aS Powe aa Bellefonte, Pa., April 26, 1912. THE MIST THAT'S OVER IRELAND. There's a mist that's over Ireland where the blackbird calls, And when you come it's risin’ and when vou go it falls, It's made of green and silver and the rain and dew And the finest sun is over it you ever knew. Och, sure it isn't mist at all, except a mist o' tears. A haze of love and longin’ for the happy years, When myself that's old and fretted now and colder than the stone Was young in golden Ireland with the friends that's gone. The mist is like a curtain that the wind'll blow And lift a little wisp of it till you see below The shiningest country ever was of hills and streams With the faces do be haunting you in lonesome dreams. There's people do be in the mist; their like's hard to find, Their faces full of welcome, and their smile so soft and kind. It was little I was thinkin’ in the days that ran away : How I'd sit and break my heart for them one weary day. It isn't fields and mountains and it isn't streams and trees, Though all 0’ them is in the mist, nor hummin’ of the bees, Nor yet the thrush and blackbird, could vex me as I stand And look the way of Ireland with my head in my hand. "Tis little that we value them, when we are young and gay, We think we'll have them with us for ever and a day. We never know the good we have till lovin’ friends depart And leave us just with half a life and half a heart. There's a gold mist over Ireland that will never rise, And some is walkin’ in its way the light of my eyes. They're never old and troubled now, and never sick and sad, Thedays we had together were the best I ever had. Please God, some day that's comin’ when the dread of death is past, And I take the lonesome valley we all must take at last, s I'll sight the hills of Heaven and the people all in | white, And you, and you, among them was my heart's delight. And the mist that’s over Ireland will be blowin’ in my face. I'll reach the other side of it to the happy place. And I'll not be lookin’ backward like a lonesome ghost From the mist that's over Ireland and the friends 1 lost. —Katharine Tynan, A FRIEND OF THE MARRIED. Lucia Bannard, in a becoming lavender gown, sat in her pretty yellow bedroom, on a Sunday morning, gazing at a large and dingy overcoat spread out before her on the bed. The Bannard’s small home was con- ceded to be one of the most charming in | the neighborhood. Everything with which Lucia had to do, was perfect so far as taste was concerned; even the Brent- woods’ big roomy mansion, with its old, harmonions furnishings, its stacks of books and air of comfort and prosperity, couldn't compare in a sort of exquisite, inspiring beauty with the Bannards'. In the nine years of her married life it had been one of Lucia’s chief objects to gather the things together which, as she ex- pressed it, were “right,” even if the house had to wait, scantily furnished, from Christmas to Christmas, for a chair, or bookcase, or rug. Lucia herself bore out the character of the house. She was a beautiful youag woman, with a slender figure, very large and expressive dark eyes, a short upper lip with a proud yet infantile curve, and pale golden hair. Her taste in her own dress was as perfect as in other thi She was a clever manager, and never told anyone but Elinor Chandor, her next door neighbor, how little her clothes cost; she seldom talked of any of her econo- mies. Even the maid who answered the door, showed an extra nicety of cap and apron, as well as in smiling good looks, = Where everything was so esthetically Haw the Tne discordant note, in the matter of suitable appearance, was Mrs. Bannard’s husband; he was a delightful Young man, bu he hg Ao hoy Clothes. e came in now, t- footed, with a noticeably nt bearing and a teasing twinkle in his nice blue eyes, she interrupted his cheerful if tuneless whistle to say abruptly, as her eyes wandered over the big $ "Ronald, Jou will haven order your new overcoat at once, ou're going to the head office : x with Rex Courtney the pret; it's only two weeks from bi . IY 0.) need a Pe a Toa £0 | conclusiveness, p “Why? For the same reason I've told you twenty times before, Ronald because this one is worn out!” “I don’t see anythi with it,” said Mr. unimport- antly. He took up the garment and examined it with a “Ronald Bannard, if you n talkis like that again after ye begin to ue before, you'll drive me raving crazy! Youve worn that dreadful ve order a really handsome coat, good material and all, the kind Rex Courtney wears And now—" The tears welled thickly in Mrs. Ban. ! you ought to care! things. | Steel,” but he traveled much of the time nard’s lovely eyes, whlie her husband ob- liviously sea for something in a chiffonier drawer, whistling under his breath. . ! “And you Beds J wie act = if you | didn’t care w 0 you this way: | I have to work, and work, and work, to make you buy ! the ordinary clothes that other men get | as a matter of course. If you hadn't the | money now, I wouldn't say a | word, but when I've taken such pains to | save up enough so that you could get a | really good coat—going without a new | suit myself, though goodness knows