A Ee
=
Bellefonte, Pa., August 24, 1923.
EE Ey.
TH’ MUSIC UV A BAND.
——
‘When I listen to the music uv a big brass
band
My heart is set a thumpin’ with a feelin’
sweet and grand,
There's a thrill in that ol’ oom-pah
An’ that snappy rat-tat-tat,
An the boomin’ uv th’ big drum
An the swell boss major’s hat,
That kinda puts a feller in the air, and
outa hand,
‘When he listens to th’ music uv a band.
A band ain’t no respecter—it jes’ treats
‘em all alike,
It sets th’ kids a whoopin’ and it makes
the old uns hike;
Th’ women stops their chatter
An ’th’ hosses go to prancin’,
An’ you don’t know what’s th’ matter
But you feel a lot like dancin’;
Even little crippled newsies drags along
an’ waves their hand
When they hear th’ boom-de-oom-pah uv
a band.
I'm mighty fond o’ fiddlin’ and I kinder
like t’ sing
To th’ steady, ready pink-pank uv a
plucky banjo string;
An orchestry is not so bad,
At times, and a pianner
Has got a kick when touched up
In a live and proper manner;
But no music's quite so rousin’
good in all the land
As the thrillin’, fillin’, music uv a band.
So I
an’ so
love all band musicians frum th’
drummer to th’ fluter;
Frum th’ B-flat cornet player to th’ big
bass tuby tooter;
And I like th’ French horn player
An’ th’ fife an’ clarinet,
An’ them blarin’, rarin’, trombones
Which ain’t done a-soundin’ yet;
For they fill you with that feelin’ that’s
so glorious and grand
Th’ kind that sets you reelin’ with th’ mu-
sic uv a band.
—By H. W. D.
IN THE LAST MILE.
With head erect, arms up, Bob Shir-
ley swung at an easy, but ground-de-
vouring pace down the road in the
rear of the Topham Academy, in per-
fect condition at the end of his ten-
mile pracice jog. Between the road
and the brick schoolhouse, which
stood on a knoll among great elms,
was a long sweep of greensward, with
here and there one of the monarch
trees.
Bob slowed down as he came near
the school, and at a trot approached
the half dozen boys on the bench be-
neath one of the trees not far from
the road.
Bill Kent, the young physical direc-
tor, arose as he came up and looked
over his lithe, glistening body, clad
only in running pants. He noted
everything about Bob, his brown
handsome face, fresh and full, his
broad chest rising and falling without
labor. He took Bob’s hand and felt
his pulse.
“0. K.,” he said, curtly.
Four of the boys on the bench were
runners, but, despite the warmth of
the late May day, they were swathed
in their long dressing robes, and their
brown faces were beaded with mois-
ture. All were quiet in their efforts
to gain their breath.
Dick Stewart, a pale-faced, under-
sized chap with gold-bowed spectacles,
dressed in a neat blue serge, moved
up and made room for Bob, clapping
him on his broad shoulder as he sat
down. Dick was the dude of the
Academy, and because of his puny
form he never engaged in any athlet-
ic games. But he was a fine scholar
and a good fellow, and he was much
respected among the boys for his
learning and had great influence in
the schoo! because of his enthusiasm
and ability as an organizer.
“I guess it’s an easy victory for
you, Bob,” he said, in his snappy,
cocksure way. “Tom here” —he indi-
cated one of the other runners—“is
running in good form all right, but he
isn’t good for better than a second—
or third—several miles behind. The
only fellow who can give you a shave
is Sid Ashley. He'll be mighty near
your heels, old man.”
“Sid’s cut, isn’t he?” asked Bob,
looking to the left. From the bench
he could see a mile of straight road
blazing in the sunlight and disappear-
ing in a patch of woods in the dis-
tance like a brown snake. He valued
Dick’s opinion, and already knew that
Sid was formidable.
“Yes,” answered Ed Towne, the boy
next to Bob.
“Say, Dick,” asked Tom Davis, in
frank ignorancce, but with a rather
sheepish grin, “what is this Marathon
business, anyway? . I remember read-
ing something about it, but I can’t
think of it now.”
Dick leaned forward. with his little
bullet head on one side, and with a
grin looked ail along the bench. His
bright eyes twinkied behind their
saw that all the runners
to hear his answer.
; make me tired,” he
“You’ve all read about
prised at your :igno-
Se Tro
ig it?
engingly,
demanded
youn
“Well,” b
drawl, his
gan Dick:in a provoking
air paternal, “don’t you re-
member that Miltiades, with about
ten thou d Athenians, defeated one
hundred and ten thousand Persians af
Marathon and drove them aboard
their ships and thus preserved the lib-
erty of Athens. It’s one of the most
famous battles in history. Mara
was about ei n miles from Ath-
ens, and a soldier ran to Athens that
day and told the news of the great
victory. I believe the soldier of Mar-
athon died after telling his yarn in
Athengs—done up. But,” he added
drily, “you runners don’t have to fall
down dead. In faet, the ‘dead ones’
will end before they see the end,”
“Oh, I remember
one runner aft
shamefaced grins.
Dick, for his part, leaned back and
put one leg over the other, looking
whimsically at his fellow students.
The Topham Athletic Association
had planned a Marathon race for the
last Saturday in May, and it was an’
pet
now,” exclaimed |
another, exchanging
| tape there (amid a
event heralded far and wide. The |
course was made fifteen miles only,
starting in Clareton and ending
fore the green in the rear of the
Academy. The first prize was big—
$300 in cash—an amount sufficient to
make the race of real importance.
Both the town and the Academy were
at fever heat over the coming event,
and there were eleven entries in the
race. To win this great run meant
honor, not only in the school, but also
throughout the State, and, of course,
the first prize seemed worthy of the
race. This first prize was the only
money prize, the second and third
prizes being cups. 7 go :
_“There’s Sid!” exclaimed Tom Da-
vis.
At his announcement, everybody
looked up. Far away on the highway
was a glistening white speck in the
sunshine, and very soon the speck
grew into a figure coming along at an
easy lope. Bill Kent and Dick Stew-
art arose and went down the slope to
the road.
“That fellow can run,”
Tom.
Most of the runners looked at the
coming athlete with envious eyes, but
Bob leaned back in his robe and
watched his dangerous rival with gen-
erous admiration.
“You're right,” agreed Bob, at
length, and he arose when Sid came
walking up the slope with Mr. Kent
and Dick.
Sid was a tall, well formed lad, with
a dark, manly face. He was sweating
freely, of course, but his breath came
easily and he was in fine condition.
“Hot work, Sid,” said Bob, as Sid
caught the robe Ed Towne threw him
and put it about his naked shoulders.
“You bet,” responded Sid, smiling
at Rob.
“You’ve improved a whole lot,” de-
clared Bob, in a frank, friendly way
that made Sid flush with pleasure.
“I'm going to give you a close
shave, Bob,” returned Sid, with a nod,
his firm jaw was setting. He and Bob
were not chums, but they liked and
respected each other.
Everybody now arose and went in-
to the Academy. The runners, laugh-
ing and talking about the coming
race, had a shower bath, then dressed
and left the building, going out to the
village street in a body and there sep-
arating.
Bob and Tom Davis went up tha
street together while the rest of the
boys went toward the center.
“Im going to buy a new piano with
the prize,” asserted Bob, with a little
laugh, as he and Tom went on.
Tom was silent for a moment, and
then said, with a slight stammer, “I
think you’re the best runner, Bob, but
I’d like to see Sid get that first prize.”
Bob looked quickly at his friend in
astonishment, red coming into his
bronzed face. Tom lived next door to
him, and they had been chums all
their lives. Tom’s words hurt a little,
for he did not at the moment under-
stand. He closed his mouth grimly |
and determination showed in his clear |
cut, handsome face.
