1900 
247 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
HOPE FARM NOTES. 
Failing Eyes.— For several months, our 
horse Dan has been given to shying. He 
would trot along pleasantly and all of a 
sudden start or jump to one side. He 
never tried to run away, but seemed to be 
frightened at moving or strange objects at 
the roadside. I had always mistrusted 
his eyes. I thought he was nearsighted. 
At last, his left eye began to “water,” 
and we noticed a white film growing on it. 
There is always a lot of wise local advice 
to be had about an ailing horse. I might 
experiment with a horse’s hoof or hide, 
or even with his stomach, but I will have no 
'prentice poking into an eye. My own 
ears were* injured by just such work. Wo 
took Dan to the vet. and he pronounces 
it a case of moonblindness, or periodic 
ophthalmia. The chances are that Dan 
will lose one eye any way, and perhaps 
both. The trouble is hereditary. I am 
glad we are not responsible for it. Prob¬ 
ably Dan’s mother in the West had the 
same trouble. She packed it up in her 
son and sent it to us, just as though we 
did not have troubles enough of our own! 
That is one objection to buying western 
horses. We buy a young horse that ap¬ 
pears sound, and later a trouble like this 
crops out. The man who sold Dan guar¬ 
anteed him “sound and kind.” He is kind 
enough, but was he “sound” before this 
blindness made itself apparent? I mean 
to find out. Of course, the seller knew 
nothing about it! 
Dead Eyes.— What is to be done with a 
blind horse? It seems pitiful that this 
strong and vigorous animal should be thus 
stricken. I would never want to sell a 
blind horse. A careless or heartless 
owner would fill its life with terror. We 
will find work for Dan on the farm, and 
it will go hard with anyone who abuses 
him. I have seen blind horses at work, 
and it was touching to observe the confi¬ 
dence they had in their drivers. They 
would move on with force and speed as if 
they felt sure that the drivers would guide 
them safely and keep them from running 
into obstacles. You have seen blind men 
groping cautiously along alone—fearful of 
injury. You may have seen the same men 
holding the arm of some faithful friend 
walking briskly off without fear or shrink¬ 
ing. It is sad to think of one who must 
sit in darkness, yet I think a total loss of 
hearing must be worse than blindness. 
There is an awful sadness and longing in 
the faces of those who are stone deaf. 
The sense of touch and the quickened ear 
will largely make up for the loss of sight— 
there is nothing that can take the place of 
the actual sound of the kindly, loving 
voice! It is far more disheartening to see 
what you cannot hear than to hear what 
you cannot see, for after all, while the 
voices of friends or of Nature may seem 
at times most unkind, they may still con¬ 
vey the most perfect sympathy on earth. 
Wild Strength.— As Spring comes 
nearer I feel like paying more attention 
to fence rows and stone walls. For a cen¬ 
tury or more people have been picking 
stones on Hope Farm. There are large 
walls on the north and south sides of the 
farm, and also through the center. I am 
not growling about this. It wouldn’t do 
any good and, after all, those stone piles 
will work for me. The cherry and apple 
seedlings growing along the walls are re¬ 
markable for vigor and growth. I shall 
not cut one of them down. I can graft on 
them, as I believe, with good success. In 
fact, we expect to dig up a good many 
large sprouts that have come up around 
the cherry trees and set them along these 
walls. I hope to make good trees out of 
them. The apple seedlings along these 
walls are very strong. I don’t know where 
to go for better grafting stock. Yes, yes, 
these old stone walls have given a wild 
strength to the seeds that grew up beside 
them. It will be almost like breeding in 
the vigor of the wild woods to start the 
improved varieties on this thrifty stock. 
Thus, the work of the old stone-pickers 
will not be in vain. I feel more and more 
inclined to start my own fruit roots and 
secure wood for grafting. This isn’t al¬ 
ways satisfactory. Several years ago a 
neighbor paid a high price for wood of the 
Lincoln Coreless pear. He grafted it, and 
watched the trees with loving care. The 
grafts finally produced great, worthless 
fruit, so hard and tough that if the Boers 
in South Africa only had an orchard of 
these pears they would have ammunition 
more terrible than lyddite shells—especi¬ 
ally if they could get the British to eat the 
pears. 
Day by Day. —I think I have mentioned 
the Madame’s diary before now. She 
keeps a record of events and happenings. 
It is, I think, not only a history of the 
Hope Farm household, but a sort of talk 
the Madame has each day with her best 
self. There are, at best, lonely days in 
farm life for any woman who has high 
Standards of life and living. When such 
a woman keeps a diary she will, perhaps 
unconsciously, fall into the habit of meas¬ 
uring the doings of the members of her 
family by what they might do or should 
do. I fear that the Hope Farm folks often 
fall short in such a scale. The Madame 
has on the first page of her diary these 
lines from Cardinal Newman’s beautiful 
hymn: 
Keep thou my feet—I do not ask to see 
The distant scene—one step enough for me! 
To my mind that is a beautiful senti¬ 
ment, but few enough of us have the 
faith to live up to it. Some one has said 
that while men can see farther than 
women, they cannot see so quickly or so 
clearly. I guess that is true. I know 
that I often look so far off into things that 
I quite overlook the parts that are right 
at hand. 
Paint and Prune.— Our tools are in shape 
for work. They have been well scoured, 
and we have put a coat of red paint all 
over the woodwork and part of the steel. 
Red is the working color of Hope Farm. 
Of course, more or less of that red paint 
will be worn off by work before the crops 
are in, but we will start clean, anyway 
Our pruning is done, and the stubs are all 
painted. We did not cut out nearly as 
much wood as I first expected. I want 
this year to do my best to give the old 
trees a new start. We can cut again next 
year if necessary. I find some of the 
younger trees quite badly covered with the 
scales of the Oyster-shell bark-louse. Wc 
shall cut them back and burn the wood, 
and about June 1 give them a good drench¬ 
ing with a solution of whale-oil soap. I 
do not think we have any San Jos6 scale 
yet, and I shall fight hard to keep it off. 
Odd Notes.— The snow went about as 
fast as it came. A warm wind came 
blowing up the valley, and the snow melt¬ 
ed and soaked down into the brooks to the 
river. Then we had mud at night and 
frost In the morning. We shall be late 
this year in spite of all.We 
have been burning over the meadows, and 
also running a fire along the fence rows 
and walls. A fire is a good cultivator, for 
it kills weeds and turns them into plant 
food. Burning over a field by night is 
great fun for the little folks. I remember 
what some of the wise men said last year 
about this burning—and still we burn. 
.It is nearly time to keep the 
stock off the meadows. We have let our 
stock run on the mowing fields. In the 
soft mud of Spring they tramp the grass 
down and punch holes with their feet that 
do the sod no good. We want to run the 
roller over the meadows. Just before we 
do this I plan to broadcast nitrate of soda 
and dissolved rock on one field nearest the 
house. I think our soil is quite rich in 
potash. . . v . . . “Don’t set out cherries 
or peaches on the north side of your stone 
walls,” say some of our fruit friends. I 
have been looking for the why in this ad¬ 
vice. There is quite a difference in the 
thawing out along these walls. Looking 
from the valley up the ridge in which 
Hope Farm stands you can see, late in the 
season, white streaks of snow on the hill¬ 
side. From a distance it looks as though 
some giant had dipped his finger in paint 
and rubbed it up and down. Each one 
of these streaks is on the north side of a 
wall. On the south side the frost is out 
of the ground, while the other side is still 
frozen.The pigs have done 
yeoman service in the manure pile. When 
we hauled the manure out we found many 
of the stalks crushed and fined as though 
they had gone through a shredder. The 
pigs are not fat, but how they have length¬ 
ened out and put on frame! Frame is far 
better than fat for young pigs—especially 
for young brood sows. h. w. c. 
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Perhaps Your Trouble 
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