Bema fda Bellefonte, Pa., July 16, 1909, A BIRTHDAY ODE. ry ALFRED BrimLy. For the Warcunax.] Sweet sixteen plus two today, "Tis indeed a charming age ! Light's thy heart, and life is gay, Gladness all thy thoughts engage : Golden days of youth and richest pleasure, #ure, Like the blossom-freighted spring, Filled with perfume sweet and rare, Joy to many thou dost bring, Shedding fragrance everywhere : May all thy days be cast in pleasant places, And every hour enrich thee with new graces. Sing, desr heart, for very joy, Life is filled with hope divine ; Let not fancy's dart annoy, Love's enchantment will be thine : For youth is like a fount of joy upspringing, That peace and happiness to thee is bringing. Thou'rt a lassie good to see, Always winsome, sweet and fair; Few there are like unto thee, Few that can with thee compare : O Paradise divine, where there's no weeping, Woo her at last into thy biissiul keeping. Chiesgo, 111. THE PACK. “I call it living a lie.” That ie what the minister's wile said, and she bis off her words the same way she bit off her thread. “*A lie ;”’ she repeated it, as if once was not enough ! There wasn’t time between the lies for me to protest even if I had dated to. Bat I am afraid of the minis- ter’s wife, Ob, I don’t know why, only she is so--knowing. She knows all the thiugs I don’t know, besides the few I do. 1 am sure it I were the minister I should look up all my ‘‘points” and arguments, not in the encyclopedia, but in the min- ister’s wife. She meant Judith Pride, the woman who bas ‘‘moved into’’ our church. ** ‘You ask my advice, Mrs. Pride,’ she reviewed for my benefit, ** ‘and I advise you to tell the child at once. Twelve years old is not a minute tco soon.’ ”’ I caught at that straw. Twelve years old—that would be a reprieve of two years for me. In two years 1 could go into his little room eo many nights and sit on the edge of the bed, just in the old way, with- out any shadow between us,—put out my band and feel for him in the dark and find his little warm body. After I tell him there will be a shadow—1I feel certain there will he a shadow between us. Perbaps in she dark I shall hear the little warm body shrinking away from me. IlIdo— 1 did not get any farther last night—Yes, yes, of course I wens into Nathan's room. I lighted the lamp and looked at him a long time. He looks so litsle in bie sleep ! Even when he is twelve I am sure he will look little, and is will be hard to tella little boy ! Bat to go back to the minister's wife and ber advice to Judith Pride. I was calling on the minister's wife, and she was mend- jog her children’s clothes. The way she drew her needle in and out irritated we ; it said so plainly that they were her ohil- dren’s clothes. The minister's wife has wix,~—I tell you she doesn’t love the whole #ix any better than I do Nathan ! “Twelve years is not a minute too soon,’ she said. And I agreed with her because of the two years’ reprieve. “Yes, of course,’’ I said, ‘‘twelve years. He—she ought to know by then.” Judith Pride's is a little girl. “By then! My dear, she ought to have kuown years before !"’ the minister's wife bit off severely. ‘‘But what was the use, then, of telling the poor woman as this late day ? All Icould do was, rouse her to her duty now. But I pitied her, my dear,—I pity all such mothers.” She need not pity me! I suppose she would pity Nathan, too,—oh, she need not ty Natban ! I will not have that ! Proba- y last night, when she tucked her ohil- dren ip, she thanked the Lord because they were hers—well, every night I thank the Lord for Nathan, when I tuck him in and feel round with my lips for his little freck- led face. I tell you I love every browny gold freckle ! They have always heen mine, snyway—I{rom the very beginning! I re. member the first one, and I kissed it so often Nathan called it the kiss spot. I bave said right along thas I would tell bim before be grew up. I could nos hear $0 bave any one else teli him. Bat the minister's wife bas unsettled me. [It is “living a lie,”’ she says, nos telling him pow. She meant Judith Pride, bus she would have meant me if she had known. 1 am living a lie, she would think. Well ! Well ! Well! What would you have ?— what would she ? Am I to go into Nathan's little dark room tonight and wake him up aud tell him ? ‘*Don’t love me any more. I'm not what you think I am,—yon’re not what you think you are. You're not what the minister's wife's children are to her. You'd better stop loving me.” That is what baunts me—for fear he will stop. We've lived the beautiful lie so long to- gether ! It's woven into the woof and warp | kno of us. If we stop living it, it will be like unravelling us. Twelve years, perhaps, but not ten! Nathan's ten is so little ! I patched his lit- tle trousers tonight, and whoa I held them up they were so small !