— - — H - Bellefonte, Pa., November 19, 1926." ———————————————— THE HEART OF THE HILLS. There's a wonderful country lying Far off from the noisy town, Where the wild-flower swings And the veery sings And the tumbling brooks come down: Tis a land of light and of laughter, Where peace all the woodland fills; "Tis the land that lies ‘Neath the summer skies, In the heart of the happy hills. —~Srio The road to that wonderful country Leads out from the gates of care; And the tired feet In the dusty street Are longing to enter there; And a voice from that land is calling, In the rush of a thousand rills, “Come away, away, To the woods to-day, To the heart of the happy hills.” Far away in that wonderful country Where the clouds are always blue, In the shadows cool, By the foaming pool, We may put on strength anew; We may drink from the magie fountains Where the wine of life distills; And never a care Shall find us there, In the heart of the happy hills. —————————— a ——————— A FIRST-CLASS THANKSGIVING. It did not need the blaze of the pitch-pine knots in the corner of the fireplace to say that the old man had come. The light danced rosily up the brown rafters and over the fishing- net hanging between them like a dreary cobweb, across the festoons of dried peaches there, and over the children, who had heard old Cousin Lee’s coming spoken of as an impend- ing calamity. Their mother was bustling about, preparing supper. She always bustled when she was what she called “put about;” and she was certainly put about in having this old seafarer add- ed to her household. None of the Carrolls had gone to the poorhouse yet; and it was either this or that for Cousin Lee. Besides, her husband had had a home with Cousin Lee’s father for a while in his boy- hood. In a way a home here was due to Cousin Lee. She had not flinched when her husband falteringly propos- ed his coming; but Janey, the sixteen- year-old daughter, had resisted bitter- ly; and so little Joe and Dave and the twins, and Justin, the bigger brother, had quite recognized that the guest was undesired. It was not a home to be coveted. The dye-stuff from the mills above had driven the fish from the river; the net on the rafters was used no more; and the family’s subsistence was wrung from a market-garden and a cranberry-swamp; and the river at their door brought them down occa- sional stumps and logs. Once a wallet holding two sodden dollar hills had been found in the wreck, and it had made Dan Carroll feel it might be well to abandon work and watch the recession of the tides the rest of his life. Although he did not do so, it had the effect of opening a region of air-castles, for when a man has a family of children, money becomes a thing to dream about. “Well, Cousin Lee can look out for that,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of havin’ a parlor,” said Janey, when the affair was set- tled, and she flung her book down as if there were an end of that, too. “I did mean to have that empty room fix- ed up for one some day.” “I don’t know where you'd ha’ got the money,” said her mother, biting off her thread sharply. “Soon’s I got to school-teaching.” “A long way ahead, child.” “So’s Thanksgiving. But it comes, ma’ sure’s November. And now the old man—nothing but a cousin—has to have the room and there’s an end of it! And Mamy’ll be growing up, just like me, without a parlor or any- thing! And I did want Mamy never to remember when we hadn’t had a parlor with a haircloth sofa in it!” “It’s the way things happen,” said the mother. “Anyway, we didn’t have as much as this at first,—just a log cabin,—and we were happy as birds a-buildin.” “That’s no reason to stop and be satisfied. I meant to be braiding a big mat of old pieces for the floor of that room, and have some copperplate curtains and a looking-glass. And have Justin knock up a box out of the old boards, and I'd cover it with the copperplate,—speckled white ground with scarlet poppies,—and make some cushions for it. But I suppose that old man’ll live forever!” “Janey! You're committing mur- der in your heart.” “Qh, I ain’t going to hurt him. He's hurting me—taking away my ambi- tion, and keeping Mamy always just where she was. Why couldn’t he take care of himeslf?” “He’s old, and he’s lame, and he’s deaf, and he’s been unlucky,” said her mother with a sigh. The old man had come, and his bat- tered sea-chest was in the grudged room. Although his years were not all of seventy, the little people felt they might be seven hundred. But his thin gray hair made their mother think of her own old father under the sod. Yet all the same, she did not want him there. That night the chil- dren accustomed to be hushed in the occasional visits of the elder along the riverside, were huddled and subdued, as if this were a similar infliction. When they saw