Bellefonte, Pa., March 14, 1919. THE VALLEY OF HALFMOON. By Susan L. Harlacher. Loved valley with your fertile fields, And springs of water cold, Your fruit and grain rich harvests yield, i i { not alone. | his mind a seething whirlpool of | Bence Nin i shouldering the loafers aside, | lessly deaf to the men who called to | { { and small talk, were as many young | v { He who had been so self-righteous, | | who that very night had refused to | | And hills hold wealth untold. | CHORUS. We'll pledge to keep our valley clean, And make our homes the best, To keep the name of 14 Moon green, From farthest East to West. Your pine clad mountains still are green When snow has hid the land, While nestling ‘round your homes are seen The oak and maple grand. Your sons and daughters travel far, To help and heal mankind, Wherever want and sorrow are, Their willing hands we find. They found the 14 Moon carved on trees, When our forefathers came, And it was Indian marks like these, That gave the valley name. Tune—‘“Auld Lang Syne.” WHEN DAD CAME HOME. (Copyright, Frank A. Munsey Co). Mrs. Priestley put down the cup of coffee at her son’s elbow, and stood hesitatingly beside his chair. “When you're through Jim,” she said, slowly, “I’ll—have something to tell you.” He put down his cup hastily, and half turned toward his mother. “What is it?” he said. “Anything about Molly?” “No, it’s not Molly. Jim, your fath- er’s coming home.” She drew back a little then, fright- ened by the expression of her son’s eyes. Her still rounded face lost some of its color, and she seemed to shrink in her plain, ugly calico dress. At the crash of Jim’s overturned chair she put out her hands deprecatingly. “Don’t, now, Jim,” she begged. “Don’t carry on about it! It would have been only a year or so more, any- how.” Speech did not come easily to Jim Priestley. Like his father before him, he was a silent man, to whom a blow came more quickly than a word, and whose rage was of the brooding, sul- len kind. Now, as he walked past his mother and took his hat from its nail on the kitchen door, there was no out- burst of anger; only the straight line of his lips showed that her words had had any effect on him. He was a tall, loose-limbed young fellow, with heavy black hair, and eyes that were almost childishly blue —eyes like those of the little woman who watched him. At the door he stopped and turned around. “He’s not coming here,” he said, the very lack of inflection making his ! tone menacing. “It’s the only place he’s got, Jim!” she pleaded. but where else can he go? the street, would you? shame and pride, walked alone, sav- agely brooding, brushing past women with babies and men with Daskers, ra - im. i When he finally met Molly she was Two or three girls were with her, and just behind them, keep- ing up a running fire of compliments men. Molly looked at Jim as he ap- proached. “Good evening, Mr. Priestley,” she said pertly. Jim lifted his hat and passed on, ! black anger and jealousy in his heart. He knew the men; one of them—Hal- lowell, a mechanic like himself—had been his rival for Molly’s favor, and had boasted that he would oust him | vet. And so he swung along the street, his head down, seeing nothing | of the crowd around, occupied always | with the pictures conjured up by his | own brooding fancy. i Now, it was his mother, sobbing at | the table. Now, it was his father as | | i | he remembered him, standing to re- ceive that awful sentence of impris- onment for what promised to be the remainder of his life. Oftenest of all it was Molly he saw—Molly, with her | mischievous brown eyes and sensitive red lips; and finally the face of Hal- lowell, his hated rival, would come be- tween him and the picture of the girl | he loved. i { | der his breath. “I know it’s yours now, You | wouldn’t turn your own father out in | He was a good father to you for fifteen years, | Jimmie.” There was a haunting note of reproach in the thin old voice, and the corded, calloused hands under the gingham apron were twisting desper- ately. her strained treble, thought to see the day when a child ! of mine would turn his father out in the street.” Jim opened the door with an air of | finality; then he closed it again, and came slowly back into the room. “Hé’s been a good father, has he?” he sneered. was—a credit to his family! proud of him, aren’t we? Ten years I’ve walked the streets and seen peo- ple turn to look at me, because my father killed a man and was doing | And you think, after all that, that I'm going to have any time for it. shave-pated, lock-stepping ex-convict in my house—my house,” he repeated, “you’re wrong, that’s all. come here!” The painful tears of old age came into her dim eyes, and she fumbled in | the bosom af her dress for a handker- chief. Her son watched her irritably, with the unreasoning anger we feel at those we have wounded. “You know as well as I do, mother,” | he said more mildly, “that Molly’s people wouldn’t let her look at me if he came back here. You know what her folks are.” “Molly wouldn’t give you up, Jim. If it was her father, she’d stick to him. Every one knows it was an ac- cident; it was a quarrel, Jim—just the kind of a quarrel * your temper may | get you into any day. It wasn’t mur- der. You know that Ragan had pull- ed his revolver, and it was his life or “He was a fine one, he We're | He doesn’t | It was two hours later when Jim, after standing sullenly with a crowd in the poolroom down the street, came ' back through the market-place. The streets were less crowded now; the | late buyers had gone home with their baskets; the sleepy babies were tuck- ed away in their bed; the butchers | after twenty hours of work, had shut up their stands and gone away. Mol- | ly had disappeared, and the percent- age of drunkards among the corner loafers had increased. Then Jim saw Hallowell. The cumulative rage of the evening surged up in him and maddened him. He walked up to the other man with the lust of battle in his face. For a moment each glared a challenge at the other. Neither had been drinking, but both were blind with the intoxi- cation of passion. Hallowell greeted Jim with a taunt, and then, mistaking his rival’s speechless fury for moder- ation, grew facetious for the benefit of the bystanders. “Say, stripes,” he said sneeringly, “next time you go down to the pen 1 wish you would have your father knit me some socks. They make”’—— But Jim’s heavy fist had gone home on the point of his chin, and he went down with a crash and lay still. Some of the men around stooped over his prostrate figure. The crowd bert to grow rapidly, although street fights on Saturday night were too common to cause much excitement. Jim leap- ed against a post with folded arms, disdaining escape, although a police- man was rounding the corner. Then one of the men who had been exam- ining Hallowell straightened up and eas swiftly toward him. “Run! Get out, quick!” he said un- “He’s dead!” III Jim didn’t run. He stepped quietly | closing for the night, went through it! and out into the deserted street be- | yond, took a detour through alleys fa- ! miliar from childhood, and so made | his way home. He was dazed with the | ._ | revulsion of feeling—too numb with | “I’ve seen trouble,” she went on in: g th | “but I never ; horror to think of escape. He did not | rouse his mother, but made his way | over the roof of the coal-shed to an upstairs = window, and crawled | "through. night air blowing in on him, the dead- | ly languor of reaction creeping over { about, as if he had awakened her. He | i brushed back his damp hair and tried to steady his voice. “Go to bed, mother,” he called. “I’m here now.” He went to his own room and light- ‘ed the lamp. Then he blew it out again suddenly. They would be after i him soon, and he might want to get | away—might, because from the cha- i os of his mind he had not been able to evoke a plan for the future. He sat by the window, leaning out, | watching the street to see if he were pursued, not knowing or caring that it was raining, and that he was wet ‘and cold. He could remember, sitting i there in the dark, every incident of i his father’s arrest ten years ago—that i crowd of neighbors that gathered at { the door; his mother’s sobs; his fath- | er’s bowed white head and hopeless | face. Then the long days of waiting, | the trial and conviction, the appeal, hi i took their last penny—and fail- ed. i Some one came down the street, | looking at the numbers. When he was | opposite the house, he crossed the | street and knocked. In an instant your father’s. And he’s an old man | Jin was on his feet and at his moth- now—an old man, Jim!” She dropped weakly into a chair! beside the table, still set with the re- mains of supper, and rested her head on her hand. The young fellow stood for a moment creasing the crown of his straw hat; then he came over and put an awkward hand on his mother’s | shoulder. “Just forget about oe mothers he | e spoiled your ! said, not unkindly. life and mine, and he isn’t worth wor- rying about. He can’t come here, that’s settled. Now just don’t think! about it any more.” He closed the doer behind him quietly; but, once away from his mother’s pleading voice, all the wrongs of the last year, all the shame, all the covert malice of his associates, all the burning humiliations came over him ! in a tidal wave of resentment; and the ebb, when it came, left him sul- len and ugly. II It was Saturday night. The cor- ners around the market-house and the city hall were crowded with men, loud-voiced and laughing, with here and there a reeling, tottering group, who punctuated their unsteady prog- ress with noisy, braggart oaths. From somewhere out of sight came the rhythmic beat of a drum and the shrill song of the Salvation Army, and a waffle-vender was crying his wares with the metallic jangle of a beaten triangle. 5 : Through the crowds Jim Priestley, | er’s door. “Tell him I'm not here!” he whis- | pered hoarsely. “Call out to him— | don’t go down!” | “He’s not in his room,” she quaver- | ed from the window, in answer to an | inquiry. The man below hesitated, then turn- | ed away. “T’ll be back,” he said briefly. She turned to Jim, but he was gone. Back in his room he was turning over feverishly the litter of neckties and handkerchiefs in the upper drawer of | the yellow-pine bureau. When he had | found his revolver, he went cautious- ly past his mother’s door, climbed the attic stairs, entered the attic, and shut and bolted the door at the top. He groped his way through the darkness to the window beneath the sloping roof. The rain was coming down heavily now, close to his head, and the attic was musty and heavy with the smell of drying soap. Jim settled himself on his knees at the window, the revolver on the floor be- side him. Through all the turmoil in his mind, one thing was clear—he would never go to the living death of the peniten- tiary. The six chambers of the revol- ver were six sure roads of escape. Below, the gutters were filled with water that sparkled and bubbled in the electric light. Some one was standing across the street, in the shadow of a doorway, and Jim knew at once that the house was watched. through an open door into the dark- | ened market-house, which was just! | across the street had gone. { dawn now—a cold, wet dawn, gray | and cheerless. { the neighborhood. | carats, will sell for ten times the value | were taking shape now. | things he had not seen for years. | ! him from a wooden box. The tongue ! in half an hour and went home.” and lay there. and closed the window. As he turned, i a thin, watery shaft of yellow sunlight For a while he stood there, the cold kily. . him. Across the narrow strip of hall | he could hear his mother moving | After a time the rain slackened, and | the man across the street sat down on i a doorstep, an umbrella over his head. | Jim watched him steadily. He grew ! | cramped in his constrained position; | his knees ached when he tried to | traighten them and his eyes burned ! | from peering through the darkness. Below, through the thin flooring, he | could hear his mother walking. A sudden shame for this new trouble he ! had brought on her came over him. | give his convict father a home—he | | was a murderer! When he looked out again the man | It was | Here and there the | chimneys of the houses around began | to show faint blue lines of smoke, in | preparation for the early breakfast of | He heard his mother go stiffly down- | stairs, heard the shutters open, and | the rush and yelp of his setter as it! dashed into the little yard after a | night in the kitchen. Then there were | voices. He picked up the revolver | and held it clumsily, his fingers stiff | with cold; but no one came up the | stairs, and he relaxed again. i The trunks and boxes around him | He saw | There was the quaint high chair, bat- ! tered with the heels of lusty babies. He could remember his youngest brother, dead long ago, sitting in it. There was the old squirrel-cage, | rusty now, and over in a corner, still | showing traces of its gorgeous paint of years before, was the red wagon : his father had painstakingly made for was gone, and one clumsy wheel lay | forlornly in the wagon-bed; but Jim | could see, with the distinctness that i long-past events sometimes assume, | | his father’s head, gray even then, bent over the uncouth wagon, paint- ing it with unaccustomed fingers and | lettering a name on the side. The name was quite clear still—the “Jim | Dandy.” | Jim got up and sat on a trunk to, rest his cramped muscles. The walls of the narrow room began to oppress ! him, like the walls of a cell, and the | little red wagon stood out, a very pas- sion of color, in the gray of its sur- roundings. He could not escape it; it was a symbol of the joy of the past in the hopelessness of the present. Jim turned his back to it and gazed down at the street. Men with dinner- buckets—the Sunday shift at the mill —were leaving the houses around, their hats drawn down, their coat-col- lars turned up around their ears. When they overtook one another they fell into step silently, morosely. One man stopped, just across, and looked over at the Priestley house. Jim opened the window and whistled soft- ly. The other man stepped to the curb and made a trumpet with his hands. “I hung around here half the night waiting for you,” he called. “Say, Hallowell’s all right. He came around The revolver clattered to the floor | Jim nodded silently came through the window, and the lit- | tle red wagon gleamed joyously. ° When Jim went into the kitchen the ; table was laid for breakfast. The set- ter leaped at him with moist caresses, but Jim’s eyes were on a stooped fig- ure in a chair by the stove. His moth- er held out a pleading hand, but Jim | did not see it. He went across the | room to the old man in the rocking- chair, and leaned over him, his hands on the bent shoulders. “Welcome home, dad,” he said hus- “Welcome home!”—By Mary Roberts Rinehart, in Pittsburgh Sun- day Post. St. Patrick’s Day. March 17th is celebrated by Irish- men of all creeds and denominations as the birthday of their patron saint, Patrick. There is a story that once there was a dispute between two fac- tions, one claiming that the patron saint was born on the eighth, the oth- er that he came to this world on the ninth of March. As the quarrel could not otherwise be settled, the 17th was decided on by the simple compromise of adding eight and nine together. But there appears to be no reason for doubting that St. Patrick was born either at’ Kirkpatrick (or Dumbarton) in Scotland, or perhaps in France, in the latter part of the fourth century, on the day usually kept as his birth- day. St. Patrick’s day is purely a national celebration irrespective of any religious belief. The Most and Best. The importance of economy has been impressed on our minds in recent years. We want to know that we are getting the most and best for our money, no matter what we spend it for. In the matter of medicine there is prob- aby no more economical course of treat- ment than Hood’s Sarsaparilla and Pept- iron,—a real iron tonic,—taken in conjunc- tion, one before eating and the other after. The combination of these two medicines brings into co-operation such well-known substances as sarsaparilla, iron, nux and pepsin, best for the blood, nerves and di- gestive organs. This combination is especially recom- mended in cases that are scrofulous, or rheumatic, anemic and nervous, or where the blood is both impure and pale, defi- cient in iron. - In cases where a laxative is Hood's Pills should be taken. needed 64-11 THE STATUE OF SHERMAN BY St. GAUDENS. “This is the soldier brave enough to tell, The glory dazzled world that war is hell.” Lover of peace he looks beyond the strife. And rides through hell to save his coun- try’s life. —Henry Van Dyke. Selfishly Interested. The only kind of optimist we dis- like is the fellow who points out the sliver lining in the clouds in order to avoid lending us an umbrella. ‘ More Negotiable. “Experience is a good asset.” “I'd much prefer the bankroll I ex- changed for mine.” EARTH’S RICHEST RUBY MINES Center of World's Store of Precious Stones Is Known to Be Located in Upper Burma. The world’s ruby center is Mogok, in upper Burma, some 70 miles north of Mandalay. Here are the great ruby | mines. one of Burma’s most valuable monopolies, says the London Weekly Telegraph. Indeed, not only does this country produce the finest of these | coveted mems, but they are recovered in such juantities as to enable her to dominate the market. Few are aware that, weight for weight, a ruby is more valuable thana diamond. It is estimated that one the color of pigeon’s blood, weighing five of a diamond of the same weight. Fur- thermore, the price increases with the size of the stone. As the “byon,” or earth containing the coveted gems, is taken from the ground it is placed in a great revolving tub. Here it is screened and all loose earth removed by water. The residue | is then tipped on the sorting table. A white overseer carefully examines the pile. selecting the true gems from the worthless debris. If he’s lucky he may at one sorting find gems worth many | thousands of dollars, while on the oth- er hand the yield may be but a hun- dred dollars or two. The yearly out- ; put of rubies from these mines totals about $<00.000. SAVES WASTAGE OF LIGHT Device That Automatically Turns Off Power Has Been Found to Be of Real Value. One of the considerable sources of fuel waste is the unnecessary burning of electric lights. A large percentage of lights are used chiefly for limited periods, as for instance rooms. They are turned on and then heedlessly left burning. Thus we are constantly recommended to shut off needless lights as a matter of national saving. An invention designed to remedy this condition is the work of J. E. Lewis of New York. By pushing a button the light is turned on and glows for a predetermined period—say, five or ten minutes—and then matically cut off. The device has been tested and found practical and seems useful in the way of checking electric light waste. Marine Fireflies. The bay of Toyama, Japan, is the scene of a peculiar phenomenon that occurs each year in April and May. The cause of it is an almost limitless swarm of cuttlefish that shine like glow worms. The fish are tiny, says a writer in the Boston Transcript, and when they meet with anything objectionable they emit a wondertul display of phos. phorescence. Every spring the coasts of Toyama swarm with these little creatures, and fishermen go out with special nets to catch them. \WWhen caught in the meshes the fish emit their light and cause the nets to sparkle as if charged with electricity. The people regard the sight as won- derful, and rush in great excitement to see it. Pleasure boats are in de- mand on those occasions, and it is a favorite courtesy to invite a friend to an evening of entertainment fin watching the sparkling cuttlefish. Precious Salt. What is known as “radium” is a radium salt, usually either radium bromide or radium chloride, some- times radium sulphate. Tiny grains of these salts are extremely precious and are usually sealed up in little glass | bulbs. The radium in one of the first bulbs that were received in London had a curious history. A physician in Port- land place was applying the bulb to a patient when he accidentally let it fall, and a moment after crushed it under his foot. The value of the radium to the physician was very great. He re- moved his boots from his feet and cut out a square of his valuable carpet. Ile had boots and carpet burned, and ¢ut of the ashes refined the original radium salt. Log 20,000 Years Old. Not so long ago a workman, 81 feet pelow the surface of Broadway, near Pine street, in New York city, found a piece of cedar wood that certainly presented a remarkable discovery. The wood was uncovered in excavating for the foundation of a big office building. It was a part of the trunk of a large cedar tree that grew at least 10,000 years ago. and more probably 20,000 years ago! The wood was within a foot of bed- rock, and it was covered with 80 feet of bowlder clay and glacial drift, which showed that the tree from which it came must have flourished before the last great age of Ice. Benefit From “Melting Pot.” The Alhambra, that exquisite Moor- ish palace at Granada, which our own Washington Irving so graphically de- scribes, is still a silent witness to the beauty and skill of Moorish architects and sculptors. Out of all these alien people who have come to us, who seem so very foreign to us that as- gimilation seems almost impossible, no doubt we shall derive a benefit just as other countries have benefited in other days. History repeats itself, and America, the great melting pot of the world nations, may bring forth from the crucible men who in the fu- ture will do their part to uphold her prestige on land and sea. ' i | ! in cloak | is auto- | i DAILY THOUGHT. Small draughts of philosophy lead to atheism, but larger ones lead back to God. | —Francis Bacon. Now that milder weather will soon {| be with us, low shoes and clocked stockings will be worn. Not a few ! girls | & x : i ings, not in open-work fashion, ! course, but by a bit of sketchy hand | embroidery. It is quite a simple mat- FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. : are clocking their own Stock | 0 FARM NOTES. —To make hog production most | profitable, pasture should be provid- | ed whenever possible. The earlier in | the year green feed can be supplied the better. Pigs of any age relish | green feed, and its use reduces the cost of producing gains. In addition, i it keeps the animals in good, thrifty | condition. Temporary pastures, such as the | cereals, are best utilized in the early | spring, and forage crops such as corn, | ter to embroider a line of white up the | 5° beans, cow peas and, in the South, | side of a black silk stocking ‘or a line . of black up the ankle of a white stock- ling, and then top it with a tiny hol- { low diamond-shaped motif or a wee ! | arrow head. A new idea is to embroi- i der a straight dart up the side, with i little diagonal stitches at the upper i end to represent the feathered end | ‘and a tiny heart at the lower point. ; This is really quite as simple to do as . the diamond motif. | ‘ers are fashioning from old under- | vests. | washable, so what more could either wee kiddie or mother want? Make the body separate from the limbs, and in this way the limbs become mova- { ble and dolly is more easily dressed , and undressed. One need not be an ar- tist to make this new rag dolly—for usually the kiddies who adore them are too little to recognize any possi- - ble defects. Not only are the outer coverings of these dolls fashioned of : the vests, but they are stuffed with | them, too, a large voll stuffing the | body and slender rolls stuffing the "arms and legs. A little round cush- ion forms the head, and all are sewn . to the body proper. Even the doll’s . outer garments may be made from an “undervest if you wish. One boy doll I saw thus fashioned was dressed in | a sweater suit such as small children | | wear, together with leggins and cap, ! all made from an old knit undershirt. . An old silk undershirt makes an alto- | | gether ravishing doll. Embroider the | features and the hair with colored | silks. | for the late spring and early summer : is fashioned of alternate crosswise | bands, about two inches wide, of Shet- I land wool and silk, in contrasting col- ' ors, and knitted. The sleeves are of the plain silk, bell shape, and with two bands of the Angora emphasizing the cuffs. Silk and wool is a favorite combi- nation for the new sweaters. A silk i jersey model, of the long coat fash- ion, reaching quite below the knees, is deeply sailor collared and cuffed with Angora wool, and there is a bot- tom band of the wool about 15 inches in depth. It quite takes the place of a wrap, it being possible to use it for summer evening wear. A model somewhat similar is of the silk jersey and displays a Tuxedo collar of knit- ted Angora. This collar meets a vest of the Angora, and the vest forms a | long panel reaching several inches be- low the waist, but not quite to the end of the coat’s “skirt.” There are nar- : row embroidered bands of wool about ' the bottom of the sweater and, of course, Angora cuffs. Altogether it | is a very stunning, very unusual mod- el, yet easily fashioned at home by the : _ woman accustomed to making her own garments. Sweaters for the spring show ever so many new details. One, for exam- ple, shows wee pockets on the sleeves. . It is of light blue silk jersey, is fast- ' ened upon the side under the sailor : collar and the arm, and has a knee ! reaching peplum with two short wide pockets, one above the other on either side, and the pockets upon the sleeves are also in groups of two and are | placed below the elbow. Upon the sailor collar and the cuffs are embroi- : dered large white silk dots. This is | a simple, smart sweater which can be | easily fashioned at home. The silk Eo is, of course, bought by the | yard. The newest handbags are beaded, ’tis true, but not solidly beaded as of yore. Rather a bag of fabric, say silk, is sketchily beaded in outline de- sign, usually floral. Not long since I | saw a bag of midnight blue taffeta , with a wild rose design simply out- | lined with cut steel beads. It was fre- ally very lovely and, oh, how much less time it would take to fashion and how much less skill than the very in- tricate bags of solid beading. Those knitted silk miser purses are gaining in popularity. They are shaped just like our old double school bags used to be—do you remember ?—with two “tiny silver rings in the centre. The bags may be quite small for earrying small change, or they may be really huge for carrying all sorts of hand- ] bag necessary unnecessaries. The new embroidered round-necked shirtwaists are exyuisite, indeed. There is not much embroidery, and generally small sprays are used These waists are fastened on the shoulder. Some of the new voile waists are finished at the neck with a satin collar, called the monk’s. This collar closes in the back. The square-neck blouse is an early spring arrival. One of white geor- gette recently seen was embroidered in pale blue worsted. Blouses of white satin, cut on de- cidedly fitted or basque lines, are another novelty just introduced. Wrist-length fitted sleeves and panel fronts are features of these fitted blouses. The round-neck blouse or collarless model is still here and unquestionably will remain, and many new models are finished at the neck and sleeves with tiny ruffles or frills that give a-pleas- ingly soft and becoming finish to these simple blouses. As for the colors that will predomi- nate in spring blouses, flesh, white and bisque give evidence of being the prime favorites, but it would seem from many models introduced that in- terest in brilliant colors will not be lacking. Valenciennes and Irish crochet are again being used on blouses of geor- gette and the lingerie fabrics, organ- die, net, voile, batiste and handker- chief linen. i Kiddies are taking great delight in | { the rag dolls which inventive moth- | The dolls are cuddley and | Another interesting sweater model | | velvet beans, furnish fall grazing. In | the late spring and summer there is a | season during which few temporary | pastures are available, with the ex- | ception of rape. At that time perma- | nent pastures, such as alfalfa, the clo- | vers, bluegrass, Bermuda, and a num- i ber of others, have their greatest use. | in the spring as do the cereals previ- | ously mentioned, but they grow bet- i ter during late spring and summer and afford an abundance of forage at a season when few other pastures are ready to graze. i —Permanent pastures require a { minimum of attention and care. They make the cheapest forage, as it is not i necessary to plow and replant each | year. If not too heavily grazed they { may be carried over from one season | to the next and increase in value each year. Only a little supplement need , be fed to obtain a normal growth of the pigs. , One of the chief advantages of the : permanent pasture is its long grow- ling season. Growth continues from . spring until fall, and the forage is | palatable and nutritious at almost any ' time. Either few hogs may be graz- ‘ed during -the whole season, or after the pasture has made considerable | growth a large number may be pas- tured for a short time with practical=- iy equal results in the amount of pork ! produced to the acre. This shows | that a permanent pasture is adapted | to a variety of conditions. It takes { the place of a reserve forage crop, be- ing called upon to furnish grazing at any time of the year when other pas- tures fail or are exhausted. —Although pasture reduces the amount of grain needed to bring pigs to a profitable weight and prepare them for market, it does not furnish a complete food. A sufficient quanti- ty of roughage can not be consumed and digested to supply all the nutri- ents required for rapid growth. The forage, especially from leguminous pastures, furnishes a cheap source of protein, supplies ash for bone making, adds bulk to the ration, acts as a mild laxative and tonic, and keeps the hog’s system in condition to utilize profita- bly the concentrated feeds. Even with the present high prices of grain it pays better not to cut the grain ration more than half, feeding at the rate of two pounds daily for 100 pounds live weight to pigs on pasture instead of the usual four to five pounds when they are in a dry lot. Pigs that are fed grain while on pasture will gain a pound or more a day from weaning to a weight of 200 to 250 pounds, while those getting little or no grain will gain but one-half to three-quar- ter pounds a day. This will bring pigs to a marketa- ble weight early in the fall. A grain ration, then, reduces the time of feed- ing, the risk, interest on investment, and produces a higher condition with a finer and more palatable meat and fat. Light, steady grain feeding on pasture gives better results than heavier feeding during a shorter fin- ishing period. —Sweet clover is an excellent pas- turage crop for hogs. The animals may be turned on the field the first year after sowing the crop, as soon as the plants have made a six-inch growth. From this time until late fall an abundance of forage is produc- ed, as pasturing induces the plants to send out many tender, succulent branches. Pasturing the second sea- son after planting may begin as soon as the growth starts in the spring. If the field is not closely grazed the sec- ond year it is advisable to clip it oc- casionally, leaving an eight-inch stub- ble, so as to produce a more succu- lent growth. An acre of sweet clover pasture or- dinarily will support 20 to 30 shoats, in addition to furnishing a light cut- ting of hay. For the best growth of the hogs they should be fed each day two pounds of grain for each 100 pounds of the hogs’ weight. Pigs are very fond of sweet clover roots, and for this reason should be ringed be- fore being turned on the pasture. The tendency to root may generally be overcome by adding some protein to the grain ration. —Hogs do not relish grasses except when the leaves are young and ten- der. Hence it is necessary, for the best results, to keep permanent pas- tures well stocked. It is usually ad- visable to have some other stock in the pastures with the hogs to eat the coarser plants. Cattle are best suit- ed for this purpose. Mowing the pas- ture in late spring should be practic- ed if the plants become too far ad- vanced. In most cases it is advisable to have some of the best supplementary for- age crops to graze in addition to the pasture. A safe rule is to have at least one acre of good permanent pas- ture for each brood sow kept. Of course, this acreage could be reduced or the number of hogs increased where a complete succession of sup- plementary forage crops is raised or where the land is very productive. A greater area should be allowed if the grazing is poor. The carrying capacity of the var- ious supplementary forage crops var- ies widely, according to the growth of the crop. As a rule it is safe to graze them at the rate of ten to fifteen 100- pound shoats to the acre. A greater number will shorten the grazing per- iod, and fewer animals will lengthen it. —The value of concentrated feeds depends laregly upon the amount of protein and fat they contain. The or- dinary fodder, roots and corn the far- mer raises are rich in starch and fiber, also contain more or less sugar, but are relatively deficient in protein and fat. Cottonseed meal, linseed meal, peanut meal, bean meal, gluten pro- ducts, meat meal, etc., are rich in pro- tein and fat. They supplement the | They do not furnish grazing as early ——~Subsecribe for the “Watchman.” | farmers starchy crops. These con- centrates are also rich in plant food. dy
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers