CORVA
JLIS
SEMI-WEEKLY.
raiOl Estab. Joly, 1807.
OAZETTK Kstab. lee. 1862.
(Consolidated Feb., 1S99.
COBVALIilS, BENTON COUNTY; OREGON, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1902.
YOL. II. NO. 44.'
CHAPTER X.
Long since the moon has mounted the
heavens; now it is at its full. A myriad
stars kee? company with it, the hash of
sleeping nature pays homage to it. Sol
emnly, slowly, from the old belfry tower
the twelve strokes of midnight have
sounded on the air.
Vera, rising cautiously from, beside Gri
selda, who is, as usual, sleeping the sleep
of the just, slips gently on to the bare
white across which the moonbeams are
traveling delicately.
Sleep has deserted her. Weary at last
of her efforts to lose herself and her hate
ful thoughts in unconsciousness, she de
termines to rise and try what study may
do for her. She steps lightly across the
room, opens the door and speeds with all
baste over the corridor, gaunt and ghost
ly in the dim light, down the grand old
staircase, and enters a room on the left
of the library, where one day she made
the discovery that comfort was to be
found.
Striking a match, she lights a lamp
npon a side ta'ile and proceeds to exam
ine the book drives. Taking down one
that she thinks will please her. Vera
kneels upon one of the deep windov
seats, looks outward, trying to pierce the
soft and scented gloom.
The opening of the door rouses her. It
is quite an hour later an hour forgotten
by her as she read. With a sudden start
she looks up, turning her face over her
shoulder to the door, to see who can be
coming in at this unholy hour. Her
heart grows cold within her as she sees
Seaton Dysart!
In silence they stare at each other.
Vera, indeed, so great is her astonish
ment, forgets to rise, but sits there curl
ed up. among her furs, with a little frozen
look, of fear and detestation on her per
fect face.
"I have disturbed you," says Seaton
at last, breaking the spell, and speaking
in a distinctly unnatural tone.
"I did hope I should have found pri
vacy somewhere, at some hour," says
she, coldly.
"I came for a book," says he, contrite
ly. "Now that I am here,"will you per
mit me to say a few words in my own
defense?"
"Oh, defense!" says she, with undis
guised scorn.
"Certainly. I would prove to you how
entirely you have wronged me," ,says he,
firmly. "I acknowledge that once my
father expressed a wish that I should
marry you," coloring darkly, "always
provided you were willing to accept me;
and I" slowly "acceded to that wish."
"But why, why?" demands she, flash
ing round at him.
"I do not wonder at your question. It
seems impossible there should be a rea
son," replies he, coldly; "for ever since
the first hour we met you have treated
me with uniform unfriendliness, I had
almost said discourtesy."
"There is a reason, nevertheless," says
she, hotly. She has come a step or two
nearer to him, and her large, lustrous
eyes, uplifted, seem to look defiance into
his. "Your reason I can fathom but
your father's that, I confess, puzzles
me. Why should he, whose god is money,
choose the penniless daughter of the
brother he defrauded to be "
"Defrauded?" interrupts Seaton, with
a frown.
"Call it whM you will," with an ex
pressive gesture of her hand "undertake
his defense, too; but the fact remains
that the iniquitous deed that gave to
your father what should have been ours
was undoubtedly drawn up by my uncle.
I have heard nil about it a hundred times.
Your father hardly denied it to mine
when last writing to hitn. His takiug
us home to live with him was, I sup
pose, a sort of reparation. To marry me
to you, and thus give me back the prop
erty he stole is that a reparation, too?"
She is as-pule as death, and the hands
that cling to the baek of the chair near
her are trembling. But her lips are firm
and her eyes flashing. It occurs to Sea
ton, gazing at her in breathless silence,
that if she could have exterminated him
then and there by a look she would have
done it.
"You degrade yourself and me when
you talk like that," says Seaton, who is
now as pale as she is. "For heaven's
sake, try to remember how abominably
you misrepresent the whole thing. If my
father bad a freak of this kind in his
head a desire to see you married to his
only son surely there was no discourtesy
to you contained in such a desire. It was
rather you must see that a well-meant
arrangement on his part. It was more,"
boldly. "He loves me; in wishing to see
you my wife he paid you the highest
compliment he could. I defy you to re
gard it in any other light." -
"You plead his cause well it is your
own," snys she, tapping the back of the
chair with taper, angry fingers. "Why
take the trouble? Do you think you can
bring me to view the case in a lenient
light? Am I likely to forget that you
you aided and abetted your father in try
ing to force me into this detested mar
ringe?" Tray put that marriage out of your
head," snys he. slowly. "You have taken
it too seriously. 1 assure you I would
tint marry you now if you were as will
ing as you are unwilling. I can hardly
put it stronger."
"When my grandfather left this prop
erty to your father," she says, slowly,
"he left it purposely unentailed. Your
father, then, were you to cross his
wishes, could leave you, as I have been
left, penniless. To avoid that, you would
fall in with any of his views. You would
even so far sacrifice yourself as to mar
ry me!" Oh, the contempt in her tone!
There is a long pause. Then Seaton,
striding forward, seizes her by both arms
and turns her more directly to the light.
The grasp of his hands is as a vise, and
afterward it seemed to her that he
had, involuntarily, as it were, shaken
her slightly.
"How dare you?" be says, in a low.
concentrated tone. She can see that his
face is very white, and that it is with
difficulty he restrains himself; she is con
scions, too, perhaps, of feeling a little
frightened.
Then he pats her quickly from him and
turns away.
"Pshaw, yon are not worth it! he
says, his manner full of the most intense
self-contempt.
CHAPTER XL
A gleam of moonlight coming through
the open window pnts the lamp to
shame, and compels Vera's attention.
How sweet, how heavenly fair the gar
den seems, wrapped in those pale, cold
beams! She can see it from where she
sits on the deep, cushioned seat of the
old-fashioned window, and a longing to
rise and go into it, to feel the tender
night-wind beating on her burning fore
head, takes possession of her.
Catching up a light shawl to cover the
evening gown she wears, she steals, care
fully as might a guilty soul, by Griselda'a
bed, along the dusky corridor, down the
staircase, and past the servants' quar
ters, where a light under Mrs. Grnnch's
door warns her that that remorseless foe
has as yet refused to surrender herself
to slumber.
A small door leading into the garden
is close to this, and moving swiftly up
the narrow stone passage that brings her
to it she opens the door, and so closing
it after her that she can regain the house
at any moment, she turns to find herself
alone in the exquisite perfumed silence
of the night.
How long she thus gives herself up to
the sweet new enjoyment of life she
hardly knows until she hears the ancient
belfry clock telling the midnight hour.
It startles her. Has she indeed been
here so long? What if Griselda should
wake and be alarmed for her? She
moves quickly in the direction of the
house, and at last, regaining the inner
garden, begins to think her pleasant so
journ at -an end.
She has neared the shrubberies and in
voluntarily turns her glance their way as
they lie upon her left; involuntarily, too,
she seeks to pierce the darkness that en
velops them, when she stops, and presses
her hand convulsively to her breast. Who
is it what is it, moving there, in the
mysterious gloom? - ' ' "" " '
"Don't be frightened. It is I, Seaton,"
says a most unwelcome voice.
"Ah!" she says. She is angry beyond
doubt, and still further angered by the
knowledge that there is more of relief
than coldness in the simple exclamation.
"I had no idea you were here at all,"
she says, faintly, after a pause that has
grown sufficiently long to be awkward.
"I am afraid I have startled you. If I
had known I should not, of course, have
come here."
"You make it very hard for me," she
says, with a touch of passionate impa
tience. "That is unjust," says he, roused in
turn. "To make your life easier is my
heart's desire."
"Are you succeeding, do you- think?
Does it," with gathering scorn, "make
my part smoother, when you compel me
to see that you stay away, or only come
here at hours inconvenient to you, be
cause because of me?"
She turns aside sharply, and walks a
step or two away from him. Somehow
at this instant, the growing chill of the
early night seems to strike more sharply
on her senses, and a shiver not to be
suppressed stirs her whole frame.
"You are cold," he exclaims, coming
up to her with a hasty stride. "What
madness it is, your 'Teing out at thi
hour! Come, come back to the house."
She agrees silently to this proposition,
and follows him across the grass to the
small oaken door that had given her
egress only to find it barred against her!
Seaton, having tried it, glances at her
in mute dismay.
"Grunch must have fastened it, on her
way to bed. The bolt is drawn," says
he, slowly.
"Do you mean that I can't get in?"
asks she, as if unable to credit so terri
ble an announcement.
"Oh, I dare say it can't be so bad as
that," hastily. "Only," hesitating, as if
hardly knowing how to explain, "the
front door is of course locked and chain
ed, and the servants, with the exception
of Grunch, all asleep at the top of the
house; a late arrangement of my father's,
as the original servants' quarters lie be
low. I am afraid, therefore, that if we
knocked forever, it would have no effect.
However, I can try to do something, but
in the meantime you must not stay out
here in the cold."
"You may feel it cold. I don't," re
turns she .perversely. "Not so long as
the moonlight lasts, shall I find it lonely
either. I," raising her unfriendly,beau
tiful eyes to his "I assure you I shall be
quite happy out here, even though I stay
till the day dawns and the doors are
open again."
"'Happy!'" As he repeats her word
he looks at her with a keen scrutiny. "A
word out of place, surely; given the best
conditions, 1 hardly dare to believe you
could ever be 'happy' at Greycourt."
"Happy or unhappy," says she, with
quick resentment, her mind being dis
tressed by this awkward fear of having
to pass the night from under any roof, ;
"surely it can be nothing to you! Why
affect an interest in one who is as hate
ful to you as I am?" A little fire has
fallen into her tone, and there is ill-suppressed
contempt in the eyes she lifts to
his. Perhaps he is driven by it into an
anger that loads to his betrayal.
"Hateful to me! Do you think you are
that. Vera?" says he, in a low tone, but
one full of fierce and sudden passion
passion long suppressed. "Do you hon estly
believe that?" His manner is al
most violent, and as he speaks he catches
both her hands in his, and crushes them
vehemently against his breast. "I would
to heaven," he says, miserably, "that
that were so!"
As If stupefied by surprise, Vera staato
motionless, her hands lying passively in
his. She is aware that he is looking at
her, with a new, wild, strange expression
in his eyes, bat a horrible sense of being
powerless to resist him numbs all her
being. And suddenly, as she straggles
with herself, he bends over her, and
without warning lifts her hands and
presses warm, fervent kisses on the
small, cold hands.
Then she is aroused Indeed from her
odd lethargy, and by a sharp movement
wrenches herself free.
"Don't," she cries, faintly; "it is In
sufferable! I cannot bear it!. Have yon
no semse of honor left?"
Her tone calms him, bnt something
within him revolts against the idea of
apology. He loves her let her know it.
He will not go back from that, though
her scorn slay him.
"There is nothing dishonorable," he
says, steadily. "I love you; I am glad
you know it. Despise me if yon can, re
ject me as I know yon will, I am still the
better for the thought that I hate laid
bare to you all my heart. And now
you cannot stay here, he goes on quick
ly, as though fearing to wait for her next
words; "the night is cold and damp.
There Is the snmmer house over there.
pointing in its direction; "go and rest
there, till I call you."
Vera hastens to the shelter suggested,
and sinking down npon the one seat It
contains, a round rustic chair in the last
stage of decay, gives way to the over
powering fatigue that for the last hour
has been oppressing her. Reluctantly
she does this, and quite unconsciously,
Obstinately determined to fight sleep to
the last, she presently succumbs to that
kindly tyrant, and falls into one of the
most delicious slumbers she has ever yet
enjoyed.
