Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 June 1891 — Page 5

DOUBLE DICK AND JOE; The Poorhouse Waifs.

BY DAVID LOWRY.

CHAPTER I. BARNESVILLE POORHOUSE. •Whoa, whoa, thar, you tarnal critters' Whoa! Lord, es this is Barnesville poorhouse, an’ the inside ain’t more invitin’ than the outside, all I’ve got to say is it’s the steppin’ stun to— —” “Sir?” “Oh, excuse me! I didn’t see you. I just drove up.” The speaker stepped leisurely out of his wagon, a lumbering affair, but it had two spirited horses, and they seemed to be, as their driver said, “a-feelin’ ov their oats.” The driver looked keenly at the man who was frowning upon him. “This is the poorhouse, ain’t it?” “Yes.” The word was snapped out. The man who was leaning on the end of the wagon smiled knowingly. “Well, now—say. D'you be’ong ’round hyar?” The speaker indicated the building and grounds with a shake of his head. “Suppose I do—what then? “Oh. nothin’, nothin’. Only I’m hyar on a little business. Es you're one of the folks, p'raps you'll be so kind and obleegin’ as for to tell the superintendent, Mr. Jake—no, Mr. Zeke, I guess it is—Mr. Zeke Caper—l want to see him. ” “That's my name, sir. ” “Gosh! Be it?” “I said so, sir. ” “Of course—of course. No offense. Well, I’m glad I've found you, Mr. Caper. I’ve brought you a note from Mr. Israel Heber. ” The man fumbled in his pocket and produced an envelope that was deeply wrinkled. The Superintendent of the Poorhousc opened the note quickly, then, as he ran his eye over the short piece of paper, glanced at the bearer. “This note tells me that you are Mr. Job Wonder. ” * “That’s me all the time. ” “Mr. Heber ' says you are entirely trustworthy. ” “Well, I’ve ben' livin’, boy an’ man, sixty years in this county, an’ I reckon ther aint no man dare say a hcuter agin me to my sac I knock him into the next township for it 'fore I stop.” •I’ve no doubt of your honesty, Mr. ” “Wonder —Job Wonder. He’d ought to put it p'ain in the letter, so’s you’d m nd It.” “So, Mr. Wonder. My friend says you are ready, on account of old acquaintance, to serve him ” “Egzackly so. That's what I said. Sez he to me, ‘Job, I want a favor.’ ‘Spit it right out,’ sez I. Then he to!d me he’d be obleeged if I drive round this way—you see, it’s two mile out o’ my road, or more—so here I be. Gosh! what an all-fired big place you have got hyar, to be sure. ” “Come in, Mr. Wonder—step in. ” “To be sure—l'm right along with you! Where’s all the critters—all the the blasted poor people? Oh, there they be! Sunnin’ of themselves—phew! If there ain’t a old woman for all the world sothin’ like a mud-turtle 01 a log! Them's the no-account ones, 1 guess!” “Yes, that’s the truth, Mr. Wonder. Will you have a ‘snack?’ ”

“I don't keer es Ido take a bite. It’ll be late ’fore I git home ” “Just step inside here. This is my own room—my sitting-rcom. ” The Superintendent stepped outside, while Mr Job Wonder, true to his name, eyed everything in the room in pure wonder. It was unlike any room he had ever been in. “It’s the dod-darnedest place I ever sot eyes on! I wouldn’t live hyar—no, I wouldn't hang out in Barnesville Poorhouse es they give me Sa a day an’ board. I wouldn’t sit on this infernal yaller-clay bank, where the flies are thicker’n tar-bugs in June, for—hello! I say! Where d you come from?” “Where did you come from?” “Ha, ha! That's good, now! Where’d I come from? From Wonders Mill. Now, then, tell me where yon hail from —or, mebbe, you just lit down?" “I belong here." • “You do! Well, you look just like it. Lord —what a git-up!” “What's that?” “I said what a git-no,” “You think I ain't nice. I can play the banjo, and dance, and sing—that’s more than you can do. ” “Hello! 1 Hello-o o! Why, you don’t look to be more’n two feet high. How old be you?” “I don' know.” “You don't know how old you be?” “I told you I don' know. How old are you?” Job Wonder covered his face with his hat, and the Superintendent entered at that moment, with an angry expression on his face. “Sorry to detain you, Mr. Wonder. The things will be here in a minute. I am looking for a girl I want to show you. Here arc the victuals.” A thinly clad man brought in a tray with cold chicken, pies, and milk, and p acing the tiay on a table withdrew silently. “Just help yourself—eat hearty, Mr. Wonder. 1 erhaps you will take a little The Superintendent looked knowingly at Job, and Job looked knowingly at the Superintendent. “Well, I don’t keer if I do, bein’ as you’ve axed me. ” The Superintendent of Barnesville Poorhouse proceeded to the closet he was looking at, brought out a b ack bott'e, took the cork out of it, and handing him a tumbler, said “Help yourself!” Job Wonder smelled the bottle—poured out a “pretty good snifter, ” to use his -own words, drank it, smacked his lips, and said, “That’s pretty good licker, Squire.” The Superintendent took a drink, and as he replaced the bottle replied, “Yes—you’ll not get any better in Acorn County. Now, help yourself, while 1 look for the girl I spoke of. ” He went out, Job Wonder seated himself, and was disposing rapidly of the chicken and pie when the Superintendent entered with the girl Job had met, and who had disappeared in a mysterious manner. “I’ve brought thfe girl for you to look at, Mr. Wonder. Isn’t she a beauty.” “Well, I’ve seen wus—a great deal wus

lookin’ girls than that,“said Job, looking at the girl as if he had not beheld her until that minute. The girl’s face grew red—fiery red—then pale. In that moment she intuitively recognized a friend in Job Wonder. She stepped back from the Superintendent, however, with a lowering face. “Hold your head up! Hold it up, I say!” “Don’t scold her,” said Job. “Scold her? She’s used to it. Mr. Wonder, this girl is—is—well, she gives me more trouble than all the rest put together, and I want you to do me a favor. I’m going to bind her out —that’s the rule in Acorn County, you know. I’m going to bind her out, with the approval of the Commissioners, of course, and I want you to do me the favor to take her with you over to Bill Stubbs.” “To Bill Stubbs’ place?” “Yes. Bill will keep her until somebody takes her for good or bad —bad, I reckon,” the Superintendent added, under his breath. “Why. yes—that’s if you want me to.” But the girl had some ideas on the subject She shook her hair—it was in a tangle—evidently no comb had penetrated that tangle in days. “I don’t want to be bound out I want to stay here. ” “Hush up. How dare you speak that way?” “Don’t you be rough on her —she don’t mean it,” said Job Wonder. “O, yes she does. I’Ve walloped her for it often enough to cure her of it, too.” “Walloped that little mite,” said Job Wonder under his breath. “What a shame!” “Yes, you'll be bound out —where you’ll be held in check. If Bill Stubbs takes you off the county’s hands, he'll bring you s o time Now, don't you snivel —shut up. ” The girl had her skirt —a dirty, colorless skirt it was—to her eyes. “Be you in earnest ’bout Bill Stubbs?” asked Job Wonder. “Dead earnest. ” “Well—now, see hyar. I don’t know as I want a girl. Fact is, my folks has lotso' time as ’tis. My wife fusses an’ fusses an’ my sister fusses, but between them they don’t do a mite. ’Cos why—we’ve got two girls now. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Es, as you say, you're goin’ to give her to Bill Stubbs, suppose I take her. What do you say?” “Why, I would be glad of the chance. Take her and welcome.” “O, do —do! Don't let Stubbs have me!” implored the girl, turning to Job. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Job’s eyes looked moist as he put his hand out and patted her head. “I’ll take you. I don’t keer if my ole woman does scold me for bringin’ a girl irom Barnesville Poorhouse. I’ve never had no gir.s. I reckon a man can pick one girl up in a life-time if he wants to. Leastways, I've made my mind up. See hyar, Squire, you know me. I’ll make it ail right. You fix up the papers, same as you was goin' to do for Stubbs, an’ I’ll come over and sign ’em in a day or tWo, an’ give bond, regular, everything shipshape. That’s my style. I guess my word’s as good as my bond. ” “Quite —quite, Mr. Wonder. If you will take her I’il have the papers prepared by Saturday. ” “That’ll just suit me,” said Wonder. “Go and get your things—your hat and dress—and put on your shoes and stockings. Mr. Wonder will give you ten minutes.”

“It’ll take that long for her to comb her hair!” said Job. “I m not in such a pesky hurry—say, Mr. Caper, what'll I call her?” “Joe,” answered the girl. “Joe? That’s a boy’s name ” “Short for Josephine. ” “Oh!” “I don't like Josephine.” “Go get your things,” ordered the Superintendent, pushing her out of the room; She was absent seemingly only a few minutes. When she returned she carried in one hand a little bundle, and a banjo in the other. “Put that banjo down —le’ave it hete,” commanded Mr. Caper. “I won t —l mean, 1 want to ” “Put it down, 1 say; Mr. Wonder don’t want you taking that thing along. He would be distracted with your noise.” “I won’t leave it. It's my own! Mine, and I’ll keep it. ” The girl was ready to cry again. Job interposed once more. “To be sure she kin bring her banjo, Mr. Caper—to be sure.” “Web, it’s your affair now, Mr. Wonder.” “She won’t do no harm—tain’t like as es she was a player, you kn >w. She can fetch it along. Well, is this the- hull bilin’ o’ clothes? Es ’tis, ’twon’t swell our wash much. ” They were out on the road now. The Superintendent stood smiling as the farmer helped the girl into the wagon. But Joe did not need or want a helping hand. She suddenly put the farmer’s hand aside and sprang into the wagon and seated herself. She seemed eager to be away. She did not deign to glance at the Superintendent. Mr. Caper did not seem to ba thinking of his charge. Ali his attention was given to Mr. Wonder.

“You’ll come for to sign the papers Saturday." “Sure pop; sure's my name’s Job Wonder.” assured the fanner. “Gee up! G’lang! You Alexander; you Napoleon, git! Good-by, Mr. Caper, good-by. ” But there was no good-by from Joe. She was sitting with compressed lips and a strange, new light in her eyes. “I’m in luck again,” said Zeke Caper, as he scowled upon the wagon. “I was mighty lucky to get her off so soon. Now ,et them come as soon as they please. Thanks to my friend Israel, they won’t find a hair of her in Barnesville poorhouse. And nobody will ever be any the wiser, and I’ll be a pile of money ahead, or Israel will hear from me!” The Superintendent shaded his eyes and looked down the road. “Here they come now—lickity-split, I'll bet a year's salary. Well—let'em come.” And the Superintendent of Barnesville poorhouse re-entered the building that served as a shell —a very thin shell—for the misery thrown upon the tender mercies of Acorn County. CHAPTER It. DICK. When Mr. Caper entered the door of the poorhouse his eye fell on a lad crouching ba kof a door. The boy had a thin —a very thin—pinched face. It was the face of a starveling His cheeks were pfc hed and white: h’s eves were large, hungry—very hungry eyes His clothes flappe 1 about him. “What are you doing here, curse you!” exclaimed Mr. Caper, in a harsh voice, as he grasped the boy. “I was—was just going back into the dining-room,” the boy replied.

| “You lie!’ The Superintendent brought from his I coat pocket a heavy strap, and struck i the .boy across the hands—across the i knees —across his back. < “There! Take that (strap), and that ■ (strap) and that" (strap). And then 1 the blows fell' so fast the Superintend- ’ ent’s tongue could not keep pace with 1 them. I The boy never made a move—made no ; Sign—did not cry out He looked straight at the Superintendent with his ■ great hungry, hollow eyes until the latI ter paused, fairly out of breath. i “Why don’t you howl? Howl, I tell i you, howl!” : * The boy looked at his tormentor ; steadily. “Not for you.” “You won’t! you won’t! You won’t howl for me (strap). You think I can't make you howi (strap)! Eh (strap)! I can’t make you (strap) howl!” “Na ” Mr. Caper was now breathless and speechless with rage. He could only glare at the boy. | “If you kill me,‘Mr. Caper, you can’t ; make me cry again. I’ve shed my last ; tear here. ” “You have?” “Yes; you can beat me now; if you don't kill me, as sure as I live and grow bigger. I’ll pay you back. Go ahead, now—beat me.” Mr. Caper leaned on his chair amazed. He tried to speak, but could not. He put out a hand, grasped the boy, pulled him to him with a jerk that lifted the boy off his feet, and whispered hoarsely in his ear: “You—you threaten me?” “I do.” The boy stood motionless. Then he said, in a low, concentrated tone: “You are a cowatd —a cowardly brute. Don’t you touch mo again. I’ve i here. They’ve been watching you, Mr.; ! Ca;.er. If you hurt me—if you kill me,; there’s people in Barnesville will turn you out, and then maybe you’ll have to hook it. ” “You —you young devil! What does all this mean?” “It means this: Joe’s gone now. You’ve got rid of her, and I’ve took my last licking. I don’t need to be licked any. more. I’ve saved her years; that’s all I let you lick me so keep you off poor Joe. ” “Oh! That was it, was it?” “Yes. Now, you hit me once more—only once—and if I can kill you I’ll do it. I’ve warned you. I may as well bo dead as be under you, anyhow. I’ll get even with you, Mr. Caper, if it’s in my power. You’ve been a brute to all of us. You whipped poor Joe every day, until I managed to make you mad at me. ” “Oh! You made me mad. You’re not making me mad now. We’ll see if I can’t choke you into obedience.” He rushed at the boy, flung him on the floor, Knelt on his breast. “Ask my pardon—ask my forgiveness! Say you’re sorry. Beg pardon. ” “Never! You 11 choke me—and hang for it.” “Ask my pardon!” “Never. ” The Superintendent’s eye blazed with malevolence. His fingers clutched the boys’ windpipe. Another minute and it would have been over with the poor boy, when a sound of wheels reminded the Superintendent of the position he was in. He bounded to his feet, freed the boy, who rose slowly, and with great difficulty. and walked away, as two gentlemen entered the main entrance. [to be continued.]

City Populations.

The census of 1890 shows that 18,235,670 persons out of a total of 62,622,250 reside in cities having a population of 8,000 and over. But this one-third of our people by no means represents our entire urban population. When we take the suburban villages and the population of towns below 8,003 we shall hive enough to state with certainty that one-half our country’s population is essentially urban in character. The accelerating tendency of our population to city and village life may be seen in the following table:

•P • Census «r 3 Years. pPd p*. « Q OJ2 Q O o OS ® ©Oft a, a. o 1790 3,929,214 131,47 a 8.35 18J0 5,308,483 210,873 8.97 1810 7,2 >9,881 356,920 4.93 1820 9,633,822 475,185 4.93 1830 12,866,020 864,5.9 6.72 IMOI 17,069,453 1,453,994 8.52 1850 23,191,876 2,897,586 12.49 1860 81,433,821 5,072,256 16.13 1870 38,558,371 8.071,875 20.93 1880 50,155,783 11,318,547 22.57 1890 62,622,250 18,235,670 29.12 There are now 443 cities in this country having a population of 8,000 and over. The present population of New York is 1,515,301, of Chicago 1,099,850, of Philadelphia 1,046,964, of Brooklyn, 806,343, of St. Louis 451,770, of Boston 448,477, of Baltimore 434,439, of San Francisco 298,997, of Cincinnati 296,908, of Cleveland 261,353, of Buffalo 255,664. of New Orleans 242,039, of Pittsburg, 238,617, of ■Washington, D. C., 230,392. Mechanical industry and the rapid expansion of manufacturing have had very much to do with this increasing urban population. Improved agricultural machinery has liberated hundreds of thousands from the fields and farms to engage in other activities; the order of society has radically changed. The machinery and engines in this country are doing work that would require the hand labor of 1.000,000,000 men, or three times the adult male population of the world. Every member of civil society is profited by this work, and all society enormously benefited by it. This mechanical work means better homes and conditions for all, and the best conditions for highest life can only be found in cities; they do not exist in barnyards. Cities must continue to grow with increasing rapidity during the next ten years.

Sweep, Oh! Sweep.

Henry Carter, a Colorado millionaire, was walking about in Philadelphia, and saw i se vant girl sweeping off the front steps of a hous\ “Just the gal I want for a wife!” whispered Henry. And in three weeks he had her on his arm and was westward hoing. Thirty-two thousand five hundred and eighty-six Philadelphia sei vant girlsnow hustle to sweep. Passenger | “Porter, how long will it be before we get into Chicago?” Porter—“ About a quarter of a dollar, sah.”

AGRICULTURAL TOPICS.

A FEW SUGGESTIONS FOR OUR RURAL READERS. Storing Tools—How to Seed Down Ground —Birds Pulling Corn—Pijrs in Clover— Keeping Sows to Breeding Selling Young Pig»—Diymg Out Rubber Boots— Ko tee. STORING TOOLS. Illustration of the Carelessness Which Too Frequently Prevails.

WHEN returning from a little lecturing trip in Ohio we were delayed some * hours by an accident, and our train \ “laid off” in one of \ the finest agricul- \ itural sections of gjjjjklthat gem State, j IToward evening k /the prospects of getting to any town for supper ;Sr became very gloomy, and a half ggg dozen or more struck across t to fields for a farm house, and were much gratified at

the devices adopted for storing farm tools and machinery. A good plow, apparently nearly new, had been left in one corner of the field standing in the furrow, just where, last fall, the plowman had finished his stint. Probably the timber needed seasoning—it was certainly getting it: or, maybe, it was left there for acclimation. Perhaps the farmer left it there to save time in the hurry of spring work.in dragging it from the shed. Perhaps he covered the share to keep it from the elements and save it from rusting; or, again, perhaps he is troubled with neighbors that borrow,and left it where it would be convenient for them. He might at least have built a shed over it.

Over in an adjoining field was a reaper and binder just where the job was finished last fall in gathering the wheat crop; in fact a few bundles of straw—the hogs had taken the wheat —were thrown over the concern, and the hogs had a cozy nest among the gearing and on the bundle table, and In their zeal to get the warmest place had worn all the dirt and rust off in many places, and the constant friction of their bristles made the machine take a high polish In places. Approaching the house, we passed through the barn yard, and if this man does not act soon it will be a grave question which he can easier move, the farm buildings or the manure heaps. Passing to the house the same order prevailed, though we managed to get something to eat, aud paid seventy-five cents apiece for some bread and milk and a greasy doughnut or two. After returning to the train, we were tired, and ordered our berth prepared and were soon asleep and dreaming. We again visited that man’s barn; boards were kicked off, partitions were half broken down, racks broken, floor a foot deep with manure—there was no room to throw it out —hay trampled under foot and wasted, grain squandered, The wagon had not been hauled under the shed, though it was raining. The harness was scattered about—hames in one place, the breeching In another. The lines were used for halters. We again went into the house. A shed stood near by in which a family wagon was kept for the women to go to town in. The hens had appropriated it as a roost, and, however plain it once was, it was ornamented now inside and out. (It should be borne in mind that hen manure does not injure growing melons, squashes, cucumbers, etc. This farmer bought these things in town). We peeped into the smokehouse, but of all the fixings ever seen this place beat them. A Chinese museum cannot compare with it. Onions, soap-grease, decaying pumpkins, hogs’ bristles, soap, old iron, rags, bones, kettles, a broken spinning-wheel, a churn, a grind-stbne, bacon, hams, washtubs, a barrel of salt, bones with the meat half cut off, scraps of leather, dirty bags, a sack of corn meal, old boots, smoked sausages, the ashes and brands that remained since the last smoking, stumps of brooms, half a barrel of rotten apples, together with rats, bugs, earwigs, sow bugs, and all the vermin usually found in damp dirt. Two gentlemen told us the next morning that we did not dream half what they saw when they went to the house in the back way. The window near the door had twelve lights, two wood, two of hats, four of paper, one of a bunch of rags, one a pillow, and the rest of glass, more or less broken and patched. Under this window stood several cooking pots, and several that were not used for cooking, and as they were debating whether to enter or not. such a squall arose from a quarreling man and woman that they feared violence if they entered. Two of us entered the front way and escaped the circus aud museum heard and seen by our frieuds. Amazing change! a front door, a piano, pictures, books, and smiles. The back door principally old junk, slop barrels and quarrels. Oh, what contrasts can our most vivid imagination picture. But what else can one or could one expect from a person who stored his implements and machinery out of doors and spent most of his time at the grocery or saloon talking of hard times and the down-trodden agriculturalist

My friends, the foregoing is no sandy sketch, and its counterpart can be found in nearly every farming community. Then the question is raised why the boys will not stay upon the farm,' but seek the glare, glitter, and achievements of town or city life? This class of farmers have no money to pay for or time to read the agricultural paper, bnt will eagerly subscribe for some political blatherskites thrice told tales, and can always be relied upon to have a bottle ot whisky in the haymow or in a hollow log. These things ought not so to be; this is what brings the high, the noble, the exalted pursuit of agriculture into disrepute, and causes many of their neighbors to hang their heads in very shame. Such farmers as these are invariably dodging their creditor and waiving protest; their notes are seen everywhere, and finally they make a big sale, pay all their debts,' but the Sheriff is the auctioneer.— Farm, Field and Stockman. How to Seed Down Ground. It depends largely, in seeding ground, whether it is to be used for permanent pasture or merely for bay for a year or two and then to be plowed up again. If for permanent pasture, we want the sod very thick, and a variety of grasses, so

as to be fresh and succulent ail through the season. If to cut for hay, we want only one or two kinds of grasses, so that they will ripen together. For a permanent pasture, a mixture of clover, timothy, rodtop, blue grass, fescue, orchard grhss and some others may be used. From half a bushel to a bushel of seed per acre is none too much, as the sod must be very thick to withstand the drouth and tramping upon it. The best grass for hay is timothy, as it sells the highest in the market. The ground may be seeded on wheat, rye, bariey or oats, but it is not a good plan to sow the grass seed alone as, if this is followed, a crop of w’eeds is sure to grow, and a grain crop is much better than a weed crop. If seeding down is the main object, a less amount of grain should be sown. Some practice sowing lightly of timothy in the fall, and sowing with timothy and clover in the spring. From four to eight quarts of timothy seed per acre is used and from four to six quarts of clover seed; In mixing grasses always have one kind in greater proportion than the rest Oats make an excellent crop to seed with, as they shake the ground and keep out the weeds. But they must bo sown early to dowel). Barley is also good. Grass seed should bo sown after the grain, and not harrowed in deeply, because the seeds are so small. If the weather is dry at harvest, cut the stubble high, so as to keep the young grass plants still shaded. A heavy seed for mowing lands is one bushel of red-top, one-half bushel oi timothy and eight pounds of clover seed, For permanent pastures the amount and the kind of seed will greatly depend upon the richness of the soil and the amount of moisture in it. Grass seed may be sown on the snow on wheat or rye. It will settle down and as the ground softens the seeds go in and soon start growing. Practical Farmer.

Birds Pulling Corn. Blackbirds are often very troublesome about pulling corn when it first breaks ground and until it is too tall for them to handle. They have no fear of the lines around the field that would keep off the crows, and they are too numerous to be shot, and too brave to be afraid of scarecrows, or of a man with a gun when he is more than a gunshot away. Corn they want, corn they will have, and it is the best way to let them have it. A peek of corn scattered around the borders of a ten-acre field, putting the larger part on the edge next the swamp, where they most do congregate, will usually satisfy their appetite while the corn is growing, unless they are very numerous, and they would rather pick it up than pull it from the hill. If one feeding is not enough, give another, as It takes but little more corn and much less labor than it would to replant the Held. Do not poison the corn, as the blackbirds, robins and other birds that would eat it are troublesome only a few days in the year, and the farmers’ friends, in these days of numerous insect pests, the rest of the time. — American Cultivator. THE PIGGERY. rigs In Clover. Pigs in clover, or those fed in clover either in the field or in the pen, are the best pork producers. The old idea was to make pork from slop and dirty dish water, and a sole diet of corn, but now that pork is made from good milk, clover and grasses, it is better, sweeter and more commonly used. Grass-fed hogs, or those which are fed clover until autumn, and then fattened on the new corn, are nearly always exempt from hog cholera and other swine diseases. Clover and other sweet grasses are essentials In the diet of pigs as well as In other animals. The farmer that feeds his cows and horses on an excellent diet of corn, and denies them clover and grass, would be voted down as a lunatic or fool. Yet about the same sort of system has been applied to the swine for many years past, and growers as well as consumers are awakening to the fact that sweeter and more wholesome pork is being sent to the markets. Germany and France complain of our pork, and often with good cause. No country in the world Is so well adapt to swine raising as this, and more pork than can be consumed In the States Is grown every year. Foreign markets are thus essential to the swine raisers, but these cannot be opened and kept supplied unless more pains are taken in sending abroad good, sweet, wholesome pork. American pork has received a bad name on the other side, but with the improved method of raising swine on good sweet clover and grasses, and fattening them on new corn, there is every possibility of greater success In the business. As it may not be practical always to pasture the swine out, it is a good plan to adopt a system of soiling which will keep the hogs supplied with green food in summer, and roots or sfiage in the winter.. If the hogs are given the run of the hay stack tney will subsist for months with but very little grain. A ration of hay or dry grass during the season when the pastures are covered with snow will be very acceptable, and great!y reduce the cost of wintering the herd. Our pfg money must now come out of the pasture, the clover, the orchard. and other cheap foods. The old demand may have been for pork in the lard sense, but the coming demand Is for meat in the muscle sense, and good, sweet, wholesome meat at that. The active hog, which has the range of the fields, will produce this kind of meat much faster and better than the inactive, sluggish one, penned up and fed on an exclusive diet of corn. The sluggish one will fill up with fat, and the secretions will be dried up and the blood will thicken. The system of such an animal is always more susceptible todisease, and besides it Is always more costly to prbdnce fat than good meat, and to-day it is the least value as a food. The old idea seems to have been to begin to fatten the hogs as soon as born, and as a result nothing bat fat pork was produced. People liked this less and less, and then when the germs of a deadly disease were found in the great rolls of fat the consumers became frightened. Pork was no longer the meat of the people. The hog that is brought up to make muscle and lean meat, and then when needed for the market fattened on corn, always pleases the butcher and the consumers. A complete change has thus teen inaugurated in swine breeding, and for the better. The result is going to be more profitable for the breeders, and more and superior pork for the consumers. It will also blot out the bad name which American pork has received abroad quicker and more effectually than all governmental interference. The whole trouble and remedy lies In the hands of the swine breeders.r— IF. E. Farmer, in American Cultivator. Keeping Sowa to Breed ng. The fact is not so well known as it

should be that from three to five days, after dropping her litter of pigs a sowwill mate again. It is best with large, fully grown sows, to let them have pigs as often as possible, as in our experience they do better and produce more thrifty growing pigs by this method. The explanation of this paradox is that this method prevents the sow from getting fat, so as to Injure her breeding, as she* is sure to do if loft too long without pigs suckling her. Sows thus treated not only bear but will need liberal feeding, as the growing foetus and suckling pigs are drawing on the sow. besides the nourishment required to maintain her owa existence.— American Cultivator. Selling Young Pigs. There is no way of making profit fromhogs so easily afid certainly as keeping a number of first-class breeding sows and selling the pigs when from six to ton weeks old. The price of pigs at this age> generally represent both in the eye of' the seller and buyer a considerable share of what the pig will grow to if properly fed. It is true the young pig makes, more weight from same amount of feed than ho does when older, but generally the man who sells the pig gets this profit, or a good share of it, without the expense of feeding.

Notos. Uniformity in size, color and weight will add to the value of a lot of hogswhen they are ready to market. Rivalry among swine breeders is agood thing, so long as it does not lead them to disparage the merits of others. Of the seven to nine months required to feed a hog for market, from five to seven of them should be spent in good pastures. In a majority of eases It is the breeder and feeder that looks after the little things in the management that makes, the most money. It is to the credit of hog breeders that, in comparison with other classes of stock fully as much Improvement has been made, says the lowa Farmer. The best profit is not realized with the greatest weight in swine, says an exchange. It is medium weight and early maturity that is the most desirable. Many beginners got discouraged in attempting to improve the quality of their hogs because prices get low, but thia should only be an inducement for further Improvement, says a writer. THE HOUSEHOLD. Drying Out Rubber Hoots. Many farmers would wear rubber boots more than they do if they knew how to get them dry inside. A wet rubber boot-

Is about the most uncomfortable thing one can put on his feet. Mr. M. H. Q. Gardner, of Orange County, N. Y., tried hot oats, hot sand and a hot oven, with poor success, and was about ready to • give up rubber boots when he hit upon the plan for drying shown in the Illustrations. A stout wire is bent as shown, with loops largo enough to admit the boot legs. There is a hook at the back to hold the wire in place when put over the.

stovepipe. The boots are thus out of the way, and when a fire Is kept overnight they are perfectly dry and warm in the morning.—Rural New Yorker. Hints to Housekeepers. It is said that sciatica may be cured) by applying a coating of flowers of sulphur to the afflicted limb. Gold rope Is much used for picture--frames. It should not be more than half an inch In diameter, except for lar geepictures. Hemp and manilia are alsoused; but hemp Is better, for it ia> smooth. A good plan for keeping butter cool and sweet in summer is to fill a box with sand to within an inch or two of the top; sink the butter jars in the sand, then thoroughly wet the sand with cold water. Cover the box air-tight. The > box may be kept in the kitchen. For tender feet, take two quarts of cold water and add one tablespoonful of bay rum and two tablespoonfuls of ammonia. The feet should bo soaked in> this for ten minutes, throwing the waterupward to the knees. Rub dry with a crash towel, and the tired feeling will be gone. A useful cement for mending earthern or stone jars, stopping leaks in the*, seams of tin pans or iron kettles, ortightning loose joints of iron or wood, few made by mixing litharge and glycerine to a thick cream. This will resist acids,, heat and cold, if the article is not used, until the cement has hardened. Macaroni should be used much more, than it is. It is a very good substitute for potatoes when that vegetable is. scarce and high, as it is this year. Many physicians object seriously tu the use of" old potatoes after they have begun to sprout, and on their own tables use macaroni instead. The simple ways of preparing this dish everybody knows. Rattan and willow chairs should be cleaned, like straw matting, with salt and water. First thoroughly remove • the dust. Then wring a clean cloth out. of salt and water, rubbing chair or mat--ting dry with the other hand as you goon, or, at any rate, as quickly as you can. so that it may retain nona, of thft. moisture.