Citcranj. 
THE STORY OF STONY BROOK FARM. 
HENRY STEWART. 
CHAPTER XII. 
(Continued from page C73 ) 
“ Mamma, let me give you this, it is yours; 
it is the account of our stewardship. All the 
money we have received on your account has 
been deposited, and not a dollar has been spent 
of it. This is the bank-book. The farm has 
been able to bear its own burdens.” 
“ Emily, you astonish me; how have you 
done it?” 
“ You must ask George, mamma; he keeps 
the accounts, and I am only the committee of 
Investigation, and as such, of course, don’t 
know the first thing about it; only this, that 
we have not needed any of the money, and, 
in tact, we have determined not to need it, 
and we are doing so well that we are not even 
tempted to need it. You must give Uncle 
J dm the credit for it. But let us go and see 
the dairy; I see papa and uncle and my cous¬ 
ins there. ” 
The dairy was a stone building at the foot of 
a slight bank in which a low ledge of rock 
cropped out. Over the ledge poured a small 
stream of the coldest of pure spring water, on 
its way to the little brook which ran through 
the meadow. The top of the ledge was a basin 
of a few feet in diameter and a foot deep; 
around this basin were ferns and other green¬ 
ery, with here and there a bunch of delicate 
blue forget-me-nots, hiding modestly in the 
shade, and over all a noble weeping willow 
bent its green drapery. A little channel cut 
in the rock led the water to a pipe which dis¬ 
appeared in the ground. Inside the dairy the 
pipe poured a stream of cold water into a long 
shallow trough, made of cement, upon a foun¬ 
dation of stone-work of the hight of an ordi¬ 
nary table. In the trough were a number of 
shallow tin milk pans, tilled with milk, and 
resting upon two ridges at the bottom, which 
permitted the cold water to flow under them; 
on the other side of the dairy a stream of 
water poured into a deep pool in which were 
a number of deep pails, also filled with milk. 
Thermometers hung in the shallow trough 
and the deep pool and on the wall. In the 
center was a large slab of slate resting upon 
columns of stone work, and making a roomy 
table on which was a white marble slab for 
working butter, and a large wooden butter 
bowl filled with butter, waitiug to be finally 
worked and packed. The floor was of cement, 
and the walls were neatly whitewashed; a 
window guarded by fine wire gauze and a 
Venetian blind was on the north side, as was 
also the door; two narrow windows let in 
light on the west side and were protected by 
green blinds. On the south side was a room 
for churning; this had a sort of sink in the 
middle of the painted wooden floor, from 
which a drain pipe was carried to the brook and 
this carried off all the washing and slop from 
the churn. Thin room wasprovided with tiers 
of slatted shelves on one side for setting the milk 
when required, and a stove for regulating the 
temperature in the Winter. 
“This room” said Emily to her consins “is 
my Winter dairy, but 1 fiod the cold pool in 
the other room keeps the milk and raises the 
cream so well that 1 ouly use this room for 
churning and setting the cream; excepting oc¬ 
casionally, when I set the milk here to note if 
there is any difference.” 
“And do you find any difference?” asked 
one of her cousins. 
“The difference is not so much in the quan¬ 
tity of cream or in the quality of the butter ( 
although I think, and George thinks so too, 
that we get more cream from the milk set in 
this room and kept at 62 degrees; that is when 
we can keep it at that temperature, which is 
not always easy. But, the cold setting in the 
deep pool, which rarely varies from 45 de¬ 
grees except in the hottest weather, when it 
, goes up to 55 degrees, gives me sweet skimmed 
milk, which I need for the calve*. In the 
Winter 1 shall be able to learn more about 
this, and we shall have a dani put in the brook 
and make a pond so as to have ice, and then I 
should certainly choose the deep pool and the 
deep pails, because it is so much more con¬ 
venient. I have had a door fitted to the pool 
so that it can be closed in the very hot 
weather, and in the very cold weather in the 
Winter, and so keep the temperature more 
regular. But when we have ice, as you have, 
it will be a great convenience.” 
