1030 
7ht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Boys and Girls 
By Edward M. Tuttle 
This is our feeling for July— 
To do our best we’ll always try. 
.**.* ■. w '•ULm 
Drawn by Dorothy Dunn (12 years), 
Massachusetts 
Memory Verse 
A BOY’S SONG 
Where the pools are bright and deep, 
\vhere the gray trout lies asleep, 
Up the river and over the lea, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 
Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, 
Where the nestlings chirp and flee, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 
Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest, 
There to trace the homeward bee, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 
\\ here the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest, 
Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 
Why the boys should drive away 
Little sweet maidens from the play, 
Or love to banter and fight so well, 
That’s the thing I never could tell. 
er readers to understand just yet, but 
you will like to think about it and talk 
it over a bit with your parents. 
Good Response This Month 
'The list of our contributors on page 
1036 is back to somewhere near its aver¬ 
age length this month, after being so 
short in the busy month of June. I am 
glad that so many of you are interested 
to take a few minutes of your vacation 
time to keep in touch with Our Page. 
You will find much this time to read and 
look at, and many things that you can 
work out and answer for next month. I 
shall hope to hear from a great many of 
you and, of course, the more who write 
the better our August page will be. 
Pictures in the Sky (An Original Draw¬ 
ing and Poem) 
Pictures in the Sky 
If you are half as fond as I 
Of watching clouds as they sail by, 
You will be very glad to hear 
About the pictures I hold dear. 
At first a group of children gay 
Oo sailing past in white array, 
And then a fleecy lamb is seen 
To play as if upon the green. 
An old, old man, with flowing beard— 
You’ve heard about his tales so weird— 
Goes sailing in a purple boat, 
Dressed in white robes up to his throat. 
But this I know, I love to play, 
Through the meadow, among the hay; 
Dp the water and o’er the lea, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 
—James Hogg. 
Sent by Marion Powell. 
New York. 
One hundred years ago today the au¬ 
thor of this poem was living on his farm 
in Southern Scotland. He was then 54 
years old, and he lived 11 years longer to 
enjoy the fame which was justly his. 
James Hogg is regarded as one of the 
greatest of the Scottish poets of farmer 
ancestry. “A Boy’s Song” is among the 
best known of his short poems, and boys 
and girls in many lands have learned and 
loved it. It has such a good swing to it, 
and the descriptions of the outdoor scenes 
are clear and vivid. Many of our readers 
already know the poem, I hope, but all of 
you will want to copy it into the little 
notebooks in which you are making a 
collection of your favorite verses. 
More often, though, a lady fair, 
In trailing gowns, I view' up there; 
A flock of snow-white geese appear 
Driven as if by some great fear. 
Then two young lovers newly wed, 
Over the white clouds slowly tread— 
All these pictures and many more 
You can watch from your open door. 
Almeda Landis (16 years). 
Pennsylvania.. 
President’s Son 
Word has reached us all today (July 
8) of the death of Calvin Coolidge, Jr., 
last night. Little more than a week ago 
this bright, active, wholesome, 16-year- 
old boy was well and happy. Neither he 
nor his parents nor his brother dreamed 
of the struggle and sorrow hovering so 
close. It came and passed, leaving only 
a memory in place of a life. Our heart¬ 
felt sympathy goes out to our President 
and his family. 
It Is Midsummer 
Between the time that I write this 
(July 7) and the time you read it (about 
July 26), most of the month will have 
slipped away, and harvest time for many 
crops will be at hand or nearing. So 
far the season has been rather cool and 
wet in this eastern part of the country, 
but none of us can tell what it may be 
the rest of the Summer. It is interesting 
that no two Summers are ever alike, and 
thus we have a great variety. But this is 
also an important fact, because it means 
that the general farmer and the gardener 
and the fruit grower must be prepared for 
any kind of weather and do their best to 
help their crops along whether it is cooler 
or hotter Ob wetter or drier than is best. 
It takes real study and good judgment to 
be able to do this successfully. Nowa¬ 
days we know many scientific facts about 
/agriculture which help to make crop and 
animal production more safe and certain, 
but there will always be some uncertain 
and unexpected things about it which 
make it a good deal of a skillful art rath¬ 
er than an exact business. Very few oc¬ 
cupations in the world call for greater 
intelligence and ability, or afford such 
interesting and varied rewards. This is 
perhaps too much for some of you young- 
Ever-present Danger 
The sudden and terrible manner of this 
boy’s death reminds us again that there 
is always danger of infection in any break 
in the skin, especially on the hands and 
feet. Boys and girls and their parents 
cannot be too careful to disinfect prompt¬ 
ly every cut and scratch and bruise and 
blister. The simplest and safest remedy 
is a bottle of tincture of iodine kept for 
ready use by any member of the family. 
No better habit could be formed than that 
of using iodine at once on every injury, 
however slight. If healing is not prompt 
do not wait long before consulting a phys¬ 
ician. Once the whole system is poisoned 
it is usually too late. 
The Brook 
(An Original Poem) 
I flow through woods and meadows green, 
The sun shines through my leafy screen, 
The flowers nod their heads o’er me. 
As I bubble onward toward the sea. 
I make my way past tall green hills, 
I flow fore’er past tiny rills, 
Where bridges span my stream I flow, 
Forever on and on I go. 
In Winter months, on Summer’s day, 
I flow forever, always gay, 
I bubble, sparkle, laugh with glee, 
As I flow onward to the sea. 
July 26, 1924 
I make my way o’er many a land, 
I bubble over fine, brown sand, 
I never die, I’ll always be 
Forever flowing to the sea. 
Una Heigham (15 years). 
Maryland. 
A Real Sunflower 
I didn’t make a drawing of Mary’s sun¬ 
flower, but I'll send you a photograph of 
one. As you will see, it took two “men,” 
one with an ax and one with a saw, to 
fell it. The “man” with the ax is my 
brother, Ralph, 11 years old. The other 
is his friend, John Eagan. The “tree” 
grew from a seed spilled while feeding the 
hens. We put little sticks around it to 
protect it while it was small. It grew to 
the giant you see in the picture, with 43 
blossoms. Dorothy Dahlroth, 
Massachusetts. (14 years). 
This picture fitted in so well with our 
sunflower drawings that your editor de¬ 
cided to use it, and you will find it on this 
page. 
Good Observation of Nature 
I wonder how many readers have ever 
seen a grasshopper eat. When I was 
coming back from taking the cows to the 
pasture one morning last Summer I saw 
a big grasshopper; in fact, he was the 
biggest grasshopper I have ever seen. I 
picked him up to take to the house to show 
my little sister. I had not carried him 
very far when he pinched or bit my fin¬ 
ger. I had never heard of grasshoppers 
biting before, so I tried to find out how 
he did it. I took a slender piece of grass 
and put it in his mouth and discovered 
that he had two little black things, one 
closing from each side of his mouth, and 
coming together in the middle. Those 
things were as sharp as any animal’s 
teeth. He bit the grass off a little at a 
time as I poked it in his mouth, until half 
the piece of grass was gone. The last 
two pieces he let drop out of his mouth 
and I took that for a sign that he had 
had enough. But, what do you think ? He 
actually chewed the pieces ! 
New York. Elizabeth Workman. 
Here is a girl who uses her eyes to 
learn more about the creatures she in 'els 
in her travels round the farm. Such in¬ 
teresting experiences are in store for 
anyone who keeps wide awake and in 
tune with the outdoor world. 
Quiet Game for Two 
I am going to send a game which can 
be played by two people with a pencil 
and paper on a rainy day or otherwise. 
It is as follows: One person thinks of 
a word and makes as many dashes on 
the paper as there are letters in the word. 
Then the other guesses some letter and 
calls it out. If the word contains such a 
letter the first player writes it on the 
proper dash. If not, he makes one stroke 
of a funny drawing of a man or woman. 
Every time the other guesses a wrong 
letter he makes one stroke on the draw¬ 
which it is sometimes called. Two or 
three gave the name wild Iris, and that 
might be considered nearly correct, be¬ 
cause this bright little flower belongs to 
the Iris family and is not grass at all, 
although it looks like one except for the 
blossoms. Several answered “bluets," 
but this name is properly given to an¬ 
other wild flower belonging to a very dif¬ 
ferent plant family—the madder family. 
A Giant Sunflower—Sent by Dorothy 
Dahlroth (14 years), Massachusetts 
Dorothy’s description was accurate and 
complete enough for anyone familiar 
with the flower to identify it. Probably 
many of you have seen and picked it doz¬ 
ens of times without ever knowing the 
true name. Now is your chance to learn 
so that you will know the blue-eyed grass 
whenever you find it hereafter and will 
never forget. 
New Nature Puzzle 
Below is a little description of another 
very .familiar wild plant of gardens and 
fields. Certainly every reader knows 
what this is, so I shall be looking for a 
lot of answers and perhaps some little 
drawings of the plant: 
My leaves are dark green and grow in 
clusters of three leaflets, joined together 
at the base to a long slender stem. This 
stem grows from the rather stout, round 
stalk. My leaves resemble those of a 
clover. My blossom is a small, yellow 
one, with five petals. Some children chew 
my leaves. Why? What am I? 
New York. Sara Redden 
(12 years). 
Summer 
(An Original Poem) 
The sunny month of June has passed, 
And hot July has come at last; 
The birdies’ song is loud and clear, 
I think it’s the merriest time of year. 
July is the Month for Boys to Go Camping—Drawn by George Dainton (!) years), 
Connecticut 
ing. The point in this game is to try to 
hang the man or woman you are draw¬ 
ing before the word is finished. 
Pennsylvania. Martha Horst. 
The Seasons 
(An Original Poem) 
’Tis Spring with her lovely showers, 
Which awakens all our flowers ; 
Into Summer wfc quickly swing, 
Joyous and glad is everything; 
Soon the leaves come falling down. 
For ’tis Autumn’s turn to wear the 
crown ; 
Then Winter comes with snow so deep, 
For now ’tis time for flowers to sleep. 
New York. Lucille Freemantle. 
The Blue-e^ed Grass 
This is the correct answer to the Na¬ 
ture Puzzle given us last month by Dor¬ 
othy Denton. Not a single reader sent in 
this name, or even that of “blue star,” by 
Some boys and girls like Winter most 
With ice and skating, snow and frost; 
I always think the best time’s coming 
When birds are back and bees are hum¬ 
ming. 
When skies are blue, and little clouds 
Are floating slowly, wrapped in shrouds; 
When soft wind murmurs among the 
trees, 
I love to listen to the bees. 
When roses’ perfume fills the air, 
When trees are loaded with fruit so rare, 
That is the time when I walk round, 
And look at trees and grass-covered 
ground. 
Connecticut. Julia Frant 
(10 years). 
Bob White 
When peas are ripe you hear the call, 
“Bob White!” 
In music sweet the clear notes fall, 
“Bob White I” 
