10(34 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
September 27, 
Hope Farm Notes 
Farm and Home. —Com cutting be¬ 
gan on September 12. The first planted 
flint was then ripe—riper than I like for 
fodder, but as this field was intended for 
seed we let it stand. This variety is cer¬ 
tainly a lively grower. The ears are not 
large, but they are packed to the tip with 
solid kernels. The stalks are compara¬ 
tively small but with a large leaf sur¬ 
face—thus making good fodder and very 
suitable for planting in a young orchard. 
I think a farmer does better to fit him¬ 
self out with a variety of corn which 
just suits his needs and his soil. The 
flint suits us, but I doubt if it would pay 
so well on rich level ground. . . . We 
are still putting in rye. It is too late 
now for vetch or Crimson clover though 
we have questions every day about using 
these crops. It would be very poor econ¬ 
omy to seed them now. We should sow 
them before September 1 or not at all. 
Our vetch is making a better start this 
Fall than ever before. Some things about 
this crop are hard to understand. In 
former years vetch has never made much 
of a showing with us when first seeded 
unless the seed is inoculated. The second 
year on the same ground it does better. 
This year, however, on entirely new 
ground, the vetch seed starts off well. 
. . Our potatoes are all dug—a very 
light crop. The ground is worked both 
ways with the cutaway and seeded to 
wheat. Why not rye? We shall have 
an abundance of rye elsewhere. The hay 
will be short and wheat makes a better 
grain hay. The grain, too, will be use¬ 
ful, since we are thinking of trying the 
chicken business once more. The trouble 
with our present plan is the lack of a 
suitable Winter job. A greenhouse would 
be more in line with our Summer work, 
but from what I can learn the small 
greenhouses do not have much chance 
with the big ones. The egg and poultry 
bus'ness seems secure. We may try it 
again. . . . There is a nip in the air 
when night comes and Jack Frost is sure¬ 
ly moving on this way. It is cold enough 
for a fire in the open fireplace—in fact 
I started one long before it was neces¬ 
sary. Our family will be a little smaller 
this Winter, for the two older children 
have started at college. That is a great 
undertaking for young people, and you 
feel a little as if some mental undertaker 
should have a job at disposing of the 
m r.iories of small boys and girls. The 
world goes on, however, in the same old 
way, and as the younger people get more 
and more on the sunny side of life’s 
philosophy the older ones may well look 
into the shady side—for that is the most 
comfortable place when life grows hot. 
In the old “greenbaeker” days in Colo¬ 
rado a Populist orator was making a 
sp och. lie was a gray-bearded man with 
the intense earnestness of one who be¬ 
lie-es in revolutionary methods. The 
crowd laughed at him. and one smart 
A' ck of a young lawyer thought to make 
a 1 it. So he went out and bought a big 
cabbage and hired a colored boy to carry 
it up in front as a bouquet for the Popu¬ 
list orator. How the crowd howled at 
til’s poor attempt at wit. The old gentle¬ 
man rose to the occasion. He came to the 
front of the stage and made a low bow: 
“Gentlemen, I wish to offer my sin¬ 
cere thanks to our friend who has thus 
honored me. Some men take their paltry 
—not always clean—silver and buy 
flowers with which to show their ap¬ 
preciation. This young man has done 
more. He has opened his own head and 
sent me the most valuable thing he pos¬ 
sesses—his brains—in this cabbage head. 
It is somewhat soft, I admit, yet it is 
all he has, and I accept it as his supreme 
gift laid upon the altar of the cause I 
represent!” 
Yell? You could have heard that 
crowd for three miles across the prairie. 
They listened to him for two hours and 
for years our young lawyer was known 
as cabbagehead. Oh—the shady side of 
philosophy is a place to strive for—and 
an open fire burns a way to it. 
BARNYARD STORIES. 
The Disappointed Duck. 
One day in the barnyard, this duck met 
her old friend, Mrs. Leghorn Hen, walking 
proudly away from the admiring glances 
of a group of Summer boarders. 
“Tell me.” said Mrs. Duck, “as an 
old and candid friend, what is the mat¬ 
ter with me anyway? I lay as many eggs 
as you do, and my eggs are just as good; 
I do not cost the boss half as much as 
you do; he builds an expensive house for 
you to live in and gives me the cold side 
of an open shed. Your table is supplied 
with every dainty from beef scrap to oyster 
shells; I live on faith and bugs, fresh air 
and cold water, with a little mouldy 
grain thrown in. My eggs cost the boss 
less money than yours; I am never sick ; 
I do not go into his garden and scratch 
the life out of his crop; in fact, my hus¬ 
band and myself are model citizens of 
this farm. Yet we get no credit, either 
in song or story or in the common things 
of life. If you do not want me to be¬ 
come a rank Socialist right here and 
now tell me what is the matter with me.” 
“My friend,” said the hen, as she 
helped herself from a pail of seed corn, 
with no rebuke from the farmer, “the 
trouble with you is that you do not ad¬ 
vertise aud I do. Now look at it as a 
plain business proposition: When you 
lay an egg, you act as though y< n are 
ashamed of your job; you crawl off into 
the brush or into the pasture, cut of 
sight, lay your egg, and then sneak away, 
as though you might be arrested. Yon 
do not even quack; and your husband, 
Professor Pekin, is less interested than 
you ai’e; all he says is ‘Come and take a 
swim and forget it.’ The farmer wouldn’t 
find your egg except by accident, and, as 
likely as not, he would step on it when 
he walked through the grass. Your eggs 
are all right and you lay a whole lot of 
them. As a producer, you do well enough, 
but the trouble is you are hiding your 
talents and your eggs under a napkin.” 
“Well, what of it,” said the duck; 
“what can I do in addition to laying my 
egg? Fi’om way back, thousands of 
years behind me, every ancestor did the 
same thing. They crawled into the 
brush and laid their eggs out of sight, 
and I am bound to follow in the steps of 
my ancestors and do the same thing.” 
“And there is where you get out of 
the modern game,” said the hen. “Your 
ancestors were all right in their day, but 
you seem to forget that the world has 
turned around several times since they 
hid their eggs and scratched the dirt over 
them. Now I am popular because I am 
up to date. When I lay an egg, do I 
crawl off out of sight as thought I were 
ashamed of what I did? Not a bit of it. 
I go into the most public nest I can find 
and I lay my egg where I know it will be 
noticed. Then I get out in a prominent 
place and let the world know that an¬ 
other egg is born. I cackle and I scream, 
and my husband, the Honorable Wm. 
White Leghorn, gets up on the fence and 
he flaps his wings and crows. We ad¬ 
vertise to the world that we are doing 
business at the old stand. You do the 
business, but you are afraid to let the 
world know what you are up to, and 
then you have the nerve to fiud fault 
when it is your own fault because you 
won’t advertise.” 
“But how can I advertise as you do?” 
said Mrs. Duck; “I haven’t your voice, 
and if I were to lay out in the open and 
quack, and my husband were to scream, 
we would frighten people away from our 
n<r<ro ” 
'-tot-* 25 * 
“The thing for you to do is to get a 
little melody into your voice. Instead of 
spending your time swimming, and 
standing on yo*ir head in the water, why 
don’t you practice music, or do some¬ 
thing unusual to let people know you are 
in the egg business? It is a culions 
thing about this old world. You, as an 
honorable and reliable duck, may go 
through life doing your full duty in the 
egg line, but you will have to die to get 
your reward, and that will come in the 
frying-pan and on the table, if you can 
only get some one to try and carve you 
up and have you slip away from the 
knife all over the table. The way to get 
a reward for duty done in this world is 
to advertise and let people know what 
you are doing and what you have for sale. 
Get music into your voice and then get 
up on the fence, and let that music out 
whenever you lay an egg.” 
At. this moment the Leghorn hen heard 
her husband calling that he had found 
a worm, and away she went on flying 
feet, only to find that her husband had 
eaten the worm and merely desired her 
pleasant society. And the duck went 
thoughtfully across the barnyard to the 
pond. 
“It is all true enough, I suppose.” she 
said, “and I ought to advertise, but every 
one of ray ancestors knew that if they 
advertised the foxes would get their eggs 
as fast as they laid tnem. It is hal’d to 
get away from old habits, and I think 
the best thing for me to do is to take a 
swim and cool off.” n. w. c. 
WHY WON’T YOUR 
LAND GROW CLOVER? 
The difflenlty in securing profitable crops of clover on land which formerly seemed 
well adapted to this crop has recently been the snbject of much discussion in the agri¬ 
cultural press: and of extensive soil investigations and fertilizer experiments by the 
Agricultural Colleges. The results of these investigations are summed up in the follow¬ 
ing words: 
“THE MOST COMMON CAUSE OF FAILURE IN THE CLOVER CROP 
IS A DEFICIENCY OF THE ELEMENT PHOSPHORUS IN THE 8011/' 
The picture above shows the result of applying Rock Phosphate to the clover field at 
the Illinois Agricultural College. An average of the results from Iioek Phosphate in tea 
counties of this State shows an increase of Vi to' 1 of clover per acre. T.he cost of the 
Rock Phosphate was $1.00 per acre. 
In The Rural New-Yorker, June 5th, 1909, Director Thorne reports an increase of 
2,072 pounds of clover per acre from the use of Rock Phosphate. 
In recent issues of the Prairie Farmer there have been reported results from the use 
of Rock Phosphate on clover in several Illinois counties. On an average. Rock Phosphate 
lias doubled the clover yield at a cost of one to two dollars per acre. In commenting on 
these results the editor says: "It used to lie thought that little could come from Rock 
Phosphate unless it was plowed under witli barnyard or green manure. Later it has been 
found that clover will benefit from it whether there is much active organic matter in the 
soil or not.” 
We have data that will prove the need and the value of Rock Phosphate to every 
farmer who grows clover. If you are willing to be convinced, write us for this informa¬ 
tion and for "The Farm That Won’t Wear Out,” by Dr. Cyril G. Hopkins. 
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THE RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
333 WEST 30th ST., NEW YORK. 