"Yes indeed, ice is a great convenience in a 
dairy; when we keep the temperature regular 
everything comes out exactly the same; the 
churning takes just so much time and the 
butter is always the same and we can tell 
precisely what, is going to be done. With ice 
and a thermometer, cousin Emily, your work 
will be very much eased, and simplified and 
what is more there won’t be any complaints 
about the butter. How much butter are 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
©ST 7 
you making? I need not ask you how you are 
succeeding with it, because I have seen it; I 
told yon you would beat us in butter making, 
and you have done it; our butter is not as 
good as this, somehow.” 
“Ah, I don’t know about that; you were 
always snch a good-natured flatterer, cousin. 
But we are doing better than I expected. 
Here is the account, we keep it hanging on 
the wall: last week, 72 lbs.; the week before, 67 
lbs.; 65 lbs., 68 lbs. ,62 lbs.,and so on. The weath¬ 
er makes a difference; a nice cool week as we 
had last week, and a hot, close one as we had 
in August, you see, makes a difference of 10 
pounds in a week. But the feed is a little 
better now: we are leaving sweet corn stalks 
with the small ears on, for the cows now, and 
they hare been on the young clover and grass. 
I think 1 hav e 25 pounds in the bowl from this 
morning’s cmirning, and that is two days’ 
cream. But come and see my pet calves.” 
“There, is net that beautiful? That little 
fellow is a Jersey with a pedigree I don’t 
know how long. George has it all by heart; 
his mother is that fawn cow with the black 
switch and those beautiful horns; she is our 
best cow and gi ves 12 pounds of butter a week, 
but not so very much milk, and she is only 
three years old. Those two red and white are 
Ayrsbires.” 
“ Do you like Ayrshires Emily ?” 
“ 1 do, because their butter is harder than 
the Jersey butter, and some of our Ayrshires 
give as rich milk and more of it, than any of 
the Jerseys but Nellie, the fawn one.” 
“Oh, here’s Uncle and Papa. Papa, did you 
find anything better than this in Europe, any 
sweeter air, or greener trees, or more beauti¬ 
ful hills and valleys ?” 
“No, Emily, ‘there’s no place like home,’ 
after all, and you and George have certainly 
made the old place very homelike and pleas¬ 
ant. I conld scarcely credit it, remembering 
bow it looked when I was here last. What a 
difference a year will make; but the beauty 
of it all is, that there Is nothing new about it, 
all is old and full grown as it were; these old 
barns and the old house, and the fine old trees; 
all that I miss is the old oaken bucket at the 
well, and there you have the only new thing I 
see, a new iron force-pump. How I like an 
old place when it is kept in order and clean 
and neat; then, age is like a hoary head, * a 
crown of glory.” 
“Yes,” said Uncle John, “when it is kept 
in the path of righteousness. But how like a 
miserable old sinner the dilapidated old place 
looked when wo saw it first, a little more than 
a year ago; no crown of glory about it then.” 
“It is a case of conversion and reformation, 
is it not, Uncle,” remarked George. 
“ Yes, bHt miDd the reformation is perma¬ 
nent, that is all, George. So far it is all very 
good, but you must not fall back, you know.” 
“No fear, I think, Uncle John. We have 
got upon the right road so far that it is too far 
to go back, and thauks to your help." 
“ It Is very easy to help those, George, who 
are willing to help themselves. But tell us 
what you have been doing all the Summer. 
Wbat is that forest of corn over there ? It 
seems to be very thick.” 
“That is fodder corn, and it is thick, no 
doubt. I have planted four bushels to the 
acre, so as to have the stalks thin. The rows 
are three feet apart and the Btalks stand about 
nine feet high. It is now ready to be cut. It 
was planted late after rye was cut and is the 
second crop from that field. The rye is now 
in the barn in the form of hay, and is green 
and fragrant. I have fed some occasionally 
to the cows, cut aud mixed with two quarts 
of corn meal to a feed, and they eat it well 
and do well upon it. To begin, 1 sowed four 
acres of oats and peas. We had IS acres of 
rye and one of wheat sown last Fall; part of 
the rye was sown to Timothy and clover, and 
a piece was sowed early that Fall with tur¬ 
nips and orchard grass and timothy and clo¬ 
ver. This has been mowed twice, the first 
for hay, and the second growth for the cows in 
August when the pasture got a little bare. I 
expect there will be uuother cutting, or it 
muBt be eaten down to get the old grass off be¬ 
fore the W Inter. The timothy and clover is 
doing very well, thanks to the fine rains we 
have had, and will make fine hay next year. 
Bart of the rye was cut green and part left to 
ripen; that which was seeded was left to ripen, 
and will be thrashed for feed and for the straw 
for litter. We have a lot of the oats and peas 
in the barn, cut when in blossom, and made 
into hay; and we have a lot of fodder-corn 
and corn for grain which 1 think will turn out 
70 bushels to the acre. I want you to see it, 
Uncle, and give me your opinion about that. 
We have a good d-al of hay—and, 1 was for¬ 
getting, we have four acres of ti e yellow 
globe mangels. The fact is. there is move 
than we can take care of without some extra 
help.” 
“ Don’t spare for that, George, if you can 
put it to good use. On a farm all the labor 
that can be well employed is so much profit, 
and that you need help to take care of your 
crops shows that you are prospering. You 
have done much better than you or I might 
have expected, and you should be grateful 
that the season has been extremely favorable, 
I know that a good farmer who does his work 
well and in good season, generally has fair 
crops whatever sort of weather he may have; 
but when he has a favorable season and his 
good work has been very bountifully reward¬ 
ed, he should not forget that he owes his good 
fortune to something more than his own good 
management, and should feel proportionately 
grateful to a generous Providence. Bat bow 
did you manage to get snch corn as this, this 
is extra fine ?” 
“Ah, this is some of Jabez’ work ; he 
should have the credit for that. You see last 
Summer when he was at work, he brought all 
the muck from those ditches in the swamp 
into this field, and mixed it with the old ma¬ 
nure piles in the barnyard, which were three 
feet deep in places and had been lying there, 
he said, 10 or 12 years; and he gathered up a 
car load of wood ashes from the villages down 
the road, and two or three wagon loads more 
about here, and made some fine compost 
heaps, so that we had enough to give 25 loads 
per acre on the corn and the mangels. This 
we plowed in this Bpring, after summer-fal¬ 
lowing the ground and killing the weeds last 
year, aud I put on 200 pounds of superphos¬ 
phate per acre besides. That gave the crops a 
good start, and very frequent cultivation did 
the rest, of course helped very much by the 
fine showers we had all through the growing 
season. Jabez is a great believer in muck.” 
“ Well, George, that is a very good account 
to give of yourself, and the corn tells the 
story; the ground is very clean; could not be 
cleaner, and the ears are—well, they are 
pretty thick; three—two—five—five—four— 
three—22 in six hills, that is 8% to a hill— 
good-sized ears, too—100 will shell a bushel of 
grain—let me see—three feet apart, are they 
not ?—about 17,000 ears to an acre. Some 
people I have heard and read of would jump 
that, and say 170 bushels to the acre and make 
a big thing of it. Now, I should say take off 
one-half for discount, and you will have nett 
about 80 bushels to the acre; and that is doiug 
very well, George; very well, indeed, for a 
beginning. You won’t do as well next year, 
mind that. Now how much do you estimate 
this crop at ?” 
(To be continued.) 
---- 
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CONDUCTED BY MISS HA V CLARK. 
SHALL THE CHILDREN BE EDUCATED? 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
At this season of tbe year many parents and 
children as well are discussing the question of 
going to school, the ways and means of com¬ 
paring the expenses and in a few instances 
perhaps, the uses of education. It seems 
to be natural for parents to derive for their 
children better educational advantages than 
they themselves over enjoyed, particularly 
such parents whose own education has been 
limited. The education that young people 
receive in schools, measured as the acquirement 
of so much information amounts to but little. 
What is acquired that amounts to much, and 
what gives to education its value, is that it 
trains the student to think, to make use of his 
mental faculties. A young man or young 
woman with a well trained mind ought never 
to have fears in regard to his or her ability to 
“get on" in the A orld, as whatever work may 
be engaged in there must necessarily be 
double the intelligence and quickness mani¬ 
fested as by an uneducated person of equal 
mental endowment—this, in the long run of 
experience. Every person of observation.or of 
experience in employing men aud women, very 
readily appreciate the value of educated help 
over the uneducated. A person of a slow, 
dull mind moves and works in the same dull, 
slow and stupid way as the mind works, as 
may be seen any day in watching a gang of 
day laborers. It is this difference in mental 
activity, in mental training and lack of train¬ 
ing, that constitutes tbe difference in wages, 
instead of strength of muscle. Some of the 
most useful and brilliant men of this country 
have been men whose education of the school 
room has been very little indeed; but from the 
hard, sharp, stimulating circumstances of 
poverty, their minds have become keenly 
alive and tbeir mental faculties curiously 
sharpened and awakened. I have often seen 
newsboys of five or six years of age, earning 
tbeir daily bread by their trade. Who were 
as sharp and quick in meeting exigencies and 
providing for them, as are average boys in 
comfortable homes of twice or thrice their 
years. But for the ordinary boy or girl in 
country homes, particularly, there is no 
method of mental development so good as a 
thoroughly good school, where hard and 
accurate mental work is required, and the 
studies pursued are not of so much consequence 
as the way in which they are mastered. 
Beyond a practical knowledge of arithmetic, 
reading, writing and spelling, the majority of 
people study a great many things that may, 
or may not be of practical use. Parents often 
wonder what use, there can be in Julia or 
Mary studying Algebra, Geometry or Trig¬ 
onometry or any of the higher mathematics, 
and if John or James studies surveying, the 
question is usually asked, if he intends to be¬ 
come a surveyor. To my mind a great mistake 
is made in training children to any particular 
trade or profession, when the training consists 
in confining their studies to certain branches 
supposed to bear exclusively upon the matter 
in hand. Wbat is always best, is a liberal 
education first, or what is the same thing a 
liberal mental development. I repeat this, 
as many people think of education as a cram¬ 
ming process, as having learned so much, 
whereas true education consists as I have 
before said in acquiring the ahility to use, and 
to use advantageously, one’s mental faculties. 
I have yet to know a really well educated 
woman who could not cut and make a garment 
or cook a dinner, or order a house well, 
although she had never been trained to these 
particular tasks, nor a well educated man who 
could not very readily master any of the 
ordinary trades or businesses of life. Tbe 
difference is this, that the educated person 
sees, aud the uneducated person don't see. 
He exemplifies in the fullest sense the saying 
of Christ—having eyes, see not, aud having 
ears hear not. 
8o in discussing whether or not the boys 
and girls shall be sent to school, the question 
resolves itself into, “Will I have my hoy or 
girl equipped for life, with an active well 
developed mind, with trainea mental facul¬ 
ties, or not ?” Ignorance means nou-develop- 
meut and an ignorant person is justly of 
small account comparatively, for uuless a 
human being has a reasonably well developed 
mind he might quite as well have been a horse 
or a mule. 
The great Emerson once spoke in conversa¬ 
tion with a lady, of the unspeakable value of 
simplicity of life and surroundings as an 
agency m the formation of character, and 
that he thought that the children of rich men 
were born at such disadvantage in this respect 
that it was questionable if their other advan¬ 
tages of educational facilities, travel, etc., 
could make up for it. “When I think how I 
am sparing my boy all that made me— 
the bare cliambers and tbe stem denials of 
poverty—I know I am making a mistake. 
But,” he added, “cannot help it.” And it is 
this very fact of comfort and opulence may 
be, that answers the question oftentimes, how 
it happens that the sons of great men never 
themselves become great. In this country 
there is very little of real poverty of what 
people in other countries regard as poverty. 
There is often a lack or limit of money, but 
rarely a lack of plain food or clothing, and 
the means of acquiring an education, in addi¬ 
tion to these, is always somehow possible. 
Poverty that does not tend to physical debili¬ 
tation is npvor to be dreaded, if it is endured 
for a noble purpose; and a greut deal of 
privation can lie borne for the sake of 
mental development, aud parents and children 
who duly value education and its meaning will 
not be thwarted in their desires by the spectacle 
of it. Education means success,respectability, 
honor, may be. Educated people are happier 
and longer lived than the uneducated. A 
