6
MOONLIGHT AND MIDNIGHT.
The flowers know the story
Of what the moonlight sees,
At midnight, at mi«ininlit.
Beneath the forest trees.
All day they stir and whisper
And toss their heads in glee;
■Of moonlight and midnight
They know the mystery.
For all too dull are mortals.
Their senses all too slow.
In moonlight, at midnight,
To catch the passing show.
But all the flowers know it;
They wake when mortals dream.
In moonlight, at midnight.
They see the fairies gleam.
They see the mystic dances
Of elves and spirits gay.
In moonlight, at midnight.
How merrily they play!
The beauty of the flowers
Is won in hours like these.
In moonlight, at midnight.
Beneath the forest trees.
Elizabeth French, in Springfield
(Mass.) Republican..
J J
[Copyright, 1897, by F Tennyson Neely.)
|
CHAPTER XXIV.
Never unless sure of its ground and
the weakness of the adversary does the
modern Indian band attack at night.
Folsom aud his people well knew that.
Yet not five minutes after the Indian
firl, faint with exhaustion and dread,
was carried within doors, the big
mastiff challenged again. The dogs
•harged furiously out to the northeast
•nd would not be recalled. For nearly
half an hour they kept up their angry
clamor. Time and again during the
aight, suspicious and excited, they
dashed out again and again, and once
«ue of them, venturing further than
his fellows, broke suddenly into loud
•cries of mingled pain and rage, and
n hpn at last he came whining piteous
•ly back to the ranch it was found that
■he was bleeding from a gash along the
flank, where an Indian arrow had
•eared hitn. Only by fits and starts did
•ny man sleep. Hour after hour Fol
•om's little garrison was on the aleft.
The women had all been moved to the
deep, dry cellar, Mrs. Hal moaning over
her baby, utterly unnerved, Jessie
>»ilent, but white and tremulous; the
herdsman's wife, an Amazon, demand
ed the right to have a gun and fight by
her husband's side; Lizette. the Indian
girl, faint and starved, asked nothing
but to be allowed to crouch at the door
of the room where Halbert lay, fevered
•nd unconscious, and Pappoose, scorn
ing danger, flitted from her brother's
bedside to her father's log-barricade at
the east porch. In dread anxiety the
hours dragged by, and at last Lannion
reached forth his hand and pulled the
shirtsleeve of his comrade Jake, half
dozing at his side. In an instant the
latter was kneeling at his post. "What
Is it?" he queried, and Lannion, point
ing to the first faint, pallid gleam in
the eastern sky, whispered: "Time to
be up, man. It's coining."
For half an hour, except for the rush
ing of the Laramie, a silence almost un
earthly had brooded over the prairie,
and even the dogs seemed lulled to
•leep. But now, as the cold light crept
•slowly over the distant range, and a
•oft flush began to overspread the pal
lor of the dawn, far out over the valley
the yelp of a coyote began again and
all men strained their ears and listened,
while strong hands grabbed the growl
ing dogs and pinned them to earth, for,
beginning at the east, the cry was
taken up on every side. Folsom's
ranch seemed beleaguered by the
£aunt, half-famished wolves of the tip
land prairies. "Look to your sights,
now, men! Down into the cellar, Pap
poose!" exclaimed Folsom, kindling
with fierce excitement. "I've been the
friend of all that tribe for 30 years,
but when they break faith with me
and mine that ends it! Look to your
sights and make every shot count!" he
■cautioned, as he made the rounds of
the little shelters thrown up during
the past two days. "We can stand off a
hundred of 'em if you only keep your
grit."
Perched as it was on a little rise, the
ranch stood forth conspicuous over the
valley. At the foct of the slope to the
eouth lay the corral and some of the
buildings, about 100 yards away, w here
the shallow Laramie curled and lapped
beneath their walls, and now the dogs
seemed to concentrate their attention
on that side. Folsom, rifle in hand,
was kneeling on the porch, listening
intently. Two of the hands were with
him. Jake and Lannion, experienced
and reliable, had been given independ
ent posts 011 the other front, and just
as objects could be dimly recognized
along the flats, there burst upon the
•ears of the little garrison a sudden
•chorus of exultant yells. A tongue of
flame leaped upward from beyond the
huts lately occupied by the ranchmen.
The half-used haystacks caught and
held one moment the fiery messenger,
and then in a broad glare that reddened
the flood of the Laramie for miles and
lighted up the ranch like a sunburst
gave forth a huge column of blaze and
• moke that, could be seen far over the
Black Hills of Wyoming, and all the
•valley seemed to spring to instant life.
On evjry side arose the stirring war
cry ®f the Sioux, the swift beat of
pony hoofs, the ring of rifle, and brave
John Folsom's heart sank within him
as he realized that here was no mere
marauding party, but a powerful band
•organized for deliberate vengeance.
The bullets came whistling through
the morning air, biting fiercely into
the solid logs, scattering the chinking,
smashing pntie after pane. Some of the
dogs came howling and whining back
for shelter, though the mastiffs held
their ground, fiercely barking and
bounding about, despite the whistles
aud calls from the besieged, who
sought to save them to the lust, but not
once as yet had the ranch replied with
a shot. Down in the cellar women
cluug together or clasped their wail
ing children aud listened fearfully to
the clamor. In Hal's room the fevered
sufferer awoke from his stupor, and,
demanding his rifle, struggled to rise
from the bed, and there John Folsom
found Pappoose, pale and determined,
bending over her weakened brother
and holding him down almost as she
cou'.d have overpowered a child. Lift
ing his son in his strong arms, he bore
him to the cellar and laid him upon a
couch of buffalo robes. "Watch him
here, my child," he said, as lie clasped
her in his arms one moment. "Put on
no account let anyone show above
ground now. There are more of them
than 1 thought, yet there is hope for
us. Somebody is vexing them down the
La ramie."
Pounding up the steps, the veteran
was almost back at his post upon the
porch when there came a sound that
seemed to give the lie to his last
words and that froze the hope that
had risen in his breast —the sudden
rumble and thunder of at least 200
hoofs, the charging yell of an Indian
band, the sputter and bang of rifles
close at hand, and then a rush of feet,
as, with faces agonized with fear,
three of the men came darting within.
"It's all up! There's a million In
dians!" tbey cried. Two of the de
moralized fellows plunged into the
passage that led to the cellar. One
burst into childish wailing and clung
to Folsom's knees.
"Let go, you coward!" yelled the
old man in fury, as he kicked himself
loose, and then went bounding out
upon the porch. God, what a sight!
Sweeping tip the gentle slope, bran
dishing rifles and lances and war
clubs, racing for their hapless prey,
came 50 Ogallallas, Burning Star
among the leaders. Bullets could not
stop them now. The two men who
had stood to their posts knelt grim
and desperate, and Lannion's last
shot took effect. Within 50 yards of
the walls Burning Star's rushing pony
went down on his nose, and in the
fury of his pace, turned sudden and
complete somersault, crushing his red
rider under him, and stretching him
senseless on the turf. An inspiration,
almost God-given, seemed to flash upon
the old trader at the instant. Bare
headed, in his shirt sleeves, throwing
upward and forward his empty hands,
he sprang out as though to meet and
rebuke his assailants. "Hold!" he
cried, in the tongue he knew so well.
"Are my brothers crazed? Look! I
am no enemy. It is your friend! It
is old John!" And even in the rage
of their charge, many Indians at
sight of him veered to right and left;
He felled the old trader witb one itunniag blow
many reined up short within ten
paces of the unarmed man; two
sprang from their ponies and threw
themselves between him and their
brethren, shouting to be heard. And
then in the midst of furious discus
sion, some Indians crying out for the
blood of all at the ranch in revenge
for Chaska, some demanding instant
surrender of every woman there in
expiation for Lizette, some urging that
old John be given respectful hearing,
but held prisoner, there came lashing
into their midst a young brave, cry
ing aloud and pointing down the now
well-lighted valley where, darting
about a mile away, a few Indians were
evidently striving to head off the com
ing of some hostile force. Leaving
two or three of their number trying
to restore consciousness to the strick
en chief, and a dozen, Folsom's advo
cates among them, to hold possession
of the rancn, away scurried most of
the warriors at top speed to the aid
of their outlying scouts.
Meantime, under cover of the fierce
argument, Jake and Lannion had
managed to crawl back within the
building. Folsom himself, in such
calm as he could command, stood si
lent while his captors wrangled. The
warriors who pleaded for him were
Standing Elk, a subchief of note,
whose long attachment to Folsom was
based on kindnesses shown him when
a young man, the other was Young-
Shows-the-Road, son of a chief who
had guided more than one party of
whites through the lands of the Sioux
before the bitterness of war arose be
tween the races. They had loved Fol
som for years and would not desert
him now in the face of popular clam
or. Yet even their influence would
have failed but for the sound that
told of hotter conflict still among the
foothills along the opposite side of
the valley. With straining ears, Fol
som listened, hope and fear alternat
ing in his breast. The mingling yells
and volleying told that the issue was
in doubt. Man after man of his cap
tors galloped away until not half a
dozen were left. Now, Jake and Lan
nion could have ehot them down aud
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL n, 1901.
borne him within, but. to what pood?
Escape from the ranch itself was im
possible! Such action would only in
tensify the Indian hate and make
more horrible the Indian vengeance.
For 20 minutes the clamor continued,
then seemed to die gradually away,
and, with fury in their faces, back at
full gallop came a dozen of the braves.
One glance was enough. They had
penned in their foe among the rocks,
but not without the loss of several
at least of their band, for the fore
most rode with brandished war club
straight at Fofsom, and despite the
leap of his two champions t« save,
felled the old trader with one stun
ning blow, then gave the savage or
der to burn the ranch.
By this time the sun was just peer
ing into the valley. The smoke and
flame from the corral were dying
or drifting away. Eagerly half a
dozen young braves rushed for fag
ots and kindling with which to do
his bidding, and a cry of despair went
up from within the walls. Recklessly
now Lannion and his comrade opened
fire from the loopholes and shot down
two of the dancing furies without,
sending every other Indian to the
nearest cover. But the arrows that
came, whistling speedily were fire
brands. The besiegers gained in force
with every moment. Poor old Fol
som, slowly regaining senses as he
lay bound and helpless down by the
stream, whither his captors had
borne him, heard the jeers and shouts
of triumph with which the Indians
within the corral were rapidly mak
ing their fire darts, when suddenly
there rose on the morning air a sound
that stilled all others, a sound to
which the Indians listened in super
stitious awe, a sound that stopped the
hands that sought to burn out the
besieged and paralyze just long
enough all inspiration of attack.
Some of the Indians, indeed, dropped
their arms, others sprang to the
ponies as though to take to flight. It
was the voice of Lizette, chanting
the death song of the Sioux.
An hour later, once more in force,
the band was gathered for its rush
upon the ranch. Jake, gallant fellow,
lay bleeding at his post. Hope of
every kind was well-nigh dead. The
silence without was only portent of
the storm so soon to burst, l'appaose,
grasping her brother's rifle, crouched
facing the narrow entrance to the
cellar. Jessie clung to the baby, for
Mrs. Hal, only dimly conscious, was
moaning by her husband's side, while
Lizette in silence was kneeling, watch
ing them with strange glitter in her
ej'es. Suddenly she started, and with
hand to ear listened intently. Then
she sprang to an air port and
croi>ehed there, quivering. Then again
the ground began to tremble under
the distant thunder of pony feet,
louder and louder every second. Again
came the rush of the Indian braves,
but with it no exultant yell, only cries
of warning, and as this sound swept
over and beyond their walls, there fol
lowed another, the distant, deep
throated trooper cheer, the crack of
carbine, the rising thunder of the cav
alry gallop, and then the voice of Ned
Lannion rang jubilantly over the dull
clamor.
"Up! Up, everybody! Thank God,
it's Dean and the boys!"
Long years after, in the camps and
stockades alid the growing towns of
the far west that almost marvelous
vescue was the theme of many an
four's talk. The number of men who
took part in it, the number of hardy
fellows who personally guided the
troops or else stood shoulder to shoul
der with Ned Lannion at the last tri
umphant moment, increased so rapid
ly with the growing moons that in
time the only wonder was that any
thing was left of the Sioux. Official
records, however, limited the number
of officers and men engaged to a se
lect few, consisting entirely of Lieut.
Loring, United States engineers;
Lieut. Loomis, —th infantry; a few
men from scattered troops, "pickups"
at Frayne and Emory, with Lieut.
Marshall Dean and 50 rank and tile
of company "C."
Loring, it will be remembered, had
taken a small detachment from Em
ory and gone into the hills in search of
Burleigh. Loomis, fretting at the fort,
was later electrified by a most grudg
inglj' given order to march to the Lar
amie and render such aid as might be
required by the engineer officer of the
department. Dean, with only 15 men
all told, had dashed from Frayne
straight for the ranch, and, marching
all night, had come in sight of the
valley just as it was lighted afar to
the westward by the glare of the burn
ing buildings. "We thought it was all
over," said he, as he lay there weak
and languid, a few days later, for the
wound reopened in the rush of the
fight, "but we rode onto the Laramie,
and there, God be thanked! fell in with
Loomis here and 'C' troop, heading for
the fire. No words can tell you our joy
when we found the ranch still stand
ing and some 40 Sioux getting ready
for the final dash. That running fight,
past the old home and down the valley
where we stirred up Loring's be
siegers and sent them whirling, too —
why, I'd give a fortune, if 1 had it, to
live it over again!"
But Loring, after all, had the most
thrilling story to tell —of how he
wormed a clew to Burleigh's hiding
place out of a captured outlaw and
beat up the party in a nook of the
hills, nabbed the major asleep, but was
warned that all the Birdsall "outfit"
would rally to the rescue, and so sent
a courier to Emory for "C" troop, and,
making a wide detour to avoid the
gang, ran slap into the Sioux in the act
of firing Folsom's ranch. Then he had
to take to the rocks in the tight that
followed, and had a desperate siege of
a few hours, even Burleigh having to
handle a gun and fight for his life. "I
spotted him for a coward that day we
stumbled oa Red Cloud's baud up by
the Pig Horn. Tffta remember it. Dean.
1 thought iiint a villain when I learned
how he was trying to undermine you.
Time proved him a thief and a scoun
drel, but, peace to his ashes, he died
like a gentleman, after all, with two
Indian bullets through him, and just
as the rescue came. He had time to
make a full confession, and it was all
pretty much as I suspected. The note
Dean picked up at Reno, that so stam
peded him, told how a blackmailing
scoundrel was 011 his way to Emory to
expose him unless headed off by fur
ther huge payments. It was the fellow
who called himself Newhall."
"The fellow who gave the tip to Bird
sail's people?" said old Folsom at this
juncture, raising a bandaged head from
his daughter's lap. "Who was he,
really?"
"Burleigh knew all the time, and I
suspected the moment I heard Miss
Folsom's description, and was certain
the instant I laid eyes on him. He was
a rascally captain cashiered at Yuma
the year before, and I was judge advo
cate of the court."
"And Mrs. Fletcher?" asked Pap
poose, extending one hand to Jess,
while the other smopthed the gray
curls of her father's forehead.
"Mrs. Fletcher was his deserted wife,
one of those women who have known
better days."
The ranch is still there, or was 20
years ago, but even then the Sioux were
said to raise more hair iu the neigh
borhood than Folsom did cattle. The
old trader had been gathered to his
fathers, and Mrs. Hal to hers, for she
broke down utterly after the events of
'G3. Neither Pappoose nor Jessie cared
to revisit the spot for some time, yet,
oddly enough, both have done so more
than once. The first time its chronicler
ever saw it was in company with a stal
wart young captain of horse and hi*
dark-eyed, beautiful wife nine years
after the siege. Hal met us, a shy, si
lent fellow, despite his inches. "Among
other things," said he, "Lieut, and Mrs.
Loomis are coming next week. I wish
you might all be here to meet them."
"I know," said Mrs. Dean, "we are to
meet at Cheyenne. But, Hal, where'a
your wife?"
He looked sh3*er still. "She don't
like to meet folks unless —"
"There's no unless about it," said the
lady, with all her old decision, as she
sprang from the ambulance, and pres
ently reappeared, leading by the hand
reluctant, yet not all unhappy, Lizette.
Some people said Hal Folsom had 110
business to marry an Indian girl be
fore his wife was dead three years, but
all who knew Lizette said he did per
fectly right; at least Pappoose did, and
that settled it. As for Loring— But
that's—enough for one story.
THE END.
THE LAST LAUGH.
It Wai tlie Brut an<l M ai Enjoyed bj
tbe Man Who Owned
the Linn.
"There's another case of the man
who laughs lasit," remarked a practical
joker the other day, pointing to a tur
nip patch in front of a private resi
dence, says the Washington Star.
"I don't understand where the la/Ugh
comes in," admitted the listener.
"Of course, you don't, but I do, and
the laugh is on me. I thought I was
playing a joke on my friend, who occu
pies the house, but he has the turnips
and I have to buy mine. Some time ago
he wanted grass and clover seed to
plant in front of his house, and like
many other people he thought the ag
ricutural department supply would
make a better showing than any he
could buy in a store. I volunteered to
get the seed, but I concluded I would
put up a job on him."
"And couldn't he tell the difference
between seed for turnips and seed for
grass?" interrupted the hearer.
"He thought there was something
about the seed that was not exactly
right, but, not being a farmer, he was
not certain. I told him the seed had
been brought from the Philippines,
and he expected to see something in
the grass line different from any he had
ever seen before. Soon after the seed
had sprouted and the l'ittle leaves be
gan to show themselves mv friend's
suspicions were aroused, and he made
inquiries about the neighborhood.
Xone of his neighbors could tell what
was growing on his parking and I per
sisted in telling him what a beautiful
grass plot he would have some day.
The tame finally came when the tur
nips could be seen, and 1 my friend en
joyed the joke."
"And.of course, you also enjoyed it?"
the joker was asked.
"Xot much," he answered, "fori am
now buying some of the turnips at
least twice a week when I might just
as well have had them in my own
yard."
A Heard on tlie Subject.
Harry Furnass, the artist, tells an
amusing story at his own expense.
Furniss had been commissioned to il
lustrate a tale for a "serious" period
ical. His drawing represented a lovers'
meeting, and the young man of the pic
ture was of the Family Herald and
Something to Read type, with long,
thin legs, eyes like saucers and a lit tile
"duck" of a mustache.
This would not. do at all for the ed
itor of the serious periodical, who
wrote to Mr. Furniss in tfyese terms:
"Dear Sir: Will you kindly give
Charles? a beard, and show an. aunt,
uncle or other chaperon in the dis
tance? The subject and treatment are,
at present, hardly suitable to our
young readers."—Fourth Estate.
Mourning on Half Time.
"Don't you mourn any longer for
your late husband?"
"Only forenoons, but it will take me
two years. You see, it's this way:
It would not make any difference to
my deceased husband' whether I mourn
for him the whole day long for one
year or a half d>ay for two years—
and 1 it suits me better." —FliegemU
Blae Ite*.
FARM FORESTRY NOTES.
I'lnii l'iirNii<-<I liy n
Lanilon'uor i« of u Sini|rt<- itii<l
i'ructieal \nlure,
Only a limited amount of practical
work in thinning, trimming and cure
of farm woodland has been attempt
ed in the east. Many of the plans de
scribed appear rather complicated to
the average farmer and the forests
are generally allowed to take care of
themselves. The plan pursued by Na
thaniel Norton, of Plymouth county,
Mass., is especially interesting as a
study, even in the west, because of its
simple and practical nature. Ten
years ago he bought 50 acres of mixed
white pine and sprout oak. This tract
lie lias managed by removing all the
oak that interfered with or shaded
the growing pines until the woodland
has been transformed from a miscel
laneous forest tract to valuable pine
SECTION OF IDEAL WOODLAND.
land. The Illustration snows a por
tion of the present tract after trim
ming and thinning.
In many parts of this woodland the
timber's bulk has doubled in seven
years. The plan was to take out those
oak that interfered with or shaded
too much the young pine.«, leaving
enough of them standing to encour
age the sprouting of pine seeds which
came up in all parts of the ground
without planting. The sprouts from
oak stumps were pounded off in win
ter when the stumps were frozen. Mr.
Morton does not wait for limbs to die
before pruning, but begins to trim off
the lower branches when the trees are
five feet high, repeating the treatment
when the trees increase In height.
This plan keeps the branches from
growing into the timber. It is found
that quick healing is promoted by
cutting the limb extremely close, so
that the inner trunk bark on all sides
is penetrated, making a scar about
twice the diameter of the limb cut
off. Limbs up to three inches in diam
eter cut off in this way heal much fast
er than those merely cut off close to
the outside bark. It is not stated that
this principle will apply to trees other
than pine.
The experience of Mr. Morton indi
cates that about 33 years are re
quired to bring pines from seed to a
size suitable for lumber. Others al
low 45 years. The soil used by Mr.
Morton is very light, with a sandy
subsoil. Trees 10 to 25 years old ap
pear to have made an average yearly
gain in growth of wood of fully 100
per cent. The illustration shows a
part of Mr. Morton's tract, on which
are pines about 50 years old. The for
eign growth has been removed and
the trees trimmed since owned by Mr.
Morton. The owner estimates that
the wood on the lot paid for the ex
penses of removing the foreign
growth. Bushes were kept mowed at
a cost of about SSO for the entire
period.—Orange Judd Farmer.
HnialiiK Cnttle on Fnrmn.
It is not true that the cattle busi
ness to be profitable must be con
ducted on'the broad ranges of the
western plains, says Texas Farm and
Ranch. That is one profitable system
of cattle raising, but there is another
which yields fully as great profits for
the capital invested. Raising cattle
on the farm has in all countries and
all ages been found profitable, and
more so now than ever. By raising
cattle on the farm the farmer has a
good market for all the feed he can
raise, saves labor and expense of
transportation and avoids much loss
from waste and hocus-pocus of com
merce. And one of the main features
of stock farming is that it can be
made to continually improve the fer
tility and value of the farm.
lilenl Hutlona fur Duckling*.
In a trial at the New York station,
at Geneva, ducklings fed on an ex
clusive grain ration died so fast that
the ration had to be chatiged, while
those fed on a ration containing ani
mal meal averaged 4.2 pounds in
weight at nine weeks old. The latter
ration was composed as follows:
Cornmeal, 14 parts by weight; ani
mal meal, 11 parts; ground oats, two
parts; wheat bran, two parts; pea
meal, two parts; wheat middlings,
one part; old process linseed meal,
one part; malt sprouts, one part;
brewer's grains, one part, and gluten
meal, one part. One pound of salt
was used with 360 pounds of the mix
ture.
A successful nest for the early sit
ter is in a barrel laid on its side and
facing the wall, with just room
enough for the hen to eater.
HINTS ON MANAGEMENT.
Poultry Krepliiß U a JlnMineNM I hat
( UIIN for tl»e ( oiintunt KxcrciNe
Of CaOOll .1 U lltf 111 I'll t .
Poultry should pay a good -profit,
but if neglected will run one into
debt. The smaller the flock, the
greater the individual yield. Fifty
hens are the largest number that
should be allowed to run in one flock.
Too many are usually kept together,
and room on the roost is frequently
restricted. The roosts should be low
and level, and not one above another,
like the rounds of a ladder, as fowls
will all seek the highest roost, and
many will be crowded off and prob
ably injured by falling. Hens that
are accustomed 1o low roost s are less
inclined to scale fences, and may be
confined in pens with less trouble.
The ground under the roost should
be covered with loose gravel mixed
with loam, unless a board floor is
used, it is better to have two yards
than one, as one may be cultivated
while ih<* other is occupied. In this
way roots and forage may be grown
for the fowls on land fertilized by
their droppings. An open shed is very
important, as affording protection
from cold in winter and heat in sum
mer. Hens to be profitable should
be carefully fed, and if they are \v?ll
cared for they will give a profit. If
hens are fed on varied food they muss
lay eggs. Clover hay finely cut is ex
cellent for winter feeding in place of
the green stuff they usually get in
summer. Close breeding will causo
the eggs to be infertile. Young fowls
may pay better than old ones, but
something depends upon circum
stances, so far as age is concerned.
Brahmas should seldom be more than
two years old if one is seeking the
greatest profit. Never keep more
than 100 chicks growing in the same
yard, and not so many if of different
ages. For sitting hens half barrels
without heads set in the ground half
their depth are excellent. Make nests
of hay on the earth; in cold weather
such nests exclude cold air beneath
the eggs. In warm weather the neat
should be in a cool place. Sitters
should be kept by themselves to pre
vent any annoyance from other hens.
A coop placed over the nest large
enough to allow of a dust bath works
well. Have food convenient, so th-s
sitting hen can eat and go back t.">
her nest before the eggs get cold. It
pays to give care to sitting liens, as
they will then, as a rule, bring of?
larger broods.—Farm and Fireside.
POULTRY SELF-FEEDER.
A Simple Contrivance Which Saves
Lot* of Hard Work and Pro
mote* Thrift anil Keononiy.
It is simple In construction and
may be of any size desired, but for
30 or 40 hens it should be about one
foot wide, three feet long and IVi
feet high. The ends (a a) should be
cut as shown, then a board as wida
SELF-FEEDER FOR POULTRY,
as the ends and as long as the feed
er should be nailed horizontally be
tween the ends as they stand upright
and four inches below the shoulders.
Cut the sides (b b) and nail in posi
tion; next make a V-shaped trough
as long as the feeder and invert be
tween the lower edges of b b to keep
the food from running out too much
at once. Nail on strips (c c), which
should be four inches wide, and put
on a cover with hinges.—l'. L. Mc-
Vey, in Orange Judd Farmer.
Whnt ItcNult to the Soil t
I would not seem to undervalue sta
ble manure, but it is a mistake to
suppose that land must grow poor
when we cease to feed everything
upon the farm. It is not necessary
to sacrifice all income for the sake
of keeping up the soil. Now that we
know more about the composition of
the soil, we know that productiveness
depends in great degree upon the
presence of organic matter in it, and
notsolely upon stable manure or com
mercial fertilizers. The ideal condi
tion would be one in which a goodly
number of live stock could be kept
with profit on nearly every farm, but
the cattle feeders of most fertile
eastern valleys must give up a farm
scheme that makes fat cattle and
wheat the only cash products. The
list of cash crops will be made longer
and clover, peas and sods must be
freely used to supplement the ma
nure.—Farm and Fireside.
Selection I'IKKI for Hatching-
Select the hens that are to produce
the early pullets now. Get the breed
ing birds together early in the sea
son. Feed them well, both in the
morning and evening, and give them,
a little meat each day. Give a good
feed of the best grain before the
roosting time. This system of diet in
the winter will keep the birds healthy
and robust. The eggs will be prefect
and the chickens will be healthy.
The eggs must be gathered daily and
placed in a fairly warm place until
a sufficiency is procured for a eorr
plete sitting. After the spring is
advanced, if you have then
had success and your yari'
avoid setting more eggs
advisable, where eggs
nearly all the year r
early pullets by h
early as it cau >
F ! ide.