Beworvaic: Watchman Bellefonte, Pa., June 23, 1905. I I A STASI, THE LOVE THAT ENDURES. The gray, drought-burned sky bent down over the desert like a tarnished pew- ter bowl turned over a sand heap. Gray sky, gray sun—wan and parched as the gray earth whioh its heat tortured langunid- ly, impotently,as some captive whose spent strength responds no longer to the fire- brands of his captors. The dust spurted up in thin jets under my horse’s hoofs and lay along his neck and flanks in rimed hoarfrost of sweat and alkali. We had left endless sand hills behind us; they stretched endlessly in front, and somewhere among them was water; but the restless whirlwinds running along the dunes had blotted out the trail, and we steered uncertain by a gaunt peak that overtopped his bald and haggard fel- lows. In the desert glamour it seemed now dim in the distance, now only a stone’s boss away; but the long hours ‘went uncounted when we dropped over a steeper sand ridge almost into a little green garden. Just outside the fence of slim, thorny ocatillas, blurred with the dull red of pen- dulous, withered blossoms like clots of dried blood, a woman was drawing water from a well and pouring it into an cld washtuob around which a dozen lean, starv- ing cows fought weakly. My horse sniffed the moisture in long breaths, and before we reached the well the woman caught up a gourd dipper with rude patterns of Indian carving and held it out to me, the cool water brimming over in her baste. I watched her curiously while I drank; her hands were hard and brown, knotted and callonsed with years of rough work; bus her dress, faded and worn, was of deep pink print covered with trailing rosebuds, and it and her white sunbonnet were fash- ioned with taste and clean to spotlessness. As I thanked her for the water she pushed back the bonnet and I looked down into the saddest eyes I have ever seen, with all the weariness of the eternal desert in their depths and yet a courage that forbore my quick pity. She spoke, and I forgot the white hair, the face as worn and brown as the hands. That voice, so swee so cheerful, so bravely and determinedly happy and hopeful—it was as if the gray old cactus at my feet had all at once blos- somed white roses on every thorn. We talked on, and I took her place at the well-rope. The cattle were not hers; she had only a milk cow down there in the strip of lank alfalfa that edged the sandy bank of a river of sand—a river roaring torrentwise with mnddy water once or twice in a year when a} cloudburst swept its far-distant source in the mountains. These cattle were strays from the ranges to the north, but she conld not let them die for the want of water; food she had not to ive. 8 As we talked a man lounged around the corner of the adobe shack, looked at me a moment vaguely, and lounged back. He wae a big fellow, strong and tall, witha graceful, boyish fling to his broad shoul- ders, and something indescribably boyish, even childlike, in his handsome face. *‘Do you want me, Joe? ’’ the woman called, her voice mellow with tenderness. ‘‘Your son?’’ I asked as he tur ned away shaking his head. “My hasband,’’ she answered, and be- gan to point ont the trail I was to take, winding up the shoulder of the gannt peak which I had followed all day. ‘‘Don’t turn off ; keep straight over the divide. It's twenty miles to the mine, and no water till you get there. Water the horse again, and be sure the canteen is full before you 0. 8 I bad turned into the thicket of mes- quite, throngh which the trail played hide- and-seek with the sand wash. ' ‘Wait!’ she called, as from over the high ridge a thin, wiry old man rode down, lifting his bat as he saw her. He hung is on the saddle-horn, and talked to her bare- headed while he watered his horse and filled a big Indian waterbottle of woven bear-glass pitched inside and out with mescal gum. ‘‘This is Doctor Blodgett; he ie going to the mine; he will guide you,’’ the woman called as the old man swung into his saddle and rode toward me. He acknowledged her introduction with ‘a nod and a touch of the reign that swerved his horse past me into the trail ahead. We rode with few words, till’ far up on the shonlder of the grim peak I turned and looked back. Fenced around by the sand. hills the little green garden lay like a pale emerald, and I seemed to see the white sunbonnet and the vague, handsome face side by side watching us ride away. : The doctor turned and drew rein beside ne, the unspoken question in my face com- pelling him to speech. He half “lifted his’ bat.” ‘I always feel as if I wanted my soul’ to stand andovered before that ‘woman,’’ he said abropsly, urging his horse on up the trail to the divide. dit ‘‘How old do yon think she is?’’ he asked presently. i sth “Fitsy? Sixty?! I ventured, remember- ing the white bair and worn face and eyes that seemed to hold the weariness of ages. ‘‘Less than forty,”” he answered. *‘She was just a girl when Joe Knowles brought her to that adobe shack twenty years ago. A quiet, serious girl, starting at every strange sound aod turning white to the lips when Joe rode his half-broken horses rearing past the door. He was a big, hand- some fellow, full of boyish daring. He would throw back his head with that care- less, happy toss and laugh at her fears till’ she grew fearless in spite of herself. Joe, was beginning a new ranch; in those days all these barren bills were covered with grass, and that wash ran water halt the vear. They worked together, building the corrals and planting the strip of alfalfa, till the fall rodeo, when the men came down from the big ranches to the norsh to ride the range for straying cattle. Joe wens with them. flinging her back a gay prom. ise to take care of himself as she waved him a half-anxions, half-proud goodby from the doorway. In all the band there was not another rider so fearless and bavnd- some ae her hosband: the huehand she was never to see again—for that lump of breath- ing clay which they brought back to her at dusk was not her husband. Only a bis of bravado; a dare given balf in fun and taken in boyish recklessness; but the big black renegade who had thrown so many riders went mad with the weight he could’ wot throw and planged furiously ove: a rock ribbed dune, breaking his own evil neck and throwing his rider headlong into a mesquite thicket in the wash below. *'] was new from the East, trying my uck in the string of mining camps along’ the river forty miles away. At midnight a cowboy rode into Planet on a lathered, reeling pony, firing his six-shooter and calling for the doctor and fresh horses. We were back at the ranch at sunrise, the men standing in awed groups outside the house while I examined tbe limp form, trying to’ measure the tronble. Beyond a few broken bones it seemed slight; but he bad not moved or spoken since that last wild call to the horse as they plunged over the ledge. All day I tried to break that uncanny spell; and at the second sunrise I sent a rider for the surgeon at Fort Rowe, a grizzled old veteran of two warsand countless Indian forays. He sent the woman away while we looked our man over; then he laid his hand on my shoulder and walked me out under the paradise tree in the yard. *: “This is beyond ue,” he said shortly; ‘something wrong in his head, but we can’s reach it. He will live—for years probably. And be may come back to himself in a week, ora month—or never. More likely never. You've got to tell that woman; I'd face all the renegade Apaches in the Territory before I'd do it.’ ‘I would have faced them myself rather than watch her eyes that one moment when the light went out of them forever, bus the next her lips were emiling. ‘¢ ¢A week; a month?’ she repeated; ‘he will come back; he must come back. Tell the men to go; I'd rather wait alone.’ ‘‘She took up the work of the ranch, watering the cattle, and cutting and stack- ing the alfalfa with the help of some friend- ly Indians camped in the wash below. For hours she sat by Joe’s side, talking to him, singing to him, ealling him old, tender names that stirred no echo in the deadened brain. But at last, very slowly, like a new- born child, he came to notise simple things: the sunlight on the floor, a flower in her bair, or the bright ribbon on her dress. He threw out his hands aimlessly; and gently, patiently, as she might have taught sheir child, she taught him to grasp bits of colored paper or the long crimson and yel- low blossoms of the paradise tree. With greater difficulty she taught him to walk; luring him to the door and beyond with the same bright blossoms, with coax- ing words and smiles, and lavish praise when hisshambling steps carried him farth- er each day. ‘He had walked for months, following her about like some dumb, stricken animal, before she drew the first stumbling, half- formed word across his lips. Then her hope flamed up in a great determination. She gathered and sold all the cattle, fitsed up the old wagon with such comforts as the bare ranch afforded, and sent for me to help ber get Joe to the railroad, two hun- dred miles away. She would take him to a specialist in the East. ‘‘Joe hung back, reckless, uneasy, at sight of the wagon; moving his hands in uncouth gestures, and mumbling to him- self when, once started, we plodded along all day throogh the sand in which the wheels turned silently. ‘She kept her hope, singing him to sleep in our nightcamp among the weird yucca palms with lullabies sosweet that the hoary old trees seemed to listen and thrill through all their misshapen branches. But at midnight she roused me with a wild ory —Joe was gone! Gone out in the desert night, wandering without water over that parched waste of sand and cactus! ‘‘We searched and called till daybreak, our voices coming back in long, wailing echoes answered by skulking coyotes far off in the ghostly yucca forest. Then she found the blurred trail leading backward. We broke camp and turned toward the ranch, urging the horses into a trot in spite of the sand. Standing upright on the high seat, one hand braced on my shoulder, she watched hour by hour till far ahead some. thing moved, balf turned, aud oreps into cover among the greasewood. “It was Joe, haggard, weary, covered with cactus thorns, but sullen and deter- mined. He world not get in the wagon; he would not take food or water from us, nor let us come near enongh to put our hands on him. She talked and sang and coaxed, edging all the while nearer the road, till unconsciously he was following her, and all day the two plodded along through the sand while I drove slowly be- hind. ‘They never lefts the ranch again. = ‘It’s no use,’ she said quietly; ‘if ‘he everre- members it’ moss be here, where all his thoughts were centred. If I could have the doctor here! Bus I must do my best alone.’ ‘She redoubled her efforts. Word by word she taught him a ‘simple vocabulary. Ske told him stories; read him stories, read .| him the few hooks she could ges, ‘won him’ to join a faltering accompaniment’ to her songs. Clouds, shadows, ‘dark colors, de- pressed him; for bis sake she rejoiced in the desert sunshine for ‘his sake she “wore gaudy prints and gay ribbons; and covered’ the cabin’ walls with the brightest pictures she could get. She learned to laugh, ‘to make pretense of playing games while she” worked, and ‘to’keep her voice light and ‘happy; for he was like a,child,. drooping at a sad tone, and sitting dull and listless for hours if left to himself. : ‘Think of it! Twenty years of that hope- | less hope! ‘He will come back; he will re. member,’ she keeps saying; and yet be for- gets their simple, speech from day, to day if she does not remind bim, 414 “And year by y ‘the desers comes dear er; long ago the'drought left the hills bare, and dried up the thread “of water in the’ wash. / The very cactus is dying—and yet she hopes.: They live ‘on ‘the’ milk Irom’ that cow and what she’ growid'in that Tittle garden! She even gathers 'mesyuite beans and mescal with the Indian women?=" *'¢" “Time has stood still” for bith; he is the same handsowe boy; ‘bust she said‘ to‘me at the well: ‘I'm so tired to-day; I must be getting old.’ And she laughed to hide the passionate terror in ber voide. ' what wounld Joe do withont me? Oh, doo- tor, if he should come back and nol know me!’ Not remember! *’—By Sharlot M. Hall, —Ladies Home Journal. ~~ = = Thorns that Scratch. Why should the picking’of berries be a job that tears our clothing awd soratches our hands, says the Garden Magazine. Why not train the berries to accommodate them- selves to our convenience instead of adopt- ing ourselves to their unreasonable habits ? March is the time to take tbe first step to secure an excellent crop and an eatly. one. Set up stakes and ran wires from one to the other... To. the . wires tie the berry stalks, as nearly upright as they will go. This will encourage the flow of sap avd yon will have better and earlier besries than if they are left to themselves, What Tact Ts. 1a taal 2 bi What we call tact is she ability to find hefore it is too late what it is that our friends do not desire to learn from ws. Is is the art of withholding on proper océa- sions information which we are quite sure would be good for them. 0, no, | THE CENTENNIAL ACADEMY BUILDING. Historical Sketch of the Bellefonte Acad- emy. In 1795 James Harris and Col. John Dunlop laid out the town of Bellefonte. In doing eo they bad in mind thiee public necessities, firss a public square dedicated to the official buildings of the new county they proposed to have erected. next a place of worship for which they set aside two lots, and finally the camse of education. Since the highest grade of primary and in- termediate educational work was found in the academies, which the close of the eighteenth century saw established in large numbers throughout the State, these founders, of Scotch-Presbyterian stock, determined thas their institution of learn- ing should follow closely the lines of the kirk, hence the lots adjoining the church were marked on the orignal plan of the town, ‘For the Academy.’”’” However, later counsels chapged this location and the summit of a high limestone ridge with the land sweeping away on every side was chosen as the site of the proposed building. All this planning took place when scarce- ly half a dozen houses constituted the little little village and it was not until ten years there-after thas their plans approached ful- fillmens. In 1799, when the erection of the new county was assured, it was agreed between the proprietors of Bellzfonte and the legislative powers of the State that one- -half of all the money received from sales of the lots of their town should be paid over to the trustees of the county, one portion to be used for the construction of suitable county buildings in the public square and the other tobe applied toward the proposed academy. In pursmance of this plan Cen- tre county was erected early in the follow- ing year and Bellefonte designated as the “Seat of Justice,”” as the old papeis put it. Daring the next five years the accomu- lation of funds justified the preparation for a building project and 01 January 8 h, 1805, the Bellefonte Acaldcm. was incoi- porated by the legislatuie with the follow- ing trustees constituting its frst hoard of management, viz: H. R. Wilson, John Dunlop, Roland Cartin, William Petrikin, Robert McClanahan and Jobn Hall, all of Bellefonte; with William Stuart, Andiew Gregg and James Potter, of Potter town- ship; James Duncan, John Hall and Jacob Hosterman, of Haines township; Jo" Kryder, of Miles towuship; Jacob Taylor, of Halfmoon township; David Whitehill, Patton township; Rrebard Miles, Rober: Boggs, Joseph Miles and John Daulop, of the foremoss citizens of the community and to the abilities of such men as these is due the credit of she survival of ths school; for, of forty-one academies cnartered by the State during the fiist five years of the nineteenth cenenry, nnly five o.heis have survived in the struggle with the heavily endowed public rchool 83s em nourished by the pationage of the Commonwealth. The first acting principal of gre Beile- foute Acadewny was the Rev. H. R. Wilson, the Preshy teriau pastor, who was succeed- ed in 1810 hy his suecessor in the pastorate Rev. James Lun. By 1815 the number of students bad so largely increased that Thomas Coamberlaio was engaged as prio- cipal aud Mr. Lion selected as president of the hoard of trustees. Notwithstanding the many ohligations of his church work and the burdens which naturally fell upon Lim as one of the prominent citizens of a rapidly growing conimunity, James Lion time and again took up the work of in- struction at the academy and many times acted as principal when the regalar oc- capants of the office were disqualified by illness, or when the institution was upable to secure teachers. For over half a century he thus gave his services un- sparingly for the benefit of education. Robers * Baiid, afterwards celebrated aa the founder of the Evangelical Christian Alliance, succeeded Mr, Chamberlain in 1818, and in 1820 J. B. McCarrell, later prominent in the Reformed Church, filled the position for two years. He was follow- ed by J. D. Hickok, whose successor with- in a few months was H. D. Cross. About this time one of the former students, whose name has not heen preserved, presented the Academy with a Spanish bell, engrav- ed with the motto ‘For Spain’’ and bear- ing a cross and the date 1802, which hung in the cupola until destrosed by the fire of 1904 Alfred Armstrong, of Carlisle, was the first of the early principals to remain for a long term of years and from 1824 to 1831 bie made great progress with the institution. S. G. Callahau succeeded Mr. Armstrong Spring township; William McEwen and 1s the fall of 1831, finishing ous the year, when W. M. Patterson was eleoted to the positiou. In 1835 W. H. Miller became priucipal, followed ny 1837 by J. B. Payne and in 1838 by the first teacher who was bainin this county, John Livingston;a graduate of Jefferson College, who retained the office for six years. During his term the north and south. wings of the old acadewy were buiir, the basement of the norshein wing having for ite foundation the old reservoir from which the town first * received its water supply, pumped ont of Thomas McCamant. of Centre townshiptue beauiifal big spring, from which the t - a £ of and John Fearon, Matthew Allison and James Boyd; of Bald Eagle township, An additional act: of ‘assembly, passed iu the following year; ‘appropriated two thous- and dollars to the building : fund, . ou con- dition, however, that ap least six peor, ohildren should receive two years educa- tion at the new school fiee of expense.” * During the year-1805 “steps were taken toward the construction’ of a building which was soon nader ‘way. A rectangu- lar, two-story limestone structure, occupy. ing the ground between the north and- south wings of the present huilding, was the first‘academy. . Shortly after’ its’ eom- pletion the magnificent locuss trees, which is was found necessary to remove; spme fifteen years ago, were planted and’ their Stéagy growth matched the progress of the: 8c! Colonel John Danlop, of Revolution- ‘ary fame, was the first president of the board of trustees, Thomas Burnside, after- wards Supreme Court Justice, was the board’s first secretary, H. R. Wilson, the first regularly ordained minister of the gos: pel in this section of the State, was a member of the board, as were Roland Cur- tin, the great charcoal master; William Stuart and Jo! men and large land owners, General James Potter, and Andrew Gregg, afterwards a Senator of the United States, and Richard and Joseph Miles, the founders of Miles- burg, who were sons of Samuel Miles one time Mayor of Philadelphia. The mem. bers of the board of trustees of the Belle- REV. JAMES P. HUGHES, A. M., PRINCIPAL EMERITUS, 37 YEARS PRINCIPAL, | fonte Academy bave always been among TEED r town derives its name, at the ‘western foot of the academy ridge... David. Moore and John Philips became principals in the years 1845 aud 1846 respectively ‘and in’ 1847 Alfred Armstrong resumed his. con- nedtion with the academy, and during this term the building was overhauled ard to'a certain extent remodeled. -} 3 AY -When Mr. Armstrong gave up his work: for the second time in the year 1852, is, seemed impossible to contend with the new public 'tchool system, as fostered by the State goverument and munioipal taxa- | ‘tion, and the Suppose of the comotry dis- tricts was turned toward the Farmers’ High school, ‘then being established at | what is now State College. This feeling ‘was so strong that in 1853 it was proposed: ‘to use the building as a high school in con: nection with the public schools, though no immediate action was taken, and for some years the neademy only existed on a hand | to mouth poliey. In 1854:the Rev. F. A, : Pratt took charge as principal, to be succeed. ed by George Yeomans who remained until the outbreak of the civil war, when J. D. Wingate opened a grammar school in the’ building. After this temporary ‘experi- bn Danlop, promiment iron Anent,in.1562 the propeisy was leased 40 the Bellefonte School district which lease con- tinued until 1868, when the academy board cancelled their agreement with the distrios, resumed 'postession and selected the Rev. James Potter Hughes as principal of the institntion, ; : : The new administration began its work with a thorough reorganizatian of the board of trustees, of whom General James A. Bea- ver, Judge Austin O. Furst and John P. Harris are the only surviving members. By means of the collection of its small endow- ment fund and a popular sabseriptien suf- ficient money was taised to 1epair the old huilding, purchase an adjoining strip of land and toerect a brick addition nexs to the southern wing of the main building, which was completed in 1873. This was made possible throogh the devoted atten- tion of the Rev. Alfred Yeomans, the president of the hoard, to its management, and with the untiring efforts of Mr.Hughes in buildiog op the teaching department, the success of the institution seemed as- sured. However, fifteen years later found the academy again iu financial difficulties and with buildings insuffizient to cope with its needs. At this s age, J. Dunlop Shugert, a great-graudson «f the original John Dunlop, manifested such an interest in the cause that the board, urged on by his enthusiasm, were able uot ouly to meet their obligations bus to undertake new and extensive improvements during the year 1890. The unsightly brick annex was re- moved and a neat but commodious house built on the southern portion of the grounds, adjoining the old Friends’ Meet- ing property ,and the main building, which JAMES R. HUGHES, A. M., HEAD MASTER. up to to this time had been used as a dwel- ling, given up solely to educational pui- poses. In 1895, James R. Hughes, the eldest son of the principal, a graduate of Princeton 1n 1885 and since then an instructor at the academy, was selected as associate prin- cipal and, at his suggestion, the boarding school side of the academy work was re- vived and gradually developed and the upper stories of the main huilding fitted np as dormitories for hoarding pupils. In the price and ma goes ont with the neigh- bors and Flora sparks her beau in the parlor. Dad’s clothes are none too good aud grimy and sticky,as he sits in the kitch- en with the kids. If there’s a noise in the night Le is kicked in thee back and made to go down stairs and hut the burglar and kill him. Mother darns the socks, ves she does but dad bought the socks ih the first place and the needles and yarn afterward. Mother does up the froit. Well dad bought it all and jars cost like the mischief. Dad buys chicken for Sunday @inner, carves it him- self and draws the neck from the ruins af- ter everyone else is served. “What is Home Without a Mother ?"’ Yes, that is all right. But what is home without a father ? Ten to one it is a board- ing house, father is under the sod, the landlady is the widow. Dad, here’s fo you! You've got your good points acd they will miss yon when you are gone. J. THOMAS MITCHELL. Craze for White Bread. The power of the electric current to de- compose certain substances in a singular way has led to an important development of electro-chemistry. In this connection experiments have recently been made in Paris seeking an improvement in bread making. Laboring under the mistaken impression that the whiteness of wheat bread deter- mines its quality—the whiter the bread the better—the Parisian public bas for years been growing more and more exact- ing on this score, and therefore the fineness of grain flour has been gradually approach- ing a limit, say the . Scientific American. The public bas as a consequence, received a a less nutritive food, it being a known fact that the core of the wheat grain, which is the chief constituent of bread, while pro- ducing the whitest flour, at the same time contains the smallest amount of albumen and is thus least nutritious. There has recently been raised the hope of obtaining a whiter bread by aid of electricity, for which purpose the flour was brought in contact with electrified air, whose ozone possesses efficacious bleaching properties. A report to the Academy of Sciences as Paris on the result of an experi- ment with flour treated in both the ordi- nary way and by electricity under similar conditions, explains that flour subjected to electric influence was much whiter in color, but that its taste and odor were far infer- ior to those of flour treated by the ordinary method. The amount of phosphorus was the same in both, but the quantities of fatty and acid substances varied largely. Thas, in flour treated by electricity the fatty substances proved rancid, glutinous, and of a less yellowish color, and instead of retaining their usual aromatic, yellow rn THE ACADEMY IN 1840. 1900 the elder Mr. Hughes found the com- bination of teaching and management was | too great a task for him, owing to the growth of the school ‘and his advancing’ age. Acting on his advice thejefore, the trustees selected his son as headmaster, re- taining the father in the position of prin- cipal-emeritus Beginning with the new century, Mr. Janies R. Hughes has devel- oped the scope of the ;academy to its pres- ent high standing and has succeeded in making the hoarding school department a principal feature in the success of the in- /| stitution. In the summer of 1904 a disastrous fire, the first in its history, destrosed the upper story of the ‘main building: Trusting to the ability of the new ‘regime so: contidue its remarkable success, the boaid of trustees, ner befitting ite past history and its coming centennial, and’ the’present ‘edifice with its’ beautiful Grecian columns is'¢he result. The academy of today.isa glorified image of the little old two-story building. of a hundred years ago.” Its future lies in the '| hands of ‘she twenty-two ‘trusteés, somnie of “7! the leading citizens of the town, and in the integrity and ability of James R.. Hughes, _ | the present head, who has been swent years in the service'of the institution and who holds the confidende of all who know him, - The place ofthe Bellefonte Academy in the educational system of the conntry has been made and those who bold it in cha¥ge should be competent to make its "| future more than’ equal to its past.’ "1 The hundred years History of the: Belles ly within the span of the lives of two men, Time Ti ao pages, The former's ‘ootneotion with the school was’ 'f nos severed ‘until; the ‘day of his ‘death’ in: , 1868, and the latter, as the age of seventy eight, is still teaching in his old time man. ner, of which nothin beter has been aid | than $‘He'can make’a problem in ‘arithmetic’ sonnd: like a fairy ' tale.==By J. Thomas Mitchell... 5 8 add bagolevah paw GRIT ITNT TE i Fuld cp God Bless Our Dad. 7 win the door. the legend worked iniletters of ‘red ; ‘“‘What is Home Without a Mother?" Across the room in another brief de- 8igd : *‘God Bless Otir Home.’’' Now what’s the matter with ‘‘God Bless Our Dad!" He gets up early, lights the fire] boils the eggs, grabs a dinner pail and wipes off the dew of the lawn with his boots while many ‘a mother is sleeping. He makes the week- ly band out forthe’ henefis’ of the ‘grocer; milkman, butcher and baker, and his little pile is badly worn before be bas been home an hour. He stands of the bailiff and keeps the rent paid up. If Johnnie needs a new pair of: boots *‘cauge he’s just walking on: the ground,’’ .dad . goes down in. his hip "pocket and comes np with a bard, day's. sweat. If Mary needs a new ribbon for her back hair, mother yearns fora new, Juapper, and the baby howls for a _1attle, fo a Boes dad again and comes pp with Me BOM rr he ri it afl dns + But it he briss a new pipe fora gq ter because the old one js getting ‘‘kinda’ strong, he is warned that smoking is an expensive habit and that men have smoked op blocks and farms and happy homes. ‘When show time arrives dad comes np with decided to rebuild the academy ip a man- | fonte Academy is comprised almost entirgy| In ‘most evéry home you will'see over | state, become oxidized and partly cenvert- ed into white sebacic acid, which could be dissolved in alcohol. The glutinous sub- ssances were discolored and changed. The bread made from the flour was whiter than usual, but of inferior taste, and the experiment serves to demonstrate that electric treatment, while successfully turning flour whiter, injures it. Save One Plant a Year. Luther Burbank, the California plant breeder whose phenomenal fruits and flow- ers are now creating such: a stir, advises’ amateu1s. in the Country Calender. Prom the new plants that grow only the best should be kept alive—all the weakly ones must be put out of the way. The next barvest of seeds should be gathered with the same care, and out of all the plants that enme, no matter how many there may be, Mr. Burbank ‘says: “Save only one.”’ | ;He emphasizes this: Save but one plant each year, and that the best of. all. . The nexs, Jear she same method muss , be followed, and so on—at last will come the perfectone. * ia grinw ; re