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
<And this leads tothe other department:
of the .work—selection. Mr. Burbank
thinks that selection, as’ well as breeding,
is‘ likely ‘to prove very ‘satisfactory to ama-
tenrs: Hesays-on'this point: « oovlven |
‘Pick, out a plant which you like, but
which.yon wish different in some particn-
lar. Perhaps it ‘does not altogether snit
‘so deep or”
you in‘eolory perbaps’it is Hos
: intense as yon: wonld liké to:have-it. Select
out. of the entire los of flowers before : you,
going over them all with the utmost cate,
‘(even if there are hundreds of them), the
one which approaches nearest to your'ideal.
. Then isolate. this one plans and select] its
seede. Plans them and select from all the
plants that result, only ‘the best. Plant
again’ and ‘again’ 150m Sadocssive sell Har:
‘vests, each time: selecting: the rplants which
;are coming nearess yonrideal. If yom have:
(done your work falthfully, the new genera-
.. | sions should show ‘decided leanings foward
-¥ shiimcitentaan =o fad) sissizad ar VBloq sts
plo anes
t aver nETTEtree————ll
Lire. —The poet’s exclamation :*'O Life!
.I feel thee bounding in my veins,’’ isa joy-
ous one.!' Persons that ¢an rarely or never
make ‘it, (in hopesty ‘to: themselves; are
‘among She most unfortunate. . They do not:
live, but exist; for to live implies more
than tobe. To live is to be well and
strong—to arise feeling equal ‘to the ‘ordi-
nary deties of the :day,: and to retire not
avercome by dhe feel life hounding in
the veins. A medicine that has made thons-
ands of people, men and women, well and
strong, has accomplished a’ great work) be-
stowing the richest blessings, and that
‘medicine . is; Hood’s' Sarsaparilla. The
weak, run-down, or debilitated, from any,
cause, should not fail to take it. It builds
up the whole system, changes existénce fn-
to: life, and makee life more abounding.
to the readers of our columns,
. —1f our gardens produced as much
ddridg the eummer as we plant
| when we pick up the hoe for the first time, *
the produce market would be glutted:! 0»!
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‘We ave glad to say these words, in its favor,