678 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
October 7 
NOTES FROM A SMALL GARDEN. 
At this writing, September 13, my gar¬ 
den of vegetables is as good as at any 
time during the past season. Occasional 
visitors tell me that they have seen noth¬ 
ing like it elsewhere, and I can credit 
their statements very easily, as not even 
the garden of the wealthy suburbanite 
with his regular paid help, presents any¬ 
thing like so prosperous an appearance. 
Like all others hereabouts, I had a cold, 
wet, late spring to contend with, and 
then a long, hot and dry summer. But 
while others fought with half-hearted¬ 
ness or gave up the contest in despair, I 
fought it out all summer and spring too, 
along the line of “eternal vigilance.” 
Some offer the gratuitous suggestion 
that “ I am lucky.” Luck! Rather 
hard, persistent, determined work. The 
soil is thin, a slaty clay, an 1 I had no 
manure to put on it. Cultivating the 
soil did it. 
The Black Mexican Lima beans given 
me by The R. N.-Y. all rotted but two, 
just as the old Limas did more or less. 
But while the large white Limas never 
fully recovered from the effects of the 
cold, wet spring, and were hurt by the 
summer droughts, the black beans were 
totally unaffected by anything after they 
came up, and prospered. This was due 
in large measure to the fact that, having 
small pods, there was not so great a 
drain upon the vitality and resources of 
the plant as with the big Lima beans. 
Still I do not like the little Mexican 
bean as a food, and find nothing superior 
to the King of the Garden Lima in this 
line. 
Of the cross-bred tomato seeds sent me 
I planted a few, not having room for 
many. I set out three only, and one 
turns out a “ lulu,” a diminutive, wrink¬ 
led affair, a disgrace to its family. 
Another is a large, plum, or fig-shaped 
tomato, very green yet, and the other is 
an ordinary tomato. I will report more 
fully on these later. 
Too much “potato phosphate” killed 
my potatoes, and has confirmed my be¬ 
lief that nothing is so safe and reliable 
as stable manure, where it can be had. 
Having a cow, I shall be able to make all 
needed for my little garden. This fall 
or early winter I shall manure and dig 
my potato plot for next season. That 
intended for early cabbage will be 
treated likewise. Concerning potatoes, 
both observation and experience confirtn 
my view that a light soil of sand or coal 
ashes, well worked and moderately man¬ 
ured, is the best. I do not think it is so 
much a matter of either fertilization or 
cultivation as of a light, moist, gritty 
soil. Last year two rows of my potato 
plot were in an old ash and cinder garden 
walk, with a small quantity of poor 
horse stable manure worked in, and with 
but one light hoeing during the season. 
While I did not expect to get anything 
but “marbles” from the two rows, I did 
get as many and as fine tubers as from 
the other rows. They were large, bright, 
clean White Stars. 
I wonder the Pineapple squash is not 
more generally grown. I never see it 
in the market. It is quite solid, white, 
tender and very sweet. The outer skin 
or rind does not need to be pared off. 
Fried like egg-plants, it is much super¬ 
ior. I have to this date pulled 25 
squashes from two vines, and there are 
many more in process of development. 
I ha ve squashes and pumpkins all grow¬ 
ing up together. They do not mix. It 
is surprising what one can grow on a 
small piece of ground. I have my vege¬ 
tables so close together—salsify, carrots, 
parsnips, beets, cabbages, etc.—that 
there is not room to walk between them, 
and yet thsy all do well. Later I shall 
give the dimensions of the garden and 
the products from it this year. I keep a 
record of its yield. 
I have a Japan wineberry. It is a 
beautiful plant, and I imagine its fruit 
will make delicious jelly, jam or pre¬ 
serves. It bore a few berries this, its 
first, year. It bears the winter well, 
and retains its foliage under a covering 
of straw. Ah Industry gooseberry, 
standing between two of the Downing 
kind, was attacked and stripped by the 
currant worms before I saw it. The 
worms did not touch the Downing. One 
of my plum trees yielded this season 
three bushels of fine fruit. Though 
stung by the curculio, the stings did no 
harm, very few plums containing a 
worm. I did not spray this year, as I 
did last. Overbearing, perhaps, does 
the trees more injury than the curculio. 
I think where the tree is sufficiently 
vigorous the curculio sting is rendered 
abortive by the growth and vitality of 
tree and fruit. Nor do I think the black 
knot is so terrible a thing, save as to its 
appearance on a fine tree. Still I cut it 
all out. I note that the grape vine bears 
year after year and is perhaps never 
hurt by overproduction—[? V Eds.] 
Malvern, Pa. A. A. k. 
A DISASTROUS PEACH YEAR. 
From a private letter, written by an 
extensive peach grower in Pennsylvania, 
we take the following facts about peach 
shipping. The season has been a disas¬ 
trous one all around : 
“ I have loaded and shipped for our 
growers here 18 cars of peaches from 
Waynesboro, and the business has about 
closed, not because there are no more to 
ship, but because prices have actually 
not j astified shipping any longer. Not 
only in Baltimore is the market glutted 
with peaches, but from Philadelphia, 
New York, Boston, Pittsburgh, Altoona, 
Ilarrisburgh, in fact from almost every¬ 
where we receive the same reports, and 
the prices are hardly sufficient to cover 
freight, commissions and the cost of 
packages and picking. Some of our 
growers have decided that unless prices 
improve, they will let the fruit hang on 
the trees. I have been shipping fine 
peaches to Baltimore and Philadelphia 
this week that have not netted 25 cents 
per crate, and very select yellow fruit in 
Mott carriers has sold in Philadelphia as 
low as 50 cents per carrier containing 
seven small baskets. The carriers cost 
25 cents each, and the freight, commission 
and drayage about as much more, leav¬ 
ing nothing whatever for the fruit. It has 
Luly been the most disastrous year our 
jieach growers have ever had. We have 
a cannery that uses up about 800 to 1,000 
bushels per day, and it has been paying 
from 20 to 50 cents per crate, but it some¬ 
times could not use half the fruit offered. 
I have seen hundreds of bushels of fine 
peaches sold at the railroad here at from 
25 to 50 cents per crate, and thousands of 
crates have been shipped to markets that 
we knew would not pay, simply because 
parties had the fruit here at the railroad 
and did not care to haul it back to rot.” 
Write Home. —Bill Arp, in nome and 
Farm, says that he got the President’s 
message in the mail the other day: 
I read the message on my way home 
from the post-office, and when I reached 
the piazza where Mrs. Arp was sitting, 
I said : 
“ Here is a letter, a message from the 
President, would you like to read it ? ” 
“No,” she said. “Did you bring me 
any letters from the boys ? ” 
“ None,” said I. 
“I am afraid they are sick,” she said. 
“ They haven’t written for three or four 
weeks. They never write when they 
are sick.” 
There it is. A letter from a son or 
daughter who is far away is a bigger 
thing to a mother than Grover Cleve¬ 
land’s message. Everywhere, all over 
the land the “ old folks at home ” are 
waiting for letters from their absent 
children. I have seen them sitting on 
the piazza or by the fireside with a shade 
of sadness on their faces, and as they 
look dreamily away 1 know what they 
are thinking about. There is nothing 
sadder in life than the separation of 
aged parents from their children. Dr. 
Samuel Johnson said: “I have always 
looked upon it as the worst condition of 
man’s destiny that most persons are torn 
asunder just as they become happy in 
each other’s society.” 
If this be true concerning the friends 
and companions of our youth, how much 
more touchingly does it apply to the 
aged ones whose children have removed 
far away from the old homestead. Love 
and memory are about all their earthly 
capital, and from day to day and week 
to week they look for letters — kind 
letters, loving letters from the absent 
ones whom perhaps they will never see 
again, but hope to meet—yes, hope to 
meet—on the other side. 
A MICHIGAN MIRACLE. 
BETWEEN life and death. 
A Singular Story of a Detroit Mnider.—A 
Terrible Battle Which Lasted Months. 
—One of the Remarkable Incidents 
Bordering on the Romantic. 
(From the Detroit Free Press.) 
Thomas Hagen was seated in a com¬ 
fortable rocking chair at his cosy home. 
1289 Russell Street, yesterday morning, 
when a visitor was announced. The 
gentleman arose and greeted the new¬ 
comer with the grace of a diplomat, and 
as he opened up a conversation it was 
evident that Mr. Hagen was a person of 
more than ordinary intelligence. To his 
visitor the remarkable changes and pe¬ 
culiar career of this man was a source 
of much interest. The wonderful trans¬ 
formation in his appearance within the 
past two years is itself worthy of the 
study of a scientist. Mr. Hagen, a 
couple of years ago, was so weak and 
emaciated that to-day he does not seem 
the same individual. 
Rheumatism was the cause of his terri¬ 
ble sufferings. 
He is a Detroiter by birth, having first 
seen the light of day in this city 36 years 
ago. When quite a boy he was appren¬ 
ticed to the mo der’s trade, and ever 
since he has followed this vocation 
He is quite a prominent member of the 
local Stovemolders’ Union, and can be 
found nearly every Saturday night in at¬ 
tendance at the meeting of the order. 
About two years ago Mr. Hagen became 
seriously affected with rheumatism, the 
result of working in drafts of cold air. 
“The shootii g pains of rheumatism 
are actually, I believe, the most horrible 
penalties that can be inflicted on man¬ 
kind. I can not begin to tell you of the 
agony I suffered. I had a thorough ex¬ 
perience in the art of torture, and no 
matter what I used to ease the pain, it 
seemed as though I was doomed to 
greater suffering. I had a number of 
friends who took great interest in my 
case, and recommended numerous reme 
dies, which I tried without avail. Noth¬ 
ing seemed to do me any good. I was 
under the care of several well-known 
Detroit physicians but their services 
were absolutely without favorable re¬ 
sults I was bedridden. Why, I could 
not move from one chair to another 
without assistance. Some days I would 
feel a little brighter than others 
“ But presently another attack of that 
infernal rheumatism would strike me, 
leaving me a veritable wreck on the 
barren shores of humanity. 
“ By accident I read two years ago a 
Canadian paper containing a remarkable 
story of a miracle at Hamilton, Ont. It 
was that of a man who was tortured to 
death by rheumatism. He was induced 
to use Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale 
People. He was immediately cured. I 
doubted the truth of the matter at first, 
but thought I would try it. I had my 
people hunt all over town, but they 
could not find the pills at any of the 
drug stores. The only place they were 
then sold was over in Windsor. Well, 
my relatives went over there and pur¬ 
chased a few boxes Great Christopher! 
but my mind goes back in ecstasy to the 
change which immediately came over 
me after using the Pink Pills. I began 
to improve, and in a few weeks rheu¬ 
matic pains left me, and in a short time 
I was able to be out and around. From 
that time I have been at work. 
“ It was not long after I secured the 
pills over at Windsor that I found they 
were for sale here in Detroit, at Brown 
& Co.’s, corner of Woodward and Con¬ 
gress, Michell’s and Bassett & L’Homme- 
dieu’s, Woodward Avenue. I purchased 
them for 50 cents per box. I guess you 
can buy them now at almost every drug 
store in Detroit. 
“I have recommended the Pink Pills to 
several of my friends around town, and 
although their cases were similar to 
mine, they have all been cured. There 
is nothing on the face of God’s earth 
equal to them for rheumatism and other 
diseases. Until my dying day I will 
praise the pills for being the cause of 
my present happy and contented condi¬ 
tion.” 
Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills are not a 
patent medicine in the sense in which 
that term is usually understood, but are 
a scientific preparation successfully used 
in general practice for many years be¬ 
fore being offered to the public gener¬ 
ally. They contain in a condensed form 
all the elements necessary to give new 
life and richness to the blood, and re¬ 
store shattered nerves. They are an un¬ 
failing specific for such diseases as loco¬ 
motor ataxia, partial paralysis, St. Vitus’ 
dance, sciatica, neuralgia, rheumatism, 
nervous headache, the after effects of 
la grippe, palpitation of the heart, pale 
and sallow complexions, that tired feel- 
iug resulting from nervous prostration ; 
all diseases depending upon vitiated 
humors in the blood, such as scrofula, 
chronic erysipelas, etc. They are also 
a specific for troubles peculiar to fe¬ 
males, such as suppressions, irregulari¬ 
ties, and all forms of weakness. They 
build up the blood and restore the glow 
of health to pale or sallow cheeks. In 
the casd of men they effect a radical 
cure in all cases arising from mental 
worry, overwork, or excesses of what¬ 
ever nature. 
These pills are manufactured by the 
Dr. Williams’ Medicine Company, Schen¬ 
ectady, N Y., and Brockville, Ont., and 
are sold only in boxes bearing the firm’s 
trade-mark and wrapper, at 50 cents a 
box, or six boxes for $2.50. Bear in 
mind that Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills are 
never sold in bulk, or by the dozen or 
hundred, and any dealer who offers a 
substitute in this form is trying to de¬ 
fraud you and should be avoided. Dr. 
Williams’ Pink Pills may be had of all 
druggists, or direct by mail from Dr. 
Williams’ Medicine Company from either 
address. The price at which these pills 
are sold makes a course of treatment 
comparatively inexpensive as compared 
with other remedies or medical treat¬ 
ment — Adv. 
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