Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1882-08-24
SPOOPENDYKE AS A FARMER.
His Experience in Barreled Weevil
and Other Things Of Like Sort.
From the Brooklyn Eagle. ]

From the Brooklyn Eagle.
"This," said Mr.. Spoopendyke, as be
gaZed around on his acquisition of six
acres, "this, my dear, is what have al
ways wanted. A farm and farmers
life are the highways to happiness, Mrs
Spoopendyke, don't you think SOP"
"It's perfectly lovely" reJoined Mrs
Spoopendyke. 81 was born on farm,
and L was always healthy, though had
to go good ways for water"
"I'll fix that, my DEAR" returned Mr.
Spoopendyke. "I'll bring the water. Now
where are my agricultural reports?
must plant right off it we are going to
have crops, and when they're ripe well
take them to market"
II see the report says you must give
your hen chopped turnip once in a
WHILE" said Mrs. Spoopendyke, putting
her thumb on the paragraph.
EITHER that or oabbages," returned
her husband. 81 don't know whether
we'll have cabbages enough" he contin-
ued, musingly.
"You must have less buckwheat,'
suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke. Il would
think though, that two acres would be
enough for one hen, and if it isn't you
can buy load now and then from the
neighbors."
"Tll think that ever," replied Mr..
Spoopendyke. Here's one thing l don't
understand. 1t says we should test a
few seeds before planting to make sure
they will germinate, but it don't sry how
to do It."
May be it means to boil them,' 'or per-
haps you
oh, perhaps you think it means to
crack 'em with an ak to see if they are
hardI 1 s'pose you've got an idea you
stick straws into 'em to see if they're
done! Well, you don't; you put acid on
'em. III get some acid and drop 'em in,
and if it discolors 'em they're no good,
and if it don't they're all right. 1 think
we ought to have some weeyil for the
pig
4 don't know where you're going to
plant it, said Mrs. Spoopendyke, unless
it will grow with buckwheat or onions.
You can't put it in with the cabbage
because tho pig and hen would fight
DO you know what weevil isp de
manded Mr.. Spoopendyke, glaring at his
wife. Got notion it's some kind of
weed for the pig to smoke, haven't you?'
Imagine it's gilt-edged note paper with a
monogram for him to write on, don't
you? Well, it isn't swallow-tail coat
or plug hat for him to go to church in,
neither! You don't plant weevil, Mrs.
Spoopendyke, any more than you do
soap, or clothes-pins, or stair rods. You
buy it in barrels, and I'll order some
4 think we ought to have some lace
curtains for the front windows sug-
gested Mrs. Spoopendyke, anxious to
change the conversation.
Yes, and we want a folding bedstead
for the cow, and we've got to have a new
arm chair for the pig, and I'm afraid
those cabbages won't do without wet
nursep squealed Mr.. Spoopendyke. 4
suppose I've got to hire man to see
that the meadow don't go fishing on
Sunday and upset your religious notions.
Obi you're farmers wife, you are. If
[ had time to write an index to you and
get some dod gasted binder to fix you up
with a fiy-leaf, you'd make whole ag-
ricultural reportl'
And Mr.. Spoopendyke shot into the
house and to bed, while his wife, having
put all the Oil lamps into buckets Of wa
ter so they couldn't explode during the
night, fell asleep dreaming that the cab
bage patch had eloped with tine onions,
while the cow and pig mad died of wee
vii, and the windmill had abandoned
agricultural pursuits and started off
through Ohio preaching the Gospel.