Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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_ I ! i. k. oxist'S 80HS, Publisher*. [ % 4ami<5 g?P?l>??w: Jfor the promotion of th< political. Social. ^gricnUural and (Eontmeitciat jntereats of the |eogl<. _ {"sffoffffri.c?nt"VA*CI! 4 established 1855. ~ YORKVIITLE, 8. C., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1909. 3STO. 76. mmmmtmt imwwuiwimmmii the mm By ETTA V S | ^ CHAPTER X. With a smothered cry Sibyl sprang out upon the floor, snatched up her clothes and began hurriedly to put them on. <'T? nossible? Who has come?'* .she cried, breathlessly. "Be calm," said Miss Angus. "An I old man?your mother's servant. ll will help you pack. A carriage is I waiting and he seems in great haste."! At last! At lost! The doors of herl prison house were open, and she was! going thence! She fell on her knees, I went tnrough her prayers wildly, in-1 coherently, made her toilet with cold, I shaking hands, while Miss Angus and I some of the girls packed her trunk, I strapped it and dragged it outside the I dormitory door. "Breakfast is waiting," said Missl Angus. "I am sure you will try to eat! a a little, because I prepared it with my I own hands." Breakfast! She managed to force! down a bit of French roll and a cup of I coffee. Waiting in the hall she found I the person who was to conduct her to I % the arms of her unknown and much-1 dreamed-of mother?an old man In a I rusty black, with a white beard and a| meek and subdued manner. Sibyl rushed breathlessly up to him. I "And you have come to take me j away?" she cried, and looked as if I ready to embrace this humble deliverer. I _ He raised his mild eyes, surveyed the dazzling young beauty and made I her a gentle bow. I, "Is my mother better?is she quite! recovered?" demanded Sibyl. A "She is better," said the old man. I W "Is it a long journey?" "Something more than twenty-four I hours," he answered, and drew a note! from his pocket, presenting u u> u?i with another obeisance. Sibyl tore it open and read: "Put yourself fearlessly under the care of my good seivant, Narnan. He will bring your safely to Your Mother." No other word than this. The hungry, baffled heart of the girl leaped up into her eyes. She tore the slip pas^ sionately and tossed it aside. "Dear mamma, you do not waste many words upon me!" she laughed, bitterly. "Very well, Naman; let us go. What a pity Paulette did not wait j a few hours, that we might have departed in company." She made her farewells with great briefness, lingering longest over that with the jaded under teacher, Miss Angus, whose eyes overllowed as she embraced her for the last time. Th s 0 was the only person at St. Catharine s who really loved the splendid, df rkfaced girl, and was really sorry to part with her. Then the cold morning wind blew in Sibyl's face?the wind of freedom?the carriage door snapped, and - - * *? ??umi ^ she had turnea ner uacn. ? forever on old St. Catharine's. A journey of more than twenty-four hours stretched before her, Naman had said. What an immense distance that implied to a girl who was like a nun?who had been cloistered her whole life from the world! She did not speak to Naman who sat watching her in meek and patient readiness; however curious she might be, she could not question her mother's servant. So in utter silence they rolled along, Sibyl staring out on the rainy ^ landscape, waiting for the first sign of the station where their journey was in reality to begin. Once on board the cars, with her shawls, books and bags disposed of, ^ Naman seated near, as watchful as ever, Sibyl began to look around. The seats were well filled. Many were the admiring eyes fixed upon the unveiled girl, with her ravishing face and her ^ old attendant in rusty black. \ She watched the shifting scenes from the car windows, all so new to her unsophisticated eyes, till she had tired the eyes themselves beyond endurance. She counted the hours that ^ must intervene betwixt her and?home, if she could call an utterly unknown place such, and the mother who had perplexed her so long as a purely im aginative Deing. How slowly the snorting1 Iron horse bore them! How she panted to be there and unravel the mystery of her life at last! They dined at one dreary little station, and at another partook of a deplorable tea. Then Sibyl settled herself to rest for the night, the fever In her veins somewhat cooled, a healthful weariness weighing down limb an I ^ eyelid. Naman hovered near, waiting upon her tirelessly. "At least," thought Sibyl, "it was kind of mamma to send a person like this for me," and then she fell asleep. *? Rattling and blowing the train tore on. Naman awoke her the next morning ftt-MARK V. PIERCE. ? ..i. there was a sudden jar, a crash, a shriek, and then a great darkness. ******* "Lift her carefully," said a man s voice. A weight, planted like a giant's foot on her breast, seemed crushing Sibyl into the dust. Some one raised it suddenly and flung it aside. The girl opened her dark eyes and looked up.. Overhead she saw the twilight sky. Drops of rain fell on her face. She saw, also, a steep embankment and a bridge, and on either side car upon car piled together in a frightful wreck. She saw lanterns flashing like Cyclops' eyes in the gathering darkness. She heard groans and screams full of anguish unutterable. The weight across her chest had been flung to one side near her. Her eyes wandered toward It. It was the stark dead body of Naman. An arm was thrown around her; it lifted her up. "Her eyes are open," the same voice said; "she Is conscious," and then a face half covered with a fair beard bent low over Sibyl. "My poor girl, where are you hurt?" he said. She attempted to raise herself on her elbow, but the movement forced from her a cry of anguish. She sank back among the debris. "We must have a litter here," ca.ied the man to another figure moving about darkly in the darkness. "Barney, lend a hand, and you and I will carry her up to Beechwood." Sibyl had strength enough left to heave herself up on his sustaining arm, confused and terrified. "Who are you?" she gasped. "Where are you taking me?" * 1a??*a/1 /innm xne Dearueu mcc icaucu "To my own house, near by," he answered, soothingly. "There has been a frightful accident. You are hurt." She was raised gently and placed on some coarse stretcher, overspread with a coat. She was borne along slowly at first, as they picked their way through the ruins, and afterward swiftly under the open sky. "We'll be scaring Mrs. Hare and the maids out of their wits, sir," chuckled he who had been called Barney. "I'll risk them," answered the other, shortly; "move along! This child must have been lying underneath that rubbish full two hours." "Child!" cried Barney; "faith, sir, she looks pretty well grown up to me." a "Silence idiot! and keep clear of that " gate post." " The two turned up a broad avenue, full of the pungent odors of wet evergreens, where a troop of dogs of vari- * ous breeds and sizes dashed upon them, ^ barking furiously. Light struck across the face of the wounded girl; figures t flew past her, one screaming out in ^ terror. K "Stop that, Patty!" cried he of the fair beard. "I have heard shrieking enough for one night. Deuce take the * dogs! Drive them off, Barney. Open 1 your guest chamber, Mrs. Hare?it's 1 as damp as a dungeon, most likely. On second thought, I'll take her to my own room." 4 Up a great staircase, wide enough for a coach and pair, the stretcher was ^ carried. More dead than alive, Sibyl r was laid down on a bed in a chamber 8 hot and bright with a fire of sea coal. v The man with the beard began f straightway to cut the clothing from 8 her shoulder and arm. p "Lor!" Mr. Varneck, hadn't Barney better go for the doctor, sir? She t seems pretty badly hurt," said the prim s woman in black, who had been addressed as Mrs. Hare, and who stood s watching this operation in dismay from v the foot of the bed. c "The doctor," echoed Mr. Varneck, in an indescribable tone, and clipping F away smartly. "Heaven bless you! li He's working for dear life out there " among the sufferers, and could not d come if he would. Hum! a dislocated shoulder?the forearm broken. Ban- a dages and splints, Mrs. Hare. I am t surgeon enough to set a bone proper- s ly, I fancy." s Out flew Mrs. Hare and returned di- v rectly with the articles demanded. "What a handsome young creat- t ure!" she murmured, looking down a upon the wounded girl. "Was she quite alone, sir?" "I couldn't say," he answered short- c ly. "Here's her handkerchief, with a mark in the corner?her name, most s likely. Now, bring a bottle of smell- r ing salts and a glass of wine." * He took hold of his task with swift, < skillful hands. With dilated eyes, with r teeth set in her pain-whitened lips, 1 Sibyl lay and endured the torture of r the operation motionless, making not f a sound. * He had hardly expected this, and a when he had finished he stepped back a and surveyed her in approving sur- \ prise. "My poor child," he said, "you have a borne it nobly!" and then loudly, and with prompt annoyance, "the smelling j salts, Mrs. Hare! She is fainting, woman-like, after it is all over!" I Once during the night Sibyl opened s her eyes and saw a shaded lamp on r the table and bottles of medicine, and a Mrs. Hare nodding in an easy chair near by. s All the next day the room was kept i dark and quiet. Nobody entered it s but the smart maid Patty and Var ?1. lnnlr o ftnr t )lt llCCft, niiu mini; i.? iw,,,* . .... . wounded arm. ji "Consider yourself my puest." he t said, politely, "and not a stranper here. s You have slept well. You have no fe- 1 ver. I prophesy a speedy eonvales- f eence for you." r She looked listlessly up at him as s she lay. A prand fipure. with a bored, I blase face, a pair of ploomy blue eyes i and a blonde beard?that was Serle "t Varneck somethlnp more than three \ years after his experience as Paulette < Rale's lover. s "You are very kind." said Sibyl, me- r ehanically. "Were you, too, on the I train?" 1 In time for a hurried breakfast, which he passed in to her through the car window, "I have slept away eight weary hours," said Sibyl, exultingly. "I am t eight hours nearer mamma." She leaned back in her seat and wrapped herself in her shawl. The hours did seem interminable. At one miserable station a long delay occurred which almost maddened her. She harassed Naman ceaselessly with complaints and questions. The girl was in a fever of impatience. She could npt rest, she could not read. As they went wnirnng on again sne sai aim watched the flying landscape and the falling: rain without seeing them. Her feet and hands were like ice; her brain was on fire. They were approaching the suburbs of a town when Naman leaned forward and touched her arm. "You are not used to traveling." he said. "You look ready to sink?take this sip of wine." He had a bottle and a cup in his hand, which he had drawn out from * among: his traps. The cup he filled and extended to her over the back of her seat. She reached to take it, when Hr # : ^^BOk HsP^jB w 4 . I v>.-^ '^flBiiMHai^^^%S I iHffi^iE^HSni? I 1 BH I I B?B I iRfl^^KP^ jHSHnfiflfiBli C0PENHAGE1 Whatever the rest of the world n Copenhagen and its people certainly 1 learned that Dr. Cook was on his wi him. One of the pictures shows Dr. ( man who Is extending an arm to he United States Minister Egan. The p Into the harbor, the greater part of i "No. I went down there merely to ssist the poor wretches, and. stumled on you by chance. May I ask ow you came to be traveling alone?" "I was not alone," she answered. My mother's servant was with me. saw his dead body under the emankment." "Shall not I telegraph to your riends? By this time they are, no oubt, suffering untold torments reaiding you." She smiled oddly. "I think not. I have the misfortune o be a stranger to my own kin. Still, hey would like to know, perhaps, that live." He lifted his handsome brows. "Undoubtedly. I shall be glad to ake down whatever you may dictate." Into the compass of two lines and a ialf Sibyl compressed the news of Nanan's death, her own escape and the Violfor otio hart fminrl nt Rppehwonfl. inhere she awaited further advice rom the mother who was to her a hadow and a name. With a faint, repressed smile Varneck rose up. "You will remain here, of course, ill your friends come for you," he aid, and hurried out of the chamber. On this second night it was the mart maid Patty who was left to sit vith Sibyl. She found her beautiful harge restless and out of spirits. "Will mamma care?" Sibyl kept repeating to herself, turning her achinglead here and there upon the pillow, when she knows I have been so near leath? Will she care?" This problem grew so vexing at last, ind the room so deathly still, that her instrung nerves gave way. She tretched out her sound hand and took udden hold of her strong young ratcher. "Talk!" she gasped. "Keep me from hinking! My head is ready to burst nd I can't sleep. Talk of something -I don't care what!" Patty's round face expressed great ompassion. "Dear me, you're lonesome, thrown o among strangers, and no wonder, niss! Certainly I'll talk, though Mrs. lare strictly forbade it. Nothing :omes harder for me than keeping ny tongue still. You find the house a It tie* gloomy, don't you? It's Mr. Varicck's country seat; but he comes lere at all seasons, as the whim takes dm, to get away from his mother, we luspect, though one doesn't dare say io, I'll tell you a secret, miss, if you vould li'.ce to hear it." Sibyls great eyes opened, but shut igair heavily. "Not if it concerns anybody but rourself," she answered. "Lor'! why should I say secret?" >ursued Patty, heaving a sentimental ilgh. "Every one knows It. Mr. Varleck's been crossed in love, miss?dlstppointed as some people call it." There is something in this term trangely captivating to the female maglnation. She lay watching the hadows on the wall above her head. "She was some low person," went m Patty, emboldened by the s'lence, md delighted to tell the story to this >eautiful young stranger. "He got (hot for her, and like to have died, lis mother was frantic, and she's nev>r been the same person since. Most >f his time he passes in this old place, (hut up like a monk, which shows how >ad his heart was touched, miss. Peng the last male of the race, Mrs. farneck is wild to have him marry, vliieh he won't do, for there's great ontrariness in him, in spite of his auooth manner. As for her. she is one >f your high-headed, stiff-necked sort, iere at Beechwood we all dread her ike poison. If she can't rule Mr. Serle mm* "r *^PV Jy ^ V ^ _ Bp " rjJB^mIMjUoyA w^aSBl' PS ENTHUSIASTIC WELCOME TO iay think of Dr. Cook's claim to hoDor jelieved In him and gave many evidences ty to the Danish capital from the far nor 3ook disembarking from the steamer that lp the explorer is the crown prince of Der iers of Copenhagen were thronged when the populace turning out to welcome anc one way she will another. If he cross- i es her she faints. If they quarrel, as often happens, she faints. One has to ] keep a smelling bottle in every pocket i when she Is hero. Then, there's her 1 niece, Miss Lucy, after the same pattern. No wonder Mr. Serle Is glad to ; live apart from them." 1 All this with such volubility as quite l to take Sibyl's breath. 1 "You must not," she said. "Mr. Varneck would not like to have you tell i such things to a stranger." i "As to that, everybody knows It, as 1 I said before," answered Patty, stub- 1 bornly. "There are things that can't ' be hid. Mr. Varneck's odd ways are 1 the town talk. He's out half the night, ( often riding through the woods or 1 sailing on the lake, or he's in a dark room below stairs playing his grand organ till one's head is ready to crack. 1 There's no end to the freaks he takes since his affair with that low person. Certainly it's known, miss, far and 1 near," and Patty rattled on till Sibyl fell back among the pillows and closed her weary eyes. The girl's monoton- ! ous voice laid the demon or her tor- ' ment and she slept. On awakening late the next morning 1 Sibyl found the air of the chamber ' steeped In perfumes. Faint currents of sweetness puffed across her as she lay. It was as if a flash of Eastern ! odors had been spilled in the somewhat 1 gloomy chamber. She looked and saw 1 perched on a tall stand by the bed a basket heaped with orchids and daph- 1 nes, thick-petaled, cream-like roses, and matted heaps of mignonette, the i most unpretending flower that ever i hived honey. i "Oh!" murmured Sibyl, drawing a ! deep, exhaustive breath, and feeling as if a wind of Araby the Blest was In i her nostrils. ! Mrs. Hare came quickly forward. < "I don't approve of flowers in a sick i room," she said, curtly, "but Mr. Var- s neck would have them sent up. If you 1 like, I'll ring for Patty, and we'll lift i you out on the sofa today. I've brought < you a wrapper of Miss Varneck's. You I are I should say, about her size." 1 She put down on the bed a white 1 morning gown with pink ribbons. Patty was called in, a sofa wheeled , to the fire and Sibyl placed among Its i cushions, where she made a piece of deep color fit for a Rembrandt's pen- . VII. "Bring me a bit of the mignonette, , will you not?" she said to Mrs. Hare. ] "How good of Mr. Varneck to send It! ( Miss Angus always had a box growing . at St. Catharine's. It seems like an old , friend." , It was a lonesome day, full of chilly i scud and lingering clouds. All with- I out seemed unutterably cheerless, all within marvelously bright by contrast. 1 Sibyl dozed and dreamed the long : hours away undisturbed, nested like ; a bird among her soft cushions, with < Mrs. Hare knitting monotonously near I by. The deep, mysterious dark fell early?dropped down like a pall in the ' evergreens outside the window. I Nothing but the firelight lit the chamber where Sibyl lay In the midst 1 of her daphne and mignonette odors, like the Sleeping Beauty awaiting the | prince's kiss. Her white wrapper flow- i ed in statuesque folds along the sofa? ! everything the girl wore caught < something always of her super.*! air. Her pale, dark face, with its magnlfi- < cent eyes and ripe, sweet mouth, lean- 1 ed back among the cushions. Over I her shoulders showered her hair in tangled richness of curl and ripple, I its lustrous lengths threaded with the sultry tints of the fire. Lying thus, < Sibyl suddenly lifted her languid lids 1 and saw a figure standing In the shad- 1 DR. COOK. as the discoverer of the north pol". i of their trust. As soon as It wih th preparations were begun to give: took him to the Danish capital. Th imark, and the elderly gentleman i. the vessel bearing Dr. Cook steann i 1 cheer the American. ow of the door intently watching her. He stood so still that he seemed a part of the shadow Itself; but as she raised her eyes with a start he came forward. "Lights, Mrs. Hare," he called. "Will you ring for tea, also? Let us have it here, If Miss Arnault does not object to the presence of her physician over the social cup." "Pprtalnlv not." said Slbvl. civilly: ind Patty brought up the tray. Varneck took from It an eggshell cup of aid china, and drank his tea as he leaned against the mantel at the foot Df Sibyl's sofa. "I suppose," she said, plucking at some withered mignonette an her breast, "I suppose no answer lias yet arrived to my telegram." "None," answered Serle Varneck. "Mamma will send for me by tomorrow, most likely," she mused. He lifted his brows. "Let us hope not You will not be able to travel for many days yet. Are pou homesick already?" "Can one be said to be homesick," 3he answered, "who never had a home? [ know that mamma lived at Hammerton, Long Island, but I have no memory of the place. I do not think [ ever saw it." He put down his china cup. "My reputation as a physician is at stake," he said, "and I shall insist upon keeping you here till your wound is healed." Then he rolled a snapping hickory 1 * - ? J In f Via log upon ner nre itnu ucyai icu >u ?.? ? wake of the tray. She lay a while gazing Into the fire. Presently a strain of organ music came floating and fanning up the stair to her ears. Sibyl started and listened. First she heard a faint prelude, like irops of rain preceding a full-charged shower; then a great thunderous crash 3f grandest, sweetest volume storming after, filling the house, rising and soaring triumphantly, then falling, wailing, groaning, in the plaintive minor cords. Could Serle Varneck have carried his matchless melody Into hell, the souls in torment there would have had at least one taste of heaven in listening. Sibyl lay like one entranced. She recognized an anthem from Mozart, Beethoven's perfect measures, portions of Verdi's operas, an aria from Faust; md what a marvelous interpreter the grand masters had in this autocrat jf Beechwood who had been crossed In love! Soaring high, sinking low, every note that quivered to his touch seemed a divining rod striking highest heights of bliss or probing untold lepths of passion and pain. Suddenly there was a crash, a long-drawn, dying wail, and all was still. A few moment's after Patty ran out upon the landing, puzzled, terror 1 ? oil fWrmm In unineii, iiuu uiiiiioulcu <v i.w. nbu>v i dressing gown ascending the stair, narrying in his hand a bronze lamp in the form of a lily cup. "Oh, sir!" cried Patty, "I can't think what the matter is, but she's crying lit to break her heart!" Varneck took two strides across the landing and stood in Sibyl's room. She lay with her face buried in the pillow, convulsed, as Patty had intimated, from head to foot with sobs. She did not see Varneck till he leaned jver her, lifting her up by main force. "Miss Arnault!" he cried, in lively ilarm," stop! You will do yourself harm?you will be 111! Stop, I entreat you! What is the matter?" She lifted her dark, beautiful face, the great, grand eyes tear-wet. "Why did you cease playing?" she :ried vehemently. "You brought It hack to me so vividly?that sweet, fair woman's face. It was like a vision. I saw her?she was calling me from some great distance?I was lost and she was calling me; and when you ceased It all passed away and something went over me like a great despair." (To be Continued.) ?jfti$ttlUttrou$; iUadiug. LION CHEWS MAN'S LEG. The Hunter Remains Conscious Under the Trying Ordeal. Frederick Courtney Selous, the weil known African hunter and naturalist, who is Just back In England after several months spent In the region in which Col. Roosevelt has been displaying his prowess, describes rather realistically the unfortunate encounter In June of Harry Williams, one of William N. McMillan's hunting companions, with a lion, which left its wicked marks upon him. Williams escape with his life was very narrow, and it was for a long time a question whether he would not be compelled to sacrifice a leg. It appears that Williams has nerve enough, but scarcely the cool judgment necessary in facing the fiercer wild beasts of the jungle. If Roosevelt errs seriously, says Mr. Selous, it Is in holding his fire too long, thus vastly increasing the risk in the event of his missing. On the other hand, of course, the aim Is all the surer from the shortening of the range. Williams' fault was exactly the opposite sort. He fired too soon. Going through grass about breast high, with his gun-bearer, one day, a lion suddenly arose and started to move away from them. This behavior, by the way, Mr. Selous says, is not at all unusual. Williams was anxious to get the lion, and clapped his hands to irritate it It turned and walked toward the hunter, but the distance beHiraan Horn n/oo oHll aavoral hlinHroH yards. Williams took aim, but instead of waiting: calmly until the beast had drawn comparatively near, fired prematurely, one charge of his heavy gun immediately following the other. The first ball flew wide and the second merely grazed the lion's shoulder. Then lashing his tall In intense anger, the great cat came forward by leaps. The gunbearerhad another gun, but there was no time for him to hand it to his chief. There were no large trees near at hand that could be climbed. The only semblance of protection was a young bamboo copse, and around this Williams ran. In less time than It takes to tell It, the lion had him. He seized one of his legs and sank his teeth into it. Luckily the lion, who was an old fellow, had lost one of his longer tusks, but the corresponding one on the other side of the jaw passed just between the two bones of the lacerated leg, and then the huge lion, with this grip upon him, shook the unlucky hunter as a dog does a fowl which It has caught in similar manner. Williams' life at that moment was worth only a very small purchase. One stroke of the lion's paw upon the head would have finished him. All this time the gunbearer was displaying a grit unusual in his kind. He approached the lion, striving to discharge the other gun. But he did not understand the method of working the gun. Try as he would he could not inject a cartridge into the firing chamber. In tones of entreaty he asked Williams how it was done. Though aiiffoHnir oTffat ncoriv the hunter re talned his consciousness. He gave the needed directions while the lion was ravenously chewing his leg. The native fired two big charges Into the flank of the beast, and It rolled over dead. Yet It proved a rather difficult task to withdraw its teeth from the wound In Williams' leg. The latter was taken as quickly as possible Into camp and one of the Uganda railway surgeons was summoned. It was found after a few hours that poison from the fang of the Hon had infiltrated the flesh, muscles, and tendons around the bone of the leg. The consequent Inflammation was severe and threatening. Unfortunately the wound was permitted to heal too rapidly in the outer part, and thus was closed before the septic suppuration had ceased. Several operations were performed to save the leg. At last accounts Mr. Williams had not yet wholly recovered, but he has, at least, the satisfaction of owning the skin of the beast that mauled him. Advertising Adages. Although some of the more critical minded among the sons of Adam may not subscribe to all the propositions laid down in the following Advertising Adages contributed by Tudor Jenks to Advertising and Sellln.g they are nevertheless so smart and thought provoking as to merit the News' hearty pass-them-along compliment: Advertise first then theorize. Advertising never takes a day off. Sweet are the uses of advertising. No day without an advertisement. The path to the purse Is publicity. Don't let the public guess; tell them. Advertise today, and sell tomorrow. No man buys what he never heard of. Trust In Providence, and printer's ink. Poor advertisements are better than none. Advertising that costs nothing is worth it. If ashamed of your business, keep it dark. There is nothing so "lucky" as ad vertising. Plant advertisements that sales may grow. Tibet doesn't advertise; but this Is America. You know of P. T. Barnum? Queer, isn't it? Honesty Is the best policy?with advertising. If your business Is honest, why make It a secret? The best advertising Is the cheapest In the end. Flowers mav blush unseen?vou must advertise. You know what is advertised?and so do others. If you don't advertise your business the sheriff may. Fishing without bait is business without advertising. Xv~ The beginning of a college course is often a hazy undertaking. SOWING OF WHEAT AND OATS, t t Sow Early In the Fall. The Land t Should Be Well Prepared. s Oats are influenced much less by f soli conditions than is wheat. They a may be grown profitably anywhere In e the south when their cultivation is t studied and they are given proper a conditions for growth. Wheat on the .other hand, will probably not be found so profitable except on our clay loam f soils and in higher sections of our ter- s ritory. s Climatic conditions materially Influ- t ence the growth of both these cereals, a They seem to like rather a cool ell- 1 mate and the oat especially demands i rather a large degree of moisture, t They may be grown successfully t throughout this territory, but to ob- p tain large crops they probably require d better methods of cultivation than are t necessary in more northern latitudes, d Wheat Is never sown in the spring t throughout the south, but oats are un- p fortunately still very largely sown in the spring. This is perhaps due to ii the fact that fall sown oats frequent- 1: ly winter kill. Methods of sowing li have now been developed, chiefly h through the work of Redding, at the s Georgia experiment station, by which p winter killing of fall sown oats is al- li most entirely prevented, and there Is t no longer any question about the wis- t dom of sowing the entire oat crop in t the fall. At the Alabama experiment p station, Duggar found as a result of t seven years' tests of November and ii .f'eDruary sown oais mai me novem- ? ber seedlngs gave 73 per cent greater " yields of grain than the February t seedlngs. Six years out of the seven d the yields were decidedly better from e the fall seedlngs and the other year o nearly as good yield was made with b the fall sown oats although they n were badly winter killed. c Wheat or Oats should Follow a Le- u guminous Crop. s From the foregoing facts we are forced to consider the preparation of p the land for wheat and oats as fall d work, and the crop rotations and farm ti work must be made to conform to that J condition. The better preparation of h the land for these crops cannot be h considered as properly beginning with ft the suitable breaking and pulverizing o of the soil, immediately before seed- h lng. The oat crop heretofore has been generally given the poorest land on r the place, largely because it would u give some much-needed early feed, v even on these poor lands. The wheat u crop, where grown, has been better v treated simply because it forced bet- t ter treatment to produce a fair yield, o But neither the wheat nor the oats s has been given land as rich and well t prepared as Is needful for the best s yields. t A wheat or oat crop should always t be preceded by some legume crop, 1 and this is not only possible, but it is v also entirely practicable and exceed- b ingly profitable; as, for Instance it was ii illustrated in a recent article on win- c ter cover crops, wherein was given a f rotation which not only furnishes a t winter cover crop for every acre, but " also places a legume, or nitrogen c gathering crop, before each nitrogen consuming crop. Each crop of corn, c cotton or small grain may and should s be preceded by a legume crop to a gather nitrogen for it. In sections r with less rainfall and more severe a winters, the lands may not demand II the beneficial effects of the nitrogen tl gathering plant3, so often; but with our long, hot and moist summers, which favor rapid decay of all organ- g ic matter in the soil, and our open s winters, with their torrential rains to c leach and wash our plant foods away, f< our dolls Imperatively demand this a frequent and constant replenishing tl of the humus?and nitrogen?supply- o lng materials. Many farmers are dis- fi couraged by the slow progress they F are making in building up their soils Ji by the use of legumes, but If they will a adopt the plan of never planting a h nitrogen-consuming crop except after r< some legume, they will no longer have g cause for disappointment o The Necessity For a Good Seed Bed. n In those sections where the corn Is T cut and shocked, wheat Is frequently sown after the corn without rebreaking the land. Oats are also often sown on unbroken land and plowed in. C Whether the land should be broken for the wheat and oat crops is to be determined entirely by the condition the 0 land will probably be in at seeding w time. ^ The first necessity In this discussion * is to arrive at an understanding of what constitutes a proper or ideal a seed bed for a crop. We frequently 11 hear it stated that wheat or perhaps ,c especially cotton, requires a hard or firm seed bed. We are rather of the opinion that cotton and wheat require t( a seed bed that is no way different IT from that which is best for all other crops. It is not that other crops will gj not do better on the sort of seed bed which has been found best for such ^ crops as wheat and cotton; but these y latter crops show more clearly their . appreciation of an ideal seed bed. ^ There is no point at which the aver- _ IT age southern farmer falls farther short of good farming than in the prepara- ^ tlon of the seed bed for his crops; nor is there anything which he can do at the same expense that will return him greater profit than the better prep- n aration of his soil before planting his crops. When the crops have come up they are in the way and effectually j prevent the most economical cultivation of the soil. Before the crops are N planted larger implements may be ^ used, and hence the oft repeated state- n ment that the time to cultivate a crop ^ Is before it Is planted. With the wheat . and oat crops little or no cultivation Is given after the crops are sown; therefore, the necessity for thorough ^ preparation of the seed bed becomes ^ plainly more Important. The conditions which result In an ideal seed bed for any crop may be j stated about as follows: The land has pi been broken deeply when neither too wet nor too dry; It has then been ^ thoroughly disked or harrowed until it Is well settled and pulverized, and has then received a good rain to thor- c] oughly compact the soil and supply the necessary moisture. When such a ^ soil has been freshened up to a depth ^ of, say two Inches with a smoothing ^ harrow, It Is In the Ideal condition for seeding, It matters not what the crop ^ may be. It is true that It may at times be impossible to obtain such Ideal conditions; but these exceptions do not in the least lessen the ^ ruth or the Importance of the fact hat these are the Ideal conditions and hose for which every farmer should itrive in the preparation of his soil or any crop. Moreover, it will usuilly pay to go to considerable extra xpenae, If that be necessary, In order o secure this Ideal condition of the eed bed. When Plowing Is Net Necessary. If the wheat or the oat crop is to ollow a crop of peas whether the land hould be rebroken deeply will, as tated, depend on the conditions. If he land was well broken for the peas ind there is not too much "fresh" on t, there Is no necessity for rebreakng. and this is especially the case If ne peas were cultivated or grew in he corn. In fact, better result* will irobably be obtained, under such conlitions, If the land Is not rebroken for he wheat and oats, unless It can be lone at leant a month before sowing he small grain and be otherwise iroperly prepared. Breaking the land for the fall growng of small grains, and also frequenter for the sowing of peas', is often deiyed or rendered more difficult by the tard condition of the soil at these seaons. Even though it be possible to low the land, it may break up Into arge clods in such a way as to render he securing of a proper seed bed difIcult and expensive. In such cases he following method will often comiletely solve the difficulty: First, disk he land once or twice, or as often as s necessary to cut up the top surfaoe, rhlch will also best dispose of any trash" which may be on the land, hen break the land to the desired lepth and stop plowing soon enough acn forenoon and evening to thorughly harrow that which has been roken that same morning or after-* oon. By this method land that would ttherwlse break up into clods, will isually be early pulverised by the moothlng harrow. It is a much more difficult and expensive task to pulverise clods with the ' lsk after they have been turned up ban before the land has been broken, ioreover, the use of the smoothing arrow, as suggested, before clods ave dried out, will be much more efective than under the usual practice f plowing the whole field before It is arrowed. Where It Is not deemed advisable to ebreak the land the disk should be sed sufficiently to thoroughly pulerize the top soil and completely cut p and into the soil all the "trash" fhlch may be on it A larger quantity of such "trash" may be disposed f in this way than is generally considered possible. If too much litter is urned under, it may be impossible to o compact the soil that It will hold ' he moisture which, it already has or hat which may afterwards fall on it 'his fact has resulted in the practice, rhich is now quite common, of sowing oth wheat and oats without rebreakng the land; and unless the breaking an be well done at least a month be3re seeding time, we would much preer to use the disk to dispose of the trash" on the land, if there is any onslderable quantity of it On the other hand, if the breaking an be done early enough to give reaonable assurance of the soil receiving sufficient supply of moisture from alns, and it is broken in the manner bove described, we would prefer that t oe rcuruncu iu pivycu nt^ &vt vs**sv* tie wheat or the oat crop. (Jn the Harrow Fraaly. There is probably no Implement so enerally useful on the farm as the moothlng harrow, and this Is espelally so In the preparation of the land 3r such small grain crops as wheat nd oats. While this crop Is unques lonably true, It is a strange fact tnat nly a small proportion of southern irmers are supplied with harrows, 'or firming and compacting the soil, jst what is needed for the wheat nd oat crops, the smoothing harrow Is idispensable. Fortunately these hardws are not high-priced, and cover round so rapidly that they afford one f the cheapest and most economical letnods of cultivating the soil.?Dr. 'alt Butler In the Progressive Farmer. AS TO METHU8ELAH'8 AGE. ritio Cuts His 969 Years Down to 783-4. "Methuselah loses his famous recrd, for his 969 reputed years are whittled down to 78 3-4." Thus says le Jewish World in a discussion of ewish characteristics. There has always existed a certain mount of doubt even among believers l the literal truth of the Bible conernlng the great age to which the Jew>h patriarchs are recorded as having ved. Some of toe toeones evoivea 10 jduce the Biblical records of this kind > something near the allotted span of lan are dealt with in the article. It is surmised, the Jewish World iys, that in the earliest times the lonth, the period of a moon cycle, 'as called a year. Thus Adam's 930 ears of life, calculating a year at 29| ays, the length of a lunar month, 'orks out to 75J years. After the lonth year there came a five month ear, the limit of five being derived om the fingers on one hand, it being jmembered that primitive people alays used the fingers for counting urposes. Then came the twelve 1011th year. Excuse for this rearrangement is >und in the Psalmist's limit of life of iree score and ten years, and it is laintalned that between the times of oah and David no such extraordinary tiange could have taken place as to iduce the life of man by elevenvelfths. On the five month year bais, Abraham's 175 years work out at I and Isaac's 180 at 74. remaps, too, mere liuerveiieu tt six. lonth year, discovered by Jacob while matching Laban's flocks. Thr.s Ja>b's 147 years work out at about 73. he twelve month year began with le Egyptians, who saw that a comlete period was made up of the two fears," In one of which the days were mger than the nights and in the othr the nights longer than the days. The Christian and Jewish years, conudes the Jewish World, will not former be separated, "for," It says, "In tie course Rosh Hashona will fall at hrlstmas time and then catch up the TirlsUan year. This, however, will ot happen for 30,000 years, and no aubt that Is the reason why nobody orries about It." MT A clnttnn (a a man whn HIcrs Vila rave with hla teeth.