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The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, October 27, 1906, Image 3

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn96077142/1906-10-27/ed-1/seq-3/

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THE GREGORY DINNER
By MARJORIE
"Don't forget the Gregory dinner
to-night, dear," Mrs. . Walton called
after her husband, aa he stepped into
the runabout
"No," he answered, absently. In
specting the new check rein. "I may
be late Ashton, the president of our
company. Is to be In town to-day."
"Oh, dear! Do get rid of him some
how, for the Gregory's are so punctill
lous!" '
"Do my best. Good-by."
I "Good-by." .
Mrs. Walton hurriedly attended to
her household affairs, and went off
to the club to play golf. At five
o'clock, when she returned, with Just
time enough to dress, she was met by
the maid, who said:
"Mr. Walton tlllphoned out, ma'am,
a hour ago, fer ye to come out to the
club fer dinner with him an' Mlsther
Ashton."
Mrs. Walton put down her curling
Iron, despair on every feature.
"Oh, the wretch," she cried, "he's
forgotten all about the Gregory's."
i She flew to the telephone.
1 "Give me 203. . Hello Is this the
Country club? Is Mr. Walton there?
Well, send a caddy out-with this mes
sage. Tell Mr. Walton that he's for
gotten our dinner engagement, and
that he must excuse himself to Mr.
Ashton and follow me at once. Did
you get that? It's most important
All right good-by."
"Now, Maggie," she said to the
maid, "when Mr. Walton comes you
tell him to hurry Just as fast as he
can, and I'll explain as best I may un
til he gets there. He ought to be
beaten.". Then she stepped into the
runabout and departed.
An hour later a station hack dashed
up to .the Walton's at a break neck
"Weill He Snorted.
pace, and the head of the house, hot
flushed and irate, leaped out.
"Maggie Maggie," he bellowed, as
he reached hjss room.
"How long has Mrs.' Walton been
gone?"
"About an hour, sor. An' she lift
wor-rud ye wua to hurry wid all yer
molght an' main, an' she'd be afther
Ixplalnin' to the lady "
"Where is this blamed dinner?"
"Where? Oi don't know, sor."
"You don't know? Well, I don't,
either! I suppose she must have told
tne, but I haven't the ghost of an
Idea."
"She nlver- told me at-all at-all, sor."
"Oh, well, it must be the Papes.
Come to think of it, she did say the
Papes Papes " he said, getting into
the hack, "and you've got about two
minutes to get me there."
Then he gave himself up to utter
and soul satisfying distemper. This
social life he was going to cut it
out No telling how Ashton would
take being handed over to perfect
strangers at the club, although he had
' been very decent about it at the time.
Why on earth Louise didn't mention
these things ' They swung up to the"
Papes at a clattering gait and he ran
up to the door.
"Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" he
asked.
"Mrs. Walton? She's not here,
sir,"
"Not dining here?"
' "Why, no, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Pape
are dining in town."
"Try Bolton's," cried Walton, with
out a word to the astonished servant
They dashed off to the other end of
town and up to the Boltons.
"Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" he
demanded. ,
"No, sir, she ain't here."
"Not dining here?"
"No, sir. They're at dinner now.
Will you come In, sir?",
. ""No, thanks." "HI try next door,"
be called back to the driver as he
jumped the hedge.
lie repeated the formula at the
Smiths, -with the same results and
his Ire had about reached the burst
ing point
"I give it up," he groaned to the
cabman, who had decided that he
was drunk or insane, "take me home.
Or, no wait try the Gregory's."
Another John Gilpin spur and they
were, there.
"Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" It
was getting mechanical
"Why,, yes, slr,"vsajd the maid, "but
he's lone." -' t . : r.
"Caet Gone where?" ;
i The; maid partly closed 'the door.
ear-'
BENTON COOKE
"I don't know she and Mrs. Greg
ory went somewhere to dinner."
"Don't you know where?"
"No, sir they didn't say."
"The devil," said Walton.
The maid closed the door entirely,
she didn't want to take any chances.
Tired and hungry, Walton got into
the cab again. He had to have din
ner he'd go back to the club and
look up the neglected Ashton.
"Station," he said, and they clat
tered on again.
Half an hour later he arrived at
the club, and made his way anxious
ly through the dining-room ; looking
for the erstwhile guest In the most
secluded part of the covered porch
a party of people laughed loudly and
made merry. It got on Walton's
nerves all this gayety, and he
glanced at them peevishly. Then he
stopped and gasped. Mrs. Walton
was in the midst of her best story,
and Ashton and Mrs. Gregory leaned
toward her in rapt attention. Walton
strode to the side of the table, like
Lear about to break into the ban
ishment speech. .
"Well!" he snorted.
Mrs. Walton looked up at him
sweetly.
"Oh, here you are, dear. Where
have you been?"
"Where have I been? Where have
I been?"
. "Say how do you do to our
guests, and join us. Have you dined?"
That was the last straw. He bowed
to Mrs. Gregory and Ashton and sat
down.
"No," he said, "I have not dined."
"Mr. Ashton said something about
your suddenly having remembered a
dinner engagement, and basely de
serting him."
"Well, you know why I deserted
him. The boy said it was urgent"
"The boy the boy?" she said,
vaguely. "I got your message 'to dine
with you at the club, so I picked Mrs.
Gregory up and came along to -find
poor Mr. Ashton about to dine with
the Bachelors."
"And your wife was good enough
to rescue me from that dire fate,"
Ashton interposed.
"I'm delighted to heir It," said Wal
ton, grimly. "And now if you don't
mind, I'll begin at the first I'm
starved and I feel that I've earned
something as a reward."
"If you'll get Mrs. Walton to tell
you her splendid storjt about the man
who couldn't find the dinner he was
invited to, you'll be doubly re
warded." "No doubt Mrs. Walton is an ex
cellent story teller," he remarked,
solemnly, and something in his tone
sent Mrs. Walton into paroxysms of
laughter.
"Well?" said Mrs. Walton, after
their guests had departed. "Well?"
he repeated, all his ire returning.
Mrs. Walton began to laugh.
"It may be very funny for you to
send me chasing all over Elmwood
looking for an imaginary dinner, but
I'm unable to see it!"
"Of course, you are, you poor, old
martyr! You see, I thought the
Gregory dinner was to-night, so I
arrived in state, to find Mrs. Greg
ory sitting down to a lonely repast,
Mr. Gregory having stayed in town.
Well, you know how awfully proper
she is, and what' a tease she is, and
I knew that if she discovered my mis
take she'd be awfully embarrassed,
and I'd never hear the last of it from
him, so I thought quickly, and said
I'd come to carry her off to the club
to dine with us. I hoped we'd get
there in time to head you off, but we
didn't, and poor old Ashton, who was
wandering about like a lost soul, said
you'd been gone some time. I tele
phoned the house, and Maggie said
you'd just left there, but as you didn't
know where you were going, she
couldn't call you up. So what could
I do?" she concluded.
"But to greet me, after a hot chase
like that, with a pleasant smile and
coolly ask me if I had dined."
"Well dear, I couldn't let Mrs.
Gregory know."
"Hang Mrs. Gregory! Here I was
trying to get a raise out of Ashton,
which he thinks the company can't
afford, and I was Just getting him to
see my point of view, when that boy
called me off. You notice that your
dinner party will cost us something,
because I'll not get the raise, now."
"Oh, but you will."
"What do you know about it?"
"Well, it didn't take me long to dis
cover that Mr. Ashton's hobby was
rose gardening, and I told him that
It was your hobby, too. I said it was
the sorrow, the only sorrow ot our
lives that we couldn't afford to have
a hot house for roses, and he was so
perfectly delighted to find that you
had this taste in common, that he
told me he thought the company
would have to put ; up for the hot
house, after January 1st"
"But great Scott, Louise, I don't
know - an American . Beauty from a
potato plant"
"Never mind, when we get the raise
we'll tell him that we decided to put
it Into a kitchen garden. Instead."
"Well, if you aren't .a wonder!"
said her husband, s In sheer admira
tion. ; ;
- "Of course I am," she replied, mod
estly, "or I sever would have mads
what I have out of you. Don't for
get" she sdded. as he put out the
light "that the Gregory dinner Is next
Wednesday."
(Copyright by Joseph B. BowIm.)
GRAVES IN THE
WILDERNESS
EIGHTEENTH In Cloud and Pillar Series
A STORY Of THE WflBltWSS JOURttY Of
THE HEKRIW rtOfU
By UtCHlrkwaj and Byway" rreacatr
wopyrif kt, 1M, by ui antbor, W. I. Ed ton.)
Scripture Authority: Num. 14:28
85; Heb. 3:17-4:3; 1 Cor. 10:5.
6efrei!reAeaeaereae6eaeaeaea
J 8ERMONETTE. JJ.
Paul. seizes upon this dark
chapter In the history of the
J Hebrew people to point a warn- $
Ing and make an appeal to the
children of God to-day.
All left Egypt for Canaan, but
0 all did not reach the rest and
j blessing of that promised land.
1 Why?
J Because of the awful sin of un-
t belief, the one certain barrier to
the realization .of the promised J
blessing of God.
Holding up this striking ex-
t ample of what the sin of unbe-
lief can forfeit to the soul of J
man, Paul appeals to the Chris- i
tian to "fear, lest, a promise be- J
ti Inn left ua of enterlna Into his
rest, any of you should seem to
come short of It . . . Let us
labor, therefore, to enter into
t that rest, lest any man fall after
the same example of unbelief."
The unbelief which drove the
children of Israel back Into the
J uIMornaaa waa tha unbelief of
a settled purpose, for had It not
been so, they would have Us- ft
, tened to the last appeal of Caleb
and Joshua.
8o It Is ever with the human
soul. Where unbelief has been
allowed to set and harden, like .
the cement block, there Is noth-
4z Ina which can soften It and
bring It back to the plastic state
again.. No, It cannot be soft- r
ened, but some day God's Judg-
C ment will fall and grind the
hardened heart of unbelief to J
powder. Contemplate this, O r
soul. Listen! "To-day, If ye
a will hear his voice, harden not
your hearts." e
There Is a wilderness In every rs
"2 life where graves must be made
a and the sins or unoeiier Duried
out of sight, before the soul can ,
come Into the blessed privilege i
of the Promised Land. r;,
Forty years, a year for a day!
A pretty heavy penalty to pay, a
and yet Is not that the ratio
which sin often exacts of the
soul? On every hand we see
t the marks of sin which will be a
carried down to the very grave.
After all the graves in thewil- 3
derness were the only bright
t places there, for they spoke of a
buried unbelief, and of the eer- J
talnty that the Promised Land t
lay Just beyond its borders. J
i Graves are to put dead things e
In. An unbelieving heart Is a J
dead heart, and were better bur- i
led. Yea, bury It, though It be
x with tears, and then turn and
let God give you a new heart in J
which burns a living hope. Then r
tears will be turned to sunshine
t and gladness, and the wilderness
will be suddenly transformed J
into the land flowing with milk 4-
and honey.
x .
e9e$e$e?ee9eeetLe$e$e$e?
THE STORY.
U i NOTHER burial." Moses muttered
A to himself, sadly, as he saw the
solemn procession passing on towards
the outer borders of the canp. "Sure
ly the word of the Lord Is being ful
filled, and the graves of the children
of Israel are filling the wilderness.''
The aged leader turned and let his
eyes follow the somber little group
meditatively. There was the shroud
covered form lying so cold and still
on the stretcher borne between the
four, behind whom came the mourn
ers, their heads covered and their
garments rent In token of their grief.
It was but one of many such scenes
which had marked the wilderness
journey during the many years they
had been shut in there.
"Yea, the word of the Lord is being
fulfilled. It cannot be long ere we
shall enter the land of which God
hath spoken."
"Know you who It Is who Is befng
borne yonder to his grave?" . ques
tioned Caleb, who stood near.
"No, dost thou?" rejoined Moses.
"Yea, he was one of the most aged
men of my tribe," replied Caleb
"and his death is another victory . of
faith."
"How so? Tell me," said Moses,
with an eagerness which showed that
the smallest Incident in the life of
his people was of the greatest inter
est to him.
"You remember how when we faced
that dreadful crisis so many years
ago, and I had all but persuaded the
people of my tribe to stand with me
and encouraged the people to go for
ward, when this man whose burial
Is but now taking place, interposed
and turned the sentiment against me.
He was a man of much Influence in
the tribe, and of strong, dominating
will, and he challenged my appeal, and
declared that it was fatal folly if the
people listened to a young enthusiast
such as I was. '
M 'Why,' he said, 'what need is there
of haste? Why should we plunge to
our doom? Let us take counsel to
gether and prepare our fighting men
to meet the forces of the enemy. ' It
may even be that-we shall be able
to gain the support of some friendly
tribe about to help us fight:- And the
people had listened, and then turned
with the others in violent opposition
to our appeal to trust in the Lord and
go forward.
"Well, following those dreadful
days, after so many bad perished, and
Israel had at last been turned back
into the wilderness this man came
to me and demanded to know why in
the face of giants and walled cities
and strong armies,' I had declared
that we were able to go up and pos
sess the land.
"'Because,' I said, 'the Lord has
promised us the land for a posses
sion, and ha is able to give us victory
over our enemies.'
"'But' he exclaimed, testily, 'why
should God ask us, or expect us, to
do things which our reason tells us
are impossible? I would rather take
my chances In the wilderness than in
that dreadful land.'
"And when I reminded him that God
had sworn that none who had refused
to gOjUp and possess the land should
ever enter it, and recalled the awful
Judgment on the ten spies who had
perished before the Lord after' bring
ing up their evil report, he had shout
ed defiantly that he would not die in
the wilderness, that if any overcame
into the Promised Land, he would be
among the number.
"This boast was noised abroad
through the tribe, and It became al
most a proverb among the people that
Shelah would not taste death while
Israel was yet without a country."
"Is this what has kept the. spirit of
so many bold and defiant during these
years, notwithstanding that In what
soever place Israel has cast her camp
there have the graves of the dead
been made?" asked Moses, with grow
ing interest.
"No doubt it has had much to do
with it," replied Caleb, "but you
must remember that the heart of un
belief which was born of the difficulty
and dangers which confronted them in
the Promised Land, has only been In
tensified by the trials of the wilder
ness Journey. Faith grows not in the
soli of fear and discontent.
"But with Shelah it was different, for
the stubborn, defiant Bplrlt which he
had maintained through the years at
last gave way under circumstances as
remarkable as they were gratifying.
And this Is the second part to our
story, and here is where we see the
victory of faith In his death.
"Shelah had a grandson upon whom
his heart was set, and it was the only
joy of his life to watch the boy grow
and develop, and with the greatest
care he gave the boy Instruction In
the history of his people, and sought
to arouse in him that spirit of hope
and purpose for his future that would
give, him prominent place among his
people some day.
"Well, this boy grew to young man
hood, and chance brought him one day
several years ago Into the presence of
Joshua, and as a result a deep friend
ship sprung up between the older
man and the stripling. Fearful to tell
his grandfather, for he knew that the
latter felt none too kindly towards
him, this was the one secret he kept
from him.- The result of this friend
ship was a broadening of the young
man's vision, and an opening up to
him of a new understanding of the his
tory of his people. Up to this time
he had been taught to consider that
the plight of the people in the wil
derness was the result of the failures
and blunders of their leaders, and nat
urally he shared the prejudice of his
grandfather. But with the coming of
Joshua into his life the shadows of
doubt and hate lifted from his mind
and he took hold of God with a new
faith.
"Then began a battle in his own
heart He came to understand the
judgment of God upon the unbelieving,
and that they were to all perish in
the wilderness. The fate of his
grandfather preyed upon his mind,
and his irreverent boast that he would
live to go into the Promised Land
filled him with a nameless dread. For
weeks he struggled with the matter,
and at last determined that he would
speak to his grandfather about It.
This he did, but the old man flew Into
a rage and charged his grandson with
disloyalty, and ordered him from his
presence. With breaking heart the
young man left and found refuge with
Joshua. The old man was sorry for
his temper, as soon, as the boy had
gone, and sought to recall him, but
he had gone. For days he sought him.
Too feeble himself to go, he sent
messengers all through the camp, and
while they sought him, he was fighting
a battle in his own heart
"If God had wanted them to go for
ward and possess the land, he was
able to help them. Perhaps he was
wrong, after all. And then he re
called the saying of the elders of Is
rael that God had declared that none
who had refused to enter through un
belief should ever go Into the Prom
ised Land, but should die in the wil
derness. Then his thoughts reverted
to his grandson again, and it suddenly
flashed across him that if that were
true, he was one who stood in the
way of the realization of Israel's hope.
He was helping to keep his grandson
out of Canaan. But at last the vic
tory ' came, and with it peace, and
when the messengers returned with
the boy, the latter found the old man
with sweetness of spirit viewing his
own fate. The certain hope of Israel,
and that of his grandson filled him
with a new joy. 'Death will be wel
come here,' he whispered, 'for I know
now that you will go in and Inherit
the land.' . '
"That was several days ago," con
cluded Caleb, "and now the aged She
lah ' Is being laid In his grave In
the wilderness, but the star of hope
shines above his grave, for each grave
In the wilderness points toward ths
Promised Land."
8WINE BREEDING HOU8E.
Convenient Structure for Farms Where
Several Brood 8ows Are Kept
On farms where several brood sows
are constantly kept and must be con
fined In small lots with separate pens,
a piggery constructed as shown In the
plan Is of special use. In this house
there are eight separate pens, each
complete with a sleeping floor, trough,
and a lot 40 feet wide and as long as
desired. The lots extend away from
!
LuftJrtj
m.'f i
Plan of Piggery.
the piggery so that they may be
plowed and planted to forage crops if
necessary, 'Vlthout disturbing the
other lots. . '
The piggery, says Farm and Home,
is fitted with a pair of scales, a feed
cooker and a feed mixing vat The
floor is of concrete and it has a sec
pnd story where feed can be stored.
The feed bins open upon the second
floor into larger bins where a quan
tity of meal feeds or grains may be
kept. The Bleeping platforms con
sist simply of 2x4 scaffolding placed
edgewise around a part of the floor
of the pen, within which clean straw
for bedding is placed. A piggery sim
ilar to this is being used on many
large farms and in several of the ex
perimental farms of the country.
ORIGIN OF THOROUGHBRED.
dan Be Traced Back to Arabian, Turk
or Barb Stock.
The American thoroughbred Is de
fended from the English thorough
bred, and the latter Is made up by
blood almost wholly from Arabian,
Turk or Barb stock. The English
stud book for thoroughbreds Is not
open to any horso that has had an out
cross of common blood during the
past hundred years or more, and it
is doubtful if one having an out-cross
150 years back would bo recorded. A
teference to the lists of horses in Eng
lish racing stables at the time the
thoroughbred was brought to the front
will show that the originators de
pended almost entirely on the,horses
brought from the orient, and of the
three general classes mentioned.
The Americans have greatly im
proved on the original thoroughbreds
by selecting and to some extent by
crossing with Arabian horses of fine
type. This practice has not been
common of late years, for our breed
ers have formed the opinion that they
can do little more for the breed by
Importing Arabian horses. By selec
tion, the quality of the thoroughbred
is now so high that it Is believed that
in bringing in more foreign blood,
even of the Arabian breeds, there is
danger of deteriorating it
The American trotting horse was
developed from the thoroughbred, or
rather as a strain of the thoroughbred.
Constant selection has made this
horse the most Important of the thor
oughbreds, not only for races, but also
for the saddle and carriage.
8TOCK NOTES.
The more pigs a sow has, the more
feed she needs. ' ' '
Cows, pigs and the separator are a
get-there combination.
Sold your wool yet? Brought a good
price this year, didn't It?
The older pigs grow the more food
It will take to make a pound of gain.
Pigs should be crowded bo that they
will be fat and ready for market early.
Slops made ot middling and skim
milk are among the best foods for
suckling sows.
There is no philosophical reason why
acidity of food should give any better
returns than sweet food.
There never should be an unsound
cow, sheep or bog sent to market
from the farms of this country.
Feed the farm by the way of the
gdfcd cow. Feed her and she will feed
the farm.' and everybody on It
Cultivate your smellers. Never
leave a churn after washing, until
It smells as fresh as the morning dew.
Sows can be kept in smooth, sight
ly conditions, and yet fulfill all the re
quirements of abundant milk produc
tion. Nature never designed that an ani
mal should suckle down to a skeleton,
which Is never done if a proper supply
of food given.
Big Demand for Horses.
This country Is having nip and tuck
to grow horses enough for the horns
market Few horses are being exported.
This Is a good ' time for farmers to
raise a few.
i The Brood Sow.
In selecting a brood sow, be sure
that she is straight and heavy in the
limb, short in face and nose, heavy in
Jowl, with good heart and flank meas
urement '.'
, When to Select Brood Sow. '
Never make your selection for a
brood sow until a reasonable age has
developed the good and bad qualities
(bat are sure to corns out .
FEEDING AND SELLING MULES.
How They Should Be Dealt With to
Get the Best Results.
The southerner requires fat mules,
the fatter the better. Flesh catches
the planter's eye. Sleek-coated ani
mals are also in demand. In sire, the
cotton mute ranges from the 14-hand
donkey to the 15.2-hand farm mule.
Mare mules are given the preference
In the south, but north, east or west
this Is not so. The wise feeder will
keep thBO facts In view .when buying
young or work mules. The rough,
leggy animal should be avoided. Such
are mean feeders and seldom fatten.
This is also true of colts. It is possi
ble, says Orange Judd Farmer, to tell
with reasonable certainty which colts
will feed out well and which will not
The colt that keeps nearly fat on ordi
nary feed and with ordinary care can
be depended on,wh!le the one that Is
stunted, rough and thin is a doubtful
feeder. Some of our feeders raise
their own stock mules, buying colts
and yearlings, then pasturing or feed
ing them very much as cattle are fed.
Feeding usually begins in early fall
and continues until the end of the
year. Many carloads of two-year-old
mules go Bouth.
The feeding is best done In sheds
equipped for that purpose. In most
sections, at least five kinds of feed
can be had. Corn Is the principal fat
tening element, but bran and shelled
oats act as a loosening agent and pro
duce a good coat. Such feeds should
be given in the proportion of one part
bran or oats to three or four parts
corn. Soy beans are a promising mule
feed, being the equal of linseed meat
In rearing and fattening mules, the
shearing should be attended to often.
The mane falls over badly when al
lowed to get too long, and it is prac
tically impossible to make a good trim
later. When receiving a mule that has
been shod, remove the shoes, especial
ly those on the hind feet the first
thing. Mules will kick each other,
but if there are no Bhoes, no harm Is
done.
Work as many as possible, if only
a time or two. Many consider a mule
broken that has had only one or two
lessons In the waaon or plow. Mules
should bo kept, during the fattening
period, confined to the shed. Good
bedding Is very essential to producing
a fine finish. The above is written
with special reference to cotton mules,
bnt applies equally well to other de
mands. Most all the cotton mules
from Kentucky are sold through the
Atlantic gateway; The market opens
In tho late fall or early winter and
closes in early spring.
HORSE KICKING IN STALL.
Device by Which He May Be Ren
dered Harmless. (
The kicking horse is not only dan
gerous but destructive, but the way to
control him Is a perplexing problem
sometimes. A South Dakota corre
spondent of the Prairie Farmer sug
gests a device for controlling such ani
mal. It he kicks with only one foot place
a strong surcingle about him and at
B put in a strong ring. Fasten a strong
foot strap below the fetlock joint C
on the foot with which he kicks. Then,
run a rope from ring C through ring
B to a ring fastened to the opposite
Device for Kicking Horse.
front foot at D. When he kicks he
will Jerk this front foot under him. ' If
he kicks with both hind feet run a
rope from one hind foot up through
the ring B, down through ring D and
back through ring B to C, and fasten
on the other hind foot. Then when he
kicks with both feet he will Jerk this
one foot from under him; which leaves
him standing on one foot. This will
soon get him out of the notion of kick
Ing.
Building a Breed.
The usual method of starting m
breed of live stock is to select two
or more unusually good animals from
a group that has been developed la
a certain direction by means of better
food, better environment and careful
selection from a greater number. No
breed Is ever started If the Animals;
that can be used sre not better than
the same breed of animals in another
locality. At the beginning this work
Is carried on by a few men, some
times by one. In-breeding has to be
practiced for generations till certain
characteristics are fixed in" the ani
mals. The In-breedlng Is Intensified
by constantly eliminating those ani
mals not of the desired type.
Feeding the Pig.
It doesmot follow because a hungry
pig will gnlp down almost any kind
of slop, that any kind Is good enough
for him. Make the slop strong enough ,
to give the pig' a well rounded form
that will stay with him all of the
time, not the form that, Is seen Just,
after leaving the trough.
The Profitable Pig.
' Under average conditions with the
farmer there is very little profit In
feeding pigs after they reach a weight
of 260 pounds. The most pork is made
with the least feed on young pigs.

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