==
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.