"Bellefonte, Pa., October 4, 1907. A ———— THE ROAD TO GRUMBLETOWN. "Tis quite a safe and easy road That leads to Grumbletown, And those who wish can always find A chance to journey down. “Tis customary for the trip To chovse a rainy day— When weather's fine one’s not so apt To care to go that way. Just keep down Fretful Lane until You come to Sulky Stile, Where travelers often like to rest In silence for a while. And then cross over Pouting Bridge, Where Don't Care Brook flows dowa, And just a listie way beyond You come to Grumbletown, From what | learn, this Grumbletown Is not a pleasant place ; One never hears a cheerful werd, Or sees a smiling face. The children there are badly spoiled And sure to fret and tease, And all the grown-up people, too, Seem cross and hard wo please, The weather rarely is just right In this peculiar spot ; “Tis either raining all the time, ; Or eise 100 cold or hot. The books are stupid as can be; The games are dull and old ; There's nothing new and nothing nice In Grumbletown, I'm told. And so I've taken paina, my dears, The easiest road to show, That you may all be very sure You never, never go! Exchange, A) EPHESUS, Nefore Dr. Winthrop bas reached three- score he knew thas the re.t was to be but labor and sorrow. At first he made flaster- ed and restless plans to go to Montreal or New York,and find ous certainly from some other physician who could judge imperson- ally, but his purse was less than light. And, after all, be knew—of coarse he did. Had, be not accompanied old Madame Moore an! young Heory Sturgis along that road? Milestone after milestone, he knew it, and how there was no sarning back. So, after a more careful scrutiny of his bank- book than he bad given it for many vears, be withdrew, as it were, just out of the tiens’s hearing, aod baviog sobdivided imself into three, patient, fawily physi- cian, and consulting physician, impartially considered the case of a certain old army surgeon who had somehow taken a mortal hart in his liver, and must be long in dy- ing. The subliminal third self thus con- salted, shook bis head in she manner as- sumed by physicians, since the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, to indi- cate an adverse opinion. ‘‘Bus he won’s be the first that's bad to stand it,” quoth this phantom oracle; then, mercifully; ‘‘Of course, toward the last there's morphine—when it gete too bad.” It was already pretty bad at times. Dr. Winthrop looked wistfully at the small alominnm case of the hypodermic syringe on the desk before him. Bat the Counse- ior, intercepting the look, spoke with great sternness: ‘Be »ure the time has certainly come before you let him have that.” And Dr. Winthrop said: ‘I promise to be very sure.”’ One gives promises either to one’s sell or te another. Those given to oue’s sell are subject to inextinguishahle sophistries, and not to be relied upon in matters of moment. In makiog this promise, Dr. Winthrop fixed his eye~ rather wildly on a picture in an oval black-walnut frame above his eabi- net of instraments. It was a faded, smil- ing photograph,—a somewhat young and inexperienced face to play the part of Eikon in that grim and ous at-elbow little office, above so gray and worn a worshiper. Yet there may bave heen more strength in its invincible youth and ignorance than could have been afforded the little gentleman by some maturer idol. It is certain, as least, that he looked at it often and steadily dur- ing the next year or 80, when its uuwaver- ing smile upheld him minute by minute daring interminable evenings. “Perhaps it isn’t erough just to die,” seemed to be her argument. “‘Perbaps, by suffering, one gains—something or other— out of proportion to what one endures. I'd love to tell you abous it, but they won's let me.” A more tangled argument lay in the vil- lage people's need. He knew, without pride, what comfort and safe counsel were 10 be had of him. Sowe of the houses thas he daily passed were like tall Shite piloted by him to their aicherage through dangers that had sank many such. Theu there were the boys avd girls he had oshered into life, guided through teething and measles, and whose confidence be held so atterly that the town was not, like so many of its size, an ‘‘awful place to bring up children.” It is easy for young mariners to get a point or two ofl the course, and bring op in sorrowful “No Man's land.”’ And parents are apt to be fools. The meroy of the drug is insidious. It clouds one’s judgment. His eyes being proven clearer than most, he must keep them so. So the doctor gave some thought to Jim Bludsoe, and his manner of staying as the wheel among flames. There is i | in the feeling that one is in good company when beginning some lonesome, brave undertak- ing. He went through his morning paper for stories of heroism—engineers, ship cap- tains, firemen—and when among news of politics, Iain, nad society, he tod a paragraph e sors he was after, were easier through the dav; his would faintly imitate the old military car- riage, and anxious patients, who had be- gun to see thas something was wrong, would say: ‘‘You’re locking better to-day, Doctor.” Bat at last came a time when the invisi- ble counselor said, the matter onoe more referred so him; ‘“There's ing to do now hut to make bim as comfortable as ble.” The eyes of the pictare also smiled comsent, and it seemed agreed upon that the old army surgeon mighs now take his departure in honorable peace. He did this with greater composure be- cause of the arrival of Dr. Leonard, for whom be conceived such liking that with. in a month the new shingle was tacked be- low Dr. Winthrop's and the young man’s trunk stood in the upstairs bedroom which the invalid had given up, his pights as well as his days heing now mostly in a great upholstered chair by the fire- piace of the study adjoining the office. Having thos bestowed the mantle of Elijab, the Dootor also entrasted to young Elisha the last rites of his own case, and settled down to the now hriel business of dying with what ease and digoity he might. To piay solitaire, doze painlessly, and work fitfully at a travsiation of the second part of “‘Fanst'’—e task which be had long ago assigned to a bappier old age hao had fail eu to hie lot—these were now his ocoupa- tions; the chair, the reading table with ite gircle of light, and the fireplace, the scene of his activities. about the morphine, to the distress of Dr. Leonard, who decided that long and heroio ahstinence had induced a Quixotic hahis of thought. “Well, is isn’t as if my hearing the pain could help auybedy,’’ Dr. Winthrop would say, jostilying himself belore he reluctant. Iv relief. “You'd have given it toa patient long "” “Of course. But it’s too damoably easy for dootors "’ Yes when the fires factions glow of relief dwelt briefly in his poor nerves, the doubts would vanish for a while. “When I think what [ escape, it almost seems as if it made up for the evil it does.” By Christmas the village bad ratified Dr. Winthrop's choice of a successor. Those who had unwillingly, since his sickness, gone over to the venerahle b shist, Dr. Williams, or to young Cleighton, joy- fully brought back their pains and aches to the small brick honse where two sigos vow hung. They bad found safety and wisdom under that roof for many years. This new young man could bardly go far wrong, they reasoned,so long as the town’s High Priest still lived there to give him counsel. Moreover, the young Elisha was good to look upon, and had large measure of what the ladies enthusiastically called ‘“‘magnetism.’’ But this word bas so long been deprived of its meaning through over- use and mouthivg that it moss be defined at length if it is so be anderstood. By these things you may know those who have it: if an airless room becomes parified by sheir entering it; if, when you are afraid to die, something about them subtly con- viots you of cowardice; if, when you are in great distress of mind as well as body, doubt ing, whioh dark road-turning to take, every- thing cheerfully untangles while that cool, matter-of-fact touch is on your wrist. Just as Dr. Leonard held the old-time practice of Dr. Winthrop nicely in his palm, diphtheria broke out in the schools, like forest fire. It started, of oourse, iv Fraoce Hollaud. Any epidemic always began there, the people heing weak and inferior—degenerate, perhaps — certainly haviog rather a bard time of is, fires and last, for the children muss go to the facto- ries as soon as they learn the multiplica- sion table, and they marry, as often as not, boy and girl, before sixteen. In the Hollow was a primary school with seventy-five pupils, orowded three ina seat. It began with the littliest one of all who attended school for just a week, and spent most of her recesses in the young teacher's lap. Suddenly she came no more. When word was brought thatehe was dead, the teacher cried, right oefore all the pu- pila. The next day she did not come to school herself, but instead there ap a member of the board, with side whiskers aod eye-glasses, who, holdinga queer- smelling handkerchief hefore his face, brief- ly declared a vacation. ‘The teacher was the first patient Dr. Leonard lost after he put out his sign. Then followed two cases at the Academy on the Hill, and the town grew interested aod more ont of patience than ever with French Hollow, exhaling misfortune, and wickedness, and death upon them, from its bumble position at their feet. ‘‘It’s as bad as the city slums,” they said. Dr. Williams and Dr. Cleighton having been brought up in that region, partook of the town’s prejudice against ‘‘Cajans’™ in general, so when the plague let loose upon the Holiow in all its dreadfulness, their share of the work was performed in a rash- er perfunctory way. Perbaps it would be fairer to say that none of sheir Hill patients were negleoted. Bat, however that may be, it is certain that for the most part it was Dr. Leonard who went to aud fro io that poisonous and sorrowful Acadia. On the Hill there were nurses with caps, and aprons, and certifi- cates, but not in F Hollow. Oaly father Labelle, grim and ascetic, with bat listle lish to his teogue, and with fiery hatred of all things Anglo-Saxon, would fre quently come in as Dr. Leonard went out, and often took his turn at helping the hody as well as the soul. At first thie fierce little priest was euperciliously civil to the phy- sician, then be was baaghty and would not speak, but toward the end he softened and warmed as only such natures cau; and if souls are ever prayed into Heaven, shat of Dr. Leonard will not escape salvation. The limite of Dr. Winthrop’s world now admitted but little more thao his Zweiter Theil—his game of patience and his semi- waking sleep. No hint of any especial cause for anxiety in the world he was rap- idly leaving ever reached bim from Dr. Leonard ‘‘Everything going all right? he would ask now and then with his kind, withered smile, and half forget the question before the cheerfol answer came: “Firet rate, thank you.” But Mrs. Shampine, the housekeeper, knew, and kept a bot meal ready for serv- ing as any hour of the day or night. She had many relasives in the Hollow. The first distant tinkle of the aleigh-bells was a sigoal for heavy-footed haste in the kitoh- en. One bitter day, at the four o'clock twi- lighs, Dr. Leonard came in more wearil than usual, and, having nade hut sad wor of his smile of greeting to the invalid,stood before the fire in somber abstraction, hold- ing his stiff bands to the blaze, while Mrs. Shampine’s horry resounded th the house, Dr. Winthrop. looking drowsily up from hie cards, forgot for a minute the maneuvre which he was about to with the au ace. This and that to fit er in hie tired brain, until a thing that bad troubled him for a while that afternoon, and then bad faded into i uence with other troubles, returned with clamor. “Is there much sickness abous, Oscar?" he asked in his faded voice. “Some influenza just now.” He placed his ace and drew another card, but was not satisfied. “There was a faneral,’’ he said, ‘‘this afternoon.” Dr. Leonard gave him a quick, sidelong glance, tightened his mouth, and stared at the fire. Several cards fell softly into place. “Who is dead?’e : Dr. Leonard's foot touched a log, which relled noisily forward on the hearth and passed | d emanded all bis attention to keep it from burning the rug. When this was adjusted, there was much to do in broshing up the cinders. But Dr. Winthrop did not for- Still, his mind was not altogether at ease | soft “Who was is, Osoat?"’ answer came slowly — ““A liste girl—from the Hill.” “What little girl?" The old man’s voice hinted indignation. All the small undeveloped personalities of the town were as definite to bim as to their own parents--some of them more so. He never thought of them generically as Ygirle” or LL) “Letty Moore,”’ said Leonard at last, ly. Dr. Winthrop dropped his cards. His bead sunk or his chest, his whole body be- game collapsed and feeble even beyond its $. “Letty Moore! How is that possible ? Wasn't it yesterday she came in with her Christmas doll ?”’ ‘*No, Doctor, that was two weeks ago.” Then Dr. Winthrop must bave all the symptoms. He dragged them out, one by one. Dr. Leonard counld prevaricate a little if the necessity were great, bus the art of direot lying was forever beyond him. He gave up one bit of sruth after another, miserably hoping that the ohscared Frain might not be able to put them together and name the total. Bat all the dozing faonities were waking now, and focusing. After brief pondering the question came y. *‘Is it epidemio ?" “Is what epidemic ?"’ “Diphtheria, of course.’ “It’s nothing that we can’t handle.” Dr. Winth:op tremulously cast off the alghan that was wound ahout his knees like a cocoon, and grasped the arms of his chair. ‘*Help me up." He had risen before a hand could reach him, but after wavering an instant sank hack into Leonard’s arms. ‘‘Miracles,’’ he faaped, *‘are out of date.” ““But we've really got it in hand,” snoth- ed , sick at heart. ‘‘Cleighton does presty well, you know.”’ ““Cleighton !"’ “I never kuew before how mach I could | get through in a day. [It really is well covered, Doctor. Trust me.” “Oscar,” said the old man very earnest: ly, “‘vou muss learn now how to be a ma- chine. Youn must learn not to take it to beart when—they die. And Oscar—surely I don’t need to caution you to be careful about—not so—uo, there's no danger of that. But so many young men have wreck: ed themselves—overdrawn their accounts hopelessly. God help us doctors, with temptation always at our elbow!” At this bint, Leonard looked away with astrange, veiled expression, which if the Doctor had seen it might have made him suspect that his warning was not so un- necessary as he had hoped; but his eyelids bad dropped with pain and weariness. ‘‘I shall use the best judgment I have,” said Leouard rather harshly after a wo- ment’s silence. Mrs. Shampine's sleek black head ap- peared. ‘‘Soopay ready, M’sieu,’’ and Dr. Leonard hurried out. He wasgone hardly five minutes, yet when be returned he hardly seemed in such haste as the swifs disposal of his meal in- dicated, for he fell into meditation before the fire, his fur cap on his great-coat over his arm, remaining in that position so long that Dr. Winthrop looked up in perplexity. The drawn, miserable look had faded be- fore the influence of a good warm meal. His eyes were now olear and bouestly cheerful, his cheeks healthfully flushed, instead of pinched and purple with cold. It was wonderful. Dr. Winthrop thought— —-the reonperative power of yoush—and, as he bad done many times before, he ad- mired, with half shut, drowsy eyes, the fine lines of the jaw and forehead, the sell- reliant carriage of the shoulders, and the lean, capable fingers, lis up by the red glow of she fire. He was leavivg his peo- ple in good care, he thought contentedly, and while he dwelt upon this idea the dreams enfolded him with that tender mist which was uot sleep, bus just a strangeness falling over familiar things—a quiet in- vasion from the world behind the barrier— ghosts that came and smiled and softly vanished. Letty Moore sat down on the rug with her doll, ber feet straight out,and began to rebraid its fuzzy, yellow hair. The oldest ghost of all, his grandfather, in preposterous stock and shirt collar, ranged ap beside Dr. Leonard before the fire, standing with bis back to it, his fees wide apart, and his coat-tails spread to get the heat. Between these, the oldest and youngest, the air thickened with many others. How could they all find space— those young fellows in blue—some in gray ! They swarmed in by regiments. Through these there entered a gracious presence. Entered ? She was always there, but vos always visible, young and smiling, avd dressed iv the fashion of the sixties. Why did she look at him so intently—why did ber shadowy baud rest in shat motherly way on Dr. Leonard’s shoulder? She wanted to speak. Poor child, she often wanted to speak, but they would never les her. Leonard stirred, beginning to draw on his overcoat, and the room was oleared of visions as a pool is cleared of reflections by a pebble cast, though the kind, dead hand on the living shoulder persisted strangely after the vanishing of other unreal shiogs. But even when the coat was on the yonog doctor lingered, smiling as if there were some pleasant thought that he must finish before going back to his patients, Dr. Winthrop, waking wore and more fully, found himself woundering—even a little indignantly—at that spontaneous cheerfulness. e would have him cool and coorageous ; yet, was it natural to he— well—aimoss jolly, when little Letty Moore was bardly cold? Bus probably he bad found a letter as well as a dinner. Letters from the right girl could do almost any- thing for » man. Once they had been able to render even the grim aftermath of bat- tle lees dreadful. Not that Dr. Leonard bad ever admitted that there was a girl, but there always is one when a man is under thirty. ve from his pleasant ts, came over $0 arrange more conveniently the contrivancesabous the big obair. Then he went ous whistling. “I'll de back by midnight,” he called back. “Good-by I" The snow orunched and squeaked under his feet as he ran down the walk to the waiting sleigh. Mrs. Shampioe brought in a bowl of “Did the doctor eat a good supper #'’ ““Nossir.,”” Her face was exed. ‘Me, I cooked 'im a shicken, nice and hot. He jus’ tas’e "em and push ‘em away. But pretty soon ’e feel goed, ’e say. Guess ’e bad sopay somewheres else,” she hazarded with some resentment. ‘She was a nawfol good shicken, ber. Bat ’e don't eat nothing hardly at all these days.” “Were there letters today ?'’ *“Nossir ; jus’ a paper. Au idea came to Dr. Winthrop, slowly and heavily, It was so like the pain in iis coming that he mistook it at first for t. “You may go, thank youn,” he said to Mrs. Shampine. Then he put back, with- gk Ging $e apoosiul of beokl which, be He looked He took his bypodermic syringe oat of ite case and d it among the coals. “God help us all,’’ he whispered. At widpight Dr. Leonard came hack, heavy-eyed apd with dragging feet, to find she ee end, while oo the hearth Dr. Win- y in a moaning heap, grasping a ful of ashes and the broken hypoder- mie. Having quickly administered the de- layed preseription with an instrument from his own vest pocket, the young man held his patient in his arms until the breath came easily and the groaning ceased. The first words disma, ed him. * Oscar, I'm—not going to use that—any more." “What? ‘‘I can do what others have done.” Dr. Leonard looked sharply at the closed eyes and bit his lip. As lass, speaking with professional! cheerfulness, ‘‘Can’s al- low it, Doctor. You're my patient.” But the thing was too settled in Dr. Wiothrop’s own mind to allow of argu- ment. ‘‘It won't he long, you know." They were mlent for a while. The faint orackle of the lamp, whose oil was nearly spent ; the soft tonch of snowflakes on the window, and the irregular breathing of the two men, seemed loud in the room. Dr. Leonaid’s voice was low, almost timid, when be finally spoke : ‘‘What bas given you that notion, Doc- tor ?"’ The yellow hand sought the firm and healthy one, clasping it strongly. “You know." ” There was no reply. The pressure was not returned. *“I can’t stand for that, Oscar.” Dr. Leonard broke out in fretful argu- ment : “It’s only while this lasts. I—why,you don’t think I'd take morphia just for my- self ! But what right have I to forego any- | thing--anything that will make me strong- er—that will make just the difference be- tween pulling shem through and not pull ing them through ?"’ “It won't do.” “I've lost ten already. Ten in one week '' He turned his face away. “Ten !" repeated Dr. Winthrop sadly. Then he must know all the names. Bat when nine were told off, including Letty | Moore, Leonard stopped. The tenth name made difficulty in his throat. ‘“The tenth died an hour ago.’”” Then, after delay— ‘‘Roealie St. Pierre. I worked bard. I was fool enough to pray.’”’ ‘‘Perbaps such a presty face is safer out of French Hollow,” **I'd have taken her ont. ried ber.” The skeleton arm tightened about the young man’s shoulders caressingly. Leon- ard broke down. ““These Hill people sneer at everything down there,”” he stammered. ‘‘She was the whitest—she was—Oh ! I koow what she was—and I conldn’s save her. She cared, though. Labelle came between us with his orocifix and wafer, but she bad looked at me—"’ “Once I cared for some one who—went away Yet nos altogether away, I shink.”’ **You think that? You’ve been through it and you think shat?" “Yeu. " *‘I wish I could.” They talked on for a while in that strain, telling each other what the two dead wom- en had been like, groping at the obscurity whiob now bid them. At last, when Dr. Winthrop fels that the flicker of artificial strength was departing, he returned to the beginning of the conversation, knowing that this might be his last chance to argue that grave matter. “Oscar, remember that you are mot to give me morphia again.” ‘‘Bat why —why 2" ‘‘For two reasons. The first is that I've taken a notien I'd like to hold vp wy head, over there, among those who bore the worst aod died sober. That reason is suf- ficient in itself. The other is aleo suffi cient in itself. The going without it will be my share—and all that I'm capable of accomplishing—in this trouble.” ‘‘But if I bave to think of your endor- iog all that while I'm away, it will nse me up completely. It won't help.” “Yes, it will. You will think, *‘if he can do is, I can.” ‘‘It’s not a habis. I swear, it’s only dur- ing this crime. I should hope I could stop without that.” “Very likely.” how unlikely it was. in any case.” “‘But—do you want to make me worse than a murderer ? You've no right to force me to accept such a sacrifice. Pat yourself in my place.” ‘“That’s what I’ve been doing." “1 promise—Can’t you believe my word ?”’ Leonard flung away to walk ap and down the room, nervously twitching chairs out of his way, adjusting and readjustiog trifles—muttering stormily : “Look here. When I say I promise, I mean it.” ‘‘Sodo I,” said Dr. Winthrop, calmly. *‘T promised while you were out. I tried to break it, too—"’ he looked at the spoiled bypodermsio—*‘bus is held.” *‘Bus if I were as lost as you think me, you know perfectly well that such a sacri- fice wouldn’s have the slightest influence.” *‘I don’t think you lost. By and by— when Jon think is JG elatietiber I thought it a very small price to pay—then you will be able to judge whether it was the only price.” *‘But you miss the point. What, if it is dangerous—so long as it’s the only way te save those children ? You’d do it yourself.” “I might. Bas I won’t les you.” “‘Doctor, don’t do it. I simply couldn’t stand is to let youn.” “My promise is given. Dying people have a right to obedience when their minds are olear. Mine is very clear.” “I won't let yon. You wouldn't leta patient of yours do such a thing.” “‘Promise.’”” Dr. Winthrop moved with returning pain. At last, hut not because his will bad weakened, Dr. Leonard gave in. He yield- ed because of something strange, solemn and majestic shat entered the room and I'd bave mar- Dr. Winthrop koew “But I shall do it took possession of everything in it. It ‘ove that great pain and made noth- ing of death. It soot! and explained, but was not reducible to words. His own physical and mental distress slunk away ashamed. The gentle touch of snow on the window was as though dead fingers, growing impatient, were making signals. hen. Ounce be said wistfally : | “‘Oscar, don’s yon think that maybe—it might be sonight ?’ | And after some deliberation the young | doctor was able to say with a good con- | science : ‘I think it is quite possible.” With this possibility iu wind he drew | close to the great chair—aund so, in the | strong and cheerful fire-light, they spent the night. “It's not so bad.” Dr. Winthrop would | sometimes #»ay, his forebead clammy with the s « eat of she strugele. ‘‘Nothing that I can’t endure.” As the giant hours, called small, drag. ged on, Dr. Leonard hecame aware that his youth had departed from him forever. But sowething better bad replaced it—some- thing =o much better that there could be no reasonahle regret for whatever of bright. ness had made way. When solemn and important events are bapp-ning, one often perceives a persistent murmnr in one's brain of Bible tex or fragments of great poems—Ilarge, simple phrases.. Leitmotive ons of the vagae oiches- tra of things. “Yea, though I walk thiough the Val. lev of the Shadow of Death’’- thus one | trinmphant voice- ‘‘I shall fear uo evil” - | and passed like military music. ! Another voice was more inclined to argn- | ment--perbaps it was even a little quern- { lous. | “If after the manner of men I have | fought with beasts at Ephesus, what ad- | vantageth it me if the dead rise not ?"’ ““That’s bargaining,’’ mused the dootor. | “One can’t do that. Irrespective, though, i of the dead and their rising, perhaps there's | advantage in jnet having fought at Ephesns | with heats, and knowing oue hax done his | best at is.”’ He looked long at the dying | face moving restlessly on the pillow, hat instead of dissolving in the weak agony of pity aod remorse which had bat now over- whelmed him, he was conscious of an in- | flux of courage and of an nndefined hope. | Here was no squalor and despair. Instead | it was invigorating and fine, like the clean air of mountains and oceans. —By Georgia Wood Panghorn, in Collier's. | FARM NOTES. ~—Keep the dates of the time each sow is to farrow. —Milk low in butter fat is also low in ! the total rolide, —The pear is easily grown, but is very subject to blight. — Let the poultry have free range as soon | ae danger of injuring the spring planting is | passed. —8oil orast is a synonym for moisture evaporation. Shut the moisture in with a dast muloh. —An ounce of quality is worth a pound of size in any male animal used for breed- | ing purposes. | —Pigeons need ‘water for bathing as well | as for drinking purposes. Provide separate vessels for each. | =—Ducks can be profitably bred for four | years; geese can be bred for many years— | for a period that seems incredible. {| Those who have to buy hay may con- | sole themselves hy recalling thas in the | spring of 1870 hay sold in New York at $40 to $48 per ton. — When you are feeding poultry scatter the feed around so the birds will have to huot for is, as it will give them exercise and prevent them from gorging themselves, —A horseman says one of the best reme- dies for worms is to give the horse one and oue-half drams of pulverized sulphate of iron at a dose twice a day in a bran mash, and continue it for two weeks. —The hog converts food into meat and it should be remembered that it takes clean food so make healthy meas. Pure water, wholesome food and a clean place to drink and eat are the secrets of healthy meat. —But few patrons of harness races ap- reciate that years have been consumed in Diy and developing a field of harness horses capable of stepping three heats in 2:20 or besser in their first engagement. —Mauny a farmer who is strong as an ag- riculturist, is weak as a salesman, It is ene thing to raise good crops and it is quite another thing to market them at the notch price. Try and study to do . —I¢ is said that ganders and geese when once mated can he kept as long as eights years withouas obanging. In fact, it is bard to separate them. When it is necessary to do so they must be kept out of each other’s hearing. —The farmer who places a full-blooded bull at the head of his herd and uses a thoroughbred sire for six generations will bring she grade of his stock up nominally to full bloods. Isis possible to establish a thoroughbred herd in twelve years by using registered sires. —One part tincture of 1odine and eight parts sweet cil or vaseline, applied ex- terually, will sometimes remove obstruo- tions in the cow’s teat. Make the applica- tions once each day directly over she ob- struction and massage well to rab she mix- ture into the pores. —A fly is reported destroying many sheep in Wyoming and threatens great in- jury to the industry of the state. S rhe fly enters the nostrils of lambs, lays eggs shat develop grabs that burrow into the brain. In a ten-nnle strip 300 dead sheep were counted by a state official. —Statiatios show that 90 farmers out of 100 keep hens. Is is estimated thas 75 per ceut. of thie number raise moogrels and oross-breeds. Now that the cam for re-bred cattle, hogs and even field seeds on, it would seem wise to redace the number of mongrel-bred poultry. —Maude Gridley Peterson, the author of ‘How to Know Wild Fruits,” is a believer in the value of nuts as a food. She feels that if nuts were used as a substantial part of the meal, instead of for dessert or be- tween meals for lunch, the complaints about their indigestibility would soon disappear. —The supreme court bas decided that she law prohibiting dooked-tail horses be- ing broughs iuto Colorado is unconstitn- tional. After a strenuous battle Colorado horse owners bave succeeded in getting she obnoxious law expurgated from the statute Suwa so far as interstate commerce ia oon- cerned. —All kinds of coarse food can be ren- dered serviceable by jndicions combination of the ration. Even out straw will be eaten if bran and oil meal are added to it. Fodder can be made acceptable tostook by preparation, and hay may be fed with oth- er foods in a manner to make the whole ration very palatable. | The taup went out, and he built the fire | FOR AND ABUUT WOMEN. bot and bright. so thas the room was full ! "TRO | avering light and shadow. i DAILY “va0veRT. | Dr. Winthrop groaned heavily now and | Women are ever dupes of the victims of their | extreme sensitiveness.— Balzae, The new coats for fall and winter are not | only extremely picturesque, but exceeding- ly practical as well. Double and single-breasted effects are about equally favored. The single-breasted coat frequently just escapes being the fitted type, and will shus commend itself to a large olass of women who aim to preserve as trig and trim a fig- ure a* pofsible with an easy fitting gar- ment, The double-hreasted coats are of slighsly lovser and more ample cus. The fronts are veually of ibe semi-fitsing type, while she backs are sometiwer ball- fitting and again of the three gnarser fitting cut. There is quite a variety in the way the lower portion of the backs are finished, some having folness in the centre laid in graduated pleats, others having the side seam »lit neatly to the waist line, while in other models the centre hack seaw is finish- ed with the regulation inverted pleas. The coats are sometimes vhown with vel- vet collars aud cuffs of sober hue, while some ure coliariess, Nearly all she separate coats are of lonse, ample style for evening aud carriage wear. They are made so as 10 be easily «lipped on and off. The revival of these long, separate coats suitable for so macy occasions makes a greater demand for silk as the fabric par excellence for evening costumes, White, soft, pliable satine, sheer mar. quisettes and voiles are to be used for the more formal occasions. Slightly heavier silks will form the ornamentation. These separate coats are charming, too, for wear with a cloth skirt to matoh. They form the favorite combination of materials that has not yes appeared for the winsercos: tame, An afternoon aud eveviog coat of ecru olosh is much liked. Its color and flowing lines are appropriate to the evening wrap, while the nature of its materials makes it possible in a carriage for any time after luncheon. The uew ecru is found particularly good for evening, by the way. It looks well witb almoss every shade of gown, and is Beso ing to an equal number of complex- ons. It does not show the dust readily, and while delicate, is is not too dressy for pub- lic convevances in the evening. Big silver tassels are used in tipping the sleeves of many of the separate ooats, These tassels promise to be one of the sea- son's smartess touches. For those who wish a practical sors of wrap, older women especially, there is no better model shown than the long black broadoloth, Its softly finished lines make it an exocel- lens thing for the home dressmaker, who koows by experience the trials of the se- verely tailored type of coat. A good weight of broadcloth, lined with liberty eatin and interlined with light- weight flannel, are the materials, with a simple garnitare of velvet and flat silk braiding. Sacque abaped coats are still in style. Those with plain, well cut shoulders and slightly puffed sleeves are the hess. Much, however, depends upon the cloth. The tight-fitting military coat is counted among the season’s newest and smartest fashions. They are usually fastened invisi- bly and are single-breasted. For the young woman with a good fignre there is nothing better for a street suit. The sidewalk skirt, or the extremely short skirt, will be all the go with these coats. The skiris will vary in length from three to five inches off the gronnd. The thirty-six inch length ecntaway, braid trimmed and manish in style, is one of the particalarly smart coats of the sea- fon. It bas the long sleeve with the new Jaciatisn of a few tucks just above the el- w. Short cutaway coats are also worn, The favorite model is the single-breasted tight. fitting coat with back seams and single dart seams extending to the shoulder. Skirt Tendencies— Some changes in the skirt lines and the length of the skirts are Feporiel from Paris, but these are inciden- tal, rather than radical changes, which Ail not materially affect the style of the skirt. There is a tendenoy to eliminate pleats, and in their places put numerous gores, after the [fashion of the umbrella skirt of multi-gore flare and width. There is a tendency to introduce models showing a combination of plain and fancy materials—plaids, stripes or the like—in panel construction, to popularize the tunic skirt and so on. The tendency, however, points to the great vogneof the pleated skirt in ite several varieties. In other words, the pleated skirt wili likely remain at the bead of the list, since it is geoerally becoming to all figures and offers a greater trimming scope than most other models. Wearing of One’s Clothes.—The wearing of one’s clothes means the proper putting on of clothes. The dressmaker and mil- liner may do their very best in turning out a woman properly, and then through care- less indifference in putting ov she clothes the whole effect is lost. The little things in dress, like most lit- tle things, havea troublesome habit of growing into big things. The colors for the business tailored suis should be chosen from the darker shades for obvious reasons. Ove grows less quiok- ly tired of spicuous, and can easily be made with accessories suitable for many oc- casions. In choosing this gown for everyday wear much should be takem into consider- ation—uee, service, expense, and last, hut far from least, becomingness. Very useful is a short coat, when devel- oped in white or dark blue serge or in one the fashionable pin-stripes. The collars and ooffs are of blue linen, heavily braid- ed. As they are basted, they may be easi- ly taken off and washed. brass bus tons are used in the double-breasted froat. Itissaid that an effectual cure for the ants that are the bane of many a good honsekeeper is to melt together injan earth- enware vessel a quarter of a pound of sul- phur and two ounces of potash. When cold pulverize and sprinkle in the haunts of the sluggard’s example. If the ants will not flee from this mixtare he very sure the housekeeper will during the somewbat choky melting process. —Buckwheat is a crop which could be grown by most farmers with profit.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers