Se
a
Bellefonte, Pa., March 26, 1926.
A A STA
THE CRUCIFIX.
Daniel Kerlin woke when the clock
in the kitchen beneath him struck
twelve. Close to the window a whip-
poor-will sang his nervous, almost
incessant song and in the brief inter-
vals of his chanting an owl crooned
softly and then gave a shrill cry.
It was neither the bright light of
the full moon nor the various noises
which wakened Daniel; it was rest-
lessness and grief. Yesterday his
mother had been buried and he was
now, at eighteen, alone in the world.
They had always lived in this seclud-
ed spot and here she had taught him
to read and to till the garden and to
make baskets. He knew little of his
father, who had died soon after he
was born. His mother had been beau-
tiful and he had inherited her thick,
light, bright hair and her blue eyes
shadowed by dark lashes. He had in-
herited also her shyness; she never
went away from the house, and when
pedestrians came up the lonely path
she closed the door.
Unaccustomed to his loss, Daniel
turned his face into the pillow and
cried with the blind woe of a child
and the desperate, fully conscious
grief of an adult. After a while he
rose and went to the window. Night
clothes were unheard of and he wore
underwear fashioned by his mother to
his strong young body. He had not
attained his full growth, but he prom-
ised to be six feet tall.
The long oval valley upon which
he gazed had a magical beauty in the
June night. The sides were wooded
but the bottom lands were partially
cleared and there, now gleaming in
the moonlight, now hidden by small
stretches of woodland, wound a broad
stream. Clustered in the center of
the valley were dark solid masses—
the buildings, most in ruin, of the ex-
tensive and elaborate establishment
of a colonial forge abandoned for
fifty years. The huge house of the
proprietor had become a tenement
and the heavy rains penetrated down-
ward to the first story where a few
families of basket weavers lived
wretchedly. The ancient furnace
stack was a mass of tumbled bricks,
and of forge and store and stables
only their walls remained. The site
of the row of workingmen’s houses
could be recognized by small heaps
of grass-grown stones, once the
chimneys of log and plaster cabins.
Though Daniel's house was far
away, and though it was construct-
ed not of logs but of substantial
stone, it too had been built for a fur-
naceman, his great-grandfather, Dan-
iel La Roche, a Swiss who was a
moulder. Young Daniel knew nothing
of the elder Daniel’s history, not even
his trade, and still less of his genius.
As lonely and heartsick, he sat
looking into the valley there came
about a familiar change. The oval
filled with mist, the stream disap-
peared, then the faintly outlined
masses of the buildings, then even
the highest of the treetops. The
moon remained the only object with
corporeal form. Dainel lifted his
hands and closed thumbs and fore-
fingers as though he moulded the
moon. The perfection of the bright
circle hanging in the sky enchanted
him; he breathed heavily and his
warm, rapidly flowing blood dried the
tears on his cheeks.
Barefooted as he was, he crossed
the room and went down the stairs.
The house was constructed for more
formal living than was common
among artisans; there was a central
hall and the doors were paneled.
In the kitchen, the scene of his
mother’s labors, tears came once more
into his smarting eyes and his hands
trembled as he lighted the lamp. The
room was furnished with plain, sim-
ple furniture and there were a few
homewoven rugs on the floor. Among
the cooking vessels and spoons were
some which had been made before the
Revolution. On a table lay the sim-
ple tools of the basket-making trade
by which his mother, and then he and
his mother together, had made a liv-
ing. The art was continued from
colonial times; even when the forge
business was at its height and wages
were good, the old men and the wom-
en made baskets. Imported osiers
were still cultivated in the lowlands,
soaked in the stream and peeled on
tables in the shade of a thick ocak.
Since he was ten years old Daniel
had secured from Jim Scholl, the
chief of the basket weavers, a supply
for his mother’s work, and had car-
ried back the finished product.
The kitchen was not Daniel’s des-
tination; it was not memorials of his
mother which he sought for solace.
He carried the lamp across to the
parlor, which had not been opened for
his mother’s funeral. Here the white
walls were dingy and the woodwork
yellowed by time. There were two
dark objects, the iron frame of the
cavernous fireplace and, hanging op-
posite the fireplace on a strong nail,
a crucifix, also of iron and about
eighteen inches high.
Before the fireplace Daniel set his
lamp on the floor and knelt down.
Top and sides were exquisitely
wrought in a conventional pattern of
arabesques and upon the back there
was a fanciful design. Under a tree
with delicate foliage knelt an old man
building a fire, a bundle of fagots by
his side. The wind ruffied his beard
and fluttered the leaves above his
head. In design and execution the
fireplace was the work of an artist.
When he had looked for a long
time Daniel rose stiffiy and placed his
lamp on a window sill and stood be-
fore ‘the crucifix. Presently he took
it - down, gazed at it, held it in his
hands and followed with his fingers
the curves of the body and the veined
leaves of the clover which ended the
trips of each beam.
He carried lamp and crucifix at last
across to the kitchen and took from
the ‘table drawer a knife and a few
half-carved sticks of soft wood. He
was trying to réproduce the beauti-
——
ful, agonized figure and his work was
not bad though he believed it a fail-
ure. He wished to create beautiful
things, and he felt them taking shape
under his hands, but he had neither
technical knowledge nor plastic ma-
terial. There was a kind of clay near
the ore bank out of which he had tried
to model his mother’s head, but it
did not retain its form. He knew that
iron castings were made by pressing
a mold into wet, hard sand and let-
ting the molten iron flow into the
mold; but molten iron was as impos-
sible of attainment as malleable clay.
Depressed and discouraged, he blew
out the light and went to his room,
where he placed the crucifix on his
pillow. His was no religious senti-
ment; if his ancestors had been Ro-
man Catholics they had so long had
no religion that they had forgotten
it. With the crucifix touching his
cheek he fell asleep. ;
When Daniel opened his eyes it was
morning. Now he did not wish to see
the crucifix; his longings seemed as
hopeless as t.ey were vague. As he
put on his shirt and trousdrs and
shoes he looked into the valley. The
mist had long been dissipated, the
stream ran through beds of living
green, the sea of treetops had still
the ‘brightness of spring. He could
see the upper story of the old man-
sion and through an open space al-
most the whole of the ruined stack.
As he breakfasted he made sorrow-
ful plans for his future. He would
tend his garden and continue his bas-
ket making. He had a desperate need
for money; his mother had had but
twenty dollars in her purse and the
cost of her funeral was forty. She
had impressed upon him her own
horror of debt and, whatever happen-
ed afterwards, he must first pay what
he owed. He did the basket-making
.with ease but he hated its monotony.
If he could have shaped each basket
differently from its fellows it would
not have been so tiresome, but the
dealer in Linchester would accept on-
ly those which conformed to his pat-
tern.
Having finished his breakfast, he
hung the crucifix on its nail and, lock-
ing the doors of the parlor and of the
house, went down the winding road.
The road was almost overgrown; the
wheels of the undertaker’s wagon
which had carried his mother’s body
had crushed tall weeds of this sea-
son’s growth and small shrubs which
were several years old. Beyond his
house on the mountain lay a wild and
beautiful region where the virgin
woods were still untouched. There
was a small cataract called Tumbling
Run, the only fall for many miles,
and round it in the spring was a wil-
derness of flowers. To this section he
was the only visitor. The few bas-
ket makers in the valley were afraid
of the quiet and loneliness and also of
snakes. Daniel had seen but few
poisonous snakes and he believed that
one could easily get out of their way.
His step slackened as he descended.
He passed a deep pool which had
gathered in the excavation of the
mine; then, rounding a curve in the
road, came out near the mansion and
the ruined stack where a group of
men sat around a rough table peeling
the willow stems. His mother had
hated and feared them; they were
vicious and their speech was evil.
They had often coaxed him to join
them; he was no baby, they said, to
sit all day at home with his mammy.
He hated to speak to them, but other-
wise he could get no osiers.
He approached the table slowly;
the hard faces seemed harder in the
light of the beautiful morning. In
the stream lay bundles of withes
ready for peeling and all around for
several acres there was a thick
growth of osiers.
He heard a muttered sentence, but
he went on bravely. The chief ob-
ject of his dislike was the speaker,
Jim Scholl, a fat man with a porcine
face and the tiniest eyes, who wore
corduroy trousers and an ancient
sweater, once white.
“I want to buy some willows,” said
Daniel, realizing with astonishment
that it was difficult to frame his
words.
The men continued to stare; they
had suffered Daniel’s pride while his
mother lived, but they would tolerate
it no longer.
“We don’t sell no peeled stock,”
said Scholl in a surly tone. “It’s easy
to weave; peeling’s the hard part.
Hereafter them that weaves, peels.
Better start now.”
Hateful tears came into Daniel’s
eyes. His mother would let him have
nothing to do with them, but his
moher was dead, and he must have
money. .
One of the men slid along the bench
to make room, another reached into
the stream for a bundle of withes.
“I can’t stop my hand bleeding,”
he complained.
~ “Did you cut it?” asked Daniel, in
the thick, sorrowful voice which was
his own but which sounded so strange.
“It’s the water,” explained the bas-
ket maker. “You had the easy part.
The hands get hard from weaving,
then the water makes ’em sore.” He
showed his hardened palm. “Feel of
it.
Daniel touched it gingerly. Bleed-
ing fissures separated the callous
spots.
“You needn’t be afraid. Your
own’ll get like it,” declared the man
ill-naturedly.
Daniel thought of the smooth sur-
face of the crucifix, of the delicate
foliage of the leaves, of the delicious
malleability of clay under his fingers.
His hands would be ruined!
“If your going to work, then work,”
said Scholl fiercely.
Daniel’ sat with his mates at the
rough table. The day was clear and
the summer sun poured its heat into
the valley. The heat did not pene-
trate through the foliage of the oak,
but was reflected upward from the
hard-baked ground. The stream
shimmered in the sun, a myriad in-
sects hummed incessantly.
He worked silently and with a
burning unhappiness. His compan-
ions did their best to replace his in-
nocence with knowledge which, while
it was not broad, was deep, like a foul
well. In the shade round the huge'h
First Telephone Talk Made
Just 50 Years Ago by Bell.
The original telephone invented by Alexander Graham Bell, shown here,
ie in the possession of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington, D. C.
On March 10, 1876, just half a cen-
tury ago, the first sentence was
spoken over a telephone line.
Since then untold billions of sen-
tences’ have been heard over the
gigantic line interlacement in which
our civilization virtually is cradled,
comments the Pennsylvania Public
Service Information Committee.
In America today 50,000,000 con-
versations are heard daily over the
telephone wires.
The historic sentence of fifty yrars
ago was spoken by the inventor of
the telephone. It was addressed to
his assistant.
“Mr. Watson,” said Alexander Gra.
ham Bell, “come here; I want you.”
Those words were spoken over
crude device, later pronounced by so-
called experts as “a clever contrap:
-tion,” but. impracticable for business
purposes.” -.
Since then men have traveled vast
distances to answer telephone calls,
Wheels of industry revolve at the
telephone’s commands.
Thoughts, actions and development
of nations, as well as individuals, to-
day are influenced through utilization
of the once “clever but impracticable
contraption.”
old house the women and children
idled, their laughter carrying across
the open space as they teased Scholl’s
oldest daughter about Daniel. She
pretended indifference, but last even-
ing she had waited for him on the
lonely track. Afraid of her to the
depths of his soul, he had passed with
bent head. It seemed to him that he
was sinking in a slimy pit and he was
tempted ‘hourly to lock his door and
leave forever the place which had be-
come fearful. But he must pay his
debt.
When he thought wildly of going |
away he planned to take with him
the iron crucifix. The fireback with
the arabesques and the old man build-
ing his little fire under the windy tree
he would have to leave.
Absorbed in their talk, the work-
ers failed to hear and see a sound and
sight new to their valley. When at
last they looked up they assumed the
attitude of paralyzed creatures. Be-
fore them in the rozd stood a magnif-
icent automobile, heavy and long and
dark blue in color, with cushions of
gray and trimmings which shone like
silver. Two great lamps projected
from the front like protruding eyes
of an enormous, scintillating beetle.
On the driver's seat was a man in
livery and sitting alone in the rear
was a little woman in a black dress.
The inhabitants of the wNlley had
seen a hundred times the ancient, dil- |
apidated runabout of the dealer who!
came from Linchester to fetch their
baskets, but they had never seen such
a vehicle as this. The men remained
motionless, the women open-mouthed;
some of the children ran to their
mothers.
The little woman leaned forward,
looking this way and that—at the old
stone building, at the roofless walls
of barns and storehouses and, finally,
at the stolid, almost bestial workers |
and the slatternly women. Then the
car moved away as quietly as it had
come. It went, strange to see, not
back on the hard road made of slag
from the furnace, but up the over-
grown, untraveled road on which
Daniel Kerlin lived.
An oath from Scholl expressed the
amazement of the basket makers, who
stared at each other, then toward the
hillside and the leafy depths into
which the car had vanished, then at
the excited women trooping toward
them. They still did not move or take
up their osiers or their peeling knives,
and the women surrounded them be-
fore they looked at Daniel as one
more closely concerned than they.
“They've went to your house, Dan-
ny.”
Daniel grew pale.
“They’ve got no call to go to my
house.”
“Well, that’s where they've went
all the same.”
Daniel flung his leg over the bench |
and rose—though he had so carefully
locked the door, they might get in
and take his crucifix. He believed it
to be the most beautiful object in the !
world.
With deliberation Daniel crossed
the open space but, once hidden by
the trees, he quickened his step. The
car could not have gone far, certain-
1y not beyond his house. He could
hear it breathing heavily and ran on.
When he paused again he heard noth-
ing. Either it had stopped, or it had
penetrated the woods in some magical |
fashion.
Coming upon his house at a turn:
in the leafy road, he saw the car like
a phantom. The little woman sat
quietly, but the chauffer looked about
uneasily, seeking a way of exit. Dan-
iel stood gazing forbiddingly. Every-
thing was perfectly still, the birds |
were drowsing in the hot, scented air
of noon.
At sight of him the little woman |
leaned forward and beckoned, and he
went slowly to the side of the car.
She was older than his mother, but |
there was something similar in the
two faces, perhaps in the shape and |
expression of the eyes. Her hair was |
white but her thick lashes gave her
blue gaze a mysterious expression as
his mother’s had had, and as he also
had without being aware of it. Like |
his mother’s, the flesh of her face had
a firm texture and a purity of line
Yhith suggested clay and a modeling
and. :
She spoke in a low tone which
pleased his ear.
“Is this your house?”
“Yes,” answered Daniel.
“What is your name?”
“Daniel Kerlin.”
The name, it was clear, signified
nothing. The stranger laid her slen-
der hand on the door of her car and
leaned forward, speaking wih hesita-
tion as though she were not sure of
the boy’s interest.
“When I was a little girl I lived at
the forge with my grandfather. Thir-
ty thousand acres of land belonged
to him. Wagons brought the char-
coal fiom the hillside and trains of
mules took the iron away with the
pigs bent so they would fit over their
backs. We had parties and there was
dancing, with coaches coming and go-
ing. All the gentlefolk within a hun-
dred miles visited us. We used :to
come up this road to a place called
Tumbling Run where there was a
beautiful cataract. Do you know
where it is?” «9
“Qh, yes,” said Daniel.
© “Can I get nearer in my car?”
“I don’t believe you can.”
“Could you go with me and show
me the place?”
“Yes,” said Daniel.
“Not to-day. Say a week from
now ?”
“Yes,” promised Daniel, unable to
take his eyes away from her face.
“My name is Mrs. Allen. I live
near Linchester, but I’ve been away
for many years. You'll meet me
27
“Yes,” promised Daniel again. “I'll
stay home from work.”
Daniel lay supine, his arms clasped
behind his head. It was a warm night
and his room was close with the un-
stirring air of the woods and the
heavy atmosphere of a man’s house-
keeping.
Near at hand, crickets chirped and
katydids answered one another with
monotonous regularity. Daniel re-
joiced, believing them to be the harb-
ingers of a dry day. To-morrow—no,
it was to-day, Mrs. Allen was to re-
turn. His life grew more intolerable,
the speech of his mates more foul
and insinuating, his longings for es-
cape more desperate. Mrs. Allen had
given him for a moment a sense of
peace and security, as though he had
seen his mother. He tried to recall
the shape of her features and as he did
so his fingers curved. But he could
not succeed in visualizing her; he
' could think only of his mother.
He had a wild intention to show
her the crucifix and his carvings and
to say, “He could make things like
this, and hands and flowers and faces
if I were taught,” and the bold inten-
tion kept him awake. She was righ,
she had seen the world, she might
know how to advise him. He turned
on his pillow and clasped his hands in
a gesture of supplication. “If you
would help me!” he said aloud.
(Concluded next week.)
Huguenot Was First
New York Physician
Dr. Johannes La Montagne was the
drst educated man of medicine to set-
tle down in the liftle Dutch town of
what is now New York and hang out
his shingle officially. He was a
Huguenot gentleman of forty-two, a
| man who had obtained a splendid med-
fcal and general background at the
University of Leyden. He had mar-
riled a girl named Rachel DeForest,
whose family had moved to this new
country, and the letters home had told
of such promise that he decided to try
it for himself.
So in 1637 he came. Almost imme-
diately he assumed an important place
in the commmunity life. His reputa-
tion gave him professional as well as
social position and he became one of
the big men of the day. Governor
Kieft appointed him to his council
within a year after his arrival, and he
was retained also by Governor Stuy-
vesant when that slightly crusty
Dutchman took the reins,
Doctor La Montagne treated his
first case in what are known as these
parts as long ago as 1637.—New York
HEvening Post.
4 neient Methods of
Heating and Lighting
The time when man’s curiosity and
courage first enabled him to investi-
gate the phenomena of fire was cer-
tainly not less than 85,000 years ago.
It probably happened in Europe during
the Glacial age.
One of the earliest methods was by
twirling a pointed stick in a hole in
dry wood, leading to the hearth fire.
This was followed by the shell lamp—
a shell filled with animal fats or fish
oil, with grass or moss as the wick.
The oldest bronze lamp known was
| found in Cyprus, and is probably 4,000
years old. In Homer's Odyssey the
use of three braziers in the palace to
give light is mentioned—a method
made possible by the fact that roofs
were commonly open in those days.
Coming to more recent times, the
cresset, a species of cage filled with
old rope smeared with pitch, was ip
use.
Candles were first introduced by the
Phoenicians about 1000 years B. C.,
after which they became the regular
indoor illuminant. About 400 B. OC.
candles in all the chief countries of
Europe were displaced by oil lamps
of clay and bronze and did not returp
to common use for a thousand years.
The first friction match (the lucifer)
was not invented until 1827, and a box
of fifty cost half a crown (60 cents).
The introduction of the Swedish safety
match dates to about fifty years ago.—
i London Tit-Bits.
Winter Rains Stored
for Time of Drought
In southern California, where land
without water is worth little, various
means have to be adopted to conserve
the winter rainfall for the dry sum-
mer months. From May till October
landowners depend on the underground
water supply.
A recent develonment has been the
construction of a vast natural “sponge”
destined to hold the flood waters from
the great canyons in the district. The
water from the melting snow or rains
is distributed over nearly 800 acres of
rock and sandy land, covered from end
to end with sage bushes. This area
has been intersected by specially con-
structed ditches, with concrete distrib-
uting gates, by means of which the
water is kept circulating, instead of
pouring away to waste.
At the height of the season this won-
derful “sponge” soaks up not less than
100,000 inches of rain, all of which
can be pumped to the surface when re-
quired.
Official Sauerkraut
A definition and standard for sauer-
kraut has been adopted by the secre- |
tary of agriculture as a guide for the
officials of the department in the en-
forcement of ‘thé federal ‘food and’
drugs act, upon the Tecommendation
of the joint committee on definitions
and standards, as follows: ‘Sauer-
i kraut is the clean, sound product, of
characteristic acid flavor, obtained by
the full fermentation, chiefly lactic,
of properly prepared and shredded
cabbage in the presence of not less
than 2 per cent nor more than 8 per
cent of salt. It contains upon com-
pletion of the fermentation, not less
than 134 per cent of acid, expressed
as lactic acid. Sauerkraut which has
been rebrined in the process of can-
ning or repacking contains not less
than 1 per cent of acid expressed as
lactic acid.”
“Laborer” Was Right
Getting one’s name on the voting list
in an outlying town in Massachusetts
for the first time is a serious ceremony,
yet with touches of humor. For in-
stance, one lady was asked what her
occupation was and she replied
“Housewife.” Whereupon the regis-
trar volunteered this one: “I asked
this question of one woman and she re-
plied, ‘Laborer.’ ” The registrar, some-
what puzzled, again queried, “What
kind of labor’ The woman replied,
“Well, I'm home all day.”—Christian
Science Monitor.
Another Diplomat
Five-year-old William, the son of
religious parents, has been taught
that Sunday is not a day for play.
One Sunday his mother was sur-
prised and horrified to find him sall-
ing his toy boat in the bathtub.
“William!” she exclaimed. “Don’t
you know it's wicked to sail boats on
Sunday?”
“Now don't get excited, mother,”
was the calm reply. “This isn’t any
pleasure excursion. This is a mission-
ary boat going to darkest Africa.”—
The Open Road.
Suspicious of Columbus
Oolumbus had returned to Spain
pringing news of a wonderful new
lang across the sea.
“How much shall I write on it?’
queried the maritime reporter of the
Cadiz Evening Bulletin.
“Don't write anything,” replied the
city editor. “Let Columbus pay for
his advertising if he wants any. It's
probably a real estate promotion
scheme.”—New York University Med-
ley.
Probable Reason
“Well! well! Look at that fellow
running and turning his head first
one way, then the other, as he flees!”
exclaimed a guest. “What do you
suppose he is doing that for?”
“Not knowing the gent, can’t say
for certain,” replied the landlord of
the tavern at Peeweecuddyhump, “but
probly it is b'cuz he ain’t able to turn
it both ways at once.”-—Kansas City
Times.
FARM NOTES.
—A great many vegetables re-
spond to lime; in fact, many will not
grow well in soil that is at all acid.
This is particularly true of asparagus,
spinach, celery, beets, onions, and
lettuce.
—Clean culture of corn crop is
needed if the European corn borer is
to be conquered. Cleaning up the
refuse in fields and burning it is rec-
ommended, by Pennsylvania State
College specialists as a means of kill-
ing the borers which have hibernated
there through the winter.
—Cutworms often cause serious
damage to some small fruits, vege-
tables and other crops. Because of
reports of serious damage to straw-
berries and blackberries in 1924, the
entomologists of the New York State
agricultural experiment station at
Geneva gave directions for control-
ling the insect.
—~Cut alfalfa or clover hay makes
a splendid litter for little chicks the
| first week or so of their lives. It not
| only affords a safe place to work but
also supplies the chicks with ‘some
green feed. Avoid dirty litter be-
cause the chaff and barbs that are
thrown up when the youngsters
scratch get in the little fellow’s eyes
and irritate the tissues, often caus-
ing the eyes to go shut.
—This is the time of year when
many dairymen must watch the cool-
ing of milk more carefully than they
have during the past few months,
Nature has helped all winter but now
she will work the opposite way. Cool
the milk over a cooler with running
water or in a can set in a tank of ice
and water. Stir with a clean stirring
rod or spoon. Milk that is stirred
cools five times as rapidly as milk
standing still.
—There are two asparagus beetles,
the common asparagus beetle and the
12-spotted beetle that infest aspara-
gus. The adults winter in rubbish or
whatever shelter they can find near
the asparagus patch. They become
active about the time asparagus is
first ready to cut, laying many eggs.
Both the larvae and the adults feed,
' eating holes in the stalks.
When the asparagus is being cut
for market there will be little injury
! to the shoots for the eggs will not
| have been on the shoots long enough
for them to hatch or the larvae get to
a size sufficient to do any damage.
| If the patch is cut clean once in three
to five days the grower will have
little trouble.
Leave a row or two along the side
of the asparagus patch uncut as a
trap crop, spraying these plants fre-
quently with one pound of powdered
arsenate of lead in forty gallons of
| water, :
As soon as cropping has been dis-
! continued, spray the whole planta-
| tion with arsenate of lead as direct-
ed above.
The use of poultry has been advo-
“cated for years. The field is enclosed
and fifteen to twenty hens are placed
on each acre. Spraying will proba-
bly be unnecessary if hens or other
poultry are used to control the beetle.
i On small areas dusting the plants
with air-slacked lime helps. It kills
the larvae but does not injure the
adults. If arsenate of lead is added
to the dust then all will be killed.
, Use five ounces of the powdered ar-
‘ senate of lead, by weight, in one peck,
iby measure, of air-slacked lime or
land plaster. Have it thoroughly
mixed and apply in the early morn-
ing while the dew is on. Do not use
! plants which have been dusted with
poison for food.
For information on the pests of
garden crops send specimens of the
insect or the work it does to the Penn-
sylvania Department of Agriculture,
Bureau of Plant Industry, Harrisburg
and information for the control of the
trouble will be given.
—One result of the recent European
trip of Dr. L. O. Howard, chief of the
bureau of entomology of th United
States Department of Agriculture,
was the discovery that there exist in
Europe two parasites of the Euporean
earwig which is at present a great
nuisance in the vicinity of Seattle,
Wash.; Portland, Ore.; and Newport,
R. I. Arrangements were made by
Doctor Howard to have the bureau’s
laboratory at Hyeres, France, study
the parasites and prepare shipments
to this country at an early date.
The European earwig in its several
stages feeds on very tender green
shoots of clover and grass, dahlia
plants and blossoms, and the stamens
and petals of various flowers. Mellow
garden soil, lawns with a southern
-exposure, or similar places make fer-
tile breeding and hibernating grounds
for the earwigs, which multiply rapid-
ly, the female laying from 50 to $0
shiny white eggs each season.
The adult earwig is rich reddish
brown with the wing covers and legs
dull yellow brown, and the wings
three-fourths of an inch in length. In
late summer the adults gather in
large numbers in crevices or behind
vines for mating. At other times
during the day they hide in any crev-
ice, folds of clothing, or even behind
a convenient leaf which offers pro-
tection. They may be found in large
numbers on porches, behind chair
cushions, under rugs, and in folds of
awnings. The European earwig was
first noticed at Newport in 1911, at
Seattle in 1915, and at Portland
shortly after. It was undoubtedly
brought in from Europe, where it is
very common, although not consider-
ed of great economic importance. In
this country, however, the earwig has
multiplied rapidly in infested areas
and has become a serious pest and
caused much annoyance. It is pos-
sible that it may spread to other sec-
tions of the country if not checked.
In addition to the parasites which
have been discovered, there are other
enemies of the earwig. Toads eat the
larvae readily. Hens devour the
adults ravenously, but the earwigs
are so hidden during the day that
fowls can hardly be considered as an
important factor in controlling the
insect. Poisoned baits and sprays
furnish other means of control.
i
—Subseribe for the “Watchman.