1883.] 



THE AMERICAN GARDEN. 



151 



DBAINAGE OF COUNTRY HOUSES, 



The cleanly care of the body and the ven- 

 tilation of rooms avail not much, if about the 

 house there creep and crawl the invisible, 

 but none the less terrible impurities from 

 damp, moldy cellars, standing pools of slop 

 water, and neglected, barbarous privies. 



" How long we might live," exclaimed Dr. 

 Nichols, "if we could only get out of our 

 dirt and that of our neighbors ! " In the better 

 part of large cities people seem to have suc- 

 ceeded very well in "getting out," thanks 

 to the rigid enforcement of sanitary laws, 

 and although a clogged sewer-pipe has power 

 to transform the most elegant mansion into 

 an intolerable dwelling-place, it remains for 

 the country to furnish horrors which would 

 make a sanitarian's hair stand on end. 



The cheering thing about this rural disre- 

 gard for health laws is, that it seems to be 

 an unconscious disregard, a sin of thought- 

 lessness. The tasteful and thrifty farmer 

 has his fences, outbuildings, and walks in 

 faultless repair, while indoors his wife scrubs 

 and polishes and is a marvel of order and 

 neatness; and yet, some villainous cess-pool 

 brewing its mischief in the insulted air, or 

 some repository of filth — emboweled, as it 

 may be, in luxuriant vines — breathes out 

 its poison day and night, and mocks the 

 orderly care of the farmer and tidy pride of 

 his good wife, with its unspeakable pollution. 



Could the farmer be permitted to encounter 

 these air-poisons in tangible shape, — could 

 he, for instance, catch a glimpse of diphthe- 

 ria peeping into the sleeping-room of his 

 beloved little ones, or scarlet fever dogging 

 their steps, or typhoid threatening the wife 

 of his heart, — would he not employ every 

 means to avert them ? 



There is no excuse for bad " gases " about 

 country homes. Every owner of an acre of 

 land has the means of maintaining a clean 

 atmosphere, providing, of course, there are 

 no unconquerable marshes or miasmatic 

 rivers to deal with. 



The various kinds of tiles for drains for 

 conveying away slops and waste, to points 

 where they may be speedily evaporated by 

 wind and sun, are durable, effectual, and 

 cheap. Placed below the reach of frost at a 

 pitch to create a rapid flow, they will not be- 

 come clogged, and will last a life-time. 



In summer, the laundi-y suds can be ap- 

 plied to the garden with good effect ; but 

 there should be a kitchen sink connecting 

 with the drain, not only for convenience in 

 disposing of waste water at all times, but to 

 prevent the nuisance of frozen slops and ice 

 eloggings when the only opening is outside 

 the house. This kitchen pipe can easily be 

 " flushed" every week with boiling suds, and 

 a semi-occasional dose of chloride of lime or 

 carbolic acid will keep it clean and odor- 

 less. 



Kitchen waste in the country, very fortu- 

 nately, need not await the round of the 

 garbage-cart, and can be disposed of at any 

 time before it becomes rancid and pestilen- 

 tial. Indeed, in well conducted housekeep- 

 ing it is not " waste at all, but wholesome " 

 scraps that are well received by the chickens, 

 the pigs, and the soap-fat jar. The little that 

 -cannot be disposed of in these ways should 



be burned. There is nothing better than 

 cremation for stuff that, from neglect or 

 accident, becomes unfit for anything else. 



These two sorts of refuse being so easily 

 disposed of, the serious tiling to consider is 

 the last and the worst, the old-fashioned 

 privy; old-fashioned, because in every new, 

 first-class, scientifically builded house it has 

 given room to something better. This nui- 

 sance is too philosophically endured. It is by 

 no means a necessary evil, and there is no 

 virtue in submitting to its existence. We 

 often see heroic attempts to overcome its 

 objectionable features. It is made to stand 

 afar off ; but distance in this case lends no 

 enchantment, and the long walks back and 

 forth in all sorts of weather, and the noisome 

 condition of the building itself are often 

 serious exposures to aged people and delicate 

 children. Sometimes it is brought nearer, 

 taken under the house roof, curtained and 

 carpeted, and then we have "sewer gas" all 

 the year round, and in the summer a nui- 

 sance that more or less contaminates the 

 whole house. The best way to overcome 

 this evil is to adopt the dry earth or ash 

 system. Because some of the first closets 

 proved unsatisfactory, no one should be pre- 

 judiced against the system itself, which is 

 finding wide and wider acceptance through 

 improved and perfected machinery. — K. H. 

 Lelanrf, in " Farm Homes." 



THE LAST LOAD — A MIDSUMMER PICTURE. 



If there is anything more exhilarating than 

 the odor of newly-mown hay, piled high 

 upon big mows, as one walks over the main 

 floor of a well-filled barn, with the hot 

 breeze rushing in at one open door and out 

 at the other, on one of these midsummer 

 days, we don't know where amid all the 

 sights and sounds and fragrance of town or 

 country life it may be encountered. We are 

 familiar with the vivifying odor that comes 

 from the fresh running brooks of the earliest 

 spring-time, while the snow yet lingers in 

 huge patches here and there along the cool 

 sides of the little hills, slowly yielding their 

 stored-up moisture to the flagrant rill at 

 their base, telling us that winter is over and 

 past ; with the fragrance of the freshly 

 turned furrow as the patient oxen slowly 

 plod along over the ridgy field, with a de- 

 lightful mist rising from the ground as each 

 new furrow goes over, the robins and spar- 

 rows hop and sail along in glee behind our 

 plow — promise of the delightful spring- 

 time which has just opened ; with the luscious 

 smell that comes from ripe Apples, ruddy 

 and cheerful as in the early October morn- 

 ings they lie in generous heaps under the 

 trees upon which they so recently formed 

 the chief beauty, awaiting transport to cool 

 cellars on their way to the crowning joy of 

 the social evening festivities of the farm- 

 house. But more grateful and more signifi- 

 cant than these and all beside, there is the 

 exquisite fragrance from a barn full of herds- 

 grass and clover, vernal grass, and meadow 

 fox-tail. 



It is midday. We have just eaten dinner 

 after a forenoon following the mower and ted- 

 der. The tumbles of hay, cut yesterday, have 

 been open to sun and air. The great doors at 

 both ends of the barn are wide open, and an 

 empty hay-rack has just been run out of the 

 barn. Upon the floor the sweet hay covers 

 the planks like a soft carpet ; while away 



above the braces, even to the beams, is piled 

 the harvest of field and meadow. 



We stand on the floor and catch the sooth- 

 ing influences of the west wind, ladened with 

 odor of field and flower as it envelops us, 

 like the perfumed waters of a Turkish bath, 

 coming at one, going at another entrance. 

 The landscape viewed from the big door is 

 of marvelous beauty. A wooded hill ; a past- 

 ure in which are cows reclining under the 

 shade of trees, their faces windward, chew- 

 ing their cuds ; a running brook ; growing 

 grain fields, and the tropical leaves of Indian 

 Corn playing in the breeze ; an orchard ; a 

 winding road over which is a dusty cloud 

 from the passing carriage ; a farm-house; a 

 field in which workmen are hurriedly bunch- 

 ing up the outspread hay. 



What was that ? The rolling of distant 

 thunder. Look ! The billowy clouds, black 

 and threatening, piled over and over each 

 other, fill the western sky. What a mar- 

 shaling of the hosts of air, thunder -laden 

 and rain-filled ! Down to the field goes the 

 big rack ; the tumbles are piled in ; the forks 

 and rakes fly ; strong men sweat under the 

 great forkfuls of hay. The clouds gather. 

 Every moment an accurate eye sweeps the 

 blackened heavens, measuring the distance 

 away of the shower, and computing the rate 

 at which it is traveling. There is a strong 

 rustling of the leaves ; the breeze increases 

 and is laden with the odor of rain-drops ; 

 hay is blown from the rapidly moving load ; 

 the chickens run for shelter ; the farm gate 

 is blown on its hinges; the sound of the rain 

 is plainly heard. Hurry! The hay-rack 

 strikes the platform leading to the floor; the 

 load plunges into the barn with a thud ; the 

 boys on the top of the load bounce as upon a 

 pillow, as the wheels strike the sill ; down 

 comes the rain in torrents. There is a 

 merry ring of glad voices — it is the last 

 load. Home F^rm. 



§Mtiiwj, 



DR. JOHU A, WARDER, 



The announcement of the death of Dr. 

 John A. Warder, of North Bend, Ohio, on 

 July 15th, will bring sorrow and regret to 

 thousands of homes throughout the land, for 

 few men possess the natural gift of making 

 themselves beloved by all who know them in 

 so great a measure as he did. 



Dr. John A. Warder died in his 7 2d year, 

 at his charming home on the Ohio Eiver. 

 He was born near Philadelphia, Pa., and in 

 1830 removed with his parents to Spring- 

 field, Ohio, but soon returned to Philadelphia 

 to study medicine and natural sciences. In 

 1837, he married, and commenced the prac- 

 tice of medicine in Cincinnati. He soon rose 

 to eminence, and became one of the most 

 successful physicians of the city. During all 

 this time he took a lively interest in science, 

 and especially in horticulture and forestry. 



In 1855, he gave up his practice and 

 bought a part of the President Harrison 

 farm at North Bend, to which he gradually 

 added until he possessed more than three 

 hundred acres. There he spent much of his 

 time in testing new varieties of fruits and in 

 experimenting witli various methods of their 

 cultivation. The results of his observations 

 and rich experiences thus obtained he was 



