The Red Cloud chief. (Red Cloud, Webster Co., Neb.) 1873-1923, December 06, 1889, Image 3

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O love, if life wtil enJ to-nujht.
How short ocr lirt would seem!
One Uttle Cash of summer lisht:
One bn-f and passfcjnate Cream,
0e s: apse or roses oa the wall.
Or blue-bells is the lane.
Then, love, the end, the end of all
Ay. bads mlsht swell, and leaves miijht fall.
But not for as again!
"Tae stream we used to watch and love
Would erer onward flow;
From the dark pines the gray wood-dove
Would call we should not know.
-Ah! not Icr cs the pines would wave.
For us no stream would run;
"We should be silent in the grave.
TInable even to hoard and save
One little riimpse ol sun!
Tet is not this a somber view
O: lite and all it brings!
Thank Heaven, tae bryrht waves still ars
And still the throstle sings!
And oh! belora love's conquering tang
Death's s.nks qu:te away;
For li'e is short, but love is long.
And death is He r , but love is strong.
And Love shah win the day!
G. Barlow, in I'ageant of Life.
By Manta L. Crocker.
CorrRicrrr, 1SS.
CHAPTKU XXn. Costtwued.
"When are you going back'' he vent
ured, eyeing the toe of his neatly polished
hoot, and, doubtless, hoping that I had not
read his secret.
In a few days," I answered; "iliriam
-sent mo to the Hall en an errand, and that
is why I ant here I came to visit friends
elsewhere. But did you -wish to send tvord
to your cousin, or tverc you contemplating
a trip'"'
He looked at me fcr a moment as if my
cvords had put a new idea in his head. Then
he said : ''If ycu will wait, madame, I will
write a note, providing you will be kind
-enough to give it her: that is' and he
he-itated, "if she still remembers me!'
I looked at him. How could any one for
get that face, I thought. Then I said: "Oh !
certainly, she lemcmbers you, ilr. Per
cival. I have heard her speak of you quite
often, and I know she would be slad to get a
line from you."
He raised his eyes once more, and a slight
Sush came over his face which left it almost
paLtd, while I fancied a soul-mist dimminp.
t"no?e ciurious et-es. He grew visibly aci
tated, but calming himself with an effort
ne said: "If you will pieaso to sit down on
this seat and wait for me 1 will indict a few
lines to my cousin Miriam!"
I sat down on the rustic seat, old and
mosi-irrown. while he drew forth pencil and
Ioeket d.ary from an inner pocket of his
coat, and, tearing a leaf from the book,
"wrote to Miriam.
I watched him with a curious interest.
Wouid Miriam be glad to get this letter? I
was sure it would be a letter into whose
hort length would be crowded the passion
ate thoughts of years. I believed that
Miriam would waken from her morbid, help
leas grief after its perusal, and I watched
the firm, snappy hand trace words 1 was
positive were of poetic fire with much the
v same ieer.g? o: caaness tnat one sees a
Txraon prepared which is to gi ve great relief
" to a suffering friend.
I had made up my mind, and accordingly
I thoueht best not to mention my meeting
Allan Perciva. in the park to Percy or An
ciL They, to say the least, would be curi
ous, and perhaps might ask questions which
1 could not answer and do justice to the con
fidence reposed in me.
Sc. trc-tin? that they had not seen Allan,
I thrust the letter to Miriam in my pocket
and entered the house. They had not seen
Allan, and I counted myself lucky in es
caping all chance of being interrogated, for
my visitor of the park had enjoined secrecy
tipon me in tae matter of his identity and
his message to Miriam.
Said he: -'Keep this meeting here that
is, the identity of the individual you chanced
to meet a profound secret as far as this
side the water is concerned. I ventured
here .-cause it was my father's home until
driven from it," and his eye took on an
angry, agonized gleam which made me
shudder in spite of myself. "Ah ! here, too,
i a Perdval." I thought, and the look in
his eyes reminded me of Miriam.
"1 presume," he began, after a pause, "I
ought never to have come here; it fills my
oulwith hate to look about me and re
member my father's story, and also that of
1 rjCI f? .
. - - .
Cousin Miriam. But, after all, it is quite
lucky forme, because I have met you, her
inea-2. by coming "
His face speedily regained its former
pleasant expression and a yearning hope
supplanted the dark look of revenge which
had so awed me.
'Yes," I replied, it is a stroke of Provi
dence: you were to meet me and I am to
carry your message to your cousin."
Doyou believe in that theory!" he asked,
an odd puzed look on his face.
"Certainly I do," I answered, -and you
will, too, by and by."
'lam almost converted to your doctrine
now,'' he laughed.
Then, after wishing me "bon voyage"
and reiterating his desire that Miriam
saouid get the letter from my hands only,
he lifted his hatand bade me good-bye again
and walked away toward what used to be
the deer park, but now a rather neglected
One morning not long after this decidedly
romantic interview in the old, deserted
Heatherleigh groands I found myself ready
to leave the Hall.
Pecgy, who had either ttrtnvu tired of
coaxing me to prolonc my visit or presumed
further pressing was useless, which, indeed,
would have been, brought Miriam's portrait
from the gallery, and, wrappins it care
fully, with many a caress and crooning
Vord of endearment, gave it into my care.
T mnsidered this cuite a feat to get pos
session of a portrait from this old Hall, and J
Jr -.." :nM
111 wffr ijjgp
4 .T-r 'rV 7 vs
I showered my unfeigned tlrf on Peggy's
oevotea ceaa in consequence.
"I will do all in my power to get her to
return, if only lor a year's visit," I prom
ised the two aged servants at my leave
taking, and intend to keep my promise good.
2ot for worlds would I prove false to those
old Irish dwellers at Heatherleigh by not
trying to persuade Miriam to come back,
if for nothing else than to see them.
Hark! what is that! Oh, it is the ting,
ting a-ling of the bell for luncheon, and
Gladys expects my cousialy presence in the
pleasant little breakfast-room shortly.
Cousin Gladys' luncheons are something
famous for a suburban cottage, with their
delicious cake and fruit arrangement, to
gether with their smattering of cold meats,
and flanked with spiced wines.
She is in high glee this week, for we are
to take a little run up into the dear old
Cotswold hills, Gladys and I. and she is
chipper as a bird in consequence.
I shall enjoy the trip, to be sure, but the
secret of Allan's letter and the pleasant
knowledge of having met him eclipse all
the happy anticipation I might feel in a ran
among the Cotswold hiiur I find myself
lost in speculation as to what Miriam will
do and say when I give Allan's letter into
her hands and tell her I met him accident
allynot providentially at Heathcrleich.
"With such weighty secrets in my posses
sion from both sides of the water, no won
der I am beginning to feel myself a person
of uncommon imoortance. And the letter
and portrait in my keeping, either of which
is worth a ransom to the owner, I presume,
make me feelmore like an ambassador than
simply a guest. It seems to me tnat my com
ing to see Gladys has lost its identity be
come, as it were, a secondary object or ex
cuse for the grander possibilities.
Ah! here comes Gladys. I expected as
much. 1 have kept her waiting too long for
her busy, bustling nature, and she has come
to see if I have gone to sleep in this cozy
nook or turned a deaf ear to her luncheon
A -week later finds me making ready for
the return voyage.
. ceaptei: ran.
"We have been having an outing, Gladys
and L We have taken that little run
up the Thames for which we were booked
some time.
Gladys, having some friends in London,
and .visaing to see them also, we spent a
couple of days there. From there we start
ed for the delightful country trip. It would
have been more to my liking to have gone
in midsummer, but the summer was past,
the opportunity bad gone by. and the upper
Thames bad been left until now.
Iso matter; we found ourselves at the
Great "Western Paddington station one fine
morning, with lunch-hamper in hand.
Gladys remembers the lunch item, if nothing
else, en route forTaplow.
Away we roll out of the big city and
across the quiet peacefulness of a beauti
ful stretch of country. Tne fields, however,
were unfortunately rather brown and bare,
it beine too late in the season for field dais
ies or bright and blooming hedge rows. It
seemed to me a kind of solemn, quiet loneli-
! ness pervaded the landscape, and I ceased
to look from my compartment and shut my
eyes to the outside glimpses of the real
world, busying myself in delvinc into the
impossible and perhaps possible, ideal
world of my own.
An hour's ride brought us to our destina
tion by rail.
From Maidenhead we were to go by boat
to Marlowe. There a friend meets us, and
we go winding away across the country
again to Oxford renowned old Oxford
and from there to a little nook in the hills
miles further on; Gladys' old home, you
I do not know that I have time to tell you
of all the beautiful landscapes, wooded
parks, soft, hazy meadow stretches, still
green and inviting, and tbe thousand other
lovely visions which will be green in mem
ory for many a long day. But I wish to say
that our ride oa the Thames from Maiden
head to Marlowe was one round of delight
ful surprises and enjoyable diversion. There
are many picturesque scenes on the banks
of this old, much-sung, much-painte'd river.
"With its numerous locks, weirs, lovely old
mills and hospitable inns, with its pictur
esque scenery of wooded heights and hand
some and ivy-wreathed, ivy-crowned
churches and country seats, "old Father
Thames" is remembered as a very genial
2fo wonder the artist raves; no wonder
the poet strikes his sweetest, grandest num
bers along his banks. 2?o wonder, I say, no
Oxford beine on the flow of the Thames
also, I regretted very much that we had
not had time to boat it further; but neces
sity knows no compromise with inclination.
and Gladys must go by another route.
Days and days it would have taken us.
Giadys said, to have gone up the river to
Oxford, aud of course it would, wncn we
come to take into consideration the classic
windings of the stream.
"Well, I am sure I missed a great deal of
beauty and loveliness, but it can not be
helped now, nor could it have been.
Gladys' old home nestles in a bright little
nook among the hills, and a beautiful little
country residence it is, situated on the
banks of tbe Thames, but not the great
river we left behind us at Marlowe, or Ox
ford, for instance.
Uo: a quiet, silvery, unpretentious flow
just below the garden, where we stood and
watched birds of migration pass over our
heads in the pray of the evening lignt,
while the brisk breeze went by and sighed
itself to death among the hills.
The house itself is also ivy-wreathed
every thing is ivy-wreathed, or ivy
crowned, it seems to me, in merrie old
England as well as the more pretentious
neighboring residences; a low-eaved, many
gabled affair, with solid masonry and heavy
wooden shutters. A little, wooded park
and an antiquated-locking summer-house at
the back, where Gladys and I found rich
purple clusters hanging invitingly along
the rafters of a broken-down trellis belong
ing thereto.
In the front a pretty, well-kept garden.
where, doubtless, in summer the display of
old-fashioned flowers was something novel
for an American to behold. Bat in the rem
nant of its former glory I took but little
satisfaction, although the display of great
clumps of thrifty marigolds and crimson
beds of late geraniums made it a warm,
rich-looking picture.
Bat the best part of the visit there to re
member, to my mind, was the warm wel
come we received from the matronly-looking
English lady in charge.
"So glad to have you come," she said,
smoothing out her apron of blue and white
checked linen and handing us each a chair
while she talked.
In five minutes' time I felt perfectly at
home" at Spring Brook, so named from a
clear, gushing fountain bubblingdown over
mossy bowlders near the house.
"Hi ham so wery buy hin the kitchen,
ladies, hand if ycu wouldn't mind to to
sit with me there, why. Hi could wisit
with you to much better hadvantage.' she
said, after a little, with a bridle of her head
and a sort of apologizing smile.
Certainly we would sit with her there,
and forthwith we sat and en ioved her so
ciability while she baked and finished to a
bus her bread and a couple of spring!
chickens meant lor as. She kept no help,
ao she found it necessary to be at the helm,
company or no company. And such a
bright, genial hostess one hardly ever
meets as did the honors of Spring Brook
And now, how pleasant the recollection
of those sunny hours chatted away beneath
the weather-beaten gables of the pleasant,
deep-windowed kitchen. I can almost see
myself rocking softly to and fro in the old
fashioned rush-bottom rocker, and listening
to Mrs. Grey's kindly voice, or fancy my
self 'cuddled up in the deep chintz-covered
arm-chair by the window, watching her
busy with her work.
But that is, too, among the past, and the
twilight settling over the downs over there,
and the dark, restless waters beyond, re
mind me that it is evening once more in the
suburban Hastings.
The great arms of the windmill look very
distant and hazy, like unto a ghost in the
air; and I hear a few rooks chattering, and
perhaps quarreling, in the elms at the back
of the cottage. Gladys will soon light the
lamps, and then I will feel obliged to go in
doors and leave the twilight; mysterious
and indistinct as it is. how I love it! It puts
me in mind of Joaquin Miller's rest, por
trayed in his excellent poem, "The Rest of
There Gladys has lighted up the chande
lier in the rosebud of a parlor, and the soft
light from the colored globes falls over a
piece of statuary fair as Undine, and slants
like a halo through the glass doors this side
And I can see from where I sit, here in the
delicious, shadowy Bight, cousin flitting
about the room, and note the sweep of her
crimson gown, fehe is trying to be giaa ana
happy to-night, fori am to start for home
to-morrow, and she does not desire to leave
any unpleasant impression on memory. I
know she is heart-sick, however, and un
derstand her dissembling.
My luggage is ready for an early start;
Miriam's picture is nicely packed for a safe
transport, and Allan Percival's letter to her
is safe in the bottom of my trunk. The
Stanleys, with whom I came over, are
back to Ecclesbourne and will be ready to
morrow, so there is nothing left for me to
do than to join them.
I am loath to part with Gladys also; and I
do my share ot dissembling and for the
same reason. I am so anxious to present
Miriam with her much-desired portrait,
however, and to place m her hand the cousinlylover-like.
I venture epistle, that my
separation from my cousin's cheery com
pany will not seem so bitter.
But, after all, I mind me with a pang that
it is those left behind that ever feel most
sorrowful at parting.
I shall go in now and Gladys and I will
sing,4Auld LangSyne" togetAeronce, more.
as we had planned, before !' must go. I
fancy we shall see the words through mists
before we get half way through the soar,
and perhaps break down and finish the rest
in tears.
'Rough sea," said the captain, and I seek
my cabin. Miss Stanley, pale as death,
seeks hers also; by this time she is prone
on he r cot wishing for every thing but death
and an unruly digestive apparatus. I am
lucky; I am not disturbed by the rolling of
the ship, but I chose rather to tumble about
alone, if I must, than to fall sprawling on
deck or trip up a fellow passenger in trying;
to keep my equilibrium.
"While 1 sit here on the side of my trunk
I am thinking of two faees left behind me
on England's sunny shores. One is the
face of Cousin Gladys, of course, as she
bade me good-bye. with hot tears trickling
down her white cheek. It is a memory that
brings a lump into my throat and a sinking
down of the heart-
The other face is that of Allan PercivaL
I met him on my way to the wharf, and he
waied with me down to the pier. "You
are off now," he said, and his face was
something to see.
A strange, yearning, hopeful expression
lighted up those beautiful eyes as he gave
me bis hand in a last good-bye. And I
knew that he at least was glad to see me
so. "Why! Because a part, perhaps the
whole, of his life-happiness depended on the
message I was to deliver.
Sometimes I half believed that Miriam
will put '.iiis message in the grate and shut
her heart against all the advances of the
light of )cve. It would, doubtless, be just
like her to mope out her existence sorrow
ing for Ihose that need it not.
I havs had letters from her in my ab
sence, and I judge from their tone she is
very homesick to see me, and to get her por
trait. "I have Arthur's and the baby's
picture hung up in my room," she wrote,
where the sunset can linger over the be
loved faces, and I yet lack one more face to
moke up my trio."
"Well, she need not wait long. But the
sea grows calmer; the heavy, threatening
clouds are breaking away and the sunlight
is glinting through. I go on deck. I wonder
if this sudden change to fair weather is a
forerunner of a happy change in Miriam.
How I wish with all my heart, as I cling to
the railing for the ship still rocks like a
cradle that I might be the nappy medium
of bringing both ihese friendless orphans
together in a grand reunion of love. I fancy
I can do this by diplomacy, somehow. "Well,
wait: we shall see if it be possible.
cHAPa"KK xsrv.
A glorious morning; the air crisp and
clear; a calm, blue sky, with an occasional
white, airy cloud floating ldgh and quietly,
as if no storm had ever entered within its
realm, and a bright, smooth sea.
Such is the loveliness of the autumn day
that our voyage came to a close, and the
Lady Clare hove in sight of New England's
blessed shores. America ! Oh ! for our delight
ed vision. "We came on deck to congratulate
one another on the safe and altogether
happy transit, to cheer v.p and be glad, as
only hsme-coming souls are.
Some one says: "Sing Homc, Sweet
Home,' " and forthwith we find ourselves re
solved into a blending of song and chorus
concert, Poor Howard Payne! He per
haps never felt as we do; certainly not
when he wrote his memorable verses
which we so gladly sing. Ho; but we can
not afford to be sorrowfully inclined to-day
simply because he was unfortunate. It
grates a little on a sympathetic chord
,P "-iiSfcji
- i
where in our make-up to say this, jet it is
"We put a newer, sweeter pulse into the
music: we are all glad to get home, espec
ially arc we glad that it is an American
home, and there is no inclination even to
sigh, unless it be from sheer satisfaction.
It's all very well to talk of the pleasures
of an "ocean trip" and the grandeur of the
voyage, but we found it monotonous enough
after the first day out. Perhaps for young
persons given to being very sentimental or
inclined to flirtation, the hours between
shores may slip off "satin shod." but to
those having too much practical sense far
either the one or the other, I should say
time drags.
"Well, here we are, and we glide into the
waters of the bay, our ewn little ifarragan
sett. There are plenty of friends at the
pier awaiting those on board, and again the
handkerchiefs are waving, but this time in
glad recognition and not tearful pood-bye.
But, as I said when I started, I have no
friends to bid me welcome only as a "fellow
citizen," as the politician says, and so I
come ashore alone. The Stanleys are met
by a pretty turn-out, which whirls them
away rapidly to their fine residence on
Blecker avenue. Here goes a clustering
lot of steerage passengers, strangers in a
strange land, by the look of them. Finally,
here I go, a very eager woman, with multi
tudinous bits and sizes of luggage. I signal
a cabby, and after a few minutes of "boss
ing around" I am tearing away, too, toward
The dead leaves drift, the aster peeps out
from the sheltered sooks by the roadside,
and the half-naked hills come to sightas the
city recedes. Yes, the dear, familiar hills
at whose feet nestles Bay View cottage. A
turn in the road, we pass a stone wall and
come to a cold, bare-looking hedge, and
there just beyond lies the dearestlittle spot
on earth to my heart. There is the cottage !
'Half in light and half in shade," as the
poet Tennyon says. I '-an never bring my
self to say "Lord Tennyson." Shades of
the vine! No! His wreath of deathless roses
and lilies and laurel didn't need the tinsel
and pomp of -ye Lord." not to my Ameri
canized way of thinking.
But here is Bay View cottage, and
d'Eyncourt, Lords and ioets are alike for
gotten. Cabby assists me in with my lug
gage, I pay hm his charges and am once
more in my own domain and square with the
But where is Miriam, whom I expected to
fly out joyously and greet me with a cry of
joy! I ask myself the question with a
strange foreboding of evil stealing over me;
then I noticed something I had not, in my
unlading cf the cab and gathering together
of my traps, noticed before. There was an
unusual stillness about the cottage, and
through the half-open door comes a smell of
medicine. Can it be possible! Yes, Mir
iam is "very ill," so Maggie says, as she
comes tiptoeing out to meet me.
1 leave my luggage forgotten on the little
porch and follow the maid into the house
with a great pain at my heart.' I feel dumb
and dizzy with the anguish of disappoint
ment and fear, but I manage to ask how
long Miriam has been ill and if sho is dan
gerously so. She has been ill for two weeks
or more and is at present faltering between
life and death, so Doctor Cushman said last
evening. A neighboring lady is upstairs
with her installed as nurse until I shoul''
return to make further arrangements.
How a Flacky Girl Vanquished a Crowd
of College Students.
It was in the autumn of 1SS that the
Dartmouth College sophomores, having
just got over being freshmen, decided that
the new freshmen were rising above their
places in a way that was intolerable, and
that a concerted' system of hazing must be
inaugurated to even things up. One of the
chief objects of sophomoric wrath was Gil
bert Smith, a big, good-natured fellow, who
calmly refused to recognize in a sophomore
any thin g superhuman. This Smith lived in
the large farm-house on the road to Lyme.
A few of the more daring sophs got to
gether and voted to raid the farm-house and
instruct Smith a little.
It was a black, chilly night when the band
of regulators crept up the Lyme road
toward the Smith farm-house. It was as
black in the house, except one window, from
which a light gleamed, as if to welcome
friends instead of enemies. "With no par
ticular compunctions, however, the sopho
mores, after drawing over their heads
masks made of shirt sleeves, stamped up to
the porch and without knocking filed into
the sitting-room where Jennie Smith sat
reading alone. Any one who has ever seen
a shirt-sleeve mask will understand that
the fiendish sight made the girl's pretty
eyes fill with terror. But while asking
what they wanted in as steady a tone as she
couid command she knew what the answer
would be.
"Where's your brother Gil!" was the
gruff chorus.
""What do you want him for!"
"To teach him better manners," came the
sepulchral reply.
"He is sick in the next room." said the
girl, pleadingly. "You would not touch a
sick man, would you!"
Had the expletive "Rats 1" then been in
vented the students would have used it
unanimously. As it was they in various
other ways expressed their conviction that
the sickness was an invention to shield the
big freshman, and they proceeded toward
the chamber door with the evident intention
of opening it.
The young girl, with blazing cheeks and
flashing eyes, went over to the door and
stood there to bar the way.
"Stop!" she commanded, with both arms
uplifted, as if to ward off the whole world
from the sick man within. The students,
still disbelieving the story of illness,
though thoroughly admiring her bravery
pressed a little nearer, and one made at
if to open the door. Quick as a flash the
girl caught a big cavalry saber from the
wall where it hung and lunged savagely at
the masked figures. This time they fell
back, but not before the cloth over the face
of the foremost was dyed with blood from a
cut in the cheek. This ended the hazing,
for the boys valiantly begged her pardon
and marched back to Hanover lost in admi
ration. The husband of Jennie Smith, who was
not Jennie Smith, wears a saber scar on his
cheek to-day. 2. Y. Press.
The Evolution of Journalism.
In the "evolution of journalism" the big
dailies will gradually drop the sensational
reporter, with his gory subjects and his
epileptic style, and will substitute for him
the intelligent correspondent, trained to
know what the people want to read and how
they want it written. Ten years hence it
will take a mighty big crime to be worth a
column in a daily paper, and the space thus
surrendered from the horrible will be much
better filled by the readable.
Statistics show that very few women are
afflicted with stammering. nd some philos
opher comes to the front with tins as an ex
planation of the comparative rarity of fe
male suicides. So long as a woman can use
her tongue without interruption she will
sot willfully let go her hold upon life.
Its Valu? to tbe Breeder and the Necetsity
for Cuing It.
"There is no use in talking about it.
no man can succeed as a breeder without
the most liberal uso of printer's ink.'
That is what we heard fall from the lips
of an old and successful breeder the
other day. This is truly one of the oc
cupations where it will not do to hide
your light under a bushel. The reason
for all this is simple enough. Suppose
for a number of years you have been
assiduously attending to your breeding
business on your farm, saying nothing
to any one through the press, attending
fairs and sales perhaps, but not giving
any one to understand that you possess
the spirit of a leader in your line of busi
ness, and what is the result? You become
overloaded with live stock and. being
forced to advertise, no one knows who
you are, and those who are in need of
the very animal you have to sell con
clude that, as they never heard of you
before, the chances are that you are a
mere adventurer in the business, one
who has bought up a lot of animals to
sell again. Such we say is the very
natural conclusion, from the fact that
you were not known to the community
cf which you are a part.
Perhaps you are not a writing man and
know nothing of the art of quill-driving.
That amounts to nothing. If you have
any ideas of your own. and it is a poor
man that has none, they can readily
be put in form by the editor of a good
journal. IJut if you so much dislike
writing as to refuse to do it under any
and ail circumstances, then you must
advertise the more, for the lack of this.
Advertise you should do any way; even
if it be but a small one, it should be in
several journals, and stay there year in
and year out. Keep yourself before the
One good way to court public atten
tion is showing stock at fairs. It mat
ters very little who gets tht premium,
your gain comes from the notice you
get from every journal that mentions
the fair. All such scribblers praise you,
no matter what you have on exhibition.
Then there is the advertisement of pub
lic sales: of course the better the ani
mals you have in the sales the more they
advertise you, but you should get into
those sales even if you come in at the
tail end. "We know a number of men
who have been handling fine stock for
twenty to thirty years, always breeding
and buying the best, but who have never
succeeded in selling to a great advan
tage, simp! because they have neglected
the proper use of printers ink. Amer
ican Dairyman.
More sheep are lost by dogs in all of
the older States than b. all other
causes. This is an unnecessary tax.
A few days ago a Montana flock
master received a draft for a little over
45,000 for his wool clip of this year.
Oats is a better grain feed than com
for ewes. It is not so heating and con
tains more of the nitrogenous element
so essential in building up the system
of the young.
Every flock-master must know by this
time that it is a constant diet on dry
food in winter that plays the mischief
with the flock. If you have neither en
silage nor roots, feed some oil meal.
Com must be fed to sheep very spar
ingly. Xot over a pound and a half of
corn should be given daily to a good
sized wether. But in addition it must
hr ve plenty of nutritious grass or hay.
.Many farmers in Western New York
gave up the wool business as unprofit
able long ago, but still keep sheep, and
say that keeping the mutton breeds is
one of the best-paying branches of farm
Sheep should not be compelled to feed
at the same rack with cattle. They are
liable to be hooked, and a vicious ram
may sometimes do injury to cattle.
Separate yards and separate racks are
safest and best.
Savins Manure.
Successful gardening means a plenti
ful application of fertilizers, and, in
deed, there should be more attention
given to saving manure on the farm
than is now bestowed. Our land is
mostly very fertile naturally, but
manure does not hurt any land, and the
time will come when either we or those
who come after us must fertilize the
land. But the garden needs manure,
and we would raise the best garden
crops. In the first place, we should have
a barnyard that is fitted for saving the
manure. If the yard is one that per
mits all the drainage to run to waste we
shall lose a good deal. The drainage
should bo taken care of somehow, it
being left to the individual judgment in
each case as how best to do that- Then
in piling up manure it is much better to
put it into a fiat heap. If you pile horse
manure on to a high, loose place fer
mentation will be excessive and a vast
deal of ammonia will be wasted. If it
is put into a flapile the process of fer
mentation can be regulated, for when
it is too great the pile can be trodden
down. That will check fermentation.
Western Rural.
A Practical Sacce-w.
The Spreckles beet sugar enterprise in
Santa Cruz County, says the San Fran
cisco Call, has proved a practical suc
cess, and the world is thereby furnished
with another illustration of Claus
Spreckles sagacity. This latest suc
cess increases the business prestige of
Spreckles to an enormous extent. He
said the enterprise would succeed and
was sanguine in the face of failures. He
held that previous experiments had not
been properly made and could not be
considered as true tests. The beet sugar
factory at Watsonville has been running
two weeks, and a crushing of 350 tons of
beet a day has yielded forty tons of
sugar. The enterprise is highly appre
ciated by the farmers of the Watsonville
region and the people of the town, for
the very excellent reason that it has de
veloped one season of prosperity and in
sured more. It is to be hoped'that Mr.
Spr"ckles will look into other industries
after he has finished with sugar. A man
of his intelligence and force should not
confine his attention to any one product.
Sugar BowL
Their Manufacture from Plaatiac the FoI
to ShaTinc the Hoop.
Assuming that the poles have been
artificially grown, the first cutting will
probably be made the fourth or fifth year
from time of planting. If grown thick
ly, as directed, there will be from 20,000
to 30.000 poles on an acre. Perhaps not
more than one-fourth of these will be of
sufficient size to cut this first time. The
lengths required are as follows. For mo
lasses barrels, eight-foot poles; for pork
barrels, seven-foot; for smaller-sized bar
rels, four-foot six inches, five-foot six
inches and six-foot. Thegreatest demand
is for the two longest mentioned. The
poles to be manufactured into these
lengths must be at least one inch in
diameter at the top end. The smallest
size mentioned need not be over five
eighths of an inch in diameter at the top
end. As a rule it will not pay to cut
the poles until they have attained the
larger size named, as the price is so low
for these small sizes that it will be more
profitable to give the timber another
season's growth before cutting.
The cutting should be done in lato
autumn and winter, so that new sprouts
will spring up to
take the places of
trees removed. A
constant supply is
thus kept up. Caro
should be used not
to injure the smaller
poles in taking out
the large ones
wanted for immedi
ate use. A small
shop may be built
at little cost ex
pressly for making
the hoops, as it may
be wholly of rough
lumber of a cheap
grade. It should
be m a d e tolerably
tight, not to protect
the workmen from
the cold, for if he is
fig. 1. the srLrr- industrious he will
TEB- not suffer at this
work, even with his coat off: but he
must have a room warm enough to thaw
the frost from his poles. They can not
well be worked when full of frost, as the
splitter will not follow the grain, and
the knife works great havoc in shaving.
A section of an old smoke-stack, four or
five feet long, makes a good heater for
this purpose. Set one end in a sand
bed, as a precaution against fire on tho
floor. Fit a top to it of sheet iron, in
which a hole is made for the pipe to be
attached. Cut a huge door in one side,
through which mav be crammed whole
armfuls of the shavings and other refuse
from the manufacture. Nothing is too
green to burn in one of these heaters.
Stand the poles up around the heater
and against the walls near by, where
they will get the full benefit of the heat.
Put as many poles into the room in the
morning as can be manufactured
through the day, that they may all be
thawed. Fig. 1 shows the splitter. The
largest portion is a log or post about a
foot in diameter and three feet long.
This is placed within eighteen inches of
the side of the room, firmly spiked to
the floor and braced by a stiff stage from
near the top of the post diagonally to
the studding of the walL
Fig. 2 shows the shaving-horse; 6 is in
the bed-piece, or seat for workman: 3,
table over which the hoop passes in
shaving. It is supported by a block, 2,
which holds it six or eight inches above
the bed-piece. It is rounded at the
lower end and firmly spiked at both
bearings. The slot must be large
enough to allow the arm, 4, to play
easily. One is a three-fourths-inch iron
rod. eight inches long, to which an iron
plate is welded, by which it may be at
tached to the top front side of arm, 4
When the foot is placed against the
treadle, 5, this rod or jaw is thrown
down on the hoop, which may run the
length of the table on either side of the
arm. Cse a smooth round rod for
this jaw. The hoop may then be slipped
back and forth rapidly in shaving. The
arm is swung on a three-fourths-inch
bolt at 7.
The construction of the tying-rack is
plainly shown in Fig. 3." It has a
head-piece, against which the but ends
of the hoops are placed. The middle up
right piece can be moved to suit the
length of the hoop to be tied. The
binder represented in Fig. 4 is placed
with the rope across the rack, a lever
hanging down on either side- After the
hoops are placed in, this rope will be
fig. 4. the bdojec
under them, but on top of the side hori
zontal pieces. When ready to bind
swing the short ends of the levers up
over the bundle; then lift up on the long
and outer ends. This encircles the
bundle. Lift up until the long ends
stand up straight and together. Now
cross and bring down with full weight;
tie, change ends with bundle, and do the
same again.
A stout tarred twine is made purposely
for this work. The tie should be mado
about two feet from the end of the bun
dle of the long hoops. Put fifty in a
bundle of the greatest lengths, and oa
hundred of the short ones. America
i 1