I| need one; .but, then, a woman can fix up | things to cover deficiencies, and every- | thing does show so on a man! cause | had set my heart on your look- | ing as you ought. Are you listening?” “Yes, I'm listening,” said Mr. Bannard, | smiling at his wife. He had a smile that | great effort that Lucia withstood it, but | she did so now; she met his eyes stolidly | as he continued with growing restive- | I choose to wear what I please. Great | Scott, Lucia, I'll be so busy these next two weeks I'm nearly crazy as itis; 1] haven't time to go hanging around the | tailors. All this talk about dress makes | me sick: people don’t judge me by my | clothes!” "You're very much mistaken, returned his wife triumphantly. “One! thing is certain, you cannot go up to the | head office with Rex Courtney if you | fication if you did! And if you think | going up there looking like a trump wil | advance your interests, Ronald Ban- nard—" ! "Oh, well, then, don't say another word,” said Mr. Bannard in a slightly | raised key. "Stop right there! I'll get! the coat.” i "And you will go to Grandon's and! "Yes, I suppose so. Look here, Lucia,” i authority, "have you been taking my small screw-driver out of this drawer again?" “No, no, I haven't taken it! en wanted one for the wringer, but I | put it right back again; I'm perfectly | positive.” “Well, you didn't,” said her husband | ders thrown back and his nice blue eyes flashing lightning. “How many times have I told you, Lucia, not to touch that screw- driver? Things have come to a pretty pass if I can’t keep one thing of my own where I can lay my hand on it!” “I know I put it back, but I'll go and look for it this minute,” said his wife hurrying off with placating alacrity. She had gained her point! The next evening he really brought the samples home with him, and studied over their possibilities with her, in as deep interest as if he hadn't fought against the proceeding. They spent the evening, in the intervals of reading and conversation, in hanging small dabs of cloth on his coat-sleeve and considering them from different angles. There were all the ones that wouldn't do at all, and the four or five that were so attractive th?t one hardly knew how to make a choice. But both at last fixed on one Oxford gray that wasn't an Oxford gray, but something darker, richer, indescrib- ably satisfactory-in color, and stylish, as Lucia proclaimed, to a degree. She saw Ronald in prospect in a quiet-toned, richly soft, superlatively cut top-coat that would even surpass that of Rex Courtney. Rex Courtney was the one unmarried man in the little intimate social circle of which the Bannards composed a part. There were other young men in the place of course, they were of the ordinary sort, who were only interested in their own kind, or in girls, whereas Rex was superlatively the friend of the married. He was credited with having had an affair of the heart—perhaps, indeed, two or three—in which he had been, colloquially, so “hard hit” as to turn his mind from love toward the less demanding comforts and pleasures of friendship. He, like d Bannard, was "in in its interests, often returning only over the week end, and so warmly pleased to be welcomed in the houses of his more fortunate fellow men that each household vied with the other in the possessiveness of its welcoming: each wife wished to believe that hers was the abode in which he really felt most at liberty to smoke when he desired to, and ask for cake when he wanted it. He was a favorite with all the men. orgot the who were devoted to him. His perfection in these instead of ha ; t can't be duplicated. It's awfull good of you to let me have a rr gn Ba _ For the rest, he was in the early thir- ties, not very tall, but broad. fair, clean-shaven, and with very white teeth; as Lucia Bannard had hinted, he was always notably well dressed. The women, though ving him his title in converse, igh givin him as Rex Courtney; there was something in the name itself that showed you what he was like. The men called him, familiarly, ’ had been atone time most intimate iz £5 : : ga gs : ] g j : i HL £zE if . | i x if never spoke on the subject to Rex Court- ney—that he saw and appreciated her troubles in that line. t It was this man with whom Ronald was to travel in company to report at the head office on the first of the month. “Did you take the samples back to Grandon's to-day?” Lucia asked her hus- band anxiously the next night after he had come home from town. “Yes,” said Ronald lightly. “I hope to goodness vou showed him the right sample!” “I certainly did. make a fine coat.” "And when will it be finished, dear?” “Oh, some time within the next two Grandon says it will look here, Lucia,” he spoke gently but firmly, and kissing her upturned face half absently, as if it were some necessary re- freshment, "I don't want to be questoined come home! When ics done I'll get it, and that is all thereis toit. And, by the way, you might as well telephone to ess: | Bergwitz to-morrow, and have him send and "What difference does it make what I | over for the old coat and put it in some effulgence ; have on, anyway? It's my own affair if kind of shape. It may turn cold sudden- stead, he stood there as usual, taking the ly.” - "Well," said Lucia grudgingly, “I'd like to pitch the thing out of the window this very minute, but I don't want you to get pneumonia, of course.” It did turn cold by the end of the fol that's ' lowing week, that bitter cold that comes yourself chat you went just what lots of people do judge you by,” { sometimes in late November. Only the you— thought of the beautiful garment her husband was to have, supported Lucia in the ordeal of seeing him in the old one. in the renovation; perhaps he had tried it so often that he had lost heart: those awful buttonholes sprawling over one side, the threadbare edge, its indescrib- able air of rustiness and collapse, were accentuated by the new velvet of the collar. It took enormous self-control on Lucia’s part not to burst out at him violently when he put it on. A pregnant, apparently oblivious of her husband, Mr. Bannard’s tone changed from one of | always made him demonstratively affec. said his wife bitterly. | gee) reluctant submission to that of masculine | tionate, while she, on the other hand, be- ‘dwelt on him with a tragic despair. She came warmest when he was cool. Some- times things went his way, and some- couple who, on the whole, interest in life. It was on the Monday evening before the trip, and while Lucia was hourly ex- found great that Ronald came home earlier than | usual, praticularly brisk and affectionate. “What do you say to going to town for | a little treat to-night?” he asked. “Some- | body gave Court three tickets for the opera, and he wants us to meet him in | town after an early dinner. Can you make it?” “Can I make it!" cried Lucia raptur- ously. She flew at her husband and em- | braced him, while he fished in his pock- ets for a time-card. “I can get dressed in five minutes. You'll have to change, | yourself; you'll wear your evening clothes, of course.” i “Oh, it never takes me long to get into them,” said her husband easily. To do | Ronald justice, he never minded wearing | clothes when he had them: it was the bother of getting them at which he balked. She surveyed her husband with pridg and pleasure when he was arrayed in his handsome, well fitting evening togs. Heaven only knows what she had gone through before they were accomplished, long after his original suit had grown too small for him! The last time he had worn the latter was at a wedding. She had begged and prayed him for three weeks beforehand, ever since the cards | were out, on their return from the summer vacation, to get those clothes down and try them on, and he wouldn't, with the result that the very night of the festivity | he had had to have the waistcoat split up | the back, because it wouldn't button in | front, and her sister Bess had inserted a | wedge-shaped piece: Lucia was so angry that she wouldn't touch a needle to it! | When he put on the coat, it skewered him to that degree that he looked ridic- | ulously like a trussed chicken. He! couldn't move all the evening for fear of its splitting. That had settied it: he had ordered a suit the next day, but his sur- render taught him no lesson. The one drawback to the evening now was that that fiendish overcoat had to be put on above his splendor, She fancied that Rex Courtney's eyes took note of it curiously. She felt his undenying sym- pathy with her when he complimented her later on the becomingness of her | the pale blue satin—under her lovely white cloak—with its tunic and tight skirt, after the fashion of the day, and the blue sil- vered bandeau in her hair. mies, made over y by her own Rugers: So Tat Hey Jor 8 Hew One might swell fund for darling Ronald's overcoat. le was carsleng aslo enditures; was ag an Tt, gd to be the wise ! "Look here, Lucia, who's getting this overcoat, you or I?” he asked imper- | urbabl y. “Goodness knows that, it [ had been getting it, you'd have had one long be- fore this,” replied Lucia with a desperate | gesture and a theatrical moan. It did not arrive during the day, nor did he wear it home. Lucia, on tenter- hooks, after the first moment's question- ing, subsided; she saw that look on her husband's face which warned off speech. She could get nothing out of him, except that it would be all right the next day; otherwise, as she confessed to herself, he was as dear as only he could be. He had And I've | weeks; before the first, you may depend brought her a box of matrons as a solace made over my blue satin myself, just be- on the/; Grandon never disappoints. And after he left, and was so delightful a lover that she couldn't bear to mar the hour in any way. All Wednesday she looked forward to the moment when he would arrive, invariably charmed; it was always with | about that overcoat every night when I resplendent, for those last couple of hours before going in town again to start off for the night. At his footfall she rushed down-siairs turned up the hall light, that his might burst upon her. In- newspapers out of the worn pockets of his old coat. “Ronald Bannard!"” she began wildly, before he stopped her with a gesture: “There's nouse your saying anvthing. | never ordered that coat; that's all!” “You never ordeved it! You told me to Grandon's; "I did go to Grandon's, and showed him the sample we picked out, but I was in such a tearing rush that I couldn't haven't 2 new overcoat; I'd die of morti- | The tailor’s art had somehow failed him even wait to be measured then; I said I'd be over the next morning. I've honestly expected every single day to go in, but I've been so all-fired busy that I just haven't had a minute. Great Scott, Lucia, when a man has as much to see to as I've had lately, you can't expect him to bother about such a little thing as clothes! I've been nearly wild. You will just have to let me goon as I am till things straight- bring home samples of cloth to-morrow?” | withheld silence, in which she was en out a bit and I have more time.” "Oh, that's the way you always talk,” Her large eyes had nothing to say: it was fo dreadful. She had done her best; if he made a bad times they went her way; and no human impression at the office, she couldn't help Oh—yes, | power could ever predict whose day it it. What was the use of struggling any | perhaps I did take it for just a moment. | was going to be. They were a young | more? 1 Perhaps he had been too busy. She had a strange, forlorn, feminine pride in his being beyond even her control, even in her despair. She did not, see how she could ever say any more to him | witheringly. He faced her with his shoul- | pecting the arrival of the new garment, about that overcoat than she had said. | She had thought this the height of the : situation, but there was a peak beyond, | unseen as yet. In the three days before his return she found herself growing | tired, incapable in thought of managing thi She wasn't used to being with- out Ronald, and she seemed to be illimit- | ably homesick for him. She wanted to | feel his dear hand: she could forgive him temporarily for his tacit deception of her if he would only come back. i But the step on the piazza, when it did | come, was not Ronald’s but Rex Court- | ney's. “Where's Ronald?” she asked anxious- ly, as she greeted him. i “Oh, he's all right. He had business | that detained him, I came on this morn- ing,” said Rex. “He asked me to leave | these papers here for him and to tell you he'd be gut on the last train. I only sit down for a mement.” "Did you have a nice trip?” she asked perfunctorily. “Yes, it was all right,” said Mr. Court- ney with a reminiscent smile. "Ronald's a fine traveling companion. The com- pany gave us a bang-up supper the other | night, too. I got my promotion. | hope | Ronald will get his soon; but—" Rex i paused, and slapped his knee meditatively | with the gloves he held in his right hand. | “There's something that's been on my | mind for some time, Mrs. Bannard. 1 wonder if you'll let me speak to you i about it now?” He faced her earnestly. | “It concerns Ronald.” “Why, certainly,” said Lucia, confused- | ly agitated. What did he mean? What | could he mean? i "Well, it’s just this, Mrs. Bannard: Ronald ought to be more particular about | his dress. A woman is apt to think that | only her own clothes matter; she Spends | on them all the money her husband can spare, as a usual thing. It's her right, of course, to make herself look charming,— no one knows how better than you, Mrs. Bannard,—butit’s a mistake to think that a man's clothes don't matter just as much; it is indeed! A woman doesn’t see business side of it; it makes a great difference in many ways if a man jooks well dressed, prosperous; respectable, short! Other people much more confidence in him. Now that overcoat your husband wears—" Rex lowered his voice tenderly as his eyes dwelt on the downcast i “I'm sure it is only a little your part that is needed. You give me, Mrs. d t pleasure to me,” turn- | Instead, she achieved, for the moment, ng to Ronald: a languid, chill carelessness of voice and “We'll have to do this oftener , | manner as she went on: the three of us. I don't know of anyone | “I think, however, with all your kind who has a ter a tion of beauty | intentions, are just a little mistaken; and a time . often are, don’t you think? A nard!” men looked at her - | man has no fear of being ately. judged by his clothes: he dresses entire- ou're about t there, Court!” said never husband used to get all Rex 's extra tickets, but now—! She wondered again the next morning, ar oes! reise if,” answered “Be sure and see about it . Don't chance their it. Wear it home, and let them send one you have on. Fd hive a fit if anything went wrong al " i cessful in that capacity when he is con- tent simply to admire and does not dash in where wiser men might fear to say a word.—By Mary Stewart Cutting, in the Woman's Home Companion. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN DAILY THOUGHT. God bless thee with blessings Levond hope or thought, with blessings which no word can find — Tennyson. Buttons were used effectively on a black and white trotting suit of chiffon serge, the jacket of which was cut some. ' what on the lines of the Norfolk and con- fined at the waistline by a broad patent leather belt. The notched revers were faced with white and edged with black satin, the latter material being used also for a cov- ering for the row of buttons which fast ened the coat a little to the right of the center and were continued almost to the bottom of the plain narrow gored skirt. The sleeves were long. A belt made of colored string is a nov- el accessory to milady’s toilet. It is made by crocheting the string, using a plain stitch, into the shape of a belt, hav- ing the two {ronts narrower than the back, says the New York Fress. For wash dresses natural-color string is used, but if it be a dark gown or you wish to match the color of your tie in the belt, make it of a fine wrapping cord that can be bought in almost anv desired shade. Fasten it in front with a plain metal or pearl buckle. There is great variety to the collars of the moment. When they are worn low they are turned well away from the throat, with a deep fichu-like collar of softest muslin and lace, or a sailor col- lar of oriental embroidered linen. The medium collar band has no vogue, although the very high collar, perfectly shaped and boned, of soft and filmy ma- terial, is considered exceedingly smart, and figures on most of the smart after- noon gowns. There is a place in the summer toilet | year after year for spotted muslin. Here we have a fabric that has never been se | great a favorite among women that it be. | came commonplace in their estimation. | Modest and demure it is, but withal very | charming. i There are dainty white muslins with | colored rosebuds and green leaves scat- | tered over the surface, and there are oth- | ers spotted with white that are given col- { ored borders in the delicate summer ! shades that are always delightful, the | pale blue, the clear pink, the soft mauve | and green shades. Fruit Punch.—Make a syrup by boil- | ing a pound of sugar with a cupful of | water for ten minutes. Have ready in | the punch bowl! the juice of oranges and four lemons, one orange sliced thin, a can of shredded pineapple and a cupful | of fresh brewed tea. Pour the syrup | over the mixture and let it stand until | cool. Then add a cupful maraschino | cherries, two siced bananas, a cupful of | California grapes cut in halves and seed. | ed, a quart of mineral water and cold | water encugh to make six quarts of | liquid in all. Serve with a block of ice | in a punch bowl. ! Lobster Newburg.—Pick cut the meat | of a lobster, cutting in any size desir- | ed, and measure two cupfuis lightly. Put into the chafing dish or a saucepan with a rounded tablespoonful of butter and, when melted, add the lobster meat and « half cupful of sherry. Simmer ten minutes. Beat the yolks of three eggs thoroughly and add to them a tablespoon- ful of cream, so they will not curdle. Add a scant half cupful of cream to the lobster, some wine, and cook until it bub- bles. Season to taste with salt and pep- per. As soon as it bubbles stir in the ten yolks and serve as soon as it thickens. Judging from the shoes displayed at the spring openings, the Cuban or mili- tary heel is as popular as ever and will be worn on all occasions when it isn't in favor of the Louis Quinze. The latter is little used for street wear, although it is considered the smartest model for every variety of evening slip- Pe ie sliort vam and the medium round OBE ry The modish foot must be dressed in a manner to make it long, narrow and h arched. Ain 1 advanc- ed to make it safe to that the Colonial model will e the lead for Soe Wels. Le distinguiehad from the pump w! been in vogue for both winter and summer wer for the ast two years 2 wider songue a trifie high- Se Yn ides son on is enough to pro- duce a marked difference in effect, es- pesiully Sn the models wilich are secured by ribbon. run through: one: pair of eye- Patent eather js the favorite goatee] at present for dress occasions, precedence later to the softer and to buckskins, which be fashionable both in black and colors. Suede has a tendency to make the foot appear smaller, but this advantage is off- set in the eyes of the practical woman its propensity to rub and look shabby one or two wearings. Much ge t worn tain extent with afternoon always more or less in vogue wear. All the shades of tan will be street wear, but the Somos bid fal at and tub : 1d i | a cer- and are 3 i 5 ig gs 1 iis 3: iE Hii Hh Hike a ee g 3 g £ 3 pers match the gown. There is 2, marked jowasd the most exclusive houses, says the New York Sun. Whatever original js per mitted must take the form ot designs in buckles which are shown in a large variety of shapes and material. both smoked and white, and ail the fash. FARM NOTES. —It is a very good plan to mulch the rhubarb plants with a lot of corn stalks or coarse grass. This will protect the plants during the winter and also keep weeds from chocking the plants if kept on after cultivation in spring. —Turnips are valuable food ir. a ration for dairy cows where no other succulent food is obtainable. One must be careful and not feed 160 many turnips at first, or they will taint the milk; but if fed in moderation at first ; nd gradually increas. ed, never feeding abnormal amounts, there will be no trouble. —In Nebraska, under dryland agricul ture, investigations prove that cultivation increases the absorbtive power of the soil; that evaporation from such cuiti- vated soil extends but little below one foot; that from five and one-half to sev. en inches more of rainfall are stored on tilled, uncropped land than on similar land growing a crop. ~—New York State is getting excited over the horse question. There were 590,000 horses on farms in that State in 1910, which is a loss of 38.000 head in 10 years. The trouble with horse raising is that the colt does not reach maturity in less than five years; but a beef steer matures in two vears and a dairy cow will be giving milk and raising a calf in three vears. A horse raised on high- priced land ought to be worth $500 at maturity. ~The loss in the weight as well as the value of manure as it is handled on the average farm when piled in the barnyard and left until spring or later is shown in an experiment which was made by the Maryland Experiment Station. Eighty tons of barnyard manure were put in one pile and left for a year. At the end of this time it was found the pile had lost in weight 53 tons, or over 60 per cent., while from the standpoint of fertilizer Flue it probably lost even more than this. ~Horseradish is commonly grown from sets and not from seed. Some claim they have best success in growing it as a second crop after early cabbage, beets, etc. The crop is dug in the fall, | the small roots removed and cut into sets four to six inches long. The top end is cut square and the bottom end slanting, so as to make no mistake in planting. These are tied in bundles and kept oyer winter in sand. In spring, after the cab- bage are set out, a row of horseradish is planted between the cabbage rows. Small oles are made with a light crowbar or long stick, and the sets dropped in and covered two or three inches deep, so that they do not come up until July first. The roots are dug very late in the fall. Any deep, rich, well-drained soil wili answer for horseradish. —Itis an accepted fact that salt is poison to pigs, and pretty deadly, too, if taken in any material quantity. Butoften deaths are assigned to other than the true cause in cases where salt is the agent. It will be said, perhaps, that no brme or salt in any form has been dis- posed of from the house for a considera- ble period before deaths may have occur- red, and that any mortality may not be attributed to the poison. It, however, often happens in this way: Salt is occa- sionally carelessly put in the hog tub or maybe brine with salty sediments. The slowly-soluble sait settles at the bottom of the tub, so that it is only when the dregs are taken out that the poisoning takes place. Some tubs and cisterns are not really emptied for months, and then is the time that that salt poisoning may occur. Cane hay, or cane fodder from which all the seed has been cut, is about the same as kaffir fodder for horses, but the juice of the stalk is more soured in warm, damp weather, and the sced is not good for the horses as a gain. It would be better to put the cane fodder into the cattle and save the kaffir corn for 2 horse roughness, instead. Cera fodder is hardly as good for horses as kaffir corn. They will not eat much of the stalk, and the leaf growth is less to their liking. The cold season of the year is the time to use up any fodder in the horse barn that may be necessary to be used there in order to piece out a shortage of hay, or to keep from buying the high-priced article. Horses relish any fodder much more in cold weather than in warm, and during their season of comparative idleness they can get away with a coarser, more bulky roughiess than when working hard in the fields. —The extension department of the Minnesota College of Agriculture has re- cently p red a bulletin which goes somewhat into detail on the yearly cost of keeping a farm horse. The first item mentioned is interest, which at 6 per cent. = the Yale of a $150 forse 2moumts to a year. av eof a is conceded to not be, 10 or 12 years, so that there is an annual depreciation of $12.50. The cost of buildings for shelter brings the total expenditure up to i I ; 1 its fie! gid if 4 . : i : i gs fit 353 se ud stalls properly bedded, it still out i is worth the while when the sa amounts lo many pounds of high-pri y. corn fodder is utilized for mak- ing roughness for thousands of now. They eat it without an inch of waste, even at the butt of the stalk. This means no coarse refuse to handle in the stalls, while the course stalks that are eaten by the horses seem to do them no harm. It is a good idea to mix in some hay occasionally, however, Say one feed Out of fous, This keeps the te for fodder good, whereas, with all fodder it is liable to become dulled after a time. A good many feed a bun- dle of Kaffir corn, seed and all, to each horse. for wach feed. Tis makes both [olBhness Td Zain topet average of it was last year, the grain feed is rather rich in to the amount of rough. ness con in the same bundle. A better plan is to cut the heads off and i j d
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers