Boncailti. Bellefonte Pa., April 11, 1919. THE FINEST AGE. When he was only nine months old, And plump and round and pink of cheek, A joy to tickle and to hold, Before he’d even learned to speak, His gentle mother used to say “It is too bad that he must grow. If I could only have my way His baby ways we’d always know.” And then the year was turned, and he Began to toddle round the floor And name the things that he could see And soil the dresses that he wore. Then many a night she whispered low: “Our baby now is such a joy I hate to think that he must grow To be a wild and heedless boy.” But on he went and sweeter grew, And then his mother, I recall, Wished she could keep him always two, For that’s the finest age of all. She thought the selfsame thing at three, And now that he is four she sighs To think he cannot always be The youngster with the laughing eyes. Oh, little boy, my wish is not Always to keep you four years old. Each night I stand behind your cot And think of what the years may hold; And looking down on you I pray That when we've lost our baby small, The mother of our man will say “This is the finest age of all.” —Edgar Guest. THE FIELD OF HONOR. A Story of Courage and Self-sacrifice. mont street, just outside the subway kiosk, where every foot in Boston soon or late must pass. He appeared here about dusk every evening, when the rush was over; and he hugged his banjo to his ragged breast, and picked at it and crooned his old melodies so long as there were any to listen. When coins were tossed him, he had a nimble trick of whisking his banjo bottom side up, catching the contribu- tion, flipping it into the air and pock- eting it without interrupting his mu- sic. Each time he did this, his fingers returned to the strings with a sweep and a clang that suggested the tri- umphant notes of trumpets. When a pasticularly liberal coin came his way, he gave thanks in the midst of his song. Thus: “I'm comin’; I'm comin’; and my head is thank ye, ma'am ie I hear dem darky voices calling: Yes mum-ma’am.” No one ever saw Eph about the streets in the daytime. He appeared at dusk; and it was known that he sometimes remained at his post, sing- ing and picking at his banjo, long after the streets were empty. Some- times, in those hours between night and morning, when there was no oné near, the songs he sang became inef- fably sad and mournful, he crooned them, under his breath, and his sweet old voice was like a low lament. Once Walter Ragan, the patrolman on the beat, passing “slong at four in the morning, heard Eph singing, over and over: “Tramp, tramp. tramp! De boys is mareh- ing. oo 3 Ragan came up quietly behind him and asked: “What’s the matter, Eph?” As the 47. saw th checks old negro looked up, Ragan at there were tears on his black but Eph grinned cheerfully as ‘des’ thinkin’ on de old times, Mis- te’ Ragan. Thinkin’ on de old times, suh.” There was something so pathetic about the lonely old figure that Ra- gan, with gruff kindliness, ordered the darky to go on home. Eph got up and tucked his banjo under his arm. “Yas suh, Miste’ Ragan. Yas, suh, I'm goin’ right along.” And crossing the street, he started up Beacon Hiil. “The darned old nut,” said Ragan gruffly to himself as he watched old Eph shuffle off into the darkness. “Not sense enough to go to bed.” And he went on down the street whistling between his teeth and try- ing not to think of Eph’s bowed body and the tears upon the black old cheeks. Eph’s songs in the old days, were simple darkey ballads, or lullabies, or the songs of the Southland that all the world knows. His listeners used to ask for certain ones that were their favorites; and sometimes Eph sang what they wished to hear, and some- times he refused. He would never sing “Dixie.” “I ain’ no slave nigger,” he would protest. “I fit ag’in de South, in de big war. Rackon I’m gwine sing dat song? Lawdy, man, no, suh.” They told him laughingly, that he war was over. “Da’s all right,” he agree. “De war’s over. Mebbe so. But I ain’ over! An’ I don’ sing no rebelliums. Na, suh!” Those who had enough curiosity to make inquiries found that Eph really had fought for the North. He had served in that colored regiment whose black ranks are immortalized in the Shaw Memorial, opposite the State House, just up the hill from where Eph had his nightly stand. And, by the same token, though he would nev- er sing “Dixie,” it required no more than a word to start him off on that mighty Battle Hymn, “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory . . ” When he sang this, his old voice rolled and throbbed and thrummed with a roar like the roar of drums, and there was the beat of marching feet in the ca- dence of his song. His banjo tinkled shrilly as the piping of the fifes, and his bent shoulders straightened, and his head flung high, and his old eyes snapped and shone. When Europe went to war, Eph forsook the gentler melodies and chose songs with a martial swing. And when he sang them there was the blare of bugles in his voice. He was, from the beginning, violently against the Germans; and now and then, when his enthusiasm overcame him, he delivered an oration on the subject to his nightly audience. When the United States entered the war, he went unostentatiously to the mecruit- ing office and offered himself to the country. fe : “I’ve come to join up in the army, suh,” Eph said to the sergeant in look into his eyes. “Y’all know dat charge. Cibo “You mean you want to enlist? “Yas, suh, jes’ dat.” The Sergeant considered. “I’ll tell | you: old man,” he said; “I'm afraid | he stuck to his attack. 3 ' told me wrong,” you're over the age limit.” i ain’ right,” he said steadily. I | come you want to pester an ol’ nigger i lak me?” “How- Jim was ashamed of himself, but “Maybe they he said. “Maybe “Whut de age limit?” Eph asked | they were trying to start trouble be- cautiously. “Forty-five.” i Eph cackled with delight. “I de-| clare, dat jes’ lets me in. Me, I'm gwine on fo’ty four this minute.” | “Ge out!” protested the sergeant. “You'll never see seventy-four again. ! You’re too old and your eyes are no | good, and your teeth are gone.” | “I can pint a gun an’ pull a trig- | ger,” Eph urged wheedlingly. | “There’s more than that to war,” | Jim was silenced. But Ragan took | recognized as a proper function of the sergeant told him, and Eph’s eyes | blazed. | “Whut you know about war, man?” | he demanded. “Ain’ I been in it?! Ain’ I slep’ in de rain, an’ et raw corn, i an’ fit in mud to de knees, an’ got a | bullet in my laig, an’ laid out in de! snow three days till they come and | fotch me in? Don’ you let on about | war tuh me, I been it, an’ 1 done it, befo’ you’uz born.” Eph was so deadly earnest that the | sergeant’s voice was full of sympathy | as he dropped his hand on Eph’s | shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Its | no use.” | Eph passed from anger to pleading. | “Spos’n T'uz to go along an’ sing to um.” “No; they wouldn’t take you.” “I'm a jim-dandy cook,” Eph offer- ed pitifully. “Get out of here, you damned old scamp!” the sergeant exclaimed with | assumed fierceness which did not at all deceive old Eph. He knew white folks, and he understood that this was only the sergeant’s way of saying that there was no hope at all and that he was sorry. So Eph said simply, “Thank’ee, sir;” and with a sad and dreary dignity he went down the stairs to the street, and home to the little room where he lodged. During the day the billowy negress who kept his boarding house heard little cries and lamentations coming from behind his closed door; and once she knocked and offered her comfort. But Eph nursed his sorrow alone. That night he made an innovation in his singing. Across the street rose the spire of the Park Street Church. And whenever the hands of the clock in the spire touched the hour, old Eph rose, took off his hat, and lifetd up his voice and sang: “Oh, say, kin you see...” He sang this each hour that even- ing, and each hour in all the evenings that were to come. At first people thought he was playing patriotism for his own ends; but when they felt the wistful tenderness in his tones, they faintly understood and more respect- ed him. It was Ragan, in the end, who brought Jim Forrest, a reporter on one of the morning papers, to see Eph. Forrest’s father had died just as he finished college, and Jim had given up law school to buckle down and earn a living for his mother and himself. He began on a salary of fif- teen dollars a week, and at the end of his first year was raised to twenty. When he was earning fifteen dol- lars a week, Jim and his mother lived, and that was about all. They had been accustomed to “manage” with five thousand a year before Mr. For- rest died and a dollar still locked small and unimportant to them. By the time Jim was raised to twenty, Mrs. Forrest had learned to make one dollar do the work of two; and they got along. But when the United States went into the war, newspapers stopped raising salaries. And the worst of it was that Jim was partic- ularly anxious for more money at that time. In the years to come, the years of peace, over whose threshold we are stepping even now, thousands of men will look back to those days of 1917, and will understand how the sight of Jim’s friends decked out in khaki, gave him a homesick longing for the training camps that was so acute it his actually physical suffering for him. But if he went, his mother could not live. That was pure mathematics. Jim had reluctantly accepted this fact. But he did not give up the situation as hopeless. For one thing, he tried to earn a little extra money by writ- ing special stories for his paper. He was a likable boy with plenty of friends, and the helped him with sug- gestions. One of these friends was Ragan; and it was Ragan that told Jim one day to go see old Eph. “There’s a story in him,” he assur- ed Jim. “You can write a yarn about that old nigger that will make every man in town cry into his coffee. D’you know that Eph tried to enlist when we went into the war? Ser- geant Hare told me about it. Said Eph all but cried at being turned down. Offered to go along and sing to the boys, or cook for them. You're through at four in the morning.” Ra- gan went on. “He’ll probably be at his stand till then. Hunt me up and T’ll take you around.” That was a warm, still night of ear- ly fall; and they found old Eph still squatting with his back against the kiosk, still crooning under his breath as he softly strummed. . “How’dy, Miste’ Ragan?” Eph said, as the two men came near. “Tol’able, Eph,” Ragan mimicked. “This is Jim Forrest—wants to talk to you.” : = Eph looked at Jim suspiciously. “How come ?” he asked. Forrest smiled. “I’m a reporter,” he explained. “I want to write some- thing about you.” Eph shook his head stubbornly. “Ol’ Eph ain’ gwine git his name in no papers,” he protested. Jim became grave. He knew what is sometimes the strongest weapon in a reporter’s armory—the art of mak- ing your victim angry. And he knew enough about Eph to hit the old man in a tender spot. “I want to get your story about the way you fought in the Confederate army,” he explained. Eph got to his feet with a menac- ing swiftness. “Dat’s a lie!” he said shrilly. “I fit ag'in’ de South; an’ I kin prove it.” Jim looked puzzled. “Why I un- derstood that you fought for three years, before you were wounded, and Sho General Lee: himself gave you a efter. . . tween us. ’ it? Didn’t you fight in the war at \ prising thing. Eph studied Jim, leaning closer to What was the straight of all?” Eph breast. ly. “Nemmine me. Le’s talk ‘bout you. Howcome you ain’ got on one o’ dem kharki uniforms, boy? How- come? Huh?” The attack was so unexpected, it struck so acutely to the mark, that tapped Jim slowly on the his part. “There now!” he “Jim’s all right. er to support. If he don’t take care of her, nobody will.” Eph looked from Jim to puzzling. o’ dis country, too?” he demanded. said. Ragan, “Why cain’ his maw tek in washin’?” | “Don’t you wor- | Ragan chuckled. ry,” he told Eph. “Jim will go when he can. Why—here, Eph! He wants to write this story about you so he can make extra money—get enough ahead so he can go. . . Enough to take care of his mother.” Jim had turned hopelessly away. Eph looked at the boy’s straight shoulders, looked long and thought- | fully. Then the old darkey did a sur- He crossed, and touch- ed Jim’s arm. “You, sub,” he said softly. Jim looked at him. “I’m sorroy,” he said. “I won't bother you any more.” Eph chuckled. “Lawdy, man, you cain’ bother me. Listen.... You come ‘long home with me now. tuh talk to you some.” Jim hesitated. “You come ’long,” Eph insisted, and took Jim’s arm and utrned him about and led the boy, half unwillingly, across the street, Page the tall old church and up the ill. There is some quality which pos- sesses the souls of good old negro- folk that gives them a power not granted to other men. They have, above everything, the ability to in- spire confidence, to win confidences. Perhaps this is because of their sim- plicity, or because of their vast sym- pathy. White children in the South will love and trust their darky friends and will share with them those inti- mate secrets of childhood from which even parents are excluded. These old darkies have a talisman against the griefs that visit others; they mur- mur, “Nemmine now, chile!” and the suffering is forgotten. In their own sorrows they will wail and lament theatrically. But when white folks weep, the darky has comfort to give, and he gives it. . . . . To tell them a secret is like whispering it to one’s own self. Jim Forrest was never able to un- derstand how he had been led to un- bosom himself to old Eph; but he did. The negro took him over Beacon Hill, down to a little room that was as clean as a new pin. Jim, who had come to hear Eph’s sto- ry, found himself telling his own in- stead. And though he held his Head high and steadily, there was in the boy’s tones something of the longing that possessed him, something of the shame that oppressed him because he could not be out and doing like his fel- lows. ' It was two hours after dawn before Jim left at last, comforted in a way that he could not understand, cheered and content as he had not been for months. Oid Eph, when the boy was gone, | sat down and thought hard. He was a shrewd old man, for all his simnlic- ity, and he knew what he wished to do. He was doubtful only of the method. When this was settled in his | mind, he went out to find the man he sought. He waited humbly in an out- er office till this man could see him. Then he fumbled in his pocket for a dog-eared little bank book, and went in. (Concluded next week). Second-Hand Airplanes. A New York concern has purchased ten million dolars worth of airplanes and airplane parts from the British Government. The machines and parts are in Canada, but it is said they will be brought to this country and dis- posed of to persons who desire to pur- chase second-hand airplanes. All of which is evidence that at least one big concern believes the airplane has “come to stay.” The United States Government also has on hand several hundred million dollars’ worth of airplanes and parts and for which it now has no use. This great volume of planes and ma- terial will sooner or later find its way to the market at ridiculously low prices compared with the original cost. Already there are several com- mercial firms figuring upon taking much of it, with a view to distributing it to persons who desire to go into the flying game. So it seems it will not be a great while until second-hand air- planes will be as common as second- hand automobiles. At the same time we are told that the aviators who took part in the war will not be in the market for the machines; that the men who have learned to fly and who have had ex- perience in the game are not enthu- siasts in the matter of planing. Even Orville Wright, who ought to know more about planes than any other man in this country, says the present plane is not practical for or- dinary use, and he does not look for general employment of planes until a type is devised that can be landed with less risk than those now made. But there will be a demand for these second-hand planes, just the same, There will be persons to buy them and to use them. The occasional death of an aviator will not deter venturesome youths from taking a flight, and in good time these same venturesome youths will work out types of planes that will be safer and more easily handled. Shoe On the Other Foot. “So your wife is doing her own cooking. That must save you a lot of money.” : “Not at all! Dyspepsia specialists are a good deal more expensive than cooks.” Days. Harrisburg.—“It is a patriotic im- pulse to preserve the names of the he- roes who have made the supreme sac- rifice in a long-lived tree,” says Gov- ernor Sproul in his first formal proc- lamation, designating April 11 and 25 as the spring Arbor days. The Gov- ernor refers in the proclamation to | the vital importance of restoring for- “Nemmine me,” he said slow- | ests and conservation of water and makes a special plea for the planting of native trees in memory of the fall- But he’s got a moth- | “Ain’ he got tuh tek care! Iaim en soldiers. The proclamation is as follows: | “Whereas, The restoration, protec- tion and utilization of forests is now | statecraft, the one important and im- perative duty is to restore forests to | every acre of land within the Com- | monwealth not capable of producing a | better crop. The forest products now required by our industries we are obliged to purchase from other re- gions. Nothing but wasted timber and neglected restoration prevents | selling our own timber to our own | people as once we did, millions of | dollars’ worth every year; and | “Whereas, Much of the power of | the future will be derived from falling | water, the industries of the future | will surely be required to depend up- on this power. If the timber on the highlands of the State is not restored, the tree-clad hills will be lacking that cover which should be there to retain the rains and meliing snows. The water will pass out of the State in disastrous floods, leaving us at the i most critical season of the year with insufficient water either for the pro- tection of power or for ordinary pur- | poses; and “Whereas, Having fought a victo- rious foreign war we are now filled with the spirit of the memorial true in honor of our soldier dead, victims {of a great and cruel contest, held in tender memory by the public mind. [It is a patriotic impulse to preserve | the names of these heroes who made ' the supreme sacrifice, in a long-lived, vigorous tree, capable of outliving | the centuries, to bless those who are Ito come by its cooling shade and its! | added beauty in our land. For this ‘high purpose no short-lived or puny! trees should be taken. The lusty spir- ing character. Our native white oak, red oak, pin oak, scarlet oak, elm, sugar maple, black walnut, the pines and the spruces commend themselves for memorial purposes. The grounds for tree planting, and the pupils ought to be encouraged to plant me- morial trees in honor of the heroes of the neighborhood. These children should also be made responsible for their proper care and protection. The experience had and the lesson so learned will be of an enduring kind, serviceable to the pupils as well as helpful to the community. Therefore, I, William C. Sproul, Governor of the Commonwealth, in service to be rendered by tree-plant- ing, do hereby set aside Friday, April ' 11, and Friday, April 25, 1919, as Ar- | bor days throughout the State. Two | days are designated so that opportu- {nity may be given to the pupils of ‘schools with an early closing date to | | participate in the planting of trees. | This practice which I commend to the | i pupils in our schools and to all our i people, is of wise and generous char- acter. In urging the observance of ‘these Arbor days throughout the [ State, I do so in the expectation that | thousands of young trees will be star- i ted on their future growth to bless us in the years to come.” For high class job work come to the “Watchman” fice. Until very recently people suffering from fever were denied water. “A little cracked ice to relieve the thirst, but no water” said the doctor. Thus the patient, craving water, | was systematically starved for exact- ily the thing he most needed. Today the enlightened physician, in a fever case, prescribes quantities of water—all the sufferer can be persuad- ed to drink. It is beyond a doubt that water-deprivation under the old methed has killed its tens of thous- ands. : The water has two good effects. It tends to reduce the fever, and it flushes out the alimentary canal, in- cidentally getting rid of the bacterial “toxins” that are true poisons. Nowadays, in all kinds of sickness- es, the thing of first importance is to accomplish a thorough and immediate cleansing of the patient's inside works. Water, the universal sol- vent,” is used for the purpose, helped perhaps by a little medicine. Thus in a case of acute indigestion, or of ptomaine poisoning, the sufferer is required to swallow glass after glass of water as hot as he can drink —as much as he can manage to pour into himself. The simple treatment, supplemented by five half-grain doses of calomel at half-hour intervals, brings quick recovery. There used to be quite a fad for drinking one or two tumblers of hot water before breakfast every day. Excellent idea. But it is not an agreeable dose, and water at the temperature of the air will serve the purpose just as well. Most people who make a habit of taking drugs to encourage proper functioning of the body will find that a daily pint of water before breakfast is equally serviceable. The benefits derivable from the water of mineral springs have for cen- turies gained popularity and profitable patronage for various “spas” in this country and abroad; but the fact is that the salts contained in them have little to do with their curative effects. People who go to such places usually imbibe the water in great quantity day after day and the “cures” accom- plished are due to thorough internal cleansing. : If they drank an equal quantity of ordinary water it is likely that the effects would be not less beneficial — even more so, perhaps: inasmuch as the waters of the Spas are heavily charg- ed with mineral salts that are true medicinal drugs and liable to be in- jurious when taken so recklessly. ——Subscribe for the “Watchman.” Urges Memorial Trees Planted on Ar- | ‘large enough around the hips. it of patriotism is not satisfied with | anything but that of the most endur- about many of our schools are ample | pursuance of the foregoing, and in s | recognition of the lofty and patriotic ! ¢ It was tiny, but | it was large enough to be a home, | FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. Reputation is what men and women think of us; character is what God and the angels know of us.—Thomas Paine. Have you an old white skirt which you thought ready for the rag bag? What is the matter with it? It is too tight around the hips. Rip out the hem and if it is worn on the fold cut it off. Raise the skirt until it is off the top and attach to an belt. Unless your old inner belt is as good as new buy a new one, for the inner belt often makes the success or failure of a skirt. Even off the bot- tom, and if not too short, face it. Oth- erwise you will have to make a false hem. What is a false hem? It is merely a strip of cloth, straight or bias, as preferred, which is set on the bottom of the skirt to represent a hem (not a facing). It may be of the same or of contrasting material. Use a plaid or a striped material, add a touch to pockets or belt, and show | vour friends a brand new sport skirt. Is your skirt too large? Either take up the seams or recut it into a new style. Or, perhaps the top is too worn to use any more. Put on a new yoke of similar material. In case you have no more of the old material use any white material and wear the skirt h middy blouses or one of the new long blouses. You might make a new middy blouse from the old skirt. Use the bottom of the skirt for the bot- tom of the blouse. Measure up the fength desired and cut the top of the blouse by a plain waist pattern. Add sleeves, collar, and belt of similar or contrasting material and you are ready for the next picnic. Does Johnny need a new romper or a Sunday suit? Get out vour pattern and arrange all of it on the unworn parts of the skirt before cutting. Make it all white or trim it with col- ored scraps from the useful rag bag. The material is strong enough to last Johnny a season and by that time he : will have outgrown it. Or is it Mary that is in need? Make her a jumper -34 Ww iu , which you can make from your old waists. But you have no Mary or Johnny and you don’t need another middy blouse? However, you do need a vestee for your tailored suit and that old pique, linen, or madras skirt will furnish the very latest material. Use your old vestee for a pattern or get a | new style. Cut it double if you want it lined with the same material or line it with lawn and have two vestees. | Cover button molds with the same ! material, or use pearl or black bone buttons, and you have as stylish an article as you’ll find in the shops and for a much smaller amount. And that green linen needs a new collar and cuff set which you can cut from the old skirt. So take that old skirt out of the bag and look it over to see what wonders you can perform. New Hats for Children.—Heavy linen is used in these models in large floppy shapes, mushrooms and rolling sailors. In the smaller; shapes the i high-crowned mushrooms are very ef- fective. Stitched brims, with an edge | in a contrasting shade of linen, have | colored linen crowns to correspond. . White is effectively combined with blue, pink and lavender. A narrow | band and tied bow at the side furnish | the trim. | A Scotch Highlander cap is effect- live in the combination of silk-plaid | and white linen, the plaid appearing i on the top of the crown and as a nar- | row band around the headsize. A t white linen eight-pieced tam is trim- i med at the tip of the crown with a { large white silk floss tassel. The | straw tam is a big feature of this line i different shades of fine Italian Mi- { lan. To remove scorch from white goods cut an onion in half, rub the scorched : part with it, then soak for one hour in cold water. The mark usually dis- appears promptly; if not, repeat the process. When brooms begin to wear cut the corn level again and the brush thus formed, will do its work nearly as well as when new. Before trying to drive a nail into any kind of wood, push it into soap several times; you will be surprised how much more easily it will go through and seldom causes splitting. If new tinware is rubbed with fresh lard, then heated in the oven before using, it seldom rusts, and food does not stick to it. Daytime Frocks.—Short skirted they are, one sees many bead embroi- dered tunic frocks, short-sleeved, rather open at the throat and never, never, by any chance, are there col- lars; oh, my no. The opening at the neck, generally “round” or straight across from shoulder to shoulder, is outlined with beads or embroidery, or with nothing at all; but there is no collar. Beads, beads: beads. Jet beads, steel beads and tubular ones of semi- transparent crystal. All of them are particularly effective on black. Rather straight in line and girdled loosely, these frocks are. One sees worn with them odd turbans of gold and silver brocade, jet and tulle. To Make Beaded Bag.—In making one of the fashionable beaded bags you can sew the beads on more even- ly and more quickly by tacking the canvas to a child’s slate frame. When putting a hem in a garment, if a piece of cardboard is cut the re- quired width it may be slipped along and the task neatly accomplished. It saves the constant handling of the tape measure, and as the cardboard is stiff it is easier to handle. Inexpensive Fermery.—Take all the uncut seeds of a grapefruit and soak in warm water over night. In the morning fill your fern dish three- quarters full of good dirt, mixed with a little sand. On top place the seeds until the dirt is completely covered, then cover with more dirt. Place the dish in a warm, sunny place and each day sprinkle with warm water. In a month you will have the loveliest fernery and it will last quite a long time. Cut | inner dress to wear with thin white guimpes | FARM NOTES. —Get Rid of the Rodents.—The an- nual losses from rodent pests in the i United States have been estimated at. | fully $500,000,000. About two-fifths of this damage is : inflicted by house rats and mice, both ! introduced from the Old World, and i the remainder by native species. This enormous waste of resources | may be greatly reduced through sys- | tematic and organized campaigns i against the injurious species. | The bounty system effects no per- i manent relief and is far more costly i than the use of poisons and traps. The United States Department of | Agriculture has developed. and per- { fected practical methods of extermi- nation which have been successfully applied over wide territory. The Bureau of Biological Survey of | the Department co-operates with the | public in organizing and carrying out | systematic campaigns againsts ani- | mal pests and invites correspondence i on the subject. Protection of their natural enemies | is urged as an important aid in con- i trolling rodent pests. | —Four alien enemies have caused | the people of this country two-thirds ! as much loss as more than 750 native rogues. The damage by the former is estimated at $200,000,000 annually and by the latter at $300,000,000 an- nualty. The chief alien enemies are the house mouse and three kinds of rats. The introduced European hare is also proving injurious in some localities. The natives are the more than 750 kinds of rodents that inhabit this con- tinent north of Mexico. Now, all of the 750 are, or may be- come, depredators, though many of them are only mildly and occasionally ! s0, as is shown by the fact that to- gether they accomplish only one and i one-half times the damage caused by ‘ the four alien rodent pests. For the | aliens are in practically every house, , every barn, every mill, every elevator, every storehouse, over most of the ‘ country, while the natives run largely in the fields, ranges and woods. —Some of our native rodents are very bad citizens—such as the prairie , dog, the pocket gopher, the ground | squirrel. Kven that ancient rival of the Weather Bureau, the groundhog, | sometimes causes great damage, ! crunching corn like a litter of shoats i or mowing down alfalfa or soy beans i like a herd of steers. Against all | these, unremitting warfare should be | waged—unremitting or at least such occasional warfare as is necessary to i hold them in check. But the case is quite different as to | certain other animals usually regard- red as destructive—the skunk, the | weasel, the mink, the fox, and the | badger. These are among the most potent natural agents, says the Unit- ed States Department of Agriculture, in preventing an undue increase in mice, rats, ground squirrels, pocket gophers, and the like. Some of these have been hunted of course, for their valuable pelts, but they are hunted also because they are considered the enemies of domestic animals and game. Cognizance has not been tak- en of the fact that many of these small native animals destroy numer- ous injurious rodents and are thus an asset to the country. An occasional skunk, mink or fox does commit dep- redations in the poultry yard, but that is merely a case of an individual gone wrong, and punitive measures should be directed against the indi- vidual and not against the species. They are also in many places very destructive to game and are then de- stroyed as vermin. —The natural enemies of the ro- dents may do a great deal toward pro- tecting the farmer, but they cannot always, of course, do enough. The skunks, minks, weasels, and foxes will get a good many of the rats and mice in the fields and even around the barn, but they cannot be expected to make a clean-up even there and, of course, they can accomplish nothing against rats and mice in the house, mill or store. There artificial means have to . be employed. —The United States Department of Agriculture, through the Bureau of , Biological Survey, has devoted a great deal of study to methods of ‘rodent control. Poison has been ' found the most potent weapon against ' such rodents as live in the open, but ‘as a rule it cannot be employed in ! houses where people live or work. In such places the trap is the safest and ‘most certain method of eradication and the “guillotine” type of trap is recommended as the best. It may be | set almost anywhere—behind furni- | ture, behind boards against the wall | or at the entrance of rat holes. Rolled | oats is recommended as usually the best bait, though if conditions are | such that the rodents are likely to have a surfeit of grain, the best bait may sometimes be meat, fish, or cheese, or even pastry. The Bureau of Biological Survey of the Department of Agriculture co-op- erates with the public in carrying out systematic campaigns against animal pests, including rodents, and invites correspondence on the subject. —It is often desirable in pasturing hogs to fence off a portion of a field | temporarily. About the best tempo- rary hog fence is made of 32-inch or 36-inch woven wire stretched and tacked to stakes driven in the ground. Well-fed hogs are easily kept in place, but underfed ones will require more substantial fencing. —Green forage is an aid to the ec- onomical production of pork. A permanent pasture supplemented with quick-growing, heavy yielding, temporary forage crops is most satis- factory. Green forage alone is little better than a maintenance ration. Where rapid gains are desired, the hogs should have a liberal allowance of grain. The rule should be: All the grain they will eat without waste. Growing forage crops and grazing them off on the land is an efficient method of improving soils depleted in organic matter. The exercise obtained in grazing has a beneficial influence on the health of hogs. —Old sows farrow heavier pigs than young sows do. Feeds rich in protein are necessary for the brood sow. The fewer sows kept together during the breeding season and until ' farrowing time, the better. a? J Sr
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers