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J. C. HEARTSELL. Ed. and Pub.
VOL NIL
CL “l «as mmm rael —< J
A Romance of the CivL
War.
BY MAJ. JAMES F. FITTS.
ClI Yl'TKK If—Continued.
“Gammon! You want ns to believe that
fon don't know what brings us here aftei
SOU'"
“ I do not Know."
‘‘Wei’, yon shall By mighty, we won’t
leave anything in tlio dark a! out that,
though 1 icekou you know rebel as well ns sent w«
do We believe you’re a spy,
tip here to hull out nil about ns Union
people, and toko i bo news to old Harris
or some of his cut-throats. Maybe, if we
badu t oorne iu here to-night, you’d be oh
to-monow, and next we’d see of you you’d kill
be guidii burn. g the That’s rebel the horse up here to
and charge, stranger,
that you’ve got to answer; and less joc
can answer it better’ll 1 think you can,
you’ll swing from one of those tall tree* bout
down 1 eiow hire fore the moon is an
higher.”
A low, tierce murmur of assent ran
through fearful the room. Confronted menaced at him. last
with the peril that his outward
the prisoner never lost com¬
posure, though his heart sank at the
prospect. right of in
“You have no to dispose me
this w ” he said, with a show of ealm-
uess. before i’ake the me Union to headquarters; General and bring I’ll
me
answer to liim on this charge.”
A scotntui laugh from the crowd greeted
uis words
“Union General!” repeated Baird, “We
haint seen any; you’d have to go a good tind
ways outside of Bast Tennessee to
one, I reckon. As for Union headquar¬ in
ters—they’re mountains. anywhere, They’re everywhere, right here iu
those
this cal in. r.t this minute! They’re iu
every but up and down the Clinch Moun¬
tains where there’s a man, woman or
child that’s !e irned to love (ho 1 mil that
our fathers fought for, and to hate the
cm sed aristocrats that want to split it to
pieces. Union headquarters, do you soy?
Here they ate.” “Here, And the speaker the heart smote of
iiis In-cast. and iu
each loyal East Tennesseean who skulks
and hides from Harris’ minions, and
prays Union for tho day that will bring the
soldiers up this way and give him
freedom!”
Even the prisoner himself was thrilled
by this out-mirs- of ru le eloquence-, but
the speaker’s companions were simply
cat-lied away by it. Tho narrow cabin
rang with their shouts; cboei-H for Lincoln
anil the Union, and groans for Governor
Harris made for a few moments a Babel
of noise.
“I hope you’re answered,
Baird, when the clamor ha 1 cc.i-.ed.
“Y’ou’re in tho hands of tho men woo t-re
go ng to try you; and if they find you
guilty of being a rebel spy, they’ll delay hatip
you, and there won’t bo any n’ oul
that part of it, neither. How is it. bora—
will you be the jury and I the Jud ,e?”
The answer was one loud “Aye."
“AH right, boys. I haven’t much lam¬
in’, but I reckon I can manage this. 1
was a Justice of the Peace down below
here, ’fore everything was broke up about bj
this war. and I know something
trials. I've got the witnesses right here
to prove ve guilty, and I’ll call ’em on
First-
“Wait,” interrupted the prisoner. “1
don’t believe for a moment that you waut
to kill mo to satisfy some of your hatred
toward tho rebels. 1 believe you to bt
just men, if you are rouuh in your ways.
I think I can satisfy you that Will I am not give at
all what you take me for. you
me a fair trial? Will you judge me
fairly?" do. But
“Just as fairly as it’s in us to
I warn ye—there's a strong case agin you."
The prisoner looked calmly at his judge
and. jury, and there was little of hope
within him as he did so. Wallace Baird
sat rigidly before him; tho others stood
and leaned on their rides, except tho two
who hedd him by the arms. He knew that
they had come there, not to try him, but
to hang him; ho saw their verdict made
up iu their stern faces. Y’et. as one will
always cling to hope, ho resolved to try
to move thorn by simple and direct ap¬
peals at the right moment.
“Since I have nothing to conceal,” he
said, “I do not think you will want any
witnesses. I will toll you the exact truth,
either in answer to your questions or in
tho form of a narrative. Go on; what dr
you want to know?"
Wallace Baird began to question him.
. CHAPTER III.
AT THE GALLOWS IEEE.
Baird held up the envelope again.
“What do you say about this?”
“Tbat letter was received by me in
Vicksburg, through the Postoflice, last
May. Tho person who wrote it lives in
the same city. My name is Charles Smed-
iey. I was once a Captain in the army. ”
“Ain’tyou in the rebel service now?”
“No; and I never have been.”
“Well, the letter squints that way—
that’s all. I’ll read it out.’,’
Smedley started at the proposition; but
he quickly avail, realized and that his protest would
be of no would tell against
him. YVith outward composure, but with
something like inward madness, be beard
bis rough judge with some hesitation and
stumbling read tho following;
Vicksburg, Slav 7, 1801.
Captain Smedley: Your note of yester¬
day is received. You complain in it that, 1
treat you distantly when we meet on tho
street; you say that you have called re¬
cently at my father’s house, and that the
airl at the door said X was not at home, when
you suspected that I was at home. You ask
me for an appointment, yourself. when you may see
me and explain
Sir!—there is but one explanation you can
make that will bo acceptable to me. Tlie'
timo bo for plain other speaking kind has between come, and there The
South can no us.
needs every ono of her sons; your
State calls you to the field. I am a true
daughter oi Mississippi, and will not smile
on one who, born on her soil, hesitates to
draw the sword for her and her sister States
which have set up a new government. She
has a right to demand more of you than
of roost others: for you have experience,
voa have already achieved a name men!’ in war,
you are qualified to be a leader of be Colon*
My father says that you may
SPRING PLACE. MURRAY COUNTY. GA. MAY li, 1892.
of the iafauiry cegitiient now raising here,
if volt will but ask it. TeH him to-morrow
morning that you wish it: and in tho evening
you will not be turned away from our door.
Otherwise It will be useless for you to
come. Isabel Montfobd.
“ Wen?” asked Baird.
“I h ue not seen the writer of that let¬
ter since its date,” Smedley responded.
“I left Vicksburg on the 8th of Miy and
with much difficulty got through the
lines. ”
“What does the letter mean where it
says you have experience in war?’’
“It means the. I fought with the Mis¬
sis* p: i Volunteers in the Mexican \i«r '.
”a onV”
“Yes.”
“Come, now, Mr. Smedly—if that’s your
name—don’t try to gammon us in that
way. YVe’re not fools, if we be ignorant.
You don’t look more’n thirty now.
“Thirty-one,” said Smedley.
“The Mexican war was over thirteen
years ago, at least. You wasn't old enough
to be there"*”
“I enlisted when I was sixteen. 1 fought
in some of its severest battles. I won s
Captain's commission for bravery at Mon¬
terey, where I was desperately wounded,
I have fought hard and often for this
country; I never raised my hand against
her yet.”
The simple statement, the tone in whirl
it was uttered, made a certain impressior
on his captors. But the Judge went or
with bis questions.
"You won’t deny that you was writing
this here?” and he held up the unfinisbec
letter.
“And “I was writing it when you came.”
it reads well, too! Listen to it:”
In the Clinch Mountains, i
Miss Montford: East Tennessee. Aug. 15, 18G1. j
Your cruel letter is always with nut. j
road it duily with such Heaviness o;
heart, as you will never know. The
day after receiving it. I left Vicksburg; It
was needless to tell you why 1 must depart;
and yet 1 often regret that I came away.
But what was I to do? I never could accept
you hard condition: to live near you and
not to see you. not io speak, to you. would
be impossible. I have not drawn my sword
against the Mouth; how can I. with you
against me? 1 hear of Union reverses;
everything Isabel—— is doubtful; I know not what to
do. O,
“How Vicksburg?” d’ye send such letters as this
down to
“I do not send them. I never have sent
one.”
“What d’ye write ’em for, then?"
“To occupy my idle moments; to relic v.
my distraction.”
“What d’ye do with ’em?”
“I burn them up.”
Baird looked round with a kind of tri¬
umph. about him, From the expression of tho faces
Smedley'* it was received plain that credence. this part oi
“What brought story no
you up here, anyway?'
pursued “Can’t Baird. understand it?” The pris¬
you
oner spoke with impatience and irritation.
“If you are not blocks of wood you will
know what those letters mean. I wanted
to get away from men and women; to try
to get away from myself. That is why 1
came to this lonely region. There was nc
other reason."
“O, wasn’t tlie-e 0 What did ye make all
iliese pictures of tho mountains and the
passes for—if not Jo send 'em to the reb¬
els?"
“I swear I had no such in ten 1 ion. It
was only to amuse myself aud occupy my
mind.”
“What did ye goto Knoxville for, n week
ago? And what did Harris’ soldiers Jet}*-
come back for?’’
“I did not go there.”
“You didn’t?"
“No. the I started, intending to go then
aud get news and some suppl.es that
I could not procure up here. I got within
six miles of the plice and was warned bj
a friendly Union woman not to go on.
Sho found out what my sentiments were
by talking with me, and she told me that
rebel 1. would surely if 1 be conscripted Knoxvillo. into I the
army got to made
out to buy a very small store of provisions
on the way and I started back here. 1
was at Knoxville a mouth ago aud learned
to be careful.’’
“Here’s three small books, called ‘Har¬
dee’s “They Tactics.’ YVkut be they?” The}
relate to the study of war.
tell how- to drill and manage infantry."
“What he you doing with them?”
“I was a soldier in Mexico, I told voa.
I have always since taken an interest ir
studying tho movements of troops.”
“Horace!” exclaimed Burt Hankins.
“I’ve lieatd that name before. I saw it in
a paper. He's a rebel General.”
Smedley was tempted to smile, but the
lowering faces about him thought warned him that
this item of proof was to be seri¬
ous.
“The book was written years before thit
war, ” he explained. “The author was ther
an officer in the United States I army.”
“Humph! Lots How of ’em was, hear, wht
is secesh now. did you get tbat
paper if you didn’t go to Knoxville?”
“You "I got it of tho woman I spoke of.”
don’t deny that you was born it
Mississippi?"
“No; nor that I fled from there 'when 1
became afraid that I would have to join
the rebel army if I stayed. I tell you, 1
have suffered forthe Union—perhaps more
than you have. If I have not fought fot
it in this war, I have not fought against it.’
A brief silence followed his words.
“Ho you want to say anything more?’
Wallace Baird asked.
“Nothing. If I hare not convinced yoi
that I am not a rebel spy, then I can not
convince you. I have told you the truth.
It’ I die for it, I can tell no other story.
I am as good a Union man as the best oi
you. ’’
He looked straight into Baird’s eves, and
knew that this man. at least, believed
him guilty of the charge. Looking round
upon the other faces, he saw little en-
couragement.
him “Sanders, Bullis," said the Judge, “take
outside. YYe will consult a little. ’’
He went out with his guards. They
stood in dull silence near him, gun in
hand, while the confused murmur ol
voices came from the cabin. Smedley
looked around him and off along the
misty mountains, over which the moon
wag shade, shining, light. leaving the steep slopes half
half But an hour ago life
had seemed to him an intolerable burden,
a dull, dreary pain; now, when it was
threatened to be taken from him, the
thought He wondered of leaving it gave him a pang.
w here he should be On the
following when night; if Isabel would really be
sorry she heard of his cruel fate; if
shewould Bhed a single tear when-
“‘TELL THE TRUTH”
The men in the cabin all came out to
gether and gathered about him. He read
his doom in their faces.
“Smedley,” said the Judge, “we have
voted you guilty. Parts of your story arc
reasocable enough; but it don't hang well
together. Banders aud Bullis, wiiat do
you say?”
"He’s a spy,” was the answer of both.
“Come along,” was Baird's brief an!
terrible order.
All walked about ten rods to the scat -
taring timber. The Judge paused under
an oak that had a stout branch twelve
feet up.
"This will do,” he sabi. “Got ready."
his Smedley ankles s arms were bouudbehind him,
were tied, and his handkerchief
was fastened ov> r his eyes. The noose
was placed round Ins neck, the rope wai
passed in the over hands the of branch, three and the end victii) was
men. The
swiftly commended his soul to his Maker.
“This “Anything to sav?” asked Baird. -
is a murder!” was the firm replf.
“You will learn tho truth too late. May
God fear forgive death, von! but I am a soldier and di>
not 1 ought not to die
thus."
Wallace Baird raised his hand. Smed¬
ley felt tho rope tighten about his neck;
he was lifted from his feet. Flashes of
flte were before his eyes. Followed by
darkness, the loud, roaring of somethin?
like the rush of many waters, and h«
knew no more.
CHAPTER IV.
AT THE I,AST MOMENT.
For several hours before these occur¬
rences a man mounted on a strong black
horse bail been ascending the precipitous
side of these mountains, toiling through
the defiles, anil penetrating the gullies.
The road was winding and often ob¬
scure; often it ceased to bo of the char¬
acter of a highway, and became a mere
path. This but traveler was no stranger in
this region, there were places where
the way became unusually steep aud
rooky, and which the direction was doubt¬
ful, at he would dismount
and carefully examine the surroundings, liis
and then mount again and resume
way. Though sometimes embarrassed
he never failed iu the end to spell out
the right path.
He was at this time about twenty-five
years of age, and appeared, as he easily
sat on his horse, to be of medium height,
broad-shouldered and muscular. Ilia
large, with brown well-shaped head was from covered
hair which showed un¬
der his wide hat, liis face was fresh and
rosy, mustache a curly brown manly beard look; and long
gave it a and
while the mouth was thus concealed,
there was a straight, shapely nose above,
and there were two such large and deep I
blue eyes as are not often given to
man . His face, as lie rode slowly along
was a a mirror of thought. Anxiety wonl
be pictured there, then resolution would
flash from his eyes, and then sorrow ot
apprehension of evil would take its
place. furnished Tho saddle that ho bestrode was
with bolsters, and once he
took out the pistols that they contained
and At carefully examined day them.
sunset of this be drew roin on
one of tlie levels of these heights, and
looked away to the south. The whole
region was flooded with light, and all its
picturesque features wore spread before
him as on a map. He could see the
towering horizon, ridges that seemed lost in tho
the valleys that sheltered un¬
seen villages, and even thread-like
glimpses of the French Broad, winding
down toward distant Knoxville. Long
and earnestly he looked, and a sigh
burst from his breast.
‘‘And this region, too, must be given
over to the flames anil horrors of civil
war! Great God! to think of the misery
that How is have in store merited for this it? innocent What have people!
we wo
ever done that it should come upon ns?
Why can they not leave feuds us elsewhere?’’ in peace and
fight out asked their bitter
He the questions, anil answered
them in his own mind as soon bb asked.
He was a student, a reader and a
thinker. He knew the causes of tho ter¬
rible conflict of arms tbtit bad been
launched upon the land, and be was able
to foresee what all could not—its long,
bloody and devastating course.
Ho turned and rode on. HIh face grew
stern and moody, and, although the path
was growing steeper and more difficult,
be urged liis liorse to a faster gait.
Twilight passed, the moon rose as he
went on. He had no eyes now for the
imposing grandeur of the scone; his
soliloquy hail turned his thoughts upon
his mission up here, upon those he had
left behind the previous day with tear¬
ful farewells, and upon the doubtful
and troubled future. A great fragment
of rock fell from a cliff near the road
screeched into a deep from chasm, a by, catamount and the
a tree near
combined noises echoed and reverberat¬
ed among the mountains; but the rider
hardly noticed them.
It was, perhaps, two hours after moon-
rise that he turned off through a narrow
defile which led to a small level almost
covered with trees. There was a small
house, hardly more than a hut, and a
iked behind it.
“This rode is the place,” the he door said. and
He up to gave a
loud “Hnlloa!” Avery small panel was
shoved aside, and the rider was con¬
scious of being inspected from within.
“Who is it?” was demanded.
“ Brandon-from Knoxville,” was
the reply.
The door was unbolted and flung open,
and a middle-aged woman, clad in a
coarse cotton gown, with throe or foui
somewhat ragged children at her heels,
rushed out. The horseman had seen
her before, and had before observed the
lingering traces of feminine beauty iff
her face, almost obliterated now of by these care
and sorrow anil the hard life
mountains.
She came straight up to the saddR
and offered her hand. Her faded eye»
shone with gratification. is it really you?'
“Why! Mr. Brandon, knew when I lookei
“I thought I you
through tho peep-hole; but it’s so lonj
since you've been up this way—not sine
the war began, have you?—that I fearei
we’d nevej-.see you again. We’ve heart
abooiit from you once in a while, though, am
all we know of what's going oi
at Knoxville aud beyond is the viewi
you’ve managed to send us. Butcome-
get off, and come in. Dan, take tin
horse and put him in the shed. Wall;
won’t be back till morning, but he’ll bd
glad enough to see you then.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
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SYMPTOMS OF HOUSE INSANITY.
YVheu a horse goes insane he is apt to
kill himself by butting his head into a
corner. At the Veterinary Hospital of
the University of Pennsylvania, the largest
of its kind in the country, such cases arc
treated in an oval brick chamber, per¬
fectly dark. When this is heavily bedded
with straw it is almost impossible for a
horse to hurt himself. Insanity, or
“dumminess,” in horses is quite common.
It is sometimes caused by a lesion on the
brain, and is incurable, but when caused
by stomach disorders it is often treated
successfully.—Chicago Herald.
THE CURRANT BOIlKIi.
The question is often asked why cur¬
rant bushes grow weakly. Now and then
a while strong, vigorous shoot will appear,
most are puny. Mehan, in his
Monthly, says that in most cases this re-
suits from the work ol' the currant borer,
if a branch be cut across it will be found
hollow. This channel is where the borer
has been. Only a very small black punc¬
ture on the outside of the stem shows
where the insect laid his egg. If one
could get used to noting this puncture in
tho fall of the year, and cut out such
twigs and burn them, it would help cur¬
rant culture.—New York World.
GEESE KILL GRASS.
Formerly geese were raised here —
Vermont—in considerable numbers,
writes O. 8. Bliss, but feathers and car¬
casses are neither as profitable as they
wore, and the birds were found injurious
to pastures, and few are now kept. We
kept the Euibdca, or, as they were then
more generally called, the Bremen geese,
for several years, and they paid well,
but their run was so restricted that they
pulled the best grasses up, so as to spoil
the feed, and we got rid of them. Others
kept the Toulouse, but our farmers gen¬
erally contented themselves with a pure¬
bred gander, and stuck to the natives
and crosses. In my boyhood, father used
to pick up among his neighbors
enough to make up, with our own,
a»sleigh-load of line carcasses and take
them to Montreal every winter, and it
paid; but you could hardly persuade any¬
body here to keep geese now if you gave
them a good outfit of the best breed.
Then the grasses grew spontaneously and
luxuriantly everywhere; now the stand
of grass is maintained only with care and
expense, and a goose will eat and destroy
as much as a sheep. I like to see a flock
of fine geese, and if I lived where they
could have a good run on strong deep
land, where the grass could hold its own
against them, I would keep them.—New
York Tribune.
WATER IN THE DAIRY.
In every gallon of milk there is at least
seven pints of water, a fact in itseif
sufficient to convince one that good milk
cannot be obtained from an impure
water supply, and that a shortage iu
quantity will be attended by an immedi¬
ate and corresponding diminution of the
flow; indeed, it would seem that the
importance of water as an element in
milk production is represented by the
fraction representing its value as a con¬
stituent.
Some men seem to think that nature
made the cow a filter or rectifying ap¬
paratus, into which any amount of stale,
unwholesome aud impure water may be
introduced with impunity, but the ex¬
perienced cheesemaker knows better.
In the course of an extended experience
as a cheese instructor iu Canada, Scot¬
land and the United States, the writer
of this article has met with more diffi¬
culty from bad water than from any
other cause. It is a fact that in nine-
tenths of the pastures throughout the
dairy belt there are low places, swamps
and frog ponds, at which, in the course
of the season, the cow are compelled to
resort to quench their thirst, This
ought not to be. No prudent dairyman
will permit his dairy to drink at these
places. They should always be filled up
or fenced out, and an abundant supply
of pure, living water be furnished at
whatever cost. It requires from one to
three pounds more of swamp water milk
to produce a pound of cheese than it
does of pure water milk, and it always
engenders gaseous curd and cheese of
loathsome flavor.—American Farmer.
KILLING THISTLES AND BURDOCK.
At a Farmers’ Institute at Hortonville,
Wis., the essayist gave his method of
dealing with the above weeds as follows :
“If I had a patch of Canada thistles I
would turn it into a pasture and salt my
stock on that lot at least twice a week,
and I would cut off at or below tho sur¬
face what I didn’t salt. If I could not
turn it into pasture I would have a sharp
plow and plow it, and drag it thoroughly
after it was plowed with a fine tooth
drag. Then cut them up wbeuever they
tome up. I dug mine out twice a week
with a spade. Iu the fall of the year the
weeds came up thick, aud for fear I
might miss some I put the plow iu aud
plowed it up again, and killed them the
iiist year. Kerosene will kill them, and
SI.OO a Year in Advance.
salt in a wet time will kill them. Brine
will kill them.”
The burdock lie cuts up as soon as he
sees it. An old root in rich ground
often has the crown several inches below
the surface in loose, rich ground. Wheu
cut below the crown they never sprout
again, but new ones may come from the
seed. .Until more than two years old
they do not. run down more than two
or three inches and arc easily killed. An
old morticing chisel with a long handle
is the best tool for such work, and it is
improved by having a spur in the handle
upon which the foot can be placed m
cutting a tough root. Many other weeds
iu the meadows or lawns are easiest killed
with such an implement, and while it is
quite a task to go over a ten-acre lot that
is very weedy, yet the number of such
weeds that come after a year or two of
cultivation and seeding to grass is not
large unless foul seed is sown.—Ameri¬
can Cultivator.
ASPARAGUS.
Asparagus is the earliest, easily cared
for, and most delicious of garden vege¬
tables, yet in how small a number of
gardens it is found. It grows with the
ease of weeds, and when once started,
if taken care of, it will come up every
spring for a lifetime. It grows with
great prolusion in the Southern States,
coming up iu the gardens, orchards and
grain fields, and for several weeks fur¬
nishes the farmers with a dish of the
most it exquisite f<w profit, taste. and Many farmers
grow when cultivated
and fertilized it will yield a net profit of
§100 per acre.
Before the plants begin to start iu
early spring the dead stalls of last year’s
growth are cut aud raked off the field
*vith a harrow, which loosens the soil at
'the same time. As soon as the young
stalks reach the height of six or eight
inches they are cut, trimmed, packed in
bunches of twelve stalks to the buuch,
and shipped to the city in crates. The
cutting then continues at intervals un¬
til the people get tired of asparagus and
it does not pay to ship. After the cut¬
ting is over the ground is thoroughly
cultivated aud the plants are hoed aud
fertilized.
Asparagus can be raised from seed,
but iu starting small beds the best way
is to buy the plants. They can be pro¬
cured at small cost of almost auy seeds¬
man aud will give the bed a start of at
least a year. The soil should be well
prepared rich loam and the plants should
be set out in rows eighteen inches apart
and a foot apart in the row. Great care
should he taken to get the roots spread
and well covered. In the Northern
States it is best to cover the beds some
time in the fall with three or four inches
of manure, and early in the spring salt
should be strewn profusely on the bed.
Salt is one of the best fertilizers for ns-
paragus, and raw bone is excellent.
Asparagus is a luxury which every
farmer can possess, whether he lives at
the north or south, and I advise all those
who do not already enjoy this most de-
lieicus of vegetables to set out a bed of
asparagus this spring. It will do to be-
gin cutting in a year or two, after which
it will be a source of pleasure as well as
profit.—Farm Herald.
FARM AND GARDEN NOTES.
Put your sawdust around your currant
and gooseberry bushes. They need good
manure also, aud will pay for it.
YYe cannot make the finest grades of
butter from any one feed; but there is
no question about our being able to
make good butter from ensilage,although
not the best.
If you will mix a ration of cottonseed
meal, ground oats, wheat bran, wheat
middlings or linseed meal with the en¬
silage, you will be able to make as good
butter in January and February as iu
June and July.
Some asparagus grower claims that an
improvement of fifty per cent, cau be
made in the asparagus bed by selecting
two-year-old plants that bear no seed.
These are males, and the shoot3 from
them will be earlier and larger.
Keep a little box of ground charcoal,
one of clean, ground bone, and one ol
small, sharp flint before the poultry,and
plenty of coarse,sharp sand on the floor;
also, a box of ground oyster shells, as.
grit. But in recommending these sub¬
stances it may be stated that auy kind oi
sharp small grit will do.
Squashes want light, sauiy soil, with
abundance of manure placed directly in
the hill with the seed. But two plants
should be left in each hill, and they be
given about 100 square feet of ground
to run over. They can thus be made to
produce five tons to the acre, worth all
the way from $6 to $10 a ton.
Where there are undesirable trees or
shrubs,which it is desired to have killed
so completely that they will not sprout
again, June is the time to cut them
down. The sap that was stored up from
the previous year will have been ex¬
pended and none new will have been
prepared, and life ends with the chop¬
ping away of foliage.
NO. 10.
SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL.
An average man breathes about 20,•
000 times in a day.
A process has recently been discovered
for mahing flour of bananas.
When a belt gets saturated wiflfc waste
oil, an application of ground chalk belt will
soon absorb the oil and make the
-workable.
A tricycle to be propelled by electricity
and to run at the average speed of ten
miles an hour ha* hecu patented at
YVashington.
Bismuth melts at a point so far below
that of boiling water that it can be used
for taking casts from the most destruc¬
tible objects.
Steel is now being used in the manu¬
facture of fence posts. This is an inno¬
vation on the old cedar method, and
promises to meet with extended use.
The Midland Railway in England has
now running between St. Pancras and
Bradford trial trains fitted with a hot
water apparatus, supplied from the en¬
gine, for heating the carriages.
Electricity has now been put to many
uses, the very latest being the working
of a machine which it was said will
revolutionize the art of stone carving.
The inventor is a Colorado man.
It has been proposed to make the upper
half of war balloons of very thin steel,
and the lower portion of ordinary bal¬
loon material, the whole so constructed
as to hold hydrogen instead ot ordinary
gas.
The descendants of a single wasp num¬
ber as many as 30,000 in one season.
November is the fatal month which kills
them all off, except two or three females,
on whom depends the perpetuation of
the race.
No animal has more than five toes,
digits, or claws to each foot or limb.
The horse is one-toed, the ox two-toed,
the rhinoceros is three-toed, the hippo¬
potamus is four-toad, and the elephant
anu hundreds of other animals are five¬
toed.
Sheet-iron kites, to enable a vessel
when in distress during a storm to com¬
municate with the shore, have been sug-
gested. It would be a curious experi¬
ment. Of course, sheet-iron can be
made as thin or thinner than writing
paper.
In its wild state the elephant fends
heartily, but wastefully. It is careful iu
selecting the few forest trees wliich it
likes for their bark or foliage. But it
will tear down branches and leave half
of them untouched. It will strip off the
bark from other trees and throw away a
large portion.
Lettuce is a sleepy vegetable. It has
narcotic properties in the milky juice
that exudes when it is cut. The proper¬
ties of this fluid are analogous to those of
opium, but without the litter's disagree¬
able after effects. The rapid growth ol
lettuce iu a cold frame diminishes tne
lomnolent quality of its juice.
The hop vine is said to be sinistrorse
because it twines with the motion of the
sun, that is, from right to left. Beans,
morning glories and all other species of
climbing plants, with the exception of
one of the honeysuckles, are dextrorse,
turning opposite to the apparent motion
of the sun, or from left to right.
After you have become tired of payiug
s tool-maker to forge and grind up tools,
you will try to cast iron tools made out
of old car wheel iron and albutninum al-
loy composite, in either a cupola or cruei-
bte furnace. They will take a greedy
bite and not get discouraged; and will
not require grinding so often as steel
tools,
A Good Pocket-Knife.
The costliest pocket-knives manufac¬
tured for sale are retailed at a store iu
New York City, which sells nothing but
knives. There are 1500 different kinds
on exhibition iu the window, ranging iu
price from five cents to $23. The $23
knife is the costliest known. The out¬
side plates of its handle are solid gold,
and it contains two small blades only, a
nail file aud a miniature pair of scissors.
There is a little hook in the handle by
which it may be attached to the waten
chain. The sales of the $25 knife are
very slow.
The largest knife in America is sup¬
posed to be in Cincinnati. It has fifty-
six blades and a chest of tools in itself,
containing almost anything from a tooth¬
pick to a cigar punch, from a pair of
scissors to a handsaw. It is for sale at
$500 and weighs thirteen pounds.
Tho largest knife ever known was
made by Jonathan Crookes, a workman
for Joseph Rodgers in Sheffield. It had
1821 blades.—St. Louis Republic.
tr” Poet’s Definition of Poetry.
W‘l fiber sung, spoken, or written,
poetrj .says E. C*. Steidman iu the Cen¬
tury, is still the most vital form of human
| j expression. One who essays to analyze
its constituents is an explorer undertak-
j n g a quest in which many have failed,
Doubtless he too may fail, but he sets
forth in the simplicity, of a good knight
w ho does not fear his fate too much,
whether his desert*be great or small,
In this mood seeking a definition of
that poetic utterance which is or may
become of record—a definition both de¬
fensible and inclusive, yet compressed
into a single phiase—I have put together
the following statement:
Poetry is rhythmical, imaginative
language, expressing the invention,taste,
thought, passion and insight of tho
human soul.