Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, July 29, 1927, Image 2
ET EEE RS Dewan, Beliefonte, Pa., July 29, 1927. EE ——————— THE ONLY UTOPIA. There's many a man in the quiet old place, ‘And there’s many a woman too; Some old and some young; some married some not; And the children are not a few. A doctor is there, but he never is called. To go out in sunshine or rain, To visit a patient, for no one is sick, And there’s no one who suffers pain. A lawyer is there, but his books are laid by He neither disputes nor debates; He's never consulted on matters of law, For nobody litigates. The preacher is out of his pulpit, too; No longer he turns the page Of the sacred book; and he has not made A pastoral call for an age. The youth and maid are there, side by side The roses of June fill the place; But no word is said that will kindle his eye, Nor bring the sweet blush to her face. The women who're there never gossip or scold, Nor wish for new gowns in their pride; And they never are older than when they first came And none are dissatisfied. The wives are as placid as mornings in May, And they never complain of their state; The tempers of husbands are always serene And never a man is out late. And so many children are found in the place! But no baby frets or cries ; And every small boy is as still as a mouse, And each little girl is likewise, The soldier is there, but his fighting is done, The sailor remains on the shore, The laborer rests every day in the week, The merchant has shut up his store. There sickness and sorrow and pain are unknown; There all men are equal; there rest Has come to the weary, and no other place In all the wide earth is so blest. Would you know what this place of all places is? Where discords of life find sure rest Then go to the graveyard, and there may walk In the streets of this City of Peace. —New York Sun. ef teen. STOP THIEF. Accidents happen to the most care- ul persons. No one had more ex- quisite table manners than Jim Cran- dall; I mean to say that at the table, as everywhere else, his deportment attracted attention, which is the sure proof that it wns perfect. It was no fault of his that the meringue of the lemon pie, with which he had finished a very satisfactory luncheon at the Charlton, had spotted, stained, and irrevocably ruined his scarf. Crandall did not berate the waiter whose lack of dexterity had caused the hideous blot upon an otherwise lmpeccable get-up. Instead, he smil- ed pleasantly. “Considering the number you wait on each day, and the num- ber of dishes you place on each table, I can only marvel at the few mishaps that occur,” he said. “There,” commented the waiter, as Crandall, having left behind his scarf, departed, “is a read gentleman. One of the quiet kind that doesn’t expect 2 waiter to be any more perfect at his trade than the patrons are at theirs.” The girl in the check-room smiled gaily at him. The starter outside grinned cheerfully ang hastened to summon a taxi, Ce ind, thank you,” smiled randall. Ve an erran Ill walk.” iw The starter saluted and beamed upon the sinewy figure of Crandall as he moved toward Fifth Avenue. swell guy,” said the starter to a porter. “You'd never think, from . the easy way he acts, that he’s richer than mud.” “The real thing,” nodded the porter sagely. “Don’t never put on no airs. It’s the phony ones that bull around and make a racket and want people to notice them.” Crandall, unaware of the friendly comment his mere passing aroused, turned up the Avenue. More than one woman cast a second glance at this personable man whose blond hair and bright blue eyes made him seem a bit younger than he really was. But, twirling his stick gaily, Crandall looked neither to the right nor to the left. The very directness of his pro- gress seemed to indicate an aloofness not without attraction. at the door of a department store. At the men’s neckwear counter Crandall selected a rust-colored scarf and walked to a mirror, before which he could arrange it in place of the ruined ore he wore, He was giving to the knot the final deft pull when in the mirror he noted something that made him forget the matter of his grooming. A girl before the ladies’ hosiery counter was deliberately stuffing sev- eral pairs of silk stockings in the sleeve of her coat. Crandall pursed his lips; there was no possible mis- take. He was looking upon a shop- lifter who was plying her profession with a sure dexterity and coolness that was marvelous. And now the salesgirl turned around and handed to the pilfering customer a small package. The customer nodded her thanks and turned carelessly away. So far, in the mirror, Crandall had been able to glimpse only the curve of her throat and the line of her jaw; now, fleetingly, he caught a glimpse of her full face. Perhaps, according to classic stand- ards, she was not beautiful, but she was certainly lovely as measured by the eyes of Crandall. He turned that he might see the face itself and not its reflection. The wide-brimmed hat hid her hair, but the jet-black eye- you of people He turned in brows indicated that the hair would be dark. And Crandall liked brunet- tes. Her eyes were black; or perhaps they were deep violet; lashes prevented certainty as to that. Her face was oval and Crandall was sure that the redness of her lips was rot entirely due to art. It was amo- i ‘can see a way out.” bile, expressive mouth, and the cur- the curling ling smile that now adorned it was proof of the steadiness of her nerves. It was, he told himself, a distinctly kissable mouth. The nose above was high-bridged, intelligent, hinting at daring. If the girl of his dreams, the girl | with whom he could fall in love, had stepped right out of the land of im- aginings, she would look like this girl. Figure, face, and that indefin- able quality which he termed “alive- ness”—she had these. And this incarnation of his dreams ! placed reflected faintly her features. | was a petty thief, a cheap shoplifter who stole stockings from department stores. That such dexterity of hand t ; instantly, was the only woman in the i my husband. | | i | i ! | | A. could pawn for money enough to keep you another day or sa” She looked | up at him now almost defiantly. ! “What're you going to do? Starve? Or steal?” | Crandall nodded gravely. “I'm not judging you, or criticizing. But after you've had luncheon, maybe we ! Suspicion crept into her eyes. “If you think I'm that kind 22 ; “I'm going to surprise you,” he said quietly. “I think you're the loveliest, bravest thing I ever saw. | And I know you're not that kind.” i He meant it. Not prone to acting | on impulse, this was the exception that proved the rule. This, he knew | world. Before his eager gaze she | blushed, averted her eyes. The win- i dow beside which their table was | She dabbed at her eyes with a hand- | kerchief, “I'm a perfect fright,” she said, | and such coolness of nerve should be | “and before I let a man say pe applied to such miserable ends! He glanced at the salesgirl, but she was oblivious to the theft that had occurred while her back was turned no floor-walker or store detective seemed to have noticed the offense. And there was not the least hurry in the pilferer’s gait sauntered through the store. Close behind her followed Crandall. | | : i Crandall rose too. | sign of afternoon hour was deserted. as she dall stepped closer to her. | | things to me, I'm going to powder my nose.” She pushed back her chair and rose, | Save for a waiter | gossiping with the clerk at the cigar | counter, the dining-room at this mid- ; Cran- “When you come back,” he said, | and his voice was hoarse, “I’m going He noticed now that the girl’s coat | to say prettier things than that.” | was worn and out-moded; there was a darn just above the heel of her left | instead, stocking; her shoes were a bit worn. Crandall felt a welling of sympathy in his heart. Who knew what ex- tremities of fortune had driven her to this recklessness? At the revolving door that led to Fifth Avenue, Crandall looked back over his shoulder. There was still none of that noise or bustle which would have characterized discovery of the girl’s crime. Assured, he stepped out upon the sidewalk and followed the girl. He could not withhold ad- miration for her cool demeanor. Cross-town traffic halted her a block from the store. Crandall, standing right beside her, could observe none of that tensity which should be part and parcel of the manner of one who had just committed a serious viola- tion of the law. He touched her on the elbow. And now that easy looseness, that live grace, left her. She seemed to grow an inch in height as she wheel- ed. Her face was deathly white and in the violet eyes lurked sudden fear. “I saw what you did in the store,” said Crandall quietly. For a moment, as rigidity left her body and she seemed to sag, Crandall thought she would faint; then, as the furious red rushed back into her cheeks, he thought she’d scream. But she did neither; instead she looked him up and down. “Bull?” she asked. “If you are they're getting fancy downtown. You don’t look like nobody trying to be somebody. How long have they been getting their flatties imported from Oxford ?” He shook his head. “A Harvard accent does.sound like Oxford, some- times,” he admitted. “But I'm not a detective.” The sweet mouth hardened in a sneer that ill became its gentle con- tours. “Then what’s the big idea? Are you one of the partners in the joint, or are you one of those people that are always burning up with a sense of duty?” “I'm just a man who sees a girl in trouble,” he told her. “So that’s your lay, is it?” she de- manded. “Well, listen, some can be made by money and others by tossing a scare into them, but I don’t belong to either class. There's just two things you can do—holier for the cops or meander on your way.” But her bravery was feigned; even as she glared defiantly at him the sneer left the sweet lips and they trembled. Her body swayed, tottered, and she would have fallen but for Crandall’s arm. The cross-town traffic halted in obedience to the officer’s whistle. A taxi, bound up-town, veered in to the curb in response to Crandall’s quick- ly lifted stick. Toe weak to resist, the girl permitted Crandall to urge her into the machine. “Straight up the Avenue,” said Crandall to the chauffeur. The girl shrank into her corner. “What're you going to do?” she ask. ed. Crandall leaned forward and call- el to the driver. “Take us to the Blenmore,” he ordered. He sat back and spoke to the girl. “Get you a meal first,” he replied. He had seen hungry people before; now that he looked at the girl he saw that her face was drawn and there was an almost transparent quality to her skin that could only mean lack of proper nourishment. She huddled in the corner now and hid her face in her hands. All the careless courage had evaporated from her bearing. Crandall felt a wave of pity that was almost tender sweep over him. He patted her hand reas. suringly. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Her hands came down from her face and she looked at him. “I'm not crying,” she declared. “At least I'm trying not to. But when you’re half starved—” “Not another word,” he command- ed, “until you’ve eaten something.” They were at the Blenmore and Crandall, feeing the taxi man, pro- ceeded with the girl into the main dining-room. A head waiter bowed them to a table and Crandall, real- izing that this was no time for epi- curean choice, ordered soup, a steak, potatoes and a salad. Lest the girl be embarrassed, he ordered for two, despite the fact that he had lunched sufficiently half an hour ago. Yon seem pretty white,” said the girl. “Don’t care to tell me all about it, do you?” he inquired. She shrugged slim shoulders. “What’s there to tell? You get to a point where you've pawned every- thing you own, where you're behind in your room rent and haven't eaten for twenty-four hours. Then you see a chance to take some things that you She didn’t draw away from him; | she swayed toward him. Her | head was tilted back. and he breathed | the perfume of her ably. the red lips, breath; unbeliev- sweetly parted now, brushed his own. She stepped swiftly away from him. “In payment for the pretty speech, and as advance payment for the luncheon,” she laughed. “But | pretty speeches should have a pretty object; I shall try to beautify myself.” Crandall. his heaxt thumping as he had not believed it could, watched her till she disappeared toward the cloak- room, Ten minutes later the waiter ar- rived with the soup; fifteen minutes after that Crandall’s smiling patience had turned to suspicion. He told the waiter that his companion was not feeling well; but inquiry developed the fact that no one answering the girl’s description had been seen in the cloak- room. Abashed by the waiter’s meaning grin, Crandall asked for the check and reached for his pocketbook. It should have been in the inner pocket of his jacket. It wasn’t there, nor was it anywhere else about his per- son. Fortunately, a trousers pocket goniained enough money to pay the ill. Humiliated, bruised even in his spirit, he left the hotel. The oldest trick in the world? As she had lean- ed against him, her deft fingers had robbed him. And, confound it all, he not only had been going to say pretty things to her, but he had been intend- ing to ask her to marry him. Silly, insane, but a fact. In the apartment which he main- tained on Park Avenue he lounged, disgruntled, miserably unhappy. He wished that in his wallet had been a card bearing his name. and address, but it had contained nothing of the sort. If the girl repented she would not know where to find him, how to communicate with him. But this was silly; she wouldn’t repent. He gave up hope of ever seeing her again, but though hope had died, he knew that the fierce flame of desire would never die. He had always scoffed at love at first sight, but it had come to him, and that the girl had treated him shabbily, to put it idly, made no difference to that ove. But when, several weeks later, he accepted an invitation to spend the week-end with some recent acquaint- ances at their country place in Con- necticut, he had lost the frantic ner- vousness that had first led him to peer under the brim of every wide-brim- med hat he passed. Something had entered his life and then passed out of it; he was enough of a philosopher to accept the fact and cease repining over it, = It was the usual dull week-end party; Crandall played no golf, but the swimming was good and the af- ternoon and evening bridge games were pleasant. He had arrived on Friday night and it was Sunday morning when, returning unexpected- ly to his room—his host’s cigars, while excellent, were a bit too strong for him—he encountered the girl of his dreams. There, in a maid’s uniform, arrang- ing the toilet articles on his dresser, she stood. Crandall half leafied, half | fell against the wall. She spoke first. “I suppose you’ll tell about me,” she said. He smiled. “Do you know, I hadn’t expected that your first words, if ever we met again, would be of fear.” “When you're in my line,” said the girl, “yon have to be afraid.” “Then youre still in the same line?” demanded Crandall. She flushed. “Somehow—maybe be- cause I gave you a raw deal—I don’t feel like lying to you,” she replied. “Are you working at it in this house?” he asked. Despair crept into her voice. “Will you turn me up?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.” His voice broke queerly. “My Lord, for years before I met you, I dreamed of you. And since I did meet you, I've thought . of nothing else. And you ask if I'd give you to the police. That’s as crazy an idea as the one that’s in my own head this minute.” “What’s that?” she asked. “I'm wondering if, this should let you get away, on any pre- text. I'm wondering if I shouldn’ take you straight to a minister and marry you.” “You'd marry a thief?” she asked. “Why not?” he countered. Slowly the flush left her face until she was as deathly pale as on that occasion when he had half shoved, half lifted her into a taxicab. “I'm a thief, all right; but I'm not rotten enough to marry an honest man and disgrace him,” she stated. From the hall outside came an ir- time, I rascible, almost hysterical voice, “Ella!” it called. The girl started. “Is Ella your name?” dall, “It’s the name they give me here,” she answered. “It’s as good as any for a maid.” = Nearer and louder came the voice; it was that of Mrs. Curtis, his petu- lant hostess, Crandall knew. of the room. Ignoring Crandall, she glared at the girl. “You thief!” she cried. “But this is one time a thief goes to jail.” Crandall looked at her. “What do you mean?” he demanded. Mrs. Curtis laughed. “You're like If they're pretty they can do no wrong. But she’s the only one of the servants that’s been on this floor this morning, and there’s a neck- lace gone from my room, and Jane Williams has lost three rings and a pair of earrings, and her husband has lost seven hundred dollars, and all the other guests have lost something.” “But that doesn’t prove this girl has stolen it,” protested Crandall. Mrs. Curtis laughed “We'll soon find out.” She spoke to the girl, who cowered by the dresser. “Come along with me to my room. I'll get help and search you.” Appealingly, the girl looked at Crandall. But, his face hard, he ig- nored her unspoken plea. “You're perfectly right, Mrs. Cur- | tis,” he said. He stood aside while the girl meek- | ly followed her captress out of the room and down the hall. Half an hour later an excited group gathered in the living-room down- stairs. Crandall was the only one present who preserved a judicial calm. When the others had exhausted their stores of angry phrases, he made himself : heard. “Has everything been recovered?” he asked. “Everything is on my dressing- | table up-stairs,” replied Mrs. Curtis. “Then what’s to be gained by hav- ing the girl arrested?” asked Cran- dall. “Of course, I understand there’s a duty