Demure fa
Bellefonte, Pa., January 30, 1920.
OLD LEM LIKKER.
Suitable acknowledgements to the creator
of the late Daniel Deever.
“What are the whistles blowin’ for?”
said Kickless Lemonade.
“To turn you out in dozen lots,” cool Co-
ca Cola said.
“What makes you look so white, so
white?” said Root-Beer-on-the-Ice.
“I'm dreadin’ what we have to see,” Bra-
zilla faint replies.
For they're hangin’ Old Lem Likker,
You can hear the Dead March play,
Your Uncle Samuel's sentence is
That he hang high today.
They've taken off his license,
criminal must pay,
So they're hangin’ Old Lem Likker in the
mornin’.
and the
“What makes the brewers breathe so
hard ?”’ said Cherry Lemonade.
“Their last faint hope has faded out,” the
Lemon Phosphate said.
“What makes the barkeep look so sad?”
said Bevo from his bed,
“All hope of gain is gone,” he said, “when
Barleycorn is dead.”
For they're hangin’ Old Lem Likker,
And they're marchin’ of him round,
And they’ve halted him beside
His coffin on the ground.
And he'll swing in half a minute, that old
hell deserving hound.
O they're hanging Old Lem Likker in the
mornin’,
“His place was here right next to mine,”
said Claret Lemonade,
“He's sleepin’ far from us tonight,” brown
Coca Cola said.
“We'll miss his high hilarity,”
Pop replied.
“He's a drinkin’ of the dregs toright,”
said Seltzer on the side.
For they're hangin’ Old Lem Likker,
You must mark the time and place,
For he killed his boon companion,
And he poisoned half the race.
He's the crime of all the country,
Commonwealth's disgrace.
80 they're hangin’ Old Lem Likker in the
mornin’,
“What's that so black against the sun?”
said Sour Mint Lemonade.
“Lem Likker’s fightin’ hard for life,” Cold
Coca Cola said.
“What's that that whimpers overhead?”
said Malto-on-the-Shelf.
“Old Likker’s soul is passin’ now,” quoth
Old Free Lunch himself.
We are through with Old Lem Likker,
You can hear the quick-step play,
And we're all for prohibition.
Let the dry flag wave. Hurray!
Ho, the rummies are a shakin’, for they’ll
miss their beer today,
When we've hung Old Lem Likker in the
mornin’.
—C. H. McCrea, Wadena, Minn.
Vanilla
the
A PIG UNDER THE FENCE.
Cal looked down at his wheelbar-
TOW.
“Saves me the cost of hiring a
horse and wagon,” he said, “and I'm
trying to save all I can, as I told you.
I've worked hard at something every
vacation.”
“I know. And I've been ashamed of
you every vacation,” she retorted. “I
vowed again and again I'd stop speak-
ing to you. But you did so much bet-
ter than the other boys in the High
school, and looked so gentlemanly on
the platform that I always overlooked
your lapses. I was really proud of
the way you represented our class
when we graduated. Why don’t you |:
try and get a gentlemanly position
like Andy Bray and Andy Searles?”
“Because I feel just as gentlemanly
between the barrow handles, and I'm
making twice what Arthur does at the
bank or Andy in the real estate of-
fice,” he answered. “In fact, I was of-
fered Arthur’s job before he took it. I
feel my time, with the future beyond,
is worth more than $7 a week to me.”
“But it’s so—so common and undig-
nified,” she argued. “And it’s sure to
eut you from society. I'd rather go in-
to the drug store for a soda with
Arthur or Andy on their salary, than
with you on twice as much, even
though I—I might like you better,
and you could make a better appear-
ance if you would. Why, I'm begin-
ning to hear you spoken of as “Cal
Cabbages.” It’s horrid.”
Cal shook his head with a smile.
Out near the edge of the town was
a second-rate boarding house, kept by
a woman who couldn’t afford a better
one or one nearer the center.
From the small margin above cost
she had sent Adelaide Eliza, her only
child, through High school. The girl
had been in many of Calvin’s classes,
and had graduated at the same time.
But he knew very little of her. He
remembered her chiefly as a defiant,
black-eyed thing in a neat but out-of-
date and much turned and darned
clothing. Such of the girls as notic-
ed Adelaide Eliza did it to ridicule and
make her angry. Some of the boys
did the same. They liked to watch
the black eyes flash and the angry
feet stamp.
But they couldn’t ridicule her from
school. The girl literally fought her
way through, without a friend, and
graduated with almost the highest
honors. After graduating, she took
no part in the later exercises or so-
cial farewells.
Calvin had been too much absorbed
in his books to notice much. In all
their schooling he hadn’t spoken to
Adelaide Eliza half a dozen times—
nor for that matter, much more with
any of the girls except Louise, who
had a seat near him and walked as far
as her home on the same sidewalk.
As he trundled his wheelbarrow
out through the edge of the village, a
sudden mild, protesting squeal rose
directly in front.
Rank weeds and bushes grew out-
side, some of them nearly as high as
the fence. Calvin ran his wheelbar-
row a few more feet, then stopped ab-
ruptly. A path had been worn
through the weeds to the fence, and
crouching in the path, straining back,
her feet braced against a rail, was
Adelaide Eliza, her two hands clutch-
ing the hind legs of a pig. The rest
of the pig was beyond the fence, and
he was struggling and squealing with
all his force. At Calvin’s appearance
the girl twisted her neck to look at
hi
m.
“Q, sir knight,” she cried, with
mock piteousness, “come to the help
of a poor distressed maid. I can’t
hold on, and I daren’t let go.”
Cal dropped the barrow handles and
hurried to the fence.
“What shall I do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s our vig. He's
been through this hole into Mr. Witt’s
garden twice. Mr. Witt swore he'd
kill him and sue mother for damages
the third time. This is it. I chased
and caught piggy at the critical mo-
ment. He isn’t all in the garden.
Now what shall I do, Solomon of the
books? Think up something.”
“No need. Got it in my pocket,”
laughed Cal, as he vaulted the fence.
“What part?”
“Just to your left—those cabbages.
See, there’s one half eaten. He'll go
straight to that. It’s piggy’s nature.”
Cal drew a package from his pock-
et and bent over the cabbage head for
a moment. As he vaulted back over
the fence he sneezed.
“Now let him go,” he said.
Adelaide Eliza looked up at him
questioningly. She was accustomed
to tricks. But Cal had never played
her one. Of all the schoolboys he was
the only one in whom she felt confi-
dence.
“Poison ” she said, doubtfully—
“damages?”
“Neither. Let him go.”
She released her grasp. Cal caught !
her arm and assisted her up quickly,
then drew her aside.
“Give him full right of way,” he ad-
vised. “He may be in a hurry.”
Piggy had shot into the garden with
squeals of defiance and triumph. He
believed he had beaten his adversary.
In a moment his mouth was full of
cabbage.
A second of amazed inquiries with
his snoot in the air, as though chal-
lenging the world in general, then
piggy whirled, shot back under the
fence and sped down the road with
frenzied squeals of angry protest.
Adelaide Eliza’s eyes followed him
wonderingly.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“Why, he’s too heavy for us to car-
ry, you know, so I'm making him car-
ry himself. It’s so much easier.
Watch.”
Sure enough! A few hundred yards
down the road was a house with its
front gate open. Piggy spsd in still
squealing.
“What does it mean?” she repeat-
“Just red pepper. I've been using
it on a bit of our California privet
hedge, where the fence is low. Stray
cows have a way of reaching over and
nibbling. But the red pepper stops
them—awakens their conscience with-
out harming them any you know.
Your pig won’t bother this garden any
more.”
Adelaide Eliza burst into a long,
merry peal of laughter, her eyes
dancing.
“It’s the fun—funniest thing I ever
heard of,” she choked. “You're a
wonder.”
Cal acknowledged with a grin. He
was reconsidering his opinion of Ad-
elaide Eliza. She was full of fun,
and, yes, he realized with a good deal
of surprise, she was much prettier
than Louise. He had an odd feeling
that, by acting the way it did, the
school had lost much.
“I’m coming round tomorrow to see
if that pig holds spite,” he said, as
they walked side by side, he trundling
the barrow. “I wonder if he’ll shake
paws. ‘And I'm glad we live so near
each other. Now there are no school
books to take our time, we ought to
become better acquainted.”
“I’ll be so glad to,” she answered
simply. “I never seemed to make
friends at school. I'll be glad to have
one.”—By F. H. Sweet.
Smokers Scratch 40,000 Matches
Every Second—15 Seconds Each
Scratch.
Next time you light a match think
of this:
About 10,000 matches are scratched
in this country every second that
passes, and of these 95 per cent. are
used for smokers to fire pipe, cigar
or cigarette.
The man whose head for figures
turned out this information also es-
timates that the time lost by the
smokers in lighting matches not in
smoking—is worth $513,024 each
eight-hour working day.
He arrived at this estimate by fig-
uring that it takes 15 seconds to
scratch a match and use the light,
and that 2,133,759 men, whose time is
30 cents an hour are holding matches
at the same time, thus losing golden
minutes at the rate of $1,068 a min-
ute or $64,128 an hour.
No one, so far as we can learn, has
figured out how large a percentage of
the match scratchers throw away the
matches while they are still burning;
but it has been estimated that half
of the fires, which cost the United
States $250,000,000 a year are caused
by carelessness.
Wood, phosphorus, chlorate of pot-
ash, rosin, whiting and powdered flint
are the making of this little device.—
Popular Science Monthly.
Wood Asher Too Valuable to be
Wasted.
The Pennsylvania Department of
Agriculture reminds farmers and
others who are burning wood for fuel
that wood ashes contain the mineral
matter that the trees, from which the
wood was obtained, took from the
soil when they grew. Wood ashes,
therefore, are valuable for making
the soil fertile. If they have not
leached, that is, if they have not been
exposed to water, they obtain much
potash and some phosphoric acid and
a large percentage of vegetable lime,
but no nitrogen. If they have been
leached the potash has been mostly
washed out.
Much wood is still being consumed
in rural sections for fuel, particularly
at this time, due to the scarcity and
high price of coal. Besides the price
of commercial fertilizer is high and
the practice of permitting waste is
wrong. We are now living under
changed conditions and in order to
obtain the best results in farming as
in everything else, the little things
must not be overlooked.
| HERE ARE THE SIGNS OF INDI-
GESTION.
You May Have Them and Hardly
Recognize Them. A Perfect Di-
gestion is Very Rare.
Perhaps I ought to say in the begin-
ning that I am not going to talk to
the chronic dyspeptic but to the ordi-
nary man and woman, the majority of
whom, at one time or another and to
a greater or less extent, have suffer-
ed or are suffering from indigestion.
Also, without hair-splitting distine-
tions I am going to use the term di- |
gestion in the sense commonly accept-
ed—a failure on the part of the stom-
ach to digest the food put into it.
The symptoms are so familiarly
known that I hardly need mention
them; nearly everybody has had them, |
for a perfect digestion is almost asi
rare as a perfect character. Have you |
ever had heartburn? Do you exper- |
ience after eating, even a moderate |
meal, an uncomfortable feeling of |
fullness? Does your medicine chest !
contain pepsin and soda-mint tablets |
intended for your own use? Have
you ever had pain in the stomach?
Are you aware of the fact, except!
that you read it in a book on physiol- |
ogy, that you have a stomach at all?
And perhaps, if you are familiar |
with these symptoms individually and |
collectively, if you are one in the au- |
dience who holds up his hand and
pleads guilty, you have wondered
why it is that indigestion ever intrud-
ed himself into your life, have resent-
ed his interference with your enjoy-
ment of food, and have looked upon |
him as an enemy—one who is always |
taking the joy out of life.
