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.