874 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER. 
Dec.  31 
have  been  withered  and  shriveled  as  if  trying  to  dodge 
the  frost  all  winter,  redden  up,  and  they  put  on  that 
bright,  active  appearance  that  always  denotes  the 
laying  hen,  and  usually  begin  to  lay  at  about  the  time 
eggs  are  at  the  lowest  price  for  the  year,  and  this  is 
about  the  only  time  their  owners  take  any  interest  in 
them,  gathering  the  eggs,  and  feeding  the  birds  regu¬ 
larly  everyday,  often  going  to  the  trouble  of  furnish¬ 
ing  them  with  a  warm  breakfast,  just  when  they  could 
get  along  very  well  without  it.  As  these  hens  begin 
to  lay  late,  it  is  usually  late  spring  or  early  summer 
before  any  of  them  become  broody,  therefore  but  few, 
if  any,  chickens  are  hatched  out  before  June  or  July, 
and  as  they  receive  but  litt’e  more  care  than  the  old 
hen  is  able  to  give  them,  and  it  is  about  all  she  can  do 
to  take  care  of  herself,  but  few  of  them  ever  grow  up, 
and  the  owner  tells  the  old  story  of  “  never  having 
any  luck  with  chickens.” 
The  Pedigree  of  “  Fresh  Eggs.” 
After  laying  well  two  or  three  months,  this  class  of 
hens  become  inveterate  sitters,  and  wlpn  broken  up  in 
one  place  they  hide  their  nests  in  another,  where,  if 
not  found,  they  proceed  to  lay  a  dozen  or  so  and  hatch 
them  out  along  towards  fall,  and  partly  rear  a  brood 
of  chicks  ready  to  go  into  winter-quarters  along  with 
the  old  fowls — a  pinched-up,  half-starved  lot  that  it 
would  be  a  mercy  to  kill  at  once.  As  these  hens  get 
in  the  habit  of  hiding  their  nests  it  becomes  a  difficult 
matter  to  gather  the  eggs  regularly  every  day,  and 
often  no  effort  is  made  to  do  so  oftener  than  about 
once  a  week,  when  a  general  search  is  made,  and  a 
considerable  number  is  brought  in  in  all  conditions, 
from  those  just  laid  to  those  found 
among  the  grass  and  weeds  in  fence 
corners,  or  about  old  rubbish  piles 
where  many  of  them  had  been  ex¬ 
posed  to  the  sun  and  storms  since 
the  last  general  hunt.  Others  are 
taken  from  nests  where  they  had 
undergone  more  or  less  of  the  pro¬ 
cess  of  incubation,  but  as  they 
present  a  fairly  good  appearance 
they  are  carried  to  the  nearest 
grocer,  and  in  the  course  of  time 
find  their  way  to  the  city  market 
where  they  are  sold  to  consumers 
as  strictly  fresh  goods,  with  the 
result  that  the  buyer  is  disgusted 
with  them,  and  wants  no  more 
until  spring  when  he  can  depend 
upon  getting  fresh  eggs  that  are 
fresh,  for  it  is  a  fact  that  spring  is 
about  the  only  time  when  the  gen¬ 
eral  market  is  supplied  with  eggs 
from  hens  that  are  mostly  being 
well  fed  and  when  the  eggs  are 
gathered  regularly  and  hurried  to 
market,  as  they  are  too  plentiful  at 
that  time  to  think  of  holding  them 
for  a  rise  in  price.  As  the  season 
advances,  however,  the  eggs  from  many  hens  are  not 
nearly  so  good,  even  when  gathered  and  sent  to  market 
fresh  ;  hens  regularly  supplied  with  good,  nourishing 
food,  will  lay  richer  and  better  flavored  eggs  than 
those  compelled  to  search  for  their  entire  living,  and 
which  must  eat  many  things  that  injure  the  quality 
and  flavor  of  their  eggs,  and  as  a  good  many  are  ex¬ 
pected  to  do  this  as  warm  weather  arrives  and  insects 
are  plentiful,  many  eggs  are  sent  to  market  with  an 
off  flavor,  even  though  fresh.  Another  very  common 
fault  is  the  length  of  time  many  farmei  s  hold  their 
eggs  in  late  summer  and  fall  for  a  rise  in  price. 