. How long it lasts she never knows, but
when next she opens her eyes with a
nervous start, the first flush of rosy dawn
is flooding hill and valley and sea. Some
thing lying at her feet disturbs all her
preconceived fancies. It must have slip
ped from her when she rose. Regard
ing it more earnestly, she acknowledges
unwillingly that it is Seaton's coat, a
light gray one. When she was asleep,
lost to all knowledge of friend or foe,
then he had come and placed that coat
across her shoulders.
Her eyes are large and languid with
sleep broken and unsatisfied,, her soft
hair lies ruffled on her low, broad brow.
She looks timidly, nervously, around her
as one expecting anything but good;
her whole air is shrinking, and her whole
self altogether lovely.
To the young man standing in his shirt
sleeves, half hidden among the laurels
and looking at her, with admiration gen
erously mixed with melancholy in his
glance, she seems the very incarnation
of all things desirable.
He presses her hand and hurries her
over the short, dewy grass into the
shrubberies that form an effectual screen
from all observation of those in the gar-'
den beyond, and so on until they come to
the small oaken doorway thrcugh which
she had passed last night, and which has
proved'' more foe than' friend. ''-""
Once inside the longed-for portal, her
first impulse is a natural one; it is to run
as fast as her feet can carry her to her
own room.
(To be continued.)
COACHMAN KEPT HIS DIGNITY.
Incidentally His Employer Fad Hia
Way in a Koundabout Faabion.
This Is one of the many stories that
are floating about town concerning a
man very well known in the capital,
who Is spending the summer in Eng
land, says the Washington Post. He
has taken a country house over there
for the season, and is living a grand
seigneur with a troop of dear only
knows how many servants. These
English servants, so their American
master has discovered, are quite un
like the menials to whom he is accus
tomed in his own country. They are
specialists. Each one of them Is hired
for some one particular work, and pro
fessional etiquette forbids them to
trespass on each other's preserves;
How strictly they keep them each to
his own work the American did not
know till, sauntering idly out of the
house one day, be espied a watering
can, which had been left by a gardener
at a little distance from the mansion
on the edge of the drive. It occurred
to him that it would be amusing to
play at being a gardener. He would
water the flowers himself. So calling
to a man servant, who happened to be
passing, he bade bim fetch the water
ing can. The man straightened him
self up and touched his cap.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said. In a tone
of respect not unmixed with surprise,
"I'm the coachman, sir."
"AH right," answered the American;
"bring me that can."
"Beg pardon, sir," repeated the man,
"but I'm the coachman, sir."
"Well, well," said the American. "I
know you're the coachman. Bring me
the can."
The coachman touched his cap again,
and repeated his former remark. Light
dawned on the American.
"Oh," said he, "you're the coachman,
are you? Well, coachman, you go round
to the stables and have my four-in-hand
brought round at once."
The coachman saluted and walked
away. The coach and four drew up at
the door a few minutes later. The mas
ter climbed in.
"Now," said he, "drive me to that
watering can."
The order was obeyed. The horses
paused a. hundred yards down the
drive.
"Get down and hand me the can,
now," ordered the master.
A moment later he was contentedly
watering the flowers. He had the can,
the coachman's dignity had been pre
served, and all was welL
No Book of Instructions.
Weary Watkins I see here in the
paper about how to git on a trolley
car and off.
Hungry HIggins I bet you won't see
no piece about how to git on and off
of freight cars. That kind of thing
comes by nature, er it don't come at
alL Indianapolis Journal.
TOUN
&
Easy Magic for Boys.
Here is a trick by the performance
of which any boy or gliTQln surprise as
well as amuse hia companions at ah
evening's entertainment.: The trick Is
one in which two coins are shown,
placed one after the other in the left
hand. The second is heard to "chink"
against the first as it Is dropped upon
it. The band being then opened is
found to contain but one of the coins.
This is again placed in the left,
squeezed for a moment and disappears.
The right hand then draws forth the
two coins from, say, the knee. '..;,
In playing this trick a third coin is
needed. The sleeves should be rolled
back beyond the elbows, to show that
nothing has been hidden beneath them.