“Sid’s a good fellow,” he said, so-
berly, “but—so are you and the oth- |
ers.” |
“Well, you see, Bob, Sid’s father is
—hard up.” Tom’s father was the
leading lawyer in Topham, and Tonm’s
kind heart had allowed him to repeat
something he had causally heard in
his home. “Between you and me, I
know the Ashley’s are going to lose
their house unless they pay their in-
terest pretty soon. And that prize
would mean a whole lot—a whole lot.”
“I wish you hadn’t told me.” Bob
held his head up and went along with-
out speaking. He was a little bit an-
gry. Sid’s affairs at home were noth-
ing to him—although he was sorry.
The winning of the race meant hon-
or, and just because he himself was
the son of a man in comfortable cir-
cumstances was no reason why the
money prize should be despised. Three
hundred dollars of his own meant a
lot to him as well as to Sid.
He parted good naturedly with Tom
in front of his house and went in to
supper.
During the next few days he ran as
he had before, gaining strength ‘and
speed and confidence all the time; but
he never forgot what Tom had said
about Sid. The knowledge that Sid
was in trouble and running under a
handicap—as his trouble must be—
made him uneasy and uncomfortable,
so much so that he almost wished he
were not so, good a runner. But pride
was strong in him, and with all ‘his
heart he desired to win the great fif-
teen mile race. At times he was
tempted to speak to Sid, but there was
something about Sid Ashley that
made broaching such a subject a very
difficult matter. He fancied he saw
trouble in Sid’s face, but he kept as-
suring himself that there was no such
thing as pity or magnanimity in a
race. A race was a trial of speed and
endurance, not of kind acts. In his
heart, however, he knew that he
would not suffer if he lost the prize—
except perhaps a twinge of the pride
—and that really and truly the honor
of winning was an empty thing com-
pared to what he might do. But he
couldn’t force himself to pretend a
strain to give an excuse for not run-
ning. Pride was too strong.
The day of the race was perfect—
hot and clear and sunny. At one
o’clock the eleven contestants, dress-
ed in their running pants, with their
dressing robes thrown about their
shoulders, whirled away in automo-
biles from in front of the Academy,
cheered by great throngs of wildly
enthusiastic boys and girls. At two
the great green slope behind the
Academy was densely packed with the
Academy students and men and wom-
en and children of the village—a vast
garden of rioting color. A judges’
stand had been erected at the foot of
the green by the roadside, just oppo-
site the green tape pegged across the
road, and there was a crowd about the
stand and a fringe of spectators for a
nile or more along the highway.
The race started in front of the
Claretown High school. The eleven
boys, lithe and white, crouched on the
weaving, excited
crowd, and Kiles Stock, the jolly, ath-
letic principal of .the school, stood a*
one side, with a revolver in his hand.
“Ready, boys?” he said warningly.
“Get set!” he commanded, in clear,
sharp tones. “Ready!”
The eleven boys, all trembling with
eagerness and exictement, crouching
like 'a-line of white bullfrogs about to
leap, waited with straining ears.
asserted
Bang! The revolver cracked sharp-
be- |ly. At the reporrt, the eleven white
forms came upright and flashed
away down the road.
“Come back!” roared Mr. Stock, to
their terrible disappointment. ;
They all slowed down to a walk and
returned to the tape for a new start,
more excited than before.
~ Bang! Again they were off—this
time perfectly.
They flashed in the sunlight like an-
imate marble figures, and for fifty
feet ran almost in a line.
Bob Shirley and Sid were elbow to
elbow and each eyed the other from |
the corner of his eye. They loped
away easily, lithe as tigers, breathing
easily, clear-eyed, determined. - .
The eleven still well together, came
to the village outskirts and there ran
into the open .country, leaving the
great crowd behind them, although
the roadside was dotted here and
there with spectators. Several auto-
mobiles followed from the village, but
they were unconscious of them.
In the open the sun was scorching,
and a cloud of dust uprose from
twenty-two pattering feet. Bob anid
Sid, grinning, slowed down and, clear
of the dust of the others, went on eas-
ily, but swiftly enough to keep well
up with the other racers. :
On and on went the eleven, cheered
now and then from the roadside by
straggling groups. On and on, they
went, up hill and down hill, across
open stretches of country, through
patches of woods. The pace was terri-
ble, but Bob and Sid, elbow to elbow,
kept their distance behind and waited,
each knowing that his race was with
the one at his side.
At seven miles George Carson turn-
ed to the roadside and sat down un-
der a tree and watched the others run
on and on till they were lost to sight
en their own dust and in the distance.
Ed Towne fell out next, then Harry
Loomis, then Bill Rood.
On and on, and still on, went the
rest, the leaders still keeping up their
grueling pace Bob and Sid holding
their relative positions clear of the
dust.
Ten miles were gone. Now came the
test! Few could pass this mark very
far. One by one the runners in the
lead slowed down to a walk or jogged
on at a dog trot or swerved suddenly
to the roadside to tumble on the grass
in a bit of shade, content to get a ride
in.
The twelve-mile mark came and
passed, and Tom Davis was the only
runner still in the lead. Tom was a
surprise. He seemed to run easily,
seemed to be more than holding his
own, and Bob and Sid glanced in sur-
prise at each other. On and on the
strong three flew.
Sid increased his speed in superb
form, and Bob kept with him easily.
They overtook Tom, and before they
were far away they heard him grunt
and give a little cry of dismay. They |in
A ——
about his lips went like lightning to-
ward the tape.
He looked forward. Sid was cross-
ing the line. A revolver cracked
sharply, and cheer upon cheer greet
ed the winnnr. de®
Bob ran gamely across the tape in
second place, and Sid, proud and al-
most deliriously happy met him and
gripped him by both hands and prais-
ed him in warm words.
Sid’s bubbling joy was so fine and
great and his happiness was so clear
in his face that Bob had no bitter
taste of defeat. He was glad for him,
supremely glad.
After congratulating his opponent
as well as he knew how and laughing
gamely with those who came and
gave him words of encouragement
and consolation, he pushed his way
through the crowd on the slope and
went into the dressing room, bathed,
rubbed down, put on clothes and went
out to the street.
He was happy enough, but he did
not want to see any one. He slipped
away from the crowds outside and
went quietly off homeward.
That night Tom Davis, his chum,
came over to his room, bringing the
second prize, a beautiful cup. And
Tom, in his understanding of Bob,
knew the truth instantly.
“It was a great race, all right,”
said Bob, easily, placing the cup on
his table.
“It certainly was,” agreed Tom,
looking at the other with eyes glist-
ening with admiration. “The greatest
race you'll ever run, old fellow.”
“And perhaps I can win the one
next year,” said Bob, quietly, looking
at the cup with moisture in his eyes.
Tom, the kind-hearted, could not
wholly restrain demonstration. He
jumped up impulsively and put his
arm about his chum’s shoulder.
“I know you can, Bob,” he said, in
queer earnestness.
Then there was a short silence be-
tween them, each looking the other in
the face.
“But don’t you ever tell, for heav-
en’s sake!” burst out Bob, suddenly,
seeing that Tom knew. “Promise—
on your honor!”
“I promise!” said Tom, quickly,
and with glistening, sparkling eyes,
they gripped hands in that honorable
compact.—The Boys’ Magazine.
WHERE GUR FORESTS
ARE GOING.
Figures comipiled by the Depart-
ment of Forests and Waters show
that there are 40 chemical wood
plants in Pennsylvania. They have
an annual capacity of 400,000 cords
of wood. Each day they use about
1,375 cords,
The distillation of wood for chem-
ical products is a young business in
Pennsylvania. The first plant was
erected in the State in 1869 at Brandt
Susquehanna county. This was
did not look back, but they knew he | only 17 years after the first chemical
was run off his feet.
“It’s between us,” thought Bob,
and he gathered his reserve strength
and sped on like a deer. He had run
the whole course several times. Never
had he gone at this racing gair,
though, but his splendid body was in
perfect condition, and he went on
without the slightest distress, sure of
himself. :
Sid led him by a few feet, and he
showed no signs of weakening. Bob
let him lead, but kept his distance.
He saw that Sid ran strongly, but felt
sure that he had little or no reserve
for the spurt he was going to make
in the last mile.
In this moment he thought of the
prize tendered to him and heard his
name thundered in acclaim by the
thousands waiting at the finish. And
in fancy he drank the sweet draught
of victory.
As the vision of his triumph caine,
thrilling his whole being, he gathered
himself and swept on and on with the
speed and strength of a Bengal tiger.
The road spun beneath his feet. The
country flashed away behind him. His
breath was free and easy. His
strength was superb, glorious; never
had he felt so fit. His heart thrilled
with the joy of his strength and the
foretaste of his great victory. He
seemed to fly! On and on!
He came to Sid’s elbow, passed it
like 2 new-shot arrow. Away and
away he went, faster and faster.
But Sid’s feet pattered, pattered be-
hind him—he could not lose that
sound.
Again Bob gathered himself,
faster and faster he sped away.
They came then, running like deer,
to the last patch of pine woods. They
dashed down the road into the grate-
ful shade and went on and ‘on, Bob
leading, but Sid gamely following,
grim as death and never yielding in
spirit,
and
Now they emerged from the woods,
and the last mile lay before them. The
broad highway, a dusty ribbon,
stretched before, and they saw the
green slope, the Academy among the
mighty trees and the crowds along
the road and by the school. ‘A roar
like ‘thunder came to their ears as
they shot into the open, and they
knew it was a mighty cheer of wel-
come and encouragement.
In this instant, with triumph al-
most within . grasp, Bob Shirley
thought of the nobler thing, and,
strangely, the joy of winning did not
thrill him through and through as i%
had when he passed Sid’s elbow.
“Sid needs the money, needs it!”
That thought ran through his mind,
but on and on he ran, faster and still
faster. He. was. like a glorious ma-
chine now as. he sped away on the last
spurt—and he lost the sound. of Sid's
feet. A queer disappointment, some-
thing he could not und and, shot
through him, and conscious of what
he was doing, he imperceptibly slow-
ed. down, even while boys and girls
and men stood up by the track and
roared his name again ‘and again and
urged him on.
Half a mile away-—a few feet—
was the judges’ stand-—triumi
still he slowed down, although no one
could know the truth. And then 2
white figure, spotted with dust, shot
1—an
past him, and the thunder of hundreds |
and hundreds of wildly-excited voices
rose and fell again and * again like
mighty surges of the sea.
In this very instant Bob: stumbled
and fell sprawling prone in the dust.
He waved aside assistance, arose by
himself and with a very slight smile
|
|
[
f
‘| wood plant began operating in the
Most of the plants in
United States.
the State are in the north-tier coun-
ties where birch, beech and maple
wood are plentiful. These three
woods are the best that are available
for the manufacture of chemicals.
‘Of the 40 chemical wood plants in
the State, 18 are located in McKean
| county.
The largest plant
State is at Betula, in McKean county.
It has a capacity of 140 cords each |
day. The second largest is at May-
burg in Forest county. It has a daily
capacity of 104 cords.
The distillation of chemical wood is
nothing more than the carbonizing or
roasting of wood for the purpose of
deriving from it charcoal and chem-
ical products. The principal chemical
products are wood alcohol, acetate of
lime, wood tar and wood gas. From
each cord of wood are derived approx-
imately 9 gallons of alcohol, 189
pounds of acetate
bushels of charcoal. The wood tar
and wood gas are not marketed. The
total value of the products turned out
by all the chemical wood plants in
Pennsylvania during 1920 was almost
$8,000,000.
The products derived from the dis-
tillation of hardwoods are used in
hundreds of ways in every day life. !
The alcohol is used for fuel, in the
manufacture of paints, varnishes, cel-
luloid, analine dyes, smokeless pow-
der, photographic films, transparent
soap and artificial leather. The ace-
tate of lime is used in the manufac-
ture of white lead, chloroform, drugs,
varnishes, paints, artificial leather,
high explosives, in the textile indus-
tries and in the manufacture of arti-
ficial vinegar. The charcoal is used
for fuel, chicken and cattle feed, as a
deodoizer, also in the manufacture
of high grade steel, powder, medi-
cines, artificial fertilizer and as a fil-
trate in the manufacture of chemicals.
A complete survey of all the chem-
ical plants of the State has just been
completed by the Department of For-
ests and Waters. Every plant was vis-
ited and the woods operations were
carefully studied. It was found that
the companies now operating in the
State own 136,000 acres of forest land.
This land will supply much wood, but
not enough to keep the plants oper-
ating continuously. A careful study
of the industry shows
acres of well cared-for forest land
will be needed to supply the plants
with enough wood to keep them op-
erating . on a permanent basis. A
number of the companies have for-
esters in their employ.
that wooed is becoming searce and are
doing everything they can to produce
enough wood to keep’ the. plant
going. Almost $7,000,000 are invest-
ed in the plants and another $1,500,-
000, in woed that is stored for season- |
Two thousand people are em- |
ing.
ployed at the plants and in the woods. |
The annual payroll amounts to about
$2,000,000.
a Lid ii i
“Look here, Jane,” said the mis-
tress reprovingly, “this chair is cov- |
ered with dust.”
“Yeassum,” answ
able Jane. “I
sat in it lately, mum.
So trr—
n nobody
”
“I'm in a pecular predicament.”
“What's. the matter?”
“We moved yesterday, and I for-
got to ask my wife the location’ of our
new dwelling place.”
Tne gail ilu
—For all the news you should read
the “Watchman.”
ABW IES,
in the |
of lime and 47,
that 500,000 |
They realize |
ed the imperturb- |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
True wit is nature to advantage dress’d.
What oft was thought, but ne'er so weil
expressed.— Pope.
It is a new extravagance to have
underclothes to match one’s frocks.
Sometimes this causes considerable
inconvenience and makes it necessary
to have laces and georgettes or other
materials especially dyed to match the
unusual shade of gown.
A new and much-talked about hat
from Jenny takes its inspiration from
the soldier's helmet. It is brimless,
of course, and well over the eye-
brows. A big crest made of a roll of
material with which the helmet is
covered extends from ear to ear by
way of trimming.
Jenny is also responsible for a very
recent attempt to display a new frock
with an old-fashioned snugly corset-
ed waistline. That is, the waistline of
the frock is so small that to wear it
one would apparently have to go back
to a kind of corset that held the waist
in close confines. This frock when
seen in France attracts more surprise
than admiration—surprise that a gen-
eration of men and women could ever
have regarded such a silhouette with
complacency.
Almond green, they say, is on the
wane, but if Chinese colors have the
vogue that has been predicted as a
result of the Bal de la Grande Prix,
then jade green will come back into
prominence. In the meantime a moss
green and a bottle green are gaining
favor and these are used in light fab-
Ne as well as in the heavier mater-
ials. :
The Bal de la Grande Prix, which
has sounded the Chinese note so em-
phatically in women’s clothes, showed
a pageant representing the Chinese
mariners at the court of Louis XIV in
France. This gave opportunity to
show all sorts of Chinese costumery
brought in sharp contrast to the
equally resplendent costume of the
Rococco period in France, with its
white-powdered wigs, its enormous
headdresses, patches, lace and pan-
niers. The Chinese costumes are not
expected to have so much influence, as
the coloring of the Chinese clothes
and Chinese decorations. Doubtless,
too, Chinese decorative motifs will be
brought to the foreground.
Among colors that have made and
kept their mark this summer might
be mentioned various yellows, Susan
and buttercup; greens, including bot-
tle green and Egyptian; cornflower
blues and a charming red known as
gooseberry.
Plaits persist, the most recent ver-
sion being unpressed plaits that would
make you start and stare if you were
not reassured that the lack of press-
ing was intentional and not an over-
sight.
The smartly tailored suit is predict-
| ed for the autumn, and women in this
| country do not have to be urged long
‘to adopt this mode. Twills of various
materials will be chosen first, but al-
| ready the tailors are getting good re-
| sults with certain thinner pile fabrics
as a medium for these new suits.
Ribbon has been used in so many
ways within the last few years that
one more way is not surprising. There
was a time when ribbon appeared
mainly in the guise of bows. But now
it is used as the fabric of hats, blous-
es, frocks and evening wraps. The
newest thing is a slip of wide moire
ribbon, the strips running round and
round the figure, and narrow ribbon
straps finishing the shoulders.
A new bag for evening is the “mi-
ser’s purse,” the double bag held by a
ring carried by your grandmothers.
But now, they, too, are very big—-to
hold opera glass, vanity case and
cigarettes.
One’s own complexion for morning
wear is smart for the moment. An ob-
vious make-up before mid-day is a
confession of poor digestion or years.
Burned arms and noses are tolerated
before lunch. For afternoon and, of
course, evening, these things are vui-
gar—they disappear.
How? My friends, I do not know.
Me, I prudently remain in my room
until I may, at luncheon, display the
lovely colors of my toilet furnisher.
The more aristocratic element of
well-dressed women, both here and in
{ Paris, have developed an amazing de-
| gree of stubbornness. Actresses, mod-
{ els, dancers, manikins may glide
about in crinolines all they please and
t may show quite convincingly the
charm of the bouffant skirt-—the more
conservative women are quite content
{ with their straight line slinky frocks.
teporters in France who saw the
“Fete Merveilleuse” at Versailles re-
cently were impressed with the con-
trast between the bouffant skirts of
| the women in the pageant who repro-
duced the old court life at Versailles
lin the reign of Louis XV and the
{ scant straightness of the women who
| witnessed it. There seemed not the
| slightest disposition on the part of the
really smart women there to let. the
subject of the 1
even the sligh
; mode.
Meantime many of the dressmakers
{have ‘set out quite determinedly to
| turn the trend of fashion in the direc-
tion of the fuller skirt. They have
succeeded in a measure, for the wide
skirts—so wide as to be called crino-
lines—were conspicuously worn at the
i F'rench races. Though here again if
not usually the conservative, aris
ic wing who wore them.
the dressmaker this rivalry be-
| tween the straight-line chemise frock
| that has remained so long in fashion
and the new bouffant frocks is a very
It is a matter of busi-
|
| serious one.
| ness success. H frankly timid of
i se f He has done
| everything re it that novelty
ch is r to make women
new f from season to sea-
He has exhausted his resources
{
|
|
|
| h
|
i
|
J
SOil.
so far as this chemise frock is con-
| cerned. He looks upon the full-skirt-
| ed model-—Velasquez, Lois XV, Sec-
{ond Empire, Gavarni, 1840, .1830, it
| doesn’t matter a bit which—as an op-
portunity to express his powers as a
I designer.
FARM NOTES.
—If nature has not provided shade
for your flock, make a low shed about
three feet high out of old boards. Hot
sun plays havoc with chickens.
—Hog wallows in hot weather are
splendid investments for the hog
farm. If the hog man does not pro-
vide a wallow for his animals, the
hogs will provide one for themselves.
vis better for the owner to do the
job. :
—A good coat of paint not only
adds to the attractiveness of the farm
buildings, but also serves to lengthen
their period of service. The time to
paint is in hot weather and experts
are agreed that every building should
receive a coat at least every seven
years.
Fruit Harvesting Equipment.—It is
not too early to look over the harvest
ing equipment and see what is needed.
The increased efficiency of a crew
equipped with picking bags, pointed
long ladders and three-legged orchard
stepladders will pay for the better
equipment in a single season.
. —Name the Farm.—Is your farm
just “Brown’s place,” or have you
made use of the advertising possibili-
ties contained in a well chosen farm
name? A good farm name adds val-
ue to the farm, can be used as a part
of the trade mark on your products,
and lends dignity to the farm home.
Choose a name that is short, easy to
spell and pronounce, and one that is
applicable to the natural surround-
ings of your home or to the character
of your business.
—District attorneys in counties
where the Pennsylvania and the Fed-
eral Departments of Agriculture have
established quarantines against the
Japanese beetle were recently requst-
ed by Attorney General George W.
Woodruff to give every possible aid to
the government authorities in the en-
forcment of the regulations.
Prompt prosecution of quarantine
violations was especially urged in the
Attorney General’s letter which was
as follows:
“We have a very subtle public ene-
my, known as the Japanese beetle, for
the reason that it was introduced from
Japan in roots of iris plants a very
few years ago. This beetle is endang-
ering vegetation of practically all
kinds and in that way not only the
prosperity of our farmers and the
beauty of our parks and gardens, but,
naturally, the very life of our people.
The feeling about this danger is not
one of hysteria. It is a menace which
all that know about it feel must be
combated early and vigorously if we
want to prevent the spread of the
danger.
“The Legislature recognized this
danger and passed a law, which when
printed will be an Act No. 408, giving
power to the Secretary of Agriculture
to declare quarantines and making it
a criminal offense to disobey his rules
in that respect. The farmers are
j alarmed at the prospects of the rapid
spread of this menace. Cities and
towns have reasson to be alarmed al-
So, because the beetle attacks all
forms of vegetation, including trees
and shrubbery.
“Therefore, the purpose of this let-
ter is to call your attention, as the
prosecuting officer of your county, to
the vital importance of everybody co-
operating in carrying out the efforts
of the Department of Agriculture to
stop the spread of the Japanese bee-
tle. You, as District attorney, I am
sure, will be willing, therefore, to help
in this work, and I am asking wheth-
er I cannot safely tell the Secretary
of Agriculture that if through the ac-
tivities of his employees and repre-
sentatives it is found necessary to
take legal steps under the penal pro-
visions of the inclosed law, you will
lend the assistance of your office in
| every way possible, including prompt
prosecutions when proper evidence
has been made available to you.”
—Recent baking tests with flour
milled from Pennsylvania wheat have
again demonstrated the future possi-
bilities in developing a high grade
wheat crop and utilizing the greater
portion of the Pennsylvania crop for
milling and baking purposes within
the State.
The tests, conducted in the Fleisch-
man research laboratory under the di-
rection of the Bureau of Markets of
the State Department of Agriculture,
showed that an entirely acceptable
loaf of bread can be produced when
Pennsylvania milled flour is mixed in
equal part with full strength western
milled spring flour.
The cost was found to be one-half
cent less in each loaf than when the
western flour was used alone. The
cost of the Pennsylvania flour was
placed at $6.00 a barrel at a time
when millers were receiving only
$4.25 a barrel, f. 0. b. New York, on
flour for export. ?
“To feed its population, Pennsyl-
vania requires 50,000,000 bushels of
wheat annually,” said George A.
Stewart, grain standardization spe-
cialist in the marketing ' bureau.
“The State produces an average of
only 25,000,000 bushels a year. Scme
must come in from outside but
cause of the prevalent milling px
tices in this State; the bakers j
the Pennsylvania flour and y
import western fl equivale 0
490,000,000 bushels of wheat.
milie
INiiic
“This condition forces our
to sell much of their flour for expo
A low price is received and is reflect-
ed back on the wheat producer in
turn. A ‘more factory market
would be opened and a better: price
paid the grower of high grade wh
if millers bought wheat more car
ly, grading and segregating it ac
ing to texture and milling a fi Hf
uniform quality’ acceptable to Penn-
sylvania bakers.”
The type of flour mos
bakers in. recen ars: has been
I
Qa
Sa
ne
0
1
with high prot went (aro 12
per. cent.), low in. ash content
high in w absorption . pe
Practically y seven per cent. oi
60,000,000 bushels, of the entire Unit-
ed States wheat crop meets these re-
quirements. The “favorred specifi
tions have resulted in an inflated p1
for this wheat over other grades, has
lended to upset the balance of food
nutrients in all other: flour, has cut
down : cinsiderably on wheat mineral
salts essential to human well-being
and he stricted the blending of oth-
er classes of wheat. x