Demon tc
Bellefonte, Pa., July 18, 1919.
THIS IS THE LAND.
This is the land where hate should die—
No fueds of faith, no spleén of race,
No darkly brooding fear should try
Beneath our flag to find a place.
Lo! every people here has sent
Its sons to answer freedom’s call;
Their lifeblood is the strong cement
That builds and binds the nation’s wall.
This is the land where hate should die—
Though dear to me my faith and shrine,
I serve my country best when I
Respect the creeds that are not mine.
He little loves his land who'd cast
Upon his neighbor's faith a doubt,
Or cite the wrongs of ages past
From present rights to bar him out.
This is the land where hate should die—
This is the land where strife should
cease
Where foul, suspicious fear should fly
Before the light of love and peace.
Then let us purge from poisoned thought
That service to the State we give,
And so be worthy as we ought
Of the great land in which we live!
—Denis A. McCarthy.
AN ELDER SON.
The youngest Morton boy is study-
ing medicine now and the middle one
is going to take up law in the fall.
But the elder son, Tom, seems to be
an easy-going stay-at-home. No spe-
cial ambition, you know. Industrious
enough, but he doesn’t seem to have
any of the large Morton spirit.
As the speaker casually turned
himself about in his seat, Tom Mor-
ton, some distance behind in the near-
ly empty railroad car, hastily ducked®
under a newspaper for fear he should
be recognized and suspected of listen-
ing. Without intending to act the
part of an eavesdrooper it was rather
interesting to hear himself sized up
by the world.
“ ‘Plain, good-enough fellow, but
never will amount to much, I expect.’
Humph!” Tom thought over the
words as the two passengers ahead
left the train a station before him-
self. “I wonder do they think since
Ben and Jim have taken up medicine
and law that I ought to go into the
ministry to make something of my-
self 7” He smiled dryly at the idea of
himself trying to preach.
But then the smile gave place to a
little frown and a slightly heighten-
ed color of injured self-respect.
“There are other ways a fellow can
amount to something besides the pro-
fessions, I guess,” he muttered; “and
I can’t help it if I don’t have the am-
bitious nature my family seems to be
famous for.”
Reaching into his pocket he drew
out a letter and began to study it
with something of the interest one
manifests in vacation folders. Glanc-
ing across his shoulder one might
have seen that it was a communica-
tion anent a two or three-acre tract of
land with a small wagon house on it.
“You couldn’t do better with your
savings than to buy this tract,” the
letter said. “You could make it earn
enough to buy more land from year to
year and eventually build yourself a
house when you got married. Then
you would be an independent and free
farmer.”
Tom nodded his head in satisfied
approval for the hundredth time. “Ail
but the getting married,” he chuck-
led; “I haven’t thought that out yet.
But the rest is good. By the time Ben
is famous as a physician and Jim. is |
beginning to yell out arguments in
the higher courts, I'll have a farm.
Farming is good enough for me; But
I want a farm of my own.”
Leaving the train at the home sta- |
tion, he struck back into the country,
dreaming meanwhile of a future inde-
pendence. He had been to look at the
tract of land and was delighted with
it. The letter anent it was from a
wise and disinterested friend; and his
father had approved of his intention
to buy and work the place. Now it
was only a matter of form to make
the purchase.
Happily enough he trudged on
threugh the summer dust of the coun-
try road, his bent head taking in the
good-sized feet which sturdily kick-
ed their way along and the stout
limbs that could follow a plow for a
long while without getting tired.
“I should think I had the largeness
of the Morton family in physique, if
not in spirit,” he ruefully commented
to himself, with another accession of
color as he remembered the implica-
tion that he was in nature of com-
moner clay than his brothers.
His father’s farm came into view a
half mile farther on. It was only a
rented farm, to be sure; but even at
that Tom’s heart stirred pridefully as
he glanced toward it. The fine old
house, the maple-lined avenue, the
broad and splendid fields, the big and
excellently built barns and outbuild-
ings—“Ah; that’s what I want some
day, a farm like that. I guess it will
take some largeness of makeup to get
it, too.”
The very fact of the farm being on-
ly rented was one thing that prompt-
ed Tom to begin acquiring land of his
own. The Morton farm took it’s name
from Tom’s uncle, the original owner.
He was dead now. Besides a thous-
and dollars as a legacy, Tom’s father
had been left the privilege of r&nting
the farm at a very small and purely
nominal figure during his life. Then,
as Tom understood, Brookhurst was to
be sold and the proceeds divided
among relations. In the event of
anything happening to his father,
Tom had long ago realized that he
aud his mother would be without a
home. He wanted to forestall that
condition.
“I hope it doesn’t come soon,” he
murmured now, with a dubious shake
of his head as, turning into the drive,
he glanced toward the porch of the
house and saw a listless figure reclin- |
ing in a chair. “Poor Dad; this break-
down is hard on him.”
The invalid seemed to be more
than usually depressed as Tom came
with heavy form up the steps and
greeted his father affectionately. A
couple of letters lying on a near-by
table led the young fellow to a quick
guess that one of them had troubled
the sick man.
“Here is Jim pow,” Mr. Morton
said, when another son, of graceful
and intelligent make-up, eame around
the corner of the house.
want to talk with you.”
Mrs. Morton came out at the mo-
ment. Tom could see the reflected de-
pression on her face as his father
picked up one of the letters and turn-
ed toward the wondering Jim, who
took a seat on the top step of the
porch and nursed his knee with clasp-
ed hands. ;
The trouble was quickly made plain.
Mr. Morton had from time to time in-
vested a little money toward the fu-
ture education of his boys. Ben had
already been started off and was
nearly through college now. But the
ever-possible mischance of invest-
ments had finally overtaken Mr. Mor-
ton. An industrial company had faii-
ed just as he was about to turn his
holdings with it into cash to help
another son of the family into his
chosen profession.
“There now, Dad,” the generous
Jim quickly insisted, after a little
gulp of disappointment; “don’t you
worry for a minute. Maybe the best
thing in the world for me is to stay
right here on the farm for a couple of
years more. I'll build up my physiec-
al strength while I'm earning my own
way. Been studying too exclusively
as it is. And I—er—Ilike farming.”
It was brave talk; but in spite of
the bad news Tom, on the step beside
his brother, could not repress a chuck-
le. “You like farming, eh?”
whispered to Jim, whimsically. “Why,
you don’t know a turnip top from a
hay rake. But you've got the right
spirit, old man. You have the large
nature of the Morton's all right. I'm
proud of you.”
It was no easy matter to comfort
the invalid however. Rendered natur-
ally gloomy by his sickness this
further blow called for all the skill
and spirit of the family to mitigate it.
Tom insisted that matters had shap-
ed themselves providentially. While
he was working his own little farm
Jim could take his place on the home
acres. What would his father have
done without Jim under the circum-
stances, anyway ? he demanded. And
hard, out-door work would do Jim no
harm. The responsibility of being
second in command would, moreover,
be a splendid training.
“Why, Dad,” Tom enthusiastically
declared, “Jim will get into things
with such interest that after a year
or so if you mention his giving it up
and going to college he will break
down and cry.” And somehow the
smiles were won back again into the
father’s face as the family courage-
ously readjusted itself to altered con-
ditions.
“Only we figured on having Ben
and Jim fixed prosperously before
Mother and I got too old,” Tom’s fath-
er chaffed, a bit lamely, at supper
that night. “We reckoned on Ben be-
ing able to support me and Jim your
mother. Now I am afraid Mother
will have to starve, eh, Mary ?”
Tom bit his lip and fell silent. He
knew it was only their way of saying
that they expected big things from
their professional sons. But the far-
mer son went to his chores a little
later with a frown on his face. “Ev-
idently they don’t figure on my ever
being able to do much,” he meditated,
with a little bitterness. “Ben and
Jim have all the family spunk; and
the family hopes rest on them. Per-
haps I don’t line up strikingly in fam-
ity virtues.” "He sighed absently.
The next morning, while it brought
no more disturbing letters, did have
its own anxiety. Just before noon
Mrs. Morton espied the doctor coming
up the drive in company with a dis-
tinguished looking stranger.
“The specialist,” she murmured, a
little, anxious catch in her voice as if
maybe she feared that the specialist
could at will pronounce some terrible
sentence on her husband.
“Tut, tut, Mother,” Tom deprecat-
ed, with an affectionate arm thrown
around her shoulders. “In an hour
vou will feel more cheerful than vou
have felt for weeks. Dad is all right.
We invited this consulting engineer
just to make ourselves prominent in
the local paper this week.”
As a matter of fact, after the hour's
conference was over, Mrs. Morton
came forth with the tears and smiles
fighting for victory in her counte-
nance.
“Father is not dangerously ill at
all,” she assured the boys; “but’—
she restrained their whoop of joy—
“the expert says he must give up
work for two or three years at the
very least, maybe longer.”
Tom’s face had lighted up with ju-
bilation at the news that there was no
tragedy hanging over the family.
Then his jaw dropped far down at the
idea of his father being incapacitated
for work during all those recurring
seasons of planting and harvesting.
{ Who was going to look after the farm
in the meantime ?
“Jim can’t possibly run it without
father,” he told his mother. “Mind
how we lost him this morning ?”
Jim had gone up stairs to get ready
to help with a job of harrowing after
breakfast. He had failed to return
for an hour or more and then Tom
found him hard at work studying out
the law points involved in the failure
of the company that swallowed up his
school money. He had completely
forgotten the work on hand.
Tom suddenly went fishing that
afternoon, contrary to his usual in-
dustrious habits. He didn’t catch any-
thing, although his cork bobbed ea-
gerly time and again before his un-
seeing eyes. He didn’t really care
about catching anything, however.
He had a lot of thinking to do and he
could do it best on the quiet river
bank. When it was done he went
home; and that night after supper he
invited Jim out into the barn.
“It’s all settled, baby,” he declared.
“I have simply got to stay on this
farm, maybe for three or four years.
Buying that other place is out of the
question now. So I won’t need the
seven hundred dollars I have in the
bank. You get ready for school and
I'll tie that up in the old stocking for
you to take along.”
Jim demurred. He declared up and
down, sidewise and crosswise that he
would starve to death before he would
take his brother’s savings.
“Take off your coat then,” Tom
grimly ordered. “You'll take the mon-
ey or take a licking.”
Mrs. Morton coming into the barn
unexpectedly, was startled to see her
elder son in a belligerent attitude with
sleeves rolled up and fists doubled.
She gave a little cry of fear. Tom
burst into a laugh.
“It’s all right,” he declared, after
“Oh, Jim; I |
explaining to his mother what he
wanted Jim to do. “I'll defer the
licking for the present with the un-
derstanding that it will be worse the
longer it is put off. You can have it
any time you like, Jim, the sooner the
better for you; or you can dodge it by
taking the money.”
Something like a mist seemed to
come before Mrs. Morton’s eyes as
she let her elder son lead her back to
the house. But she endorsed his pur-
pose. So did his father, under the
circumstances. Jim was slowly pre-
vailed upon to accept the sacrifice for
his own good and his family’s.
“You’ll have to support your moth-
er eventually, you know,” Mr. Morton |
argued.
that.”
“Yes,” Tom agreed, with a little
grimace; “and me too, maybe. I'm
only looking out for my own inter-
ests, you see.”
But no one lacked a deep apprecia-
tion of Tom’s action. His father one
day caught his hand as it was adjust-
ing a pillow in the porch chair of the
invalid.
“You remind me of the elder son in
the Bible, boy,” he said. “You are
ever with me; and I am glad of that.
I feel sure of things on the farm with
you here. And I wish I could say,
‘All that I have is thine,’ ” he added,
as his glance strayed around the fin-
est farm in all the countryside. “I’m
sorry I have very little in a material
way; but you know I think every whit
as much of you as of any of my boys.
You are my elder son; and I am proud
to say you have what I think are the
finest of the Morton virtues.”
Through the long
thereafter Tom worked with spirit
and satisfaction. After the joyous
“You must get ready for
Jim had departed for school in the |
softening September days, he took '
hold of life again with gladness,
though for just one day, perhaps, he
did feel a spark of self-pity.
That was his birthday, a glorious
morning, as he saw the moment he
leaped from bed and took a look at
the fruitful earth.
“Another milestone,
muttered, gloomily. “Ben and Jim
both on the high-road to professions |
and a definite career, while I—I don't |
know where I am coming out. I sup-
pose when father gets strong again
I'll still be young enough to earn me
a farm.”
He came down into the sunny,
cheerful dining room to find that his
father, mother and brothers had all
remembered the day. Beside his plate
were several packages prettily tied
up. And it was a joy to open them
after his father had included in the
morning’s blessing his thanks for hav-
ing such a sturdy son to lean upon,
and after his mother had just smiled !
and kissed him.
“But what’s this?” he demanded,
as he picked up and began to open a
long envelope.
graduated already; and they have
sent his diploma to me by mistake.”
He read the enclosed letter halfway
through, rising from his seat in his
excitement.
finished it and glanced at his father
and mother to see from their happy
faces that they knew what it was
about. They had been let into the se-
cret a bit ahead of time, they con- |
fessed. . ;
Tom read the letter again.
from his uncle’s executor; and it set
out the fact that his uncle had in
mind a special purpose in making the |
rent of the handsome farm so little !
that his brother would surely hold on
to it.
“Hoping that one of my brother’s
boys might be sufficiently gifted with |
the Morton spirit to love the country |
best, I have arranged that any one or
all of them still living and at work on
Brookhurst farm the tenth anniversa-
ry of my departure from it, shall own |
it free and clear thereafter.”
“And it’s all mine now,—mother,—
Dad?” Tom unbelievingly queried,
his glance involuntarily turning to
look through the window out upon
fields and orchards that reached as
far as the admiring eye could go. A i
half-fearful but exultant tone was in |
his voice; his questioning look as he
repeated the demand, “All
found confirmation
smiling faces of his father and moth-
er.
He breathed heavily for a moment. |
Then, laying the document down, he
got up and crossed over to where he !
could put his arms around both his
father and mother at once.
“All mine!” he repeated; “all that |
ever I want, too. And all that I have, |
Dad, is thine—and mother’s.”
But as Mrs. Morton pulled down |
her elder son closer one might have |
seen that her mother heart wanted
nothing from him more than she
wanted himself.—American Boy.
More than $45,000,000 worth of mo-
tor-trucks, we learn from The
Weekly News Letter of the De-
partment of Agriculture, Washing-
ton, are about to be distributed by the |
Secretary of Agriculture through the
Bureau of Public Roads to the State
Highway Departments. We read:
“These trucks have been declared
surplus by the War Department and
are being distributed to the States un-
der the provisions of Section 7 of the
Postoffice Appropriation Bill. They
must be used by the States on roads
constructed in whole or in part by
Federal aid, for which $200,000,000 in
addition to the former appropriation
was given to the States under the
same bill. All that the State must do
to acquire the use of these 20,000
trucks, which range in capacity from
two to five tons, is to pay the loading
and freight charges. Ot the 20,000
motor-vehicles to be acquired prac-
tically free by the States, 11,000 are
new and 9,000 have been used, but all
are declared to be in serviceable con-
dition. The motors will be apportion-
ed to States only upon request of the
State Highway Departments on the
basis of the requests received from
the respective States, and in accord-
ance with the apportionment provid-
ed in the Federal aid law approved in
1916. The requirements of the law
are such that the Bureau of Public
Roads can not distribute any trucks
to counties or individuals.”—Literary
Digest.
/ Doubted i
“Lend me a tenner, will you, old
chap? Tl pay you back tomorrow.”
“If you're going #o have $10 tomor-
row, why not wait till then?”
summer days ;
though,” he
“Jim must have been |
i k he | 3
Yat Jronping back B fear man as a species that he gave up |
It was
mine?” |
A BIT ABOUT BEARS.
In the days before settlers came in-
to the West in numbers sufficient to
have an influence on the wild animal
‘ life, the grizzly bear was a great
{ traveler. By “grizzly” I mean also
| the bears called “silvertip” and “cin-
i namon,” as they are all one and the
| same animal, the difference being sim-
i ply one of variation in individuals of
| the same species. The grizzly and
| black bears are the only bears found
in the United States despite wild tales
i from hunters and others who think
| there are possibly a dozen kinds.
The black bear is a clown pure and
| simple; he is like a big, fat, happy
| and contented child who thinks every-
| thing that isn’t made to eat is made
i to sleep on or play with. He is an
| omniverous eater, devouring ants,
! bees, grasshoppers, green grass,
{ leaves, wild onions, all kinds of ber-
| ries, fresh meats, fish, carrion, honey,
i grubs, bark, and a long list of other
| things, all with the same happy-go-
‘lucky abandon and disregard for his
| stomach, and he is always hungry.
He is eternally playing when he is
' not eating or sleeping, and he has as
| good a disposition as any animal I
i know. I have never heard of a black
bear attacking a man, though it will
| fight back right well and heartily if
| cornered and attacked. The black
| bear is just a fat, good-natured joke
| to men who really know the moun-
' tains where he lives all over the West,
'and I do not know of a single old-
| time mountain man who will kill a
| black bear wantonly or unless ke
' needs meat or a robe—and he’ll have
to need either of these pretty badly be-
| fore he shoots a black bear at that,
{ for he likes the fat, furry rascals
much as he likes a neighbor's dog.
The grizzly is an entirely different
proposition.
1
were rather plentiful pretty much all
i over the mountainous West from
Mexico to the Arctic. They roamed
about through all the mountain rang-
i es from the Black Hills to the Pacif-
ic and reached their greatest size in
Alaska. They used to cross the coun-
try regularly from the Rockies to the
Black Hills of Dakota, a matter of
; several hundred miles, and thev
thought nothing of living for days a.
‘a time far out among the “Bad
Lands” or almost anywhere in the
| rougher sections of the plains coun-
try where they found feed conditions
good.
| The grizzly ate much the same food
‘ as his cousin, the black bear, but he
! moved on very quickly whenever any
| section of the country was “fed-up.”
' Both species “denned up” in the fall
| about the time of the first cold weath-
rer and they hibernated until spring.
| Decidedly they did not “suck their
paws,” but lived in a state of suspend-
! ed animation until the next spring, a
wise provision of nature for taking
‘ care of her own through bitter weath-
er.
The grizzly was short-tempered and
frequently attacked men in the old
days. It was only when he learned to
attacking him and gave up the habit
: of traveling far and wide by day for
. the safer and much more conservative
program of sticking close to a given
| “range” among the mountains and of
‘hiding during the day. The grizzlies
learned through contact with the cat-
‘tlemen who shot them and even
caught many with lassos (called
“roping”) in the days of the open
range.
Because the bears,
as a species,
‘ could and did work out this idea of a
limited “range” and practice living
on it they are alive and quite plenti-
. ful today, whereas they would have
. been exterminated long ago if they
had stuck to their original roaming
habits. They carry the keenest noses
{ of all the wild animals, I firmly be-
‘ lieve, and every man who has lived in '
the wilds for long, myself included,
believes that the whole bear tribe can
: that is as near human as any animal
ever gets.
; merest outline of the habits and ways
of these happy wilderness
{ as any of us, and are entitled to it,
. for they destroy a lot of vermin as
they go along every day and yet they
do not now harm man in any way and
will make friends with him if given a
chance, even to the short-tempered
in the mountain ranges, mostly the
Rockies and outlying spurs, where
they do not injure or even bother peo-
ple or crops or stock.
and more adaptable than the big griz-
zly, so he still survives to some ex-
| tent in Maine and the eastern moun-
tains and among the swamps and
cane-brakes of the South and is quite
plentiful in the Pacific Northwest
. coast he is as plentiful as ever, and
ed country.
All bears should be protected from
killing by law nowadays as they are
no longer a menace to humanity and
killed for “sport” or any other cause.
icine” and really meaning “magic’
conditions.
kyaiu or “Sticky-mouth,”
black bear they called Sik-u-kyaiu.
These Indians were very much afraid
of the “medicine” power of bears and
would not sleep on a bear skin robe or
touch a bear if they could help it ex-
cept as a religious rite connected with
their “medicine” beliefs.
BRUIN’S FATAL MISTAKE.
ears and the sharp, light-colored
of his coat scuffled along on his sturdy
legs looking for a promising break-
fast place. It was very early sum-
mer, the rivers were high and muddy,
fishing was poor, the berries were not
ripe and the best foed was found in
tender roots, or from bugs and grubs
from in and under rotting tree-trunks
and logs. Once a passing porcupine
drew a glance of interest, once he sat
up on his round haunches and gazed
long and seberly at a ribbon of faint
smoke that arose lazily above the
trees some distance away. The sound
of a hunter’s axe caused him to grunt
In the old days—no
longer back than 1890, even—grizzlies
reason and think things out in a way .
A short article can only give the!
denizens |
in the nodding, | who love life and a good time as well |
grizzly. The grizzlies alive today are |
The black bear is a timber dweller '
even as far east as the Rockies of |
Montana and south to the Oregon |
line. In the Cascade mountains of the
probably will be for years on account
of the rough and very heavily timber-
there is no reason why they should be |
The Indians never killed bears un- |
less they had to for self-protection or |
under peculiar religious (called “med- |
The Blackfoot tribe of |
Montana called the grizzly Omuk-u-
and the!
The fat, sleek bear with the furry |
snout shading to the black of the rest
tn some haste, but with no sign of !
fear or nervousness, and bury himself
deeper in the thick underbrush. Then,
without warning he came into a little
clear space where a tent stood alone,
ing. The year before he had ventur-
ed into such a place and found it full
of wonderful sweets, juicy hams, lus-
cious bacon. This place smelled ex-
actly as the other had, and he swag-
gered as he slipped along to the can-
vas walls. At one end, where the odor
of molasses was particularly strong,
he found that there was an opening,
and he thrust his head in and followed
with his body. It looked just as the
and bags and tin cans. He took anoth-
er confident step—when cruel, jagged
steel teeth buried themselves on his
left foreleg. In a frenzy of pain and
fear he turned to escape and found he
could make progress though his ad-
vance was hampered by the pain of
the crushed limb and a short piece of
small log that was chained to the
trap. Into the timber he plunged un-
til in a mass of fallen trees the drag
caught and held him.
The man who had set the trap came
along and was pleased to find his trap
gone and a broad trail left by the
dragging log. He followed, with gun
and kodak, and in time came to the
tangle of tree-trunks where the trap-
| ment, into the smaller eye of the sin-
ister rifle—Qur Dumb Animals.
|
! WHAT'S A COW? TIS ONLY A
MILL—A MILL FOR MILK.
{ “A cow is a milk mill that changes
| grasses which folks can’t eat into the
greatest food for humans the world
has ever known.
| And what E. LeRoy Pelletier, of
i Detroit, Mich., does not know about
| cows isn’t worth knowing. He has
| been the breeder of one world’s cham-
| pion and six State champions. He is
{one of the consigners at the Holstein
{ Friesian sales in the Bull’s Head Ba-
| zaar, Thirty-seventh and Market
| streets.
“And that old milk mill is just as
! sensitive as the inside of a rare watch.
And it’s under as great a strain when
the milk is being generated, as a
{horse is in a thundering race. I've
i seen my own cows standing in a
| tremble with the strain, while the ma-
| chinery inside of them works up the
| masticated grasses into milk. It is
| very wonderful—and it’s pitiful, too.
. Because their mills are always work-
| Ing over-time, whether they want to
! be or not.
| “Of course, the record cows are
| specially trained cows. And the
| training is just as «careful and scien-
| tific as is the training of athletes. Ten
' years ago the Holstein-Friesian breed
was producing but twenty-five pounds
| of butter fat. Today Rolo Mercena
{ De Kol has doubled that. It’s a tri-
| umph in breeding and training.
| “These record cows must be guard-
| ed from any unnecessary excitement.
| Their food must be delicately propor-
tioned, their bodies must be thorough-
ly examined every day—and I tell you
us no small thing to be training cat-
tle.
“Of course, in the end it’s worth it,
because we are doing humanity a
service—there’s no milk for babies
like the Holstein milk.
“Holstein milk is the only milk
that can be drunk whole. And that’s
. because it has in it solids which are
almost perfectly proportioned.
“It has less butter fats than other
milk, but butter fats are not the most
, desirable solids in milk. Butter fats
are only fat-builders. The other sol-
ids are probably more important than
butter fats, but people car’t under-
stand that. If butter fats were the
' solids of greatest desirability in milk,
folks ought to use goat milk, because
goat milk contains more fats propor-
tionately than does any other kind of
milk, but goats don’t produce as much
milk, and consequently not so much
bone, nerve and tissue builders.”
FARMS SHOULD HAVE NAMES.
The practice is growing of giving
farmsteads individual names which
will add distinction te the farm itself
and define it as a home and as a bus-
iness organization, instead of an un-
named piece of land that does not
| deserve a description.
With the growing need of adver-
tising farm products and of identify-
ing farms in connection with commu-
nity enterprises, the New York State
College of Agriculture, at Ithaca, sug-
gests that farms should have distinec-
. tive names. It points out that the
identities of persons and even of
farm animals are recognized by
names, and that farmsteads, inclu-
sive of the whole, are equally deserv-
ing.
Possibly the commonest type of
name is one which is derived from
some topographic feature of the farm,
such as Riverdale, Brookdale, Lake-
side, Hillcrest, Shady Valley, and the
like; and many farms take their
| names from trees. Names of this
character are Woodlawn, Shady
Lane, Maple Grove, Pinecroft, Birch
Farm, and so on.
A favorite form of name is made
by combining the old English words
hurst or croft, which mean home-
stead, with the name of the owner.
This practice gives rise to such
. names as Bensonhurst and Allencroft.
Sometimes the name of the owner is
suggested in a fanciful way, as in the
case of a farm once owned by former
Dean Bailey, of Cornell, the farm be-
ing known as Bailwick. In another
instance, Stonefarm denoted the name
of the owner and the character of the
land. In still another instance, a man
who had looked forward all his life to
. acquiring a farm in his own right
i finally celebrated his ownership by
naming his place Iona Farm.
The college points out that a name
should not be fanciful, but should be
| dignified and descriptive. In a major-
ity of cases, it says, the simpler and
' more commonplace the words that
! are used, the better the result may
| be.
| THE CUPBOARD UP-TO-DATE.
| Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To feed a hungry waif;
The meat was gone,
The butter strong,
And the egg was in the safe.
i —Los Angeles Times.
with flaps closed. This was interest- |
other place had—there were boxes :
ped bear looked first into the eye of |
| the kodak and then, for a final mo- |
FARM NOTES.
| —The step-uncle of one of the bulls
bought by the Tioga county Bull As-
sociation recently sold for $65,000.
—The dairy cow is a factor in gen-
! eral farming ,and the proper selec-
‘ tion and management of cows is im-
' portant. Business methods must be
| adopted to make the dairy a success.
{ Every farm needs dairy cows of high
| grade. “Boarder” should not be tol-
| erated, especially during these times
! of scarcity and high cost of feed. An-
| imals that do not turn a profit over
and above the cost of maintenance
must not be tolerated; such animals
should be consigned to the butcher
without delay.
—Spreading fertilizer in dircles be-
neath the spread of branches of the
trees has returned greater profits
than applying an equal quantity over
the entire squares of ground occupied
by the trees in orchards of co-opera-
tors of the Ohio Experiment Station.
An annual gain of three barrels of
apples per acre hes resulted as an av-
erage of four years by confining the
fertilizer to the tree circles in the sec-
tion kept under tillage with cover
crops, and in the section kept in
grass mulch the gain has been six and
one-fifth barrels over the yield obtain-
ed where the fertilizer was spread
| over all the ground in the orchard.
—The importance of the relation of
the bull to the herd cannot be overes-
| timated. He can raise or lower the
| standard of the herd according to his
value. A bull superior to the cows
will increase the milking standard,
i while an inferior bull will lower the
milking qualities of the calves. For
this reason high-grade bulls should be
selected.
The ancestry of the bull is of val-
ue; but that is not always the case.
Therefore, to introduce new blood the
safest rule is to buy an animal that
has teen tried and whose service is
sure. But there is more importance
attached to a bull’s pedigree than one
may imagine. It is the evidence show-
ing that the animal descended from a
line of individuals all alike and of one
kind. The number of heavy-milking
dams and sires that in turn were from
heavy-milking dams, is highly impor-
tant. Frequently tried bulls may be
purchased from farmeérs who wish to
replace them with new blood to avoid
the bad effects of inbreeding.
—The Pennsylvania Department of
Agriculture has revoked the livestock
regulation (Circular No. 50) which
has been in force since January 6th,
1919. The regulation was adopted
and enforced to prevent the further
spread of glanders among horses and
mules in Pennsylvania. It required
that all horses and mules and asses
coming into Pennsylvania from other
States should be examined and tested
with mallein to determine if the ani-
mals were healthy before they could
be sold in the State.
The histories of all previous wars
show that army horses and mules
were largely responsible for the
spread of this serious disease which
1s a menace to human beings as well
as causing great losses among ani-
mals. In referring to records of tests
on thousands of horses there have
been remarkably few cases of glan-
ders found during the past two
months. Several thousand army
horses and mules were sold at demo-
bolization camps, to be shipped into
Pennsylvania, all of which were mal-
lein tested and found to be healthy.
—As the reduction of the cost of
producing milk and butter is a mat-
ter that is important, the farmer
should be careful in the selection of
the breed as well as the individuals of
that breed. Shall it be Holsteins, Jer-
seys, Ayrshires or Guernseys? There
are special points of merit in each of
the above-named, but they will not all
fit special conditions. The location in
regard to markets, feed, etc., must be
considered. For example, the Hol-
stein is a very economical producer of
milk, but not generally considered as
valuable along butter lines as the oth-
er mentioned breeds. Of late years,
however, the breeders of Holsteins
have been improving their animals in
cream and butter production. In but-
ter fat it is now about 11 per cent.
lower than the fat per cent. of the
Jersey. The Holstein is a large, vig-
orous cow; there is occasionally ob-
jection made to her size, claiming she
consumes too much feed. But were
she not large and vigorous it would
be impossible for her to possess the
digestive capacity to enable her to
consume and convert sufficient feed
to maintain her heavy milk flow.
The Holstein is particularly adapt-
ed to farms where large acreage of
roughness is grown, and made into
silage and cured into fodder. She is
likewise suitable where there is an
ample acreage of pasture to meet her
needs during the grass-growing sea-
son. In short, where milk or cheese
is the main product, the Holstein has
no superior.
—The Pennsylvania Department of
Agriculture is making every effort to
hold the 1919 losses from hog cholera
at the minimum and with the help of
the hog owners will make a decided
cut in 1920, says Dr. C. J. Marshall,
State veterinarian.
The chief reasons for our continued
hog cholera losses are (1) the purch-
ase of shipped pigs and shoats, (2)
the practice of not properly disposing
of the carcasses of animals that die,
(3) the failure of hog owners to
properly clean and disinfect their in-
fected premises before bringing new
hogs or pigs on the place, and (4)
the failure of owners to secure veter-
inary advice as soon as sick hogs or
pigs are observed. Every hog owner
is urged as follows:
(1)—Thoroughly clean and disin-
fect your hog pens and lots.
(2)—Properly dispose of all ani-
mals that die or are destroyed on your
premises either by burning the entire
carcass or burying it at least three
feet deep. Before the carcass is cov-
ered with dirt, it should be covered
with lime to a depth of about three
inches. ;
(3)—Consider that any sick hog or
pig might have cholera. Unless the
animal recovers at once, call a quali-
fied veterinarian. Only prompt ac-
tion will save those that have been
exposed to cholera.
(4)—Breed and raise your own
pigs. Better not buy hogs at public
sales unless you are satisfied that the
premises are free of hog cholera in-
fection.
— Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
i
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