cousin Lee, sitting on the big block of his corner by the fire, fiddling with a string in an ab- sent-minded way, and by and by playing a queer game of cat’s cradle 0 by himself, they wondered vague- y. Little Joe edged nearer. “Seems to me I never saw that kind,” said he. “Ever se¢ this kind?” asked Cous- in Lee, beginning another. “Here, if you'll lend me your hands.” And all the eager little hands were thrust for- —————————— ward and the heads bent together | about the two. “He can’t catch it!” cried Johnny. _ “Yes, he does!” cried Davy tiptoe- ing. It’s a regular “There! You see! crib!” announced Billy. The beans had been in the spider, and the brews made, and the boiling tea had filled the room | with its acrid savor before the string was tucked away. na, “I want him to sit by me!” exclaim- | ed Joe. “No, by me!” cried Davy. “He’s going to eat here!” said Billy, as their mother placed him between Billy and Mamy. But Justin said’ nothing, and Janey passed the bread as if she wished it would do Cousin Lee a mischief. Cousin Lee declined the bowl. of brown sugar when it was offered. “Don’t you take sugar, Cousin Lee?” Mrs. Carroll asked. “No, ma’am,” he answered. “Not since I seen ’em makin’ it at Barba- dos.” Justin brightened; here were great stories for winter nights. “I like you,” said little Mamy, bend- ing round to look insinuatingly into the old man’s face. “Tousin Lee an’ me is twins,” she declared, looking triumphantly at the other twins. And after supper she established herself on his knee. The cat’s-cradles changed into a small sleight-of-hand tricks, which made Justin look across from his book—an odd volume of his- : tory. But Janey did not glance from the rags she was bundling together, the ! destiny of which had been turned from | a parlor carpet to a roll under. the eaves. Then she got her geography, and slammed it down as if it were not the book that opened to her the ro- mance of the earth. “Justin,” she said, presently, in a low tone, “where is Robinson Crusoe’s island 7” “It’s pretty near where I was cast away once,” said Cousin Lee, his old blue eyes shining. “Cast away! Oh, tell us about it!” the children cried in chorus. “Want to hear? Well, we were drove considerable out of our course. There’d been a—guess you may say seaquake, somewheres to the south- ward. After it, the floor of the sea, what there was left of it, just rose up and throwed the water before it, and when we saw that wall of water a- rushin’ and roarin’, we hadn’t time to trim ship before twas abroad of us, and next thing we knew, we were kindlin’s. Yes, sir, kindlin’s! An’ the sea tossin’ like mountains run mad. I never heard what become of the rest of us, but mate and I were caught by the riggin’ of a spar, and when we'd been a day and a night in the water, we were throwed ashore more dead than alive, and if the tide hadn’t been on the ebb. we’d been took back to sea for we hadn’t the heart of a crab to struggle up. with.” “What you givin’ us, Lee ?” said the father, the tallowed rag with which he was greasing his boots suspended in air. “Gospel,” was the reply. “Taint the last time I was shipwrecked, either. Once our good bark, the Love- ly Lady, laid her bones on a reef right amongst the Malay pirates; and 1 never was so scared in my life. I felt the pirates’d likely murder me, when they got good and ready, but some- how I was more scared of the typhoon that was getting in its work. A Chinese junk sent the pirates to the bottom, and saved Tom Perliter and me, and we were took off that reef at last by a man-o’-war.” By this time Justin had forgotten to turn the page of his history book,— here was a hero to his hand,—and if Janey thumbed a surreptitious leaf of her atlas for a page of the Malay archipelagoes, no one saw her, all eyes being bent on this teller of tales. “Well,” said Cousin Lee, “I guess it’s time for the old man o’ the sea. I s’pese,” he said then, in another tone, with an air of deprecation, “you got a shake-down for me somewhere, Cousin Sarah?” When the mother came down the next morning, the fire had been un- covered and a new forestick and kind- lings laid on and lighted, the teaket- tle was humming like a spinning- wheel, and a basket of chips stood ready for the blaze. What a time she always had to make the children pick chips! It moved her that the old man should be trying to pay his way by such exertion. : “You shouldn’t do that, Cousin Lee, with a passel o’ children roun’,” she said. “And with your lame back and all. “I mind when I was a youngster how I just hated picking up chips,” he answered, “and old folks wake up early.” It was a pine stick on which Cousin Lee was whittling when he sat in the fireplace that night, he by the light of the pitch-pine knots, and Janey and Justin at their books with the dips of bayberry wax which they had made themselves, ignorant that they would have brought the price of a winter’s lamps and oil. “Why, it’s a head!” said Davy. “It’s going to be a bird,” said Joe. “No,” said Mamy, standing between the carver’s legs. “It’s a dog's head,” said Billy. “It’s just like our Grip!” “Tt’s—it’s a baby. Oh, oh! It’s a doll!” cried Mamy, ecstatically, as Cousin Lee, smudging the point of a chip, drew what served for eyes and mouth on his rude work. And wrap- ped in an old sleeve of her mother’s, the doll went to bed with Mamy, and rose with her, and sat beside her at the table, was named Arabella, and thenceforth was never out of her arms five minutes together. “Don’t you love Tousin Lee?” she asked waking in the middle of the night to clasp her treasure. “No, I don’t!” said Janey. “Go to sleep—darling,” for a more soothing word. “I do—very much,” said Mamy. “He borned my dolly.” Cousin Lee’s strings were out of his pocket again the next night, tied in multitudes of curious knots that little fingers reached for, burning to ravel, and that he tied and untied with mar- marvelous tales of times when the ! knots had come into use. The father and mother listened, too, and Justin laid down his book. “He ain’t telling a word of truth,” whispered Janey. “Then he’s imaginin’ first-rate,” said Justin. “You've every one gone over! And you know you wanted a parlor as much as I did.” : '%Qh, parlor be hanged!” said Jus- tin. And Janey cried. She cried again when Justin, slip- ping on some ice under the spout of the pump,—for the cold had set in| ‘early that fall,—fell and wrenched his hip. ‘Mamy cried, too. If Janey cried, that was the proper thing to do. But then her lip trembled, seeing Justin’s pain. “I sorrow for you,” she said, hovering round him with flower-soft touches that made his nerves dance. “I sorrow.” “ With all I had to do before!” sigh- ed the mother. “Don’t you fret, Cousin Sarah; I'm head nurse,” said Cousin Lee. And although the doctor said noth- ing was broken, yet Justin suffered so that the head nurse was kept busy. Justin got rheumatism, and was in bed under a mass of blankets, when some of the children—for there was no school in Thanksgiving week—ran with the news that a small raft had come down the river and stranded in front of the cabin. The mother was drawing her pies from the big oven. “I declare, what did I do before Cousin Lee come?” she was saying, when her husband brought in the turkey. “He had this oven heated for me before sunup!” “There!” said her husband, “that’s enough for two Thanksgivin’s! You goin’ to pluck him, Janey? Every- body’d ought to have a hand in Thanksgivin’ fixin’s.” “I ¢’pose I shall,” said Janey, drear- ily. “But I don’t feel a sight like Thanksgivin’.” “Pooh!” said her father. “When medicine’s bitter, it’s a pity to be long swallowing it.” “I’m ashamed of you, Janey!” said her mother. “Where’s Mamy? Here's her turnover.” i “I guess she’s in the woodshed with —with him. I pinned her shawl on her,” said Janey, recalling the sweet, rosy face she had kissed, as the doll was held up to be kissed, too. “What's got into you, Janey?” ask- ed her father. “Don’t seem like your- self. “Where’s Mamy, ma?” said Billy, rushing in, his cheeks as red as apples. “Johnny and I have a piece of birch bark for Cousin Lee to make: her a cradle for Arabella.” “She’s in the woodshed.” “No, I’ve just been there.” “Ma! Daddy! Cousin Lee!” cried the twins, bursting in. “Mamy’s been down to the river, washin’ Arabella! And she got on the little raft, and the {ide’s runnin,’ and it’s carryin’ her down—"" “And out i foal’ cried, springing to her feet. “That’s whal’s come of Cousin Lee’s whittling!” “Cousin Lee! Cousin Lee!” shouted Davy, for the old man had taken the turkey out to the wood-house to pluck it himself. “Oh, come quick! Mamy’s on the river! She'll be drowned if you don’t come!” “Where’s the boat?” cried Cousin Lee, jumping up like a shot and stumping after the others on his lame leg. “Leaks like a sieve.” “Go get that old sail in the lean-tu cried Janey, Boys, you help me down with the boat!” he cried “Billy an’ Davy, fetch the oars. There she is! I see her!” For Mamy, half in delight at her sailing, and half in hysteric terror, was dancing up and down on the unsteady, half-submerg- ed support that went swirling and tilting away with a half a mile be- tween her and the shore. “0 my baby!” cried her mother. “0. Mamy, Mamy!” sobbed Janey. “Here,” said Cousin Lee, “I want | your strength. Here, boys, you push, too!” And the boat scraped down over the pebbles, and Cousin Lee rigged the piece of sail-cloth to cover the seams. “There,” he said, “That’ll keep her afloat a little while. Where's the oars? Now, I'm going alone. If any- body can get the child, I can!” Al. ready he was putting deep water be- tween himself and the others—the dazed father, the mother wringing her hands, the children shivering and cry- ing, and all forgetting everything ex- cept the boat sweeping away with long strokes, and the little speck of the red shawl and hood already far away. The mother had thrown herself down on the half-frozen shingles, clutching the wet stones. The father had started to run to the town below the gap, if peradventure help might put out from the wharves. Janey stood like a stock, as if frozen stiff, her eyes swam, the world was grow- ing black. Then suddenly Billy and Johnny shouted that they saw the speck of red again; all heard a far, faint hallo, and Cousin Lee was rowing back with Mamy between his knees. It seemed impossible then to lift a hand, to stir a foot, till suddenly breath came back to Janey, and she screamed: “The boat’s sinking! Oh, oh, the boat is sinking!” For as it erept out of the last crev- ice of the constantly changing ice- field, the boat sat lower and lower in the water. It was plain that she was slowly ‘and less slowly filling; and al- though Cousin Lee was bending to his oars with all his might and with long sweeps, his might was weakening, and fhe boat settled more and more heav- ily. One and all they plunged into the water and waded out to catch the head of the boat, if might be. The boat filled to the brim just as Mamy was snatched by her mother. And then, the child in her dripping arms, the mother turned to Cousin Lee. “ You are the greatest blessing that ever came into a family!” she said. “If I worked for you, an’ waited on you, an’ cared for you till the latest day I lived, I should never pay my debt to you! There’s father—he’s seen it all from the hill; he’s comin’ velous dexterity while telling equally back. Come, we must hurry!” loft and the long net in the kitchen. | “Cousin Lee,” when he reached them, putting his arm around the old man and fortify- ing his relaxing strength, “I've got nothing that isn’t yours.” When, the next morning, Janey brought the old man some smoking coffee, she said, “You've made it Thanksgiving, Cousin Lee: Oh, we can’t love you half enough!” “Janey,” said Cousin Lee, “I got a letter yesterday. My pension’s been allowed. I heard say—those twins can’t keep anything to themselves— that you wanted to have a parlor of this room. Well, we’ll run up a lean- to big. enough for me on the other side of the kitchen. There'll be money coming in. ‘And we’ll have the parlor. Yes, it’s what I call a first-class Thanksgivin’!”—Youth’s Companion. mere ef A ————— An Old Time Thanksgiving. An aged lady recently contributed to the Brooklyn Citizen this descrip- tion of a New England Thanksgiving three quarters of a century ago, when life was simpler and saner than to- day: | The house was cleaned from the "roof to the cellar, the week before, as Thanksgiving in New England was a greater holiday than Christmas or . New Year's and it must be observed by everybody. The house was full of nice odors. One day it was mince pie ! and fried cakes, then it would be sweet | pickles and election cake, then pump- { kin pies—my sister Persis counted ten in a row—then plum pudding and { Wednesday night a chicken pie that would almost crowd the top of the oven and would come on to the table— a piece of it, I mean, warmed up--- every Sunday till the next year. It held the plumpest chickens and sweet apple quarters that had been half dried, and the meat and gravy were sweet as the apples and spices and other goodies, and all in a large milk pan, with a flaky crust at top and bot- tom a quarter of an inch thick. To make that crust Persis and I had to burn clean corncobs in an iron ket- tle and gather up the ashes, and moth- er poured hot water on them, then strained the liquid and stirred it into some buttermilk, and that made it bubble and fizzle just as soda nowa- days. Thursday morning we were up bright and early, and mother read a chapter in the Bible. Then we all stood up while father prayed for us, so solemn, but I forgot all over the nice breakfast and the walk of a mile to the church and the music and the return at noon to a dinner smoking hot on the table. Mother had arranged a party for us that evening, but we could not wait for. that, so our sleds were brought out, and we climbed the long hills with a group of girls and boys and seated ourselves, letting one boy ride with us on each side to steer it. The parlor was all in order. The floor was covered with white sand swept into curves. The woodwork was a bright blue, white sash curtains at the windows and a plain stand with a green haircloth on it and a large Bible resting on that. Six wooden chairs and a stiff backed rocking chair composed the furniture of the room. Stiff and formal as it looked that was not the place for party or party games. The next room was for our i pleasure ground. It was large and i roomy. — —— —e— { May Have 30,000 Cases of Mentally Disabled. hospital facilities for the constantly increasing number of mentally afflict- ed World war veterans may be placed before congress at its coming session which Convenes in December, accord- ing to Watson B. Miller, chairman of the national rehabilitation committee of the American Legion. It is pos- sible that additional appropriations for the construction of new veterans’ bureau hospitals will be asked, Mr. Miller said. Mr. Miller has been in consultation with cfficials of the medical division of the veterans’ bureau over the situa- tion. The number of insane cases among veterans residing in large cen- ters is reported to be increasing at an alarming rate, while a survey of all bureau hospitals of the type suitable for the treatment of this class of pa- While the bureau now has under construction several large hospitals to be fitted for the care of mental cases, the overflow appears likely to occur before they can be put into operation, it is said. According to one eminent psychiatrist who has been making a study of conditions in one of the population, the bureau is going to have to plan to take care of an eventu- al load of over 30,000 mentally dis- abled veterans. eee pl eres. State Warns Vandals. tions signs, reflectors at curves and various boards along Pennsylvania roads will be forced to pay the cost of the object destroyed and fines of anywhere from $10 to $25 in addition to the costs, if the State Highway De- partment can catch them. The average cost of a sign is around $25. Many have been broken this year. Aroused by the destructive tenden- cies of automobile parties and the outlay of thousands of dollars a year for replacement of signs and warning devices, State Highway authorities have decided on a vigorous enforce- ment of the Act of April 23, 1909, which not only carries the fine, costs and replacements, but also provides for a jail sentence in default. “The favorite targets are the warn- ing reflectors,” says a statement from the office of William Connell, chief of highways, who adds that if he can locate any persons destroying signs or State property, which carry mail boxes, he will inform federal authori- ties. —————— i ———————— — Paris has the greatest density of population of any large city in the world. said Dan Carroll, | and I felt almost like crying, it was The problem of providing adequate tients has shown that there virtually are no available beds at the present. largest States in respect to veteran People smashing highway direc- | FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. Had I but heard ' One breath of applause, one cheering word { One cry of Courage! amid the strife, | So weighted for me with death or life— How would it have nerved my soul to 1 strain Thro’ the whirl of the coming surge. —So far as color is concerned, there doesn’t seem to be anything more favored for young peoplé than the va- rious tones of blue indorsed by la haute couture. Indigo and eggplant, Chanel and navy—also a kind of blue just a trifle lighter than Yale—these are evidently preferred to the purplish reds, which are perhaps slightly in the ‘ ascendant so far as older people are ! concerned. However, these deep reds | are often encountered, and so, too, is the dark hunter's or Robin Hood green. i In the jumper model to which we now refer, blue in the light Yale tone is chosen for the skirt while a blouse of self-material in light beige is trim- | med with the skirt’s blue. As I have remarked such differences of color opinion between skirt and blouse are still fostered. So also are all the va- rious stripe treatments to which we have been sentenced all summer. There is some talk of moire for the younger generation, but unless this occurs in those miniature editions of the period frock designed for the girl in her early and midteens, it seems to the average person that this fabric is slightly too mature to maintain the proper level of simplicity. Far better for the more formal occasions of youth to rely upon georgette, that fabric which never loses step with the tune of youthful good taste. For the girl from 10 to 16 is de- signed the georgette afternoon frock, which makes use of the tiniest box pleats on both skirt and jumper and finishes the latter stitching. The yoke effect in front is still in the highest repute, and so, toc, is flower of self-fabric on the shoulder. This model occurs in shell pink. From the time one is 6 one begins to share in the style dividends of the tier. Many of the most charming of afternoon and evening georgettes and crepes de chine and chiffons finish off in this way. It is quite reasonable, therefore, that our final model—a party frock for her of from 10 to 16— should admit picoted tiers as its cli- max of charm. | —One of the signs of progress of the age is that Thanksgiving is no longer a duty call to the clans—a day | upon which family reunions are con- sidered compulsory obligations. Leg- ends and poems to the contrary, fam- ily reunions are more apt to be gloomy than gay and festive. Jolly, congenial friends make a much more successful party as a rule, unless the family is an unusual one, gifted with humor, dowered with a genius for not reminiscing (except of pleasant things), and skilled in" the arts of keeping the peacej'andtrying to make others happy. i i Relatives as a rule exercise to the fullest their unpleasant prerogatives. : They tell the cousin they haven’t seen for years how changed he is—changed for the worse, of course. They cheer up the brother who lost his wife re- cently by reminding him of how he and she used to argue about every- thing and nothing, and assure him that his second girl—the one with the bad temper—is so like her poor mother. They call attention to how funny Johnny looks since he lost his first teeth, to the distress of Johnny's mother, and they have even been guilty on occasion of telling how much mors pleasant family Thanksgiving dinners used to be before caterers and champagne and lace table cloths and pink candle shades replaced the color- ed cook, the home-made cider and the heaping dishes of fruit at each end of the table—and this before the young hostess, who has worried and perhaps economized for weeks in order to please her husband’s maiden .aunts and poky uncles and critical sisters and cousins. Family reunions, when ideal, are better than mere parties of friends or acquaintances, however charming and companionable the latter may be, but the average family, scattered during the year, with different tastes and in- terests and pursuits, and then assem- bled for one, is a grimly droll affair, when it is not downright depressing. The country house fad has done much to reinstate old-fashioned holi- days to the place of honor which they occupied for many generations. Foot- ball tries its brutal best to dethrone the time-honored midday dinner. Matinees lure from home the boys and girls free from school for a few days. Newsboys’ dinners and charity fairs | make the older girls forget that char- | ity begins at home. Thus it is that in | pany city households Thanksgiving | Day has come to be a festival of tears and torment for the mistress, and of discontent and rebellion on the part of the servants. { In the country it is different. The | servants are not so accustomed to fly- "ing out at night “as soon as the dishes ‘are washed,” so they accept with equanimity the announcement that | dinner will not be served until 8 o’clock—and the house party relatives | or friends is able to stay out of doors as long as the day lasts. In the morn- "ing church, perhaps, walks, golf, log | | fires, automobiling undoubtedly, cards, _driving, cross-country riding, proba- | bly—in any case lots of fun and activ- (ity, and no reminiscing and tender memories torn ruthlessly from the ‘pages between which they have rest- 'ed with rosemary and lavender. | The usual Thanksgiving party has i a dance after dinner, and if the hos- tess is energetic and original, she tries to give the affair a quaint touch or two. A dance in the big kitchen of remodeled farmhouse on the main line | is a yearly Thanksgiving feature, and | the music is usually supplied by the village orchestra—fiddlers and a ban- | joist. A feature is made of Virginia { reels and old-time “quadrilles,” while , red-cheeked apples, pumpkins, and cranberries are always conspicuous among the decorations. with horizontal | FARM NOTES. —Farmers who use dynamite for ditching or blasting stumps should buy it in small quantities for imme- diate use, unless they are a great dis- tance from dealers. Never store blast- ing caps with dynamite. —The peach in America is propa- gated almost entirely by budding. Grafting may be practiced either as root grafting in the nursery cellar or 'as crown grafting in the field, but is much more laborious than budding and is far from being as uniformly successful. Since the peach is a rap- idly growing plant and continues its growth until late in the fall, it is | usually difficult to secure well develop- ed buds suitable for budding until late in August or in September, - —The farm shop is just as impor- tant to the farmers as division point rand terminal shops are to railroad managements, C. K. Shedd, rural en- gineer at the Kansas State Agricul- tural college, is convinced. “It looks as if higher prices for machinery have come to stay, and it will no longer be possible for farmers to follow the wasteful method of using a machine until it is out of repair, then throw- ing it away,” says Shedd. If the machinery is to be kept in "service longer it must be maintained, he points out. “A farmer cannot af- ford to go into the busy season with machinery that is just about ready to break down,” he declares. “Suppose that one is using a cultivator with dull shovels and wabbly beams. If weath- er conditions are favorable through June and the ground stays reasonably mellow he can do good work with such a cultivator. —Approximately one-third of the ' capital invested in the industries of . Pennsylvania is in agriculture, says Secretary of Agriculture, F. P. Wil- lets, in commenting on the importance of the farming industry in the State. Figures for 1920 show that the total ; valuation of all farm land, farm build- ings, livestock and farm equipment i was $1,729,000,000 while the capital ‘invested in other industries including public service companies, food manu- facturing, steel, mines, lumber, paper, , textiles, chemicals, clay, glass, stone ‘ products, etc., was $5,799,500,000. The ; farm home, however, is included in the farm investment which makes the total figure not entirely comparable : with other industries. Because of the prominence of Penn- sylvania as an industrial state, it is frequently overlooked that agriculture is one of the major industries, rank- ing second among all the industries in | the amount of capital invested. The i metal and metal products industry | leads with $2,110,000,000 invested. —A recent investigation of the hog- cholera situation by the United States Department of Agriculture reveals surprising carelessness among farm- ers in dealing with the disease. The effectiveness of the preventive-serum treatment has given many swine own- ers a feeling of security which is not real. “Yet without proper safe- guards,” declares Dr. U. G. Houck, in charge of hog-cholera control, ‘the ' disease is just as dangerous today as it ever was.” For safety against this disease it is necessary to observe certain precau- tions. Isolate all new stock, keeping it apart from other hogs for a period of at least two weeks. This precau- tion applies especially to hogs pur- chased at public sales or other sources likely to spread infection. Permit no sick hogs to roam at large. Keep hog lots properly fenced and maintain the fences in good repair. Burn or bury deeply the carcasses of animals that die on the farm. Dead animals lying above ground attract dogs. Many outbreaks have been traced to portions of diseased carcasses carried from place to place by dogs. Do not at- tempt to hide the existence of the dis- ease, since every hidden center of in- fection is a menace to surrounding farms. The preventive-serum treatment is a dependable insurance against hog cholera, but this treatment, it should be remembered, is a preventive and not a cure. By adopting the foregoing safeguards swine owners may largely ' reduce the loss from hog cholera which last year exceeded $20,000,000. —Prof. Joseph Oskamp of the Cor- nell College of Agriculture gives the following directions for training young grapevines: “At planting time, and the year after, young grapevines should be cut back to two buds and tied to stakes for support. The second summer each vine should send out a cane long enough to be tied to the top wire of 'a trellis. This trellis, if the Kniffin system of training is used, should have two wires, one at a height of five feet and the other three feet from | the ground. Number 9 or 10 wire is generally used and strung on posts set 25 feet apart. | “In the summer after the third | pruning, canes will develop from the | one tall trunk left, and all of these ‘ should be removed in the winter prun- ' ing except two at the top wire and two at the lower wire; these four canes should be tied to the wires to the right angles to the upright trunk, and should be cut back to four buds each.” It is always a problem to avoid barking the tree trunks and tearing the branches when plowing and disk- ing an orchard. This is especially true when the work is done with teams and the ordinary field implements. To solve this problem, some of the manu- facturers have given special attention to the development of orchard imple- ments. When these implements are used with a tractor that may be kept under perfect control when used un- der trees very little damage is done. Special plows for orchard use are built very low, without levers extend- ing above the frame, with the axle on the underside of the beams and with a very narrow truck. The en- tire design to reduce the barking of the trees to a minimum and make it possible to avoid catching limbs in operation. Both moldboard and disk plows may be secured for orchard use. In localities where the soil becomes extremely hard or in localities where there is a sticky gumbo type of soil the disk type of plow will give better results than the moldboard type.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers