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WEEKLY-nonAnkéanann ?
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LULLABY. '
Riv-er up yo‘ haid, my little lady.
Eyeah de win‘ a-blowln' out o’ do's.
909' you kick. ner projlck wid do comfo't,
, Less’n fros'll bit yo' little toes.
Shut yo’ eyes, au’ snuggle up to mummy;
61' me bore yo’ han’s, I'hol' ’em.tight:
Bon’ you be ateard, an’ 'mence to trimble
Des ez soon c2 I blows out de light.
Angels is a-mindin’ you, my baby,
Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night.
’v‘x’hat de use 0' bein' skeered o’ nuflin’.?
You den' fink dc da’kness gwine to bite?
”What do crackiu' soun’ you hyeah erroun’
you ?— ,
Lawsy, chile, you tickles me tofdet‘I-fi
iDat's de man what brings d;e frog, a
paintin’ .'v _ " ‘
Picters 0:: de winder wid his bref.’
Mammy ain' afeard. you hyeah huh lafiln’?
Go ’way, Mistah Fros’, you can’t come 112';
Baby ain‘ erceivin’ folks dis evenin’,
Reckon dat you’ll have to call ag'in.
(furl yo’ little. toes up so, my possum——
Umph, but you's a cunnin’ one fu' truck;
.850 to sleep. de angels is a-watchin', -
An' yo' mammy’s mindin’pf you, too.
-—Paul Laurence Dunbar, in Saturday
Evening Post.
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. OR THE land’s sake, pa,” called out
' Mrs. Drusilla Gladden to her hus—
band ds‘he’iviped hiS‘fcet- on a piece of
carpet at the kitchen door, “I thought
you’d never get in. Guess who sent. me
a letter. You’d never think in a month
of Sundays. It’s from Devah Bland-—
my Cousin Devah.” '
Pa gave a smile of interest and rubbed
his hands.
“Well, I swan, now! 'And ‘what- has
Davy got to say for himself?”
“He’s coming to Ohio to visit. He’ll
be here next week. What do you think
of that?”
Fa pulled off his boots eontentedly.
"‘I won’t be sorry to see Davy. We
war in school together. What say? Is
he doing well?”
“Doing well, but his wife’s dead; been
dead two year or more. I bet you a
great deal, pa, he’s on the warpath.
And to think Angeline Culver’s visiting
around here just now, and‘she’s a wid-
dcr. Pa, it looks like the. ’pintin’s of
Providence, don’t it?”
Mrs. Gladden smiled benignly» on her
husband and he on her. They’were in
love with each other, and had been for
.20 years. ' ,
"It truly does,” replied pa, “it truly
does. Jest think how those two court-
ed over three years, wasn’t it? I hold
the split was all Angeline’s folks’ fault,
wasn’t it? That old man Porter never
stayed anywhere and got. a streak to
move to Indiana. Her ma wouldn'tlet
her stay here, and that. made Devy prop-
erly mad. They kep’ it up awhile
'n'ritin’, then Devy went out farther
west and married himself to a strange
woman. After awhile Angeline gets
married. First we hears her pardner’s
gone and she’s a likely widow, visitin’
round. Then we gets a letter sayin’
Devy’s partner has been departed two
years, an’ he’s comin’ visitin’. Now
don’t that beat all?”
“How plain you’ve made it, pa,"
beamed Mrs. Drusilla. “It sounds like
them story papers. You ort to have
been a writer for one. I often thought
that. My, ain’t it plum interesting? ,I
don't want to miss none of it, do you ‘3
How can we fix it?”
Pa was so appreciative of his wife's
praise he tilted back in the rocker and
gave the matter solemn thought.
“I calkilate We kin have all this to
ourselves,” he began, “of you kin hold
out ’gainst mentionin’ Devy’s comin'..
It will be hard work for ye, Drusilly,
but it’s the only way. Do you think you
‘kin hold that news over prayer meetin’
and Sunday? I't/ell you what,” he wen t.
on, excitedly, “we can just. have the
whole think happen right here, meetin’-
an’ all, if you don’t tell.”
Mrs. Gladden’s pleasant face fell.
“I wonder if it’ll be fair not to tell the
rest of the folks,” she began. “You see,
Devy’ll be expecting a. big welcome.”
Asahcl Gladden rose up in his socks.
“Drusilly, I have jest set my heart on
managin’ the whole thing. Don’t you
disappoint me. I never had so mun-h
chance as this in all my mortal life. I
always wanted to do sech directin’ and
mauagin', and don't you disappoint
me."
“What“ folks say when they find we
held that news?” asked his wife. much
impressed, but giving up as usual.
“They’ll say you've come to years of
discretion; though I don’t want- to hurt
your feelings, Drusilly. You can take
it all out fixin’ up the spare room and
Marindy's room. It air lucky Angeline.
liain’t been down here yet:——another
clear ’pintin’. Now hurry up dinner,
and write Devy a_letter tellin’ him he
must come right here, an’ we won’t. take
no for an answer. l’ll hitch up the cut--
ter an’ we’ll go over to town an’ engage
Angeline for the whole eudurin~ week."
" The two were as excited as children.
The. letter had to be strong enough to
suit. pa. and was thelabor of an hour
for Mrs. Gla‘dd'en ere it suited 'him.
Dinner over, they tucked themselves
into a green sleigh and drove over to
New California.
“We'll stop on the way,” said the
small and rosy man. “I feel so anxious '
to get hold of Angeline.”
“Oh, you do '3” questioned the wife, de-
murely. “Well, as our Marindy de-
clares, her pa’s younger’n an yone.”
Angeline Culver—Angeline Porter
that was—was visiting at old Dr. Nor-
man’s. She and Sissy Norman had al-
ways been close friends. She came out
to the sleigh to speak to Mrs. Gladden.
She was quite dressy, and had on a pink
house sack trimmed with white lace.
She had tied a little white fascinator
over her brown waves.
“I was ’lovyin’ to go over to Dennis
Baodna’s next week,“ she said, in her
soft, comfortable voice, “but if you
make a point of it, I guess I can put
' them off.”
i Pa Gladden was so anxious that his
little feet danced up and down in the
. now.
Angeline!
“Oh, we want you real bad next week.
We been waitin’ au’ ex«
pectin’ ’till we‘re set on it special. Do
say you’ll come.”
"I believe pa’ll burst- if you
come, Angeline," said his wife, “he gets
so set on anythinrr.” ,
“Well, I will,” assented the widow.
“I used to have good times at your
house when I was a girl. I never have
forgotten them.” 4'
Pa went through an expressive panto~
mime behind her.
“And pa’ll‘fetch you on Sunday after-
noon,” went on Mrs. Gladden. “If the
snow don’t stay on he’ll fetch you in the
buggy.”
. Afterward Mrs. Gladden declared that.
pa spent. the happiest week of his life
getting ready for that couple to be re-
united. It never struck his warm and
innocent heart that anything could go
amiss. He piled up special wood for
the parlor, he hovered around the two
bedrooms, he actually had his finger in
every pie and cake baked. He went to
the village store alone once or twice,
and after the last visitwwore an air of
the deepest mystery.
Mrs. Gladden stood this until the
hour of retiring.
"Asahel!” she exclaimed, with a
break in her voice, “Asahel, you never
had a, secret from me in all your life—-
did you?” 1’ - U
The rosy man looked as guilty as if de:
tected in a crime. _I-Ie saw her kind
eyes, and his voice quavered.
“Never before,” he whispered, “but
I’m so afraid you can’t hold this one
over Sunday meetin’ I’m bound not to
breathe it.”
One dry sob brought him to terms.
“It air,” he whispered, tiptoeing over
to her, “it air that I telegraphed to
Devy to git here on the Sunday after-
noon express.”
Mrs. Gladden’s attitude toward the
world on Sunday morning was the gos-
sip of the neighborhood for weeks. She
suddenly assumed an air of funcreal
dignity, would converse with no one,
and stalked silently out after meeting
and climbed into the sleigh triumph-
antly.
“You’ve done it,” whispered her hus-
band, delighted. “I didn’t credit you
wit-h it."
After dinner the parlor fire was lit,
the table spread for company tea, and
Pa. Gladden wrapped himself up to go
for Angeline. , Ile was so happy his
wife’s heart trembled.
“Pa,” she said, “don’t you set too
much store by it. Devah may have
other intentions, and Angeline may not
agree.”
“Don’t you think it,” declared pa.
“Angeline air a hundred times prettier
Devy air a man; that
Now do your part.
than she war.
settles it all. I’ve
« -’/\ {ALX‘K w
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"NOW HDKRY UP DINNER ANS}
“’RITE DEVY."
‘l'old you jest- what to say to her. Leave
Dcvy to me. Men understand men.”
He brought Angeline and her valises
back in an hour. Mrs. Gladden rejoiced
in her womanly beauty. She kissed her
as tenderly as if she had been a young
girl when she helped her in. Ai‘igcline’s
face beamed.
“How nice you've made everything
for me!” she cried. "It is like a home-
coming.” Her face grew thoughtful.
“It makes me think of old times—old
friends.”
“Well, just settle down and make
yourself at home,” said pa, coming in.
“I have to be gone an hour or two. You
and ma can have a good old talk.”
.\while later he was stamping off the
falling snow on the platform of the sta-
tion. A tall, bronzed man alightcd
from the express and pa met. him, so
eager he almost cried over him as he
shook hands. ”
Alas! Alas! All pa’s finesse and
subtle phrases were forgotten. He was
as nervous as a woman. Finally he
reined in- Dolly almost in sight of the
house.
“Devy,” he quavcred, “I always felt
so sorrowful ’bout you an' Angeline
Porter’s break-off. You warso happy
together when yon was young. Devy,
I’ve got Angeline hpre. Sheaira wid-
ox '; she air a finer woman ‘11 you could
see in a day’s travel. It- air the desire
of my heart to bring you two together,”
The man beside him grew pale and
gasped, then he wrung the mittened
hand.
Good Ma Gladden'came out to the
sleigh. 'She. too, had forgotten her
part. She had been crying and broke
down. ‘
“Please ’scuse Angeline," she said.
brokenly, “she is there in the parlor.
Don’t you want to go in, Devah? I
guess you needn’t be afeard."
The tall man strode past her, his own
eyes misty.- The wedded couple left on
the steps were not. ashamed to kiss each
other with tears and smiles—The Co-
lumbian. .
Getting Under Way.-
“Hmv is yoh all comin’ on wif yoh
military projections?"
“Oh,” answered Mr. Erastus Pinkley,
“I’s comin’ 'lo'nfr. I hasu’ got my com-
p'ny of sojcrs organized yit,.but I has
fob yaller dogs an’ some yuthuh unis
inals wot’ll‘beat dc world foh mascots.”
~Washington Star. '
l
don’t .
his books just then,
_- ..-.- .- ._...—.~ -w._.».--..........~__,._
' A Lesson of Love
By Will 5. Gidley.
IM
ERALD GORDON, the new school
superintendent for the town of
Peacedale, was young—that is, com-
paratively young—say not more than
32 at the outside, and for some reason
best known to himself, still a luchelor.
He was not what would be called a
handsome man exactly, but he was the
possessor of a graceful, well-knit’figure,
and a. clean-cut, self-reliant face, from
which a pair of honest gray eyes looked
forth unflinchingly upon the world.
Just now they were looking into a.
pair as honest as his own—the troubled
blue eyes of Ethel Ellis, the teacher in
one of Peacedale’s half dozen schools.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Gordon, that
you should have heard such poor re-
ports of my school,” she said, locking
the new superintendent frankly in the
face.
and the speaker’s eyes certainly looked
as if she meant it; in fact, Gerald Gor-
don was almost certain he detected a.
tear in one of them at that very mo-
ment—“but. I don’t think it- is wholly
my fault. ' E
“I have tried hard enough to keep or-
der, and if the three or four big boys
who have made all the trouble had a
spark of chivalry or manliness in their
nature I should have no difficulty in
controlling the school; but .I-do you
know, Mr. Gordon, there. are boys who
simply won’t behave, and there is noth-
ing in their make-up, no sense of fair-
ness or justice, no gentlemanly in-
stincts, absolutely nothing. to which one
can appeal to induce them to do so?”
“You put the case rather strongly,
Miss Ellis,” replied the new superinn
tendent, thourrlitfully; “but, after all,
there is little doubt that you are right.
Such boys are natural-born bullies, and
3
“YOU PUT nTHE CASE RATHER
STRONGLY, MISS ELLIS."
cowards as well. There is nothing that
appeals to. them except a. good thrash-
ing, and you are almost too slender to
attempt anything of that kind.”
“0, I shouldn’t think of such a thing,
Mr. Gordon. I am too tender-hearted to
punish my pupils. It would hurt my
feelings worse than. theirs, I am
afraid, and if I cannot conquer them by
love I shall have to give up doing so at
all."
“You would have an easy task before
you if I‘ were one of your pupils," said
Gerald Gordon, with a glance of ad- .
miration at. the blue eyes before him.
The schoolma’am smiled for the first
time during the interview.
A moment later the girls came hurry-
ing in, with faces flushed from their
exercise in the open air, and quietly
took their seats. The majority of the
boys did the same, but bringing up the
rear were half a dozen of the larger
boys, scuffling and shoving each other
about. and behaving in anything but an
orderly manner. . , .
They kept it. up until they were inside
the schoolhouse door, and when the em-
barrassed teacher request ed them to
come to order, the one who was evi-
dently the ringleader sung out: “All
right, ma’am; just as you say!” and
then, reaching out. and deliberately up-
setting an empty bench standing a few
feet in front of the rest, he. swaggercd
to the back part of the sehoolroom and
took his seat.
“PeterCrane.” said the teacher, quiet»
ly. “you will please walk back here and
pick up the bench that you upset."
But. Master Crane, a thick-set. bullet-
headed youth of 1“, was very busy with
and apparently
failed to hear the teacher’s command.
Like .a. flash Gerald Gordon was on his
feet, with flushed face and eyes blazing
with indignation. '
“Peter Crane.” he began, in firm, even
tones, “I am the new superintendent of
schools for Pcacedale, and I would like
to know if yen intend obeying your.
teacher’s request to pick up that bench
which you purposely upset?”
“I dunno,” muttered Master Crane.
“Well, I know, young man!” rejoined
the new superintendent, briskly. “You
are going to pick up that bench, and
you are going to do it inside of one min-
ute by the clock or get a thrashing that
you will have good reason to remember‘
for the rest of your life!”
Master Crane gazed doggedly at the
new Superintendent for a moment, and
then he. came slowly forward, and,
picking up the bench, replaced it in its
original position. Then, casting a;
scowling look in the "direction of his
teacher and the superintendent, he
turned and shuflied back to his seat.
“Not much there to work on,” said
Gerald Gordon, in tones intended only
for the teacher. ~ “It is just as you said,
Miss Ellis; there is nothing in such a
nature to appeal to. The only thing
that has any effect on' that sort of
, . young man is physical force, or the fear
of physical force. The fear of it an-
swers as well as. the reality in most
cases, as I have fauud in my expert-l
MC- n... 1..-...-
“Yes, I am very sorry, 'indeed”—— .
' ; tent and happy.
”a“. »
ence that boys who behave in that way
are invariably cowards at heart.”
“No doubt you are right, Mr. Gor-
don, but, you see, I’m not big enough
to frighten them, and as nothing else
seems to answer the purpose I am hav-
, ing rather a hard time of it trying to
' keep them within bounds.
“I wouldn’t care so much, but this is
my first term at- sehool teaching, and
; I wanted to make a good record so I
could retain the place, as I am fond of
7teaching and would prefer making -a
; living in that way to any other. I
! presume, however, that the school com-
, mittee won’t want me another term un-‘
less I can manage somehow to keep
better order—and if they dismiss me I’m
sure I don’t know what I shall do.”
“Well, Miss Ellis, if I were in your
place, I shouldn’t be at all discouraged.
. Keep on doing the best you can with
’ your school, and I will get around as
ioften as possible and' assist you in
l straightening matters out in case I
find it necessary to do so. I think I
shall be able to visit your school three‘
times a week, or perhaps oftener for
the present, and if there is anything re-
quiring my attention at any time I trust-
you will'no‘thesitate to let me know.”
And during the rest of that long sum-
mer day, and the many long summer
days that followed, that dingy little
sehoOlroom somehow grew brighter and
brighter; but even in the-sanctity of
T her own chamber, with only her con-
? science for confessor, pretty Ethel Ellis
dared not whisper to herself what it
, was that had caused the change.
She. was only a school teacher strugf
. gling for a living, working hard, not for
luxuries, but for the bare necessities of
life. Mr. Gordon was very pelite and
kind to her, it was true, but probably
not more so than he would have been to
any woman situated as she was.
Sometimes she had thought. there was
semething deeper than mere friendship
in his looks and tones, but no doubt this
was only her fancy.
Nevertheless, the mere fact that he
had come into her life as a friend and
counselor brought a brighter smile to
her lips and a. sense of contentment to
her bosom. If things could only run on
; so forever she would be perfectly con-
I
l
i
I
awakening—the day when perhaps she
should be weighed in the balance as a
j teacher and found wanting, separated
perehance from the companionship she.
had learned to treasure, and the work
that she still loved in spite of its draw-
? backs, and with shattered hopes turned
adrift in the world to sink or swim, as
fate might will.
The school term was fast drawin g to
' a close, and as yet no word had come
to Miss Ellis regarding an engagement
for the term to follow. For some time
. she had been in daily expectation of
? hearing from the school committee, but
as day after day passed and no mes-
: sage came to her she began to fear the.
f worst.
1 None knew better than she her short—
l comings as a teacher, and how utterly
I
I
she had failed in checking the turbu-
|lcnt element in the school until it had
i been awed into reluctant submission by
i the frown of the new superintendent.
Since his advent she had succeeded in
keeping better order, but there were
timés even yet—too many of them, she
sadly realized—when the school got be-
yond her control and gave her many
uneasy moments. - .
Though she had done her-best, she
felt that her teaching that first year
had been far from a success; but she
hoped, oh, how eagerly she hoped, that
they would give her another trial!
But if they did not, she felt that she
could not blame them. It would be
only what she deserved. She was too
weak, too soft«hearted, to teach school.
School had been dismissed for the day.
the scholars had all gone home, and
as Miss Ellis was following out this
train of thought» and clearing up her
desk preparatory to taking her depar-
ture she suddenly" exclaimed:
“Oh, dear! I’d give anything if Iwere
only a. man!” ,
Just then a quick step crossed the
threshold and a cheery voice sung out:
“Fic, fie, Miss Ellis, what awish that
is! But, of course, you don’t mean it.”
‘ “Of course I do, though I didn’t in-
tend you to hear me, Mr. Gordon,” re-
sponded Miss Ellis, blushing vividly as
she turned toward the speaker. “I’m
sick and tired of being only a Woman.”
“Why, I wouldn’t- have you anything
else [for the world!” exclaimed Gerald
Gordon, moving a step nearer and ear-
nestly gazing down at the troubled face
before him. “Only a woman, you say.
but t6 me you are the dearest, sweetest
and best little woman in the whole
world, and I need you just as you are.”
A few moments later, as they were
walking slowly homeward side by side.
she glanced shyly upat the stalwart
lover upon whose arm she was leaning
and said: I '
“A dreadful suspicion has just come
into my mind, Gerald. I believe you
proposed to me'out of pity, because—
because I’m a failure as a school-teach—
er,» and, if so, 1 wish to revise my an-
swer." It is love I“ want, not pity."
“Why, dearest, didn’t I tell you that
the cummittee reelected you for anoth-
er termpat their meeting-last night?”
exclaimed Gordon, sin ilingly. .“I meant
to, but more pressing news got ahead
of it. You received a unanimous re-
election, but I took the liberty of de-
clining for you on the ground that you'
were about to accept a private school,
with a more tractable pupil.”
“Why, Gerald! How dare you tell
them that, when you hadn’t even asked
me yet? I’m almost tempted to punish
you for your temerity by—by—"
“What, dearest ‘3” '
“Making you wait. a whole month
longer before I marry you.”—Boston
Globe. . . . 3
Protection of Horses from Flies. 5
A recent eontrivanee for protecting.
the logs of horses“ from‘ files consists
of a. band attached to each- leg, with
tantamber of cards dangling fromEeechl
n .
.-- «envy... ..
But she dreaded the -
preacher.
statutes forbidding
, . "'MdfiY-fl'rmfid'flfl ;
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a.“
COUNTRY CHURCHES
Many of Those in England Are
Charmingly Interesting.
l'aually They Stand in the Midst of.
Churchyard in \Vlllch Repose the
Bones of the Ancestors of
the Worshipers.
To those who live outside the cities
and large towns it is probable that,
next to home, the local church holds
the warmest place in the imagination
and affection. But there are reasons,
it seems to me, writes Clifton Johnson
in the Orange Judd Farmer. why the
English church should be doubly dear
to its old adherents. It has in its char-
acter and its setting many touches of
poetry that are altogether absent in
‘our new world churches. The building
is of stone, usually gray and ivy-grown
with age. The massive walls have an
air of permanence, and you feel in the
Whole structure the charm of a long
past. Many generations of worshipers
sleep now in the churchyard, where the
grass grows green over the low-
ly mounds, and the pinkipetaled dai-i
sies and. gold-en buttercups brighten the-
turf each summer season. Among the
scattering stones of this village of the
dead! gathered about the church walls
are frequent trees and! shrubs (ever-
greens), :1. dark gnarled yew with a.
seat under it, and horse-chestnut trees
that in spring are gigantic bouquets of
blossoms musical as a. garden of roses
with the hum of bees. The church-
yards are always tidy and attractive,
the fencing is never dilapidated, the
grass is kept mowed and the gravel
paths free from weeds.
The vicarage adjoins the churchyard
and through the shrubbery you can
glimpse its substantial walls and tall.
chimneys. The vicar ranks among the
lesser gentry and his house is a man-
sion in harmony with his social level.
It has or amental groundsabout, the-re
are hothouses at one side and near them
the cottage of the gardener. Some
vicars have stables besides and keeps
mun-ml”
”Hui-un-
ENGLISH COUNTRY CHURCH.
(Located at Grassmere, the Home of the
Poet “’ordsworth.)
horse and a cow or two. Usually they
are not entirely dependent on the salt-
ary of their position, but have some
income from bonds or other property
of their own. I speak only of the
Church of England, which is thedom-
inant and typical one among the Eng-
lish. This is the state church and all
the people of a village. have to con—
tribute. to its support whether they!
attend or not. The houses of worship
of the dissenters are known as “chap—
els" and those in the rural districts are
quite insignificant. and have very~small
congregations. '
A vicar. if he is a man of conscience
and vigor, leads an active life. Many
clergymen give more
amount of their salary in local charity.
But- not- all are. faithful. There are» those
who are lazy or dissipated or tight-fist-
ed. You can hear in English churches
some of the most slovenly services im»
aginable. This, of course, is easily pos—
sible where the clergyman gets and
holds his pos-ition'entirely independent
of the likes and dislikes of his people; '
for the living is hisown by right of pur-
chase, or is the gift. of some one among
the gentry. .Even if their pastor is
known to be a hard drinker and moral-
ly bad, he stays on justthe same.
In contrast with the ringing of a. sin-
gle hell that we are familiar with in
.\merica,_ the English have chimes in
their church towers that. roll in tu-
multuous harmony each Sunday morn-
ing to call the people to worship.
llarly comers loiier among the graves
and flock in through the low arch of
the porch only when the chimes begin
.their final ringing in solemn changes.
The cool interior of the church is very
pleasant and the surpliced vicar and
the white-robed choir boys and the
deep-toned organ in the noble music
’of the service are almost sure to at-
tract and interest. even if there are
marked personal shortcomings in the
.______..'_..__._——-
Germ That Causes Sunstrokc.
Ar. eminent doctor has been investi-
gating the malady and has come to the
conclusion that sunstroke is not due
solely to excessive heat or exposure to
the full rays of a cloudless sun. Ile de-
clares that sunstroke is. on the con-
trary, an infectious disease, caused,
like fever or smallpox. by a specific or-
ganism or germ. But this germ he has
not yet‘sncceeded in isolating. though
he hopes in course of time to do so.
There is little doubt. he says, that the
germ is bred in the superficial layers
of the soil in certain low-lying regions
of the earth, and that it is imbibed into
the human system by the breathing of
dusty air. ' '
' Kissing In the Streets.
Several states in'Nevv" England have
kissing in tfie
streets. Thelaws are old ones and ob-
volek. '
do»
than the full:
is
CHEAP LAND LEVEL.
flow to Make One at Home Whit-J: .
\Vill Ansvvci- All the. Ordinary ‘
Farm Purposes.
A land level costs al.)out_$25, whi...‘
makes the possession of one by 1;
average former a matter of toogrc'...
an expense, although he often has I _. .
for it in accurately fixing the fall w; ;
drains, the slope of irrigated fields, h
cling the foundation and floor of a. so
ble, etc. The illustration shows -
homemade level. which answers t.
purposes mentioned-very well. Fit - '8'
have made a. water-tight tin tube 1 ~.