Then the two coins are first shown, the
third being hidden in the-right palm.
The first coin is thrown carelessly into
the left hand. Those looking on see it
drop there, so they are -positive that
when the hand is closed it really con
tains the coin. And so it does. Coin
No. 2 appears to be thrown into the
hand in the same manner,! The move
ment of the right hand is to all appear
ance the same, the 'chink', is heard as
the new comer strikes coin No. 1, there
fore Coin No. 2 appears to be also in the
left hand. N " A
But it is not. As te-Ieft hand ap-
tpears to close upon cciSLUo. 2, it Is rap
idly carried by the fingers of the right
hand into the palm, where it strikes
against coin No 3, making the clicking
sound which deceives those looking on
as to its real position.
The left band Is now opened and
shown to contain but a single coin.
The hand is then closed again, the coin
pressed Into the palm. When the hand
is opened, care is taken not to expose
the palm, and the band Is allowed to
drop at the side as though it were
empty. Although the palm is not ex
posed the audience will take It for
granted that the hand is empty, as
upon the earlier disappearance of one
of the two coins the hand was so freely
shown as to make it quite clear that the
missing coin was not concealed in it.
The appearance, at the conclusion, of
the two coins in the right hand causes
those watching to firmly believe that
the left hand has no secret to yield up.
Busy Animals.
The fox Is a dealer In poultry, but he
Is nothing more nor less than a thief.
Fat ducks and chickens are his delight,
and a plump rabbit comes next best.
The otter and the heron are fisher
men. The otter is not often seen, for
he carries on his work mostly under
the water, but the heron stands with
his long, thin legs In the water wait
ing till a fish comes by. ' Then a sud
den plunge with his long, sharp bill and
the poor fish is brought up and swal
lowed. The ants are the busiest of all. Catch
an ant asleep in the daytime if you can.
They are always in earnest at their
work, building their underground
homes and laying up stores of food for
the long winter.
The swallow is a fly catcher, and
skims now over the surface of the lit
tle streams. It takes a great many
flies to feed him for just one day, and
he is forever at work.
The beaver is a wood cutter, a build
er and a mason. It cuts down the small
trees with its teeth, and, after it has
built Its house, it plasters it with its
tail.
The snail, too, is a builder, but !t
takes the material for its bouse from its
own body. It is so anxious to begin
work that it commences to build Its
own house before it is even hatched.
The mole that burrows under the
ground makes a little fort under the
earth from which it tunnels in every
direction, and it makes such clever
paths that it can run from one to he
other and can scarcely be -eaught
The bees do not all live in hives or
tree trunks. The mason bee digs a hole
In a brick wall and lines It with clay.
In this nest it lays two eggs and closes
it up.- The miner bee bores long holes
in the sandbanks and the carpenter bees
bore their tunnels in wood. The uphol
sterer bee lines his nest with poppy
leaves. The rose leaf cutter takes a
leaf between its jaws, begins near the
stalk and cuts out a circle of just the
right size and as perfect as could be
marked with a compass. With these
circles of fragrant rose leaf it divides
its round hole in the wall into little
cells.
Zulu Prince to Be a Schoolmaster.
Those of you who have read the
story of "The Dark Continent" prob
ably Imagine that the Zulus are all
HOLDING BUT OWE COIN.
black savages, who dress In next to
nothing and are great fighters. We
have seen so many pictures ot the typi
cal Zulu with a leopard skin around
his loins, a topknot of kinky hair stuck
full of horn or bone decorations, a
spear In his hand and a hide-bound
shield on his arm, that we can hardly
imagine him wearing a frock coat and
an American haircut. John L. Dube.
a full-blooded Zulu and descendant of
a noted chieftain, will soon appear
among bis fellows in the clothes of civ
ilization. He has been in America sev
eral years securing an education, and
be Is now going back to his people to
educate them. He proposes to estab
lish a school for boys and girls in the
Zulu jungle. He will teach the young
folk of his race to wear clothes, to part
their hair with a comb instead of a
spear and to adopt the customs of civ
ilization generally.
Belinda.
Belinda's eyes are china blue,
- Belinda's nose is flat, v -Belinda's
hair is really hair,
- She wears it in a plait.
It's true, Belinda's made of rags.
But what is that to me?
Because I'm sure her hair must grow
Her hair is real, you see.
And when I fasten-on her clothes
And have to use a pin.
She doesn't mind it in the least.
How far I stick it in.
I'm sure she feels it. for although
She doesn't seem to care.
There mast be something in a doll
Whose hair is really hair.
New-York Tribune.
A Swift Ostrich.
Oliver W., acording to the America
Boy, Is the name of an ostrich which
spends its summers at Saratoga and its
winters in Florida, and has the distinc
tion of being one of the very few
ostriches of the country broken to har
ness. It is ten feet high and weighs
over three hundred pounds, and makes
a mile In 2:02, equaling the time of
Cresceus and The Abbot, the two fast
est horses.
Why Moslems Use Rugrs.
It is not lawful for a Moslem to pray
on any place not perfectly clean, says
the Boston Herald. ' Unless each one
has his own special rug, he is not cer
tain that the spot has not been polluted.
It does not matter to these followers
of Mohammed how unclean a rug that
is on the floor may be, because over it
they place the prayer rug when their
devotions begin.
What a Calf Is? .
Teacher What is this a picture of?
Small Pupil Don't know.
Teacher It's the picture of a calf.
Now, do you know what a calf is?
Snall Pupil Yes'm. A ealf Is a cow
before it gets to be a cow. ,
Hiccough in the Wrist.
Little 8-year-old Helen accidentally
discovered her pulse one day and, run
ning to her mamma, exclaimed: "Oh,
mamma; I've got the hiccoughs in my
wrist!"
Kind of Speaking He Liked.
"To speak a piece in school,"
Said Johnnie with a sigh,
"Is not much fun; I'd rather
Speak for a piece of pie."
Why Was the Milk Soar?
Mamma Bessie, dear, you must not
drink that milk. It's sour.
Bessie (aged 4) Why, mamma, has
the cow been eating j)Ickles?
ADMIRAL BROWN'S NICKNAME.
How He Acquired the Euphonious
Sobriquet of "Spud."
Rear Admiral George Brown, retired,
carried a nickname during the last
twenty years of his naval career that
stuck to him closer than that of almost
any other officer In the service. He was
known to every officer and man, from
rear admiral down to berth deck cooks,
as "Spud" Brown. This is how he
earned his sobriquet, told the other
night In the Army and Navy club:
Years ago. when he was only a com
mander, be was a skipper in one of the
old wooden frigates, which were carry
ing the flag across the Pacific for ser
vice on the China station. The old ves
sel got in the doldrums, and, to make
matters worse, ber machinery didn't
work very well, and at the end of several
weeks the messes forward and aft
found themselves almost in the middle
of the ocean with little more to eat than
the regulation "salt horse," hardtack.
"beef and bully" and other scurvy-pro
ducing articles of diet. All hands bad
a mighty hankering after "spuds," by
which name the Irish potato is affec
tionately cherished by mariners.
Soon afterward a big trans-Pacific
liner bound for San Francisco neve In
sight, half-hull down in the distance,
plowing eastward. Signals to beaveio
immediately blossomed from the fore
truck of the frigate, but the liner was
In a hurry and did not stop. Bigger
signal pennants flew from the frigate,
but still the liner sped onward con
temptuously. The next moment a solid
shot went ricocheting along ahead of
the passenger boat, and in answer to
this summons the vessel hove to, while
her skipper waited in amazement for
the frigate to draw up and send a boat
alongside.
Instead of announcing a declaration
of war, Capt Brown's emissaries, who
came alongside in a cutter, took Capt
Brown's compliments to the master of
the liner and with them an inquiry
would the merchant captain be kind
enough to part with a supply of spuds
for cash to relieve the sufferings of a
lot of hungry man-o'-war's men. The
remarks of the merchant captain are
not on record, says the New York
Times, but the spuds were produced,
and Admiral Brown will be known as
"Spud" Brown until he dies.
When a very young man begins to
know bow much less he knows than he
thinks he knows then be knows some
things that is really worth knowing.
A Grindstone.
Some one writes to the American
Blacksmith to tell bow he used a dis
carded bicycle to drive a grindstone.
He removed the top brace of the frame
and stapled the front to a stout post
The near support was constructed from
2 by 4 inch timber, and the frame
braced below. The sprocket of the rear
wheel was removed by. cutting Its
spokes, and then mounted on the same
shaft as the grindstone. To do this he
filled the hole in the stone with a piece
of wood, and bored a hole in the latter
of the same size as that in the sprocket
Of course, bis axle would then fit both.
It appears that the chain he used was
made up of two. One was not long
enough. The axles were mounted with
ball bearings, "and the stone can be
driven at lightning speed with little
trouble.
While discussing this general subject
The Iron Trade Review says: "It is
time the grindstone should be consid-
A GOOD GRINDSTONE.
ered a machine tool, with good light; no
meagre, miserly driblet of water, trick
ling from a toy pall, on its honest and
homely face, but a steady stream that
pours at the point of tool application. 1
have had it on very good authority that
a grindstone should not run fast
enough to spatter the water around the
machine, but It is better to provide for
the flying fluid another way and drive
the machine full speed."
Adapt Fruit to the locality.
We notice in our reports of the fruit
trade and the apple export trade that
"Western" Ben Davis are usually spec
ified as bringing the" highest prices,
paid for that variety, while "Maine"
Baldwins rank above Baldwins from
any other section. Now Ben Davis are
grown in Maine, and Baldwins In
some of the Western sections, but they
do not attain the highest degree of ex
cellence In either case. We would
advise Eastern farmers to stand by
rAA oAt-ta t Vio f hava rfrtna an nrall
by them when they have been well j
cared for. The Baldwin, Rhode Island
Greening, Snow, Jonathan, and Sut
ton's Beauty are always in demand,
and grow well in all the Northeastern
States. So for early fruit do the Red
Astrachan and Gravenstein. In some
soils King and Newtown Pippin thrive,
but not in all, the latter doing better
in the Middle States. They are all
good enough for table use. sell well,
and when sold the buyer has an appe
tite for more just like them. Let the
Southern and lower Middle West have
a monopoly of the Ben Davis, the
Black Twig and the Arkansas Black If
they wish. Let the Russian varieties
go to the far North, where they can
not grow a decent apple, if there is
such a place, and let some hundreds
of other varieties go where the wood
may serve as fuel, and then give more
care to pruning, fertilizing, thinning
and spraying what are left and get
more profit from less labor. American
Cultivator.
The Lightning Rod.
Hundreds of farmers have been swin
dled by the lightning rod agents, pay
ing for the rods much more than a fair
price, and in some cases giving notes
for them when they thought that they
were only signing a receipt for a cer
tain amount of rod, which would be - -moved
if they were not satisfied to keep
it at the end of a certain time. But
this does not disprove the efficacy of
the rod to protect from lightning when
it is properly put on and connected with
the moisture of the earth. A lightning
rod or a conductor should run from
every wire fence about once in fifteen
or twenty rods, going six or seven feet
into the earth, as the electricity often
follows the wires for a considerable
distance, and when it leaves them may
go several rods along the. surface of the
ground to reach man or beast
Why the Creamery Pays.
In the days of our forefathers, when
creameries were unknown, the milk
was set in cold water or the cellar, and
the cream allowed to rise. Most of
the cream used on the farm to-day Is
obtained by this method. What causes
the cream to . rise Is a difference in
specific gravity or weight of it and
the rest of the milk. In the cream
separator centrifugal force is used In
stead of gravitation. The force ap
plied in the separator bowl the manu-
facturing companies claim to be seven
hundred times as great as the force of
gravitation, and thus you see why the ,
sklm-milk from the separator contains
a smaller percent of butter fat than
the skim-milk from which the cream
has been allowed to rise, and this is
one reason why It is more profitable to
patronize a creamery than to make the
butter on the farm. Another thing to
be considered is that the creamery
man, being skilled in the art of mak- '
Ing butter. Is able to make a better
article than as a rule is produced on
the farm, and then he can ship It
where. It will command the highest
price, while the farmer has to sell at
local prices, which Is usually several
cents below creamery prices.
7 Ensilage or Hoots.
The cost of growing corn, cutting it'
and putting it in the silo, has been
variously reported at almost all fig
ures from Jfl to $3 per ton. We do
not doubt but that it has been done
for the smaller sum when the land has
been made rich and well cultivated,
and the most modern improvements
were at baud to do the work, but we -think
a fair average would be nearer
double that with the ordinary farmer,
even in a favorable season. ' But there
are not many who would like to grow
roots for feeding to stock at that price.
Certainly we know of none who would
grow them to sell at that price, and
few who would care to grow them at
$4 per ton If they could grow other
crops and find a ready cash market
for them. As regards the value ot
them an average of the various roots
show that the same amount of each
fed with equal rations of hay and
grain resulted a little in favor of the
roots, but this was more than off
set by the two facts that the roots
cannot be kept in as good condition
for late spring or- summer feeding as
can the ensilage, and that there is
more apt to be a crop failure from
drought or other causes with the roots
than with the corn. The droughts Of
the past two years have led many to
believe that having ensilage to feed In
the summer when pastures are grow
ing poorer is of almost as much im
portance, and some say more, than
having it in the winter. Massachu
setts Ploughman.
Helps the Dehorner.
Clark Braly, -in Hoard's ' dairy man,
describes a tie for holding a cow's
head at stanchion while dehorning.
When the cow's head
is fast in stanchion,
the rope is dropped,
over her neck, the
loop is caught on the
under side and the
rope doubled, is put
through ' loop and
Dlaced around ' the
tie rjf use. nose up far en(JgH
to not shut off her breathing; then pull
the rope back to a post at side of
stanchion, take one turn around post
A man can hold the end and by placing
his weight on rope hold the cow's head
quite solid while her horns, are remov
ed. The rope Is quickly .removed by
taking it off the nose and pulling.
Hye for Pigs.
In Germany they tested rye as food
for pigs in comparison with barley. In
some cases the pigs refused It alto
gether, and when given in large
amounts It was not eaten readily. As
a single ration it should not be con
tinued long, and it ought .in all cases to
be soaked or carefully ground. It gave
best results when fed with other reed
ing stuff that has a larger percentage
of fibre, more protein and less of the'
carbohydrates. It Is not a good con
centrated food for young cattle or :
hogs.
Farming on a Big Scale.
In no locality has modern steam "
farming machinery been applied with '
such effectiveness as upon the grain
ranches in southern California. On oue
ranch the engine used to draw the ma
chinery is of 50-horse power, and hass.
drive wheels eight feet high. ' It con- .
sumes 12 barrels of oil every day, and1
its operation requires the services of
seven men. In plowing, 55 furrows ag-'
gregatlng 40 feet in width, are turned
at one time.
Get Rid of Poor Cows.
If you have an unprofitable cow, the
sooner you get rid of her the'better. It
Is a losing business to feed a cow that
will not pay for her keep.
Hints About Hogs.
It is better to try to prevent disease
than it is to try to cure it
To be successful in swine growing the
bogs should be kept Improving.
It is not necessary for a man to slop
his overalls every time be does his hogs.
These items are not written with hog
pen, but by experienced gained through
one.
Corn is all right as a. staple food for
the bogs, where the trouble comes InJs
In making it the only food.
Any number of farmers have made a
success out of the hog business. What'
one man has done another man can do,'
if he be so inclined.., a
To make a financial success out, of,,
the bog business a great deldepends
upon the ability of the breeder . 'and .
feeder. - " ' ' '
The early buyers secure the ..tops.-?
They always get their pigs early and
have them acquainted with their new
homes long before breeding season
opens.
m