LIVE STOCK AGRICULTURE - DRAFTER ON FARM Raising Him Fits In Nicely With General Work. TRAINING TIME IS SHORT.; Colt Easily Handled and Broken and j Needs Little Instruction—Mares Use- i ful For Doing Tasks as Well as Re- | plenishing Stock. Through several years of strictly | draft horse breeding the average size of the native stock hns been consid erably raised. It is now very seldom that a fariu team is seen that weighs less than 1,200 pounds each on the av erage. It is not uncommon to see pairs in the field that will weigh 1,400 or above in working condition. Probably the most highly prized animal 011 the farm is a big breedv draft mare. There is nothing so popular at farm sales. ; Nor is there any other animal upon ; which bidding is so persistent as upon j a good draft mare in foal, according to I I lie National Stockman and Farmer. I The raising of draft horses tits nice- ! ly in with tlie work of the general farm. There the draft mare really is | a dual purpose animal, doing a don- i ble work. She works regularly in the ! field, and she raises a colt that will ! become one of the most profitable out- j puts of the farm. Where care is ex- j eivised in handling the mare, giving her the lighter and slower work, ap parently just as good colts are raised I as where the mare is kept in idleness, j The draft colt is very easily handled j and broken, lie is iiuiet and docile about the farm. When the youngster lias reached a sufficient age and size to be started to work, he requires only a lesson or two until he is ready to be put to regular use. This is another big 1 GOOD TYPE OF A DRAFT HORSE. point iu the farmer's mind in favor of draft horses. With drivers it takes months of steady training to fit one of them for market or even for regular use. The farmer lias neither time nor desire to fret and fuss with an animal In the way that is necessary in break ing a driver. That is a work for a man of special ability who will make a business of producing and training driving horses. The practical farmer knows that it will be best and more profitable for him to stick to the steady drafter. Of course men are meeting with va rying degrees of success iu the raising of draft horses. Some produce horses that are mere nondescripts, while oth ers are producing big, useful ones that would be popular on any market. A study of their methods and practices to determine the reason for the differ ence is suggestive. In tlie first place the more successful ones are in nearly all cases the men who have taken up the work as a business, men who have made a study of it in every phase from breeding to marketing. They are men who have made themselves good judges of horses. Then, having nil ideal of a good horse iu mind, they have bred to produce such an animal. Iu so doing they have ever stuck to one breed. Not only that, but more, they have always stuck to some cer tain type within that one breed. They have kept their best mares und sold the inferior ones. The business of raising pure breds is growing rapidly. Men operating small farms are buying pairs of pure bred mares Of some of the popular draft breeds. They are working those mares and are succeeding admirably with them. Men who own and operate large areas are going into the business on an extensive scale, and there is no line of live stock that is more profitable. Proper Plowing. The pride of every good plowman is a straight, well turned furrow, and yet Its stralghtness is but a small part of Its merit Its true -worth is measured by Its depth, the manner in which it is turned and the way In which it lies. When properly turned it will present a loosely pulverized and completely In verted furrow slice that leaves behind a furrow of sufficient depth, even in tbe bottom, and clean cut in every part. ftnrit Field and Farm. * TRIBUTE TO THE FARMER. ❖ £ The farmer produces wealth; ... ♦> others exchange it j % He is like the alfalfa which •;* enriches botfl soil and owner; •> X others are the dodder of society. % * Out of the good, common coarse- £ .j. ness of the earth he creates; + they take nothing at first hand. * X Close to the soil he attains most "J" nearly to the balance between ♦ the matewal and the spiritual, * using his time for the exactions * % of the one and leisure for the * growth of the other. + ♦j. If his soul be attuned to his .£ * condition he gains knowledge at j X first hand. He grows as none * * other can, he abounds in the X X health of the out of doors, and ❖ * he learns the right use of things. % X His is the happiness and wel- <• i * fare which rebounds from hard X X work, and he develops originali- * .> . *B* | ty. » * The city polishes to one mind £ % and one model. Its people think prepared thoughts, live in re- £ * ports of life, smell manufactur •> ed odors and vegetate in a thin, X second hand existence. « ♦> Every boy should have his | early training in the knockabout * ♦> university of farm. There * 3? more discipline for him in the •> continuous care of a horse or a | •> cow than in many terms of <♦ $ school. Industry, patience and * perseverance are inherent In the •> *:* atmosphere of farm life, and *j* * their possession spells success. ♦> 1 *:) All boys cannot and should not * * remain 011 the farm. It. is not * * an end, but only a means, lie | I ♦> who succeeds must have con- •> j I* tentrnent, and this may be * * found elsewhere as well. But •> X the boy wiio is most likely and .j, * most able to "come back" is he J I | who has spent his early years .j, j on the farm.—Kansas Farmer. | •> •> <• •> <• <• •> •> »> •> ❖•> •> <• •> •> THE NEW GARDEN PLOT. Practical Suggestions That Will Be Found of Value. Where a garden has been used con stantly for years or where the trees that naturally creep into the plot sup posed to be devoted exclusively to vegetables are getting too large for convenience iu cultivation it is advis able to begin several years iu advance to get a new garden ready, and fall is the ideal season for this work, says the Country Gentleman. The new location should be convenient to the house, sun ny, well drained and of as good soil as possible. At least two seasons should be spent in getting it into shape. If possible choose an old sod location and cover it thickly with well rotted manure. If it is not fenced the stock will not bother it much, for they dis like the fresh, tender grass that comes up through the manure and will not eat it unless forced to do so. The fall rains and bright sunshine will bring up a tine crop of grass that should be turned under before frost and another application of manure made. If the ground is not harrowed the sod rots a little faster in some sections, but good results can be had by thoroughly cutting the roots to pieces and then top dressing liberally. The snows and rains of winter do their part, and iu spring the soil is mellow and fertile. Even when It is not absolutely neces sary to find a new location for the gar den it pays to rest the old one a season or two. Planting the ground to some crop foreign to tlie soil will often re new and help it wonderfully, while tlie vegetables iu the new garden will help that soil. Re-enforcing Stable Manure. By keeping the stable manure under cover and re-euforciug it with forty pounds of floats or acid phosphate to each ton of manure the Ohio experi ment station lias succeeded in increas ing the net value of the manure from s2.ti(J to $-1.80 per ton. And yet prob ably 75 per cent of all the manure pro ; duced In Ohio is thrown into an open barnyard, where at least lio per cent of the plant food contained is lost by leaching and fermentation before it reaches the land at all. The careless | and indifferent methods practiced in I caring for the farm manure alone are ! responsible for the loss to the agricul | tural interests of the state that are now in process of Investigation EXPELLED TO SEA BY RIVERS. Discharge Enormous Load of Sedi ments and Minerals. The Colorado river discharges daring an average year into the gulf of Cali fornia 338,000,000 tons of mud and silt as suspended matter. In addition to this, the dissolved substances In the water include 4,550,000 tons of sodium chloride, or common salt; 3,740,000 tons of glauber salt, 4,000,000 tons of lime, 2,400,000 tons of gypsum and 4,800,000 tons of epsom salts, accord ing to investigations by the United States geological survey. In spite of all this dissolved material the Colora do at its mouth Is not considered to be a stream of unusually high minerali zation for that region of the country. The reason is that the river also car ries so enormous an amount of water that the dissolved salts constitute a comparatively small proportion of the total discharge. Other streams in the country contain dissolved salts in greuter concentration. For example, the Elm fork of lied river, in Okla homa, discharges nearly 1,300,000 tons of common salt annually. Although this amount is not so great as that discharged by the Colorado, it Is much greater in proportion to the size of the area drained. The discharge of salt from the Colorado is equal to twenty tons annually to each square mile drained by the river, but the salt in Elm fork of Ited river is equal to I,GBO tons per square mile of area drained. The same river discharges annually 177,000 tons of magnesium chloride, 1(58.000 tons of epsom salts. 000,000 tons of gypsum and 54,000 tons of lime. These quantities, too, are considerably greater tlinn those car ried in the Colorado in proportion to the size of the drainage area. Belle Foilivhe river, :it Belle Fourche, S. I)., discharges 101,000 tons of gyp sum, 70,000 tons of glauber salt and 230,000 tons of epsom salts. The mud and silt carried in suspension by this river amount to 1,100,000 tons. Milk river, at Havre, Mont., discharges an nually 41.000 tons of soda; Payette river, in Idaho, discharges 4(5,000 tons; Salt river, at Itoosevelt, Ariz., dis charges 228,000 tons of salt and 170,- 000 tons of epsoiu salts, and the llio Grande discharges 245,000 tons of lime and 308,000 tons of glauber salt. The New Ye.-r Rising. A miracle touched me at twelve, for, be hold. I saw The New Year rise as a young god rises In might. No child was he with hesitant, timid feet, But a grown joy. wrapped In the rai ment of pure delight. And his eyes, most gracious and tender, were bent on mine. In his hands he caught my hands, while clarion clear Hia golden, rapturous, confident tones rang forth: "Comrade, hail, for 1 am the New. New Year! "Comrade, hall! The pulse of the world's astir Under the snow, and the ancient doubts are dead. Freedom, achievement, wait for us. Come, be glad!" 1 listened, 1 looked, and faith to my hope was wed. Ilia kingly courage told me the beautiful truth- He Is mine, and his strength Infuses my rescued will. Up, faint heart! We will conquer togeth er, my Year! Life and love shall their old sweet prom ise fulfill. —Clinton Dangerfleld in Century, j ♦ What the JoKe smithsHa-Ve j Better Wait Until Asked. Anxious Mother—Why don't you mar ry young SwariSen? He lias good looks, good family, wealth and every thing to lie desired. I'retty Daughter—But there is one very important tiling lacking, mamma. Anxious Mother—What is that? Pretty Daughter—A proposal.—Chica go News. From the Other Side. "I am going to start a garden," an nounced Mr. Subbuhs. "A few months from now I won't be kicking about your prices." "No," said the green grocer, "you'll be wondering how I can afford to seil vegetables so cheap."--Uural World. New Year's Eve. He rose to go. 'Twas New Year's eve. "One kiss," he begged, "my dear." She coyly suld, "You cannot havo Another kiss this year." —Topeka State Journal. Optimism and Pessimism. Student—What is pessimism? Philosopher—The faith of cowards. "Then what is optimism?" "The faith of fools."—New York Weekly. SHOOTING THE NEW YEAH IN, ' Quaint Custom Still In Practice In the Carolinas. ORIGINATED IN PENNSYLVANIA People Gather About 9 o'Clock In the Evening, and the March Begins—From One House to the Other They Go, Fir ing Fierce Salutes and Feasting. Racing, whirling, nerve wrecking as has become the recognized spirit of our times, yet in the remote districts lingers a serenity so unshaken we can but marvel over the dual nature of this thing we call American. Customs of the fatherlund have become so grafted upon the newer land that one feels the richness of the past ever mellowing the crudeness of the pres ent. One of the most lovable of these old customs, redolent of the air of feu- j New Year's Shooters. dill ism, is that of shooting in the new year, says the New York i'ost. We first hear of It among the early Ger man settlers of Pennsylvania, where it has long since become obsolete, but about 1750 there was a general niigra- ' lion from Pennsylvania down to the : hill country of the Carolinas. In nim bly old waggns these pioneers jour neyed, laden with feather beds and delftware, sprigs of fruit trees and i i sturd; babies. As the life history is but a repetition ; of the race history, there came with i their first strange new year a burst of heiiuweh. Getting themselves togeth er, they celebrated as best they could j in memory of older days, and not once j . through all the years that have fol- | Equal Honors. Fannie—My big sister is coming out this evening. Katie— Dat's not'lng. Me big brudder is comin' out tonight too. He was up fer six months. Keeping Women Down. Friend—How in the world was your motion defeated, dear? Suffragette-Our opponent took a mean advantage. She placed wads of gum on our chairs, and when the call came for a rising vote some of us couldn't get up.—Boston Transcript. An Oversight. "There seem to lie very few at this meeting of the Society of Women to Suppress Gambling." i"I know, but unfortunately we for get that this is the day when so many of the members have their regular bridge parties."—Baltimore American. Clothes. "It isn't what you pay for clothes that makes you well dressed," said Mrs. Knicker. And Mrs. Booker remarked: "No In deed; it's what you owe."—i New £>rk Sua. lowed have these greetings been omit ted. Though North Carolina could never boast as many stately mansions as could some of her sister states, yet for homely comfort and lavish old time hospitality she lias never been sur passed. Each of the dear old places has its own name, still lingering there —Swan Ponds, Pleasant Gardens, Mount Welcome, Ingleslde. The sen- i tlment of all was voiced on one stone gatepost, which proudly bore the in- I scription: Welcome all To Buncombe Hall. Tradition tells us that the owner of this estate, Colonel Buncombe (of . course he was a colonel), lived in the "low" country, und when he was entertaining guests whom he particu larly enjoyed lie had the bridge, the 1 only means of escape, taken up and hidden in the swamps. Most of these Jovial hosts are sleeping now, each in his narrow bed forever laid, but the new year has a way of returning, and the shooters return with it. Then tenantry and poorer people of the neighborhood gnther at some ap pointed place about 9 o'clock in the evening, and the march begins. From one "big house"to another they tramp, 1 dolorously Intoning their doggerel, fir ing fierce salutes and feasting at the | hands of the gentry, i On the last night of the year, as you | sit over the hickory fire, there comes a I tramping In the front yard, and a deep voice outside begins the so called New Year's sermon with a forcing of the rhyme worthy of Walt Whitman. A loud report being the thing desired, heavy wnds are put on the powder and j the gun muzzle held close to the | ground. After the shooting comes the i hint: | If you are a man of grace Come to the door and show your face. | The door is then thrown wide, and | the company enter, awkward, grinning and shivering with cold. Some of them have come from a distance of S eight or ten miles, as the country is i sparsely settled, and must necessarily j Jie tired, but they consider it more def | erentlal to stand, or if one is finally persuaded to take a chair he sits on the edge uneasily. The ruddy, Santa Claus-like old men ; exchange laconic remarks on the price of cotton; the youngsters refer to the possum hunt of the previous night. Some one goes to the piano and strums away in a frantic attempt to furnish ; ; amusement. They are stolid until she j strikes up "I>ixie." The effect is mag ical. The callers mark time with mud dy boots and remark slyly: "That's the stuff!" Apples and oranges, cakes and coffee, I are now brought out. At some places | the black bottle is passed around. Then the shooters with a relieved sigh j pile out of the door. The society man- j ner is a fearful strain. In Thy New Year. I. In thy New Year j Give us thy strength for burdens we must 1 bear. The thorny crown, if thou so will, to wear; i Having thy love, which casteth out all j fear. i In thy New Year. 11. In thy New Year Send the white sunlight glimmering through the tear, in deserts dim may Love his temples rear And light the tires that burn to heaven there In thy New Year. | —Frank L. Stanton, j An Alarming Prospect. "The great danger," said the grave citizen, "is that we will drift into a paternal form of government." "Yes," answered Mr. Meekton, with a sigh. "Ilenrlette seems worried about that every time I speak to the children."—Washington Star. Hope. "Your life is too sedentary," said the doctor. "What you need is constant excitement." "Well, I guess I'll get It," replied tiie fair patient. "I'm going to marry a man to reform him."—Philadelphia Record. A Son of Morpheus. J | Managing Director—Well, and what '■ are your qualifications for the post of night watchman? Applicant—Well, sir, for one thing, i the least noise wakes me up. The Sassy Thing! She—l wouldn't inarry you if you were the only man on earth, j He—Well, considering that in suj-h a ; case I would have a large number of j stunners to select from, I don't think you would.—Boston Transcript \ / llUffl 1 ' MWHMIiIIMIMiiBII THE MIRAGE DUEL By ARTHUR L. SMITH. "Speakin' o' mirages," said the old rancher,' "we don't 'pear to git no such mirages as we used to git. Dun no whether the elyments has changed or my eyesight Is breakln' down, but I don't see no more land liftin* with ev erything drawed as if it war a paintin' under your nose such as 1 seen often i when 1 fust eouie to the country." "What kind of mirages do you have down here," asked the gentleman from , Massachusetts, "those that elevate ob jects or those that show objects having no exist^jice?" "Waal, I reckon you'd call 'em ele vators." "I've seen mirages on I-ake Michi gan," said the Chicago man, "but I never knew whether they were the eastern shore elevuted or the western shore reflected." "There ain't no reflection down here," remarked the rancher. "What you see you see. 1 saw somepin oncet that changed the hull course of my life. It wan't no reflection, you bet yer life." "How was that?" asked the Massa chusetts man. j "'Twas this a-way: When I war a young man I worked at cow punchln' for a man as lived on a ridge that look ed over a like ridge fifteen mile away. The river run between each ridge mid way, and the ground on each side the river war as like as two peas. Tanner lived on the east ridge—he war the man I worked for—and fifteen miles ; away on the other ridge his brother-in-! law, Brant, had built a house after the same plans. The same architect had planned 'em both, and lumber had been sawed for the two of 'em at oncet. Each stood in the center of a big ranch. | "Tanner had a daughter, Eunice, that! tuk a shine to me. I war an Innocent young feller in them days and hadn't; no notion o' hookin' up with any on» and tried to keep her off my scent, bub she follered me like a bloodhound, and somehow, though I could git rid o' most things, I couldn't get rid o' her. Whenever I'd try it she'd set down be side me kind o' lovin'-lika, and that'd be the end o' my tryin' to shake her. ; "Waal, at last she hived me, and the fust thing I knowed I had gone to the ole man and axed for his gal. Ue wa» j willin', and so we was engaged, as they ; say in the town 3. Eunice,oncet havln' Inssoed me gimme a good deal o' rope, Jlst as though we was married and Ii I couldn't git away nohow, j "What made it hard on me was that I wanted another gal. That gal war Sally Brant, Eunice's cousin. Sally was a quiet) little thing and didn't run after nobody. I couldn't see very much of her 'cause Eunice regarded me as her property and wouldn't let me offi eveniu's to ride over to the Branft ranch, and daytimes I war lookln' aft | er the cattle. "One mornln' I found myself lost. There had been a heavy fog all night, ! and instead of takin' my bearln's be-< fore it settled and goin' to sleep whar | I war I tried to pull through It BuC suddent, about 10 o'clock In the morn in', the fog lifted and I found myself a* mile from the Brant ranch house. Thinldn' it would be a good chance to go and tell Sally Brant that I war go in' to be married, I rode over. Sally was on the front veranda knittin' socks. 1 J'ined her and as soon as I could git up spunk told her that I war settled to be 'broke' by Eunice Tanner. She didn't say a word. She Jlst bent down, and 1 could see that she war cry in'. "Of course thar war jlst one thing to do. 1 set down on the bench beside her, put my arms around her, and"— "Kissed her?" asked the Chicago man. "Kissed her? No; I war hon'able. I war engaged." "Well, goon." "We war settin' facin' the valley, and suddent I lifted my eyes, and thar be fore me and lookiu' hardly a stone's throw away war the Tanner ranch house. And thar on the veranda sat a feller and a gal In each other's arms. Of course I don't mean to say that I could recognize people fifteen miles away, but I knowed the couple must 'a' been Eunice and some feller. Al though I would like to git rid of Eu nice, it made me mad to see her in another feller's arms. I Jumps up and, drawiu' my shootin' iron, plugs away at the man. What did he do but the same to me. "I felt kind o' foolish as soon as it war over, thinkin' my weepon would carry so far, and I set down ag'in. The feller \nust 'a' felt as I did, 'cause he set down ag'in, too, by his gal, just as I did by mine. We turned our backs to 'em, but we didn't like their lookln' even at our backs, so we went Into the house. "I tole Sally that I loved her and wanted her to marry me. She remind ed me that I was pledged to Eunice, and 1 reminded her that, thanks to the mirage, I had found Eunice out. Sally then said, that bein' the case, it war ' right for me to shake Eunice, but If I went back to her she'd lasso me ag'in. Recognizin' tills as true, I proposed we be married before goln' back. And so we war. "When I went back, a married man, Eunice war mad enough to scalp me. I charged her with goin' back on me, and she denied it. But me and Sally both saw her, and that was all there war about It. Anyway, my wife says a noble, good man war saved from a bad woman by the mirage." "Did it ever occur to you." asked th« Massachusetts man, "that what you saw was the reflection of yourselves?" "Waal, nOw, 1 never thought o' that"
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers