The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on January 23, 1895 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, January 23, 1895
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AMI GAKDM m pw 8fii m sesamt «t high wlfidS %M butting dfoHth. «._—14 xss k&M tteff ^Kj^'^VteaA iM tesft. lire, fof ?* ttt Strife, art Who f>orl&hda i: stiff etfbfctjs. ,.— saoa to hisei thftttt la thai • bivotiae ei the Semi, AS ihS SiltdtftfS a?0iind US nKm* wurmu-f *Aftd I Want ta swS m'f oomrjdSj, When thS . dh -els call the foil, Ml ready for Wsfcecilloft ih tho —„ , "when V6 enltilsd and theSi , tt-rihlilsd bfows wore ta,lt, And &tif ejres tl-efe uhdtaiaed in tholf vteiott ."«Afiil Hie -frost-i" that neve> melt had h6 KUtherod on our half, JM<1 riltf stop hid hot lost Its precision Utuilie years haVo built their terraces oh , fcVorv corai'ide?' brow, Afid '\ u raikoj our wdarv ittnb* qutfref, •Ar.uthi)'-frosts" tvfe,Tallin/ thick and we're ofl tho double quick *3'o tiu camp that is over the rtref. liut tho' tho veterans vanish their children httll remain, The deeds of tholr fathers to cherish: .Aud the cause for which we battled our chtl ' dren will tnainttv.n, VuiU the foes or our b.mrier shall perish! iter \vo buttled hot In yala if still that bahne wave?, 1'hro' iifios our nation adornln? And loval AtincU shall plant it mid the flowen Upon our craves, tflll tlis KJMnd revilio in the morhlnj. . Lady Latimer's Escape, BY CHAKI,OTTJ3 M. HKAEHIE. CHAPTER XII, . No one but myself knew how •'. •dreaded that coming New Year for Lady Latimer. She had left off hating me now, poor darling {'she told me she knew it had all come about for the " "best. "You acted rightly, Audrey," she said to me one day, when the disma' snow was falling, falling as if it nevei -meant to stop, and there was an un utterable stillness over everything round Lorton's Cray. • 'Quite right for you are a good woman, and coulc not do otherwise; but now I love his memory as I loved him in life. ; I fee as if I should almost win heaven if •'. •could lie by his side in the grave. Ah he has no grave; no—" She burst into pabsionata weeping, and I could say nothing to comfort her the dead man had been the only love of her life—the only worship thai • comes to us all sooner or later. Alas for those to whom, like her, it comes too late! She had been quietly content 'to stay at the old house, wrapped ' • up in her own sorrow anc the good she was trying to do to al ••around her with her husband's legacy. . She did not know that all heaven, as it'seemed to me, lay at my feet, and ] •did not dare to stoop my. hand anc] pick it-up. Lord'Latimer found me • alone in the cozy boudoir one disma November day, when ho came to see •after .the business of some of the es- ';tate, and almost before I knew whal lie was talking about, he asked me to lie his wife. My face spoke what my tongue •could not utter, and he caught mo in Ms-arms and kissed me, not once, but -a dozen times. "I think we have understood each other all along-," he said, "Look me in the face and tell me that you will , toe my .wife,' Audrey, my own," I did not say it; I remembered my mother's words, and hesitated. Presently I told him what was in my heart, and how I could never -marry'him without the consent of my parents,, •and I doubted its being given. It was riot for me, Audrey Lovel, to aspire to "be mistress of Lorton's Cray. Lord . Latimer laughed, and said it was all nonsense, '•Your father will consent," he said. ««I will go to him to-day and bring- you iis permission in an hour." ,^ But my father refused flatly and un, compromisingly, and would give no •'reason; and I went -'home brokenhearted after I had seen my lover ride away, with a dark look of determination on his face, to ask for an explanation, I knew what my dear mpther's i fear bad been; that I should give my heart away and have nothing- in ra- ' turn,..that -Lionel Fleming was only '^musing himself by a flirtation with - m"e;Jshe did not know, dear mother, ~ • what' a loyal heart she was misjudging, i\-J, beard my father's reason and it near. ,y broke my heart. Never a rich r*:man, he had been struggling- for years , "\vitb the diflioulty of making- both ends ',t. and the boys had grown' daily ' fljpi-e expensive, He bad seen a way, ,'as-he thought, by a safe speculatipn, ,j |p almost double his income by risk- bis small remaining capital; be ; risked and lost, He had nothing , , TF ,? but bis stipend, never enough to "?',Jte§p us in "comfort;' and 'mother was - #PJpg to take in, two boarders to spoil , tb,e tjear bpme circle, and - the boys ,, were to be sent out into tbe world as .Atbey grew p}d enpugb tP fight the bat« r'$£ pf life for themselves, .1 understood, the vefusa.1 new,, Jeel with' my father i» his pride. We were a „ e L.oye}s, aijd it wguld be* gaid i tbe. vieai 1 had angled'for the pew ""1 caught him jop bis »£^,Mfl^&iWi»'7lp. Ift5fnn i'Enaaft^r'h An.nfn.nTi a tf Is* .IM.II cm \ .-n n ly iftst fot the stSltUf'-iftifigs wlis'ttf fegift -' cdminf yeftf, afid hotte Wotild hoffie fid idnfe^ with the stfafigers ifl it afid tfae bi^ boys awdyi ShS had sbme" fetoftl^ Mehdl coining to kef f tit the holidays— gtfod woffl^n with ffiissiofts ahd nOtiottSi arid 1 did not feel at hbiMe with' them somehow. She was taking to that sort of thing, though she Was hot half strong-minded enough for it; and I had very little in common with the people it brought Me in coft tact with. lliere always seemed so much of self and so little of Christian charity in their proceedings that 1 had ho sympathy with them; they 'could do very Well without me. And so it came about that I was at home, very sad and heavy-hearted; but we were to have a Wonderful New Year, after all. It was a wihtei' of surprises. On Christmas morning there catae the news, through my father's lawyers, that the risky speculation had not been a risk after all, but a tremendous success. A check for a large sum was inclosed, and a request that at his leisure the Hover- end Archibald Lovel would go to town and confer with them about the remainder; My father accepted it unsuspecting. I had my doubts as to where tho money came from, but I could not utter them. I expected I should see Lionel before long, and I did. I met him in the lane leading to the vicarage, and he bent down from his saddle, and said something about the silver lining turning Up. I . could not betray him. The revulsion of feeling after so much relief would have broken my father's heart. So I was very happy when the last day of the old year dawned bright and clear, as it had dawned on that day that seemed in the far past now, though it was only three years ago. The day could never be otherwise than a sad one for me, I. thought; it will never ;be a sad one any more now. My father had been to London and learned that, instead of being a ruined man, as he believed, he was richer than he had been before; and Iliad won him over to say that perhaps, in the future, if things went well with him, he would withdraw the decisive "No" that had been his answer to Lord Latimer. I knew what that meant; we only had to ask now, and the permission would be given. Lionel was coming to the vicarage in the evening, and then — ah then! I could hardly persuaed myself that it was all real, and that I should not wake from a blissful dream, and find the two boarders invading our happy homo, and the dear 'boys gone. It was growing dark and I was sitting up in the old nursery, so full of childish memories of mischief and fun, when Millie, a tall slip of a girl now, and a person of importance in her own eyes, as the daughter of the house and mother's right hand, came up with a mysterious look on her face. "There's some one asking for you, Audrey, dear," she said. "For me! Who is it?" I said with a sudden chill at my heart, for I fancied something must have happened to Lionel. , "I don't know," she said. "It is you he wants; I told him father and mother would not be long before they came in, but heroes not want them." "Where is hef" - : "In the hall." Millie evidently did not think much of my mysterious visitor. I hastened down, and there, under the lamp, stood a tall, white-haired man, rather shabbily dressed, who turned sharply as he heard my footsteps, and spoke in a voice filled with tears, it seemed to me. "Miss Lovel," he said, "I have come to you for news before I go any further — I have come straight from the ship. How is she? Where is she? I know that he is dead or I should not be here. For heaven's sake, tell . me that she is alive and well — and free, or I shall so mad!" Who was speaking to me? What familiar voice was sounding in my ears? Why did the face of this stranger with the snowy hair take the shape of that dead man's features, and his eyes look at me with the eyes of the man whose anger I braved on that aftd tho adventures hg afteWard, tosffife he -pt away from his cap-toi-a, is property, ftnd faded not be repeated here 1 ; he had teen fottfld alive tiftdei? cirdumstahces that the Mtives thbugfit- iniraculoue, find they took possession Of him as a sort of diety, an inviilhw* able dreature whotn nothing cottld kill. It was long before he could get away—ho was Watched too closely; and when he did, it was only tb lie ill of fevet 1 for many inohths in a hospital at Cape Town. When he got well, he came straight back to England and to the woman ho had loved and wrdnged s hearing in South Africa of the death of hef husband. There is nothing tnot«e to tell; what should there be P 1 finish this story oft the eve of two weddings, for some tiiqe past there has been all sorts of preparation e-oing on in King's Lorton, for everything that we two brides have, provided that the dear old town can furnish, has been procured there. The church is decorated with flowers, and the autumn sun shines clear and bright, for August has come round again. The year of Lady Lorton's widowhood is over, and to-morrow. \yill see her the wife of '.the only man who ever had her heart. And it is my to-morrow,* too. I shall come out of the old church Lady Latimer. Lionel would take no more nays, and my father will help the. bishop, who was once his schoolfellow and chum, to marry me to the man of my choice. What has the future in store for us, I wonder? Nothing but happiness, if I may trust the songs of the birds and the sweet breath of the flowers that come in to ine through the windows. I must go home now; I have plenty to do yet; but I had come to make a last arrangement with Lady Latimer—she will be my aunt to-morrow, by the way—a funny idea—and I have' kept the pony-carriage waiting an unconscionable . time. Lionel and Colonel North are to sleep at tho hotel tonight, and will see us no more till we meet them in all our bravery at the altar. It is time the colonel went. I can hear his voice singing in the drawing-room—all his sufferings have not spoiled that. '•The arrow to the quiver, And the wild bird to tho tree; The stream to meet the river, And the river to tho sea. Tho waves are wedded to the teach, And the shadows to the lea 1 And like to like, and each to oaeli, And I—to theo." And the memory of the last time 1 heard him sing that song- is all blotted out in the joy and happiness of the present, and the future stretches before us, unbroken by a pain, unshad- owed by a cloud. '•••.TUB END. Perils of J'olltioa. "My friend," said the candidate .for sheriff, drawing a one-eyed stranger close to his means of livelihood, °do you want fco make $5 easy to-night?" . "Yep!" "All right. When I say in speech, 'Is there a man among who will deny this .statement?' jump to your feet in tho rear of hall and shout: 'Yes, sir; I will. my you you the You are a liar, and I can prove it!' and read from this clipping. Then I will call you down and make you ridiculous, but you williget the V. nevertheless; Is it a go?" "Nope." .-••'•'' "Why not?" "I tried the same thing in Wild Cat Gulch a year ago, and the candidate jumped on me so hard that the audience kicked me out of the rode me out of town on a didn't get the five, either, someone else—I've been Boston Herald. hall and rail. I. Try it on there."— Beat for the AVoinan. An old bachelor was rather taken aback in this wise; Picking up a book, he exclaimed, upon seeing a wood cut of a man kneeling at the feet of a wo^ man: "Before I would condescend to kneel to a woman.. I would encircle my neck with a rope and stretch it." And then turning to a young lady he inquired; "Do you think it would be the best thing I could do?" "It would undoubtedly be the best ply. Always » Wi»y. Tramp—Please, mum, I don't want nothin' but the privilege of sittin' here and }istenin''to Madame Patti, th' groat pi-ima donna, sing, Mrs. Youngwife — Goodness me! She isn't here, Tramp—Padding, mum, but I heather now, Mrs, Youngwife—Why, that's my baby crying. Put don't go, Pinner will be ready soon, aitter winter's night? I stared at him, for the woman," was the sarcastic re feeling as if I were turning into stone, "Colonel North!" I gasped out, "is it you, or am I going mad?" He answered something; I saw his .ips move, but the floor of the hall seemed to be rising up to meet me, and the walls and the dancing h-elight to be joining in a wild whirl, [ heard a voice say something about laving frightened me, and then the ;all figure vanished in a sort of mist, and everything was black around me, .t was in> Lionel's > arms- that I came back to life; my. head was on his shqulder, and my mother was standing by my side. "Yes, it is true, dear," she said, answering the question my eyes asked. 'The -cQlonel Is not dead. He has come back after almost incredible hardships. a.nd escapes, He did not in* tend to fpigbten you so.'' He game to my ii4e, a wan shadow Pf ft RWW, utterly unlike, the glorious. p£ jnanhQpd thftt I reni,em.« bered so well, and wh.eji J was quite fee asked nje Jf. £a4y \ve.lp0me hjnri, to kno\rtha,t she for* "If ttwo metre between 'to know 8ho,uid. gives, pas," be n,e,Yer. fee it How Tl»oy Go, Cigar Pealer, disconsolately—I've lost Another steady customer for my imported cigars. Friend— Who? "PeadP" <*Np; gone off on a wedding tour." "fje'jl gome back.'' "Yes, and then be'U begin smoking- bj? hard on tbe fepy , the young- profligate's, mptfeep, *<{ hfl'fl hfifin wllrl hi it. >in rvlwaa 66*6 tr<> toBftts Mlht* tlbn t>f the Soil and *l6iH« Therfc&f— Mortlculturc, Vltlttiitntft &h& t'lort cnltufc. of 1 am often asked by lettef how 1 manage Blackcaps in planting cultivating and pruning. To answer each inquify it lakes much times and as many • that make inquiries are f eaders of the FAftM- ftfcs* REVIKW, I answer through that medium, and I hope to ftiako the most practical mode of planting and after \vork so plain that the novice in berry growing will know of a certainty how to proceed from start to finish, and all inquiries may be fully answered. How to plant— We should plant the rows seven feet apart, and set the plants three feet apart in the rows. Plant rows north and south where practicable, but would' rather plant east and west than to plant up and down hill. Well grown plants before taken up occupy with their roots a circle of about one foot in diameter, I there* fore dig holes for plants at least one foot across and several inches deeper than the plants want to be set. Tho setter draws some of the good top soil back into the hole, leaving it higher in the middle, and having it deep enough to allow the' sprout of plant to be about two inches below the sui-face, and let the long, small roots slop.e downwards around the center and fill fine soil on the roots and press it down firm, but leave soil mellow and rake after rains to prevent crust from forming. Cultivate and hoe often, but the steel rake is more safe to use until plants are well up. When plants have grown to be about one foot high pinch from tips of leading shoots about one and one half inches to. make them grow more stocky and they will form better hills and not grow so low and sprawling. After pinching a tip back once, do not touch it again that season, but let it grow at will. Never tie to stakes. If the soil is good, and good cultivation given, and. plants were good to start with, you will be siirprised at their great growth. It matters not what form your vines may take, do not touch them until the next spring, and especially if you have planted the Older, they will take care of themselves, as far as winter's " winds and cold are concerned, as they need no protection, winter or summer, to stand our climate, north or south. The next spring shorten in the canes to make a compact hill, perhaps ho larger than a '• half : bushel basket. As soon as pruning is done each spring, keep ground well cultivated, the more often the better, until berries are nearly ripe; Mulching put in at that time will hold moisture and keep fruit clean. The last of May or fore part of June, one year from planting, the young canes will spring up from the hills, and when they are from 18 to 24 inches high, according to their strength arid uprightness, cut or pinch from their tops about one and one half inches. Go over the. patch about every two> r days (as the canes grow up very quickly) and pinch off all canes as they get the right height, We usually watch tho patch for shoots about ten days after we commence to pinch back. We say again, never pinch a cane but once, and we would about as soon dig up the whole patch and throw it intOithe brush pile as to neglect to pinch the canes at the right time. After the pinching back is all done they want no more pruning until the next spring, except cutting out old canes after fruiting. As soon as the crop of fruit is picked, remove all old canes that fruited, cutting them off near the ground, and carry out at once and burn them. As soon as old canes are out cultivate at once, to be out of the way of young canes, and clean out with hoc all weeds and grass that may be among the hills. In after years do as already advised, but pinch back canos somewhat higher, but leave them not over two and » half feet higb, to get the greatest, crop, and stand winds without supports, As hills get old9r,perhaps they, may throw up too many canes in a hill, In that case, after removing old panes, cut out all surplus ones, leaving the best and strongest, I often leave as many at. eight pr ten, jf even in si^e. The moj-e left the closer one has to prune, Pour strong canes with many laterals are better than more. Shorten in canes every spring to make a good hill and row, and not leave the canes top long, You will be move inclined to leave too much wood rather than not enough. There is no rule to lay down to prune by, but to use our best "judgment. After a season or two of cavef ul watching we will ieavn what they need. Differ' ent varieties need somewhat different treatment, as some grow more sprawling tbftn others. Tbe Older will take pn » hotter form of row, of itself, than any other UJ&cH- c#p that ? have can be pvuned to make* q?jie Older is the ideal bu§u, and nq Other grpw§ in ,SP fine a lorm, neither pn tbey be 'pawned to grow like, i and tbeyiye mes»p}-e pleasure,, like a hedge; theyusKially gite Us ,ifig ffdffi twelve td fdttfteeli dftfe. aldeiV ipb%s, tains oi them 18 old, «?odu66d thS ffibst fMi. .,-, |»stch is always penmed and eat-ed Idf accofdiffg td the above and 1 always succeed In having & heavy crop of if alt. 1 use no wire or other supports, give no winte* f)f6tecbibn) although cold reaches thirty-five degrees below ±e¥ 6. 1 think any novice in fttiit grtiwing, by following these instructions afld practices, with good brains and a will* ing mind, may do well, as the above is practical and not all theory,'-!* fc. Ballat-d in Fanners' tt&view. ever planjiecli wi»4 stww. eyej? hef aye, S.Q .te Drawing out manure in the spring when the Work is pushing and the ground is soft and muddy is always a bother and a bugbear to the new hired man who comes about that time. All this work could be saved, and much more of the fertilizing value of the manure, by drawing it out and spreading it as fast as it is made. Then, too, work is not so pushing and a man has plenty of time to draw out a load every day, or two or three times a week.—Practical Dairyman. On this National Dairyman comments as follows: All very plausible, and indeed very practical on dead level land, but what about hilly land, where the most valuable part of the manure will be washed away by the heavy rains or as the snow melts? There are two sides to every question, and while hauling a load every day may be economical in one way it means hitch- irijj up for every load instead of for half a day's work. But that is the smallest consideration. The main thing is the horrible waste by spreading the gre'en manure and exposing it to alternate sun and rain. We confess to an old fashioned liking for a manure heap under cover and well cared for by pumping the liquid manure over it now and then, increasing its size by leaves, sweepings, etc., and it was with satisfaction that we read in Hoard's Dairyman the following by Mr. J. D. Smith of Delaware county, New York: "Some nine years ago we built our house and found it necessary to tear down our pig pen. The following season we, concluded to build a carriage house and horse barn. This is 30x40; our old house was 27x34. This wo placed upon a foundation at the end of the horse barn on a line with the lower side, making the length of the two 74 feet. I removed all flooring and floor joists, and made a jement floor about two feet below the sills. I never expect to live long enough to see the sills rot out. • The cement • floor is laid on an incline of eight inches in twenty- seven feet. (If building again would have as much as twelve inches incline.) At the lowest, or back side, I made a sort of trough or depression to conduct the liquids toward the center. In the wall at this point I left an opening or doorway large enough for a good sized hog to go through. Through this opening all the liquids pass into a vat, the bottom of which is about four feet below the bottoin of the main pen. This vat is what I .term my 'manure factory.' It is 13 feet wide, .48 feetlong and about 10 feet high, a wall laid in cement with water tight cement bottom. In the center of the wall I left a wide doorway which is high enough to back a wagon under the sill to clean out the manure. The manure from tho horse stable goes into this vat every day and is worked up by the pigs, absorbing the liquids. We have never yet worked it to its full capacity, but have taken out 150 good wagon loads as the year's make. I find it more valuable for the production of corn, grass or any farm crops than any cow manure I can get. The liquids from pigs are very rich in potash, and I find no >M difflculty in % growing fine crops of clover on land manured with that taken from this vat," "bark Age of Agriculture," The "dark age of agriculture" in England is said to have been during tbe civil strife known as the Wars of th§ Roses. This idea is corroborated by Mr.'Corbettin his recently published work on the history of England, He remarks that ''during the whole of the years between the revolt of the peasants under Wat Tyler and their re. volt in 1549 under Ket hardly a single improvement was introduced. The uses of clover, turnips and artificial grasses still remained unknown, plowing continued to be little more than a scratching of tbe surface, dr&ining and manuring were neglected; and even marling went somewhat put of fashion. For draft purposes horses were still hardly ever used,, oxen being preferred, because, they cost less to keep i» winter, wanted no shoes, and, when dead were man's meat, wherea§ bors,es were carrion, A»d. yet the common padres, were }R many cases as bare a»a unsheltered, »ad the grass so popr, tb^t we are assured, it was. almost impossible to keep work' ing oxen }n condition upon them," Tbe of "eucb herbj& Jnjiteg, ppts m , grew yearly o%,\ Q| this 3 ~>i eee,4«'' VfhiPh h»4 feeen. pjijn. the Jaj$1» $h.e dtp 9! the i u ta prOfie^ Of jtjni§,£re^ also, y mtkti IFSIB Be^ i r* vt i v« f» ' fyf * TflA Mn * *»>»•• --^* that tvtf^ ffaftoi ft is but a ffiedificaWdfi tsi fdfm-^as ustiaily 6*pf gsied ef a pl&at fs mlf ft aedllte fcntgfefltfceigaibliaels a tioh< afid leftf and bfafiCh ' be tfafisfof ffled dene* kaew&'that Maay leases; those of begonia, will f f d3tm§ which ultimately became fives a eabbage leaf tvlll tendency to ptodiice & Wdody an illiistratibfi Is gif 6n df die, a tveli'known gfWWe^ iff'whfcfa the. upper pdt tioh of the midrib has started *• c-tf on its own account aad stalk with small cabbage leaves jeetlng ffott it. ^ ... the elements that eompds6 t ;,., our lands, there is nothing the adtlott.^g of which has given birth to more cott*V;l troversies than that of hutttus, One III class of men have regarded it as of n6 ,ff use whatever, or at least of doubtful' ^' utility, while the others do not heal* ' '.j tate to pronounce it of inestimable '' value. Those writers that consider it v> of no practical Use, base their esti* '$ mates on reasons whose importance is",*} more apparent than real. At the or* ' J igin of the world, they say, the' first? ^ plants that developed upon the'.4. surface of the earth were not able;,/*" to find any humus, since that;,? element can not be formed except by' »|; the decomposition of plants or of ani»' i ^ mals which have previously lived. For v)' a prop to their opinions they cite the',',* interesting experiences of M. Boussiiig ** ant, a French savant, who proved thai,,,, in an earth artificially constructed' Of'*'l sand, pounded brick, ashes from the 4? fire place, and nitrates of potash and > ; ~ soda, plants watered would grow and !., acquire their complete development.'^ From these reasons they conclude'^! that mineral matters, phosphate, car-" J bonate of lime, alcalies, potash and , soda, furnished by ashes, and, nitro-X, gen brought in by the mineral-'If salts (nitrates) suffice to the,/j development of our harvests,' and that'{'^ consequently humus is useless. But',^ good farmers see things in a different ",'IS manner, and have always considered "-'-fefj humus as an agent necessary to the J'^, fertility of their fields. It is true that"j<>;. ! plants will, live, barely live, without '-*;* humus, but that is necessary if <weVv? 'would-obtain not only harvests, but *,* abundant harvests. '" MB. DUNCAN, an extensive cotton, ^'| planter in the Mississippi bottom, who ;j visited Russia last year for the pur-,'* J pose of gaining information in regard to the culture of the sunflower in that »^f, country, gives his observation as fol- .,'^;| lows: "The Russians who grow the" ('«'" plant generally sow the seeds after a • '••„ crop of wheat and rye has been har- ,>| vested from the land. Some sow after, "fif, oats and buckwheat, but have found ' : it less profitable to sow after the latter, <' as the buckwheat takes up such a large V per cent of potassium from the soil that fl the flower does not pay. It thrives t ; and heads well after crops of rye and *. £ clover. The land intended to be,,' planted is thoroughly plowed in the j fall and left until the next spring, at • Wi which time the seeds are sown, either > /7j in drills or broadcast. If in rows, they,' ' ^ ; are/planted from twelve to twenty-four r inches apart, depending largely on the',, SI fertility of the soil. On some of 1 the ' " " rich, black lands, they grow four to six crops without resting the land. 1 .* • KEEPING APPLES.—A correspondent ; of the National Stockman who cares o for a large quantity of apples yearly ri ,-\ says: "I have found a cool, moderate rA damp cellar the best place to keep"' them. After rejecting all unsoupd^ fruit I store immediately in cellar if it;; .is a cool one; if not in an outbuilding'4-** constructed of heavy lumber, the ob~ Si ject being to keep them cool. They' must be cool if expected to keep. '• Warmth hastens ripening and event'' ually decay. When, there is danger, 'of ,;. freezing, remove to the cellar. I have • kept them on shelves, in barrels, small medium and large boxes; J succeeded best in using boxes b about ten bpshels, having kept until May with a loss of only bushels in 500. In a continued,"e^* periraent of sixteen years I saved third more using the ten bushel I than with barrels, The reason pbvious."—Ex, >.,(.» >*/ MISTAKEN Vow CHO&EJU, -Cholera is ^|l disease that plays sad havoc' when,; it ' <J once strikes a farm. Jt males' I ' " with its wocls of destruction; • highly contagious, and s,ppn qj, among all the well ones. But c troubles are often ^aken for ehPl Indigestion gives the unhealthy nure seen in cases of cholera, a»4 olHaji'$1 leads to a belief thftHbe dreftde.fl 4i8T ease is abptttt Wee, 4o t the fpwjs give every i ,„„„,. of ehQlere. ajj^ygt they'*, frpm it, Reep the prewUses, Qiej andtjonp!; overcrpwcj "----•-'-"there wiU be }esj cry awe. &wls "thaa ewHsrat «m JMSS ,&f

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