Bema ate Bellefonte, Pa., September 11, i808. E——————— THAT FULL DINNER PAIL [With apologies to the author of “The Old Oaken Bucket." “Vote for Roosevelt and Fairbanks and the Full Dinver Pail—G. 0. P. Campaign Literature of 1904. How sweet to our ears were the words of those speilers, When four years ago they presented to view, The pail that they toasted would never be empty, While Teddy and Fairbanks were stirring the stew, The now empty bucket, The trust-hampered bucket, The old dinner bucket That we can't even sell. The old dinner buckets are right up against it, And the owners, alas, are all in, out and down, For the mills and the shops and the men who worked in them Are now lying idle in city and town, The Stick-ruined bucket, The Teddy bare bucket, ““The Street” damaged bucket Is all shot to he! Shall you let it continue, this siege of starv- | ation, By beddiog Bill Taft in the Capitol hay ? Don’t you know that Big Bill will be only the actor While “The Street” and the combines are | directing the play. The old muck.-rake bucket, The Protected old bucket, The now useless bucket That we've thrown in the well, -G. NM THE MOUSE. People always said that I was a quiet girl, and my ball-sisteis called me Mother Mouse. They did not mean it in the least unkindly, for they were very fond of me. I do not think I was so very quiet nat- urally. Iwas not shy, aud I thought of plenty of things to say, and sometimes I wrote them in my diary afterward—but I did not say them unless it was really neces- sary. Nobody wants to hear girls talk nonsense unless they are pretty, and I was not; and that was the reason that I was a quiet girl. The people who called we ‘‘quiet’’ and ‘‘sensible’’ would be surprised if they knew how anxionsly I stadied my looks in the glass when I was eighteen or nineteen. I tried to be fair to mysell, and I decided that I was not actually ugly, and that it would be ill-natured to call me sucha pasty word as plain, especially when I bad a listle color. I was simply ‘‘not good- looking.”’ So I decided not to make a mistake ol thinking that men who were polite to me meant anything, but to be content to be- come a pleasant old maid, and to speak when I was spoken to. [see now that this was only a disagreeable kind of vanity; but it is the truth. There was another reason why [ was quiet. I could not spare very much time from my household duties; and I wanted what I could spare for music. So I did vot go out a great deal. I had to manage the house after [ was juss seventeen. My step- mother died then, and my heart was al- most broken. [ always felt as if I was her vwn child. Isappose that was wrong; hot «he was the only mother whom [ remem- hered, and no words could tell wiat a | «weet mother she was to me; a mother and a sister and a friend, all in one. If she had lived she would not bave let me grow into my foolish quietness. I know just what she would have said. “It yon don’t think you're attractive enough—but I do—the remedy is to be more attractive, or less!” Oh! How I miss- ed ber! “We've loved each other very much, Nan,’ she said at the last. ‘‘I know yon and am not afraid for Babs and Molly, only for my Nan. Yon mustn't sacrifice your Jousg life and become a drudge for them. member that it isn’t good for children to be brought up on sacrifice. It makes them selfish. It i<n’t even good for them to be mothered too much. We have to grow oar own characters, Nan. Don’t do every little thing for them. Teach them to do for themselves; but keep your infla- ence over them. You, and no one else, will inflaence them as I should have done. Kica me for true, Nan.” She always made us promise like thas, and we never hroke a promise to mother. I kissed her and promised then. So I always felt that is depended on me wheth- er the girls grew up good women. Perhaps that was another reason why I felt old and serious. They were lovely children, and they ew up very beautiful. They were as ht and amusing as they were pretty,and people admired them and pested them so much that they would have been spoils if they had not been such sterling good girls at heart. They were impetuous and fall of mischief, but they were honorable and kind, and they conld not have done any- thing mean if they bad tried. I was very pleased with them, and very proud that they ‘were so much adwired. I did wish that they were not quite so fond of flirting, and had wot begun so young; bus I thooght that I should have done the same at their age if I bad been pretty and lively. So I di¢ not blame them, but looked out very carefully that they knew only nice boys, and encouraged shem to give some of their time to useful things, and especially to music. They had nice voices, and I persuaded father to let them go on with singing les- sons alter they lefs sshool. We practised a great deal. It improved my own singing, too, because they insisted thas I should do nothing but accompany, and they liked me to show them how their songs ought to go. My voice is not very good. it is too husky; and I conld not sing at concerts as they did. Bnt they were very fond of hearing me. . “Oh, Moanse,”’ Babs used to say, ‘‘youn are the nicest singer !”’ And if I shook my head Molly would seize it, and nod it forcibly. She was as strong as a young lion. “Your modesty is all pretend,” she teas- ed one day. ‘“‘You think in your naaghty heart that you're clever and nice and lovely and the most wonderful player and singer that ever was; and you're as vain as vain can he, you artful Mother Monse.” Babs watched my struggles—it was no use straggling with that big, wild Molly— and laughed. “She’s so vain that she won't even trouble to adoru herself!’ she declared. “We won't put up with is, Moll. We'll make ber adorn, as we bave to!” I believe it was a kind of plot to induce shut in company. I shall the most awful shinge; aod tell them t's what my beanti 1 sister says!’ *“They’ll think yon mean Babse,”” I de- clared. “No lear! Babs never said anything wise in her lite, did you, old stupid?” They always addressed each other like pr. but they were devotedly attached y. “Oh! I hope not!” Babs clasped her hands tragically. ‘‘Exocept by comparison with you, silly-billy!” Then they both roared with laughter. strange that every one liked them. When they were near nineteen and eigh- teen, and I was five-and-twenty, several | young fellows began to pay them more | obvious attentions, and I grew very anx- | ious for fear that they shonld slip into an | engagement too light-heartedly. It seemed to me that Frank Carter would make just | the right husband for Babs; but his father had heavy losses, and Frank went away to South Africa.and Babs didn’t seem to care, except in a sisterly way-—though, in that | way, she was very nice to him and tried to | cheer him up, and even worked him a pair | of slippers, though she hated fancy-work. I bad hoped, too, that Tom Briant and Molly’s boy-and-girl affair wonld come to ; something; but they seemed quite content to tease and flirt. They flirted more than I liked. I was almost sare that he kissed her down the garden one evening. I should have spoken to her severely, only I recolleoted that a boy once stole a kiss when be saw me home from a party; and I did nos re- member that I felt so very, very angry. It was before I bad quite made up my mind to be an old maid. So I thought that perbaps it didn’t mat- ter so very much, if they did not take it too seriously; but I kept a close watob on Molly. She was always the wildest; and Bats had grown a good deal more discreet ately. Toward she end of that sammer, how ever, | saw symptioms of somesbing wore serious than a boy-and-girl affair. Lord Eversby eame to stay at the Grants’, where the girls went so often, and he took a great deal of notice of them, They were extra- ordinarily taken with him, though he was a dozen years older—just over thirty—and became ‘‘chums,’’ as they called it. He was a tall, musoniar, bronzed man, and as strong in character as in body. He bad been exploring and shooting in Africa, and be was fall of stories. When they were funny be never moved a muscle, but his eyes swinkled, He was very likable. He came to our house almost every day to see ‘‘the babies’ as he called them. He was very kind to me, too, and never let me fee! that he did not come to see me, too; and I talked more to him than I did to most people. One afternoon he came when they wete ont; and instead of rushing off, as their other admirers would have done, he stayed for quite a long time, and persuaded we to siug. *“The babies tell me that there is no singing like yours,’ he said. ‘I love my songs,” I owned, ‘‘and I try my bardest with my poor voice. It 1s hus. ky. Ithiok yon will try to overlook that, | like the babies do; and so —I do not usu- | ally cing to people, but I will to you, Lord { Evershy." { Isat down and sang “She is Far from | the Land,” and ‘‘Rose Softly Blooming.” Then he asked for Wagner; and I smiled— I am always pleased when any one thinks that [ am worthy to sing Wagner—and sang Elizabeth's intercession for Tannhauser, and her prayer. And then he came and put a mannscript-piece that he bad found Bye the piano, avd begged me to sing that. ‘It is your own,’ he said, ‘‘isn’s ir?" **Oh, no,” I told him. “It is stolen.” I played a little piece of the accompani- ment on the piano and smiled at him. “Wagner!” he cried. ‘‘But—?%"' “I found the words in a magazive,” I exclaimed, “‘and I wanted to sing them; and so I put them to this, I adapted ita little. I thought Wagner weunld forgive me becanse I love his music so, and I can't help Deiiog words to is.” en | saug. A HEART. You do not know the thoughts I think io si lence, You who have found me only dull and cold; You do not know, who deem my soul so empty, The burning words my lips can scarce with. hold, You do not know my hands’ desire to clasp you, My eyes’ desire to look and look on you! You do not know my heart's desire to shield you-— ® How I would smile to feel the sword go through! When you shall know-—I have a curious fancy That those we love at Heaven's bar are named— Give me no pity, but for God's dear mercy 8mile on me once, and let me go unshamed, He did not speak when I finished; and I sat playing little snatches on the piano for some time. Icaonot sing a song like that withons entering into it; and I fels as if I wanted a few minates to come back to my quies sell. “You sang that wonderfully,’ he said at last, “And Jehupestiape it was not so wonderful. I shiuk you are like the girl in the song." He always spoke of me as a ‘girl,’ not a “‘wowau’’ as most people did. That was one of the reasons that [ felt my real sell with him, “Oh, no,” Isaid. “I am not romantio. Or if I am it is only for the babies. hey ought to bave romauces. They are so beautiful.” Yes,” he agreed. ‘‘They ate very beauti- fal. What dear babies they are!” He smiled. ‘But there is more in their presty heads than people give them credit for; and more appreciation of their big sister—who is ball their size. They are very anxious thas other people should appreciate her, too. Do you know—don’s betray me—they told me to make you sing that song.” “On!” I blushed a little. ‘“‘They think too mach of wy singing.” “They think much of it; bat it wasn's quite thas. They said—‘they’ is correct be- cause they were so ensthuastio that Shey both talked at once—'Mother Mouse isn’t a mouse at all, really. She only makes out that she is. It's fora to us, we expect!’ ”’ I couldn’t help laughing at that. ‘‘They added that ‘She can’t pre. tend wheo she sings. You make her sing “A Heart" to you. Then you'll hear the They are always so merry. It was not | I eaid bat he only laughed. “Bat it's a very serious thing, daddy,” I ‘‘He wouldn't come ar constantly if he did vot mean something. He is not that sors of man. What do yon think, really?" “I think he is going to marry one of my charming daughters,’’ father said. ‘‘But suppose she doseen’t accept him?"’ “She will,” father declared. ‘ 1.Ob-h” I said. “You know whioh it 8? . “Of course I do! You're as blind as a bat, Mother Mouse!" “Which, daddy?’ I asked eagerly. ‘““The one he pays all attentions to,” father told me; and then he laoghed and went off gardening. Then I would go on directly to Nellie Grant's t, and then I would offer to sing a little sone that my old mas- ter had sent me, and give him time to re- cover himeelf ; and when he went—I thought this ous very carefully—I would press his band very tightly, and say thas we were all so he was going, and we should all look upon him always as one of oar deren friends. "y " “‘When you are a great man, wou say, “‘I shall be very proud to bave known Jou nok more proud thao I am vow. ere are things that I won’t say, only— God bless you, Lord Eversby, and make you . . I was not able to do anythiog of the sort. For he walked up to we iu his resolute way—the girls al ways said that be pounced upon us as if we were lions or tigers—and gripped my bands, and said his say before could begin. “I love you monet dearly, Nan,’ be said. “Will you he my wife ?"’ I sat down on she masio-stool and stared » him. [ was uever so frightened in my e. “I never thourht of such a thing,” J told bim. “I—I never thcoght—"" I stared at him again. “Never thought of it !'’ he cried, He seemed as astonished av I was. “Well” ~he looked very augry—‘'yon gave me esconragement enough !"’ ‘Oh, Lord Evershy !"" [I cried a little. I followed him and teased him to tell me, but he wouldn't. I had only to notice | and I should see for myself, he declared. | I watched most carefully, but I conld not see that he treated one differently from | the other, If he gave Babs sweets or flowers or tickets or hooks or musio, be gave them to Molly, too. Indeed he al- | ways gave me some as well. And if he | took Molly motoring one day, he took Babe the next, and he took me with both ! of them. { I did not like to speak to them about it, for fear of putting wrong idess into their | heads; but I thought it was not quite right | of him not to make his intentions more | clear. So I talked a great dead to him my- | self, and kept him away from them as much as I con!d. They called me ‘‘a greedy old pig of a mouse’’ to steal their ‘nice, big ugly man’’—they always said silly things like that—but they seemed more pleased that he was kind to me than an- noyed about it. I began to think that neither was in love; and then I felt very sorry for him, | and I thought it a great pity, because I | considered him the best man I bad ever | known, and I believed that he would | be an ideal husband. One morning I was walking down the High Strees with Mrs, Green, the vicar’s wife, and he stopped and talked; and when we were going he tonched my arm and whispered. ‘*Will yon be in this afternoon, Nan?" he asked. He bad dropped the ‘‘Miss” lately. ‘I'm going away soon, and I want to ask yoa something very important.’ “I will stay in.” I promised. ‘And send the babies oct? Jast lor ball an hour? I want to speak to you alone.” “If you'll come at bhall-past three,” I promised. ‘‘They will insist on coming in to tea at four. They are hungry babies!” *‘Hall-past three,’ he said. ‘Is is very important to me, Nan. You won’s (ail we?’ “Of course not,”’ I said. ised.” I hoped it was Babs thas he was going to ask about because Molly was #0 young and wild ; but whichever it was I did not know what to say. So, after lunch, I took them into father’s study, and sat down with an arm around each, and spoke to them very seriously. “Girls,” I said, ‘you are getting dread- fully grown up now. I don’t koow if is has occurred to yon that somebody might— might propoge to you?’ They actually langhed right out loud, as il it was a good joke. ‘“The possibility has oconrred to us,’ Babs said solemnly, and then they laughed again, as if they would never leave off. *‘It isn’t quite a langhiog-matter, dears,’’ | I reminded them. ‘I didn’t want you to be taken by surprise.” ‘‘Babs has bad the subject under con- sideration since she was six,”” Molly assur- me. “Since Tom first proposed to Molly,” Babs explained. ‘‘I think that was the first time, wasn’t it, reprehensible one?" “I forges,” said Molly; but I know that I've accepted him three times; and re- fused him three times; and the seventh is to be the final. That’s why he bangs back. Mean old thing!’ “My dears,” [ said decidedly, ‘‘don’t talk any more nonsense. Lord Evershy is coming to see me this afternoon to—well, I have every reason to suppose that it is to speak to me abvat one of you.” “Lord Eversby !'’ Babs cried. “One of us !"” Molly almost screamed. “Yes, dears,” I said. “‘Opeof you; and I don't know which. I thought that perhaps you — *' “I've prom- ‘“It is monstrous !"’ Babs cried. She seemed quite angry. “Worse than monstrous !"' Molly cried. “#I—1I hate him !” “Sodo I!" Babs declared. They seemed in quite a passion and went red and beld each other's arms, as if for protection. “You bave vo right to speak of him like that,’”’ I said, ‘‘no right at all.” I wae really angry with them. ‘‘He is the best man [ bave ever known, and you should feel hightly honored—one of you, at least. You don’t care lor him ? Either of you?” They shook their heads ; and suddenly Molly kissed me. ““Is's—Tom," she #aid ; and ran out of the room sand Babs hugged we and kissed me, too. “Couldn't you see, dear?’ she said. “There was never any one but Tom for ber, really. He is going to speak to father as soon as he gets the partnership. And as for me—when Fraok’s father lost his mon- ey, and Frank went away, he asked me to wait just a year, and I—I said I wonld wait all time and eternity. And I will I” Aud then she ran out, too. I oried a little. It seemed so good to know that my dear girls bad true hearts like that; but I was very sad about Lord Eversby. I had never liked and esteemed any one 80 greatly. I was a little sad about myself, too, because I bad never been able to get quite rid of a hope that some day some one would care for me and [I should care for him, and they wereso young, and I was five-and- twenty, aud no one had ever wanted we; at least no oue that I cared in the least for. There had been two who might have asked me il I had encouraged them, but I was very careful not to. I was very worried about what I shoanld do to avoid any unvecessary suffering to Lord Eversby. I decided that the best way was to forestall his gucetion. I would begin talking very quickly, and not les him get a word in ; and I would mention ina oareless, accidental sors of that the babies were engaged, ‘in a foolish boy- “I dido’t—1I wouldn’t—I—I am so used to people adpiring the girls, and —they are so different from me, and » ‘What!’ He opened his eyes wide. ‘*You thought I wanted to marry one of those babies !"’ “Yes.” owned. “I did. Indeed, I did. They are young, of course ; hut they are so beantiful and bright, and I—Do understand, Lord Eversby, I think most highly of you avd like you exceedingly, but—but I never dreamed of yonr caring for me. I'm such—such a dull, plain little thing.” “Ob, Nan!" he eid. ‘You don’t know what a dear woman you are jand as for heauty ——Have yon ever looked in the lass when you smile ? Won’t you think of s for a little while before yon answer? Won't you, Nan ?"’ “Yes,” I promised, “I will. I-I conldn’t marry any one just for friend- ship or liking, dear Lord Ervershy. wonld have to be—much more. If—if I could learn to I—I should be glad. Bat how can I tell ?" “You will tell me when you find ont? Or—I may ask you again in a week ?"’ “In a week,” I agreed. ‘‘You won't ask before, will yon 2” ‘No, dear. w: ek, won't youn?" “I shall always be friends,” I said. *'I am greatly honored, Lord Eversby ; very greatly honored. Now shall we go for a little walk ?"’ I wanted to make him see that I really liked heing friends; and I hoped very much that I shoald learn to be more, bus I did pot know, I wens unp-stairs for my hat. Wheo I walked to the glass [ saw myself smiling, and I conldn’t help thinking that I seemed just the least bit pretty, and I noticed that I was singing joyously to myself; and then I knew ! I ran down-stairs directly, with my bat in my band. I coanld not be so cruel as to keep him in suspense a moment longer ; aud I made np my mind that I would not let my pride stand in the way, bus tell him frankly and make him bappy. So [ walked up to bim and held out both my hands. ‘You may ask me now,” eaid.—By Owen Oliver, in dinslee's. The Renewal a Strain. Vacation is over. Again the school bell rings at morning and at boon, again with tens of thousands the hardest kind of work has begun, the renewal of which is a men- tal and physical strain to all except the most ragged. The little girl that a few days ago bad roses in her cheeks, and the little boy whose lips were then so red you woald bave insisted that they had been “kissed by strawberries,”’ have already lost something of the appearance of health. Now is a time when many children should be given a tonic whish may avert muoh serious trouble, and we know of no other 80 highly to be recommended as Hood's Sarsaparilla, which strengthens the nerves, perfects digestion and assimilation, and aids mental development by building up the whole system. It would be an interesting matter to trace, if possible, the relation of she preva- lence of suicide to the prevalence of ‘‘stom- ach trouble.” There ie no doabt in many cases such a relation. One of the common results of disease of the stomach and organs w Aigestioy aud Bujsition, oa condition mental depression espondency. And one of the common verdicts in on of suicide is ‘Killed himself in a fit of de- | spondency.’’ The home was happy, there as gg i the ip the an threw e away. ent people sboald begin the use of Dr. Pierce's Gold- en Medical Discovery. By ouring diseases of the stomach and organs of digestion and _natrition, it removes the depression resuls- ing from these diseasea. It purifies the blood and increases both its qaality and richness. It makes health of body aud promotes happiness of mind. A Lesson In Patience. When the eminent botanist, Profess- or Altman of Glasgow, was a smell boy, he had the present of a silver bit, whereupon his mother was so wor- ried with questions as to what he should do with it that she exclaimed, “Really, you had better go to Thomas Elliot's (a well known pharmacist) and buy sixpence worth of patience.” Down the street marched the lad and demanded of the chemist, “Mr. Elliot, please give me sixpence worth of pa. tience.” Mr. Elliot, taking in the situation at a glance, sald: “Certainly, my boy; there's a chair. Just sit down and wait till you get it.” Professor Altman's endeavor to pur- chad patience was a great success. It made a deep impression on the lad and was one of the factors of his success in life. Mr. Lincoln's Brevity. A historian recalls the fact that iu Mr. Lincoln's speech to the notification committee at Springfield there were 139 words and in his formal letter of acceptance there were 134 words. In his speech of acceptance to the com mittee in Washington in 1564 there arc 196 words, and in his letter of accept ance there are 200 words. But let us remember that there were no typewrit- ers in those days, and such a thing as a phonograph had not been dreamed of and-girl fashion, you know.” ~8t. Louis Post-Dispatch, It You will he friends for the | FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. The most important attribute of man as a moral being is the faculty of self-control.— Herbert Spen- cer. Care of the Teeth. —Fruite and vegeta- bles with acids are aps to irritate the gums and the amount of cold drinks taken is likely to make the teeth sensitive. There is a growing tendency to clean the teeth with a very soft oheese cloth instead of a brush. [It ie quite true thas this is ex- cellent for sensitive teeth. Ice water should never he used for oleans- ing the teeth, Itis worse than hot water. Lukewarm i¢ the right temperature. An old-fashioned way of cleansing and brightening the teeth is to rob them with a leaf of green sage, which bas a very help- ful effect. It is said by those who use it to effectually prevent she formation of tartar. If one is ons of the reach of the dentist when a filling falls ont during the summer it is wise to take a piece of ruhber, make it spongy by heat and press it into the cavity. If it is convenient it is always good to use a hall tumbler of warm water to rinse the entire mouth after eating. For receding gums a droggist will put up a sale and sound lignid made of orris root in tinctare, lavender water, cinnamon in tincture, cinchona bark, also in lignid form, and cologne. One of the more sensible of the new hats has a decidedly military air, with its small bigh crown tapering gradoally into a rounded apex, and in shape closely re- sembles some of the chapeanx which the picture books lead us to believe were af- fected by the Plymouth Rock Pilgrims. From the back this resemblance is mark- ed, as she brims are wide and ahove them shows au notrimmed expavee of crown. Bot a view of the front is calonlated to be disappointing to any eave the frivolous minded, for above the left brow the nar- rowed brim rolls abruptly against a clns- ter of alternating short and long stiff wings, which lend a rather rakish appearance to even the most dignified of women. It ie a hat which accords very well with the empire separate coat, and, moreover, does not call for a coiffare of enormous proportions. It also bas the advantage of offering little resistance to the wind ona disagreeable day. It comes in a rather stiff felt in sobacco brown, royal blue, hunter's green and the | various crushed berry shades, which seem |astineq to obtain throughout the coming winter. Maoy hats are made of the heavy Ot. toman silk that will be prominent in an- tan costumes of plash, of soft moleskin, and aiso of fine far. The last are trimmed with a forest of nearly priceless aigrettes. Children’s fashions do not change very greatly, but, nevertheless they echo in a minor degree the styles of the grown-ups. For small children, however, the famous ‘‘Buster Brown'’ costume knows no equal for general wear, and its smart simplicity is exceedingly becoming to small folk. Another charming style closely resembling the ‘‘Baster Brown’' costume is the long- waisted ‘‘Pinafore’’ dress. A delightful frock worn by a little girl is made in this pretty style. It is compos. ed of blue and brown striped French flan- | nel, the ronnded neck being strapped with | plain blue, while the dress is fastened at the side with large blue buttons. The | frock is made entirely in one piece ; the long-waisted effect being obtained hy a each of blue washing silk threaded through loops and tied at the side. A tiny blonse of white lawn finely tucked completed the costume. This design wonid be exdellent for school wear if carried out in cashumere or any auitable material. Serge is the foremost material for hard wear, and nothing is nicer than a well-cnt costume of navy blue serge. A smart coat and skirt of this material for a child of 12 was shown hy a firm renowned for ohil- dren's tailor-mades. The skirt was made with broad kilted pleats, a broad hox pleat forming the front panel. The coat, which came down to within a few inches of the hem, was beautifully braided with black soutache, and large black velvet buttons adorned the sleeves from elbow to wrist. Another coat and skirt for ioe wear is of paless biscnit-colored cloth. The skirt is lain and the coat bas the sides slashed. A road brimmed felt bat is simply trimmed with a wreath of large pink chiffon roses. A loose coat of showerproof tweed should never be omitted from the school outfis, Such tom proves a hoon when the weath- er . A most important and very lengthy dis- course might be written upon the theme of buttons, nor would the critic with any jostitication be able to prove thas the prominence thus given to these attributes of dress was ill-bestowed. Eminently favorable are all the auspices concerning the popularity of buttons asa trimming this autumn. Once more enameled sets are heing used; in exquisite colorings, such as green, blue and rose, they are trimming the linen dresses worn at the seaside and for yacht- ing. Beantifal gold buttonsand baornish- ed and dal! oxidized silver cues and mold. covered with silk are all employed in vari- ously appropriate ways. Cucumber Pickles. — Wash small cucom- bers, let atand over night in weak brine, then drain and let soak for two hours in cold water and drain again. (Cider vine- gar most be used.) Heat the cuonmbers through by covering them with water that has come to the boiling point. Let stand while you heat the vinegar to the boiling | point, add a tablespoonfal of cinnamon . bark for each quart can, pack the cnounm- bers in the cans and poar the boiling vine- gar over them. Seal while bot. Nougat Ice Cream. — Shell and blanch one-half of a cupful of pistachio nuts and one quarter of a cupfal of almonds. Chop very, very fine with one-half of a cuplal of English walnate. Make a rich vanilla oream, and when nearly frozen beat in the nats with a spoon, addinga few drops of pistachio extraot. Sealding hot milk is more effective in re- moving stains from linen or cotton fabrics than boiling water. Wring a oloth from vinegar and wrap it several thicknesses around cheese to keep it from moulding or drying. Put a pinch of salt into coal oil lamps for a wore brilliant light. For a polish, rab the chimneys with fine salt. FARM NOTES. —Let the beginner he content with a small flock. ~1¢ is a poor plan to try sad k too long in bot weather. ny. —Keep plenty of clean water within reach of your hogs as all times. —Io cattle feeding, cow pea aod alfalfa bay Sake op a good substitute for wheat —Muoh sickness among hogs is due to uncertain quarters, wet pens and ex- posure. —It is said thas she first weeping willow in Eogland was planted by Alexander Pope, the poet. —Wild olive trees last centnries in Tar- key, and there are some for which fully 1,000 years are claimed. —Watch your horses’ eyes. Many a borse could he saved from blindness if common sense care were given in time. ~The brood mare should have a few hours’ exercise in the yard or on the road every day. Is does not pay to keep her confined —The vine attains a great age, contin- ning froitfol for at least 400 years. It is supposed to be equal to the oak as regards longevity. —The leal of the cocoanut tree is nearly | thirty feet long. A single leaf of the par- | asol magnolia of Ceylon affords shade for fifseen or twenty persons. ~ Young horses should be worked woder- ately, so that they may attain their fall growth. It is a bad mistake to depend apen them to do all the work on the farm. —All kinds of growing stock should bave plenty of exercise. Animal growth cannot be made successfully unless every muscle bas had an opportunity to be brought into use. —Fuel or energy is all that can he got- ten out of the fat contained in foodstuffs. Potential energy is furnished by fatty tissne. Tt isn reserve fuel supply for the animal. —Pige suffering from scours may be helped and many cared by feeding them milk that has heen boiled and to which a piot of scorched ound bad been added for each gallon. ~The farm price of eggs in 1809 was | 11.15 cents per dozen as an average for the | United States. In 1903, 12.37 cents per dozen; in 1904, 17.20 cents; in 1905, 18.70 | cents; in 1906, 17 cents, and in 1907, 18.20 cents. ~For stickivg labels to tin, mix dextrine and vinegar to the consistency to suit, then { add about two onnces of honey to the pint | of paste. If too moch honey is used the | labels will have a greasy appearance and | will not dry righs. | —Sweet potatoes should be harvested he. | fore the frosts injure the vines. Cat off | tops close to the ground and carefully raise with a fork. Leave tubers exposed for a few hours to dry, then store in a dry place with a temperature at about 55 degrees F, —In giving castor oil to animals allow one to two pints to a horse, four ounces to sheep, two ounces to pige and two to four | ounces to calves, Castor oil is an exocel- lent purgative. fu cases of scours it is ad- vised to give small doses, combined with landanaw. ~The New Jereey Board of Health bas | started an active campaign looking toward | the enforcement of the law which provides | for the thorough cleaning of all milk cans by city receivers heforr returning. Arrests have been made in Jersey City and $25 | fines for each offense are imposed. ~A pew bacterial disease has attacked the chestnut trees in Pennsylvania and New York that is of a contagions order. The leaves turn yellow aud the trees die. i In appeaiance the disease is similar to pear blight. Chestnus growers in some parts of New Jersey are reporting the same trouble. — Horse radish may be harvested in the fall, before the ground freezes, or in the spring, before rank top growth begins. Run plow deeply along side of row to re- move earth, lift ont and trim main root. Thoroughly wash with brash and rinse in clean water. Peel off outer skin and grate. — Weeds in the garden during the months of August and September will produce seed before they are noticed, stocking the ground with weed seed for next year. The garden shonld be kept free from weeds until frost. This will save considerable lahor in the growing of vegetahles, as most of the work required is due to the weeds and grass that come ap io the early season. ~The Philadelpbia Vacant Lots Associa- tion, which was organized duriog the panio of 1893 as one means of supplying food and work for families without employment, bas since been maintained. The last year the investment of $5800 contributed by the friends of the wovement and the use of vacant lots and otherwise unproductive land, yielded not less than $54,000 worth of vegetables and frais. —An Eoglish veterinarian being called upon to prescribe for constipation among some yearling heifers gave each heifer one pound of Epsom salts dissolved in a guart of warm water. This was given as a drench, and for 24 hours after giving the drench nothing was given to eat bus a litiie damp bran. In order to prevent a recurrence of the trouble he advised feeding some laxa- tive food, as puiped roots or silage. —Of all roots, except potatoes, heets are the most seneitive to frost. Carrots will stand considerable freezing without much injury, heing moatly deep in the ground, but they must be left to thaw in the ground. Parspips and vegetable oyster plants are better for being allowed to re- main out all winter, and of parsuips, es- pecially, ovly sufficient shonld be put in the cellar for use when those out of doors cannot be gotten at. —When a horse gets into the rearing habit it is best to quit using him for rid- ing, as it is hard to break him. The horse given to rearing is dangerous under the saddle, as the rider cannot tell when the animal will fall clear backward and pin him underneath. It is a mistake of the rider at such a time to loosen she reins and oling to she horn or pommel of the saddle, or grab the horse’s mane, as this does not give protection. Expert riders say that the best thing to do when a hore starts to rear is to quickly and violently poll the head to one side. This will put him off his balance eo he cannot rear up, bat the rider must be quick. ——*'‘Pop, wot’s an anomaly ?"’ ‘*‘An anomaly,’’ answered the chauffeur, ‘‘is a man who ao automobile with- out kicking about the cost of repairs.” «There is nothing like plenty of work to keep a man’s mind off his misfortunes.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers