"if
M ill -ii - W U It - V
$I.oo a Year, in Advance. FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY AND FOR TRUTH. " Single Copy 5 Cents,
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VOL. X VI. PLYMOUTH, N, C FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1905. NO. 25
i.
THE TWA
There were twa corbies sat on a tree,
Iarge and black as black might be,
'And one unto the other pan say:
"Where shall -we gang and dine to-day?
Ehall we dine by the wild saut sea?
Ehall we dine 'neath the greenwood tree? ,
As I sat en the deep sea nand, ,v y
I saw a fair ship nigh at land; , ' ''
I waved my wings, 1 beat my beak,' ". ' '
The ship sunk, and I heard a shriek; . (l
There they lie one, two, and three
I shall dine by the mid saut sea." . '
''Come, I will show ye a sweeter sight,
A lonesome glen, and a new-slain knight;
His blood yet on the grass is hot,
His sword half drawn, his shafts unshot
And no one knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
STEPHANIE'S
By ANATOLE.
CSS'
fdOS T was in Faris, now many
y years ago, that I met her
O T q in the salon of the Com
R tcpso Blanc.
"WOW I Wi,s talking in an idle
way whh an atfTTche of iho embassy
when she entered. I had been rather
Tiored, and early as It was had begun,
to third; of leaving and dropping in at.
the opera, but when I saw that lovely
apparition J. had no thought of leaving
While she remained.
"You know everyone tell me who
Eho is!" I said to my friend, abruptly.
".Stephanie de Lussae," he replied,
"widow of that brilliant scamp, Faul
tie Lussae, whom you knew at least
by sight and reputation. Also the
niece and adopted daughter of old Yal
roide, the repined miser."
"Faul de Lussae. dead V" I exclaimed,
in surprise.
"Yes; his brilliant though question
able career -was cut short in a tragic
manner. Did you never hear of it?
They were at Men at the time; .his
yacht was upset and his body was
never recovered. For a long time noth
ing would tempt 'Stephanie from the
secluded life which she adopted at his
death, but now she is seen occasionally,
among her old friend?; and she is finite"
as fascinating "as ,.- .ever. A strange
thing, though she has never worn her
jewels, which were really something
marvelous, since her husband's death,
and it has been whispered that he ear
ried them with him to flTe other world
as a sop to Cerberus. But what is the
rualterV You seem struck," he added,
smiling.
"Will you present me?" I asked, and,
still smiling, he complied with my re
quest. I was struck, certainly, and hard hit,
even, at first sight. ' ."
Years .before, wandering through the
Berlin galleries. 1 had seen the por
trait of n very beautiful woman, who
was then dead, and something in its
exquisite loveliness had gone straight
to my heart.
"That woman I could have loved." 1
thought and even this portrayal of
her features seemed to have its influ
ence, however slight, upon my usually
careless life.
I found a copyist more clever than
the usual run of them, and had him
paint me an ivory miniature of this
haunting face, and although in knock
ing about the world I parted from time
to time with most of my possessions
as I ceased to care for them, yet I re
tained this miniature, and it still kept
its hold upon my fancy.
And now I was face to face with its
living counterfeit. She might have
just been sitting for the portrait, and
have come straight from the studio to
the salou, for the likeness was miracu
lous. Hero was the same sweet, ova! face,
.beautifully poised above the slender
neck, and crowned with rich masses of
,60ft, dark hair, just threaded with a
band, of violet gray, that matched the
velvet of her square-cut gown. And
here were the same large, innocent,
dark eyes, now looking straight into
my own, and the same beautiful lips
miling up at me.
The thought flashed through me, "If
her mind is as beautiful as her perfect
face and form, I, the careless man of
the world, wiy strain every nerve to
win'her for my wife."
So far did I succeed in gaining her
favor that at the evening's close she
had given me permission to call upon
her at her home.
I availed myself of this on the fol
lowing afternoon, and found her seated
by old M. Yalroide's side, reading aloud
to him from a ponderous tome.
As ou the night before she was most
Simply but beautifully dressed. Quite
disregarding the prevailing fashion,
she wore a simple gown of some soft,
clinging: stuff that fitted her perfect
figure marvellously well, and fell from
the .waist downward-in graceful folds.
The square-cut neck was finished in
some soft, old lace, but, as on the night
before, she wore no jewels. Nor did
she need to wear them; in niy eyes no
gem fi, however rare, could have added
one jot to her perfect loveliness.
The crace of her . conversation
"charmed nie more and more, but if it
had not been so if I had found her
mind far inferior to her lovely face I
CORBIES.
"His hound is to the hunting pane.
'37
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
Hi3 lady's away with another mate,
So we shall make our dinner sweet;
Our dinner's sure, our feasting free,
Come, and dine 'neath, the greenwood tree.
"Ye shall sit on his white hausc-bane,
I will pick out his bonny blue een;
Ye'll take a tress of his yellow hair,
To theek your nest when it grows bare;
The gowden down on his young chin
"Will do to row my young ones in!
"0! cauld and bare his bed will be,
When winter's storms sing in the tree;
At his head a turf, at his feet a stone,
He will sleep, nor heai the maidens moan;
O'er his white bones the birds shall fly,
The wild deer licund, and foxes cry!"
SACRIFICE. 4
E33
think I must still have loved her
madly.
Call it infatuation, or what you will,
the thought of her filled both my wak
ing and sleeping hours, and I even
dared to hope that this pearl of women
might one day consent to be my wife.
A week later all raids rang with
this beautiful woman's name. In
clubs, in cafes, on street corners
wherever men or women met or gath
ered, her name was spoken either in
pity or in horror.
A terrible murder had been com
mitted. Old M. Yalroide had .been
found dead, shot through the heart
and Stephanie de Lussae had been ar
rested under suspicion!
Struck with horror at the thought,
and convinced of her innocence, I hast
ened' at once to Jules Garveau, then
one of the most celebrated lawyers in
Paris, and begged him to undertake
the case on her behalf.
t He was already well informed as to
all the details that had then been made
public, and although he consented to
undertake the case, lie was far from
encouraging, for the evidence was
strong against ,the unfortunate' young
prisoner. :'K
It .appeared that upon the night of
the murder Stephanie de Lussae and
M. Yalroide were quite alone together
in their apartments. MadaVie's maid
had asked for and received permission
to be absent for that evening and the
night. And, contrary to the usual cus
tom, Muie, do Lussae had herself dis
missed M. Yalroide's valet at an early
hour in the evening.
In the morning when the man sought
his master's room at the accustomed
hour he found signs of confusion there.
The large, carved chest was open an
unusual thing and some papers
strewed the floor, but the room itself
was empty, and the bed had not been
occupied! In surprise he hastened to
the library, and there, in his large arm
chair, was M. Yalroide, his head rest
ing upon the table beside him. Not
asleep, though as the man thought at
first but rigid and cold, with clotted
blood upon him. and a bullet in his
heart.
The alarm was given, and a physi
cian and officers of justice were soon
at hand, but there was nothing for
them to do but trace and bring the
murderer to justice, for the old man
had been killed instantly, and had been
dead for many hours.
The search was begun at once, and
on the floor in Mine, de Lussac's bou
doir, which opened into the library,
was found a dainty, silver-mounted re
volver, marked with the interlacing let
ters "S. de L." It was Stephanie's own
revolver, and one barrel of the deadly
toy was empty.
And Stephanie herself? They found
her in her bedroom, in the dress she
had worn the night before and there
was blood upon itand there was a
frozen horror upon her face.
In reply to the questions put to her
she. would answer nothing, and so she
was arrested and taken to prison to
await her trial.
The bullet which was extracted from
the body of M. Yalroide was found to
fit the empty chamber of Stephanie's
pistol.
That the murder could not have been
accidental was proved, for a box of
valuable papers, and large sums in
gold, which rumor placed at various
exorbitant amounts, had disappeared
from the safe in the carved chest in
M. Yalroide's room, where the so
called miser had kept a large part of
his accumulated wealth.
It was impossible, they said, that a
woman could have secreted this box
of papers so as to utterly bailie the de
tectives, whose whole energy was bent
upon its discovery. But the accom
plice, if there had been one, had van
ished without leaving a trace behind.
The trial took place' ea'rly In the fol
lowing month. ..Garveau arranged that
I should be 'present" find I saw' her
age.in more beautiful, I thought, than
ever. .
During her imprisonment she had
resolutely "kept silence, and In answer
to M. Oarveau's repeated questions she
only said: "I can Ml you nothing." - In
vain he pleaded with her, amt 'showed
her what a hopeless case hers was if
she persisted iu this silence. "I can do
nothing for you, madame, unless I am
in your confidence," he said. "Though
I, and also my friend, both believe you
are innocent, and that your silence is
to screen some individual of whom we
can get no trace yet we have no proofs,
and the evidence is all against you.
Madame, once more, I implore you to
speak."
She looked at him intently, but only
said, quietly: "No, you have no proofs."
Then, after a moment, she asked:
"Monsieur, what if they find me guil
ty?" And he had to answer: "The guillo
tine!" She shuddered and turned pale,
while her white hands circled her slen
der neck, as if to protect it from the
deadly knife's cruel edge. Then, re
covering herself, she said: "After all,
monsieur, death must come."
"But not by the guillotine!" ho re
plied, indignantly. "Madame, I am
convinced that you could be cleared by
simply giving me a clew to the mys
tery of that night, You alone can save
yourself. I can do nothing. But it is
inconceivable that you should thus
choose silence and an ignominious
death in preference to an honorable
and happy life as the wife of an up
right man."
"Monsieur, what do you mean?"
"I mean that my friend loves yon,
and he is trying in every way to save
you in spite of yourself, while ho is
half mad at the thought of the horrible
fate that may be awaiting you."
Her yes dilated. Then 'she said,
very slowly: "I have no alternative.
But perhaps it is better as it is."
At the trial she pleaded "Not guilty,"
but after that she did not speak again,
and although the evidence was purely
circumstantial, and the missing papers
had not beent traced, it was decided
that she had committed the murder to
get possession of the old man's for
tune, which she had intrusted to some
party unknown, of whom they had
been unable to find a trace.
Garveau pleaded eloquently for her,
but he had no counter evidence to
bring, and inasmuch as the murder
had been done, in cold bloody and the
prisoner had refused to reveal her ac
complice, the verdict was returned:
"Guilty, and death by the guillotine!"
.Then, and not till then, could I gain
admission to her. I had sent her many
messages through Garveau, but now,
for the first and only time, I was per
mitted to see her face to face. She
rose to receive me. and if her prison
cell had been a palace, and she had
been a queen, she could not have com
manded more respect than, she did
then.
I bent low before her, and overcome
by a great rush of emotion. I sank
upon my knees and covered her white
hand with kisses. She recalled me to
myself with quiet dignity, but my grief
and passion would break forth, and 1
tcld her of my belief in her innocence,
and that she could even then bo saved
if she would only speak, and I told her
of my unchanging love.
She was looking at me, and there was
a strange light in her large, dark eyes.
"Yon can still believe in me?" she said.
"I thank you from my heart, but" her
voice was very low "it is all, perhaps,
better as it isbetter for us both! You
do not understand, but the thread of
my life has been so strangely tangled
that now, when the end is near, I can
be almost glad. If death were not com
ing to ine I should be desolate, for you
are the only one in all the world who
loves me, aud i could never have been
yours, for I am a married woman,
monsieur."
"Married to whcin?" I cried,
amazed.
"His name was Taul de Lussae," she
returned, with visible off or t.
"But Be Lussae is dead, and his
death has set you free! Stephanie!
Stephanie!" I cried, "what wild, mis
taken idea is this? It is not yet too
late. Speak. I implore yon for my
sake for your own! You will be
cleared from all suspicion you will be
pardoned and then you will be my
wife. I will take you far away, and
under the southern skies you will be
happy, ind you will forgot all this as
a hideous dream that has passed
away."
"It could never be," fhe answered,
firmly. "I shall be faithful to the
death!" Her beautiful lips trembled
as she added: "Believe only that it is
better so far better for us both. Be
lieve that I thank ycu iruiy, and for
get me."
I r.ever saw her again. '
The dreadful sentence was executed,
and I left Paris, carrying with me the
miniature, and. the bitter memory of
til? lovely, unfortunate Stephanie.
Years passed, and the bitterness had
become softened by time, when at last
the mystery of the murder was solved,
to me alone of all the world.
It was In St. Petersburg, ar.d one day
as I was passing the Alexander Col
umn I came face to face with a man
whose features I knew well, for I
never forget a face.
. "Paul do Lussae, alive!" I exclaim il
Involuntarily. '
If a glance' would kill I should have
been instantly annihilated, but he only
shrugged his shoulders and said:
"Pardon, n-niVr-ieur," 1 know not of
whom you speak.''
He was' passing on when I caught
hlni by the arnv "I speak of the man
who stole a woman's jewels and dis
appeared; who murdered an oil man
for his money, and left an innocent
woman to suffer for his crime. Thief,
and murderer of them both! Now do
you know of whom I speak?"
He turned on me like a tiger.
"Fool!" ho said, rapidly between his
teeth; "you have no proofs! Dare to
make such an accusation and you will
perish miserably in the dungeons of
St. Teter and St. Paul, or in the mines
of Siberia!"
ne shook me off and passed out of
my sight.
He was right, I, had rio proofs, and
so was powerless against him. But his
warning had I not been sure before
would have convinced me that it was
he.
Then I understood the full meaning
of her last words to me, and I knew
that beautiful Stephanie had gone to
her death in silence to save the unwor
thy life of the man whom she once had
loved. New York Weekly.
COURTESY AMD TACT.
Neceisary to Prosperity and Harmony in
Factory or Workroom,
Among the essentials to the conduct
of a successful business, tact and cour
tesy occupy very prominent positions.
Without these being constantly
brought into use, the multitude of vex
atious and irritating little annoyances
and misunderstandings that crop r.p
through the day would develop into
mountains of trouble.
If every active member in the con
cern were rot keenly regardful of
the customer's interests and ever ready
to apologize, explain or interpret, busi
ness would decrease and profits would
suffer.
Tact and courtesy are therefore very
important.
They are also necessary to prosperity
and harmony in the factory or work
room. How often has a man of known abil
ity commenced at a new place only to
find every move hampered by his fel
low employes. Should he inquire for
this, or the whereabouts of that, he is
met with the gruff rejoinder, "Over
there," and a shake of the ringer to in
dicate the direction. If he asks con
cerning the style of the house with re
gard to certain work of an optional
character, a reply so confusing as to
be absolutely worthless is his reward.
Generally, at the end of the day, if
he is a man at all. he quits. And the
fellows smile grimly at his absence the
following morning.
The writer has been particularly for
tunate in meeting with comparatively
few of this class of shop, but in his
conversation with others has discov
ered that they are far too numerous.
A little courtesy and tact would help
the new man to "feel his feet" and
cause a genial spirit cf companionship
throughout the otlice. Sometimes the
antipathy has arisen merely because
of a natural defect in the appearance
of the new arrival or' his style of
speech. At ethers a slight feeling of
jealousy has prompted the action.
It certainly is time enough to take a
dislike to a person when his actions
warrant it. The spiiit of fairminded
ness calls for this, at least. The fore
man has the power to make the condi
tions and surroundings of an office
pleasant or the reverse for the men un
der him. One man put it tersely when
he said, "The boss can make it either
heaven or hell." Throughout the coun
try one meets with far-seeing and
thoughtful men at the foreman's desk,
who carefully consider each man's dis
position and temper, and know how to
produce the best results from the staff
under them with hardly any friction or
misunderstand! Sg.
There are others who vent all the
spleen, venom and sarcasm of a little
nature on those in their charge, with
the invariable result that the indepen
dent, strong-willed men quit and the
remainder, working under the worst
conditions, produce an inferior class of
work.
Certainly it is at the desk of the fore
man that tact and courtesy become in
valuable gifts.
But what applies to the employe, that
which i3 applicable to the foreman,
also comes with considerable force to
the man at the head of the business,
the manager or proprietor.
It is not idle talk or mere assertion
to say this, for facts have proved and
are to-day continuing to emphasize the
necessity cf a gonial, courteous reli
ance in the employes by the head of
the concern in order to get the very
best rear lis from each.
Men who have tried the welfare work
in their factories say that it has passed
the most rigid examination the busi
ness world C"1. r,lve it, for they have
proved that it pays.
It is not r.ecessary to commence a gi
gantic scheme such as the National
Cash Register have perfected, nor to
wait until one possesses 'a mammoth
establishment, in order to prove the
truth" of this thing.
Let each one compositor, pressman,
foreman, or proprietor use even the
least bit. of courtesy and tact
it will pay.
Oratitudt'.
An English missionary, writing from
tb. far II:; drscrihxs the case of ;i
:ik-:Ut v,:. rfi'.-r being treated for a
:Unot wor.hU o:
ti.-' leg, fito'ie money
from his leliow-iai'dents, and as soon
as li could bis leg again left th
hospital with a blanket.
SOUTHERN
TOPICS OF INTEREST TO THE PUNTER, STOCKMAN AND TRUCK GROWER,
Cowpeal and Corn For SIHace.
J. J. E., Berwyn, writes: I have been
reading a bulletin on the use of cow
peas with corn and sorghum for silage
purposes, but do not find any state
ment as to whether or not the yield is
Increased by growing the peas with
the other crops. T would like some
information along this line.
Answer: After several attempts to
grow cowpoas with corn and sorghum
for silage purposes, it is my opinion
that the practice is not likely to prove
very satisfactory. Corn or sorghum
must be planted in rows about four
feet apart with the stalks about eight
een inches In the drill row to insure
a very large growth of peas. In a
favorable season a large growth, of
cowpeas may be obtained, but as a
rule this will not be the case. Thus,
the greater distance apart of planting
necessitated to insure a good growth
of peas cuts down the yield of corn or
sorghum, which for silage purposes
should be planted in rows three to
three and a half foot apart in the
drill row. Then, the cowpeas do not
often climb on the stalks as well as is
desirable. We have tried a good many
varieties, and of all of them the Whip
porwill and Lady were the best, but
unless the plants get started properly,
many of them spread over the ground
and can be gathered by the corn har
vester. Of course, hogs could be
turned on the field so they would not
be lost.
We have tried sowing the peas with
the corn and sorghum after the crop
had made considerable growth. It is
much better to seed the neas and corn
or sorghum together than to attempt
to plant later. The work can thus bo
done at one. operation and saving in
time and labor effected. It is a- mis
take to let the corn or sorghum get
the start of the peas, for unless they
grow up vigorously in the beginning
the ranker growing crops shade them
so that they do not grow well. In
several years' experience th? largest
percentage of peas obtained in the corn
or sorghum crop intended for silage
was ten per.. cent. This was not
enough to have any appreciable ef
fect on the feeding value of the crop
and it little more than paid for the
seed and the extra labor involved in
planting. It would be much better, in
my judgment, to sow the cowpeas in
drills twenty-four inches apart and cut
and cure as hay and feed with the corn
or sorghum silage rather than attempt
to balance up the food by growing
them in the drill row unless some
means can he devised by which a much
larger yield is obtained than follows
in the average year. Many persons
will be inclined to doubt this state
ment, but they have never taken the
trouble to separate the peas and esti
mate the relative percentage of peas
in the crop. The peas climb vigorously
and spread over the corn and sorghum
plants1 very often until they almost
cover them ups and one Is ready to
believe that there is a very large per
centage of peas present, but actual
test has failed to demonstrate this to
be a fact Knoxville Journal and
Tribune.
Sweet Potatoes at Ten Cents a Bnsliei
As the time for sweet potatoes is at
hand, I will give the plan I have adopt
ed, which has succeeded very well in
our section.
With ground flat, broke and made
fine, I run rows three feet apart, put
ting a fertilizer of three per cent, am
monia, six or seven per cent, potash
and eight per cent, phosphoric acid. I
then throw two furrows with turn
plow, making a flat list; drag or level
off' top of this list and we are ready
for setting.
If the weather is dry, make a rich
mud pate and put roots of potato
plants in it for a short time; then
stick them out with a thin stick that
leaves a very small hole. Press the
foot firmly on one side of the sprout
on top of the ridge, and with the stick
knock the dirt solid against the sprout.
They will live almost any time with
out watering if thus firmly pressed in
to the soil.
After a few days I run the cultivator
In the middles, and about ten or twelve
days aft r setting I side them up, very
much as I would corn or cotton, being
sure not to let them get grassy. I can
easily weed nn acre in-a day when
froporly plowed; and if neglected, I
have seen some of my neighbors take
four hands a day to clean ancre.
Plow, as often as they need it till
vines have met in middles; then throw
Into light furrows with turn plow
up to the potatoes and the work -is
done unless some heavy rain falls
soon after they are laid by. Then it
pays to go over with a pitchfork and
lift the vines lightly from the dirt to
prevent their rooting in the middle.
This plan generally iiisnres a good
crop with a very small outlay of time
and money.- A few bu-hcls of cotton
seed to the acre, if kitted, will take
the place of ammonia.
I have raised a .ii.um.ber of crocs .of
: fOTES.
potatoes after this plan that cost less
than ten cents a bushel from first
work till potatoes were in piles for
banking. Of course, we must get a
good yield to get them at such figures.
We count 300 bushels to the acre a
good crop, but often under favorable
circumstances, especially after a good
pea crop, we get even more than this.
I have seen some articles, in The -Progressive
Farmer about housing pota
toes, and in a later article will give
my plan; however, I will state here i
that I seldom put up potatoes grownf
from the sprout for late winter use,
as vines keep much better and are bet
ter to eat D. Lane, Craven County,
N. C, in the Progressive Farmer
Growing Celery,
A Northern man who has, come SoutH
to live makes this report on raising of
celery:
My method of growing celery sinca
I have been in Virginia is as follows:
Sow seed rn early spring when there is
plenty of moisture in Hie ground, as It
takes the seed from three to six weeks
to come up. These are the dates I
have sown since I have been in Vir
ginia: February C, 1902; March 13,
1903; April 1, 1004. :
I sow in good, rich, mellow soil, and
it is a good plan to burn the ground
a few days before sowing, the same as
for a tobacco bed. When the young
plants come up, I work very shallow to
kill all weed and grass and to keep
the young plants growing until time to
set in the field. For the young plants,
I select a piece of low, moist land,
plow well and deep, about six to nine
inches, and thoroughly work it over;
six to twelve times, and then open my;
rows from four to six feet apart, very
shallow, and set the plants from eight
to sixteen inches in the row.
These are the dates I have set out
in the last three years: June 2G to July
4, 1002; June 20 to July 6, 1003; July
1, 1904. If one chooses, a row of snap
beans may be planted between the
celery rows.
I work just as I would any other crop
by running the fine-tooth cultivator
through the rows once a week to retain
moisture, but do not expect mucli
growth, until the cool nights set in.
Just as soon as the celery commences
to grow rapidly, I briusr the dirt to It,
about August 23. I take the celery out
of the field about November 10, and
use one of my old frames. I throwt
the dirt all out and then pack my cel
ery as close as I can get It by putting
a little dirt on the root. When this is
done, I get pine straw or some fine
hay and cover it entirely up, and then
put the glass over it and stretch, a
sheet over the glass to keep the sun
and light from it.
I leave1 it this way about two weeks
until It Is thoroughly bleached. Then
it is ready to sell. If the weather should
get too cold and threaten frost, It is
a good plan to put fresh manure over
fhe glass. I have grown white plume
ever since I came here that measured
over two feet Rice Journal.
Sow Pea.
Let farmers who have set aside
twelve to fifteen acres to the horse for
cotton, just figure a little. In this sec
tion it will cost five cents a pound t
make the cotton. Let these cotton,
men take about four or five acres of
their cotton land, although prepared
and ready to plant, and sow a bushel
of clay or Unknown peas to the acre.
If the land would make 700 pounds of
seed cotton to the acre.it would make a
ton and a half of pea vinehay. Ateight
cents a pound the cotton and seed would
bring $20.90. Pea vine hay sells from
the wagon at ninety cents a hundred.
The ton and a half of hay would bring
$27 and the cost would not be half as
much as making the cotton crop. The
land would be ready for early seeding
to wheat or oats. That is the only,
way to reduce the cotton acreage, so as
to make a more profitable crop and im
prove the land at the same time.'
Then when forage, corn, wheat and
oats were abundant the fowls, hogs
and cattle would soon be added and
farmers would be able "to live at
home and board at the same place."
Ch.ns. retty, Spartanburg County,
S. C.
Better Grass For Patturei. "
That "all flesh is grass" may not be
literally true, but it Is true that all
flesh profitable to its producer Is made
of grass, and that grass in its most
profitable sense Is the best flesh food
known. Not enough importance is at
tached to grass on the farm, for too
many farmers grow the wrong kind
of grass and in the wrong place. They
seem to be contented to grow wild
grass in the corn field rather than
that kind of grass that contains well
halanced proportions of protein, car
bohydrates, fat, salts and water,
which has been ordained as the best
food for domestic animals. The "hog;
lot' is fast giving way to the hog pas.
lure, while pastures and meadows are
playing an important "part in modem
agriculture. PrQsrciye Farmer.
L