A) about. 31/2 to 4 feet-long and 2 incl. ., '
inside diameter, with an elbow (B) r-‘~
one end. Take a. wood block (C) abe .' 1
3 inches square; bore hole through E
size of pipe or tube. and slip on p: pr
. l
CHEAP LAND LEVEL.
to center, taking care to have a ti;
fit. Now have the tinner solder , ~ ‘5
other elbow (B) on other end of pi: '
Procure two glass “chimneys for inc
descent gas lamps, such as can be I r -
chased at any hardware store in m
towns. These chimneys are not qr
2 inches in diameter, and 8 inches lc
Cement one of these for glass tu ' .
(D, D) into each of the elbows (B, B
“The level is now complete, and us
only to be adjusted on a tripod.
this, if the farmer does not care
make it himself, use an ordinary tri
(E) for a. photographic camera, wl
can be bought at photographic suI.
store, and will cost about $1.25 or $2 _ ..
Fasten level on the. tripod when in
by screwing the small screw in tri}
head into the wood block (C) hold
level. The whole device will not (
more. than $2 or $53.50. ’ ‘
To use the level, fill tube with
ter until the water rises in glass to
to a height. of 3 or 4 inches. By 1:
ing through the glasses, over the
for surface, the operator can signa
his assistant to raise or lower the
get on a. foot stick the same as d
in practical surveying, and thus
tablish a horizontal. Now by doth . ‘
ing the. height of water level at ..
ground from height of target, he
ascertain the difference in height
tween the place where levelstands ,,
where assistant has planted the i
sticky-Ohio Farmer.
POTATO CULTIVATION.
Nebraska Farmer Describes :1 Met]:
That Has Never Failed to Pro-
ancc a Good Crop.
My mode of raising potatoes is l
haps a little different from the or
age, but I have never failed in harvr
ing a. good crop and I had as m: .
as 60 varieties at. one time and alw ,_ '1.-
took first premium at our state 1’
says a Nebraska contributor to Ho: .. .
stead. Pure seed is the first . .. .
point, then. select large-sizeé '- '
for I find in the vegetables 1:
in the animal kingdom that ‘ .» .«
est and healthiest bring the '.-f
sults, while to use poor stock .1
for propagation the progeny ‘ , .
degenerate and become w . ‘
Next I cut to one eye in ca " ;-
and drop one piece in each 1 f : .:;,
we get one stem with health: 1 ' ",1
roots capable of producing la: ; ' p .
toes. I select rich soil of a sandy -. '-
ture if possible and this I plow a
depth of about four inches. In ev
four furrows I drop my potatoes .
eye in a place a. feet apart in the r-
I follow by harrowing and just be!“
the sprouts get to the surface I l. :
row again as this kills all young we
and gives the potatoes the start.
cultivate three times. but they she
not be disturbed after coming
bloom. ,lel’orc the last cultivatioz
follow the revvs with a. hoe to see t : '.
no weeds are. left therein as no C
of potatoes can be raised am.
weeds.
Fruit Trees for Slmdefl‘recs.
011 small farms in order to scour . .
good supply of fruiis a. very good I- -
of management is to set in places wL'
crops cannot be cultivated to an adv
tage. Trees for shade are always dc
able, and there is no good reason v -.,_;
these should not be good fruit tree
well as shade trees only. The. the. '-
especially can be planted along the, r
or about the yard where there is n:
or less tramping. Pears. apples
peaches may be grown in places wl
a crop could not, and by utilizing s}
of this kind to a good advantage pic
of fruit could be grown—Earn
Voice.
Potash and Peach Trees.
Peaches, like all other product.<
the soil, need feeding. Potash.
phosphoric acid are the principal c
stituents required in making the fi 1
An excess of nitrogen will prod
rank growth at. the expense of the f
buds. Take, for instance, the 1)(
tree near the kitchen door which ;
plenty of soapy water, which cont: .-
,a. large amount of lye (potash). I ,. w
ways has a full crop. .\ few pound .
potash and phosphate around each ' .'
‘during the later winter and you
be more than repaid for the trouble
expense. ' ~
.9}
\
Peach trees growing near the ht
where disnwater and washwate‘r
thrown out are long—lived and
from worms and discase.—'——St. I.”
‘ Republic. .
Norwalk Chronicler