Bellefonte, Pa., September 27, 1907.
STATD PAT.
If you're down on your luck
And your life runs awry;
If fate brings you up
With a discolored eye,
Stand pat!
If you're out in the thick
Of a smothering sea,
If there's nothing but holes
Where the stars ought to be,
Stand pat!
If Fortune skips out
Without leave or good by,
If the world take« your God-born
Truth fora lie,
Stand pat!
If the blackmailer strikes
With his venomous fang,
And you lift him to where
The morning stars sang,
stand pat!
If you're borne hack
In a desperate fight,
And it don’t seem to count
That you're eteroally right.
Stand pat!
If all that you hope for,
Every joy that you know,
If all that you love
Fades away like the snow,
Stand pat!
If the solid earth sinks
From under your feet,
And you've nothing to wear
And nothing to eat,
Stand pat!
If all that you rev'rence,
That seems most divine,
Turns turtle, goes down
Through the %illowy brine,
Stand pat!
If Death gets a blow
In under your guard,
And with sardonic leer,
Hands over his card,
Stand pat!
—Henry L. Turner Chicago Evening Post.
THE KEEPER OF A LIGHT.
His name was Samuel, and, like the son
of Havvah, he from bis infancy was dedi-
cated to the service of a temple. It was
not a tewple buils by mortal hands; God's
face shone upon it, aud its waters were
auayeq back aud forth by God’s compelling
Hie father, throwiog off wet oilskins to
beod over the baby on ite mother’s breast,
smiled at the grip of the little fingers
around his own bard ove, and said :
‘‘Hey, you's a fist will hold a tiller !”
His mother, luokiog iuto bis hard, shiny
little eyes, smiled, tuo, and said : “‘Aud
bis bright eyes—they’ll see far through
many a fog!’
Later, his father taught him many of the
simpier forms of service that she sea de-
wands of its followers, and his mother was
proud of both ber captains. Then came
the day when the temple exacted one more
sacrifice, and the father came home from
the Banks, grim and crippled. He was
able, in time, to hobble around,and through
some meaus was made the keeper of the
lighthouse on the Pointe; but be did not
linger over his charge, and the soo was left
to continue it.
They lived in the lighthouse alone—he
and his wother. Bat for ber querulous
fears he would bave auswered the call that
ached within him, to go down to the sea
in ships; as it was, his youth speedily aged
there on the lonely, wind swept Point.
Datiful son he was, hut the varsing emo-
tions of the sea and the care of his light
came to be his chief interests,
The lighthouse was s:uall and old fash-
ioned ; before the days of railroad and irol-
lagatd fast steam coasters many small ves.
sels had piled along the coast, and the
white lighthouse that marked the long,
rocky Point wae of great service ; but in
later years, when the hig vessels passed
farther out, away from the danger, it serv-
ed for little more than an old wmile-stone,
aud the Governments Lighthouse Board
recommended its disuse. To the dwellers
of the coast the suggestion meant much,
and their representative in the balls of
Government was called upon to use his in-
fluence that the old light might be kept
burniug. This he found a matter of no
very great difficulty ; his sea-going ocon-
stitnents bad no need of free Government
garden seeds, while those of a member of
the committee on lighthouse affairs were
farmers; a fair exchange was made—oer-
tain rich farmers got their free seeds, and
the lighthonse on the Point was left in the
care of Samuel.
Samuel and his mother were never lone-
ly ; bis natare grew to be more and wore
like bers, and r they watched the
sea and the clouds and the passing ships.
It was not antil after she died that Samuel
became aware of the great silence that lay
beyond the poundiog of the waves upon
the rocks, beyond the howling of the wind
around the lighthouse, and tbat created a |
void in his little sitting-room which noth- |
ing he could do seemed to fill. The winter
months left upon bim the touch of so
many years ; he aged rapidly. He was
large of frame, and possessed of that gen.
tle hesitancy of manner that so many large
men bave, and, withal, of the handiness of
the born sailor. His mother had been a
legs without knees, and the women bad
skirts whose simplicity was modeled on the
unadorned garments of bis mother. The
women all wore their bair in koobs, and
the men had olosely hair or wore
little round hats of she Shalio type.
Samuel did his carving io the evenings,
after the light was lis the supper things
neatly put away. He was apt to hurry bis
sopper on Friday, for that was the night
when be set bread to rise. He kept his
sharp jack-knife aud his bis of wood on
the highest shelf of the cuphoard ; be
wonld bring them out and put them in his
chair, for his mother did not like the box
set on the table-cloth; then he would go to
the little shed outside the kitohen door
and bring in a large round wash-tab, into
which he whittled, for his mother did not
like to have the bits of wood go over the
floor, even though Samuel would bave
gathered them all up. The tub was car-
ried hack and forth every night ; but Sam-
uel’s pleasure in his work more than re-
paid his trouble in getting ready for is. It
was bis game of solitaire—and it always
“came ous.”
His salary as keeper had always been
held by his mother, and she bad saved a
good bit of is, fearing always that some
day she lighthouse mighs cease to be theirs.
She had never allowed herself any luxaries,
aod Samuel scarcely koew that luxuries
existéd; but there were two things which
he longed for greatly : one, that be might
whittle without the tab, let bis chips and
shavings gn over the floor or any where, that
bis long legs might stretch themselves com-
fortably ont in front of him, instead of
hending themeelves around the sides of the
large tah, as they had to do; the other was
that he might possess a pains hox. He had
once seen an artist at work oo the rocks,
and bad watched him laying on formless
color which grew into vivid life on the
canvas ; and there was a wooden paint-box
in a shop on Greenwich Stieet of which he
often dreamed : if he might only buy that,
he could give the very tints of life to his
little men and women. After his mother’s
death it occurred to him that be could have
both his withes ; and so, one night after
supper, be sas himsell down to whittle on
the carpet; bat his hand was awkward and
shaky that night and the night after, and
on the third night he brought in the tub
again as before. The paint-box he booght;
he bad never spoken of that to bis mother,
and so she had not forbidden it, and there
seemed no great disloyalty in buying it.
Thereafter he found great joy in coloring
his figures, although for a long time the
problems of green and purple absorbed
him ; hus hefore the second winter passed
bis wanikins bloomed in every color of the
rainbow.
It wae during tbe second sammer of his
loneliness that She came. Augels have a
way of taking os unawares, when they
come at all, and she came without farther
warning tbau the glint of sunlight on a
pair of vats. The young man who rowed
belped ber { om the boat, and lazily said
that he would stay outside while she ex-
plored the lighthouse. At thas time Sam
uel was fifty-three, and she bad just tarn-
ed swenty ; Samuel was worn with weather
and looked older than his years, and she
was lovely with the glamour of youth, and
with the grace and sweetness that youth
alone can not give.
She koooked at the open door of the
kitchen, and smiled at Samuel in a simple,
friendly way. For the first time in all his
life be stood face to face and alone with a
young and beautiful woman. There was a
child-like quality in her manner of making
acquaintauce which at once disarmed his
«hyness, and before they reached the level
of she light they were talking like old
friends. He showed her how he took out
the big lenses to clean them, aud she an-
derstood and voiced his pride in their
brightness. As they looked out of the win-
dow across the calm sea, she spoke of the
feeling that she had when the sea was not
calm,aud when the light—his light—shone
through the miss like a pale red reflection,
warniug ships off the Point. Then he told
her some of the things the sea aud sky said
to nim, and he koew that they said she
same things to her. They stood by the
window for a while in silence ; when peo-
ple can be silent together they must be
friends, indeed.
Later she came down into the kitchen
again,and said that it was the neatest place
she had ever seen. He told her about bis
housekeeping, even to the washing ou Mon-
day and baking on Saturday ; she listened
with she cordial interest of one village
housekeeper toward aovother, without a
smile, ing questions that were sensible,
not carious, and even making a suggestion
or two. She sat in bis mother’s rooking-
chair, and he brought out cake and pie ;
she chose a piece of the pie, and he said he
prelested that, too.
His carvings interested ber immensely ;
she beld every one, and she showed bim a
pew way to paint baiz: There was vever
a laugh in her eyes, nor in ber heart, at
the big man’s simplicity ; instead, there
stirred within her that motherly tender-
| ness which the most immature of women
can feel toward a helpless man. In some
dim way she realized that the keeper was
talking with her more freely thao was his
wont, that she was making a bright place
in a life that was being lived out in mono-
tone. Before she left he bad sold her about
his father, about his mother, about bis
lonely years; and she, balf-wusing, found
somewhere the right words to say.
He never forgot the picture she made, in
the high-backed rocker beside the window,
looking over the row of his little men and
women out to sea. Something of the light
without mingled with the light that shone
al in her face; it lit a depth of the
man’s heart into which no ray bad pene
careful honsekeeper, and Samuel did his | trated bel
best to keep the little place ae she would
bave had it. He did pot sink into the
usual slovenliness of nnaided man. He
washed on Monday and ironed on Tues.
day ; be rowed to the village on Thurs-
days, when the weather permitted, and be
baked on Saturday. He never went to
church, but be knelt beside his bed ev
night, and said the vimple ‘Now I lay me,”
which his mother had tanght him many
years before; and, strange to say, he bad
never left off the prayer of blessing for
father and mother—his verse always ended
with the childish ‘‘God bless pa and ma,
and bring pa safe back home.”
In the summer visitors came occasional.
ly, but hie mother bad always played the
part of guide, and Samuel was apubizibgl)
shy hefore shem. Nevertheless, he lik
to have them come, expeginily the children;
but the Point seemed emptier than ever
when they left. The children pleased him
most hecause they always noticed the little
figures he whittled ; there were rows of
these little forms on the mantel of the
kitchen, which served as parlor and sitting
room too, and still more rows on the win:
dow-sills. The creative instinet of the big
man-creature somehow found expression in
carving crude listle fignres of wood ; they
were his ulapring; and to his imagination
they each distinot personalities. Asa
master of fact, they were all pretty much
alike—the little men bad straight little
ore.
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘‘it most be
dreadful to have lost so much. But—bhut,
I think, I’d be willing to face dan-
rs, loneliness, everything,for what I love,
fost as you have for your mother and fath-
er and the sea—the sea and the Reople on
a thing to keep a light !"’
it! I is
Samuel flashed ; it had never so pre-
sented isself to him before, but he knew at
Yuge that she us fiw, that it was a great
to keep a | 8
She went on—and who can tell from
what height the thought came to her?
“You serve what yon love best, don’t you ?
Having lost it doesn’t really matter, when
you can keep on loving! I don’t think
that to have a thing means nearly as mach
as to love it.”
Ab, blessed, indeed, are the pure in
heart, to whom the face of God is shown !
Before she left she asked him for one of
his carviogs—a little man in a bright blue
and brighter green trousers, whose
et
Jocks hoots were surely blacker than avy | pol
other hoota in the world, whose Bobby
Sbafto bat set on his head with the jannt-
iest air imaginable, and whose little arms
tirelessly held out a pair of diminutive
oars, which swirled around when the wind
blew opon him. That was the one she
held longest, and finaliy asked him to give
her. Samuel flushed with the happiness
of the artist over his first bit of apprecia-
tion; people had, indeed, offered to buy
his figures, but no
asked one as a gifs!
she would wait, he
i
|
i
ed them out of sight.
She bad heen on the Point perhaps an
bour, and his world was a new place. That
afternoon he was filled with excitement ;
he went over every word they bad spoken,
touched every place where her hand had
rested, recalled every look and taro of her
face and figure; for the first time since his
mother died he did no whistling at night.
He climbed the stairs again and again to
see if the light was burning ; he walked to
the edge of the rock< snd stood while the
salt spray dashed into his face. He was
moved almost to sickness by the passing of
a shy ; ita lights beokoned him, beckoned
him from this ledge of rock where he had
neither wile nor child, father nor mother,
friend nor dog to keep him company. For
days he was by a miserable rest.
lessness which he had never known before;
then, coming in one afternoon in time to
light the lamps overhead, he staggered in
the doorway. There was his mother’s
chair. She sat there, She, and he al.
most believed that she was sitting there
now, and that he heard again the words :
‘‘It doesn’t really matter. when you can
keep on loving ! [ don’s think that to
have a thing means nearly as mach as to
love is I"
He took a step within the room, and
laughed a listle.
‘‘] guess you're #till here, anyways—
ain’t you ?"’
He flushed at the sound of his words,
but ovee having broken the silence he
tween himself and his memory of her, the
rest was easy. Day hy day he hecame
more accustomed to her seeing presence ;
day by day it became more real. He talked
"80 her as he worked, as he had never talked
toa living being. He did not know her
name, bat he called ber Beaaty ; that, in
his imagination, fivted her precisely.
For a while her presence went with him
everywhere, except to the village ; alter
having returned to her several times he
found such joy in it that he used to try to
lose her in the lighthouse, to come upon
her aronnd corners, as it were, for the mere
delight of finding her again. Then, when
her presence was there with him suddenly,
he would chuckle with delight.
*Foller me aroun’ jest like a little gal,
don’t ye ?”’ he fondly ask.
He was sare she offered to help him with
his work, bat the manifest difficulty of her
doing so did not appear, because he always
at once refosed.
“Now you koow I conldn’t let yoa wile
your pretty little white bands with this
here kerosene, could I?”
‘“An’ parin’ potatoes—why you'd cut
yourself !"’ So his vision did not insist on
sharing his labors, which was just as well ;
and he bad all the joy of serving her.
In she autumn some one sent to the
lighthouse a bundle of old Sunday papers
and magazines, and on Sundays Samuel
Inoked them over ; he never whittled op
Saudays. Oneday he came upon a pi
sure which made his beart leap, and be cnt
it out and later madea frame for it, and
set it on his mantel-sbelf in frons of the
tall clock. It was the piotore ofa young
woman dressed in the white shirt of a boy,
a fairy boy, who—thoagh Samuel koew it
not—was given to flying from mantel
shelves and out through windows ; her
hair was brushed boy-fashion, and her face
wore a wistful, whimsical little smile. [t
was not her face, but it resembied her ;
the eyes, especially, were eyes that saw
such visions as she saw, and be remember-
ed that over her face, too, there had passed
at times Saray that one boar joss such a
whimsical smile.
Alter she picture was framed and set on
the mantel, Beauty bad a way of staying
more in the kitchen, aod she seemed even
more real thao before. While he whittled
in the evenings Samuel used to talk to her,
and look ap to catch the sidelong, upward
glance of the face in the picture. He often
asked her opinion of the figure he was carv-
ing, and on which he was spending his at-
most care avd skill. This little man was
taller by at least eight inches than any
other he had made ; his features were
more marked, and bis legs less like seo-
tions of stove-pipe. His little coat was
decorated with minute carvings of- pockets
and buttons and even of seams, and his hat
the crowning achievement—was carefully
sive iD imitation of straw. ben 2
was Bally paseid uben ug complete, as far
as knife could complete him, he was polish-
ed and seasoned again, and then painted.
He stood on the mantel for three months,
waiting aotil July should bring ber back
to the shore.
Samuel looked forward with no misgiv-
ing to his call upon her, and the presenta-
tion of his gift. It was impossible that ehe
should, in ber living presence, differ at all
from what she was in his imagining. When
the spring came be began his preparations.
Looking at her ohair heside the window
one day. he had an inspiration which took
bim to the village the next morning, al-
though it was not Thursday. He broaght
home a parcel which he undid on the table,
chuckling with delight.
“Guess what I t, Beauty ?’’ he
asked. He proudly held upa length of
some white stoff, printed over with gaily
hued flowers. ‘‘Look at that, now ! Ain't
it fis for a queen? That's jest why I
brought it, Beauty ! It’s winder-curtains !"’
It did indeed, become window-cu
after many days and nights of toil. His
fingers the needle and thread
very clumsily. The stitches were not of
even | and distance, but the Siig
they kept out part of the light. She liked
Shem, bowever, and that was the main
ing.
Another day be brought home a fine che-
nile tablecover, and again some flowering
gists ; ber by the window should
made fit for
made to shine. The day that he had set
for his visit came at last, and the sun shone
with a pleasantly tem radiance. He
cured is on the bow seat of his ; often
ae he rowed he looked over his der $0
make sure thatit had not blown away.
But the manikin was as well behaved as
the weather, and Samuel came in safety to
the wharf in front of the hotel. He made
and stepped to the wharf.
gay after-
Samuel looked A to
t walked directly into
man behind a
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£
:
288
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F233
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; although her
with him ali through the year,
knew well the turn of her head and
of ber eyes and the tone of ber
did not know he: name.
Some one whom he took for a tall, slen-
down the stairs.
paused for a mo-
went, then came more quickly down and
toward bim. He koew her by her smile—
she looked up at him with the sweet, wist-
ful look of the picture, and smiled a little
one-sidedly.
“I’ve been expecting you,’’ she said. It
sounded very much like the things Beaoty
always said when she came hack from town.
Sle did not kuow his name either, but she
led him at once toa place where they
FEE
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g
could talk. He gave her the manikin, and |
she noticed at once that the colors were
different from those of his old paint box.
“Oh,” she said, ‘‘the old paints would
have done! Bat I like these better.”
Samuel laughed ; yes, She was Beauty,
nos different in word or look. Several
times girls and young men came to take
her away, but she always shook her head ; |
not once did Samuel doubt thas she would |
rather stay with him thao go with them —
which was, indeed, quite troe.
wanted him to stay to tea, then remember-
ed the lights. She walked beside him over
the grass to the wharf : her skirts made a
faint swishing song that reminded him of
the lapping of little waves on acalm day,
and the color of her dress was like the
purply gray of a hazy mornirg.
She watched him auntie his hoat, saying :
“Oh, can’t I help you ? Please let me !"’
Samuel laughed spa her ; it was pre
cisely the question She had asked, daring
the winter, a hundred times.
‘I couldn’t let you sile your pretty lit-
tle white hands for me,’’ he replied.
He paused in the door of the kitoben,
perhaps a little anxionely ; but there She
was. There, in the cbair by she brighe
window-curtaina. She rose to grees him, to
say : ‘I've heen expeoting you,’’ to smile
in her whimsical way, to look up at him
with her sweet, sidelong glance. Only
pow her dress was long and soft, and of
an indescribable color, like the mists of the
sea.
As he mounted the steps to the lamps
overhead he laughed a little to himself.
As if it were possible that She bad been left
behind, there at the hotel !| She was here,
in the lighthouse, standing beside him
even as be looked out of the window at the
star that was just beginning to glow above
the sunset,
He torned, just before he went down, to
look toward the shore; in the distance the
lights of the hotel swinkled like tiny fire-
flies. Beside him was his own lighs, the |
light that shone over the rocks out to sea.
He went down the stairs, bappily con-
tent, and set abont getting supper. When
be sat down at last to his whittling be
looked up at the pictare and said :
**As if I could let her sile her little
o- | hands for we !"’—By Edith Baroard, in
Collier's.
First Salphur Matches.
In these days of rapid progress it does
not take long to wake an appliance old-
fashioned and out of date, says the Youth's
Companion. Not more than 70 years
the match was considered an innovation
of a daring and dangerous sype. The con-
servation still soraped away with his steel
and flint, bolding she sulphur dipped stick
in fear and trembling.
One Robert Gibbe tells the story of the
first match he ever saw. A sochoollellow
who had visited London hroaght back with
him, besides his stories of that wonderful
town, a hox of the newly invented match.
es. He exhibited them to his wondering
mates and, as a great favor, presented one
to Gibta. The boy took his prize home,
stuck it in the chimneypiece and gleefully
watched the surprise of his mother.
Now you may throw away the tender
box, be said.
No such a thing, responded the prudent
woman. Matches which light themselves
will find vo place here. Why, some night
we might be burned in our beds! Give me
the tender box.
A Salem, Mass., newspaper of June,
1836, speaks approvingly of one of the in-
habitants of its town.
“Notwithstanding the convenience of
these dangerous little articles which are in
almost everybody’s hands, but which, with
all their charms, bid fair to prove a heavy
curse on the community, we learn there is
one man in Salem, a respectable trades-
man who keeps a store where we should
generally expect to find such things, but
who has vever sold them or allowed them
to be used on his premises. He sticks to
the fling, steel and tinder; be shows bis
wisdom in so doing. How many more
oan say as much?”
Conundrums,
Why should a fisherman be very wealthy ?
Because his is all nes profis.
Why is your eye like a man being flog-
ged? It is under the lash.
How do you account for the water in a
watermelon ? By recalling that it was
planted in the spring.
Why is a field of
older than yourself ?
your ago (pasturage).
How many make a million? Very few.
What ie the difference between an In-
dian and an Irishman? Ove smokes the
pipe of peace and the other smokes a piece
of pipe.
Why arecats like wvnskilled surgeons ?
Because they mew-till-late and destroy pa-
tients (patience).
When may a chair be said to dislike you?
When it can’t bear you.
What should youn do to it? Cane is.
Why is a proud girl likea music box ?
Be Tul a.
Eyesight tests for chauffenrs are being
agitated for in Germany. movement
has the support of medical practitioners
and Government officials, who point out
that snch tests are compulsory for railway
men, while motor car drivers are given cer-
tificates after merely proving their ability
$0, 3340} plate the mechanism of an auto-
le, without inquiry as to whether
ors-sighted
like a person
use it is past
they may not besh or color-
blind.
——Graft often goes about disguised as
a business opportunity.
se——
Ba
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dil
She even |
ago | mings.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
The most important part of our environment
we really carry within us, —Exchange.
If | should name the greatest danger of child.
hood | would unhesitatingly say, Overfeeding.
More babies are drowned ip milk tnan wilors in
salt water.—Dr, Oswald.
Suggestions for Stout Women. —First
and most important is the question of
corset. The woman who is stout makes
the greatest mistake when she attempts
economy in this particular. A poor corset
is a moss expensive luxury. It not only
spoils the a) of the stous woman,
hut it makes the fitting of ber clothes a
serious problem.
The stout woman can make uo greater
mistake than 10 try and deceive bersell by
wearing a close, tighs-fisting corset in
hopes thas it will wake her appear slender.
The effect ie diwssinectly the contrary. A
well made, comf.rtable corset, fitted and
especially adapted to ber personal require-
ment*, will make her appear much more
slender.
The stout woman should avoid plain,
tighr fitting blonses. They serve tw em-
phasiz= ber stontness. The round and
belted waists ate the most trying ones she
CAL Wear.
—In wearing shirtwaists, the small
| shoulder yoke in front, which is fashiona-
| ble this season, is ove of the best adapta-
tons, as it make: the shirtwaist fic far
| better across the shoulders, and gives an
opportanity for some folvess in the front
breadshs across the bast, where it i# need-
ed, and where any tightness or strain is so
ugly.
The back yoke for the stont woman is a
serions mistake. It has a tendency to
shorten the waist line. and add breadth
across the shoulders. A few pleats in the
center from the collar to the bei live is
the hest way of fiuishing the back. This
gives long, straight lines as well as flat-
ness,
A waist with a round yoke is apt to be
uvhecoming to she stont woman. Her
care must he, as far as possible, to acquire
straight lines and to simplify by divers
| ways any style of trimming that threatens
| to make ber appear short-waisted.
All coats and jackets for the stout wom-
| an should end below she waist line. The
| three-quarter coat is not to be advised, as
it detracts from her apparent height; con-
| sequently it should not be worn by the
| short, stout woman.
i
The long, balf-fitting coat is excellent,
| and lends grace to the figure. The jacket
| with straight fronts, ending several inches
| below the waist line, and made either in
| double-breasted style or with a fly front,
| is one of the best models for the stont
woman to follow.
| The stout woman should beware of over-
trimmed skirts and not attempt any elabo-
| rate styles in tbat direction. The skirt
| trimmed in panel fashion is becoming.
{ The panels may be of contrasting material,
| or the panel effect may be simulated by
| an arrangement of stitched bands of silk
| or braid.
The choice of materials is not important.
Plaids are absolutely forbidden, except in
Lana) doses, when utilized as waist trim-
Stripes should also be used with
discretion. They bave a tendency to make
the stout woman appear conspicuous.
Black and darker shades are the best
colors for the stout woman. Of course, it
does not follow that no color should be
vsed in brightening up and relieving the
monotony of a dark color.
Remember that theset of the shoulder
depends on how the seams are put to-
gether.
The back portion of the lining should be
held toward you, easing it a mere trifle on
the front as youn sew.
Skirts should be kept on the sewing
table as much as possible, and not handled
any more than is absolutely necessary.
e pleats in skirts must be ecarefally
basted so that they will not pull out of
lace.
P First of all, mark with tailor’s chalk, or
take a long basting thread, while the pas-
tern is still on the material, and barely
catch the material throngh the perfora-
tions, taking tiny stitches in the material
and long ones over the pattern.
When al! pleats are marked the threads
should be clipped, the pattern removed,
and there is a distinct line marking the
pleats acourately.
Remember, too, that a pleat that is to
be stitched only ball way down must be
basted the entire length so thas it may be
pressed properly.
CRAB APPLE JELLY.—Wash and wipe
tbe apples, cut in half and place in crock
on the back of tke stove or the oven, set.
ting in another vessel of bot water if there
is danger of too great heat. When the
apples are soft in jelly bag to drain
over nighs. easure this juice and allow
one pint of sugar to one of nice. Boil
and skim the jnice ten minutes before ad-
ding the heated sugar. Stir till dissolved,
then boil eight or ten minutes. This
makes a very tart jelly. Mint may be
aed fo flavor this to serve with mutton or
lamb.
CRAB APPLE AND WILD GRAPE JELLY.
—Simmer together with just enough water
to prevent hurning, wild grapes, washed
stemmed, and one-third the quantity
of crab apples cut in pieces. Crush with
a wooden spoon, cook about two hours,
then turn into a jelly bag and drain over
night without squeezing. Measure the
juice in the morning, heat and skim care.
fally, allowing a pint of heated sugar to
each pint of juice, and proceed as with
other jellies.
APPLE JAM.—Pare, core, and weigh tars
apples, allowing for four pounds of apples,
four pounds of brown sugar. Chop apples,
meantime making a syrup of the sugar
with as little water as can be used; add up-
ples, and grated peel of four lemons, and a
listle ginger root. Simmer till the frais
pulp ie travsincens aod golden in color,
when place in small jars. Loaf sugar may
be need, the lemons and ginger omitted,
and the pulp cooked longer.
For a simple hed-room table isa denim
square edged with white fringe.
' —You can’t cut out pear blight to quick
y.
—Barn the tent caterpillars with a
toreh.
—1f you cannot see a gain in the pigs
every week, investigate matters. Some-
thing ix wrong. You can just see a healthy
pig grow,
~—There is a good t in poultry, yet
itis someshing more # to go out and
pick np the dollars. The hen will do her
pars if the owner does his.
— Keep plenty of fresh clean water in
the poultry yards so the fowls can have
plenty of it They ueed it these hot days.
Provide for best health in all stock.
—Hare a collar that fits she horse and
von will prevent much of the sore shoul-
der distress, Prevention is cheaper than
cure. It is cruel to bave sores ou horses.
~The attempt to raise a call by hand is
Dot an easy matter, as it i» subject to
scours, which soon ends ita life if the dis-
vase is vot cured. If she call is provided
with milk fresh from the cow and receives
it in clean vessels much of the difficulty
may be averted. Sour milk is not fis for
any young animals.
—S8heep will not thrive on all kinds of
soil. Some breeds are very active and
thrive ouly in large flocks, but the large
mutton breeds require good pastorage and
will not give satisfactory resalte i com-
pelled to work over a large area for all
they get. All sheep should bave dry soils,
Foot ros will occur in a flock that is kept
constantly oo wes land.
—Where meadows show indications of
failing, give an application of manure this
winter, leaving it on the surface. In the
spring apply 50 pounds of nitrate of soda,
100 pounds of sulphate of potash and 200
pounds acidulated phosphate rock. This
should be done in April, the bare places to
be seeded with seeds of a variety of grass
which makes considerable growth.
—Do not spread gas lime directly on
your land. [It ia destructive to plant life
unless medified hy atmospheric influences.
It should first he worked into composts
with old turf, wood marl or muck. A mass
of green vegetable matter, such as weeds,
may be used with it as composts, and it
should not be spread until the whole heap
bas been reduced to a fine condition.
~—Parsnips are best sowed in mounds in
the open air. Lay them on boards slight]
raised ahove danger from water, cover wit
straw alter heaping them and then cover
the straw with earth well pressed to the
straw. Leave a wisp in the top to allow
gasses to escape. ey are excellent in
winter for the table and for stock, and are
usually but slightly injured by frost.
—Kiln-dried sand is recommended as a
material in which to pack apples in winter.
Experiments have shown that beets, car-
rots and parsnips can also be conveniently
kept in bios in the barn, when the spaces
ave filled with perfectly dry sand. The
point to observe is to keep the roots cool,
bus to avoid freezing. The dry sand al-
lows the roots to be taken out without
8} iBeulty, and at any time when it is desir-
able.
—Ground intended for onions should be
plowed as early as the weather will permit,
as the onion orop is the fires to go in. One
method of producing onions is to sow the
seed in hotheds and tran<plant the small
bulbs later. The seeds may he sown in
the hotbeds even in January or February.
By thus growing them there ie a saving of
time and less difficulty with weeds, If
preferred the onion sete may he procured
of seedsmen.
— A domfortable house, surrounded with
well-kept lawn, shrubs and flowers, and a
kitchen garden with ahnndance of vege-
tables and small fruits, ar essential for
economical and comfortable living. Such
surroundings tone up the land. stimulate
a man’s ambition, make him enjoy and ap-
reciate his home, inspire him wish zest in
is business and help him to secure success.
The influence and importance of such sur-
roundings are too little considered and ap-
preciated.
—Almost every summer, no matter what
droughts may prevail, enough moisture
falls during the growing season to make
orope if it were Jroperly saved. The way
to do this is by frequent cultivation. Sum-
mer rains are often very slight,
down often only two or three es of the
surface even on tilled land. If this is left
alone the moisture soon eva and
does little good. If the oultivator is run
below the depth that the rainfall has
reached, the evaporation is checked. What
is quite as important, the moving of soil
while it is moist, if not wet, helps greatly
to put ite latent fertility in solable condi-
tion.
—I¢ bas been demonstrated by repeated
tests that a cheaper mode of feeding than
that of fattening with corn can be praotio-
ed with a varied diet. It is near the time
when the hogs will be penned in vrder to
make them as fat as possible. They should
be given plenty of corn, but the animal
requires food for other purposes than for
fat, and unless the ration is balanced in a
manner to provide all its wauts the hog
will not make that gain in weight thatis
would if fed judiciously. A mess of chop-
ped bay (steamed ), potatoes, turnips, bran
or skim milk will add 50 per cent. to the
growth and weight of the acimal by pro-
moting health and thrift.
—If the method of testing cows could be
made in a different manner, and, instead
of recording the fact that some particolar
cow produced a large amount of batter per
week, the test demonstrated the amount
of butter produced according to a given
proportion of food consumed, it would then
be of no consequence whether a cow pro-
duced 10 pounds or 20 pounds of butter
per week, provided she gave a large t
on the amount of food, capital and r
required for the production of the butter
credited to her, whether ber Prodtuceion be
greas or little, and, instead of tracing pedi-
rees to cows of lage records, let the
candation be laid upon cows that are
capable of yielding the greatest quantity
at the least possible cost. A cow that is
capable of assimilating a large quantity of
food is a valuable one, but the guaantity
should be in proportion to the animal, and
uotil folly informed regarding the true
merits of the cow regarding her value
(leaving out the question of she ‘‘fancy’
or fictitious estimate) to the farmer as a
machine for converting one kind of pro-
duet into another, the tests are only mat-
ters of competition for notoriety,and afford
no light on the actual merits of the ani-
mals for the purpose of the dairy.
Iron, itis stated, may be cop by
dipping it into melted copper whi
of which is protected hy a welted layer ot
lite and bosphasto acid, the articles
— treated hig eated to the same tem-
wetting
peratnre a8 the melted copper.