it a saner if no less
startling a solution of the puzzle. A
spiritual body could not wear a ma
terial gown and a material hat, that
was certain. Under the Influence of
the Indian drug I had gone to the
club and had performed my expected
duty. For some Inscrutable reason I
had made up a story of departing
friends anil had taken my leave ut an
early hour. How lucky it was that I
had donned a correct costume.' But
had it been altogether correct? A
dreadful suspicion took possession of
me that I must have worn a certain
pair of scarlet wool sllpiiers with gay
ly flaunting bows which might have
been in evidence ns I walked across
the stage. Without loss of time I
went to see a dear friend who had
never told me anything but the truth.
“I was so proud of you yesterday,”
she said coming to meet me with a
beaming smile. “I had no Idea that
you could be so entrancing.”
“Between ourselves,” said I, "I had
taken ii drug for my headache and I
am afraid it made me a trifle, just a
trifle yon know, delirious. Did I—did
I act with perfect propriety?”
"Most certainly. I should advise
you to take that drug every time you
read a paper. Why the way you told
the story of the Hindoo priest and his
disembodied spirit made the very hair
stand up on our heads and the story
of the gamekeeper’s wife nnd the
hnunted-bouse with your mimicry of
the cockney dialect was simply killing.
Wasn’t It gratifying to find your audi
ence so appreciative?”
“Very gratifying,” 1 murmured,
wishing that I had known something
about It at tlie time. "But did I look
nil right My shoes for Instance
“I didn’t notice your shoes. The only
criticism I could make was regarding
your veil. You claim Hint they are In
jurious to the sight nnd I never have
seen you wear one. I was surprised
that you wore one yesterday when you
read In public.” I, too. was surprised.
I did not own a veil. I must have
bought one, or, not being responsible
for my acts, I may have stolen it. The
thought wns anything but plensant.
I began to cherish a sentiment of
hitter resentment against Mrs. Her
bert. She must have known the ef
fects of the wonderful Indian drug
which she had so often urged me to
take. Why did she not tell me wbnt It
would do, why did she not give me
the option of renyilning in pain or of
wandering forth In a state of resem
bling somnambulism? Thus I ex
pressed myself to her in a long letter
relating the events of that wonderful
day. I will quote from her reply:
"I have been too busy to write soon
er, but I supposed you would know
that It was I who read your essay, I
rarely mention the fact that I once
studied for the stage, for It Is a sore
subject with me. I had obtained an
engagement where my rendering of
even the insignificant part assigned
me as a beginner was warply praised
by the critics, when my uncle lied,
leaving a will In which he made me
his heir upon condition that I should
give up the stage foiever. Never was
fortune so reluctantly accepted, and
you must have noticed that 'the play's
i the thing' with me. That morning
when I saw your manuscript lying for-
I gotten on the hall table 1 was seized
with <a longing to impersonate you,
and to render that excellent produc
tion as it ought to be given. I have a
genius for make-up, but in this case
it was not so great a task as you may
j suppose. We are of about the same
height and figure. Your eyebrows are
darker and more arcbed, your eyes are
darker and jour nose is shorter, diffi
culties not hard to surmount, with n
becoming veil to help the disguise,
and of course It was easy enough to
reproduce your perfectly white pom
padour. I borrowed your hat and
gown because my own things are not
like you, nnd also wore the quaint
Jeweled chain so often seen about
your ne<’k. 1 imitated your giilt tn
walking, and I flatter myself that my
introductory explanation wns accom
panied by your voice and manner to
the life. I let my voice drop at the
end of the sentences ns you do, and
one or two calls of ‘louder, please!’
showed me what you would have Iwen
obliged to contend with lind you been
in my place, it wns not necessary to
retain your voice when I began to
read, and I will venture to say that
for once at least your club listened en
thralled. I had arrived late, nnd left
as soon as I had finished, so I man
aged to speak at close range to no one.
You cannot imagine how much I en
joyed that little three-quarters of nn
hour when I was once more nn ac
tress; remember this and forgive me
for having taken your place.”
The man of the bouse declares that
there is not a word of truth In Mrs.
Herbert's statement. Says be: “She
was frightened at the harm she might
have done in giving you the medicine,
and she wanted to smooth your ruffled
feathers. She couldn't have fooled all
•f those club women every moment of
the time. No. you were there yourself,
and very much under the Influence of
the Indian drug.”
It may be that he is right, but I
have not yet solved the riddle to my
own satisfaction.—Chicago Record-
Herald.
BANKS WAS SURPRISED TWICE.
Ran Off to n Ball, Thought lie Saw Ills
Wife, but It Was Hor Multi.
When Banks, who has been married
only a few months, went home and
told his wife lie had accepted nn In
vitation to a bachelor dinner he ex
pected her to object. Instead she
urged him to go.
The dinner over, one of the party
remembered that the Arion bail was
belfig given and proposed that they
al! go. The proposition was accepted,
but not without hesitation on the part
of Banks. Once at the ball, however,
Banks became as gay as the gayest.
His scruples were forgotten and he
enjoyed himself to the limit until he
saw In the gay crowd a woman who
seemed strangely familiar. She was
masked, but she wore the costume bls
wife lately lind purchased for an ap
proaching private masquerade ball. He
could swenr to the costume.
It suddenly dawned on Banks that
this really wns his wife, who. ho had
supposi-d. wns home asleep. The wo
man was leaning on the arm of a
tall stranger, who appeared to be de
voted to her.
To make certain of bis suspicions
Banks passed the domino nnd placed
himself so. that the couple must pass
close to him. On they came, arm in
arm, chatting, but when the woman
caught sight of Banks she started like
a guilty thing and dropping the man's
arm fled.
Banks hurried after her. nnd when
he finally cornered her she cowered
down on a seat and, unable to utter a
word, extended her hand as it begging
for mercy.
“Forgive me,” she pleaded, “and I
promise you ”
Before she had completed the sen
tence Banks tore the mask off her face.
Then he gasped. The woman wns his
wife's maid. She hnd purloined the
costume of her mistress and wore it
to the ball.
Banks lias not told his wife, be
cause she might inquire why he was
at the ball.—New York Press.
Driving the Grizzly West.
In the days of Kit Carson tint-griz
zly bail not learned to look upon man
as a foe to be shunned at any cost, but
the quick-firing magazine rifle has
taught him that if he possibly can he
must keep out of man’s sight He has
now been driven back Into the almost
Inaccessible solitudes of the northwest
ern Rocky Mountains, and the sports
man who wishes to add his pelt and
dangling necklace of claws to his col
lection of hunting trophies must travel
far and endure much hardship nnd la
bor. for “old Ephraim,” as he was
called by the Western pioneers. Is as
cunning as he Is fierce.—St. Nicholas.
Browning's Modesty.
The only son of Robert Browning
and bls illustrious wife was a diligent
art student when he grew to manhood.
He was believed to have a promising
career, but once when the father was
showing a friend some of her son's pic
tures. he expressed a fear that he
might suffer from the high hopes built
upon him.
“He Is placed at a disadvantage,”
salrt Browniqg. Then he explained fui
ther. in a phrase as modest as any ever
uttered by a great man:
-People expect much from him, you
see, because he had such a clever
mother." • -
From a stage point of view a di
vorce without publicity is worse thun
marriage.
TRAINING GRAPE VINES.
Grape vines are not particular what
kind of support Is afforded them.
They will clamber over fences or into
trees, and like certain persona devoid
of a backbone -in their own anatomy
will use the strength and resources
of others to rise to more favorable
positions. But valuable trees should
not be allowed to become their sup
port, for vines are ungrateful, too,
and like many persons who have
been lifted to a higher plane by a
helping hand, they forget their help
er and etifle the object which has
aided them to rise to their present
position. If there are no poor trees
to sacrifice, any coarse lattice work
will answer the purpose. A grape ar
bor near the kitchen door is a cool
and shady place on a warm summer's
day, and it may also afford a large
amount of fruit of medium quality
if the vines are well mulched and
trimmed as thoroughly as their office
as shade producers will allow. Ar
bors and hedges of grape vines are
also' effective aids in beautifying the
homo grounds.
But it Is not of such modes of train
ing (or rather lack of training) that
I wish to speak. In these days of
Intensive cultivation and clean cul
ture the progressive farmer knows
that to secure the best results fruits
as well as field crops must be culti
vated. Grapes are no exception. To
allow of this they should be set in
rows nine or ten feet apart, and the
same distance in the row. After a
seasons growth 'the vines will usu
ally be ready for the trellis.
The materials used for tying the
vines to the wire are raffia, twine,
wire, willow twigs, or even carpet
rags, corn husks or rye straw. I pre
fer the raffla (strippings from the
bark of an Asiatic palm), as it is
cheap and Can be easily broken on
pruning the vines the following win
ter. It Is best to tie up the canes In
late winter or early spring before
the buds have swollen or some will
be knocked off. The canes may be
tied tightly, but the green shoots
which are fastened later In the sum
mer should be tied loosely, as they
are tender and need room to grow.
Vines should be tied to windward
side of wires for same reason that
wires are stapled to windward side
of posts. It lessens the strain on
staples, ties and vines.—S. B. ilart
man in Farm Journal.
DOES POULTRY PAY?
There are many ups and downs in
the poultry business and I can hardly
keep from saying something on the
question, with the hope that it may
help those who are seeking to learn.
What I am going to say is this: We
have so many people that will argue
against the poor hen. They claim
that no one who has just a small lot
has any business with chickens. I
can -truly say there are people who
have large farms who have no busi
ness with chickens. Judging from the
way they are kept.
But what I started to talk about Is
the question of poultry not paying on
a small lot. If you have your flock
on a range, scratching and tearing
everything that grows, with a fair
sweep to run. on your neighbor to
spoil hts crops, roosting here and
there in filthy quarters, overcrowding
In small places (if penned at all),
such chicken raising does not pay.
If you have a small lot and have ord
er and system In taking care of your
flock, having It yarded, with only as
many birds as you have room for,
then It will pay.
A man can go In the poultry busi
ness on a small scale and make more
money with his birds 'than one who
is in it head over Ktels. Only he can
not expect as great returns as the
one who has more Invested. There
Is as much In It for you, according to
what you (have Invested, if you know
how to get It out It is not only In
hatching out the chicks and turning
the Utt Jo fell(?*aout soon, as they can
find your gnrdenNq- your neighbor's
garden, thinking that^vour work Is
done with them. They bimhunt and
scratch for their own living, but not
as profitably as you can manage It for
them. It a poultryman who lets his
flock look out for themselves would
send to a good, honest breeder for a
sitting of eggs and get them from
the finest kind of pure-bred stock and
raise them In such a manner, he
would make of them common stock.
Don’t put all your faith on a large
tract of land. It Is the care they re
ceive that makes poultry pay.
GROWING POTATOES
It is a poor plan to plant poor po
tatoes for seed. They should be se
lected with great care. If one's po
tatoes are run out, or mixed, one
should get new seed, and of a variety
that is a good yielder, and of the best
selling kind. To sell well here, they
should be of a white kind, and a
round potato. The white Rural and
Carmen No. 3, are the leading va
titles raised generally, but the white
Michigan is highly recommended by
the experment station of this State.
Potatoes for seed should be of cho
medium size, and cut In about three
pieces. They should not be allowed
to sprout before planting time, as
it weakens them, and they do not
do as well. If scab is among them
they should be treated before plant
ing. Experiment books give good di
rections for this, and it Is not hard
to do. The ground should be well
prepared, and It Is claimed here that
It should stand ten days after plowing
before the potatoes are planted. They
should be planted from two and one
half to three feet each way. so they
may have good cultivation. The bugs
must not be neglected, and as soon
as the potatoes get up good, one must
look well after them. With good
care, and a good season, there is
money In potatoes at the prices they
have been for some years. Last year
the potatoes rotted badly on account
of the prolonged rain, and some
think that the same ground will not do
to plant In this year. For early pota
toes. they should be planted as soon
as the ground is well warmed up. For
winter potatoes they plant here about
the middle of Juno as they claim they
escape the dry spell that usually
comes.—Mrs. Rena A. Osborn, in the
Epitome.
HOG NOTES.
It Is best to bring the pigs up
rather slowly until six or seven
months old, then If designed for the
butcher crowd them forward for for
ty to sixty days.
Many farmers boast of being good
feeders. There are other things bet
ter for stock than continual stuffing.
Uncomfortable quarters and filth will
develop disease.
Even a hog enjoys being clean. The
'hog is the farmer's friend and- hl?
best money-making investment,
therefore deserves a clean feeding
place. and more comfortable sleeping
quarters than the warm side of a
wire fenep.
When pigs are on a full grain ra
tion it is well to give what pUmp- 1
kins, beets, cooked potatoes, etc.,
they will eat after having received
their full ration of grain.
These foods have somewhat the
same value as bran In equalizing a
concentrated ration and In keeping
the bowels free and the system cool.
It fed before tlhe grain to fattening
animals, they will be unable to take
concentrates enough to make rapid
gains, as foods of this character do
not cause the rapid accumulation of
fat.
If bran is used in making slop for
hogs add a little oil meal.
The pens should be cleaned every
day and plenty of litter furnished
for a warm bed.
The floors should be tight so no
drafts of cold air can creep in.
The house should be well ventilated
and still be kept above the freezing
point.
Use corn sparingly for brood sows.
Depend on peas, oats, shorts, barley,
roots and clover. Give them exer
cise. t
Feed the soft and Imperfect corn
first. There must be a gradual in
crease In the quality of the foods,
rather than the reverse.
SMALL FRUIT EXPERIENCE.
I am an advocate of close pruning
where small fruit is concerned, yet I
know from experience that this can
be overdone, says Farmer's Voice.
I had a blackberry patch which had
been properly pinched back dnrlng
the growing season and promised an
immense^ yield. Following an Idea
which I had Imbibed from reading
I cut back the laterals In the spring
severely. I thought I had done the
right thing and expected a largo
yield of berries. Great was my dis
appointment. however, when the
bushes put forth but few blossoms,
and the crop of berries was scarcely
one-fourth of what it should have
been. After a thorough examination
and observation of some hushes In
another part of the field which had
not been pruned at all. and which
gave an abundant yield of fine ber
ries, I came to the conclusion that I
had been too thorough in the work
of spring pruning. The next year I
was careful to leave the laterals at
least one-half longer than the prev
ious season—result a full crop of the
finest berries I had ever seen grow.
FOREMILK
Although milk is sterile when it Is
first secreted, it is difficult to obtain
sterile milk from the udder, because
some germs succeed in finding their
way to it even before It Is drawn. A
few drops of milk are always left in
the teat after milking, and the end
of the teat remains moist. Germs
from the air and bedding quickly
plant themselves in this thin layer of
milk and rapidly multiply. Those
kind: which do not require air find the
interior of the teat and milk duct a
favorable abode. The milk in the
vicinity becomes contaminated by the
increase and when not discarded afi
sects the whole milking. The lactlc\
, acid or some milk bacteria spread
through the whole mess, having be.
gun before the milk was drawn.
The Treasury- Department esti
mates that it will cost 1605.287,000 to
run tibo Government for 1904 and
1624,502,000 for 1905.