EE —— Bellefonte, Pa., February 26, 1909, THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE. Have you ever heard of the Sugsr-Plum Tree? "Tis a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop Sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town ! The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit te be happy next day. When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time, To eapture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below— And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar plums tempting you so: You say but the word to that gingerbread dog, And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate eat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. And the chocolate eat goes eavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground— Hurrah for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows, gumdrops and pepper- mint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your aprop can hold! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nighteap and gown, And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Towan. —Eugene Field to B, C. 8, TWO IN A GARDEN. 1 Were there but two in the garden—or, really, was is four? For down a long alley, just surning the corner of the starry althea bush, was it the flatter of a white gown and a pale green ribbon? And did one see, or dream one saw,another,a darker shape, bending and lifting a beeoh bough, and passing on ? Was it a trick of the eyes, or was it a vision of the past, made all of shade and shadow ? “Is seems to me, Engenia,’’ said the old man, seating himeel! pear the old woman, leaning an arm on the san dial between them, without consciously reading again the legend there, ‘‘that I bave been in an- other plavet, that I have been living the life of some one else, thas, in returning from all those years in the Orient, I take up my real lite only by your eide.” “I am glad you feel so; it only for the moment,”’ she replied. ‘‘I myeell bave thonght it might sometimes he pleasant to forges all the long waste of years. Youth is so distarbed —age is #0 ul.” “Is age so peaceful ? I do not find it eo. 1 pass my time detesting it. Why, when my heart is young, and I feel the youth of me in every thought, should my pulses fail me and my body become a wreock—fignre bent—"’ “But it is not a wreck,” said the old woman, looking up intently. ‘You do not appear greatly obanged to me,ulthough gata you did as first. Except in the way thai the years bave written the script of high shoughts and actions.’ “High thoughts and actions of a life spent in wringing wealth from the heath- en !"' not without some bitterness. ‘‘And then to go hack and finish on the same lines, in the hot climate, and with the hos dishes and the dark faces. For everything is changed here. Not even you, Eugenia, are the same.”’ “Oh, 1 know it,” sighed the old woman. “Did you vot expeotit? Thats is, il you thought at all about it. Every year, as it , carries something that was precious away with it. A woman is amused at her firs: gray bair; it is a jest time has played. Is gives her then a strange sensation of being human, after all; and before that she had felt fall of an unquenchable youth. But when one day she finds her head silver ed, then she is dismayed. The white dust of the road to death bas settled on her. She *‘Nothing that is nos, in its way, lovely still—if you are that woman, Eugenia. She sees her head powdered, it may be, as if she were a beauty of the seventeenth oen- tury, with her delicate brows, and her eyes as soft and dark as stars in a misty mid- night, with a faint rose on ber oheeks—'’ “Ob, such a faded rose I'” she sighed. “No. You are not the same. But some- thing every whit as sweet.” “like the rose that is yellowed and press- ed in a book.” “Come, come, we must not speak in this fashion, like two shades meeting outside the tombs. As least, I arn one,’’ he said, hurriedly. ‘You, Eogenia, if yon werea hucdred, would still be young in my eyes ! The face of sixteen summers swims over the face of sixty." ““The sixty bave not all been summers.” “Where you were ?"’ “Do you remember sne morning,’ she eaid, suddenly, “when the hovoeysuckles were in bloom, and the bees and the hum- ming birds made the air busy, and the southwest wind blew from the fields where they were tossing the bay in she son; a day like this; and you and 1 eat here by the sun dial, and two Italian going along, wandered in and played strange sanes on their violins —"' “Tunes that might have been played to the Cesare | Do I remember !"’ “1 wonder what brought them to mind ? “You would see beauty, Charles, in the bark of a tree.” “I am not purblind—yet. One morn- ing—this was at the beginning of life, you moon. home I we meet is that of impersonal memories.” “And not hopes ¥"’ “Ah for others. We ourselves have nothing to hope for. Our happiness lies io the bappiness of those dear to us. Mine, for instance, in that of the young girl you saw disappearing down the altheas. She wears white and pale green ribbons in an innocent flattery of m “Then I wh: eaw her. And is was not some glamour of long ago, a work of dis- ordered eyesight, taut nerves—you your- self, and I by your side?” “Ab, yon, too long since, ceased to be a fact in my life, for such notions." “I ceased to he a fact in your life. What have I been thinking of all these years. Eugenia, so les the lonesome while go by when I might have been daily within sound of a voice sweet as the music that ‘flattered to tears that aged man and poor’! We read ‘St. Agnes Eve’ together in this gar- den.” “I gould almost declare,’’ she said, alter the little miracle of threading her needle, ‘that such tales have nothing to do with us. We are so entirely other than the people of thas day.” “My God, how many recollections ! The place is fali of ghosts I" he exclaimed. “Bat very gentle ones.” “Are they not vindiotive?’’ He paused a moment, looking before him, his chin on bis stick. ‘‘When I first wens away, Ea- genis,”’ he said, presently, ‘‘I meant to come home soon, as you w. Then one sod another of the House had the first right. I became bead. I thought of a or two longer, and independence. eas concerning an independence chang- ed; suffered » sea change—"’ “Into something rich and id wi then I said ho. 00 Jue, Tuiogy, grown vague. was forgotten. stayed on. One day my brother James wrote me somewhat urgently, and I sud- denly woke tothe weight of my nearly seventy years. And I called my men, and tor nothing.” “And you will stop for nothing when you think best to return as precipitately.” “Unless—"' “Unless,” she said, bastily, ‘‘you decide to make your home with these two young people when they have their home.’ “Would youn counsel that, Eugenia?" He seemed to love pronouncing her name with a lingering accent, as if it were a magio word calling up all the sunshine of old days. “You might miss your hot suns, your | rugs? curries and chutveys, your dark faces—'’ ‘‘Baut I should spend every morning, every evening, with you—if no more. Eagenia— why not ? Hark ! that bird ! What is he doing with morning and daylight ? Do you —No, you bave never forgotten that eveu- ing when we walked together here, a row of white lillies on either side—"’ “Half guessed in the starlight, making one think of angels with their gold barps in their hands. And sweet as the Blessed Damozel’s."’ *‘And then a thrush in the wood under the hill piped a broken melody —voice of the grief of some wandering soul. There was enchantment in it. For as the sound we woke; we koew that something bad changed the face of the earth—we turned to each other, and our lipe—"' The old woman’s hand, with its shining needle, bad fallen on her knee; her head was drooping. ‘‘No, vo,” she said. And then, quite under her hieath, she added : “For the first time.” ‘Bat not the last." “Let us forges,’ she sighed. ‘But you see that I remember. Things are not so vague when near youn.” Re forgot so long, #0 long,’’ she whis- pered. “Forgot | When I am=1 am as much— as much in love—"’ **You never were—very much in love, Charles,” she said, lifsing her head and again plying her needle. *‘You have diffi- culty in saying it. Yon were simply in love with love. And now yon are think- ing you are in love with that young girl of long ago—possibly. Certainly not with shis old woman.'’ Aad she Inughed gently and put on her glasses, 11 “Take those things off 2’ he exclaimed. “Will yoo give me my shawl ?'’ sbe asked. ‘Do vou [eel any ohill in the air ? Paes folk can get rheumatism fiom a an. “Why do vou #0 insist upon the fact of age?’ he asked, impatiently. ‘“‘Perbaps because I cannot insist un the fiotion of youth. There is yout down there, in the garden alley. Youn can smell the fragrance of the dark red calycan- thus buds where they walk now, the breath of tropical fruits made spiritual. You made me a wreath of them once.” “I will make you another.” “I would look fine in snch a thing now!" “You always looked divinely.’ “Indeed, my friend, a truce to compli- mens. It cannot cover the lapse of years and silence.” “You mean that - delay has closed the I shall sis ount- petals of the flower be bal pitied) to pieces, and dusted his bands. ‘‘One is sometimes so clamor- ous outside that thay let him in,” he said. “In a great unhappiness, the youth, the life, the Jove in me was killed. Iam a different person from the girl who looked divinely. Tell me I shall live a hundred years longer, even with all my disabilities, my lameness, my coming blind the slighs difficulty in my bearing, aod all the reat, and I will listen—oh, how gladly ! But as for that young girl, she isdead lang syne. No wore of her, an’ it please your **You will hear a great deal more of her if Istay here ! You feel her wrongs so that you avenge them now.” Picking up his stick, be traced with the point some characters on the gravel. “I think it escapes you,’ she said, ‘‘that when you first went away I studied, fora little while, those characters you write. There for the silly thi I" And, throst. ToD ph nty,she w away. But no, indeed. All tranquil am content as things are. If mes a of sadness darkens the moment, it is only a gage, only a moment, If fo been different, I should not have bad my precious Dolly's child. Angela—poor She is more than beanty, or youth, or | ings, life—"* “Or love 1" “She is love itsell.” “Bat you want to binder ruin of love for her, of hope and joy and fulfilment. That shows how you value these puts your content to the blush. tells me Jou know what is the happier—'’ “You let me doubt your sincerity, Charles.” “Why? My that his boy himself for tinge there, dark, and al surrounded with ite Thas | image And then you, you, are standing in the ' dark doorway. Ao elestric touch sets the crysials into new shape. I recover my base. The rose may droop a trifle. Bas, ye gods, how sweet it is still ! Isis you! And once more, as in the old days, I am yours. The fire may bave been covered with ashes; but youn breathed on it, and it Eugenia, I am a man of in- “Yon cannot think,even as this late day, of making our lives one, Eogenia ?"’ “And all the world laughing at two old fools? Oh no!” *‘Les them langh that win. I mean to win. If not the old love, yet the old com- ionship.”’ **A cloud is coming over the sun. I shall bave to go in, I fear,”’ she said, gathering her muslin more closely. “I hoped, wheo I heard that yon were sailing, Charles, simply that you would make it right for Francis to marry Angela. [did not dream of past or future for you or me. I thought if the boy bad a house, and a certain saffi- cient income, he woald have the hears to work faithfully for farther advance." ““To tell you the trath,I thooght of that, on the seas. Bat he is more or less like me. Wonld he be long contens with the day of small things ?"’ *‘Bat he would he in anchorage. wonld be no separation.” *‘Great heavens ! Eugenia, il when we thonghs of a fuatnre—"’ “You had no rich uncle to piay the pass of the beneficent powers. Francie bas. And the Angela, I think, is strong evoungh There ““To hold ber quarry.” “If you care to put is #0.” The cloud had passed from the son, and she held her filmy work to the light. A little indignation hurns away tears. Bus why be angry as palpable trath ? Shesuro- ed and smiled. “Let me see,” he said, eagerly. ‘‘There is the old house on the bill. Is still be- longs to me, I believe. I suppose that with a wing, a new chimney, rome piazzas, that would do if is were theirs.” ““Why, perfectly, Charles ! And enough, hesides, to keen the wolf away,’ she add- ed, anxiously. *‘We will bavea fine time together, put- ting it into shape. You and 1.” “Youn will possibly have some Eastern 1] “And ivories, and potteries, and gods, aod devils.” ‘‘Let us say nothing about 1s ! Let us just do is ! And, ob, how delightful their surprise and joy will be I" And the flash aod sparkle and smile made the old wom- an, for the moment, almost young again. “Is will seem,’ he said, ‘‘what it might have seemed forty years ago.’’ “If you—or I—bad bad a friend in the India trade.” “By Jove ! Yon think is hilarions—thie living one’s life vicariously.” ““The lot of old age. Our bappiness in theirs.” They were silent a briel space. *‘You will be lonely, Eagenia,”’ then be said, ‘Angela heing gone.” “Nos long. At the most, not long.” ““The death’s head as the feast !"’ **When the years have robbed and strip- ped us, death reaches a kind hand, restor- ing our birshrighs.”’ *‘I bave not your equanimity. I do not want death. I want life, full and abound- ing, and more of it !"’ *‘You should go, on your way back, aod take those baths of high frequency, or po- tency, or whatever, that they give in Paris for the new lease of life.” “Not without you.” “I expect to have it, withons going far- ther than across the Dark River.” “Strange,” he said, presently, ‘‘that the old theological imagining, which spoke in hymos of our being bathed, berealter, in rivers of light, anticipated the scientific possibility.’ She eat with her needle on her lip, think- ng. “‘How happy,’ she said, looking up, the softly gleaming eyes misting with an un- shed tear—‘‘how happy Angela and Francis will be I” The summer wind brought®bem a strain of the song Angela was singing, in a voice slender but sweet as the sound ofa flute over water : “Like a rose the morning breaks, said. ‘‘Come, children. Come down to earth I" Apd while with the aid of bis stick he got upon his feet, she detached the spray of yellow roses, shook is hotly, aod eens the petals of its one greas full-blown flower scattering on the wind. ‘That rose, at any rate,”’ she said to herself, ‘‘is not immortal I"”’—By Harriet Prescots Spofford, in Harper's Bazar. Clearfielid’s Hermit. Published by Request. Strango 8s is may seem in these days of modernism and enlightened civilization, one will find not ouly a wonder, but one of she strangest specimens of the human race that can be found anywhere, existing to day in Clearfield county. In the eastern end of the county, two miles south of Frenonville, one will find this oddest of all odd characters, kvown as the ‘‘Potato Man,” whose real name i+ Antoine Georger, a typical Germano in every sense of the work. Georger, who was born in the Province of Alsace, now a German Provinee, came to America in 1875 in the prime of his manbhovd. After working in the neighborhood a short time he purchas- ed a piece of cleared land which would have been a compliment to be called a farm, covered as it was with rocks, stones aud stampe. Therein a small log house for over thirty years he bas lived in soli- sude, wiles away from neighbors, with no companions save the brute companionship of a cat. Being a giant in strength, rooks and stones were removed and fertile fiellls were the resnlt. With the rocks and stones he bails walls aronod his home and barn 10 feet bigh—formidable fortifications. There one will find this man, bermis, re- clnse and mirer a curiosity in dress, habits aod “lingo.” Neither French. German or English, bos a mixture which very few can understand. bat well able to take care of bimself in a finavcial travsaction. Every and all work on his farm is done by band, aores of potatoes are planted, boed and raised by band and wheeled to cellar on a wheelbarrow. Hay by the ton is placed in the barn in the same manner. e valy other crop besides hay and potatoes whic be raises, is tobacco for his own use. He asks no trust, but in return trusts nobody. Io bis dealings be is honest, but demands every farthing doe bimm—his sole object is bording money. hut unlike mivers in gen- eral he has faith in hanks. His cattle con- vists of a cow 27 years old, and another one which he calle a call 1s seven years old and bas never been out of the stable in its life, which is a curiosity to behold. Its hoofs bave grown to such a length that it could nos walk if it bad the chance. In clothing be is not a model of fashion, bus a marvel of ingenuity which nobody can imitate, but once seen never forgotten. It cleanliness, we will leave that to the imagination of our readers. Thus we find this odd and eccentric man contented in his lonely bome apparently at peace with God and man, thoughs centered on one object—gold, be does not feel his loneliness aud solitude. A strange life to pass in these days indeed. xX. Geronimo Laid in Grave, Geronimo, the old Indean war chief, who died at Foré Sill, was buried in the Apache harying ground northeast of the army post. Rev. L. L. Legters, the Indian missionary, condaoted the services, which were as sim- ilar to the Apache system of burial as the clergyman thought proper. War Depart: ment officiale bad eet aside a holiday lor the Apache prisoners of war at Fort Sill, and the 200 warriors joined in the slow procession that carried the body of their old leader to the grave. It was only hy great effort that Geroni- mo's widow was kept from killing the old warrior's sorrel driving horse, his favorite, «0 that it might pass ou with him to the bappy bunting grounds. eronimo died in the faith of his fore- fathers, which knew uo white man’s God. The sun was his conception of deity. Four years ago, when Geronimo feared that the injuries received in a fall from his horse would proved fatal, he joined the Reformed church. He was suspended from the churh two years later because of excessive drinking, gambling avd other infractions of church rules. Asa Duklege, who has been acting chief of the Apaches in all their dealings with Day is dear, snd night is deep, i Love be with her when she wakes, { Love be with me while I sleep!" | He reashed with the hooked handle of | bis stick for a long, loose spray of the yel- | low Persian rose, and brought it down to catch its thorns in her lace and make a scarf across her shoulders with one great blossom and Half a hundred bude, “Like a rose the morning breaks,’ be repeated. ‘‘We used to sing thas song our- selves, Eagenia.”’ it, I think I hear ‘When Francis si your golden tenor . *‘The rose,” eaid the old man, still gaz- ing at her, ‘‘has been the companion and symbol of love in all generations. It is ae immortal as love. Buried in graves a thoue- and years, it will bloom again. And love that has been true love is equally imper- ishable. Now I ree youn as you were—with that heavenly smile. What will you do withous me, Eogenia #'* “What bave I done before?’’ she an- swered, lightly. “If you go hack overseas, 1 shall be Jooking for a letter—may I not ? Tomorrow it will be coming. And then I shall be looking for another. And life will be full of tomorrows—soch glad tomor- we i" “‘Bat if I do ncs go back ?"* ““Then there is the wicket gate between the gardens.” , “Cold comfort, LJ on no. 1s winter me oo. wi be 8 away. Io summer the w strewn with fallen flowers.” ““You were leaning there one evening, with the swees brier blossoms embowering when the moon came upand shone 11 upon yon—'' “Is was behind you. And you stood aureola. “Eugenia, it will take the rest of our lives to thread thest memories !"’ “Certainly I bave !"’ “And Francie so tall and dark—the | the Government, will likely succeed Gero- pimo. Duklege in the last of the heredi- tary chiefs of the Chiricabua branch of the Apaches, to which Geronimo belonged. A woman who bas mislaid her bat bas been koown to look for it in ber purse, among other impossible places. If women realized that much of the medical treas- ment received from local practitioners was ao effort only to locate disease, and a search for it in most unlikely and impossi. ble , they would place & higer value on opinion of a specialist like Dr. Pierce. His wide experience in the treat. ment and cure of more than a ball a mil. lion women enables him to promptly locate the disease by its symptoms. For all diseases of the delicate womanly organs there is no medicine so sure to heal as Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription. Sick women are invited to conenlt Dr. Pierce by letter, free of charge. All oor- respondence strictly private. Address Dr, R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. Words of Wisdom. Ap ounce of silence is worth a peck of trouble, It doesn’t take long to tell some people what we think of them. When a man is afraid to form an opinion for himeelf he ought to get married. One way in which a woman can get even with a man is by marryiog bim. The chronic borrower doesn’s like to think we shall recognize our friends in heaven. Clothes may not make the mau, but the lack of them would be at at least embar- rassing. EE — “The Bible of the Body." That title bas heen aptly given to Dr. Pierce's Common Sense Medical Adviser, becanse to the physicial nature is is a “light unto the path and a lamp unto the feet.” In this book the physicial life and 21 one-cent stamps for the Jager civered book, or 31 stam for clot nding. Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. : —A boy rushed to a policeman and said; ‘Say, mister, there's a man around there, what's been fightin’ with my father for almost an hour.” “Why dida’t you call me before?’ asked iceman and cream and strawberries.” 1 am growing used to cool things,” be | - - the s “Well,” said the kid, ‘‘paw was gettin’ the best of it np to a few minutes ago." Forty Years in lowa, [Written specially for the Warcusax. | CRAPYER 111, Father purchased forty acres of corn on the stalk, considerably more than was nee- essary to feed over the few horses, cattle and bogs we soou bad to care for, and these began our school for farming. The Pennsylvania way was to husk from she shook, or the topped etalk, and the corn was thrown on piles. We wereshown by the neighbors, to take a team and wag- on, astride tbe third row and clean up the five rows at a time, back and forth through the field, throwing the ears in the wagon. It was a bard thing for us to get over the ides of such destruction and waste but soon learned that allowing the horses to feed themselves in the field, relieved us from feeding in the barn, and as everything was carefully cleaned up from bebind the wagon, the loss amounted to nothing. The appearance being one of waste, made it dif- ficult for us to conform to the established custom, yet we proceeded to finish the job of huskiog and oribbing, winding up with eight inches of snow on the ground. On the opposite side of the road from oar place was a ful! quarter seotion (160 acres) all in corn, owned by a cattle feeder who was the possessor of over eleven hundred acies of land all in cultivation and operated as one farm. Ope bright moonlight evening, the latter part of October, we saw quite a bunch of fat steers, perhaps fifty head, wandering around through this field of corn. The writer ran a half mile or more, to inform the owner of the devastation, and looking up from his supper table with a smile, said, *‘well, I reckon they won’ eat more than they want.” The next morn- ing his men came over, drove them out and fixed the fence and we were ‘‘smiled’’ at frequently, for 2 number of years, for a needless scare, in a desire to doa neighbor- ly act. Since then we bave learned that Iowa grows no soft corn ; every grain ma- tures and bardens sufficiently to withstand much exposure, and whatever may be lefs on the ground, whether shelled off or on the cob, is all cleaned up by the hogs and cattle that are turned into the fields to live on what is termed stalk or winter pasture. We were taught that it was wicked waste to leave a shock of corn unhusked in the field in Pennsylvania, yet we bave in mind a thirty acre piece of Iowa corn that wns caught by heavy snow and busked out the following April, and with the excep- tion of an occasioual ear picked from the ground, looked as well as the fall cribbed corn. A common band corn sheller was standiog on the ground. Having pever seen the like, and in answer to an inquiry as to what it was, we were told to turn the orank and a balf dozen ears, thrown in told the story, but we got she laugh for trying to scrape it up, and a troupe of young pigs soon did the cleaning up job as well as we could have done it. It is a master of history that our State is noted for her production of corn, hogs aud cattle, and, as we prooeed with this article, and when we take our vacation to attend the State fair, 9 five figures may be indalg- ed in to verify such statements. Warren county, or that north portion, bordering on thas of the capital city county, than which no finer appearing or hetter producing land lies anywhere, gives up her share of these three commodities abundantly when prop- erly handled. Eighty acres of corn, forty of wheat, twenty of oate, allowed us yet one hundred acres for pastnre, hay, pota- toes, orchard, feed lots aud other necessary space tor garden, bome and buildings, was the usual apportionment made on the home farm. Spring grain being the crop, the stubble was plowed under in the fall, requiring no other preparation except a goed barrowing in the spring, making it ready for the cornplanter. The sucoessful farmer always had this sixty acres of work out of the way belore freezing and when spring opened, leaving but twenty acres of corn stalk ground toplow. Stalk ground is plowed after the stalks are ont, which is done by a machine which consists of a number of steel blades, a {oot apars, set on the surface of an iron frame oylinder, which is drawn by a team over the rows, chops the stalks to the stated length, which ad- eS - ———— — RE S—— - —— SC ——- a Corn planting begins about May 138 and continues about four weeks, The careful farmer selects his seed in the fall before freezing weather destroys the germ. If hang on wire in the barn, two ears tied to- gether by the huek, and left to dry out be- fore extreme cold weather, there need be noanxiety as to its sprouting qualities. No part of the farm management or work is of such vital importance as the selection and care of seed corn. We have in mind a neighbor, who after the third planting rais- ed a crop of fodder, the final planting be- ing too late to ‘‘ear out,’’ and we sold him our surplus, to feed his stock. It pays big to look well to the seed corn. To the Iowa farmer, interested in his vocation, there is no work so much like recreation as to mount a good two-row planter with a wire check row attachment and a pair of good horses to draw the machine across the field. Such an outfit will pass over ten or twelve acres a day, planting in rows, straight, both ways, depositing the grains —two $0 three or three to four as the drop- piog plates may be adjusted in the proper place and at the desired depth, and well covered ; two rows as a time, all done and completed as fast as a team can walk and draw the planter. It requires about ten days, ordinarily to plans eighty acres, though the writer, after a siege of twenty- six days, or parts thereof—there being con- siderable rain to interfere—was glad to step down when the job was completed — one hundred and twenty acres. The bar- rows—usoally two of them, keep the ground mellow and the weeds down, until the sprout shows itself. When large enough to be not too easily covered with the cultivator, for one or two rows, with the operator to ride or walk, alter three or four times going over, is pronounced ‘‘laid by’ to await ‘‘gathering,”” “‘husking’” or “picking.” An eighty acre yield for a reasonable season should be five thousand bushels, a very satisfactory return for any Iowa farm- er, though better bas been obtained, and yet a large average falls far below, for as a man plows and plants, so shall be husk snd orib, The best we ever had was] eight hondred and ninety bushels from eleven acres. Shelled, io the only reckoning—sev- enty pounds on the cob, fifty-six off. Harvesting the small grain is done with self-binders the same as many of the Penn - sylvanians now use jand from the stacks, the threshing is done with a steam or gaso- lene engine, sell-feeding, sell-weighing, self-strawstacking separators heing used, there being just two important items of la- bor ; getting the sheaves to the machine, aod caring for the cleaved grain. Fifteen successive crops of corn have been produced, but that day has gone by and she successful farmer now corns hie iand three or four years in succession, when a change is made by sowing oats, or $imo- thy and clover. Very little wheat is pro- duced in our part of the State, the yield being far below the relative value of corn and oats, or hay and pasture, and the qual- ity of the flour being below that made from Missouri winter wheat, so that it can be seen that the fas producing crop, some- thing for hogs aod cattle, are in the ascend- anoy ; coru, oats, hay or pasture. We made good with potatoes, though the av- erage Iowa farmer is just as particular as so how much bard work he can get along without, as his Penvsylvauia brother, and especially when it is a back-breaking job of the almost endless ‘picking up’’ varie- ty. The yield in our farming days was al- ways good and the price down. Oar best yield on the old home place was three hundred and eighty-five bushels, from nine of seed, on a fraction less than an acre of gronud. One-third of this is con- sidered good. A twenty acre patoh of a neighbor produced thirty-five hundred bushels some ten years ago, bus it would have to go some to do it now, for ground wears out in Jowa just as it does in Penn- sylvania. Timothy and clover mixed gives a good roturn. With a good cutting in July and a light one in October, four tons has been the best yield, but in all cases, it is the in- dustrious, up-to-date farmer that carries away these red ribbovs. With bay and grain safely in the stack, and the corn *‘laid by,” tho resalt of six months incessant labor and toil of the six. teen-hour-a-day stripe, the ten September days are at hand, when all bands, includ- ing the housewife and toddlers, are privi- leged to take advantage of, and really en- joy themselves ; the State Fair, a real va- cation time, spent not only in recreation, bat for actual beneficial information and obtaining new ideas, the value of which is hard to measure ; and here we rest fora short time, to prepare acurb on what we shall try to say of our Fair, and perhaps forestall the chap that likes to say, ‘“‘Hot Air.” 8. W. BAKER. Des Moines, Ia., Feb 12th, 1909. Take Your Bearings. suffering from ‘‘weak lungs” obstinate cough, bleeding at she | with alestnnl emecisiion avd night~ sweats, every sees a farther from health yw her It you are mits of their being entirely covered up and | warde ? out of the way of the barrow and cultiva- tor. The diso harrow hae about supplant- ical ed the stalk cutter, which demolishes everything it comes in contact with, leav- ing the ground in good condition for ef- feotive plowing. Wheat and oats are sown among the stalks as soon as the frost is ous and cross disced, leaving the ground well torn up to the depth of eix inches, alter which a good cross harrowing with a common barrow completes the work. seriously.” Nel hudson w should n rejoined matter-of-fact person. *“Taking life is a serious matter.”
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers