Dewar fit ——————————— —_———CErmm Bellefonte, Pa., January II, 1907. PRINTED WHERE LIVE. YOU USED TO Tisn't filled with cuts and pictures, nor the latest news dispatches ; And the papers often dampened, and the print is sometimes blurred There 1s only one edition, and the eye quite often catches Traces of a missing letter, and at times a mis- spelled word. No cablegram nor “specials anywhere the eye engages ; The make-up is, maybe, a trifle erude and primitive. But an atmosphere of home life fills and per- meates the pages Of the little country paper printed where you used to live, How the heart grows soft and tender, while its columns you're perusing! Every item is familiar, every name you know fall well. And a flood of recollection passes o'er you as you're musing On the past and weaves about you an imagi- native spell. You can see the old home village, once again in fancy, seeming To be clasping hand of neighbor, and of friend and relative ; And their faces rise before you, as you're idly fondly dreaming O'er the little country paper, printed where you used to live, And you seem to leave the city, with its rush’ and roar, and clamor, With its busy, bustling atmosphere of turmoil! and of strife ; Leave the multitude of surging, eager workers, and the glamour, For the quiet, soothing blandishment of rest. ful country life. And you note a vine-clad cottage, with the roses nestling round it : Hear the voice of mother calling for the long- gone fugitive, While the echo of her pleading, memories re- peat, and sound it Through the little country paper, printed where you used to live. Every printed line reminds you of the days long since departed : Herea boyhood chum is mentioned, there a schoolmate's name appears ; And the eye grows moist in reading, while the soul grows heavy-hearted O'er the changes Time has wrought through. out the swiftly passing years, Memory's scroll has deep impressions stamped npon its face forever, Of sweet pleasures which the busy city life can never give ; And, in faney, you are roaming through the quiet town, whenever You peruse the country paper, printed where you used to live, «Sunset Magazine i ———————— THE BOY JAKE. "I'm sure, miss, I don’t know as I'm right in letting you have it,” Mrs. Fexon worried, beating her keys uucertainly on a crumpled palm. *“‘He never would bave left his things out like that if he hadn't ex- pected a young lady friend from his own home to take it. But you cowe so highly recommended, and you like it so much --"' “Indeed I do!"’ Miss Mariner laid down her bag aud took off ber hat as though to guard against any chauge of wind on the other’s part. ‘You may be perfectly at ease about his books and possesions—I am a thoroughly scrupulous peison.” A smile brought a vivid sweetuess to her thio, dark face. ‘‘And think how much more he will enjoy Europe if he is uss pay ing rent here,’’ she added. "'Quite true, iss. He was very pleas ed when his lady friend wroie she'd take it, and off be flew by the next steamer. And theo, the very hour I got word that she'd changed her mind, in comes you, lookiug for a place ; it does seem sors of meant to be.” Miss Mariner, deep in a leather olair, was looking contentedly abous the cool, darkened, restful room. full of masculine ease as represented by a few big, satisfac. tory pieces of furniture and a blessed lack of small stuffiness. There was not even a portiere in the arch that led to the bed- room; and the white tiling in the bathroom beyond showed the only gleam of reflection from the oppressive brightness of the day ‘without. *‘Put the responsibility on me,’’ she sug- gested. ‘And don’t worry him with let- ters —his best friend could uot take hetter vare of thivge than I sball. I think you raid you would furnish breakfasts 2" Settling the practical details steadied Mrs. Foxou’s 1esolution. Miss Mariner, left presently in full possession, still sas with ber thin bands drooping over the arm of her chair and ber head tilted back on ite small brown throat. There was grace in her long, relaxed sliminess, though the at- titude suggested a rather weary matority. Two years before, when she broke her en- gagement, Miss Mariner had quietly pus away the bright badge of yoath, which is called expectancy. She bad learned to live ASiiinly Suligutory be without it; the pursuit of a degree, w brought her to New York for some special study, was one of ber deliberate substitutes; but where. as she had looked much less than her twen- ty-seven years then, she now appeared rather more than twenty-nine. Ot the things around her she liked best a huge, solid, masculine desk, table-top- ped, free of frivolous pigeon-holes and par- titions, suggesting in every line a splendid, sane capaciousness. A scholarly desire to pull up to is with her knees in its dark cavern, her papers strewing its top, and her pen dipping in ite massive inkstand, drew her to the revolving chair that confronted it. The big drawers at the sides were emp- ty, but when she opeved the shallow drawer in the centre she paused with a startled laugh. Within lay a sheet of pa- per on which was pasted a blue printol a young man, a delightfully boyish person of twenty-one or two in white ducks, a ten- nis rackes in his hand, his face framed in ereot, tight curls of an amusingly childish order and lit by a smile of beaming good- natore. He was an enchanting symbol of youth to her grave twenty-nine years. But what bad startled her was the inscription written beneath : ‘Hello, Edith! Glad to see you. Make yourself at home. JAKE.” Banh yd jar own Bans, wl for » to. ment she orgotten the ‘‘young lady friend from home’ who was to have taken the rooms. Then she remembered, and put it back with a laugh. Obviously, the other was an Edith, too; probably an Edith young enough to look on the owner of the rooms as an individoal rather than an en- chanting symbol. How stupid of her not to have come! ‘“1 am very grateful for your welcome, Jake, even if I am not the right Edith,” she said, loath to shut the drawer. “Yon are a pice boy,” she added, passing her fingers over the picture with a maternal touch. She was sorry for that other Edith, who had missed such a pleasant moment. The boy haunted her oddly as she exam- ined bis possessions. She found his hooks recklessly mixed, advanced science elbow- ing a little black and gilt ses of *“‘Rollo,” modern literature sandwiched by obsolete histories and biographies with such inserip- tions as ‘“To Isabel, Xmas, 1861,” on their yellowing fly-leaves; here and there a vol- ome io French or German. She shook her head reprovingly at the boy as she took down a fairly new copy of ‘Lettres de Femmes.” “0 Jake, why must a curly infant like you read that!" she murmured. *‘If yon were my son—"' She opened it to see if the leaves were cut, then stooped fo: a piece of paper that bad flustered out. Across it sprawled the same handwriting that had greeted her under the picture. ‘‘Pat it back, my dear Edith,” she read. ‘‘This is not a proper book for a young la- dy. You will find Miss Austen over by the east window. ‘Your absent chaperon, JAKE.” Miss Mariner laughed, silently but with sudden warm intensity. ‘‘Jake, you are a darling,” she said; and presently, as a grave afterthought, she added, ‘‘How your mother must have ador- ed you!" § idea clung to her all through the day, with a sense of surprised dissovery. She bad always felt, and with longing, the desirableness of children, Lut never before this intense consciousness of what a son might mean in one's life. She took the picture out again presently and fastened it up over the fireplace. Later, when she went out, she seemed to an uousoal proportion of young fellows in the streets; sell-conscious or swaggering youths with the curve of childhood still amusingly evi dent in their cheeks and mannish indiffer- ence held precariously like a loose lid over boiling young spirits. Some of them were Lapomnitly horrid, she told herself, bat it did not seem to matter; she loved them all in ber sudden passionate appreciation of their sonship. And after all, it was not one of the unusual blessings, a gift that only the especially elect could ask, this de- sirable thing that was making the pursuit of a degree appear all at once such a cold, dead business. So many women bad sons! Jake was smiling at her when she went back. ‘Have you had a good day?” she asked. Hersmile began in appreciation of ber own silliness, but it ended in pure mother feeling for Jake; he was so enchant- iogly young ! The habit of expectancy wasso thorough: ly broken in Miss Mariner thas she did not look for further messages; and so it was all the more delicious when he bobbed oat at her again that night. She was patting away her clothes and the bottom drawer of the chiffonier stuck with an obstinacy few tempers could have withstood. Nhe tried patience, intelligence, diplomacy; then she set her lips and gave an outraged jerk. Oat it came, and from the bottom a rerawled bit of paper confronted her like a grin. She bent over and read : “Swear at it, Edy. Nothing less will fetoh is. J." ‘Ob, poor Jake !" she cried. *‘All this wasted on an old maid Edith who wishes she were your mother!” The thought of the romance that might have grown up for the right Edith made her feel like a mali- cious interloper. That Edith would, of course, leave her own demure m es when she flitted—it would all have been very pretty. ‘Bat be is too young yet, any way,” she cousoled herself. She left the slip of paper in the drawer for the pleasure of seeing it again when she should pack up. For the eight wedks of her stay alone in the hot city, working six and seven hours a day, Miss Mariner went wrapped about in a mellow garment of r10maunce beside which the obvivus velves aud plumes of youuger dreamers seemed to her tawdry iwitations. She was vot a lover but the mother of a sou. He walked down the street with her, tall aud protective, this suuny Jake —she could feel the swing of bis shoulder as her ear; his beats biguess oppos.t: ber made her solitary meals times of quiet delight. She kept Lim scrupulously ous of the library, but the moment her work was done she flew home to him. She knew now why people clung to life so passiouately : is was that they might bavesous, When toward the end a fo eigu letter came addressed to that other Edith, she gave it to Mrs. Foxon to forward wish a keen sense of injary. What did the chit care about ason’'s letters! He would be only another wan to her, And the pride of motherhood beset ler. Oue day she sou. bt a pen koile for his desk, looking critically at the assortment offered. “These are too small and feminine—I want one for my great boy,” she told the clerk, and went away with it, horribly ashamed, yet rejoicing. When she reached bore she leaned her elbows on the mantel- iece and stared long and gravely at the yish figure in the blue print. **Ooe has to bave something, Jake,’ she said. ‘Sons ought to be a natural compen- sation provided for those who bave no lovers.” Tired with the day’s work she dropped into a leather chair with a battered oopy of *‘Shirley,”’ opening it in the middle with a hall-realized need of its emotional inten- sity. A plengayiien Saat as like a yi grance pervad e dim, quiet room as wens through the familiar scenes wherein love is made so real, so faulty, and yet so radiavtly desirable. That loveliest scene of all, where Moore gives in to his feeling for Caroline, shook for a moment even her Justine un San, 4 Hugh weut e a w r from the dead. She turned the blive: ly. Then she plunged her face down on the leaves of the hook with a cry of laugh- ter, for across the end of the chapter was written in the familiar band : *'0 Edith, isn’t is lovely?” ‘‘Jake, Jake! You blessed sou of wom- an!” For all her laughter there were tears in her eyes. She to dry them bastily as she threw down the to answer a ring at her bell. Her little entry was and the man standing outside could ently see only an outline, for be put out two welcoming bands with a joyous: ‘‘Hello, Edith!” It was so like the boy in the picture that she was bewildered for a moment, confused between the dream and the reality. ‘0 Jake!" she cried. The sound of her own voice, warm and thrilled, brought her sbarply to her senses. She shrank drawing away ber bands with a stammer of dismayed apology. Yes even in her con- fusion she bad time to be acutely disap- pointed that it was not Jake, but a man well into the thirties, that followed her into the room. He looked equally startled when he found himself confronting a dark, graceful woman with slim hands nervously clasped and a faint flash showing through the tired Swestuess of ber fare, . al ‘‘Bus—1I beg your pardon!" he exclaim- ed. *‘I thought—I expected to find —"’ “Oh, yes; but whe didn’t come. I a- here instead,”” Miss Mariner explained ah- sently, for a clearer look at bis face Lad given her a joyous hope. It was: a lined face, not as al ish, but some guality of pleasantness in y eyes under the square forehead, the slightly olefs chin, the crisp little curls that no brushing could subdue, brought ber to an impul<ive reeng. nition. “Yoo must be Jake's brother.” His sodden laogh made the likeness un. mistakable. ““Then you know—Jake? ’ *Koow Jake?’ She wasso glad to see him that she turned the leather chair to- ward him and sat down opposite it with an expectancy not to be withstood. *'Ob, what does it matter? I know him, in one sense, better than any one does—though he uever saw me.” She smiled, gnuite indif- ferent whether he understood or not. ‘You muses tell me things—nohody has a better right to know than I. Will you?" She was talking with a soft animation most un- like her usual cool self, and Jake’s brother was evideatly wise enough to know that he was being treated as an exception. He met ber simply, and if there wasa larking smile ahout bis mouth, Lis eves were re- spectfully grave. “I will tell you anything yon want She did not care what be might Le thivk- ing; it was as near as she would ever come to Jake, and she must get what ehe conld. “Is be in love with that other Edith?" “Oh, dear, no!"’ It came with startled promptuess. She looked ber relief, **You are sure?" ‘'Oh, quite. She is going to be married, I believe. He did adore ber once— Lut it was years ago.”’ “I'm glad. He is altogether too young, ’, she said positively. ‘‘Don't you think sc?" she added, arrested by some passing ex- pression on his face. ‘Well, itfstendies a boy, doesn’t it?" he aked gravely. ‘Jake doesn's need to be steadied. she protested. ‘‘He is too sweet and honest and warm-hearted ever to be borrid—and too kind. He would remember the other side—the people it would hart. Is Lis— is your mother living?" ‘No. Shedied about six years ago.” By his tone she knew that it had heen a felt loss, and she answered sympathetically: ‘Oh, that is hard!” Yes in her heart she was glad. It gave her so much more right to the boy. ‘*He is coming back next week and I am going Saturday, so I shall never see him,’ she went on, and her dark eyes, widening at the thought, eeemed to expeot him to realize all that meant. *‘Usually it is better not to see peuple when you've got a beautiful idea of them that you want to keep. Bat, someway, I shouldn’s be afraid with Jake; I know he is just the enchanting boy I picture him—I would trust him ab- solutely.”” Jake's brother was looking at ber hesitatingly, even uncomfortably as he rose to his fees, ‘‘Oh, you are not going!" she exclaimed. “I do want to ask yon more—never mind it you don’t understand. I'm just a stray old maid—I don’t matter. See, I'll make you some tea—there is everything here in this little capboard, and I've never used it.”” She brought ous kettle, alcohol, and tea things from a cellarette and set aboot tea making with bright eagerness. ‘I'm sure he punt them there for that other Edith; he probably keeps whiskey and soda there for himsell,”” she explained. “I bavn’t felt like tea—and of course I have uo cream or lemons. Do yon mind?” She would not notice thas he still stood, watch- ing her with a troubled frown. ‘You have not told me anything about Jake yet,’ she insisted. ‘I have done all the talking so far. Please!” And she laid ber arm ur. geutly on the arm of the chair beside her, He came aud leaned over its back; the aikiag amusement had entirely lefs his ace. *‘I can tell you one thing,” he said; ‘‘Jake wou't want you to go away Satur- day, If you will stay lounger. Even if he came back—earlier than he had expected, he won't want you to go if you care to stay. He can put up anywhere. Please stay and —and let him koow you. He would —1' A warm, amused *‘Oh!" interrupted him. She was fishing a strip of paper from the teapot. ‘‘Here he is again—the dear!" she murmured, and read half under her breath: ‘Make me a cap of tea the day I get home, Edith. For I shan’s turn you ont. I can pat up anywhere. Please stay on aud let me know youn again. “Yoor old adorer, Jake.” Something in the form of the worde made ber glance up suddenly at the man beside her. He flushed aud his eyes met hers ry 1 4) orgotten those fool m es,”’ he broke out. ae “Oh, you're not Jake!” a wail. “Iam sosorry! I didn't mean to—of course, you found that old picture. I wish I weren’s,”” he added helplessly. She turned away, and to his obvious horror her eyes filled with tears. *‘Ob, nothing is ever true!” she cried, ber knuckles driven against her lips. He you It was almost waited in silent distress. ‘Of course, don’t understand,’’ she added tremulous) : a few moments later. “‘Only, itis as if I had bad a son, and then lost him. I hadn’s realized—uotil I found him—just how much one does need a son—shat’s all,’ “I know. It'sdiscovery we all come to. Ido understand.’”” His voice was quick with something more personal than sym- pathy. Then, as the little kettle boiled over he turned down the flame. ‘‘Now, may I bave my tea?’ he added cheerfully, Miss Mariner neglected to go ous for her dinner that night. All the evening she lay back with her long grace in the deep leather obair, her slim hands drooping over the sides, her dark eyes veiled and very grave. She seemed to have fi that the boy Jake was dead, for when at last she rose she turned to the faded bluepring and kissed him good.-night.—By Juliet Wilber Tompkins, in Scribner's Magazine. SE —— Friday Not an Unlucky Day. In spite of superstition, Friday ie not an unlucky day. In fact, it can be Jord by the most important happenings in the history of this and and other countries that Friday is the most fortunate day in the week. On Friday, August 21, 1492, Ch Columbus first sailed u his greats voy- of disco from Palos, in Spain. On the 11th September, which happen. ed upon a Friday, while in mid-ocean, to the consternation of his officers and men, the needle of the compass fluctuated and fell off in an unexplainable manner, and is was then that all but Columbus lost faith in the enterprise. It was on Friday that Columbus first discovered land. On Friday, January 4, 1493, he sailed on his return to Spaiv, where he landed in safety on a Friday. It was on Friday, June 13, 1494, that the great navigator discovered the conti. nent of America. New Ratlway Lines Bing Ballt in South Dakota and North Dakotas, The new line of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Faul Railway which is being built from Glenham, 8. D, to Batte, Montana, will open up a large tract of diversified farming and stock raising country. The vew live will pass through Wal. worth, Boreman and Schnasse counties in Sonth Dakota and through Hettinger, Bow- man and Billings counties in North Dakota, and proceed in a westerly direction to Butte, Montana. The rich soil of the country throngh which this new line will pass, consisting of a deep black loam, with a y-llow clay sub- soil, together with the favorable clunatic conditions and an abundance of water, is adapted to raising all kind« of grain and suitable for general agricaliural purposes. There are still many thousand acres of good government lands to be secured along this new live. Homestead entries for lands in Batte county, may be wade at Seim, South Dakota, There are golden opportunities for the farmer and rancher, aud for the small mer- chant iu the new towns which will be opened along this new line as far as the railway can be completed. Mobridge, in Walworth coouty, South Dakota, is the first station on this new line east of the crossing of the Mis-outi river. A town has recently been established there and prom- ises a great future. Why Popcorn Pops. **What makes popcorn pop?” asks the inquisitive youngster. y the evasive replies he receives, says Good Housekeeping, it is evident that the real reason is not generally known. Tee different kinds 4 corn contain oil in varyiug proportious. In popcorn there isa considerable amount. This expands when heated, becowes explosive and causes the kernels to pop open. In comwon corn the percentage of oil is small, aud for this rea- sou it only cracks, without exploding, when heated. Popcorn is inexpensive and nutritious as well, if not used to overindulgence. From soup to dessert it finds a place on our menus, while a great variety of sweets may be made from it. Isis a pleasing conceit of today to sprinkle large and perfect grains of freshly-popped corn over light, thin cream soups just as each portion is served. Floatiog on the surface, they are certain- ly attractive aad are also a most excellent sobstitate for wafers or croutons. Another clever idea is toserve fresh buttered pop- corn with salad. The combination is deli- cious, and the corn should be tastefully ar- ranged, encircling a mound of salad. Popcorn, either sugared or buttered, may fittingly be served with plain ic: cream and ices aud the combination is both nove) and dainty, ‘ A ———————— ay ——There are nearly 25,000,000 dairy cows in the United States, and evough other cattle to make a total of over 90,- 000,000 head, including bulls, oxen, young stock and the ‘‘flocks and herds which range to the valley free,” aud all con- demned to slaughter. There are less than a million thoroughbred cattle in the coun- try, and more than 45,000,000 scrubs. The rest are ball or higher grades. About 20,- 000,000 calves are born annually. The avarage value of a cow is $22. Iu Rhode Island, a dairying State, the average is $39. The cows of the United States )ield about 9,000,000,000 gallons of milk a year (watered and unwatered ); the batter pro- duct is nearly 2,000,000,000 pounds (all grades), and the product of cheese over 300,000,000 pounds. Oar cheese industry is making enormous strides. In a short time the output will he 1,000,000,000 pounds«. There is ove item, a by-product, which is never alluded to when Mistress Cow or Sis Cow is cousidered. Our gold prodaction is about $81,000,000 a year at present. That is a vast sam of money. Yet the rakings of our cow yards and stalls for the fertilization of crops are estimated to be worth in cold cash eight times as much, or $648,000,000 ! Such figures are bewilderivg. They stagger humanity. Starving Indians Appeal for Food. Many of the Chippewa Indians at the Grand Portage reservation are on the verge of starvation. They expeoted the cus- tomary allowance of flour and pork from the government, bus did not get it. They have sent this appeal to Major S. W. C. Campbell, Indian agent at Ashland, Wis : ‘Does the government want us to die? We cannot understand how these things can be; we cannot understand why we can- nos sell our pine, and we cannot under- stand why we cannot have some pork and floor for our old and sick brothers. ‘God pat us on the earth to live and he gave us the moose, deer and fish to use in making our living.” Burbank Has Sour Sweet Apples. Students and facnlty of Stanford univer- sity were astounded when Luther Bar- bavk, the plant wizard, exhibited an ap- ple which was red and sweet on one side and yellow and sour on the other. Bur- bank was speaking on plant evolution. He said a certain difficult experiment might be achieved by infinite patience and constant work, but it would be much more difficult than making a delicious fruit both sour and sweet. Burbank offered a reward of $1,. 000 for an ounce of horseradish seed, say- ing that be had tried ten years in vain to cultivate seed. —-—There is a legend, says an English writer, to the effect that after Lord Stan- ley came into the house of peersa lady somewhat indisoreetly asked Lord Broug- bam at a dinner party who was the best spadier in the hobre lords aod that Lord rougham promptly and em y ao- swered, SL Stanley, og the sec- ? The Worst to Come. ." lishis a difficult nage to nay pbb Ll was ling to learn it. Se !” said his American friend; “it fen’t ball as hard to speak as itis to spell.” His Education. ye ng Size in for a fortune the other day. 's y more money now ied he knows what ph with.” ‘‘Yes. There are certain people who will be anxious to meet him now, and after that he'll know more.”’ ——Cannes, the perfume making town of southern France, smells so powerfully of flowers in the busy season that visitors are often afflicted with a flower headache. ——Guest (going over the picture gal- lery and halting before a portrait)—And is this the old master ? Servant--No, sir. Sure, that’s the auld miesns. RE FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY TBOUGHT. Be of good courage: that is the main thing. — Thoreau, “By ber, who in thi« month is born, No gems save garnets should be worn; They will insure her constancy, Troe friendship and fidelity.” Flower, Saowdrop-Jewei, Garnet, When one decides to give a high tea it :<aould be indicated on the invitation cards thus: ‘High tea, 5 o'clock.” The menn thould be very simple as it is not sup- posed to interfere with the dinner later. The following will be found very suitable: Chicken salad with wafers; white cherries, or pineapple on glass saucers; tea cakes, or wargueiites; tea; any fovorite ciyetalized trois or ginger; stipped dates, or turkish delights. Another simple high tea menu is: grape served hot, chicken salad, nut sandwiches, ioe cream moulded in the form of flowers or fruit, iced cakes, chocolate avd sweetmeats, ns suggested above. A pair of beautifully kept hands are oue of the surest marks of refinement and cul- ture aud will win the day wavy a time for the buisness women. If she can lay her baods upow the desk well-shaped aud per- fectly cared for, it is worth good money to er. There is something so preposs.ssing and Sluacet facinativg about a beautifully kept od. Aud the fasiidious woman of to-day can bave nice bauds, uo matter what her occou- pation may be. Eveu though she cooks, bakes and brews, she can bave pivk aud polished nails and swooth palms, She can sew and still have attractive fiugers. She can be her own manicuriss. The first thing to remember is that whether the skin be white or dark it must be smooth and firm, and she vails well- cared lor. She most remember that the wowan whose Lauds ate short and thick and whose uails look as if they bad been clipped with an ax has ill-breeding written all over. She must learn 1epose of the bands. Not to be always tigetting with something. To learn to lay her bands down in ber lap aud keep them quiet. She should bave a pair of straight asd sharp steel scissors, a sharp, slender and long nail file, a pair of clippers, a bunck of orauge wood sticks, cut in differents shapes, pointed, curved, flat; a set of emery boards, a cleaver and two polishers, The instruments should be perfectly clean and they should lie together ou the dressing table. The fashionable nail now is long, cut to follow the shape of the finger and polished 80 highly that you can see your lace in it. The shape of the finger should be matoh- ed every time. A short, fas hand looks badly witha long, slender pointed uail. A long, slender finger is positively disfig- ured if the vail is cut blunt avd square. The first step in manicuring the wvails is to soak them for five minutes in warm, not bot water, in which a few drops of lemon juice or some good bleaching liquid bas been placed. With the orange etick loosen the skin around the hase of the vail. This shouid be doue every day or the flesh will certain. 17 creep up and cover the woons again. “ake your file while the nails are still soft and follow the lines of the fingers. You cau modify the shape a little su ihiat it is pretty. If you waut the fiuger to look a little wore tapering yon will wear the nail a srifle louger thau the outline of the finger. After filing the nails to the proper shape, the emery board should be used to smooth the rough edges. The vails are uow 1eady to be polished, aud a goul rose-colored cream is now rub- bed in. Let the cream remain a few sec- oud so it can be absorbed, and then with a polisher covered with pink vail powder polish thew until the surface of the pails shine satisfactorily. Alter this dip the fingers again in hot soapy water to rinee off the cream and pow- der. it will not destroy the polish, only intensify it. Dry the hands thoroughly, on a clean towel, and with a rather pointed end of the orange wood stick around which a lis- tle cotton bas been wrapped dipped in lem- on juice go under each vail, removing any powder or cream remaining. When this is finished give the nails a second vigorous rubbing with a clean bufl- er on which there is uo powder. Then Jot a little powder on the palm of the baud, which caunot be improved upon as a polisher, and rub for a few minutes. This complete manioming will require about bLalf an hour and should be dove regularly every week, aud the pails and hauds receive daily attention. White and delicately tinted kid gloves may be cleaned by anyove who will pro- ceed carefully and with some degree of judgment. Light gloves should be worn as often as possible before the first cleaning. If used carefully and the badly soiled places rub- bed lightly with soiled bread crumbs each time after wearing, the first cleaning can be prolonged quite a while, bust after light gloves bave once been cleaned they soil readily and should not beallowed to be- cotue 100 soiled before sabmitting them to another treatment. A very good preparation for cleaning gloves EE by mixing together equal quantities of finely powdered alum and pipe clay or fuller’s earth. Dipa piece of flannel in the mixture and rab the soiled parts with it, lightly at first so as to loosen the soil and not rub it in. Repeat the rubbings until the gloves are quite clean, then wipe witha of clean flannel. Bran should then be rab- bed all over the glove with French chalk and wiped off with a soft, clean cloth. Gloves should always be laid away in tissue paper, for it aids in preserving the elastioty of the kid and keeps the gloves in a good condition. Is a Ted 0 water when w the hair w eggs. Plenty of hot water should be used. The secret of making sponge cake is pot to beat the air all pore the eggs alter it is once beaten io. Beat the yolk to a mass of bubbles and the whites to a stiff paste; then out them into ench other with a few crosswise strokes of a fork and cut the eggs into cream and sugar. Tack tightly to your kitchen floor an old carpet. carpet is the best. Spread thickley pe this a thick paste of flour and water. When dry, add another thick lay- er. Then paint in some dark color. This can be scrubbed and will wear a lifetime. Subscribe for the WATCHMAN, FARM NOTES. —There is no longer any question that the earlier the calf is taken from its moth- er. the easier it will he to teach it to drink. ~—Milk regularly aud as quickly and clean as possible. Some cows will let their milk down better while eating; bumor them. —A great deal of hay is sent to market that is ful! of weeds. Sach Bay brings the lowest price, and also indicates thas the farmers who ship is are nos only careless, but also ignorant of the true methods of farming. —In order to make a success of raisi the calf on skim wilk, the condition of the wilk must be uviformly sweet. Nothing, perhaps, will contribute more to produce scours in calves than to feed swees milk one day and sour milk the nexs. = The best remedy for lice in poultry houses is to add a pound of concentrated lye toa wash boiler of svapsuds, and apply the «uds hot ou the walls, floors aud roofs of ihe hunses. All lice, with their nite, will thus be destroyed surely and quickly. —Nothing is better to prevent loss of ammonia fiom the mavure heap than soa suds. Keep the heap well saturated, and wakes holes in the wass, so thas the soap- suds can pass down to the bottom of the heap. Chemical action is facilitated, bus Suave are formations of salt that prevent 08%, =To build aud G11 au ice-house for home dairy use is a cheap aud simple task. Ice laid on edge will keep better than when packed ou its side. Use only as much eaw- dust, or other packing, as may be neces- gary, bat pack close, as a cironlation of air between the cakes of ice is more destructive than direct heat. — Rye will be the first green food in the spring. As the young rye is almost wholly composed of water it affords bus little nu- trition and is very laxative. When turn. ing stock on young rye it should be done as gradually as possible. Only a emall quantity of rye should be eaten at first, al- lowing cattle to graze more as the rye grows, —Start the colts into winter in good con- dition, and to do this let oats be a large port of their food ration. The first winter always hard on the colts, and they need plenty of food of the very bess quality to get them along nicely. Oats are not ex- peusive feed, and it can badly be cousid- ered economy to put a cols on corn and hay ration all the winter through, —Corn is low in price some years in cer- tain localities. It is possible that next season there way be but ball a crop, but the excess over that required for consump- tion may bring good prices. Farmers who have too much graiv on band, with prices ruling low, should endeavor to increase the number of animals on the farm in order to Shavervtie corn into something more sal- able. —The introduction of new varieties, bud- ding, aud the attacks of insects, as well as disease formerly vnknown, have cartailed the ueefuluess of the peach tree and con- fined it to certain localities. Budding or grafting the trees, whetherapple, peach or pear, is now but a reproduction of the orig. ul variety, and way introduce all ihe imperfections as well as the advantages of the variety, to every portion of the coun- ry. —One of the hess locations 11 a gaiden ig the strawberry hed that bas been uban- dened, ax stiawbeiry beds are usnally well waved and carefully cultisvared. while the shading of the soil hy ithe plauts con- duces to the formation of Lumus., An ex- cellent plan to treat the bed tui a guiden is to apply plenty of well-rotied wanure vow, it it can be dove, avd theu plow the hed in the spring, working the top roi! fine with a harrow and rake. —Is is claimed that when a cow giving a large quantity of milk bas been slaughter ed and every drop of milk gathered np, the largest amount ever found was about four quarts, hence milk is believed to be large- ly made during the time of milking, and the cow must be placed under favorable conditions at the time, if ove does not ges the regular quantity of milk. Do not think that the wifk is already there, and all you bave to do is io draw it out, says an aun- thority. Only a small portion is in thie etate; most of it is there ready to be chang- ed into milk, bus is is not milk, and you must have things favorabie to the cow to have this change. —Hog manure is usually produced from grain, and is quite rich, but it does not contain as much nitrogenous matter as manure from the horse; hence it is slow to heat, while the horse manure ferments too rapidly, and is aps to firefang. It is a good plan to mix pig and horse manure - er. This can be done without trouble if the horses are fed whole oats and pigs are allowed to root over the manure pile ae it is thrown from the stable. Where beddi is scarce the material whioh bas been in the stalls by horses may be used as bed- ding for pigs. Bat while it is so used the pigs will be very careful not to mix their own excrement with is, as they are really cleanly in their habits, —Bordeanx mixture is made thus : Copper sulphate (blue vitriol), 4 pounds; quick lime, 4 pounds; water, to make 50 gallons. Use a tight barrel, such as for coal oil. Dissolve the copper in hot water, if wanted for immediate use, or place it in an old ganoy sack and suspend it in the barrel, two-thirds fall of water, until it is all dissolved. In another vessel slake the lime, add water until is is of the consist. ency of milk, and when cool pour it into e copper solution, using a sieve to re. move © pli material. Stir this mix- ture and fill the barrel with water; is is then ready for use. For plants with tender foliage one-half the amount of copper and lime should be used. ~The soil will dry very rapidly and to a great depth, if allowed to get hard and com- pact. is but a small space lefs for air io solid soils, and from this fact they become hot and dry to a great depth in summer, while if air is present, as it is in loose soils {boing such a poor conductor of heat), it will allow only a small portion of oil to become hot, which soon cools at nighs and is filled with a copious dew, vot only retaining the moisture already in the soil, but also adding to it at a season when mois- ture is especially desirable. Newly-set trees are always benefited by cultivation, because all their roots are surface roots and cannot thrive in a hot, dry, Sim lnch soil, hence the necessity of summer suiface calti- vation of newly-set trees. ———Mother (who has been asked to sug. geet a game for a rainy afternoon )—Why don’t you pretend yon are me ? And George can be daddy. Then you might play at housekeeping. Daughter—Buat, mother, we've quarreled once already.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers