== Bellefonte, Pa., October 25. 1907. THE COOKINGSCHOOL BRIDE Can she make a loaf of bread — This fair maid that you would wed? Can she make a loaf of bread? “Nay, she cannot make my bread, But a fine souflle instead; And, it I do not complain, why should yould?* Can she cook a good beefsteak Without makisg a mistake? Can she cook a good brefsteak? (Teli me trael) “Nay; bui, then, her salad cream Is delicions as a dream! (And it's something that my mother could not do!™") Can she brew a cup of tes Good enough for you or me? Can stv» brew a cup of tea? (Tell me true!) “Maybe so and maybe not, For | really have forgot, but she'll freeze a Cate Mousse, — Pray can your —~Helen Knight Wyman, in Buston Cooking school Magazine. ——————— THE HOMETAUGHT BRIDE [The publication of the foregoing brought the following reply. } Can she make a fine souflle This dear girl you wed today? Can she make a fine souffle? (Tell me true!) “Nay; but she can make my bread, Finest biscuits, too, instead; And, if I am well content, why not you?" Can she make a salad cream? “As delicious as a dream?” Can she make a salad cream? (Tell me true!) “No; but she can cook my steak Or a roast, without mistake, And they taste just as my mother's used to do.” Can she freeze a Cafe Mousse, Or a plombiere produce? Can she freeze a Cafe Mousse, (Tell me true!) “Ab! I'm sure that she cannot; Yet there comes a happy thought, — She can learn what's really worth her while to do.” —[Yevol R. Nottarts. BIJIE AND THE VISION. Starling Apgel was moving his npeigh- bot’s goods to the big town some twenty miles away. When he came to the bard, worn, little path that ran off from the road and ap to the Eller cabin be pulled ins horses to a standstili with a loud “Whoa.” “Hello!’’ he called. Bijie’'s mother was washing the dishes that were never quite done. At the sound she wiped her hands and crossed the cabin floor. “Come on,’ she said to Bijie. ‘‘Don’t keep Starlin’ waitin’. Ye've got a right smarts journey abead o’ ye.” Bijie looked down his clean shirt and old green trousers that were clean, too, to the urass toes of his clumey shoes, proudly. ‘Good-by,’’ he said to the cabiufaol of children. From she doorway he called good- by to them agaiu, and the pride of the traveled man pricked through his tones, Hs bearing was bolder as he [followed bis wother down the path. It was fitting that one about to journey ous into the, world should have a bold bearing. ‘“They ain't many lectle fellars hyar- abouts thet's bed the lettin out Bijie’s ter get,’ Bijie's mother said. She addressed the tall young mountaineer who had climbed down from bis wagon at her approaroh. ““Bijie’s ain’t never hen nowhar. Bat I lowed las’ fall when the leetle fellar run away from the lady thet was gwine ter carry him off an’ eddicate him—hit peared like he conldn’t stan’ ter go off from all he'd ever knowed—thes I'd do my pore bes’ fer bim. Pore folks hev pore ways, Ssarlin’. An’ seein’ Asheville’s a sight o’ larnin’ ter a body, man er chile.” She shook bands with the young moun- taineer himply; shook hands with Bijie, limply, too. If the temptation to Kiss the eager little brown face assailed ber, she resisted it. She was not a demonstrative woman. The big young man swung Bijie up aod up and up—ithe neighbor's possessions loomed like a mountamn—and lauded him amongst the billows of a feather bed. He looked down at the woman kindly. “Ye’ll not fret aboat the c¢ ars runnin’ over him? Ye'll not be afeared he'll git lost er—er anythin?" ““Afeared?’’ her voice quivered to a shrill little laugh. The sound could have de- ceived no one but a Jul! voung man and a joyous young child. oyars. Hol’ on ter yer wits, son. ain’t a mite o’ danger.” The wagon moved. ‘“‘Bijie,”’ his mother called warningly, “‘don’t git no dirtier 'en ye kin help.” ‘ Ne' m’,” Bijie called hack. He was breathing in little delighted gasps. A house lurched past his vision. Far, far below him the horses were lilting their plodding hoofs as if in the corn furrows still. My, but the houses matched past! he litsle post office, the store, the school- ouse. At the foot of the long red hill that led back to Marsville the horses drank deep of Banjo Branoh's swees, singing waters. They moved up stream until sheir noses were under the footbridge. The soft young leaves crowded about Bijie with wh He els oat fhe yee *ucw the listle boy who so often played under its outspread branches. eel . u, r p nppling from tree to tree, chattered as young girls do over their morning toilets. In its Jutisy, ite clear-eyed [ieshness, the young y was virgin. The san came up. It shot through the trees in shafts of light that were like long, shining fingers. It olimbed higher. The pines breathed out a soft pervasive sweetness; higher still; she dew glinting on a million tender new leaves was ornshed in heat. Bijie’s thoughts spon round and round in glistering circles. He tried to catoh at them as they passed him, They were strange fancies, these queer ideas ahout a city. Bijie had gleaned most of them when he #at in meetin’, on a bench without a back. hix legs dangling uarcomfortably. Bat the city Bijie was journeying towamd was Jot the one to which the circuit rider re- erred. | The wagon | she air. | weighted down the brauches, they looked | like soft, still clouds. “The idee! Bijie's | got sense. He'll not git run over by the Thar thas sent warm waves of perfume through The pink and white blossoms It rolled overa bridge; past a busy mill. The mountains | no louger crowded up to the road-side, | They withdrew themselves, drawing veils | of mst over their faces. Bijie was no long- | er theirs; he was journeying to the alien town, | Atnoon shey stopped for luoch. The (Tell me trae!) sun was low when Siatling aroused the little hoy, deep in the motherly folds of the feather bed, adrift in a swimming sea of sleep, with, “Bijie, wake up, wake up, | we'te thai!” Bijie, in the Bijie way, bis listle brown unwashed face palm deep in his little brown unwashed bauds, sat in the door. way of a listle house on the outskirts of | she town. It was evening of the next day, | and it was raining. Like all next days | when the rain pours down, it is dreary. I Bjie was waiting for Starling. Whe | Siuarling came they would climb into the | wagon and jog back to the mountains, | He looked out vn a drowned world dis. | prritedly. Suddenly his shoulders heaved. | He was not yet eight, and when ouve is not | yet eight disappointments hurt. Cowing to town had meant so much to a liste boy who had never been anywhere. Seeing the streets shining with gold ; seeing the great high walls; going through the gates with shiny angels witting on them. ! There bad been no city walls; no gates with shiny avgels ou them. Not one whing | was as the histle boy bad imagined is. | The streets hurt the imprisoned little feet | accustomed to freedom. They were hot. | The people burrying up avd down them ‘joggled small boys unm:reifuily. The ! houses looked hot, too. They huddled to- | face gether like a lot of frightened sheep. A carriage came down the street and stopped in front of a big grand-looking house not far from where Biji- sat. Ladies poured out of it. They ran up the broad walk under bobbing umbrellas. Other carriages came, and other ladies got ont and ran op the walk under bobbing. um- brellas. The carriages backed up in the street. They looked with their wes tops like glistery beetles, Life 100k on a sudden sweetness to Bijie. Hewwang far ous the door, nnmindful of the rain. It was a ‘‘meetin’.’”’ It was a funeral. In an agony of indecision Bijie swayed back and forth. Suddenly be dais- ed away. He meant to find out. Down at the gate ladies were hurrying out of carriages and tripping up the board walk under umbrellas. Bijie went with them. He had to find oot. None of the ladies touched the door, bat it opened. A person standing there offered a tray to the ladies,and they dropped some: thing, Bijie dian’s know just what, into it. No woe noticed him in she least. He slipped thirough the open door. There was 8 moment of awe. Then the door clos ed. B jie was sbut off from his past —fiom all he had known before. The ladies swept him with them to the foot of a wide stair- way. They 1an up the steps, laughing. Bijie leaped as the young deer leaps on his wountain side, and orouched hehind the curtains that led to a little unocoupied sitting room. When the tattered line of his courage swept back, he looked out cau- tionsly. Here and there candles were lighted —so many candles! They glowed under shades golden as the wings of a butterfly. There ‘| were a bewildering number of rooms open- ing into one another, and women, beanti- ful women, wearing wondrous shimmering dresses moved abont in the soft luminons- ness. There were flowers, too, and they were golden. They breathed out a sabtle Sweetness It was all so heautifal toa little beauty wor-hipper; it was al! so wonderful to a little lad who found life such a simple mat- ter—to & little lad who tumbled out of an overfull bed in a log cabin and made his simple morning toilet as the branch below a bubbling wountain sprivg—that he loss his breath altogether and gasped and gasp- ed before he could find it again. When the ladies bad come down the stairway aod the ball was almost deserted, Bijie stole up the steps softly. He went along a hall aud through an open door. He entered the room without the preliminary coortesy of a koock and found the angel that should have heen sit- ting on the city gate. She had come right out of the sky, Bijie knew. Her eyes were a bit of the sky's bine and the sunshive was still tangled in her hair. The question that bad so often teased Bijie’s mind was answered when she tarn- ed. At lass Bijie knew how angels looked. Everything about her was soft and white and shiny; the ridicnlous little skirts that were no more thao ruffles below her waist; the great bow of ribbon that was meant to hold one of the bright carls in place but failed, and drooped te her ear; the cocks that had tried to climb to her plump, fat knees aud bad stopped balt way, dishears- ened. The Vision shot a glance at Bijie throogh the shining mist of her curls. A glance sent iv this way is a disturbing thing. Bijie almost pulled his little brown thumbs out of their sockets. She crossed the room. The children faced each other. Then the soft little voice, said, hall shyly; “You looks funny, boy. But I likes you stravagantly.”’ Bijie looked at her dambly. He felt that some actual look woanld bave to be broken on his lips before he could speak. “I'm tired parties an’ fings," the Vision said. *‘I’m awfal glad yon comed. Lesterday it was a lunch-party. It’s some- fin ’most every day. Me an’ the woolly lamb ap’ my Pinkie doll gets awful love- some an’ tired ous of the way.’’ She righ- ed. Bat presently she dimpled deliciously, and shot at him another of the glances he found so disturbing. “Le’s play,’’ she said. Bijie spoke at last. ‘‘Whut’s parties ?'’ he hiorted ous. ‘Is thet a gy The Vision derided him with rippling laughter. ‘Parties is nothin.’ They’s jnat eatin’ fings an’ savin’ howdy do. “‘Le’s 3 she said again. “‘Le's play train. Hookle on!’ She got behind Bijie aid put ber arme about his throat. Bijie’s head swayed ; bis knees trembled. Bas it was sweet, this swaying and trembling. “Ta— t8—t8—ding —dong—sho—shn— sha—."" She gave Bijie a little push and they were off for that dear land that ‘grown-ups’ never jonroey to—that only childhood knows, Time wi moment, an hour, an mon. Bijie lost count by earthly reo. orda, but be bad reached heaven. When they had ceased to strut about the room with uplifted ohests and outpuffed cheeks, there were other games, other things. None of them were hookling on, thoogh, The Vision sat on the floor beside Bijie. With loving impartiality she hogged her fat knees and the woolly lamb that bad jogged on. 1s passed orchard journeyed with her out of slumber since the days of her earliest babyhood. Bijie's eyes fastened on ber—eyes the lady who wanted to educate him had likened to pools in a deep wood were wurshiplul. He leaned forward shyly. He waoted to tell her. He longed and longed to tell her. In his whole life he had never told anyone. ‘Secrets ?'’ she encouraged. She under- stood, if dimly, and leaned forward in de- licious receptiveness, “What's secrets ?'’ Bijie hadn't meant to ask a question. He tried to stop it, bus it bad leaped heyond his lips. “‘Secrets is fiugs you tell somebody,” the Vision said gravely. Sbe did not again de- ride his ignorance. Two flame spots showed in Bijie’s cheeks. For the space of a breath he hesitated. “They’s pnps.’”” He hurried into con- fession. ““Ther’s hoth black pops. One's named Sin, t'orther’s Sorrow. They's a sight o’ company when yer mommie’s tan- ned the bark offen ye fer hidin’ oat stid o’ rockin’ the hahy ter sleep in the orib eradle. When ye air martin’ all over an’ feelin’ like ye'd ben in a yaller jacket’s nest, hit's a sight 0’ company jest ter hev them pups craw! op an’ lick ye in the face.” The Vision smiled. “*Fair is they ?'’ she asked. Bijie looked at her helplessly. They were as real to him as the dolls on the floor, | as the woolly lam" she had given him, hut they were not corporeal. They were things of the spirit—his pups. But the listle girl had divined it. pups?" she asked. Bijie nodded. Her eyes pitied him ! Just play pups ! She leaned nearer, all woman. all sym- pathy. He smelled the faint fragrance of the carls falling so deliciously ahont her Then it happened ! Sight ard sound failed Bijie. The floor rose np and met the ceiling. Oatside the window the solid earth spun round and round. He shut his eyes tight. Mayhe— oh, mayhe—if he shut his eyes tight she would do it again. Bat it was not a kiss that Bijie felt. He was jerked to his fees. Eden had heen en- tered by the serpent—a capped and apron- ed serpent. “The likes of you kissin’ her,” the nurse's voice rasped rough as a cow's tongue, With the implacable fory of childhood, th@®child flung herself at her nurse, who pushed her off roughly. ‘I'll lick the life outen ye, ef ve hurt her,” Bijie cried fiercely. He sqnirmed from under the restraining hand and flong his arms ahout the tearfal Vision. But the woman was stronger. She drag- ged them apart. Bomping him spitefully, she drew him down the stairs, ont the baok walk, and, with a final shake, aud a “I'd like to hreak every hone in your body,” she flung him into the street. Bijie stood there dazed. There were a good many of his hones he knew. Mayghe all of them were hroken. But it was not of his bones that he was thinking. His thoughts whirled dizzily round and round ove dreadful pivot. Shut ous! Shut out from her ! Reality in the shape of Starling Angel's band pulled at Bijie. “Bijie?"’ There was relief in the moun- taineer’s big voice. ‘I've hen lookin’ ever- whar fer ye, skeered outen my wits. Whar hev ye hen, boy ? Ye look like ye'd seed a bhant. Come on. The wagin’s waitin.’ L Gosh a mercy I"’ catching sight of the soy that Bijie still olutched,” ““Whar'd ye git thet 2" Bus Bijie was silent. He was silent when he dropped down in the wagon bed and orawled to the hack. He longed to steal away and hide bis hurs as the little wild things of the woods do. The wagon clattered through the streets aod ont from the town. As is grew darker Starling glanced back more thao once. In the night chill she little boy seemed so lit- tle, ro comfortiess, “‘Starlin’ !"’ Starling turned round quick- ly. Bijie was plucking at his sleeve. “Gosh a meroy !"’ exclaimed Starling, as he caught sight of Bijie’s face. The child’s eyes were burning like stars. “I'm gwine ter larn I" he cried. ‘I'm gwine ter larn all thar is in the worl’! Larnin’ opens shet doms. She sed hit did —an’ she knows—thes lady thet wanted ter eddicate me.”” He dropped back on the wagon bed. “Ef I live I'm gwine ter larn an’ open thet shes door,” he said solemnly. There in the twilight something bad beer: born. The new thing beat in the lit- tle boy’s voice. Already the fight bad begun. The wide, deep night grew blacker and blacker. Starling Angel pushed on toward the mountains. Bijie slept, the woolly lamb clasped close. Starling threw ap old quilt over him. “I wonder whar he got thes outlandish ole sheep thet’s ontlived hits legs,”’ he mnt- tered. “‘Quare leetle chap, Bijie. A- wantin’ ter larn #o had.” Starling hadn't a seer’s vision. He didn’t know that Bijie would one day trudge over the moantain to the college in the valley below, a lean old satohel that held all his worldly goods over one shoulder, and the ax that was to enable him to chop his way through the valley college to the shut doors beyond, over the other. He didn't know that the day would come when the kindly old teacher there would say to Bijie, ‘My hoy, we've taught you all we can here. I'll help you to go higher, for I'm thinking there's a place in the big world outside for on Bijie didn’t know it either. The woolly lamb had crept into his dreamland. And the Vision was there, hogging her fat knees and the beloved lamb, and look- ing at him through the mist of her shining cnrla.—By Sara Lindsay Coleman, iv the Delineator. “Play “Just make like?" Stop the Leaks. It a ship springs a leek it would be a foolich captain who would crowd oo sail and try to run away fiom the leak. The first thing to do is to stop the leak, or tke very press of canvass increases the danger. Look at the drains which affect some wom- en in the same light as the leak. It is no use to use stimulants and tonics, as if they could carry you away [rom the effects of that leakage of vitality. The first thing to do is to stop the unhealthy drain, which is rohbing the body of st with every day. 's what Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription does. it stops the drains which weaken women. Is regulates the periods, heals ulceration and inflammation, and cores female weakness. When the local health of the womanly organs ia establish ed, women find an improvement in their general health at once. There is no need for tonics or stimulants. There is no more nervousness. The whole body is hailt up futo sound health. ‘‘Favorite Prescrip- tion’ makes weak women strony, sick women well. Johnstown has now a population of 75,000. SAA ie i Opportunities in Pennsylvania Hore tiemitnre, The August number of the Western Fruit Grower states that ‘‘the 1967 crop will nring ahous $2,000,000 to she apple growers of Washington county, Ark.” Fifteen years ago, under a system of geveral farm- ing in that county, the average vield in corn was 15 bush :i8 per acre and the aver- age price of land was $15. Seeing the fatility of this style of tasming people be- gan to plant trees. Part of the result is in- dicated above. The price of land in that county now, set in orchard, is $100 an acre up. This shows that it is easy to waste energy and capital trying to make a region produce something for which it is not adapted, and thas it pase to seek out and to do the adapted thinge. If thix is tine, can we do more to improve agriculture than to bend it into those wore profitable lines ? In Penvsyleania the most striking nasaral tendency is toward trees and tree growth, The indastiies that moss {ally take ad- vantage of this are forestry and hortical- ture. Bat, for its mo-e immediate returns and for promoting the fullest development of those engaged in is, hortionltare is the industry, par excellence, for Pennsylvania. We are right in the center of the apple growing district of Ea<tern America, with the hest of markets ea-1ly accessible. The home orchards are heing removed hy the San Jose scale and other pests. Conditions were never more favoranle for the invest. ment of capital in commercial orcharding of the right sort than just now in Peunnsyl- Vania. This is shown in a study of orcharding now heing made at The Penns lvania State College hy Prof Stewart. One man re- ports ‘not a erop farlare in 35 vears ;'’ an- other ‘‘$80,000 worth of peaches vold in the last three gears ;’ another ‘‘sells ap- ples at $5 00 per bbl. in local market when the same varieties are quoted at $3 50 in New York and Philadelphia ;’ avother says ‘‘our Spies bring 50 cents more per barrel on the general market than those grown elsewhere.’”” These are the prospects for commercial oreharding in Pennsylvania in the hands of the right men. The surest way to inorease the value of snitable land is intelligently to set it to apple-produe- tion. But there is also another olass of reports. These say ‘‘trees neglecttd ;'’ *‘fruit poor and pest beridden ;" ‘‘varieties not in the right soil;”’ *‘no huyers when a orop does appear ;'’ ‘‘no knowl dge of storing and marketing nor of atilization into secondary products, hence fruit wastes ;'' ‘‘plenty of frait in small lots, hut being picked ap at bottom prices, need shipping associations,’ This is the other side of the picture, but it need frighten no one. The lack is per- sonal. The need is for courage, knowl. edge, and more good fruit. Buyers are not attracted tosmali lots nor to inferior grades. Just now a svetematic study of apple production i= under wav at The Pennsyl- vania State College. Seven experiments comprising four to eight acres each have been set in operation in foar of the leading apple sections of the State. It is hoped bv means of these to get some definite infor- mation for the use of orchardists on the question of orchard fertilization and cul- ture. Additional tests are planned and will be started when opportunities permit. Interested parties shonld write the Depars- ment of Experimental Horticultare, State College, Penna, Pocahontas in London, Shakespeare was yet alive, and in more or less active work, while this strange pro- cession, which I have described, of natives of Virginia, Guiana, and New England de- filed through English ports. Of most of them the dramatist doubtless caught a glimpse. Bat it was just after his death thas the moss imposing of Virginia visitors reached London. Pocahontas, the young daughter of the chief Powhatan, had con- Jeived as a child a romantic attachments for the English settlers, and bad (is was alleg- ed) protected more than one of them from the murderous designs of her kindred. At length she joined the newcomers as a will- ing hostage, and in 1613, when not more than eighteen years of age, she boldly de- fied all Indian aud English conventions hy marrying an English settler. Immediately afterward she accepted Christianity, and expressed anxiety to visit her busband’s Christian country. Accordingly, in the snmmer of 1616 she arrived in the Eoglish capital with her hasband, an infant son, her brother Tamacoma, and some native women attendants. A splendid reception was accorded the Virginian princess. State and church com- bined to do her honor. James I received her and her brother at cours. They attend: ed a performance at Whitehall of a Twelfth Night masque by Ben Johnson (Janvary 1617), of which they spuke with approval. Tbe Bwshop of London entertained ber “with festival pomp.’’ The princess’ por- trait was painted and engraved by dis- tinguished artists. Her dignified bearing was generally commended, although hints are given by Ben Johnson that the princess was occasionally seen, to the dismay of her hosts, to enter tavern doors. Her entertain. ment, at any rate, seems to have been thor. oughly congenial to her, and she was relue- tant to shorten her visit. At the end of ten months, however, she traveled to Graves. end with a view of embarkation for her na- tive land. But while tarrying at the port, to the general grief, she fell 1ll and died. The parish register of Gravesend describes her as ‘of Virginia, a 11dv born.” — [From the Call of the West, by Sidoey Lee, in the September Serihner. Nuts to Crack. Who dares to eit before the Queen with his hat on? The coachman. When is a doctor most annoyed ? When he is out of patients. Why is a defeated army like wool ? Be- cause it is worsted, What relation is a door-mat toa door- step ? A step-farther. Who was the first person in history who had a bang on the forehead ? Goliath. Why is a girl's belt like a scavenger ? Because it goes round and gashers up the waist (waste. ) Why is an inn like a cemetery? Itisa resting place for travelers. Why isan old umbrella that has been lost and fonnd ax good as a new one! Be- cause it is re covered, What is that which has may leaves but no stem? A hook. Why are blushes like little girls? They become women, What is the diffrence hetween charity and a tailor? One covers a multitude of sing, the other a mulnitnde of sinners, What is thas whioh a rich man wants, a poor man has, a mser spends, a spend- thrift saves and we all take with us to the grave? Nothing. —There can | he no of 0b without a canre. When a thing is off-1ed at less than oost there is a reason for it. FOR AND ABOUT WOmEN. DAILY THOUGHT. “I love everything that's old—old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine, — Oliver Goldsmith, They are saying, the people who would fain create a diversity at any cost, that “paon’’ is the premier color fur the an- tama. There are sigoe of it, natarally, other. wise the rumor would scarcely be worth recording : but there are two strong rea- sons against a general acceptance of pea cock — primarily superstition, aud, srecond- ly, it i= a color by no means univervally heecoming. One refers, it will be clearly andeistood, to a solid dress of this nuance. As an incidental decorative feature, every- thing pertaining to blue of an artistic character i= prominently to the fore, the Japanese trend in particoar. Gieen and Bloe.—A¢ this time of the year the usefal bloe verge is always with us, and the old combination of green there with iz invariably smart ; bus for a change a reversal of the scheme may be recom- mended, and a doll green tweed or serge fiock, faced and finished off with navy blue of vot too deep atone, can look extremely well, A green tweed with a suggestion of bloe in the weaviog in the form of a merest hint of a stripe of hair-line check, faced with navy corded silk corduroy velvet, has heen made for a smart woman lately, and anoth er, a laurel green cheviot serge, has but tons of dull blue and green enamel and a lining of shot silk. This is accompanied hy a pieturesque little crushed felt bat in blue trimmed with shot metallic blue and wreen wioge, and another suggestion for a hat of a similiar description is dull green felt with the neck of a pracock and some of the irridescent longer feathers—the curved ones at the sides of the tail that have no eyes—to finish off she “‘mount’ effectively. The position taken hy velvet in very strong. The lighthness is incredible. For weight and malleabilisy the quali ties might be chiffon, and at last the ad- visahility has been borne home of running this fabric throngh double widths. There is no seam so difficnls to conceal as one in velvet, tosay 1othing of the effects ina bias cut, on which the perfect draperies now obtaining largerly depend. Those occupied in sedentary positions should take every precantion to get as much pare air after office hours as possible. Where physical strength is required it is quite necessary that copious drafts of fresh air be taken. Never leave a veil tied round a bat, for it soon becomes stretched, limp and soiled looking. Uunpin it when the has is re. moved, shake it, take it as the two ends and roll it round and round, then place away in a box or piece of tissue paper. Tailored clothes were never go varied in form and design, Firss, there is striotly tailored suits of tweeds, cheviots, serge or berringboue, made in short or round lengths. For these tailored suits, stripes continne to be very much in favor, but the moovo- tone of white and black,blue and giay avd green and brown is relieved by trimmings of rhododendron pink, wedgewood blue, leaf green and bronge browns on she collars and cuff<, aud sometimes on the bands aronud the bottom of the skirts. There are waistcoats, too of solid colors, even when the color is nos utilizedas a gar- nitare. A vest of scarlet cloth is admirable with a nentral-tinted toilet, but is not good with a black one, as it makes too vivid a contrast. The vest has become a component part of the tailored suit. For the long coat with a cutaway jacket, the vest is a necessity, giving a more stylish finish thao a blouse, which is a neglige note in the toilet. Shirts of striotly tailored suits are almost invariably pleated. Again, there is the many-gored skirt, some showing ten or twelve gores, the seams either lapped or stitobed or set together with black or color- ed pipiogs. Self-colored wool materials have returned to favor, and ate almost always covered with elaboiate braidings. The dominant vote in the tailor-made is untrimmed skirt, and the much-trimmed jacket or bodice. Do you remember that hero of Charles Dudley Warner who fell in love with his wife because she ate so dnintly ? If moss of our love affairs depended on our good table manners, it is to be feared that this would be a rather loveless old earth. It is sarprising how few of us eat abso- lutely nicely. This does not refer by any means exclusively to those who have not had the advantage of early training. Men, and even women, who, by their birth and breeding, should have good table manners are not ahove reproach in this respros. Of course, we may not indalge in such glaring faults as jugglery with one’s knife, talking with a fall wouth, drinking with a spoon in the cup or eating with painful andibleness. Bat bow many of us, for in- stance, eat our bread only after breaking iuto small bits? Do we all remember to dip our soupspoons away from, rather thao toward us. Do we duck our heads to get that sonp, instead of hising the spoon to our mouths ? Tuis latter breach of table niceties is something of a temptation, it must he con- fossed, if one is large of body, shaky of hand and with a fine regard for clean shirt fronts or hlouse, which the rigid rales pre- soribed forbid covering with an expanse of tucked-in napkin. Perhaps some one may say, Finikin non- sense, all this talk on table etiquette. It is what a man is that counts, nos exter nals.” Unfortunately, except to one’s nearest and dearest, whatone is may beso ob soured by what one does a8 to go practically unrevealed. A big heart or a profound brain may be admired, but somehow with most of ne itis the grating little non. pleasantnesses of conversation or manner of those kind, brainy men and women thas make the deepest impression. Too great stress cannot he laid upon a thorough training in the tahle niceties, If we do not want some one to have occasion to wince at the offensive ways of eating of our children, as we have often winced at others, we should begin almos: from the ondle to instil the principles of dainty, table manners. Ginger Cake.—One egg, one-half cnp hutter, filled with boiling water ; one-half cap sogar, filled with molasses ; two scant cups of flour ; one tablespoonful ginger, one teaspoonful cinnamon, one even tea spoonful rods, dissolved in boiling water. Beat thoroughly and bake in moderately hot oven. FARM NOTES. ~—There is no better time for setting trees thao late in fall, —To restore moldy leather to good cloth spply pyroligneous acid. —Many orchardists make a great mus- take planting trees too deep. —The prime ohjeet of cultivation is to render the soil loose and lighs, ~Try chalk and charcoal for lambs sul- fering from acidity of the stomach. ~The pallet is the winter layer. Old hens seldom lay in winter when egge are scarce, —Never give a horse medicine through ite nostrils, Many ao animal has been killed by thas practice. — A combination of tree fraits, poultry and bees in the hands of a capable person, beats the band as 8 money maker. —The farmer's hen competes for pree- edence with wheat, poultiy prodnets ag- gregating hall a billion dollars in value. ~For bowel tronhle give fowls copper- as water, and for swellid heads, quinine pills. One two gain quinine pill will usually cure a hen. —A record shonld he kept of the hreed- ing of each cow, so that it will be known when she is doe to calve, and then allow her to go dry six weeks hefore calving. —The first year is the most profitable year in the life of the hen. With good care a pullet will lay 150 egus the first year, 100 the second and bas 50 the third. —The heet method to core sore hacks on horses is to dissolve one-half ounce of blue vitrtol in a pint of water, and daub the injved parts with it four or five times a ay. — Use well-rotted manore on the garden plot, if youn have not done #0 before, work- ing it well into the surface six or seven inches of the soil. Do not delay this mas- ter any longer. —A good way to remove the rust from saws ir to immeise the article in kerosene oil ard let it remain for some time. The rust will beonme <0 mach loosened as to come off very easily. —The Indiana Horticultural Society suguests a prize of §1 000 for a new apple ‘as goo ar Grimes Golden and as prolific as Ben Davis I" He who farnishes such an apple will earn the money. ~ Before fall plowing the ground clean off all roms of cabbage and other vege- tables. It has heen proved that many dis- ease germs of insect ©cocOODS Or egus are carried over in these roots, —[t is an excellent plan to whitewash the trees, filling the oracks in the bark with lime, soas to fill up many hiding places of fruis pests, ns well as to destroy many which are in hiding. —If the complaining farmer will com- pare notes with the city fellow who gets $2000 a year, but bas to boy everything he needs, he may be surprised to learn the amount of salary he is actnally gesting. —8oils poorly drained, and so long hold- ing stagnant water, often in this way dam- age ard finally destroy roots, thas causing the plants to perish. Plants suffer for want of oxygen when the air cannot get to their roots. . ~The soil is the stomach of plants. In the soil the food is received and digested. On the goantity and quality of food put in the plant's stomach depends its welfare, just as much a8 you depend npon the food in your stomach. —Caltivate hlack walnut, as the supply is fast hecoming exhausted, while the de- mand for that kind of wood for fornitore and other purposes is very great. Trees of good size grow in 10 to 12 cain, and the lumber commands a very high price. —Set your foot down on the business of trading ont egge at the grocery. This is an old and out-uf-date way of disposing of what should be one of the leadiog sources of money income on the farm. Get cash for the eggs and buy groceries where yon can do best. —The roots of plants require air, and when they do not get the necessary amount of air asphyxiation or suffocation takes place. This plainly shows the importance of hreaking up by cultivation the surface of land in crops, the good farmer or gard- ener doing this every time during the period of active growth of the plant or crop the soil’s surface gets bard or baked. —When a hen is made sick eating too freely of grass she lays what are known as “grass eggs.” Grass eggs are poor stoff; they have av unpleasans flavor and the yolk wahhles around in a weak nod watery white, and is green and dull in color. The term is one applied hy candlers, who die- cover while testing that there isa pale, greenish hue to the eggs, and that they are not at all of the bright, fresh color thas we find in healthy eggs. —Sow tomato seed in the honse the last of February, to he sure of early tomato plants. A grocery box seven or eight inches deep will do to row the seed in. Fill the hox fall of good rich soil. If the box ie not full, the seedlings will he spindling. Select a good variety for earliness and of uniform size. Sow the seed one quarter inch apart as near a= can he, cover one-half inch, press down the soil, and cover with a soft oloth till the seed is sprouted. Water with warm water. Alter the plants are two or three inohes high, travsplant toa larger hox filled with good soil. They will grow to be good, stioky plants if keps ina sunny window. —Here are the proper distances for plant- ing various fruits according to Green's Frais Grower : Standard apples, 30 feet apart each way. Standard pears and strong growing cher- ries, 20 feet apart each way. Duke and Morello cherries, 18 feet apart. Prunes, plums, apricots, peaches, vec- tarines, 16 to 20 feet apart. Dwarf pears, 10 to 12 leet apart. Dwarf apples, 10 to 12 feet each way. Grapes, tows 10 to 15 feet apart, 7 0 16 feet in rows. Currants and gooseberries, 3 to 4 feet apart. Reapherries and blackberries, 3 to 5 by 4 to 7 feet apart. Strawberries for field culture, 1 to 1} by 3 to 3} feet apart. Strawberries, for garden oulture, 1to 2 feet apart. ——Adam never had occasion to try to explain the presence of a blonde hair on the sleeve of his coat. a — lar on a horse than win it at honess labor.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers