The Winslow mail., January 09, 1897, Image 2

About The Winslow mail. (Winslow, Ariz.) 1893-1926

Image provided by: Arizona State Library, Archives and Public Records; Phoenix, AZ

                
ST.c fflUittsUnu RlatL
J. F. WALLACE,
PI BLIbHgR - AND - PROPRIETOR. |
I'll b I ithrri at Winslow. Arizona
Farm life Is wnat you make it.
The Chicago man who tired a revolver ;
point blank at a street car and missed
It may get a job on the police force.
Chicago anarchists are said to lie emi
grating to the Transvaal. Is it possible
that they arc going to take the Krueger
cure?
Three ships at San Francisco have
been loaded with 1.1.000 tons of wheat
for India. Wot's the llindooseiuent
over there?
It is what you say in your ad that
draws customers. Whether you hold
them or not depends on what you de
afterwards.
Dan Stewart has found a spot in
Mexico where Corbett and Fitzsimmons
can tight. Now if they could only get
lockjaw until the day of the tight.
A press dispatch says that a murder
er hanged in Kentucky the other day
wore a sullen look on the gallows. Per
haps he was displeased about some
thing.
The Ohio W. C. T. U. has voted to
quit wearing feathers. Having moult
ed. we hope the good members of that
excellent organization will now dock
together.
Banker Rambusch, of .ltmeau, Wis.,
Is another man who does not believe
In trusts. In one Might he has done
more to discourage trust than many
more pretentious crusaders.
In entering upon the work of a pub
lic reader, the daughter of the late
Eugene Field will have the best wishes
of those who appreciated the genius of
her father, or enjoyed the pleasure of
his friendship.
There is no law with regard to eat
ing and drinking and manner of living
which can be laid down as applicable
to all individuals. Each person must
And out the law which applies to hint
self and obey it.
A prominent Rhode Island yachts
man is having a steam yacht built that
is to have a guaranteed speed of thirty
eight miles an hour. That's the way
to trot around the coast; but then, they
«ay it costs money.
Faith and hope in the future, to be
sound and permanent, must grow out
of the knowledge of the past and re
spect for it; and lie who gracefully ac
knowledges his obligations to the old is
all the 1 tetter fitted to espouse the cause
of the uew.
There is nothing on earth so beautiful
as the household in which Christian
love forever smiles, and where religion
walks, a counsellor and a friend. No
cloud van darken it, for its twin-stars
are centered in the soul. No storms can
make it tremble, for it has a heavenly
support and a heavenly anchor.
England is blamed for espousing the
cause of the Armenians while guilty
of Injustice and oppression toward her
own dependencies. But the philoso
pher who expects and demands that a
nation or individuals should act up
to the same standard they demand of
their neighbors, lias yet to take liis
first lessons in the knowledge of hu
man nature.
Principal Grant, of Queen’s Univers
ity, Kingston, Out., resents having his
English mail from Oxford addressed to
him “Kingston, Ontario, U. S. A.” Prin
cipal Grant should feel flattered. The
Oxford dons evidently confuse him
with one “Gen. Grant, U. S. A.” As
soon as the dons have read up on an
cient history they will have time to de
vote to the “colonies,” and then doubt
less Principal Grant’s letters will be
properly addressed.
The one quality that is more useful
than another in the world, if one wishes
to achieve anything whatever, is tact.
Brute force may succeed, but then
again it may fail, and in either case it
leaves ap unpleasant memory behind
It; but, if tact fails, nil is still serene,
ami one may try again with equanim
ity. The very name of tact tells its
story, for, although in its first defini
tion it simply means touch, it develops
the further implication of sensitive
touch, thou of adroit discrimination,
then of delicate discernment. Discern
ment of what? Os the right and fit. of
that which gives the desired result in
the heat way.
Tne hitter cry of the curates of the
Anglican Church is again brought to
the attention of the public, tins time
by the London Times. Many of them,
it* is said, receive such miserable sti
pends that they are on the verge of star
vation. while others are obliged to put
their daughters into domestic service.
Allowing for a certain amount of rhe
torical exaggeration, there is no doubt
that the lower clergy of the church are
underpaid. Curiously enough, how
ever, the Wesleyan Methodists of Eng
land, most of whose clergy receive ade
quate salaries, report a falling off in
the number of ministerial candidates.
It is greatly to the credit of the ill
paid clergy of the English church that
they themselves utter no complaints.
It is other people who give voice to
their “cry.”
The old. eniel check rein has stiffened
up the fore legs of more livery horses
than all the work they have done. So.
too. of many track and driving horse*
in the country. The check rein injures
the muscles of the neck, and the fore
legs are affected. Often the shoer is
blamed when it is tlie check rein. The
humane societies have the co-operation
as the city horse owners, who have
taken off the cruel check rein from the
carriage horses and work horses. Aside
from "lie cruelty, this affection of the
usefulness of the horse should induce
‘the thoughtless, kind-hearted people
who drive horses to forever banish the
torturous check rein as a savage relic
that Is painful to the horse and painful
for most people to see. In behalf of the
! ho*se, we entreat you to abolish.the
1 check rein if you still thoughtlessly tor
j ture your horse with it.—Western Agrt
j culturist.
They now and then do a thoroughly
j good thiug in Colorado. The other
j day three men went into a bank in the
j town of Meeker and robbed it in the
i rather brusque fashion practiced by
: some professional gentlemen on Chi
cago shops not long ago. They got
through with the robbing process all
right, but they had to <io some shoot
ing therein, and the noise brought out
the citizens of the little town, who
were so urgent in protesting against
tlie free distribution of their money in
that way that they shot all three of
the gentlemen who had checked out
funds from the bank with revolvers,
leaving all of them as proper subjects
for tlie undertaker. Evidently the
Meekerites are far from being any
meeker than other folk and it will be
a long day before any more gentry of
that kind make a call on them. It
looks like going backward in civiliza
tion for citizens to feel that they must
stand ready to defend their own with
the strong hand, but perhaps if it were
generally understood that they are so
ready most of the professors of the
art of “holding up” would seek some
other means of making a living.
American apples, when the crop is
good and the various kinds are of per- '
feet growth, are the finest fruit in the
world. There is no fruit of the tropic or
subtropic regions as good for all pur
poses as apples. Apples are superior to
oranges, bananas, lemons, tamarinds
and all other fruits in their taste for
tlie palate and their wholesome effects
as food. Their flavor is as various as
human tastes. From tlie sweetness of
honey they range to the sharpest acid
ity. They till every need of the stom
ach for the vegetable juices which pro
mote health. There lias not been in
a generation ns prolific a harvest of ap
ples as that of the present year. All ;
(lie branches of all the trees in all the
orchards have been overburdened with
their wealth of fruit. If the product !
of this year could have been distrib
uted over five years of partial produc
tion or of famine the average would
have been sufficient for the entire pe
riod. In recent years the choicest va
rieties of apples have been scarce in :
quantity and of inferior quality. They
have lacked form and flavor. They
have been deteriorated by various
causes—from attacks of insects, by i
drouths, late or early frosts and sea
sonal influences for which there was
no apparent origin. This year all the
soil and climatic influences have been
favorable. In tlie fruit belts of the
East and West the apple crop is pro
digious. The quality is of the best.
The very culls and refuse this year
are superior to the choice fruit of some
previous years. The shipments of
American apples to Europe have begun
and are likely to be enormous in ex
tent. The great crop this year will
cause the fruit to be distributed at a
lower price in Europe than ever before.
In the past American apples have been
a rare and expensive luxury to Euro
pean consumers. This year they will
have an abundance at low cost of the j
most delicious fruit that the soil pro
duces.
Suicide of a Rattlesnake.
The question as to whether the rat
tlesnake's vAiom is poisonous to itself
has often been discussed, but if any
satisfactory conclusion has ever been
arrived at we are unaware of the fact.
Dr. W. J. Burnett, formerly a member
of the Boston Society of Natural His-:
lory, says that there are good re a sous
for believing that the action of the rat
tlers’ virulent poison is the same upon
all living tilings, vegetable as well as
animal. Other eminent naturalists com
bat this theory and deerare that tlie
idea of an animal poison killing or in
juring a vegetable is really preposter
ous. Burnett says: “It Is even just as
fatal to the- snake itself as to other ani
mals.” Then he relates the experience
of one Dr. Dearing. The doctor had a
specimen of the prolific rattler which he
kept alive in a cage. One day lie irri
tated the reptile so as to study the ef
fect of the anger thus provoked. Tlie
snake struck wildly about a few times
and then buried its fangs in its own
body. Almost instantly, tlie experi
menter says. the reptile rolled over and
died. If this story is true, and we have
no reason to doubt tlie story, we see in
it the remarkable and unique physiolog
ical fact of a liquid secreted from the
blood whic-li proves deadly when intro
duced into tlie very source from which
it is derived. —St. Louis Republic.
Great but Poor.
Poverty seems to have been the lot
of most of the world's great musicians.
Beethoven was always poor. He
was the son of a rough, drunken
musician, who drove him to music with
blows. He afterwards followed his pro
fession for the love of it, but it repaid
him very badly.
Ilandel was the son of a coachmaker,
and liis mother had been a servant. Al
though he had a place in the choir of
tlie church as a boy, he was dismissed
when his voice changed, and became
really destitute.
A poor woman gave him a home in
tlie attic of her house, and in after and
more prosperous years the musician
was able to return tlie favor twico-fold,
which he did heartily and cheerily.
Rossini was also poor, and while in
Venice lie wrote in bed during the cold
weather, in order that he might save
tlie expense of a fire.
A Ho-me-Keeping Inhabitant.
“Lived here thirty years, and yet
never saw the city?”
“Never.”
“Did you ever have a desire to go to
town?”
“Well. yes. I reckon 1 has. But you
see, ’fore the railroad come hit wnz too
fur ter travel on foot, an’ the mule
wttz too busy plowin': an’ arter the rail
road come, they went ter chargin’ peo
ple fer traveling an’ so I jest thought
I'd stay home an’ not bother 'bout see
in' the world. But what do you reckon
happened ter us ’tother day?”
••Don't know.”
“Well, sir, my son John aekeliully
bought a ticket, jumped aboard o’ the
railroad, went ter tlie city an’ sub
scribed fer a newspaper!”—Atlanta
Constitution.
Wliat a blessed thing It is that even
those of us who are reliable, don’t have
to prove all we say! _
THE STEERSMAN.
The fore shrouds bar the moonlit sand,
The port rail laps the sea:
Aloft all taut, where tlie kind clouds
skim,
Alow to the cutwater snug and trim.
And the man at the wheel sings low;
sings he:
“Oh, sea room and lee room
And a gale to run afore;
From the Golden Gate to Sunda Strait,
But my heart lies snug ashore.”
Her hull rolls high, her nose dips low,
The rollers flash alee —
Wallow and dip and the untossed screw
Sends heart throbs quivering through
and through—
And the man at the wheel sings low;
sings he:
“Oh, sea room and lee room
And a gale to run afore;
From the Golden Gate to Sunda Strait,
But my heart lies snug ashore.”
The helmsman’s arms are brown and
hard,
And pricked in liis forearm be
A ship, an anchor, a love knot true,
A heart of red and au arrow of blue,
And the man at the wheel sings low;
sings he:
*Oh, sea room and lee room
And a gale to run afore;
From tlie Golden Gate to Sunda Strait,
But my heart lies snug ashore.”
—Bookman.
i -
THE MORTAL COIL.
These two, Allan and David, were
brothers; and. what is often more than
brothers do, they loved one another.
While they were mere boys they liad
been left orphans, friendless, alone
with the world and with necessity.
They were industrious and frugal, their
purse was common, and working thus
together they managed to keep off star
vation and debt.
They were now in the period of early
manhood. Allan, tlie elder, was 23 years
of age. and David 20. They occupied
two pleasant rooms in a respectable
lodging-house, lived well, and had some
money saved in the bank. “At first I
used to be afraid that we could not
make it,” Allan would say to his broth
er, when they talked in the evening of
their life and their affairs; “it was such
a hard struggle. But there is no longer
any doubt that we are going to succeed
in the world.”
To this prophecy, which Allan rejoic
ed to speak, David would always as
sent, with an enthusiasm that came not
from any confidence in his own powers,
but solely from his belief In his elder
brother. The difference between the
brothers was more than that of years,
as each of them well understood. Allan
was strong, keen, and determined.
David was gentle and sympathetic, but
a little dull. They were alike, however,
in their intense devotion to one an
other.
It happened in the midst of this which
they regarded as prosperity that Allan
was suddenly beset by a grievous ill
ness. It had been written down in the
pitiless law book of nature that he
should pay for the sins of some ances
tor, of whose very existence he was ig
norant. The disease ran its slow
course through many weeks, and there
were now and again critical times
when the heart of the younger brother,
watching by night, stood still.
At last it Paine to an end. The sen
tence of nature was fulfilled. The life
of the young man was spared, but the
disease left him blind and a cripple.
As Allan began to recover his strength,
and the dumb consciousness of suffer
ing gave way to active thought, he de-'
manded to know how soon the ban
dages were to be taken from his eyes.
To this and to other questions of a sim
ilar nature, the doctor who attended
him returned evasive answers. There
upon. Allan, half guessing the truth,
became silent. In the meantime, David,
also silent, clung desperately to a frag
ment of hope.
One morning the doctor, as he was
about to leave, motioned across the sick
man’s bed that he wished to speak with
him alone. They went out into the
hall, where the physician sat down
upon a chair and David leaned back
against a corner of the wall.
Presently Allan heard tlie confused
murmur of their talk. He climbed out
of tlie bed and dragged himself with
difficulty across tlie floor into the sit
tyig-room. Placing liis ear against tlie
hall door, which was not quite closed,
he heard all, unseen and unsuspected.
“It is useless for me to continue these
daily visits,” said the physician; “here
after I will come only when you send
for me.”
“Well, what shall we do übout it—
about liis eyes?”
“They will .probably not pain him
; any more. You can take off the bandage
! whenever you are ready to tell him the
i whole truth.”
David's lips grew very white. “You
i mean that lie will never recover?” he
said.
The doctor looked up at him sudden
ly with a frown. “Really,” lie said, “I
thought I liad made the state of things
pretty clear to you.”
“Yes,” said David; “I know—but I
kept hoping.”
“My dear boy. I am sorry, but I can
not even let you hope. If your leg was
cut off would you expect another to
i grow iu its place? A part of the eye is
j gone—and that ends it.”
“And the lameness?”
“He will always walk with crutches.”
Perhaps it was well that no mortal
eye saw the wan face pressed toward
1 the opening in the door. There was a
shuttling across the floor, and Allan
drew himself upon the bed again, where
he lay motionless and silent, though all
his body seemed to quiver and liis
thoughts to cry aloud.
Presently the footsteps of the doctor
' sounded on tlie stairs and the lower
door opened and shut. But nearly an
i hour passed before the younger brother
1 <ame back to the room. When lie came
• it was with the belief that he was pre
• pared to speak to Allan and ten him all.
• He looked for a moment at the figure
: curled on tlie bed and shook his head.
• He would wait.
i Several days passed. Then in the
evening Allan said suddenly to liis
brother:
“David, what is the matter? Perhaps
> I imagine it—but is there uot something
that you want to talk to me about?”
i “Yes,” said tbe other, startled.
“It is about my eyes and my lame
ness, is it not?”
“Yes.”
The time had come. He sat down by
the bed and took his brother’s hand.
His own trembled v'plently, but that of
the sick man was qinet.
“Poor boy,” said Allan, as though
not he but David were, the one upon
whom misfortune liafl fallen. He
stroked his broth gently for a
moment, and thou whispered: “You
need not tell nuVDavid. I know all. I
listened when and the doctor talk
ed about me.”
David spoke also in a whisper: “I
could not bear to think of it—and so I :
could not speak to you.”
"Poor, dear brother,” said Allan, but
with perfect calmness. They sat in
silence for a few moments, and then
Allan said: “Now, David, we have
looked tlie worst of it in the face; let
us examine some of the smaller trou
bles. Wliat about money matters? |
“Oh, Allan,” cried the other, "don t
ask about that yet.”
“Yes,” said the elder brother firmly;
“you must tell me all. Be frank and
fair, as I would be with you.”
So David told. The money in the
bank was all gone, of course, and there
were debts—to the doctor, the chem
ist, and the landlady. Having explained
thus far, David hung back, and it took
determined questioning on the part of
Allan to bring out the rest of the story.
Their friends at the club, knowing the
trouble of the brothers, had raised
some money—a considerable amount —
for their benefit.
"It just paid the nurse,” said David.
The proud lines iu the other’s face
deepened to harshness. After a mo
mentary struggle he managed to say
aloud: “It was very kind of them.”
But to himself into his pillow lie mut
tered: "My God! This is the beginning!”
“I atn afraid,” said David, “that it
will be some time before we can pay
up these debts. Everyone seems to be
good about it. The doctor says he will
wait years if need be.”
“Yes,” replied Allan absently.
“Os course, you know what my pay
is,” continued the younger brother,
“aiul you also know what our expenses
are. Well, they don’t fit. I’ve been
thinking about It. We must move into
one room and must economize in vari
ous other ways.”
“Yes,” said Allan.
“The worst of it is,” David went on,
without looking at his brother, “that
we cannot get the things you ought to
have. It is so hard for you to be all
alone here ”
“Nevet mind about that, Davy,” said
Allan quickly; “what we must think
about is how to clear up those debts
and how to live on your pay.”
After this the old confidence seemed to
be restored between the brothers. What
small part of the day David was not at
work lie spent with Allan, and they
talked of their affairs just as they liad
done before the misfortune came. Yet
there was one thing David failed to
understand, although he studied over it
a great deal. Why was Allan so calm
and undistressed? It was not like him.
“Can it be that he does not really ap
preciate what it means to be blind and
helpless?” thought the younger broth
er; “he was always so proud, ambitious
and full of hope. And lie is sensitive.
I thought he would stiffe-r.”
The sick man’s strength gradually re
turned. Presently he was able to move
about the room, and then, accompanied
by the landlady’s little daughter, he
managed to make short excursions into
the street. He wore a dark shade over
his eyes and walked on crutches.
The various economies which the
brothers had talked over were prac
ticed, and yet every day they ran more
into debt. David’s pay was very small;
it was not enough to keep two people
in comfort —one of them an invalid
needing medicines and a physician’s
care. Yet Allan remained apparently
unconcerned. At last David found
work to do in the evening. He now
earned enough to cover their necessi
ties, but Allan was left alone most of
the time.
One evening David had an unexpect
ed vacation. An accident caused the
establishment where he worked to close
early, and he hurried to the room, eager
for the pleasure of a few hours with
his brother. When he came to the street
door he said to himself: “I will go up
quietly and surprise him.”
He ascended the stairs with a quiet
tread. The door to the room was open,
and he saw Allan seated at the table,
moving a pencil slowly over a large
sheet of paper. “The poor fellow is
trying to write,” said David. Then he
noticed that the edges of the sheet
were notched at intervals, and that it
had not been folded in creases. As the
blind man wrote, he felt for these notch
es, and then ran liis finger along tlie
crease iu advance of the pencil.
Full of tender sorrow and pity David
crept up behind, that he might put his
hand on Allan’s shoulder and thus
make liis presence known, but happen
ing to glance down iq>on the paper he
saw the words, “My dear brother,” and
he knew that the writing was for him
to read. He did not give himself time
to wonder that Allan should be writing
to him, but began instantly to decipher
the misshapen characters on the paper.
In a few moments lie liad overtaken
the pencil.
This is what he read:
“My Dear Brother—Y'cu will find this
note fastened on the outside of the door.
Please read it through to the end be
fore you enter. Perhaps you wilt then
think it best not to enter alone.
“David, my brother, these words
come to you from the dead. I have de
stroyed the pitiful fragment of life
which fate left mo. Y'ou were wont to
be so strong and brave—can you read
on calmly now, and try to understand
me when I tell you my reason? Can
you love me and trust me as you always
have done? I believe that you can and
will, and that is why I have dared to
take this step.
“Several days ago I procured some
poison which I have kept concealed
from you. Through it death comes
swift but painless.”
David watched the slow, laborious
making of the last few words, and it
gave him time to think. Where was
the poison? He glanced across the room
to a chest of drawers. There was a
small drawer at the top which Allan
had used exclusively, and which was
now Half open. With noiseless step,
tlie younger brother crept over the floor
to this chest of drawers. The guess
was correct. Hidden, under some
handkerchiefs lay a small vial, filled
with a colorless fluid.
David took it up, shook it mechani
cally, and then turned it over and ovet
iu his hands, while he tried to think
what he had better dd- At any moment
Allan might finish his writing and eome |
In search of the poison. It would then |
be necessary for David to speak aloud
and explain, and his brother would j
suffer the torture of humiliation. That j
would not do. Better to carry away the j
vial and make no explanations, unless
they were demanded. He was about
to steal out of the room when the
thought struck him that his brother, If
determined, could secure death by other
means than this one bottle of poison.
There was a loaded revolver in the *
drawer—that must be taken away. But
what was to prevent Allan from obtain
ing more poison?
He was accustomed to buy his own
medicines, and now he was strong
enough to get about. Ah, there were
so many ways!
The blind man seated at the table
wrote on, feeling his way carefully
| along the folds in the paper. David
j crouched upon the edge of the bed,
watched him and thought:
No; merely to remove the means of
death would not save Allan. The only
hope lay in appearing to him, in plead
ing with him for his own life, in conjur
ing him by the love which held them
together, not to do this terrible wrong.
What should he say? David was not
easy of speech. His very thoughts
were blunt, ill-assorted and confused.
Deep in his soul he felt that his brother
was about to make a mistake—one of
the most awful of which life contained
a possibility. This feeling was inde
pendent of religion or of superstition;
it was a part of David’s very existence.
But how was he to speak of this to
Allan, who seemed to understand every
thing so much better than he?
And now it suddenly occurred to him
that he really did not know his brother.
Evidently this desire of self-destruc
tion had been in Allan’s thoughts for
many weeks, and yet he, nearest to
him of all beings on earth, had never
been allowed to suspect it. This was
why Allan had been so calm and had
accepted his misfortune so lightly. Tor
tures of sorrow there must have been,
unspeakable agonies of ruined hope,
all endured in secrecy and silence. It
seemed to David that he himself, and
not Allan, must have lacked the power
of sight.
But what was to be done now?
The pencil was still moving slowly
over the paper. David rose from the
bed, and resuming his place behind the
blind man read on:
“This concerns you and me and no
one else; is it not so, brother? The
world is far away from us; we are
alone together.”
“Now, what has existence for me?
When first I learned I was to be always
blind and a cripple there came with
the knowledge an impulse for death.
But I put it away and said: ‘No, let me
think of this more fully. The calamity
seems now to sweep over all of life.
Perhaps when I am more calm I shall
find that much remains untouched.’
So I waited and thought, and In the end
I found one thing, the happiest of being
with you. That is real and lasting, and
for a time I asked myself if it were
not enough. But I remembered that
my existence, wretched and useless as
it was, meant more of labor and hard
ship for you, and I thought, too, of
what sorrow you must feel for me, and
the pleasure of being with you turned
to bitterness. There was nothing left.
“But you—you love me and you have
a right to my life. It is for your sake
that I have spent these long weeks in
silent, solitary debate, after every other
doubt was cleared away. At one time
I had almost decided to beg my life of
you, as I might any other favor, but I
dared not. Yet I am begging it now
after I have taken it.
“Dear brother, I know that you are
unselfish. I believe that for my sake
you would give up the greatest happi
ness which life affords —as I would for
you. Can you not, then, allow me the
little that I take when I deprive my
self and you of my existence? If, now,
the conditions were reversed—if I were
the one to be strong and well, while
you were crippled and blind—l try to
think of It in that way, in order that I
may understand it better and judge
more fairly—l should, of course, feel
an intense sorrow ”
What was the matter? The pencil
was moving slower and slower. At last
it stopped. David looked up at his
brother's face and saw it working
with strong emotion. Then, after a
moment the pencil went on:
“ that you should suffer so, and it
would be an unspeakable happiness to
help, to work for you—you would be
dearer to me than, ». thousand times,
than if ”
“Oh, what am I saying!” exclaimed j
the blind man. aloud. The pencil drop- i
ped from his fingers altd he threw him
self back in his chair. “I could not let
him go,” he cried; “It would be cruel
in him to leave me. But I—what will
he—oh, Davy!”
He leaned upon the table with his
face resting in his open hands, while
David stood watching almost breath
less in the struggle to keep silent. At
last Allan caught up the sheets of pa
per on which he had been writing and
tore them to fragments.
“It is over.” said David. He restored
the l>ottle to its place and crept past
his brother out of the room. Presently
Allan heard the street door noisily open
and shut and David's tread sounded
upon the stairs.
That night, as the brothers were
about to retire, Allan said:
“David, there is something that I
want to promise you. I have already
pi*omised myself, but I want to assure
you of it also.”
"Yes,” said David; “what is it?”
“I think I had better not tell you what j
it is. You would be distressed, perhaps, j
But I promise you.”
“Very well,” said David; “let it re
main a secret, then. But I accept the
promise.”—Spare Moments.
Beware of Tight Garters.
Bicyclists, male and female, should
beware of tight garters and of stock
ings which are too thick. A garter
which is wide and has little pressure
is just as effective as a narrow one
very tight. The result of wearing the
latter is bound to be bad, it being a fer
tile producer of varicose veins.
Lamp .Thrown In.
“I don’t want the wheel. It is too ;
heavy.”
“Say, I’ll throw in a lamp. That’ll j
make it lighter.”—Cleveland Plain
Dealer.
How tantalizing heaven will be to the
women, to see so much gold lying |
around, anu no chance to spend itl
THE FARM AND HOME
I '
MATTERS OF INTEREST TO FARM
ER AND HOUSEWIFE
The Broom Corn Crop and How to
Care for It—Suggestion for Farm
Schools—How the Times Are Made
Worse—Farm Notes,
Caring for Broom Corn.
The broom corn crop is of vast im
portance and it is quite proper to give
some consideration as to how the crop
may be best cared for, says a writer.
Quality' and condition control the value
of broom corn as well as other com
modities, and best condition can be es
pecially obtained by following certain
rules and methods in caring for the
crop. Cutting should be done before
the corn is bleached out, as color is es
sential, and when green the brush pos
sesses advantages both in attractive
ness and for working. When corn
should be, as soon as possible, hauled
under cover, aud have the seeds remov
ed by running through the scraper. This
done, it should be placed on shelves so
arranged as to admit of a free circula
tion of air. In about ten days, if the
weather is dry and all conditions are
favorable, the corn will he ready to
bale. It should be thoroughly exam
ined, however, to see that it is dry and
cured. After the broom corn is thor
oughly dry the next step is to bale and
this operation should receive great care
and attention. There are too many
shaky and lop-sided bales received an
nually aud it bothers those who handle
them to keep them from falling apart.
It being of great importance to keep
the ends of the bales square and
smooth, the brush should be handed to
the packer in small lots, the butts of
which, having been evened by striking
down upon a table or other smooth sur
face, and the one who places the brush
iu the box of the press should take care
to keep the butts Up close against the
ends of the box and the brush properly
lapped In the interior. Use No. 9 fence
wire, five to the bale, and It is not a
bad idea to have a tighter wire to tie at
each corner, and press sufficiently to
have a good, compact, tight bale which
will endure the long journey and the
handling. No matter how carefully aud
successfully every step in the produc
tion of the brush has been perfoi*med,
the profit of the crop will depend, other
things equal, upon proper baling. Great
care and attention should be given to
having the seeds removed, there being
too much fraud practiced by baling up
trash, seeds and crooked corn in the
bales with straight brush. Bale the
crooked by itself.—Prairie Farmer.
A Suggestion for Farm Schools.
The agricultural college is undoubted
ly the best place for a young man to
learn the science of farming, but there
are some who will not attend because
they think that the college is not prac
tical enough. Would it be practicable
for large farmers to establish farm
schools iu connection with their farms?
They could employ young men who do
not wish to attend an agricultural col
lege. but who wish to learn the best
farm methods, have them work eight ox
ten hours a day, the evenings to be em
ployed in reading, studying and attend
ing lectures, the farmer to quest-or.
aud Instruct them lu their studies; alsft
to give occasional lectures, supplement
ed by lectures by other capable mexv,
The young men. by having the advant.
age of such Instruction, could afford
to work for less than ordinary wages;
they could thus get a very good educa
tion, while otherwise the
would be spent in idleness. The farmer
would be benefited, too, because he
would get a good class of help and
could afford to spend some time in in
structing them because be would not
have to pay so high wages.—Exchange.
If there are no large farmers to open
up such a school there are plenty of
farmer boys in a neighborhood who
could profit by such a school, which
might be established by a number of
farmers able to talk on agricultural
topics and to impart practical knowl
edge in that line. Where this is iuu
practicable some competent instructor
could be hired at a small expense to
those attending.—Rural New Yorker.
Makes the Times Worse.
It is a fact without doubt that too
much talk about hard times helps to
make them worse. A farmer who is an
j occasional caller at the Rux-al North
j west, but never complains of hard
1 times, was asked the other day why it
was that lie never had anything to say
on the subject. His reply was that it
could not do any good to complain
about the hard times, and if everybody
would keep a “stiff upper lip” and say
nothing about the matter times would
not seem half so hard and pretty soon
they would not be so hard. The com
plainauts’ talk of hard times has a
great effect in preventing people from
engaging in new enterprises and pre
vents many people from spending
money who could well afford to do so.—
Rural Northwest.
Bottled Grape Juice.
Pick the grapes from the stems and
mash them. Strain the juice into a ket
tle. boil it, remove the scum, strain it
into bottles and seal it as you would
canned fruit. The bottle may be tight
ly corked and sealing-wax put on above
the cork. If only a small quantity of
juice is to be used at one time, small
bottles will be more convenient than
larger ones. But it will keep sweet sev-
I eral days after being opened in ordin
-1 ary weather. Lay the bottles on their
sides in a cool, dark place. It will do
no harm to strain the wine when the
bottles are opened. Don’t use sugar;
it Is unnecessary, and there is some
danger of making grape jelly instead of
wine. Thus made it will keep for years.
Another way is to pick and wash the
grapes; add sufficient water to start
them in cooking, boil until the pulp is
! tender, and strain as for jelly; add a
small amount of sugar, sufficient to
make it palatable; bring to a boil and
can in glass. —The Horticulturist.
Making Tile Forouf.
1 In city sewers there is obvious advan
tage in having the outside of tile or pipe
j glazed, and having the pipes closely fit
■ Ted, so that no water from outside can
j eome in at the joints. But for farm
drainage the more porous tile is the bet- i
| ter. The burned clay out of reach or 1
; frost, aud coming iu contact only with j
j pure water, Is practically indestructi
ble. The more porous the tile is the
more easily will drainage water leach
through. Laid with porous tile, the
pipes may be closely fitted, aud yet ef
fectually drain the land around them.
The porosity of tile is easily increased
by mixing sawdust with clay before the
latter is burned. The heat required to
harden the clay sufficiently for use f
, burns out the particles of sawdust, leav-
I ing a vacant place, and making the tile 4
j much lighter, while being even better
for use than that of solid clay. Iu mak
ing brick especially for use In buildings
i tlle should he as little porous as
possible. Brick buildings <need paint
ing every year or two to prevent the
bricks from cracking, as they will when
a sudden freeze occurs after a storm
j beating against them has filled their
surfaces full of water.
Sowing Rye After Turnips.
Turnips will continue to grow after
! light frosts, and If the laud is filled
with weeds easily killed, the turnips
will sometimes make a more vigorous
growth in warm weather following a
frost than they did before it. There
is a great deal of nitrogenous plant food
in the soil late in the fall, and even the
turnips cannot save it all. Rye can be
sown, and will get some growth even
after the turnips havg to be gathered.
It is much better to have iu the soil
over winter than it is to leave the soil
naked. It is better for this purpose late
iu the season than is crimson clover,
which will live, and by its growth then
i help to dry out land that is too wet and
j fit it for plowing.
Setting Currant Cuttings iM Fall.
The currant roots more readily from
cuttings than most, other fruits. Its
wood l.?. however, very soft, and if set
i late in fall the cuttings will l>e consid
-1 erably injured before spring by freez
ing an-4 thawing. While the currant
bush it reasonably hardy on its own
root, its cuttings will not get r«/ot to
hold them from being thrown out. They
should V>e heeled in during the winter,
and bo planted where they are to re
. main in spring.
Grapes for Winter Uae.
Grape* need to be ripened wholly on
1 the vice. They will not, like pears aud
1 apples, ripen in the cellar. The really
ripe grapes will endure several de-
grees of frost. If this occurs early, so
as to warrant some warm weather after
• it. some grape growers leave the grapes
on the vines for some time after most
of the leaves have been frosted. The
’ grapes will ripen thus, but very slowly.
: It is a risky business, for a heavy frost
* sometimes comes and spoils those
grapes left to ripen late.
Odds and Ends.
When an artery is severed compress
above the spurting surface. Blood from
the arteries enters the extremities. If
a vein is severed compress below the
spurting surface. Blood in veins re
turns to the heart.
To freshen tan-colored Hioes, dissolve
a tablespoonful of salt in a little warm
water and add to a pint of cold water,
in which an ounce of salts of lemon has
been dissolved. Wash the shoes with
this, and, when thoroughly dry, polish
with soft flannel or a bit of silk. “ i
Move your pot plants, into winter
quarters. Clean the pots, trim away
rank growth, decayed leaves and keep
, everything about the plauts scrupu
lously clean to prevent decay. See that
windows near the Howers close tight,
as draughts are death to flowers.
The drain pipe should be disinfected
at least once a week in warm weather.
Dissolve a nickel’s worth of copperas
iu half a pailful of water, and gradually
pour it down the pipe. An irou sink
may be kept from rusting by applying
with a brush a quarter of a pound of
asphaltum in spirits of turpentine.
If the bottom crust of fruit pies is
glazed with the white of an egg it will
not be soft aud soggy. The top of meat
and all kinds of raised pies should he
glazed. Beat the yolk of an egg for a
short time and add one spoonful of
milk. When the pie is two-tliirds done
remove from the oven, brush over with
the glaze, return to the oven and finish
baking.
Farm Notes.
Michigan lias a new turnip disease.
It drlesuptheleaf.lt Is a fungus, which
I accompanies wet, muggy weather. The
remedy, or preventive, is to burn all
the affected tops.
When salt is kept where the cows can
help themselves there is no danger of
their eating too much. It is only when
it is kept from them for some time that
there is any risk of their doing so.
Peach trees can be cut back very low,
which makes them stocky, but such
trees when two or three years old are
not as easily cultivated as trees that
are higher. The low trees stand heavy
winds better, however, and shade the
ground around the trunks from the sun.
Where it is desirable to keep the dirt
in place on any situation where the dirt
may become loosened and fall away, it
has been suggested by one who has test
ed them to use the Japanese honey
suckle or Virginia creeper, as the vines
root as they grow, forming dense thick
els of growth and take the place of
sodding.
Ticks uot only keep sheep poor, but
enfeeble them. Experience has shown
that late dipping of sheep in the fall,
which destroys ticks, not only improves
the condition of the flock, but the gain
in growth of fleece is very marked.
When free of ticks sheep will not only
he more contented, but also escape dis
ease to a great extent.
The roads would be much better if
wide tires were used on all wagons, as
they do not cut up the roads, but rath
er serve to pack the gravel. The State
of Pennsylvania lias a law exempting
from certain taxes those who use wide
tires, and as metal wheels are largely
coming into use it is, probable that in
the future nearly all wagons will have
wide tires.
Prof. E. B. Voorliees. of the New Jer
sey experiment station, is of the opin
ion that the higher readers used iu the
country schools should contain mostly
articles devoted to farm matters. The
characteristics of breeds, soils,
foods, cultivation of crops and ott* 1 ’
subjects would prove not only ?M/rest
-Bame time instruct them in vt ‘o'
i ing reading to pupils, but a^ o at the
1 lines which will iu tlie futare be most
j beneficial to them.