—I wonder if the minister's wile ever kisses her little patohes? Or is it only ‘such mothers’’ that do ? It John were living, I think I should get him todo it. He would be willing—John was always willing. It is queer how I can pever realize Nathan is not as much his as mive—I know he is ! I know nights John goes into the little dark room with me ! If my fiogers were delicate enough I should put them out and feel his white soul in the room. When I light the lamp and look down at Nathan, John looks down too. Nathan's little round face on the pillow, I know, is dear $0 John. And so—and so pethags I should not ask him, after all, to o it, knowing that it would hurt. Once, when we were new to mar- being ried, we used to talk about going into a | cried listle room and looking down together. We said, just sofsly to other, how beaati- ful it would be. It was always a little daughter John looked down on, but I look- ed at a litsle son. We used to laugh be- cause we disagreed. And sometimes I yielded John the little , and some- times he let me have the little son—John ielded oftenest. 8itill, I know he likes ooking down at Nathan. He likes his lis. tle straight legs,and his fine way of olutoh- ing off bis little cap, and his laugh and his bair and bis freckles. John likes all of Nathan, I am sare. been in again to feel of they are bot. and Nathan knows. me, thoogh,—perbaps next time I go in he will, Shouldst woo such bliss to linger without mea- | § I say, “‘Tomorrow I will—or next day,” but I never do. I will as soon as Nathan gets well. the minister's wife would not have me tell a little boy that is sick. He pulled me down to his hot little face | and whispered it : ‘I went in wading, and you said not to. I'm sorry, mother,—the water was so oold !”’ Does the minister's wife hug hers ? And love him better than before ? I whispered, ‘“‘always—always tell meth- er I” Nathans. time I go in. ly like that will be easier. erimson—I am going to send Ann for the doctor, nal in here and shaded the lamp from the bed. Nathan breathes so hard ! never been sick in his life before, since I— since he was a tiny boy. It frightens me. word. Nathan is getting we!l now, bus he has been very siok. away now every vight and sleep, but I baven’t promised to. The minister's wile says I must, too, but Anos or ministers’ wives can’t make me ! thought Nathan wae going to John. How could I bear to lose them both ? I remem- We would have felt the same about the “Not yes,” be would “Not today nor tomorrow —nor If some one bad put it to I bave decided to tell Nathan very soon. He is not very well tonight. I bave just is cheeks, and I know what the trouble is, I wigh he would tell It is pot like Nathan not to tell hings. But itis like me. Ido vot tell things. Now, tonight, I say that Even He has told me,—1I have been in again. 1 wonder why little sinners are so dear ? “Nathan,” nt ‘‘mothers’’ do not always tell Perhaps I will tell him next Perhaps starting up sudden- Bat he was asleep. His oheeks are quite She has gone. I have brought my joar- He has It is two weeks since I have written a Ann says I am to go Is has been such an anxious time. I bered the terrible empty rooms after John died—I couldn’s bave borne this listle one, too. Oh, ministers’ wives may say no —all the ministers’ wives in the land,— bas I know bester ! I know I should have mourned like mothers of the little sone and daughters Jobn and I never had ! It wonld have broken my heart as much as their hearts. I tell you I know ! I know another thing. That I am glad I did not tell Nathan hefore he was sick. Every time his little hot lips bave said *‘mother’’ I have been glad. He eaid it so many times—so many, many. He might have said it just as much the other way, in his poor little tossings and barn- ings, but it would have sounded different, —1 am glad he did not know. But I shall tell him when he gets well. To-day Nathan went to school again It is six weeks since he was taken sick, and I bave been all this time helping him ges well. I could not stop to write in a jour- pal. Getting well is a serious matter to a ten year old ! Bat we've bad a beautiful time together, even on the orossest days. As Nathan says, we've been very ‘‘int’mate together,” He liked being waited on and tended and played with, and I—I liked it. Every day I could see his littie white face grow a little less white. Nathan bas a beantiful little face. When he is grieved or dissappointed it still keeps its baby szick of breaking up into little piteons puckers. I suppose it will do it when I tell— Oh, why must I tell until be is twelve ? Two years is not much more to ask for. I am going—to wait— two years! I think I am. But I wish I knew what John would say. Not the minister's wife, but John. Itisn’tas il I bad more than one avd were young—I'm old, and only have Nathan. Forty is old to women whose Johns are dead—and old women take things hard. I know is will break my heart if Nathan stops loving me. After we've been 80 “‘int’mate together’’— Judith Pride's little girl is dead. I walked home from the funeral with the miuvister’s wile, and I wish I bado't. She said things—tbat she wondered Judith took it so bard, it not being her own little girl, —that nobody bus real mothers knew what sorrow weant,—that Judith could take another ebild,—that—that—that—+ill 1 wanted to stars and run to get away from her. 1 could uot bear it, but I had to. had to walk,—ob, we crept! Poor Jadith Pride !—poor Judith Pride’! J knew. When I got home to Nathan I caoght him in my arms and could nos let him go. I could uot take my face away from his face—it was warm against mane, Ob, I thanked God it was warm! And all my heart ached for poor Judith Pride with her listle face that was cold. What right bave ministers’ wives to talk like t1at? What righs has any oce'’s wile? How do they know ? They hold their lit- tle new-horns tight and look over the listle bald crowns, at us denied women— perhaps they don’t mean to, bus I tell you they gloas ! They kiss and kiss the little crum- pled faces. I don’t blame them—7 would gloat and kiss. Bat I blame them for pre- tending they can measure our love for the listle ohildrez we borrow—or our griel when the little children die. How do they kuoow ? Their arms have always been full. They bave never envied a tenement mother her tiny, sweet, soiled baby. How do they w the joy we fee! when at last we rock a little child tosleep? When we go in at night and look down at him in his little bed? When we wash bim and brush him and mother him—oh, we are mothers then ? We have come iuto our own. We wake up happy aud go to sleep bappy. 1 tell you we forges we horrowed our little sons sod daughbters,—they are ours. Natban is mine, I bave not told him yet. He comes home from schoo! and calls, *‘Mother,”” at the toot of the stairs, and [ can’t. Or I go to meet him and when he seesme 1aces down the road to me. ‘‘Mother ! Mother !”’ —can Itell bim then ? Cao I ever tell him? But to-day be came home in a different way. I think ue bad stopped at the brook to wash she Ulood away, but [saw what was lets. His eyes were swollen, but he had not been crying. He walked along yer straight and whistled a tune, but his little tremelo stops were all out ; it was onlya wreck ofa tune. ‘‘Nathan I" I “It’s all right,—I beat.” “Nathan ! Nathan !" “‘He looks worse 'n I.. You oughter see him!" 1 had him in my arms, the little fighter ! I was ashamed of him—and proud. It seemed to me I had always kiwwn that me, a some day be would come home him go. telling, I know. Jobn would bave wanted | stern to pus it off, too. have said. next day.” But he would nos bave want- ed to live a lie. him like that—some minister's wife— mother of a brave. Yet in my arms be felt 80 small—the little papoose “Tell me, Nathan,”” Bus I did not let I think 1 was trying to look “I'said be told lies 'n’ be said pooh everybody did 'n’ I said po sir I koew somebody that never. He said pooh I couldn't prove it '0’ I bis bim ’'n’ be hit me—I beat.” I think my breath stopped for a fragment of an instant. I did not need to ask bim, bus I asked: “Who—who wae it, Nathan, that yon meant?" “You.” The little word was whispered like a soft breath agaivst my ear. did nos need to hear it to koow. It wasl I who pever! [I felt suddenly sore as though the little doughty fighter bad hit me. The minister's wife seemed to be sitting oppo- site us mending ber children’s clothes and biting off words with ber thread; *‘I call is living a lie.” I put my little brave out of my arms and went ont of the room to ges away from the minister's wife, Dreams are disquieting things. Mine that I bad that night disquiets me now, But it was a dear little dream. I thought I went into Natban’s room to rid myself of the lie as last—I thought it was a heavy lie that bowed me over like Christian under his pack. In the dark ball I stum- bled against something soft and warm. It was Nathan in his little nightgown coming to me. ‘‘Nathan, Nathan,”’ I cried, glad it was dark and he could not see my pack, “1 wae not always yours, dear,—youn were not always mine! You had another mother once, but I never bad another son—I never bad another son! I could pot bear to tell you lor fear you would stop loving me!” In the dream his little face shone ous of the dark. It was keeping on loving! I thoughs I felt straigks and lighs, for the pack was gone. But tbe queerest, dearset rs of the dream was what Nathan said: “I knew it all the time. Nobody told me, but I knew. When yon were rocking me an’ brushing me an’ mothering we, — I always knew. But I hoped you wouldn't find out,—I was afraid you'd stop.”’ I caught him wp—in the dream—and I can feel his little warm body now. We were 20 happy. I thought when I wens back to my room John was with me. John is always with me when I am happy. Such a queer little, dear little dream— bat it disquiets me. The pack is still on my back; it was only in adream is fell off. I bave thought so much aboat it that it is getting a heavy pack to carry. I suppose lonely women whose Jobns are dead dwell on things more, especially things io do with a little borrowed son who is all there is to love and live for. I suppose I shall never be easy until I get rid of the pack. I might tell him to-night. I will tell him to-night. I have told him. I bave been in, in the dark. He was not coming to me; I did not meet him in the ball. I bad to go all the way. Bat John came back with me. My heart beat foolishly fast. It hart me, trip-hammering against my ribs. “Nathan,” I called, softly, at the door. I heard him nestling in his bed. Perhaps he was waiting to have me feel for him in our childish-frolic way. Bus I began to tell at once. It was odd bow my voice sounded! He did nos say a word, but lay aod listened. I seemed to talk on and on endlessly, though there was so little to say. Lowe women bave vived fancies. Some- thing seemed to drop with the tiniest thod when I finished, and it was the pack, I kuew! I thought he would cry outsome- thing—answer something—hut I think pow Iam glad be dido’s. I cried ont: “Nathan! Nathan!” I put my face down and fonod his little face in the dark. It was close and warm, and I seemed to feel his arms tighten a little round my oeok— arms do not tighten when little sous bave “stopped.” He did not speak one word, but I am sure—I don't know how I know, bat I tell you I know he will nos stop lov- ing me! [ thought I should be BUBaPDY, and here Iam happy! I thiok I bave been singing over this little patch I am sittivg i n. I stayed quite a while in bis listle room; then John and I came back. We left him asleep, and of course I can's be quite sare —I am glad I don’t know be was asleep when I told him. I like it hetter this way.—By Annie Hamilton Donnell, in Harper's Monthly Magazine. ——Do yon kvow we have the old style I | sugar syrups, pure goods at 40 cents and 60 cents per gallon, S:chler & Co. Why Steel is Painted Red. “Why is iron or steel invariably painted red?" This question was asked by scores of men and women who were walking on the viaduct, where workmen were busy paint- ing the steel work of the strooture a hean- tifnl carmine, says a New York daily. In most of the skyscrapers it is notice- able that the steel frame is first painted red and then some other color. It was alen the case with the ‘‘L’’ road structare and is also the case with all steel bridges and irou works of all kinds. . One of the workingmen was asked why iron work was painted red. “Oh, it’s not the color that counts,’ he said, ‘‘but it’s what the Juintis composed of. This is red lead, and any steel man will tell you that red lead is the best pre- servative agaiost dampness and ruet, Re- cently a dark green lead bas come into use as a first coat for iron and steel, bat alter all, red lead seems to hold its own as a covering to preserve steel work. When the red lead is once on it the structure can be painted in any other color to suit the taste. The red lead lasts years.” ——Do you know that you can get the finest, oranges, banacas and grape [ruit, aud pine apples, Sechler & Co. Gan Powder. is made of nitre, charcoal, and sulphur in proportions intimately mingled with wa- ter. Nitre, charcoal and sulphur without that exact p and commingling bave no more explosive value than common dirt. The on ment of the body is out of the food which is eaten; bread, meat, toes, etc. But unless this food is per- y mixed in the stomach with the di- gestive juices it is as i e of noarish- ment as the unmixed elements of gun and muscle, the nutrition muss do their part. Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery makes blood and flesh, bone and muscle by the digestive and nutritive organs into perfect working condition. Is has no equal asa care for diseases of the stomach and organs of digestion and nutrition. THE WOMAN THAT WILL SING, I have in mind a woman, Who never sings a song, Her house is peat and tidy, But she worries all day long. She worries if the sun shines; She worries if it rain; She worries if she feels well, And worries if in paip. She worries "bout her husband; She worries "bout her child; She worries "bout the chickens, And drives all roned her wild, I know another woman, Who, when at work will siog; Her home is just as tidy, Aud she's happy as a king. She's happy if the sun shines; She's happy if it rain; She's happy if she feels well, And happy if in pain, She's happy with her husband; She's happy with her chlid; She's happy with her ehickens, And ner temper's seldom riled, What is it makes this difference? Hath worry such a sting? If #0: O, give us music, And the woman that will sing! - Life. The Merry Donkey Boy of Egypt. One's first impression of Egypt is more or less inflnenc:d by the donkey boy, for in Alexandria, even before you step ashore, he is on hand to take your financial measure. Slender, erect of carriage, with a swaying gracelol movement inherited from a moth. er long accustomed to carrying burdens on ber head, with warm-toned bronze or golden-yellow skin, the color of which is accentuated by the single garment of dull blue or old gold opened low ina V shape at the uveck, great black eyes with well. marked brows, gleaming teeth, and an ex- pression of mischievousness tinged with a subtle shadow of tragedy ever associated with Oriental nature, he forms a picture of enduring charm to the artistic eye. No street gamin of London or New York or Naples can compare with him, and even the Irish lad of the streets wounld fail to bold his own against the mimicry and wit of these dark eyed striplings. On the ont- | skirts of Cairo he ie to be found as his best, bat he flonrishes all along the Nile. The stranger will probably enjoy bis frst real encounter with the Arab urchin and bis donkey when he leaves his carriage at the Mena House gate, where, unless he im- mediatelly flies within and to the hotel for a cup of tea on the lawn, he will be literal- ly lost in the clond of woisy, scrambling and langbing little tykes, each one entreat- ing him to hire his particular animal for the quarter mile ride to the Sphinx. “Ride Yavkee Doodle, miss,”’ urged a little chap, patting a sleek but sleepy- looking donkey on the nose. ‘‘He not fall —he run very fast. I siog you a song,’ be continaed : and, seeing that he bad attract. ed some interest, he squared his donkey around for convenient mounting, withoat considering a possible refosal in the face of such inducement. And, admiring his busi- ness-like methods, I mounted and made off ahead of the others, who were still covsid- ering the respective merits of Uncle Sam and his rivals, ‘You like Yankee Doodle ?'’ asked the boy, keeping pace beside the gal- loping donkey, which some persuasion other than a stick bad urged into the easy motion of a rocking chair. “Like him very much indeed,” I was forced to admit, for he was living gloriouns- ly up to his reputation. ‘‘You maby give back-sheesh ?'’ he anxiously queried, ap- parently wishing to settle that important question in his mind before giving himself up to the full enjoyment of his trinwph in drawing a prize wn the shuffle of tourists, while many of bis companions failed. *‘How ahont that song ?’, I answered eva- sively. ‘‘What are you going to sing?’ “Yon like church song?’ he asked ; aod, catching my nod of assent, be began the “‘Doxology,”” and ina peculiarly sweet treble, not unlike the voices of our south. ern Negroes, he sang, with evident enjoy- ment, the mission-tanght hymn, which sounded strange there under the shadow of the great Pyramid and from the throat of a disciple of Mohammed.— [Harriet Quim- by in Leslie's Weekly. —Do vou know where to get the finest canned goods and dried fruits, Sechler & Co. What an Earthquake ls. “‘An earthgnake,”” writes Mr. Frank A. Perret, formerly hovorary assistant at the Royal Vesuvian Observatory, in an article on ‘‘The Mes«ina Earthquake’ in the April Century, “is an undulating vibra tion of the ground resulting from some sudden movement of the underlying strata. This may be produced by a volcanic explo- sion, the breakiug of a stratum of rock un- der strain, or the sudden intrusion of lava hetween the strata or into a fracture, the types respectively known as volcanic, teo- tonic aud inter-volcanie. My own impression in experiencing these shocks was that of a rubbing together of masses under pressure, which throws the adjoining material into vibration. If yon put a little water into a thin, wide-mouth- ed orystal goblet, wet the Burertipy and rab it around tha rim, a sound will be pro- duced, and the water will be set in vibra- tion, like the gronnd waves of an earth- quake.” —Do you know where to get the finest teas, coffees and spices, Sechler & Co. Progress In Cuba, With the begivning of the present fiscal year the Republic of Cuba established a Bureau of Information, President Gomez appointing Leon J. Cavova, an American newspaper man, who has resided in Cuba eleven years and bas a wide acquaintance with the Island, as ite director. Parties wishing information of any na- tare concerning Cuba can obtain same, free of charge, hy writing t¢ Leon J. Canova, U. and I. Bureau, (Utility and Informa- tion Bureau, ) Department of Agriculture, Commerce and Labor, Havana, Cuba. In the use of ordinary pills the dose must be increased the longer the 1 used. That means the pill habit is established. In the use of Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Pellets the dose is diminished in- stead of increased. That means that a oure is established. The “‘Pellets’’ are an aid to and when the natural fanc- tions are re-established the ‘‘Peliets’’ bav- ing done their work can be dispensed with. ey are invalnable for the cure of consti- pation and ite myriad consequences. A ———————————————————— ~——Do youn know where to get your garden seeds in packages or by measare Seohler & Co. is | per and a little French mustard were FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. it is vain to be always looking toward the future and never acting toward it.—J. F. Boyes, Patis has abandoned the directoire style. It really is a pleasure to see maids and | matrons going around daring the warm weather with uncovered necks. Not every woman can expose her neck. | This i= an uppleasaos truth. Bat the ma- jority can if they will, and they are doing it. The Dutsh neek, the Byron collar and the rolling neglige collar bave all come back iuto fiise style for this season. It is a relief to the whole system to get away from the stiffhoned stock aud the bigh turnover starched collar, with a line like a saw under the chin, They are both too hot for summer weath- er. They ate both uncomlortable. True, they must be endared by the woman, who through nature or carelessness bas allowed her neck to hecome scrawny or encircled with dark rings. The girl of the day, bowever, bas an exceedingly good peck. It is an American characteristic. It may be from daily baths, from exercise, from the erect way she is taught to hold her bead—bus from what- ever cause, the round, strong neck is bers, A wost delightfally large parasol for the sandy beach presents itself jnst in time to tempt the burrying seashore folk. It is of huge proportions, and since it is an estab- lished fact figures and sides mean pothing to most women, is may he better to de- scribe its ample ontline by vouching for the fact that three bathers and a small child may share ite grateful shade, For the tentless owner of a baby or two there could be no more simple and certain way of keeping off the rays of the burning san. This largest of sunshades is made of striped awning canvas in dark yellow and white, bordered with large fringed scallops. Ite long wooden and metal-capped handle is made to dig into the sand, while the tils- ed sunshade rests on ite edge. Is is ports. able, and would be a valuable part of the seashore ontfis. Some long linen (fringe, looking ‘very like the knotted fringes of a damask towel end, i® shown edging the tanioc of a brown French linen gown, The drapery is longer in front than at the sides, while separate and shorter tunio ends fall at the back of this interesting model, but all of them are frayed and fringed to a depth of six inches, with a knotted heading extending an inch and a half below the sanic. This is nice work for the needlewoman, aud the drawing out of the linen threads is delighttal play for the small daughter who loves to help mother. The gown, in soft brown, with iss long lines and graceful fringe, is well suited to the tall, siender woman. Some of the moss attractive of the suom- mer hats are of soft leghorn lined with figared foulard. These accord with semi- dressy gowns and make the costume com- plete for a tour of the shops and the inevi- table ‘‘five o'clock.”’ In the morning almost every other wom- an appears on the boulevard in a frock of foulard, and, strangely enough, they are almost ail of black and white. This seems to be the favorite selection for the hours before 12, bat in the afternoon, between dejeuner and the hour of tea, madame still wears foulard, but of chartreuse green. There®eems to be a singolar unanimity of opinion on this point, and the result is in- teresting. However the doctors and health [fearful may revile iced tea, it is bound to stay as long as our thermometers are so nuraly in summer. It ie surprising, however, con- sidering the amount of iced tea we Ameri- cans consume, how rarely it is good. The most scientific and supposedly health- fol way to prepare it is to pour freshly brewed hot tea over a large lump of ice, then pour into glasses balt filled with shav- ed ice. Unfortunately the Ice Trust for- bids moss housekeepers to be lavish, eo the results are decidedly luke warm, More economieal is it to make a small quantity of rather strong tea several bours before it is to be used, let it cool in the re- frigerator and weaken to the desired con- sistency with iced water just before needed. It ia a mistake to think iced tea can be cooled by afew lumps in the pitcher. There must be either cracked or shaved ice in glaeses to make it palatable. Lemon is also better added before the meal than in is. The usual way is to pass a section of lemon to each guest. Far bet- ter is the taste if both lemon and sugar are mixed with the tea when the iced water is added. Better yet is it to adopt the Ras- sian plan of grating the rind of a lemon and pouring hot tea over it. If lemon is passed as it may have to be when some of the family do not like it, cut into lengshwise sections rather than thin rounds, and pass in addition a swail glass pitcher with extra lemon juice. Mint leaves or lemon verbena added to iced tea, besides the lemon, gives a deli. cious flavor. It is also good with a little ginger syrup or a lew drops of ram. One hostess on gala occasions serves her iced tea poured cold over lemon, o or pineapple sherbet. This is served in a punch howl and each guest fills her tall glass with the mixture. In this case oracked ice is not used. The thinner and more slender are iced tea glasses the more refreshing it tastes. It should be stood on a glass sancer or tum- bler coaster. If possible use long-bandled spoons. A delicious vegetable salad was made of new Rotates, young carrots and cel roots boiled, drained and set aside until cold. They were then cut in thin slices and thin slices of cold boiled e and tart apples were added. Thed ng was 1’ e- made of olive oil and Sarvagon vin blended in the proportioos of three spoons of oil to one of vinegar. Salt, ep to season. A salad bow] was lined with crisp, new lettuce leaves, and the salad was turned into the bowl and sprinkled over the top with minced parsley. Toasted orackers and cheese were served with it. For a quickly luncheon dessert t halves of can peaches or preserved ge with some of the syrup in individual ly gover with a generous amount of whipped cream and sprinkled with chopped marachino cherries, greated cocoanut or shoppe nut meats, Serve with sponge e. FARM NOTES. —The soy bean is a pea, and the cow pea is a bean—luony, isn’s it? — Never tolerate a man on the farm who ! yanks, kicks or whips a horse. —In no case should the colt he allowed to foliow when the mare is at work. —Sow a good patch of carrots for the horses this year, if yon never have hefore. —Do not bang the bite against the horse's teeth. Be patient and he will open his mouth. —Get a first-class horse dentist to look over the teeth of every horse on the farm, young and old. —Don’t toggle your baruvesses up with | string. No suerer way to invite trouble ; have everything stout. —Break your colts to walk down hill, Now, that may mean that you will bave to break yourself first, for it seems to be na- tural to barry horses down hill. It isa bad plan. — When things go wrong with the poul- try there is always a cause ; therefore, look for the cause. After locating the cause of trouble, even il it be the weather, see if the obstacle cannot he overcome. ~—A silo 16 leet in diameter and thirty- two feet high is large enough to supply silage for twenty cows two hundred aod twenty days allowing an average feed of thirty-five pounds per cow per day. —System isa very valuable substance to mix with dairy feeds. The best results are obtained by knowing what you want and by following your own prescription carefully until you see a chance to im- prove it. ~More high-priced dairy cows suffer from overfeeding than from any other canse. Liberality is commendable up to a certain point, bus overfeeding is not a kinduess; itis a damage,and it will not pay in the long run. —According to the Department of Agri- culture of France, a toad daring its life- time is worth $9 to the farm, a lizard is worth $9, a swallow $20, a titmounse $8, the robin $4, a bat $30, av ow! $12, a screech owl $16 and a lern owl, $30. —If you bave a small amount of cream, do not skim so closely and add sowe milk. Pat iv a little starter aod warm it by put- ting the cream can in warm water, con- stantly stirring until the proper tempera- tute is obtained, when it will quickly ripen. —An occasional feed of sliced raw po- tatoes substituted for the grain ration of colts will prove beneficial to such colts as will eat them. Those that are nos inclined to eat them can soon he taaght to do #0 by cutting them very fine and mix- ing them with the grain ration. —According to Consnl J. C. Higgins, of Dundee, the farmers of Scotland are among the best in the world. Although their land has been cultivated for hundreds of years its fertility is yet of the highest order. Nearly all progressive farmers of that coun- try use American farm machivery. —Exercise is important for breeding birds. They may be well fed and nos too fat, but they may have lacked the oppor- tunity to take such exercise as would have bardened the muscles, made the tendons strong and perfected every Innction of she hone. Scatter all grain in a deep litter and make the fowls work for what they get. ~The time of the year is here when the ground dries out very fast after a rain. Give plenty of tie alter each rain for the soil to dry oat before youn start work oun it. More injury than good is done by working the groond when it is too wes. Do some- thing else while the soil is drying, so as to be ready when itis ina good workable condition. ~The common cabbage worm is among the best known of all garden pests, both as a larva and in the adult stage, when is be- comes the common black spotted, white cabbage butterfly. The young plants should he sprayed with arsenate of lead, one ounce to a gallon of water, and the foliage kept covered until they begin to head up well. Water heated to 130 de- grees F. will destroy all worms which it hits, without injury to the plants. —A bog fattens more quickly by being fed no more ast any time than it will eas. Ie should always clean up all in the trough and do not feed again until you are sure that it is hungry. Is will lose less in weight to permit it to go withoot food a day than it would by continuing to feed it beyond its appetite. When a hog begins to feed indifferently food should be discontinued until it shows signe of keen appetite. Over- feeding is one of the most common mis- takes of hog raisers. —It is more easy to prevent disease in animals thao it is to care. Hog cholera prevails more or less in all sections of the country, but in the majority of cases it is due to the condition of the herds and mis- management in feeding than to any other cause. Hogs must have green or bulky food, also «alt and charcoal. These sub- stances are not in a direct way preventives of cholera, but they keep the animals in a more thrifty condition and render them less liable to disease. —The meat of all animals is affected by the food they eat. For instance, the ducks that live on fish have a fishy flavor ; the flesh has a disagreeable taste when the fowls are fed on onions. When swine are fed on beechnuts the bacon from the pigs bas the finest flavor, while hogs allowed to feed on stinking, filthy slops and on dead animals furnish food unfit for human beings. There is no excnse for not feeding the soundest, cleanest, freshest food, and fresh and pure water. There is much in the feed. — Before starting in the breeding of sheep the farmer should bave a definite object in view and make a oareful selection of the foundation stook. If it is intended to pro- duce wooi, the Merino should be chosen; it mutton is the chief object, one of the larger breeds would be best. If it is desired to produce both wool and mutton a judicious crosshreed or grade may be selected. Bas in any case the start should De heap of a small scale and cautiously p ed with, never forgetting that the ‘ram is ball of the flook.” —William Jeunings Bryan says that he believes that the agricultural colleges are doing a great work, in that they are teach- ing diversity of crops that can be pro- duoed in the different sections. The agri- cultural college is one of the factors in turning the tide of people toward the coun- try. Mr. Bryan says he thinks the teach- ing of domestic science here is im He thinks it is a reflection upon th try that we spend more than times as much in preparation for war as we do in developing the things the farmers are in- terested in.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers