Bellefonte, Pa., June Ii, 1909, EE ————————————— THE BLOTTED PAGE. The Angel with the Book That holds each word and deed, On my page let me look ; And as I blushed to read— “Three things,” the Angel said, “I may blot out for thee.” I bowed in thought my head— Now which ones should they be ? “Blot this I”"—*No, that I" eame quick, As still new conscience woke ; Till all the leaf was thick With blackening blur and stroke. “'T were better as [ live,” 1 cried in my despair, “To blot the whole, and give A pew page otherwbere I" «Edward Rowland Sill, GOD KEEP YOU, . God keep you through the silent night and guard Your pillow from all perils, dear. From dark to dawn I pray His love toward And watch you, hovering ever near. God keep you through the busy day, dear heart, And guide your feet through every chance, From dawn to dark may not His love depart Or lose its tender vigilance, Nay, nay ; there is no hour when I shall cease To supplicate His brooding care. All days, all nights, through all eternities, God keep you, every time and everywhere | «Maurice Smiley, in Leslic's Weekly. “Hello, Black Giant!” I said, lookin’ $hrough a knot-hole in the board fence. “You mustn’s walk through our alley on Fliday.” He came and looked down at me over the fence. He wore a wrinkled old black bas, an’ his bair hung down in his eyes. “Why? he asked, after a minute. us am Jack the Gians-killer,”” I told “Yo're just a solemn little scamp.” “Fe fi-lo-fum!” I answered. He thought this over for a while an’ scowled. *‘I ain’ afraid of you.”’ Then he soratched his ear, an’ his hand bad a black smut on it like bis face. He seemed to be thinkin’ tremendous. “My pame is Sledge,’”” he growled. oan hammer iron.” “If you can bammer the other giants, 1’11 take you in,” I said. “T’ll beat em like an anvil. Bus keep still about it till I see you again. Good- by, scamp.” “Good-by, Sledge. You can walk through our alley on Friday.” He reached over an’ I ehook one of bis fingers with my whole ban’; then I watoh- ed bim out o’ sight through the knot-hole, be wasn’t afraid. “I wish yon wouldn’s talk to every tag who goes along,”’ said my mother from the back poroh. “I don't,” I told her; for I'd missed a man av’ a dog three days before. “Do you think you can stay by yourself the rest of the day?’ she asked. ‘“‘Whas are you playin’ ?"’ “I'm not playin’; I'm a miser, an’ they ain’s time to play.” “Ob dear!" she eaid. ‘I wish you wasn’s #0 serious, an’ would run an’ shout like other boys. You give me the blues. Now I’m goin’ out to tea, an’ you'll find your supper on the table.”” Then she whisked into the house, while I thought how pretty she looked in ber new white dress. I dug a miser’s den with a sharp stick, an’ baried two marbles, a clo’es-pin, an’ a bread crust. As coon as I gos 'em buried I wanted to see an’ count 'em again like all misers; but jnst then a boy looked in through the knot-bhole an’ asked, What yon doin’? “J am a miser,’”’ I answered, ‘‘an’ don’t let people know what I'm doin’.”’ “My ma says you look like a tramp,” be said. ‘Why don’t yon get your olo’es patohed an’ come over an’ play with me?" “My ma's a miser, too,” I told him, “‘an’ don’t want people to know where we keep our patches.’ I could hear him etrainin’ as if he was tryin’ to push his eye through the hole; then he called nut: *“Ya-a! right there is where you have things buried in the groun’. Anybody oould tell shat.” It bothered me to think be had foun’ ont so easy, as he went on, ‘‘There’s nothin’ in there I'd bave."”’ I was jus’ about to count ’em, anyhow’ #0 I dug 'em up. “Them marbles ain’t much,” be eaid. “I wouldn’t take tbat big glassy if any- body but you offered it to me.” 80, as he wouldn't take one anywhere else, I gave it to him. He grumbled ‘cause Wife was a little nick in is, an’ then ol “Pshaw! You ain’t any miser at all, or you wouldn’s give things away,” an’ in- stead of his eye Isaw his teeth grinnin’ right across the hole before he went away. Somebody else was comin’ an’ lookin’ through. I saw the man an’ dog I'd missed three days before. He was the miser him- self I'd beard folks talk about, an’ was the cause of my bein’ one. bent in his shabby old clo’es, an’ wore speotacles. I wanted to ask him just how to be a miser,e0 I wouldn't make any more mistakes like I bad with the boy, bus I was afraid that time. His dog came sniffin’ | eaid al an’ I stuck the bread orust through he pole when he grabbed it. He was bony an’ yellow, but he gave a little frien’ly bark when he went on, which was more’n the boy done. I only had the clo’es-pin an’ one cracked grassy iefs, so I it bein’ a miser before somebody got , 100, an’ went into the house. 1 ate my biscuit an’ butter on the front porch just about dark, listenin’ to the in a little puddle across the street. thought his mother had gone away an’ lefs him without any suppes, 80 I took him over a piece of bisouit; but though I waded aroun’ after him, he was afraid to come I sat on the front forch wonderin’ if Mr. Mullet would bring mother home, an’ soon they came in the talkin’ Pe laughin’, on, “*Here's Master Tad waitin’ up for us agin,’ eaid Mr. Mallet, puttin’ Bis hand on my shoulder. It tonohed my neck an’ felt so cold that I wriggled a little bit. ““ I'm afraid he doesn’t care for petsin’,” he went on. “No;he's a Sitang child,” said my moth. er; “not a bit jolly like other oy “I think you let him have his own way too much,” said Mr. Mullet. “I will have He was lean an’ | agi to take bim in band an’ teach bim it’s his affectionate, after duty to be playful av’ we—" He took mother’s band, an’ I won- dered she didn’s have a chill, bus she only said with a listle o “Dear A sure you'll make a noble boy of him.” This made me feel so cold all over that J0s0 | weat 10 bed Levin covered wpmy The very nex’ snifflin’ along the fence, that when his master came : “Hello!” an’ as he stopped, *‘If you tell alley.” He only wans to know how Everybody says you're one, an’ don’s give soy ibing away, even to your dog. How do you do is?” way without tellin’ me whats I know. “Tad,” she cried ous, in a sharp voice, oy shall whip you if you speak to people on . “I was only askin’ bim how to bea miser.”’ “A miser!” she gasped. ‘‘What have done? be ie one, an’ a dread- Tally cold ed one, $00; but now he will pay us less than ever.’’ I was scared and tried to take the band Mr, Mullet bad held the other night, but TE PL: he surge of i "w on . property your father lefs us, an’ when he Shue Litas, Jumte ago, I came too, s0 he svaldsis us; though I believe he does, an was 80 sorry when she left me that I sat down with my obin on my knees, an’ made up my mind to eas a beetle if I could find a lean one, when there was a knockin’ I called out, *“‘Come Sledge, the Giant, put his head over. At fires he scowled, but when he saw I loved Dretsy at goat he held ont some- thin’ with a hoarse whisper: “Take it: it's a iron I got away from ’em. - Them is where the baby giants whet their teeth.’ This made me open my eyes, an’ I asked if he'd hammered the t. “Jast like an anvil,” he said. ‘‘Ab-h! bus he roared an’ spit out eparks.”’ ““What do you think o’ misers?’’ I asked bim, an’ he scratohed his ear with his smutty hand before answerin’. “I don’t know much about ’em, ole Gians-killer; maybe they're too small an’ mean for us to consider.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was a mieer uyeelé onoe, because I ¢ ht they was all right,”” And I told bim what I'd done. “I¢’s ole Grimshaw; I’ve heard of him,” be said. ‘‘He starves his dog.” ‘‘Mus’ we hate 'em?"’ “I don’t know about that; some of us might not be any better thao they are. Maybe we'd better let em pass along with- out noticin’. I mus’ go now. Good-by, ole Killer.” “Good-by. You can walk through our alley any day, now. Bring the next roarer up here an’ hammer him.’ Bat hefore I saw him again, the miser himself came by one day, an’ stood lookin’ down; then he held out somethin’ too. “I'm not a miser any more since I found ous about ’em,” Iesaid. *‘You can pass along; hut I'll play with your bony dog.” He didn’s for a minute, bus blink- ed his eyes through the spectacles. ‘‘It’s a jew’s-barp,’’ he said then. “I'm sorry,” I answered, for I'd heard of jew’s-harps, ‘‘but I don’t like youn any more.” I didn’t look at him, an’ pretty soon he went away. I knew I'd done right, though it worried me 80 I didn's like to think about it ; but thas evenin’ somethin’ so much worse bap- ed that I forgot about him an’ the ew’s-harp. Mother an’ Mr. Mullet came in together, an’ pickin’ me up, he beld me in his arms. They were otiff an’ bard as wood, an’ I conldn’s keep from shiverin’ a little ; bus when I looked into his pale eyes an’ saw he was goin’ to kiss me, I jerked away an’ said ‘*No."' He held me a minute longer, an’ then set me down on the floor slowly. They stood still after that, lookin’ as each other. “Why ain’t you a good boy to your new paps, Tad ?"’ said my mother, her cheeks . “I don’t understand you ”’ “I must take him in hand, said Mr. Mal. let, an’ I was cold agin all that night. The next mornin’ be looked so stern at me that I thought I'd scare him away, an’ I said I knew a giant who would get bim. But my mother was the one who looked scared, an’ Mr. Mullet locked me up in a dark room, where I stayed all day without anything to eat. ‘When at last he opened the door an’ asked me something I couldn't nnderstand, I was too much afraid to answer. Bus be let me out, an’ I crept into the yard, where : was Jonsiome, Svs With Noe iron oe or company. I got every! an’ conjdn’t think what to do,or even os: toward the house ; so I began to hope Sledge would come by to talk to me, or let me shake his big finger. But instead of Si , somebody else came to the fence. I knew who it was without lookin’ by the sniffin’ aroun’ the hole, an’ shook my head for him so go away. Bat he wouldn't go, an’ I looked ap. There he sicod without a word, his face wrinkled an’ his near-sighted eyes strainin’ at me, while he held out the jew’s-harp n. Somethin’ whispered to me that he found it an’ didn’t know what else to do with it, an’I thought, too, thatifl be hadn’s been so sti we wouldn’t have had Mr. Mullet to take us in band. Sol ) “Hawaiike ve ; bug giants. Pass or will hammer you. Haven't you been oryin’ ?”’ he asked, in his oracked voice. see very well.” MES Bap Ba hs to em wi was, I answered. All at once I remembered |g bad told me, an’ wens closer. you know my old papa, can’t you get him back for us ?"’ I asked, ‘‘so we can ges rid of the new one. He hates me, an’ shuts me up in dark rooms, so I am afraid of bim.” “So he made you cry, did he ?'’ ssid the miser. He ioalked sou’ ails Mos a to get y e away ; but ina minute I heard th: . “Tell me. Ican’t “I'm takin’ this with me,” he said. hat right ? do you mean ?" cried Mr. Mullet, facin’ him, stiff an’ tall. Bub the o/d Titer prow straight 30’ lad as iron too ; his eyes sparkles right into the other's face, an’ his fingers almost out into my arm, Yoo can’t take bim away. My dear yA But Mr. Mallet sent her a black look—I felt he was glad to get rid of me,~an’ the miser said “Your affection comes too late.” all stood eo for 8 minate, an’ then the miser led me away. As we left I beard Mr. Mallet say. ot better eo, a8 Grimshaw bas the property. On the street he walked lookin’ straght ahead, his lace so bard an’ fierce it scared me terribly. Once be tried to speak to me, but his voice was #0 barsh he stop- Peon, if I'd only meet Sledge,’’ I thought, “before we ges to his den, where be’ll starve me like he does his dog.” But instead we met the I'd given the marble to. He was a bigger boy than me, and said. ““Ya-a ! there goes the misers.” I was so shamed that I bong down my bead so’ ed nos $0 hear. Then we went to a strange town—the one did the bess I could by her, for I conldn’s bear to leave my boy.” ‘Why, she pretended to be » widow,” said Sledge, ‘‘and told Tad that you bad of bis father’s estate, would bardly let her have enough to live on.” The oid man sighed. “I never told any- body we'd been man an’ wile,” be said. “I baven’s much pride lefs, but I conldn’s admis thas.” epok Tad, an’ I thought it wae better so; for il be knew all, he'd be ashamed of me too. She wonld call me stingy in her letters, but there was small pickin’ in my little business. My eyes ate weak, an’ I couldn’ When w les go my arm an’ be. | go into ge else.” gan to unlock a little store, I knew is was| ‘‘You did all yon could,” mumbled his den, an’ backed away. The dog, who | SI bad heen followin’ as, came up an’ licked my band ; he remembered the crust I gave him, an’ was sorry I was goin’ to be starved 100. The miser turned an’ looked for me with bie near-sighted eyes, but I backed away farther, an’ all of a sudden took to my heels, hardly knowin’ what I did. He cried after me, but 1 was aroun’a corner an’ out of sight in a minute. The dog ran with me, barkin’, till we came to a pile of big boxes, where tired ont, I crawled among them till I came to one balf filled with straw, and there I lay down, ile fhe dog stood in front waggin’ his 1 lay there very still sill it began to grow dusky, an’ then I heard somethin’ crawlin’ through the passageway among the boxes. I was too scared to move, bus the brave dog barked, and presty soon, with a gruff word or two, the fellow went away. I could remember more about that bight, only when I woke it was too late, with the Jus shinin’ through the crannies in the es. Then we wens out and etood in the mid- dle of along street, with nobody about that early in the mornin’ ; there I pointed | ¥ with my finger and explaived where I was un’, and the bog barked to go along, owin’ I would take oare of him. So we started, and traveled till the houses got scarce and then quit comin’ al er. Some e looked at me curiously, but seemed to think the dog was takin’ care o’ me, an’ on. At last we came $0 one more house, an’ I looked through the gate at a woman, who asked where I was goin’. ““To visit Sledge," I told ber. Then ehe brought me something to eat an’ gave the dog a bone. Farther on I bad to wait for him to bury the bone, be bavin’ got the miser’s babit— an’ fell asleep in some woods. When I woke it was gettin’ gray, an’ only half the sun was left. The dog, who bad been sittin’ by me, looked up as il very sorry for what be was about to do ; then givin’ a little bowl as if sayin’, “I must,’’ away he ran. 1 was all alone then, an’ as it began to get dusk an’ chilly, the shadows crossed the road, for they don’t like to stand ons in the warm sun. Still I walked on—on along the white, dusty way, goin’ aroun’ the shadows where cricket chirped, an’ listenin’ to a blind giant with a bell on, tinklin’ an’ trampin’ through the woods. This tinklin’ got louder an’ louder, till it sounded clear an’ strong ; then, as I wens over a little hill, I saw an eye glow- in’ red an’ dull in the deep, blue hollow below. There was a muffled roarin’; cling-clang ~—an’ the sparks flew in every direction. I was mistaken about the bell ; somebody was hammerin’ a giant. “Sledge,’’ Icried out loud, an’ ina minute stood pantin’ by his door. Tremendous an’ black he looked in the flarin’ light, as the great hammer rose an’ fell. Then he saw me, the hammer fell to the floor, an’ I was swung high in arms that were strong as iron, bat tender an’ soft as a make-helieve mother’s. “Ole Killer," be said, solemnly, *‘I was jus’ thinkin’ about youn.” “Dwarfs there mus’ be ; dwarfs with flabhy souls an’ skins an’ fat pockets full o’ gold, who keep all the money they get hold of, so that their ole friends little boy goes ragged an’ talks to giants an’ euch in the back yard.” So Sledge spoke after he bad heard my 7 “You needn’t hammer bim for that lass part,” I said. “‘But these dwarfs are called misers now- adays,’”’ went on Sledge, as the roarin’ stopped an’ he pulled a white-bot iron from the blinkin’ fiery eye with his pincers. “Then give it to him,” I said, an’ the sparks fairly rained to where I sat on the bench in the smoky shop. “You'll allow $ us giants has our good part, ole Killer,” he muttered, ‘but adwarl, never. Why, if he'd gave you the money he should from that estate, your ma wounldn’t bave been worried into takin’ Mallet.” “How long have I been here ?"’ I asked. “Three days ; an’ jus’ sunses,’’ glancin’ | 0UE out over the hill. “Youn won't let Grimshaw take me if he comes, will you, Sledge ?”’ He growled, swinging bis hammer. “Beat him on the anvil agin. I believe I'll stop killin’ giants an’ begin on miser- dwarfs mysell.’ “Good !I"’ I said, when he bad finished an’ the iron was flat an’ cold. ‘‘What made his dog go back ?"’ “J don’t understand it,”’ said the Ham- ; “fer not even a dog could be his trien’.” We were silent a minute, an’ then it seemed 3 ne o Shower 8 ” bad spread iotoa e t, witha black figure walkin’ down through ite deep shinin’ centre. We watched it come; 8I with his arm stretched ont holdin the mer, an’ me leanin’ from the bench. In the middle of the sunset at the door, peerin’ into the smoky light, stood the miser. “Wait fer me, Tad,’”’ he said, in a soft voice that ran whisperin’ all around the with the bony dog lickin’ his face ; 1 thought even shen that he must have start- ed his master after me along the road. It was nothin’ for Si to carry the old man into our little near by, where he bathed his head, while the dog whined ae if askin’ questions. EE Sarr open es, we m very I rT at td But along the middle of the night I woke . And then he lay there on the floor, | tend toa get buogry for the sight of bim,” said the miser, ‘*“Hungry for food, too, I'll be bound. That’s what's the matter with you,” eaid the giant; ‘‘an’ while you sacrificed your- self, she let Tad go L" “An’ I thought he was all the time. I believe now she only insisted on keepin’ him to get what money she could ous of me.” “Poor ole Killer?’ said Sledge. “What is it?’ I asked, comin’ in, still sepy. e stared at me still an’ strange in the moonlight. “Did you call me, Giant?"’ **Not me,’”’ with a tremble in his voice as if I bad been a ghost. He looked very solemn and balf afraid at the cot where the miser bad raised on his elbow. I looked too, and somehow the miser’s face seemed changin’, an’ in his eyes was a light I bad seen before, though never where it shown for me. “Why, I believe it was you who called me,” I said. “You don’t seem to be the dwar! or miser any longer; etill I know ““Yoa’re right, said Sledge, ‘‘he’s the t, an’ I'm the dwarf. 1 koow, ’canse feel awful small when I think of the way I talked about him.” I stood thinkin’ fora minute, an’ then told bim: ‘I’m goin’ over an’ be friends, Sledge, like the starvin’ dog.” He nodded and drew his sooty band across his eyes as he answered: ““An’ from this day I’m bis friend tog, just as I've been yours; now I'm goin’ ont to see if a miserable dwarf can swing a hammer.” Somehow I realized I was the miser’s little boy, an’ eas on the bed beside him perfectly happy, an’ wishin’ Mr. Mullet could see me plain. ‘You an’ Sledge an’ I will be good com- p'oy,” 1 said, as we listened to the ole Giant scatterin’ wildfire from the iron. He nodded as if he thought I was still asleep an’ was afraid of wakin’ me. ‘“Then we will all be misers,”’ I said, an’ he nodded again. Of course I meant we’d be misers of each other's comp’ny, an’ as be understood it tbat way I felt very comfortable, which I { bave done ever since, with those two an’ the dog, who is now fat an’ will not lick anyhody’s hand.—By Calvin Johnston, ‘in Harper's Monthly Magazine. ——Do you know that you can get the finest oranges, banannas and grape fruit, and pine apples, Sechler & Co. Life. The poet's exclamation : “O Life! I feel thee bounding in my veins,” is a joy: ous oué. Persons that can rarely or never make it, in hovesty to themselves, are among the moet unfortunate. They do not live, but exist, for to live implies more than to be. To live is to be well and strong— to arise feeling equal to the ordinary daties of the day, and to retire not overcome by them —to feel life bounding in the veins. A medicine that has made thousands of people, men and women, well and strong, bas accomplished a great work, bestowing the richest blessing, and that medicine is Hood's Sareaparilla. The weak. run- down, or debilitated, from any cause,should not fail to take it. It builds up the whole system, changes existence into life, and makes life more abounding. We are glad to say these words in ite favor to the read- ers of our columuos, —Do you know we have the old” style sugar syrups, pure goods at 40 cents and 60 cents per gallon, Seohler & Co. Knows His Business. Mis. Highsome—He preached to an au- dience of women, did he? And be took for his text, ‘‘Let your women keep silence in the churches ?”’ That must bave seem- ed like a deliberate insuis to all of you. Mrs. Upmore—Quite the contrary. You hs to have beard how he roasted Paul for writing those words ! ——Do you know where you can geta fine fat mess mackerel, bone out, Sechler & Co. — ¢'] gee your bair is falling ous, sir,” remarked the bairdresser, who was ready to work the bair tonic idea on the customer. “You don’t see anything of the sort,” rejoined his victim. ‘‘What you see is the sequel to a falling out between Mrs. Cod- gers and mysell.”’ —Do youn know where yon can get a fine fat mess mackerel, bone out, Sechler i | & Co. ——River had taken Brooks out to luncheon. “Ever eaten at this place before ?’’ asked Brooks, sawing away on his steak. “0, yes: a few times,’’ answered Rivers, trying to find a piece of chicken that was er “Serves yon right, then I" —Do you know where to get the finest teas, coffees and spices, Sechler & Co. I. part of my book did you most enjoy ?'’ asked the authorette as brushed ber hair over her ears. And after a moment's reflection Miss Cayenne ane : “The cover design.” back there—where I got ber s home an’ | *Priog enoogh sweet milk to make stiff batter, she | drop in hot gem pans and bake in quick oven. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. O woman ! in hours of ease, Uncertain, coy and hard to please and variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When painand angnish wring the brow A ministering angel thou. «Sir Walter Scotl. There are bus two new points in the sod summer coats for the very little child, and also for she girl from 4 to 12 years old—two points eo old thas they are new every year, and so important that they should be reiterated so coatmakers each in- coming season. One poins is the plainness of the coat, which means simplicity of line that amounts almost to severity ; and the other new poins ies the recurring question of correct material, which varies so listle from year to year, but which makes or mars the coat. The washable coas for very warm daye is, withous doubt, at its best when made of pique. French pigueof a ribbed or more unusual checked weave is the exact quality. The coloring this year may take on the more intense tones of the popular old blues and deep rose pinks. The silk coas is bengaline or ottoman in weave if intended for she very bess occa- sions, or colored shantung, but never the thin and glossy dress silks belonging to mother. Newest among the woolen weaves is the cotele, or Bedford cord—a quality shat is almost dust-proof and bas proved iteelf duriog a long term of years when it was with us before. Broadoloth necessarily holde its own; and for general utilisy pur- poses there is no better standby than the old favorite, serge. The only childish coat not made of a plain, solid color is the shepherd’s plaid cloth, which is unusually good at present for the 12-year-old. Uncompromising severity of tailored finish and lioe is the rest of the story. Coats to suits are somewhat shorter, and, except for thas, they follow generally the lines of those which we have been wearing this winter. When buying new furniture, insist on baviog ball-bearing casters. They wear for ever and never stick. No furniture equipped with them is too heavy to move easily. The cheap casters cause lots of trouble and often have to be replaced. For summer the dining room should be farnished as simply as possible. The less there is in it the better. Dining tables, obaire, and sideboard there must be, but lounges, small tables, pictures and bric-a- brac may be dispensed with. Straw matting can be cleaned and bright- ened by dissolving in hall a pail of water one piot of salt. This should be used to wash matting at least twice during the summer, and after washing dry at once with eoft cloth. It is interesting to note the strides that bave been made in the ready-made costume and euit Heparin, Not only are they as well made, but, in many cases, they are of as distinctive designing as those thas are made to order. The prices, too, seem some- what lower than at thisjseason last year. A satisfactory assortment is already displayed at an average price of twenty-nine dollars. Serge in several varieties and panama, with the prunpellas, make up the favorite weaves. At present the sleeves match the body material of the frock, becanse, no matter how infatuated we may be with a style, its charm palls as soon as it has become com- mon, and gonimpes must be placed in that category. But they are sure to take on a new lease of life soover or later. The nets, with fine mesh and baod-embroidered dots, are most effective for the small yokes that bave replaced the larger expauvee of lace, and dainty are they in connection with the lustrous cloths and silks with which they are worn. The stocks are well shaped, but not quite so exaggerated in the points at the side, and she wide, flaring ruchings are affected only by a few. Either a band of silk or velvet or a narrow [rill is better. Invariably roses should be planted by themselves, for they thrive poorly unless allowed to absorb the entire nourishment of a rich soil. Indeed, many growers be- lieve that oertain varieties do best wheb | squash living a) from even those nearest of kin, and make up their rosariums with many beds, each holding one kind of rose, or set the plants in rows with ample room lels between for oultivation. June, however, is nos the time to plan or build a rosari- um, which can be done successfully only in the spriog or antomn.—The Delineator. The girl who wears bar pins, belt buok- les, sleeve links and watch obain of dil- ferent colored stones is not dressing oor- rectly. She should go without jewelry rather than mix is. Plain gold at every place is better than a diamond bere, a pearl there, a piece of jade in another place, and coral somewhere else. If she uses bar pins to fasten the edges of her collar they should be alike. To have one in colored stones at the bottom and one of silver at the top is too often seen and is always wrong. She should use the same care about the combs in her bair. It is not correct to wear dark and light shells mixed up ora jeweled comb in with plain ones. ~The Poultry Yard. The bouse is a night bawk, —Rush the broilers along. The quicker Jou can ges them on the market she beiter you. —Juoope is the beekeeper’s barvest. Dur. ing that month the bulk of the heney crop is obtained. ~What is prettier tban a bunch of thrifty chicks, all of one color and breed, and as much alike as #0 many peas? —As every chick hatohed carries the blood of the male, it is important thas great ih be taken in selecting the bead of the —Corn is a good crop. Io spite of large crops, is bas been very high for the past two years. It is likely so be as high, it not higher, next year. —Some folks think thas hens do not need oyster-shells when they can run out. Jues try giviog them some and see how that is. You will be wiser alter thas. ~The best feeds for sheep are clover, al- falta, sorghum, cowpeas, corn fodder, oats straw, turnips and heete. All of these used in convection with light feeds of corn or oats will insure sound, healthy sheep. —My method for keeping lice from troubling the poles at night, is to sue pend the roosting poles by wires from the rafters of the house. If the poles are smooth, the lice will not remain on them if they are there at all. —Tuarkey hens are profitable until five years old, but it is a good plan to change the gobblers every year. It requires twenty-eight days to hatch a turkey egg, and seven egge are considered a setting. The pests should be on the gronod. —!‘Advertising was a great invention,” said the successful business man. *‘I won. der who was the fires to ad versise his manu- factures.” ‘‘There’s no exact data on the eubject,” answered the farmer, ‘‘but I oer the ben's the person you're looking or. ~—A fowl house should not be a foul house. Wake up and clean up. Lice and disease germs thrive in filth, en clean ing up look in the cracks and crevices about the walls and roosts for mites. These pou do not stay on the birds except when anting for blood. ~It will pay to sow plenty ol pumpkin seed. Pumpkins are one of the pupk and winter green feeds for almost all kinds of stock, es lly dairy animals. They are especially relished by hogs and cows, and they are exsellent to mix with dairy feed for the production of milk, the cows relishing them greatly. ~We reap what we sow. The fruit of careful feeding and housing is young stock ready for market while prices are good. Fowls intended for early markes should be kept in close quarters juss light enough 80 they can see to eat. For a fattening ration we like corn-meal and ground oats best.—From June Farm Journal. —A donble disc plow which plows as deep as 16 inches is now being put upon the market in California. One disc oute half the depth of the furrow and she other diso outs the other ball. The increase in depth should be made gradually, year by year, because the deep soil as a rule does not contain eo much mineral master, which would deter rather than aid the growth of plants. —Belore going down into a well, test the parity of the air by lowering a lighted candle or lantern. If she light barns dim- ly, or goes out, the poisonous carbonic acid gas ‘‘damps’’ can be driven ous by igoit- ing a quantity of turpentine and sawdust or kerosene and rags in a kettle, and lower- ing it to the surface of the water, and then later pour several bucketfuls of water into the well from the top. Test again with the lantern, and note the improvement. —A Southern correspondent says that the best remedy he ever tried for ridd cabbage of worms and lice is air-slak lime. It can he sprinkled on quickly and evenly by pntting the lime in an old guavo sack, then shaking the sack over the cab- bages. It is hetter to put it on early in the morning while dew is yet on the cab- bage. It way be used once or twice a week until the worms disappear. Cabbage will thrive, and the heads grow firmer and whiter after using it. Air slaked lime is also valuable for sprinkling on young and oucumber plants to protect them from the ravages of insects. — President Beechley, of the Johnson County (Iowa) Horticultaral Society, says be bas had experience with pear blight. His trees all died but one that was affected by blight, and as it wae in the way and of no account and baving some pork pickle (salt) and thinkiog to kill the tree to ges it ous of the wav, he poared the salt water on that tree. That wae in March. This spring he took a sprinkling can and sprink- led the tree with a etrong salt solution. It still grew finely. He now got other trees, some of which he treated in like manner. Of those thus treated all are doing nicely. Thore of the same lot not so treated blight- —Celery blight can be controlled by spraying with ammonical carbonate of cop- per. To make this dissolve three ounces copper carbonate in a pint of ammonia,and add 25 gallons of water. To make carbonate, dissolve five pounds copper sal- phate (blue vitriol) in five gallons of wa- ter, aleo six nde carbonate of soda in five gallons of water. Mix the two solu. p= tions slowly, stirring well. Let the mix- If the children seem to be getting into | ture stand until next day to settle, alter the of continually quarreling among | which pour off the liquid. Pour on ten themselves do your utmost to stop it. Is | gallons of water, let stand until next day, is a bad babit and one that grows rather | and repeat the operation,after which strain than diminishes with time. and dry the blue powder, which is the A generally effective way of putting an end to the recurrence of such wranglings is to separate the little folk as soon as they begin to dispute. Most children love to be together and find it a great bardship to be Spa, en a child is continually cross and peevish it often means that he is out of sorts in some way—posaibly he is tired and Jub! gear ws) io oross merely because he feels ill and cannot keep his nerves under control. When this is the oase take him to see a doctor who understands children and their ailments. A course of medicine will sometimes work wonders and trans. form a cross child into a happy little mor- tal.—Home Chat. Drop Biscuit. Take one quart flour,two teaspoons baki wder, two melted Dore . Stir in hb Feathers are being more liberally em- ployed. copper carbonate. —A report of the United States Dapart- ment of Agrioulturesays: Any good soap is effective in destroying soft-bodied in- seots, such as plant lice and young or soli- bodied larvae. As winter washes, in very strong eolution, they furnish one of the saftest and most effective means against scale insects. The soaps made of fish oil, and sold under the name of whale oil soaps, are often ly valuable, but variable in composi and merits. A made with caustio potash rather than with caus. tio soda, as is commonly the case, and not containing morn than 30 per cent. of water should be demanded, the potash soap yield- ing a liguid in dilution more readily - ed and more effective against insects, soda jouD wasizes are apt to be gelatinous when , and aitien on upos to spray, except when ke 8 high temperatare. For plant lice oy lie by dissolving halla in a gallon of water is sufficient. will answer as well as bard, but at double the quantity should
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers