1901 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
775 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
Politics. —The Hope Farm mau did 
his share of work on the stump this 
Fall. It seems to take a good many 
words to convert a voter. I am led to 
believe that it is easier to pull out the 
stump of a Northern Spy apple tree 
than for the average man to get on the 
stump and pull out political convictions 
by the roots. I read of orators who 
drive their hearers so crazy with con¬ 
viction that the crowd will unhitch 
horses from the carriage and drag the 
speaker along in triumph. Truth com¬ 
pels me to say that nothing of the sort 
happened to me. I was obliged to walk 
or drive Nellie in the old buggy. I must 
conclude that I fall as far short of those 
soul-stirring orators as I do of those 
wonderful farmers Who never make a 
mistake, whose hens lay 360 eggs a year, 
whose potatoes never fall short of 600 
bushels per acre, and whose children 
are such remarkable specimens that 
they never need spanking and never 
even have a dirty face when comi)any 
comes! 
Verbal Bouquets. —Once in a while 
the humblest of us will receive a little 
compliment that means something. I 
find that the Hope Farm folks are quite 
reconciled w'hen they are forced to fore¬ 
go the pleasure of listening to my ora¬ 
tory. The little Graft, however, has an 
appreciative soul! As he was going to 
bed a few nights before the election he 
looked up at the Madame and said: 
“I would like to hear him speak! 
Why, I’d rather hear him speak than to 
go to another Punch and Judy show!” 
Now there are two ways of regarding 
such things. My political opponents 
will say: 
“What did we tell you? Here’s a 
member of his own family admitting 
without reserve that his arguments are 
on a dead level with a Punch and Judy 
show!” 
That’s one side of it—here’s the other. 
A Punch and Judy show represents the 
most exciting theatrical entertainment 
our little folks have yet seen. When the 
little Graft gave his opinion he went 
beyond his highest fixed ideal of fun and 
excitement. There you are—it’s all in 
the point of view and the standard you 
set up. 
The result was that one cold and foggy 
night the little Graft drove with me 
nearly 15 miles back and forth to a po¬ 
litical meeting. The little chap was 
good company. He sat on a front seat 
and drank in all the speaking. It was 
nearly 12 o’clock when we got home, but 
the little campaigner never winked. The 
Madame had made some sandwiches for 
us, and we ate them with good relish as 
we drove through the thick fog. The 
Graft kept his ears wide open listening 
for teams and trains, for we could not 
see a rod ahead of us in some of the 
hollows. The little chap finished his 
sandwiches, and after some thought— 
piped up in his soft voice: 
“I believe just as that man does—I 
tell you that license is a bad thing!” 
“But what is license?” 
“I don’t know, but it’s an awful bad 
thing, because that man said so!” 
Some grown-up folks will smile at 
that, and yet they are but grown-up 
Grafts! If a great big share of the 
voters of this country have any more 
real logic or reason about their voting 
than the Graft has about license your 
humble servant has not been able to ob¬ 
serve it. The other man seems to be 
better able than I am to make people 
decide what is worth voting for. 
Weather Notes. —Take it all through 
we have had a glorious Fall. On No¬ 
vember 3 the Gannas in the door yard 
were still green. The corn on the hill 
looked rusty, but the peach trees were 
still green. The forest trees are drop¬ 
ping their leaves rapidly. Some of them 
For the land’s sake, use Bowker’s Per- 
tilizen. They enrich the earth.— Adm. 
gave up early. I observe that some oaks 
and chestnuts stand with bare branches, 
while others are still well leaved. 'This 
is not due to exposure either. I notice 
the same thing in apple and other trees. 
Truly, some trees have strong and real 
character, just as certain humans seem 
able to toss off disease or temptation 
that will strip off all that makes life en¬ 
joyable for others. . . . The yellow 
turnips have not turned a hair for Jack 
Frost yet. They seem likely to keep on 
growing up to Thanksgiving at least. It 
is high time to keep the cows and the 
hens well sheltered at night. It has been 
great husking weather, and the boys 
have been pushing the work. We want 
to get both corn and fodder under shel¬ 
ter before the long November rains set 
in. We much prefer to husk In the field, 
but it may be necessary to haul the last 
few loads in for barn husking. 
Farm Notes. —On November 1 one 
would have thought that the Boers were 
capturing a British convoy in our val¬ 
ley. It was only the hunters celebrat¬ 
ing the “open” game season. The quail 
that we have tamed and fattened 
through the Summer were in danger that 
day, and so were the cows and the chil¬ 
dren. My own theory about game is 
that it belongs first of all to the farmer 
on whose farm it is found. We haven’t 
so much as a pop-gun at Hope Farm, 
and none of us cares to hunt. That be¬ 
ing the case, I hold that neighbors on ad¬ 
joining farms who want to hunt and are 
careful about fires and about shooting 
should have next right to the game. As 
to the pot-hunters and careless fellows 
from town and city, I claim that they 
have no moral right to shoot our game. 
I would keep them off the farm and try 
to get neighbors to combine and post 
notices all over the community. . . . 
Our tools are ready for Winter. Philip 
took the larger tools apart, scoured the 
metal parts and daubed them all over 
with crude petroleum. The sulky plow, 
the Cutaway harrow and the mower will 
make a big quarrel for room if you leave 
them as they were used. Take their 
tongues out and they pack closely and 
comfortably together. That is true of 
humans also. A working tongue makes 
a mighty wide house necessary, while 
one that is hung up under control per¬ 
mits close packing in small compass. . 
. . I have never known such a large 
proportion of red ears as we find this 
year in the com. It is a yellow dent 
from selected seed, and we are sure that 
not a single red kernel was planted. Yet 
the red ears roll out in numbers suffi¬ 
cient completely to demoralize an old- 
fashioned “husking bee.” Too bad that 
all this blushing maize is wasted on 
Hugh, Charlie and Philip. . . . We 
expect to keep on sowing rye up to the 
middle of November anyway. After the 
corn is off we shall work up the ground 
with the spring-tooth and sow rye. 
Ought to have done that 80 days ago, 
you will say! You are right. 'That is 
one of our oughts. All that corn ground 
ought now to be six inches deep in living 
green. 
Stone Wall Reflections. —No, I am 
not going to tell about my own Sunday 
afternoon reflections on that stone wall. 
I sit there now and then, but I don’t tell 
about it. Why, some of the men who 
are up to that very business themselves 
turned around and made great sport of 
me. I am just drawing a mental pic¬ 
ture of a man who wandered off to the 
hills one Autumn day. Strange fancies 
led him along, old memories dogged his 
footsteps, doubts and coming difficulties 
put a burden on his shoulders. He sat 
down because it seemed as though the 
things that stirred in his mind demand¬ 
ed every energy and muscle of his body. 
It was a glorious day, but he could only 
see in it the coming of the year’s end. 
The color had come to the leaves and 
the white had come to his hair. That 
tree below him was stripped of leaves. 
A hawk’s nest was fully exposed. It was 
started when the leaves were thick, in 
the hope and belief that it would be 
hidden from view. The man saw it, and 
reflected how he had sought to build 
cherished ideals and ambitions only to 
have the winds of chance and circum¬ 
stance expose them, crude and undevel¬ 
oped, to the ridicule of thoughtless ones. 
A great thicket of chestnut had grown 
up in the path of the northwest wind. 
It stood in the gap, and shielded the 
tender peach orchard from the biting 
wind, yet for a few dollars the farmer 
had slashed and hacked these friendly 
trees away. The man thought how long 
years of denial and hardship had been 
rewarded by stinging ingratitude or 
worse. A younger man could have 
laughed such thoughts away, for youth 
cannot realize what the Autumn of life 
really means. For a moment the man 
did not see so clearly as before, but 
when the dimness passed away, a 
mighty change had come over the silent 
hills. The bare limbs otJAe dead trees, 
the yellow corn, the green rye, the red 
maples and the brown soil seemed to 
have been grouped by the very finger 
of God until he read in mighty, unfading 
letters: 
“For I bear in my body the marks of 
the Lord Jesus." 
Rounding It Up.— This man had 
never been what most people call a re¬ 
ligious man. It would hardly be pos¬ 
sible for him to live up to all the forms 
and outward show of religious life, yet 
there came to him that day on the hills 
an answer to the question which had 
puzzled him for years: “Why is it that 
some lives must be classed as a long- 
drawn-out sacrifice, denied the things 
they most desire, and burdened with 
things they cannot use for their own 
happiness?” 
The children came running up the 
lane waving their little hands to him. 
He went down the hill, a smile on his 
face and a great glory in his soul. What 
pliant tidings do these little ones 
bring? The little tot who reaches him 
first di’ops out her words between her 
gasps for breath. 
“Oh, Father, you let the fire go out 
and didn’t leave any dry wood. Mother 
is awful mad!” 
All of which goes to show that the lit¬ 
tle things of the present should come in 
ahead of the larger things that belong 
to the past and future. h. w. c. 
Hired Man’s Luck.— The Farmer’s Guide 
tells the following story: A farmer sent a 
green hired man out with the planter to 
plant a big field of corn last Spring. The 
farmer supposed that the hired man knew 
how to operate the machine, and he did, 
as it turned out. About the time he had 
the field planted the farmer went out to 
the field and discovered that the man had 
set the machine so that all the seed corn 
was planted from four to five inches deep. 
Then the farmer lifted up his voice and 
cussed this hired man in a most eloquent 
agricultural way. Well, a third of the com 
never showed above ground, and what did 
had a hard pull to get through and looked 
very tired. The crop was cared for, how¬ 
ever, and then came the drought, and the 
cornfields with a good stand and properly 
planted little by little gave up the ghost 
and became an acreage of seared fodder, 
while the hired man’s field with its thin 
stand aind deep-(rooted corn showed up 
green and luxuriant and will make a crop 
of 40 bushels per acre. Fool luck, was it 
not? 
SOUND AS A DOLLAR 
That is the result of a course 
of treatment with Scott’s Emul¬ 
sion. We have special refer¬ 
ence to persons with weak 
lungs and sensitive throats. 
Scott’s Emulsion does some 
things better than others. This 
is one of them. It has a pe¬ 
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lungs which gives them 
strength and makes them tough. 
That’s how Scott’s Emulsion 
drives out coughs, colds and 
bronchitis. It keeps them out, 
too. 
We’ll send you a little to try, if you like. 
SCOTT & BOWNE, 409 Pearl street. New York. 
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Every 
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Ask your hardware dealer for them or write 
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