For indigestion, as everyone knows |
who has had it, does that. People
with otherwise amiable dispositions
grow crabbed, hard to live with; char-
itable people become cynics; optimists
become pessimists. Certain great
writers have given the world a for-
bidding philosophy because they had
indigestion. Carlyle said Great Brit-
ain was inhabited by forty million
people mostly fools, and Carlyle was
a confirmed dyspeptic.
And yet, as I shall show, indiges-
tion is not an enemy but one of the
best friends you have—just as pain is,
for it is pain that waves a red lantern
across the track of your life to tell
you there is danger just ahead. I
might say that Indigestion is the
guardian angel of your stomach. If
you disregard him there may be ser-
ious trouble ahead; if you listen to
him, and listen intelligently, he will
help tell you what and how you can
eat in order that you may retain a
healthy body, a good disposition, and
continue to enjoy the pleasures of a
howmal appetite throughout a long
ife.
But how to listen intelligently—
that is the question; for indigestion
is many times not specific in his warn-
ings; you know he is present, but you
do not know why; you do not know
wherein you have offended your stom-
ach; you cannot spot the particular
article of diet that is upsetting you.
And the trouble may lie not in any
special thing or things you eat, may
lie not in food itself at all, but inthe
preparation and use of that ood
am going to call attention, therefore,
to a few ordinary, every day abuses,
many of which you may never have
considered as abuses at all.
One of the chief causes of indiges-
tion is the use of too much seasoning
in food. Right here lies the reason
why so many families that boast of
their good cooking, that have a name
in the community for preparing deli-
cious dishes, are families of dyspep-
tics, and tend to make everybody who
accepts their hospitality dyspeptics
like themselves.
If you will think, you will probably
remember such a home, where to be
invited to a Sunday or Thanksgiving
dinner meant joyful anticipation and
painful reaction. Recall the meal you
ate that day; the turkey dressing was
stuffed with onions and sage which
you probably tasted for hours after-
ward, a sure sign that they had not
agreed with you. The side dishes
were numerous and richly flavored,
the dessert was heavy and very sweet
—plum pudding, we’ll say, with hard
sauce, or richly spiced pumpkin pie.
All the dishes were highly seasoned;
therein lay the secret of the fine cook-
ing; and therein probably lay the
fuss of the indigestion which follow-
Salt is the only seasoning required
by the body; that it is essential to
health we all know, and yet the use
of salt is so abused that I do not ex-
aggerate when I say that the average
person takes daily from three to five
times as much salt as he requires.
The trouble begins in the kitchen,
where the salt box is too convenient
to the cook’s hand; it is continued in
the dining-room, where the saltcellar
is too convenient to the diner’s hand.
It is not confined to the home. Watch
the average man in a restaurant or
hotel.
A steak is placed before him. Now
the juices of a good steak are especi-
ally rich in flavor and need no addi-
tional seasoning to make them tempt-
ing and palatable to any appetite that
is not worn out. But wiithout ever
tasting the steak. the man reaches for
the saltcellar and begins to sprinkle,
The side dishes, the potatoes, and the
bread very probably contain plenty of
salt for his meal. What he puts on
his steak is just that much too much.
But not only is the saltcellar con-
venient—so is the pepper box; and
having sprinkled salt the man next
sprinkles pepper. In fact, with many
people this twin operation is a part of
the routine, like unfolding the napkin;
like a formula, before eating they say,
“Pass the salt and pepper, please.”
Now, pepper is not only not needed
by the system, it is an irritant which
inflames the stomach. We all know
that, snuffed up the nose, it causes us
to sneeze violently, and a sneeze is
nature’s attempt to get rid of an irri-
tating substance. In other words,
the nose resents pepper. Now, the
membrane of the stomach is not near-
ly so sensitive to pepper as that of the
nose; but just as surely the stomach
resents it, certainly too much of it,
only the stomach has no sneeze with
which to register its protest.
‘Understand me—I do not say you
should never eat pepper on your. food;
pepper, by irritating the stomach, in-
creases the flow of digestive juices,
and is used—that is, cayenne or red
pepper, which is less injurious than
| black—in some prescriptions whose
purpose it is to spur up the appetite
| and digestion. But no reputable phy-
| sician would continue such a prescrip-
‘ tion indefinitely; it is used only in
{ emergency. Every unnatural increase
in the flow of digestive juices is fol-
lowed by a decrease; if you spur na-
| ture on today, she lags behind tomor-
‘row; and you are spurring her to an
! unnatural pace when, day after day,
' meal after meal, you sprinkle pepper
! on your food.
And what I have said of pepper is
| true of mustard to an even greater
iextent. You know what happens
i when you put a mustard plaster on
your back; well, remember that the
! membrane of the stomach is many
times more sensitive than the skin of
the back. And the same thing holds
good with regard to many spices—
ing; that the table
ginger, horseradish, pungent cheeses, !
and the various “hot sauces.”
The undue craving for hot and pun-
gent seasoning is a sign of a worn
out or vitiated appetite; and the con-
stant and liberal use of them in turn
| wears out and vitiates the appetite.
If you use them, do so sparingly. If
you have got to the point where you
| crave them, where your meal tastes
flat without them—then do not use
them at all.
Most people eat too much, and that
in spite of the fact that this state-
ment has been made over and over
again, and in spite, also, of the high
cost of living. For one thing, eating
is a social function which causes peo-
ple to linger at the table—which is a
good thing if they will spend a con-
| siderable part of the time talking as
well as eating. For another thing,
appetite is overestimated by season-
ing, as I have said, and also by ar-
ranging the dishes in climax, the least
, tempting ones being served first, the
i most tempting ones last.
| In many homes every effort is
| made to induce people to eat as much
| as they can possibly hold, by leading
‘them from good, to better, to best.
People sometimes groan inwardly
when the dessert is brought in. “If
I had known that was coming,” they
'
it.” But because the dessert is good,
and the housewife insistent, they
“make room.”
Eating too much, though, is not al-
together a question of eating too
great an amount. We need a certain
bulk of food to give the stomach
something to work on. Books that
claim to look into the future see the
day coming when food will be packed
in a capsule or tablet, and when the
business man will stop dictating a
moment, take his lunch in tabloid
form, swallow a glass of water, then
go on with his correspondence.
Such a day will never come, though;
certainly not until, in the long process
of evolution, our stomach shrinks to
the size of our present appendix, and
our digestive apparatus undergoes a
radical change. Some years ago
would-be food reformers succeeded in
getting a condensed diet into the Eng-
lish army, and it was this which caus-
ed Kipling to say, “Compressed veg-
etables and meat biscuit may be nour-
ishing, but what Tommy Atkins needs
is bulk in his inside.” And Kipling
was right.
That’s one reason why we need veg-
etables and fruits. Most vegetables
and fruits contain a low amount of
food value in proportion to their bulk.
They give the stomach something to
do without demanding of it the hard
work of digesting highly concentrat-
ed food. The stomach, like the mus-
cles, needs exercise. Also, bulky food
tends to prevent constipation, and
helps overcome it, where it already
exists.
The man who ate eggs for break-
fast, bean soup and a ham sandwich
for lunch, a steak with French fried
potatoes and a pudding dessert for
dinner, has eaten too much—not in
bulk, perhaps, but in contracted food,
for egg and steak and beans are of
this kind. It is possible that he has
not even taken bulk enough; perhaps
he hasn’t even satisfied his appetite,
which fact makes him feel virtuous
and abstemious. He ought to have
taken some bulky foods that would
have satisfied his appetite, given his
stomach normal work to do, and help-
ed eliminate the waste. Such foods
are most of the vegetables, especially
cabbage, cauliflower, carrots, spinach,
parsnips, turnips, lettuce and all
greens, and practically all the fruits,
the acids of which also help to over-
come any tendency to constipation.
Food does three things to the body
—it rebuilds waste tissue, it supplies
heat and energy, and it puts on fat.
There are three divisions of food:
food rich in protein, which rebuilds
waste tissue; foods rich in carbo-hy-
drates, whick supply heat. and ener-
gy, and also build up flesh; and fats,
which do pretty much what the car-
bo-hydrates do, supply heat and en-
ergy.
The foods richest in protein are
lean meats, the white of egg, milk,
cheese, and peas and beans; the foods
richest in carbo-hydrates are rice, po-
tatoes, macaroni, white bread, and
particularly sugar. The fats are but-
ter, cream, bacon and other fats of
meat, olive and other oils.
Of course I have only touched the
subject; most people have been edu-
cated in food values by now. The
point I want to make is this—that
you may not be eating either too
much food or too highly seasoned
food, but you may be eating too much
of one group or another. In other
words, your diet may not be balanced.
The next generation will be more
familiar with the balanced ration than
the present one, and we know far
more about it than our fathers and
mothers did. Our children today can
tell us the right proportions of pro-
tein, carbo-hydrates and fats which
ought to go into our food; they learn
it in school, particularly the girls.
Do not laugh at them, but listen when
they talk of these things—they are
the words of wisdom.
If you are a mother, let your
daughter, just through a course in do-
mestic science, come into the kitchen;
if she wants to revolutionize the fami-
ly fare, it might be a good thing to
allow her to do it. She may tell you
that the state of mind you are in when
you eat has a good deal to do with in-
to banish trouble while you are eat-
is no place for
family rows, and that, if you must:
row, you should do so between meals. |
These, also, are words of wisdom,
for experiments in artificial feeding
have shown that when a man is angry
or frightened or worried or even ex-
cited, . does not digest even digesti- |
ble and well-prepared foods. Don’t’
go too far with this idea, however.
Freedom from troublesonme thoughts
or excitement will not enable you to |
digest indigestible food. ;
And things do not stand still, not:
- even indigestion; you will either get
better or worse. The mild and infre- |
quent symptoms may become more se- |
vere and more frequent, and turn in- |
to more serious symptoms—pain, for
instance, which, as I have said, is a
red lantern waved across the track of
your life. Ahead may lie ulcer of the |
stomach; and ahead of that the fatal |
enemy, cancer. |
Iam not an alarmist, and the stom-
ach is tolerant; it will overlook many
abuses; but constant dripping wears
away a stone, and constant abuse and
carelessness in this matter of eating |
|
is apt to injure even the stoutest
stomach. !
And, unfortunately, indigestion |
does not always warn you that you |
are eating too much. Every physi- |
cian is familiar with the type of man
who at middle age or below that point
comes into the office for an examina-
tion—the stout, ruddy, hearty man
who “never was sick a day in his life” .
and “who doesn’t know what indiges-
tion is,” but who of late has been feel-
ing “all down and out.”
Questions sometimes reveal the
fact that all his life such a man has
eaten like a gourmand—steak for
breakfast, and a big one at that, and |
smothered in onions, a heavy lunch
containing more meat, and an enor-
mous dinner of rich and highly sea-
soned foods.
And examination of this type of |
man too frequently shows high blood
pressure, hardening of the arteries,
maybe kidney trouble. Many times
the man’s usefulness is past, his ar-
teries those of an old man—and a
.man is as old as his arteries; and the
say, “I might have saved room for.
only explanation of his condition
seems to be that he has been busily
engaged in digging his grave with his
teeth. Indigestion would have been a
friend in that it would have warned
Lim Jong ago.—By Robert H. Rose,
The Value of Automobiles.
The recent assertion that three-
fourths of the automobiles of the
world are owned in the United States
and that nine-tenths of those now in
the whole world were produced in our
own manufacturing establishments
lend interest to a compilation by the
National City bank of New York, re-
garding our exportation of automo-
biles from the earliest date to the
present moment.
These figures show that the exports
of automobiles and parts, including
: tires and engines, have in the twenty
|
i
digestion; that you ought, if possible,
years aggregated about $1,000,000,-
200. The year 1919 surpassed all rec-
ords.
The value of automobiles and parts
exported in 1919 aggregated approxi-
mately $185,000,000 as against $140,-
000,000 in 1916, the former high rec-
ord; $38,000,000 in 1914, all of which
immediately preceded the war; $11,
000,000 in 1910; $2,500,000 in 1905,
and slightly less than $1,000,000 in
1902. Of the $185,000,000 worth of
automobiles and parts exported in
1919, $35,000,000 worth were com-
mercial cars, $75,000,000 passenger,
$41,000,000
000,000 worth of automobile engines.
France, formerly a very large man-
ufacturer of automobiles, is showing
a remarkable appreciation of the
American commercial machine, the to-
tal number of commercial automobiles
sent to that country in 1919 having
been about 3600, valued at more than
$15,000,000. Great Britain, which
took a large number of commercial
machines during the war period, is
now apparently manufacturing them
for herself, for the total value of com-
mercial machines sent to that country
has fallen from $20,000,000 in 1917,
and nearly $7,000,000 in 1918, to only
about $500,000 in 1919.
“Sixty countries and colonies took
American commercial machines in
1918 and the number of countries tak-
ing passenger machines was eighty.
Iceland took in 1918 forty passenger
machines at a value of $34,000, and
one commercial machine, valued at
$2,245. :
The imports of automobiles into the
United States, which have aggregated
$31,000,000 since the first record, that
of 1906, have declined from the high-
water mark of $3,837,000 in 1910, to
$624,709 in 1919.
‘Skunk Skins High.
What some authorities regard as
the most widely distributed fur in the
United States is the skunk’s, for the
animal is not driven out by civiliza-
tion; it has even been trapped in the
suburbs of the largest cities. At a
recent fur auction in New York skunk
skins sold at $9 each.
Forty years ago skunk skins
brought from 15 cents to 60 cents; in
1887 $1.25 was considered a good
price for one of good quality. They
range in price now from five cents for
the poor Texas civet skin to $12 fora
fine Canadian black.
The thick, glossy character of the
skunk’s fur and the variety of uses it
can be put to by shearing, dyeing,
etc.,, have given it a great value.
Practically all skunk skins are manu-
factured into furs and coats for wom-
en’s wear, and much of the product
is sold under other names.
The animal varies in size from spe-
cies like a large rat to those about
the size of an extra large cat. The
coloring varies with the species but
generally it is black with white
stripes extending from the head to the
shoulders and then dividing and run-
ning high up along the sides to the
tail.
A Quibbler.
“The last time you told me you'd
never borrow a dollar again as long as
you lived.”
eer Primera rior -
| not until later.
“parts of automobiles,”
nearly $30,000,000 tires and about $5,- |
FARM NOTES.
When eggs do not hatch well early
in the season there is time to find the
reason for the poor hatching and to
cure it before the season is too far
advanced. When late hatching is not
successful the crop of poultry is cut
short and the egg production falls.
Early hatched cockerels are ready
for the market when prices are high-
est. Early hatched pullets mature be-
fore cold weather and lay when prices
of eggs are highest. Late-hatched
chickens are not mature before cold
weather sets in and often will not lay
until spring.
Early hatched pullets, if properly
grown, ought to begin laying in Oc-
tober or early in November and con-
tinue to lay through the winter.
Yearling hens seldom begin laying
much before January 1 and older hens
It is the November
and December eggs that bring high
prices. The laying breeds should be-
gin laying when about from 5 to 6
months old, general purpose breeds
at 6 to 7 months, and the meat breeds
at 8 to 9 months.
The early chicks develop to a stage
where they can withstand extreme
heat and an attack by the parasites
| which are more numerous and trou-
| blesome in hot weather.
heat is apt to check the growth of the
late chicks and in their weakened con-
dition they easily become a prey to
lice and mites. When the cold, wet
weather comes in the fall they are pe-
, culiarly susceptible to it and likely to
develop colds, while the vigorous ear-
ly chicks find the coolness stimulat-
ing.
There are people who have the right
| variety of fowls who house and feed
them properly, and yet who cannot
obtain eggs early in the winter be-
cause their fowls are too old. It sel-
dom pays to keep hens for laying
after they are 2% years old; not that
they will not give a profit, but that
younger fowls will give a greater
profit. A great many poultrymen
who make a specialty of winter egg
production keep nothing but pullets,
disposing of the 1-year-old hens be-
fore it is time to put them in winter
quarters. The champion of the girls’
poultry clubs of Mississippi keeps
nothing but pullets.
—It is the Early Hatched Bird that
Gets the Price.—Chickens can be
hatched at any time of the year, but
it is the chickens hatched early in the
spring that give the best results. One
reason is that if no special effort is
made to hatch early on the farms
throughout the country the hatching
season coincides too closely with the
planting season, and hatching opera-
tions are reduced on that account.
Early hatched chicks, as a rule,
are the strongest and most vigorous
in the flock because they are produced
from eggs laid while the hens are in
their best breeding condition. After
| a long period of laying the hens lose
| something of their vitality and their
capacity to transmit vigor to their off-
i spring, and so late-hatched chicks are
| on the whole decidedly inferior to ear-
ly hatched ones in vigor and consti-
tution. Because they are thrifty and
vigorous the early chicks make quick-
er and better growth than the late
ones. Thrifty chicks get more from a
given quantity of food than others.
Weak and undersized birds often con-
sume as much feed as the larger and
better developed ones but make no
perceptible growth.
_ —Tuberculosis may be introduced
into a healthy herd, says the United
States Department of Agriculture, by
any of the following means:
By the addition of an animal that is
affected with the disease; therefore,
animals should be purchased only
from herds known to be free from tu-
berculosis, or from herds under su-
pervision for the eradication of the
disease.
By feeding calves with milk or oth-
er dairy products from tuberculosis
cows; this frequently occurs where
the owner purchases mixed skim milk
from the creamery and feeds it to his
calves without first making it safe by
boiling or pasteurization.
By showing cattle at fairs and ex-
hibitions; reports have indicated that
numerous herds become infected
through mingling with infected cattle
at shows or by occupying infected
premises.
The shipment of animals in cars
which have recently carried diseased
cattle and which have not been disin-
fected properly.
Community pastures; pastures in
which tuberculosis cattle are allowed
to graze are a source of danger.
In most cases the outward appear-
ance of the animal bears no relation
to the degree of infection. The dis-
ease frequently developes so slowly
that in some cases it may be months
or even longer before any symptoms
are shown; therefore, be on the safe
side and have your herd tested.
—How Leading States Rank in the
Production of Peaches.—The fa
production of peaches in 1918 was
34,000,000 bushels and, according to
September estimates, in 1919 was 50,-
000,000 bushels. The commercial
crop, in distinction from the farm
production, for each of the past three
years was as follows: In 1917, 29,-
000,000 bushels; in 1918, 21,000,000
bushels; in 1919 (September esti-
mates), 29,000,000 bushels. These
figures are taken from a compilation
recently made for representatives of
the Bureau of Plant Industry, United
States Department of Agriculture, in
connection with . a comprehensive
study of the peach industry in the
United States and the production of
various districts.
It was found that 34 States have an
annual average production of more
than 100,000 bushels each, Idaho's
crop being the smallest of the 34, and
California’s crop the largest. The
latter’s average annual production of
peaches for the five-year period 1912-
1916, inclusive, was 9,669,000 bushels.
Georgia ranked second with 4,550,000
bushels, Arkansas third with 3,603,000
bushels, Texas fourth with 2,877,000
bushels, and Missouri fifth with 2,-
670,000 bushels. While California far
exce ds Georgia in yield, a large part
of the former’s peach crop is used for
drying and canning, and in shipments
of fresh fruit Georgia normally leads
“That’s so, and you’ll notice that I
am borrowing fivers now.”
all other States in seasons of a good
crop.
The severe