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CH AI'ILK XVIII
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&7u? made a target of their shaven crowns.
While we were eating supper a dozen
Indian girls were gathered about a table
in one of the large rooms behind the
house, bu.-ily engaged in blowingout the
contents of several hundred eggsand fill
ing the hollow she Ils with cologne, flour,
tinsel, bright scraps of paper. Each egg
was then sealed with white wax and
ready for the easearon frolic of the even
ing.
We had b< on dancing, singing and talk
ing for an hour after rosario when the
eggs were brot in. In an instant ev
ery girl's hair unbound, a wild dive
was ihade for ' trays and eggs flew in
every direction. Dancing was forgotten.
The girls and nr n chased each other
about the room; the air was filled with
perfume and glittering particles, the lat
ter looking very pretty on black floating
hair. Etiquette demanded that only one
egg should be thrown by the same hand
at a time, but quick turns of supple
wrists followed each other very rapidly.
To really accomplish a feat the egg must
crash on the back of the head, and each
occupied in attack was easy prey.
Chonita was like a child. Two priests
were of our party, and she made a tar
get of their shaven crowns, shrieking
with delight. They vowed revenge and
chased her all over the house, but not an
egg had broken on that golden mane.
She was surrounded at one time by Ca
balleros, but she whirled and doubled so
swiftly that every easearon flew afield.
The pelting grew faster and more furi
ous; every room was invaded; wo chased
each other up and down the corridors.
The people in the court had their easca
rons also, and the noise must have been
heard at the mission. Don Guillermo
hobbled about delightedly, covered with
tinsel and flour. Estenega had tried a
dozen times to hit Chonita, but as if by
instinct she faced him each time before
the egg could leave his hand. Finally he
pursued her down the corridor to her li
brary, where I, fortunately, happened to
be resting, and both threw themselves
into chairs, breathless.
“Let us stay here,” he said. “We have
had enough of this.”
“Very well,” she said. 15he bent her
head to lift a book which had fallen from
a shelf, and felt the soft blow of the cas
caron.
“At last!" said Estenega contentedly.
“I was determined to conquer if I waited
until morning."
Chonita looked vexed for a moment—-
sho did not like to bo vanquished—then
shrug god her shoulders and leaned back
in her chair. The little room was plainly
furnished. Shelves covered three sides,
and the window seat and table were lit
tered with books. T :o?e were no cur
tains, no carpet, no orvmm ns; but Cho
nita's hair, billowing to tl o floor, her
slender voluptuous form and radiant
face, the candle light half revealing, half
concealing, made a picture requiring no
background. 1 caught the expression of
Estenega’s face and determined to re
main if ho murdered me.
Peals of laughter, joyous shrieks,
Bcreants of mock terror floated in to us.
1 broke a silence which was growing
awkward:
“How happy they are! Creatures of
air and sunshine! Life in this Arcadia
is an idyl.”
“They are not happy,” said Estenega
contemptuously; “they are gay. They
are light of heart through absence of
material cares endless source of en
joyment, whicl . its turn has bred a
careless order < mind. But did each
pause long enough to look into his own
heart would he not find a stone some
where in its depths—perhaps a skull
graven on the stone—who knows?"
“Oh, Diego!” I exclaimed impatiently,
"this is a party; not a funeral.”
“Then is no one happy?” asked Cho
nita wistfully.
“How can ho be when in each mo
ment of attainment he is pricked by the
knowledge that it must soon be over?
The youth is not happy because *he
shadow of the future is on him. The
man is not happy because the knowledge
of life's incompleteness is with him.”
“Then of what use to live at all?”
“No use. It is no use to die cither;
so we live. 1 will grant that there may
be ten completely happy- moments in
life—the ten conscious moments preced
ing certain death —and oblivion.”
“1 will not discuss the beautiful hope
of our religion with you, because you do
not believe, and I should only get angry.
But what ate we tc do with this life?
You say nothing is wrong nor right.
What would you have the stumbling
and unanchored do with what has been
thrust upon them?”
“Ilian, in his gropings down through
the centuries, has concocted, shivered
and |-inched certain social conditions
well enough calcu’u.ted to develop the
best mm’ .he worst that is in us, making
it easier for tts to be bad than good, that
good might be the standard. We feel
a deeper satisfaction if we have con
quered an eval impulse and done what
is accepted as right, because we have
groaned and stumbled in the doing; that
is all Temptation issweet only because
the impulse comes from the depths of
our being, not because it is difficult to
be tempted. If we overcome the satis
faction is deep and enduring—which only
goes to show that man is but a petty
egoist, always drawing pictures of him
self on a pedestal. The man who eman
cipates himself from traditions and
yields to his impulses is debarred from
happiness by the blindfolded generations
preceding him, which arranged that to
yield was easy and to resist difficult.
Had they reversed the conditions and
conclusions the majority’ of the human
race would have fought each other to
death, but the selected -remnant would
have had a better time of it.
“Let us suppose a case as conditions
now exist. Assume, for the sake of av
gument, that you loved me and that you
plucked from your nature your religion,
your fidelity to your house, your love for
your brother and gave yourself to me.
You would stand appalled at the sac
rifice till you realized that you had
come to me only because it would have
been more difficult to stay away. You
conquer the passionate cry of love—the
strongest the human compound ever has
voiced—and you are miserably happy for
the rest of your life, no attitude being so
pleasing to the soul as the attitude of
martrydom. Many a man and woman
looks with some impatience for the last
good by to be said, so sweet is the pros
pect of sadness, of suffering, of resigna
tion.”
1 was aghast at his audacity, but I saw
that Chonita was fascinated. Her ego
tism was caressed and her womanhood
thrilled.
“Are we all such shams as that?" was
what she said. “You make me despise
myself.”
“Not yourself, but a great structure,
of which you are but a grain, with a
faulty foundation. Don't despise your
self. Curse the builders who shoveled
those stones together.”
He left her then, and she told me to go
to bed', she wanted to sit awhile and
think.
“He makes you think too much,” 1
said. “Better forget what he says as
soon as you can. He is a very disturb
ing influence.”
But she made mo no reply and sat
there staring at the floor. She began to
feel a sense of helplessness, like a crea
ture caught in a net. It was more the
man's personality than his words which
made her feel as if he were pouring him
self all through her, taking possession of
brain and every sense, as though he were
a devilfish with a thousand arms.
“1 believe 1 was made from his rib,”
she thought angrily, “else why: can he
have this extraordinary power over me?
Ido not love him. 1 have read some
what of love and seen more. This is
different, quite. I only feel that there
is something'in him that I want. Some
times 1 feel that 1 must dig my nails
into him and tear him apart until I find
what 1 want —something that belongs to
me. Sometimes it is as if he promised
it; at others as if he were unconscious of
its existence —always it is evanescent.
Is he going to make my mind his own?
And yet he always seems to leave mine
free. Ho has never snubbed me. Ho
makes me think. There is the danger.”
An hour later there was a tap on her
door. Casa Grande was asleep. She sat
upright, her heart beating rapidly, Es
tenega was audacious enough for any
thing. But it was her brother who en
tered.
“Reinaldo!” she exclaimed, horrified
to feel an unmistakable stab of disap
pointment.
“Yes, it is 1. Art thou alone?”
“Sure.”
"I have something to say to thee.”
He drew a chair close to her and sat
down. “Then knowest, my sister.” he
began, haltingly, “how I hate the house
of Estenega. My hatred is as loyal as
thine; every drop of blood in my veins
is true to the honor of the house of Iturbi
y Moncada. But, my sister, is it not so
that one can sacrifice himself, his mere
personal feelings, upon the altar of his
country? Is it not so, my sister?”
“What is it thou wishest me to under
stand, Reinaldo?”
“Do not look so stem, my Chonita.
Thou hast not yet heard me, and, al
though thou mayst be angry then, thou
wilt reason later. Thou art devoted to
thy house?”
“Thou hast come here in the night to
ask me such a question as that?”
“And thou lovest thy brother?”
“Reinaldo, thou hast drunken mors
mescal than Angelica. Go back to thy
bride.” But although she spoke lightly
she was uneasy.
“My sister, 1 never drank a drop of
mescal in my life. Listen. It is our
father's wish, thy wish/my wish, that I
become a great and distinguished man,
an ornament to the house of Iturbi y
Moncada, a star on the brow of Cali
fornia. How can I accomplish this great
and desirable end? By the medium of
politics only; our wars are so insignifi
cant. I have been debarred from the
departmental junta by the enemy of our
house, else would it have rung with mv
eloquence and Mexico have known me
today. Yet I care little for the junta.
1 wish to go as fiipntado to Mexico; it is
- grander arena. Moreover, in that
great c .pital I shall become a man of
the world, which is nee-ssary to epntrol
men. That is his power, curse him!
And he—he will not let me go there.
Even Alvarado listens to him. The de
partmental junta is nndf r his thumb. I
will never be anything but a caballero
of Santa Barbara—l, an Iturbi y Mon
cada, the 1.1 t scion of a line illustrious
in war. m diplomacy, in politics—until
he is either dead—do not jump, my sis
ter; it is not my intention to murder
him and ruin my carter —or becomes my
friend."
“Canst thou not put shy meaning in
fewer words?"
"My sister, ho loves thee, and thou
lovest thy brother and thy house.”
Chonita rose to her full height; and,
although ho rose. too. and was taller, she
seemed to look down upon him.
“Thou wonldst have mo marry him?
Is that thy meaning?”
“Aye." His voice trembled. Under
his swagger he was always a little afraid
of The Doomswoman.
“Thou askest perjury mid disloyalty’
and dishonor of an Iturbi y Moncada?” '
“An Iturbi y Moncada asks it of an
Iturbi y Moncada. If the man is ready
to bend his neck in sacrifice to the glory
of his house, is it for the woman to
think?”
Chonita stood grasping the back of
her chair convulsively; it was the only’
sign of emotion she betrayed. She knew
that what he said was true; that Es
tenega, for public and personal reasons,
never would let him go to Mexico; he
would permit no enemy at court. But
this knowledge drifted through her
mind and out of it at the moment; she
was struggling to hold down a hot
wave of contempt rushing upward
within her. She clung to her traditions
as frantically’ as she clung to her re
ligion.
“Go,” she said after a moment.
“Thou wilt think of what I have said?”
“I shall pray to forget it.”
“Chonita!” His voice rang out ftb loud
that she placed her hand on his mouth.
He dashed it away. “Thou wilt!” he
cried, like a spoilt child. “Thou wilt!
I shall go to the City of Mexico, and only’
thou canst send me there! All my fa
ther’s gold and league,s will not buy me
a seat in the Mexican congress unless
this accursed Estenega lifts his hand and
and says, ‘Thou shalt.’ Holy God! how
I hate him! Would that I had the
chance to murder him! I would cut his
heart out tomorrow. And my father
likes him and has outlived rancor. And
thou—thou art not indifferent.”
“Go!”
He threw his arms about her. kissing
and caressing her. “My sister! My sis
ter! Thou wilt! Say that thou wilt!”
But she flung him off as if he were a
snake. •
“Wilt thou go?” she asked.
“Aye! I go. But he shall suffer. I
swear it! I swear it!” And he rushed
from the room.
Chonita sat there, staring more fixedly
at the floor than when Estenega hail
left her.
CHAPTER XIX.
, VW / P WWfc
Chonita bent over him fearfully.
We spent the next day at the race
field. Many of the caballeros hac brought
their finest horses, and Reinallo’s were
famous. The vaqueros threw off their
black glazed sombreros and blank velvet
jackets, wearing only the shert black
trousers laced with silver, a shirt of daz
ling whiteness, a silk handkerchef twist
ed about the head and huge spurs on
their bare brown heels. Someo us stood
on a platform; others remained on their
horses; all were wild with exitement
and screamed themselves hoase. The
great dafk eyes of the girls fladed; their
red mouths trembled with th flood of
eager exclamations; the lace lantilla or
flowered reboso fluttered aginst hot
cheeks; to be torn off, penaps, and
waved in the enthusiasm of th moment.
They forgot the men, and th men for
got them. Even Chonita brgot her
climbing trouble for the hour. She was
a famous horsewoman and kehly alive
to the enchantment of the ice field.
The men bet their ranchos, wole capo
neras of their finest horses, heis of cat
tle, their saddles and their j er els. Es
tenega won largely, and, as it appened,
from Reinaldo particularly. lon Guil
lermo was rather pleased tkn other
wise, holding his son in need f further
punishment, but Reinaldo ws obliged
to call upon all the courtesy c the Span
iard and all the falseness of lis nature
to help him' remember that iis enemy
was his guest.
We went home to siesta an long gay
supper, where the races we? the only
topic of conversation; then tdance and
and sing and flirt until ninight, the
people in the booths as tiress as our
selves. _ Valencia’s attention to Este
nega were as conspicuous ai usual, but
he managed to devote mosts his time
to Chonita.
That night Chonita had a ream. She
dreamed that she awoke wiout a soul.
The sense of vacancy wi awful, yet
there was a singular undeurrent con
sciousness that no soul ev had been
within her —that it exisfl, but was
yet to be found.
She arose, trembling, am opened her
door. Santa Barbara waas quiet as
all the world is in the chilast hours of
night. She half expectedto see some
thing hover before her. a '.d-w’-the-wisp,
alluring her over the rod valleys and
towering mountains uni death gave
her weary feet rest- Sn remembered
vaguely that she bad legt
purport.
But there was nothing—not even the
glow of a late cigarito or the flash of a
falling star. Still she seemed to know
where the soul awaited her. She closed
her do* r softly and walked swiftly down
the corridor, her bare feet making no
sound on the boards. At a door on the
opposite side she paused, shaking vio
lently, but unable to pass it. Sheoperted
the door and went in. The room, like
all the others in that time of festivity,
had more occupants than its wont. A
bed was in each corner. The shutters
and windows were open; the moonlight
streamed in and she saw that all were
asleep. She crossed the room ami looked
down upon Diego Estenega. His night
garment, low about the throat, made
his head, with its sharply cut profile, look
like the ho lds on old Roman medallions.
The pallor of night, the extreme re
finement of his face, the deep repose,
gave him an unmortal appearance.
Chonita bent over him fearfully. Was
ho dead? His breathing was regular, but
very’ quiet. She stood gazing down upon
him, the instinct of seeking vanished.
What did it mean? Was this her soul?
A man? How could it be? Even in
poetry she had never read of a man being
a woman's soul —a man with all his
frailties and sins, for the most part un
repented. She felt rather than knew
that Estenega had trampled many laws,
and that he cared too little for any law
but his own will to repent. And yet,
there he he lay, looking in the gray light
and the impersonality’ of sleep, as sin
less as if he had been created within the
the hour. He looked not like a man. but
a spirit—a soul, and the soul was hers.
Agifin she asked herself, What did it
mean? Was the soul but brain? She
and he were so alike in rudiments, yet
he so immeasurably’ beyond her in ex
perience and knowledge and the stronger
fiber of a man's mind.
He awoke suddenly and saw her. For
a moment he stared incredulously, then
raised himself on his hand.
“Chonita!” he whispered.
But Chonita, with the long glide of
the Californian woman, dissolved from
the room.
When she awoke the next morning she
was assailed by’ a distressing fear. Had
she been to* Esteuega's room the night
before? The memory was too vivid; the
details too practical for a sleep vagary.
At breakfast she hardly dared to raise
her eyes. She felt that he was watching
her; but he often watched her. After
breakfast they were alone at one end of
the corridor for a moment, and she com
pelled herself to raise her eyes and look
at him steadily. He was regarding her
searchingly.
She was not a woman to endure uncer
tainty.
“Tell me,” she cried, trembling from
head to foot, the blood rushing over her
face, '’did I go to your room last night?”
“Dona Chonita!” he exclaimed. “What
an extraordinary’ question! You have
been dreaming.”
CHAPTER XX.
We went to a bull fight that day.
danced that night, meriendaed and
danced again, a siesta in the afternoon,
a few hours’ sleep in the night refresh
ing us all. Chonita alone looked pale,
but I knew that her pallor was not due
to weariness. And I knew that she was
beginning to fear Estenega; the time
was almost come when she would fear
herself more. Estenega had several talks
apart with her. He managed it without
any- apparent maneuvering, but he al
ways had the devil's methods. Valencia
avenged herself by flirting desperately
with Reinaldo, and Prudencia's honey
moon was seasoned with gall.
On Saturday night Chonita stole from
her guests, donned a black gown and
reboso, and, attended by two Indian
servants, went up to the mission to con
fession. As she left the church a half
hour later and came down the steps
Estenega rose from a bench beneath the
arches of the corridor.
“How did you know that I came?" she
asked, and it was not the stars that lit
her face.
“You do little that I do not know.
Have you been to confession?”
“Yes.”
They walked slowly down the valley.
“And you forgave and were forgiven?”
“Yes. Aye, but my penance is heavy!”
“But when it is done you will be at
rest, I suppose.”
“Oh, I hope! I hope!”
“Have you begun to realize that your
church cannot satisfy- you?”
“No! I will not say that.”
“But you know it. Your intelligence
has opened a window somewhere, and
the truth has crept in.”
“Do not take my religion from me,
senor!” Her eyes and voice appealed to
him, and he accepted her first confession
of weakness with a tln-ob of exulting
tenderness.
“My love,” he said, “I would give you
more than I took from you!”
“No, never! Even if we were not ene
mies and I had not made that terrible
vow-, my religion has been all in all to
me. Just now I have many- things that
torment me. and I have asked so little of
religion before—my life has been so calm
—that now- I hardly know- how- to ask
for so much more. I shall learn. Leave
me in peace.”
“Do you want me to go?” he asked.
“If you did—if I troubled you by stay
ing here—l believe I w-ould go. Only 1 :
know- it would do no good—l should
come back/’
[TO BB COKTINUKIX]
concealed bitterness. “Thou couldst
sing all day—and the next forget.”
T forget nothing beautiful senorita, i
neither tne fair. days ot spring nor the i
ugly storms of winter. And I love the
sunshine and flee from the tempest.
Adan, brother ot my neart. welcome as
ever to Casa Grande— Aye. here is
my father. He looks like Sancho Panza.”
Don Guillermo's sturdy little mustang
bore him into the courtyard. shaking
his stout master not a little. The old ,
gentleman’s black silk handkerchief had I
CROP OUTLOOK
VERY BRIGHT
The Recent Heavy Rains Have
Done Great Good.
CAME JUST IN TIME TO SAVE OOSN
Rarely Ha, There Been Finer I’nupect,
Fora Bountiful Yield Thau I, l'roiul,ed
This Year—Farm Work For the Mouth
of August—Commissioner of Agricult
ure Nesbitt's Monthly I-etter.
Department of Agriculture,
Atlanta, Aug. J, 1897.
The heavy rams during the latter
part of July iiave. In some sections of
the state, worked injury to the bottom
land corn, and in some oases have
broken over terraces and ditches, but
they came in time to save the upland
corn, which was beginning to suffer se
verely from protracted drouth, and also
to greatly benefit every growing thing.
We have just returned from a rather
extended tour through the state and
there has rarely been a finer prospect
for bountiful crops than is promised the
present year. Almost without excep
tion, where a man has given his per
sonal attention to his business, and has
farmed rationally, he is now about to
reap the harvest of his skill and intel
ligence. It is ouly where the ruinous
tenant system prevails, where the owner
has trusted his interests to unreliable
aud indifferent tenters, that we mark
evidences of neglect and of haphazard
farm methods. It is in such localities
that the results of careless preparation,
of injudicious manuring, of hasty plann
ing and slipshod cultivation, are appar
ent in the stunted corn stalks, whioh
have not had sufficient depth of well
broken soil in which to send down their
roots in search of food, aud where
meagre supply of surface fertilizer has
been long since exhausted. The cotton
fields, too, give evidence of mistaken
methods and crop starvatiou iu the puny
plants whioh cover acres and acres of
•he hard ruu lands. It is also on such
rented aud neglected farms that no
preparation is being made for another
year. The'wheu-t and oat stubble fields,
if such crops have been harvested, are
standing as wheu the grain was taken
off, no effort having been made io plow
iu a crop of peas, that great renovator
of our woru lands. On these fields the
weeds aud bushes now hold full sway,
taking up the fertility of the land, per
fecting seeds whioh will soon be sent
broadcast ou their missions of mischief,
and forming a mass of roots, stems and
brush, which will greatly hinder the
subsequent preparation of the land for
other crops. It is too often the case,
even on otherwise well conducted
farms, that this habit of turning over
the stubble fields to the dominion of
weeds aud bushes until the ’ spring
preparations begin, has been allowed to
go on from year to year. No one neg-,
leot gives the farmer greater trouble, or
results, as indicated above, in more
actual waste of fertility. Where this
has been allowed aud the land is now
covered with a rank growth of weeds
aud bushes, a gixid plan is to run the
mower over the fields before the seeds
mature, but after they begin to form,
leaving the mass of decaying vegetable
matter just where it falls when out
It will act as a beneficial mulch to the
land during the blazing, hot days of
late summer, and will add something
of humus-making material when turned
under iu preparation for other crops.. Iu j
killing larger bushes aud sprouts the
mattock should be used, and one blow i
now is worth a half dozen struck in the
spring. August is distinctively the
month for doing this work.
A.UGUBT MEETINGS FOR FARMERS.
August is a month of comparative
leisure from the heavier farm work.
The grain crops have been harvested,
the corn “laid by,” and the cotton
should be in condition to complete its
growth without much more work. The
farmer can now afford to allow himself
a Httle time to devote to other duties,
equally important, but up to this sea
son of the year, held in abeyance by the
exacting demands arising from the pre
paration, planting and cultivation of
nis Various crops. He now has an op
portunity of meeting with his neigh
bors, and while enjoying the social in
tercourse which this opportunity affords,
he has also a chance of studying his
neighbor’s perhaps more progressive
methds, or of learning the reason for
such failures as have overtaken him.
The farmers’ institutes, the farmers’
clubs, the various agricultural meetings
being held at this season, bring about
an interchange of plans and opinions,
which is of inestimable value to the in
dividual farmer and to the country at
large. Here should be discussed not
only how to produce the greatest yield
of crops at the least cost, but the market
and the market requirements should
also come up for a share of attention.
It is important to know how to make
the crops, but it is equally important to
learn how best to dispose of them. A
mistake here often marks the profit or
loss for the year’s work.
Among the oldest and most success
ful agricultural countries on the globe
AGRICULTURAL FAIRS
Have always been considered as among
the most powerful agents for pro
moting agricultural good and welfare.
Here we see illustrated much of the
beauty and comfort, as well as the
utility, of farm life. To check the tide
of emigration which of late years has
turned so strongly towards the cities,
we need these striking object lessons.
Farm life should not be all dull drudg
ery. , Along with the hard work there
should be opportunities for broader cult
ure, for progress, for uplifting to a
higher plane. These agricultural meet
ings offer the impetus for such forward
and upward movements. We see the
progress made by others, we are stimu
lated to renewed efforts—we realize the
dignity and the magnitude of our call
ing—and so the machinery is put in
motion, which lifts our work from the
mere dull routine of daily toil, and in
vests it with some of the beauty and at
tractiveness which God intended, which
is so necessary for the happiness of our
homes and the welfare of our children.
If we could only realize bow much this
j means in so many ways; in keening onr
I boys on the farm; in counteracting tna
' influence, which are yearly drawn*- our
children to the questionable success of
city and town life; in fostering that
love of home, which becomes the
strongest governing priucime of our be
ing, we would deem no effort too great
for its attainment.
These facts have been impressed upon
me with peculiar force in the last tew
Weeks, when by the courtesy of various
organizations throughout the state I
have been invited to address gatherings
of farmers aud have been studying ag
j riculturai and industrial conditions as
seen among the people and as shown m
the field, orchard aud garden exhibits
of different sections.
In the inquiry columns will be found
many questions bearing on fall crops—
s preparation, fortiliz ition, etc.
R. T. Nesbitt, Commissioner.
'condition of the crops,
C«lten I’ronpaot I* Exo.-linnt— 'orn Im-
(proving- I'ot at I'tiiit, Etc
COTTON.
I The prospect at this time for a good
cotton crop is most excellent throughout
the state. While a few small areas
have been injured by drouth and others
by wind and hailstorms, and others
still by excessive washing rains, the
general prospect is first rate. The plants,
■ though a little late, are growing finely
. aud fruiting rapidly, and with season
’ able rains .through August (the critical
1 month) the crop will be a good one.
| There has been some appearance of
' “root rot’’ and “rust,’’ or “yellow leaf
blight. ’’ but as yet these are not serious,
! and probably will not materially lessen
the crop. In my experience, the stand
never was better, and the crop never
I was cleaner and better worked than it
is at this time, and I sincerely hope that
the farmers will this year roan a fair
reward for their labor. The world's
supply of the staple is so nearly ex
hausted that, even with a large crop,
cotton should command a good price. I
would urge upon the farmers of the
state to gather and market the crop as
rapidly as possible, as experience has
proved that in the long run it pays to
parsue this plan. Only in the event of
a shortage in the total crop can we hope
for better pjices later in the season, and
if “a bird in the hand is worth two in
tbs bush,” we had better gather and
Mil as rapidly as possible.
CORN.
In consequence of the frequent and
general rains in July, this crop has im
proved wonderfully, and with season
able weather for two or three weeks
more, Georgia will raise sufficient corn
for her own use. In the lower part of
the state the crop is practically made,
and in some places fodder pulling has
. commenced. In upper Georgia the crop
is in full “silk and tassel,” the stalks
green and vigorous and the prospect
very fine for an abundant crop. On
some of the river and creek bottoms
j high water has done much damage, but
i this has been confined to small areas,
■ and will not materially diminish the
i yield. The latter part of June the corn
crop was seriously endangered by ex
cessive heat and drouth, and there was
much uneasiness felt as to the outcome,
but timely rains have averted the
• threatened disaster, and we can rejoice
j in the prospect of plenty of “hog and
’ hominy” for another year.
PEAS, POTATOES, SUGAR CANE, ETC.
j The high price of seed peas has to
some extent curtailed the acreage sowed
this year. ThG. the best of all soil ren
ovators for our climate, should be sowed
on every acre of stubble land, and at
"laying by” on every acre of corn land
in the state. When this is done, we
will hear less of worn out and ex
hausted soils. Where sowed, the crop
is good, growing finely under the influ
ence of the abundant rains which we
are now having. The yield promises
well.
The acreage in potatoes is not up
to the average, the dry weather of May
and June interfering with the planting.
Enough slips, however, have been set
out to suppiy the wants of the state,
and there will be no scarcity of this
product.
The stand of sugar cane is generally
reported poor, and the growth back
ward. The yield of syrup and sugar
may still be fair, however, as the cane
continues to grow and mature until
frost.
P istures which had almost dried up
in June are again green and flourish
ing, much to the delight of the dairy
men and all who have stock to feed.
FRUIT.
The growers of most all fruits have
been disappointed this year. Water*
melons from the shipping section have
been small in size and few in number,
compared with former years, and prices
have not proved remunerative.
The peach crop has proved a failure
save in a few favored localities; and the
total shipments from the state will not
exceed one-fifth of the usual quantity.
Plums yielded well all over the coun
try, and the grape crop, uqw being har
vested, is a good one.
Apples are doing well, and the crop
will be an average one.
STOCK.
The condition of stock is fairly good,
considering how much western corn
(much of it damaged) has been used in
the state this year. There have been a
few cases of glanders reported to tiie
iepartment, some choler'a among hogs
And red water among cattle, but these
reports are fewer than usual this year.
Sheep are holding their own about as
they have in the past, receiving little
or no care, and a constant pi*y for the
many worthless dogs which roam the
country in search of food. The high
tariff recently passed by congress wiil
add largely to rhe price of wool, and
perhaps cajise more accention to be
given to this valuable animal.