From  four  to  six  weeks  is  not  an  uncommon  length 
of  time  for  them  to  hold  them,  and  with  little  or  no 
precautions  for  retaining  their  freshness.  Really 
my  sympathies  are  with  the  consumers  who  desire 
fresh  eggs,  and  who  depend  upon  the  general  market 
for  their  supply.  Will  our  great  army  of  average 
farmers  ever  learn  that  all  that  is  needed  to  create  a 
better  demand  and  consequently  obtain  higher  prices, 
is  to  produce  better  goods,  and  send  them  to  market 
when  in  their  best  condition  ? 
*  *  * 
Beet  Pulp  fob  Feeding. — Richard  Gird,  head  of  a 
big  beet-sugar  factory  in  California,  recently  read  a 
paper  on  feeding  pulp  to  stock.  This  pulp,  or  the 
residue  left  after  washing  out  the  sugar  from  the  beets, 
has  been  regarded  as  a  waste  product.  Mr.  Gird  is 
now  feeding  1,000  head  of  cattle  on  this  pulp  mixed 
with  chopped  hay  and  corn  stalks.  He  has  a  silo  500 
feet  long,  60  feet  wide  and  10  feet  deep,  with  cars  over¬ 
head  on  trestles  from  which  the  pulp  is  dumped,  with¬ 
out  handling.  There  are  between  10,000  and  12,000 
tons  in  the  silo.  He  says  the  plan  adopted  in  Europe 
for  this  feeding  is  “  for  the  beet  raisers  to  purchase 
poor  cattle  as  work  animals  in  the  spring,  use  them 
during  the  season  of  plowing,  cultivating  and  harvest¬ 
ing  the  beets,  then  feed  them  on  the  siloed  pulp  in  the 
winter  to  fit  them  for  the  market  in  the  spring.  The 
quality  of  the  beef  is  said  to  be  excellent,  and  bears 
about  the  same  relation  to  the  European  market  that 
our  stall  or  corn-fed  beef  does  here  ;  it  has  a  beautiful 
marbled  appearance,  with  the  fat  white  and  hard.  In 
this  manner  the  beet  farmers  not  only  get  the  benefit 
of  the  work  from  the  animals  to  cultivate  their  crops, 
but  with  that  same  crop  prepare  these  cattle  for  the 
market  in  the  most  economical  and  successful  way.” 
His  plan,  in  California,  is  to  buy  Arizona  steers  and 
feed  them  in  yards  near  the  beet  silo  on  a  ration  of 
five  pounds  of  chopped  hay  and  60  pounds  of  beet  pulp. 
This  piys  well. 
UNCLE  OPTION’S  SIGN  BOARD. 
Here's  a  tale  of  Uncle  Option, 
He  who  seeks  divorce  from  “  Anti,” 
He  who  lives  upon  the  farmer, 
Making  more  by  speculating 
With  his  “  puts  ”  and  •*  calls  ”  and  “  corners,” 
(Naught  but  gambling  pure  and  simple), 
Than  the  farmer’s  sweat  and  labor 
Earn  him  for  his  toil-wrung  produce. 
Uncle  started  without  money, 
Cheek  ”  and  “  nerve  ”  alone  to  “  deal  ”  with, 
Stuck  hts  sign  up  in  the  pasture, 
Where  the  farmer’s  calves  were  feeding, 
Had  no  right  to  go  and  trespass, 
For  the  land  belonged  to  others, 
But  he  never  cared  a  penny ; 
That’s  the  way  he  made  his  living, 
Treading  on  the  rights  of  others 
That  were  far  too  easy-going 
To  stand  up  and  claim  their  own  rights. 
Took  his  dog  named  “  Trust  ”  for  growling 
When  the  calves  came  smelling  ’round  him. 
They  were  simple,  coward  creatures 
Scared  to  death  at  Uncle's  shouting, 
Kan  away  across  the  pasture, 
Never  dared  disturb  his  sign-board. 
He  paid  not  a  cent  for  rental 
Flaunting  In  the  people’s  face 
Hts  old  legend,  bold,  Insulting. 
So  old  Uncle  made  hU  fortune, 
But  he  wasn’t  quite  contented 
With  his  half;  he  said  the  farmer 
Ought  to  give  at  least  three-quarters. 
So  he  thought  he’d  change  his  sign-board, 
Add  a  line  and  make  It  stronger; 
And  he  took  his  brush  and  paint  pot, 
Climbed  the  fence  and  Btarted  painting 
That  he  just  must  beat  the  farmer 
Till  he  rode  him  to  destruction. 
Now  those  calves  had  kept  on  growing 
Since  old  Option  set  “  Trust  ”  on  them ; 
Growing  both  in  weight  and  wisdom, 
And  they  needed  all  that  pasture, 
Had  no  use  for  Option’s  sign-board. 
There  was  one,  a  great  big  yearling; 
He  just  pawed  the  earth  and  bellowed 
When  he  saw  old  Uncle  painting; 
Thought  that  meant  another  sign-board 
And  another  loss  of  pasture. 
Uncle,  he  was  calmly  painting, 
Got  “  Must  be  ”  and  then  he  halted, 
For  he  heard  that  yearling  coming, 
Saw  his  good  dog  “  Trust  ”  a-runnlng 
With  his  tall  between  his  hind  legs; 
He  just  dropped  his  brush  and  scampered 
’Bound  the  corner  of  his  sign-board, 
Legged  it  for  the  fence  with  vigor; 
And  the  yearling  made  things  lively 
Till  the  farmer  came  and  caught  him. 
Farmer  took  the  brush  and  paint  pot, 
Edited  old  Option’s  sign-board 
Till  the  reader  read  it  this  way; 
Uncle  Option,  Genteel  Gambler, 
Superseded  now  by  “  Anti.'’ 
NO  MOBE  SPECULATOKS  WANTED, 
“  Corners”  have  Been  Found  Unhealthy, 
Story  reads.  “  The  Farmer  in  It.” 
Must  be  Decent  now  or  Quit,  Sir  I 
That’s  the  way  to  win,  you  farmers, 
Down  with  Uncle,  up  with  “  Anti!  ” 
Paw  and  bellow  like  the  yearling, 
Don’t  run  off  like  calves  afrighted; 
Drive  old  Option  from  your  pasture. 
All  too  long  he’s  preyed  upon  you; 
Then  let's  edit  his  big  sign  board, 
Make  complete  the  line  he  started, 
Must  Be  Decent  Now  or  Quit,  Sir! 
ANOTHER  MILLIONAIRE  FARMER. 
THIS  ONE  BUNS  A  FABM  FOB  BEVENUK  AND  GETS  IT  TOO. 
The  Great  Havemeyer  Jersey  Farm. 
[EDITORIAL  CORRESPONDENCE.] 
One  of  the  most  beautifully  located  farms  it  has  ever 
been  my  fortune  to  visit  is  that  of  Mr.  T.  A.  Have¬ 
meyer,  located  a  short  distance  from  the  village  of  Mah- 
wah,  in  Bergen  County,  N.  J.,  on  the  New  York,  Lake 
Erie  and  Western  Railroad,  about  30  miles  from  New 
York.  It  was  a  clear,  cold  morning  in  late  November, 
the  ground  covered  with  snow,  which  a  brisk  wind  was 
whirling  about  in  a  lively  fashion  when  I  alighted  at 
the  little  station  of  Mahwah.  I  was  met  by  a  carriage 
from  the  farm  about  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  which 
was  soon  reached.  This  is  in  the  extreme  northern 
part  of  the  State  close  to  the  boundary  line.  It  is  a 
region  of  lofty,  wooded  hills  which  aspire  to  the  dig¬ 
nity  of  mountains,  and  lovely,  fertile,  well  watered 
valleys,  of  living  springs  of  purest  water,  and  babbling 
brooks,  and  swiftly  flowing  rivers.  The  view  from 
the  station  convinces  one  that  Nature  has  done  much 
more  than  man  for  this  charming  country.  Its  possi¬ 
bilities  under  efficient,  business-like  management,  are, 
however,  demonstrated  by  the  farm,  which  was  the 
Mecca  of  my  pilgrimage. 
Farming  On  Historic  Ground. 
The  broken  character  of  the  surface  necessitates 
sundry  turns  and  windings  of  the  railway,  but  at 
Mahwah  it  runs,  I  should  judge,  nearly  due  north. 
Leaving  the  railroad  and  turning  to  the  left,  the  road 
takes  us  over  a  considerable  range  of  hills  before 
reaching  the  valley  in  which  most 
of  the  Havemeyer  farm  is  located. 
A  short  distance  from  the  station  a 
portion  of  the  farm  inclosed  by  a 
high  fence,  is  reached,  and  this,  the 
driver  informs  me,  is  the  deer  park, 
comprising  several  hundred  acres 
and  containing  a  number  of  deer. 
A  short  distance  further,  and  we 
are  in  the  valley,  another  turn  to 
the  left,  and  we  are  on  the  road 
traversing  the  Ramapo  Valley, 
every  foot  of  which  is  historic 
ground.  In  Revolutionary  times 
this  was  the  main  highway  from 
Newburg  and  other  northern 
towns,  to  New  York  and  the  South. 
A  venerable  old  building,  midway 
of  the  Havemeyer  farm,  is  pointed 
out  as  one  at  which  the  coach 
horses  were  changed  in  those  early 
days.  An  aged  tree  claims  the 
honor,  or  some  of  the  natives  do 
for  it,  of  having  sheltered  the 
great  Washington  while  he  partook 
of  his  frugal  midday  lunch.  Tradi¬ 
tion,  too,  states  that  from  a  neigh¬ 
boring  lofty  hill-top  he  viewed  the 
manoeuverings  of  the  red-coated  British  in  New  York 
harbor.  In  common  with  the  rest  of  New  Jersey, 
there  probably  isn’t  an  old  well  in  the  vicinity  from 
which  he  didn’t  quench  his  thirst,  or  a  roof  that 
didn’t  at  some  time  shelter  the  Father  of  his  Country. 
The  road  is  now  a  hard  and  very  smooth  macadam,  of 
which  Mr.  Havemeyer  has  constructed  many  miles  upon 
and  around  his  property. 
Business  Management  of  a  Great  Dairy. 
Along  either  side  of  the  highway  are  massive  stone 
walls,  looking  as  though  they  would  endure  for  ages. 
Turning  to  the  left,  up  a  stone-bounded  driveway,  we 
come  to  the  spacious  mansion  of  the  manager  of  this 
great  estate,  Mr.  John  Mayer,  a  son-in-law  of  the 
owner.  From  this  sightly  elevation  a  beautiful  picture 
is  before  us.  On  either  side  of  the  main  highway  are 
the  broad  fields,  with  here  and  there  the  dwellings  of 
the  employees.  Almost  in  front  is  the  family  mansion, 
flanked  by  the  coach  stables.  In  the  rear,  a  little  to 
the  right  are  the  great  cattle  barns,  hog  and  poultry 
houses  with  their  accessories.  Just  beyond  winds  the 
beautiful  Ramapo,  while  towering  in  the  background 
are  the  wooded  slopes  of  the  mountains  of  the  same 
name.  And  if  this  is  such  a  pleasing  panorama  when 
veiled  with  snow,  what  must  its  beauties  be  when 
nature  has  decked  it  out  with  all  her  lavish  display  of 
leafage  and  flower. 
I  found  Mr.  Mayer  hard  at  work  at  his  desk,  for  the 
conduct  of  this  immense  establishment  with  its  numer¬ 
ous  details  requires  the  closest  attention,  and  the  ap¬ 
plication  of  the  most  exact  business  principles.  One 
thing  I  noticed  during  my  inspection  was  the  fact  that 
the  manager,  though  having  a  superintendent  over 
each  department,  was  perfectly  familiar  with  and 
seemed  to  have  a  perfect  oversight  of  the  minutest 
details.  A  man  must  be  possessed  of  good  executive 
ability,  business  training,  and  exact  knowledge  of 
farm  operations  to  keep  such  a  machine  running 