toward society involved in the matter. But there’s also a duty to- ward yourself, Mrs. Curtis, and your guests. Everyone here will have to appear in court as a witness. Every- one will receive that unpleasant news- paper notoriety that follows an af- fair like this. The girl probably is scared to death. I'd simply send her packing. It’s the part = of common sense and also the part of charity.” Mr. Curtis nodded agreement. Oth- ers fell in line. Ten minutes later the thief walked down the driveway, car- rying a shabby suitcase that held her poor effects. Crandall cut out of a rubber of bridge. “Think I'll go for a little ride,” he announced. “Guess I'll put on a sweater; there's a bit of a fog coming in, and it’s chilly.” Where the driveway, through the trees that hid it from the house, emerged into the main road, Crandall stopped his car. The girl of his dreams looked over her shoulder, fright in her glance. pi dump in,” he ordered sternly. “What “you want?” she asked. “Well, for one thing, it’s a three- mile walk to the station,” he told her. “Jump in.’ Meekly, she obeyed him. ed to the right. “The station’s the other way,” she told him. “Sure thing,” he agreed. “And that’s the first place they’ll go when they start looking for us.” “What d’you mean ?” che demanded. “Mean? I mean that they piled all the stuff you’d carefully collected in a heap on Mrs. Curtis’s dressing-table and that I have it. It may be ten minutes and it may be two hours be- fore the stuff is missed. We have a little start, but not too much. But it’s the chance that I’ve been waiting for for six months, East and managed to break into mon- eyed circles.” “For the love of heaven, the crook too?” she cried. “Surest thing in the world,” laughed. “Then why didn’t you tell first time I met you ?” “Now that would have been a wise thing to do, wouldn't it?” he laughed. “Say. what’s your name?’ “Ellen Daley,” she answered. “Ellen Crandall it’s going to be,” he declared. With perfect love and trust, she snuggled closer to him; his free arm went about her waist. “I fell for you the minute I saw you,” she said, “but I thought you were way over my head.” “I fell for you the same way,” he said, “and if you hadn’t been so hasty that day at the Blenmore, we’d have fixed it up that very afternoon.” She sighed happily. “Ain’t it won- derful when two people are so—so— congenial ?” she said. For love has no rules. Morality, honor, virtue—these count for little. If it only existed among the perfect, how soon the race would die.—By Arthur Somers Roche. He turn- are you on he me so the Monthly Report of Cow Testing As- sociation. Cow testor Harold Brumgart sub- mits the following report for the month of June: Herds tested, 2; cows in milk, 239; cows dry, 24; No. cows producing over 40 lbs. fat, 39; over 50 lbs. fat, 9; No. cows producing over 1,000 lbs. milk, 70; over 1,200 lbs milk, 36. The highest producing cows in but- terfat for month: Owner Lbs milk Fat = Lbs. Ward Krape 1461 3.4 49.6 A. C. Hartle & Bro. 1500 3.8 57.0 Edwin Way 1470 3.8 55.8 Nolan Bros. 1773 3.1 54.9 Paul Bradford 2031 27 54.8 Clyde Bechdel 1371 3.9 53.4 Boone Bros. 1419 3.7 52.5 Claude Bechdel 1513 34 51.4 B. A. Sampsel 1209 4.5 51.4 Claude Bechdel 1131 4.5 50.8 —Egg white is a good remedy for slight burns or scalds. It excludes the air and gives instant relief. asked Cran- | And | now Mrs. Curtis had reached the door i scornfully. having wound | ! FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. i “How much joy and comfort You can all bestow, ‘If you scatter sunshine . Everywhere you go. Scatter sunshine all along your way, Cheer and bless and brighten every pass- ing day.” | —When babies cannot get breast milk it is safer to feed them upon dried milk rather than dilution of ,cow’s milk. Fresh clean, pure cow’s milk is a very good food for a baby i when mother’s milk is not available, i but, unfortunately, the milk ordinar. tily sold in towns is often far from jclean and contains large numbers of germs. Such milk, especially in sum- ; mer, will not keep a day without be- | coming sour, and is apt to cause di- | gestive troubles. Dried milk contains | fewer germs than ordinary town milk, ; and is less likely to contain the germs t of infectious diseases. | not multiply in dried {in ordinary milk. { Dried milk keeps well so long as it is kept dry. Only as much should be made up at a time as is required for ; ene feed, and there need, therefore, be no waste. Dried milk has been largely em- ‘ployed in connection with infant wel- fare centres in England, particularly {in Leicester and Sheffield, and Dr. i F. J. H. Couths, in his report to the {local government board says that the milk as they do : experience of the last 12 or 14 years i shows that dried milk is one of the ' most satisfactory forms of cow’s milk for the feeding of infants. Pasteurized, sterilized or cow’s milk are useful foods if proper- ly prepared, but they have disadvant- ages as compared with dried milk. Unsweetened full cream condensed milk is also good for baby feeding, but when mixed with water in the | proportions some times recommended jit is too weak for satisfactory nour- tishment. Sweetened condensed milk | is often used for baby feeding. Dried ‘milk has the advantage, when made up with the proper proportion of wa- | ter, of containing the essential food ‘elements in a proportion more suit- able than full cream sweetened con- densed milk. The latter, if made up So as to give the right proportion of | fat, has a very excessive amount of sugar. The baby usually becomes fat and flabby, and is liable to suffer from diseases, such as rickets. These risks attach to other infant foods contain- ing excess of sugar. So-called “malt- ed” milks, like sweetened condensed milks, contain much too low a propor- tion of fat as compared with sugar. They differ from sweetened condensed milk in the nature of the sugar. In condensed milk this is mainly sucrose; in malted milk it is largely maltose derived from the malted cereal. The ordinary patent infants’ foods, con- taining large quantities of unaltered i starch, are worse than sweetened con- | densed milk or malted milk. They are (not fit for use for a baby older than 1 Seven months. { It is not surprising, therefore, that iat official infant welfare clinics dried ; milk is becoming used to an increased | extent as, on the whole, the most con- | venient and most suitable food when { babies cannot get breast milk. In | feeding babies on dried-milk, the fuil | cream variety should alone be used. Commencing ‘with one teaspoonful of dried milk in three tablespoonfuls of water in the first or second weeks of i life, it can be rapidly increased to one ‘and a half or two teaspoonfuls of dried milk in from four to five table- | spoonfuls of water by the end of the | second month, and so on to five tea- I spoonfuls of dried milk in 10 table- | { spoonfuls of water at the age of 5! ‘or 6 months. Fears were at one time | expressed that the use of dried milk might result in scurvy or rickets. | Prolonged experience at infant wel- | fare centres has refuted this; but as lan extra precaution to avoid the pos- i sibility of scurvy, particularly if dried 'milk is to be used for a long time, a little fruit juice, such as orange or | grape juice, may be given once or twice a week. Dried milk is also a i valuable food for nursing mothers. ' One of the distinct surprises of our | | vital statistics here in the East in re- (cent years was the discovery that the | foreignborn mothers raised a larger | proportion of their children than the | native-born mothers. Almost needless | to say, the native-born mothers, in a very large proportion of cases, live ‘in rather comfortable circumstances | and all of them have the advantage of | our public school educational system land of the educative influence of con- | tact with other native fellow-citizens {who have intellectual advantages. | The foreign-born mother, on the con. (trary, in the vast majority of cases, lives in crowded slums; she has often lacked the educational opportunities afforded to the native-born woman as she grew up, and until comparatively recent years she depended, in the care of her children, on the age-long fam- ily traditions which had come down from generations and the origin of obscurity. In spite of this difference, with so many details of it apparently to the advantage of the native-born mother and the serious disadvantage of the foreign-born mother, in” both New York and Boston, the foreign-born mother raises one in seven more of her children than does the native-born mother. When this fact was first re- vealed by the statistics in New York it was very seriously doubted, and it was not until they had been confirmed by the vitality and mortality records of the neighboring Eastern city that it would be quite credited. Of course the principal reason for the differ- ence in the survival of the two classes of children is that the foreign-born mother almost invariably nurses her infant, while the native-born mother almost invariably does not. This fact alone is probably sufficient to account for the difference in the mortality. NUT SAUCE FOR ICE CREAM. Boil together two cups water and three-fourths cup each, chopped figs and sugar for fifteen minutes. Re- move from fire and stir in three- fourths cup thick maple syrup and one-half cup chopped hickory nuts. Serve .on individual portions of ice cream, Also germs do boiled ' which was often sunk in the greatest | FARM NOTES. —A chicken incubator never feels worried when it hatches duck eggs and its offspring go in swimming. : —Keep the cultivator going in the young strawberry bed. The next two months determine the 1928 strawber- ry crop. —What have you in the way of meat on the farm that will bring 40 to 50 cents per pound? Early broilers will do it. —Bulbs for the fall planting should be ordered now. ocure a supply of catalogs and study them carefully for your favorite varieties. —To hatch a desirable chick, hatch- ing eggs should weigh between 24 and ounces per dozen, and should be uniform in shape, size and color. —Because of their insectivorous nature, guineas require a large pro- ‘portion of animal food, also green food, and they must have plenty of water to drink. —Trapnesting is the only accurate method of determining the exact egg production of the hen. It is economi. cal only for poultrymen doing careful, accurate pedigree work. —Beware of June hatched chicks, They never pay for their feed, and are more liable to gaps and cholera, Pen the settlers up in the shade with food, water, and a vigorous young cockerel. —Sometimes a flock is slow about laying, even when everything seems right for eggs. If yours is lazying “around that way, try a wet mash once daily for a week or two. It often does the work. —Many an automobile is being bought on the farm and paid for with the profits from the farm flock. —In feeding poultry the heavy , grain feed should come at the even- {Ing meal. The birds should have all the grain they will clean up at this ime. .—Primary reliance on the preven- (tive serum treatment is advised by i veterinary officials of the bureau of { animal industry, United States De- | partment of Agriculture, to prevent a | recurrence of the serious hog-cholera i losses encountered late in 1926. | Though sanitation, local precautions, | prompt quarantine and other aids in | preventing the disease are helpful, the | most dependable safeguard is immun- i ity obtained by the preventive serum | treatment. | —In discussing the care of pigs newly born, Professor Morton of the Colorado Agricultural college says: i “Pigs should be taken out into the sun ' Just as soon as the weather will per- . mit, and the sow should be compelled . to come some distance for her feed, so | that she will keep up her exercise. If ! she starts eating pigs at birth or | shortly after, it is probably due to i extreme constipation, and = feverish ; condition as a result of improper feed- ing or lack of exercise, A dose of i salts will do much more good than i feeding raw pork or meat of any kind. “Where a sow has too many pigs some of them may be transferred to another sow, as many as she can han- dle, provided this is done within a few days after the sow with the smaller number has farrowed, so that the ex- ‘tra pigs put upon her can develop , teats for themselves.” —Purdue university and the federal bureau of animal industry, in casting : about to find new uses for the oats | crop, conducted an experiment at La- | fayette to determine the value of oats lin fattening Western lambs during ‘the past winter. Previous lamb-feed- ;ing results had indicated that oats. i Was not equal to corn for the fatten- {ing process, but in this case, with | cottonseed meal added to the ration, | ory satisfactory results were obtain. led. The lambs fed on oats and cotton- ! seed meal gained 1.2 pounds more in 84 days than did the lambs fed on j corn and cottonseed meal. Corn silage and clover hay were fed in addition { to the other feeds named. It has been i definitely demonstrated that a legume (hay is essential in feeding lambs on | the dry lot, although the amount fed jmay be small. Two feeds of clover thay every five days are enough to keep the lambs in good condition, ac- cording to the results of this experi- ment. Compared with the lot fed clover hay daily, the lot receiving a limited amount of this feed made cheaper gains and finished just as well. The oats lot required less hay than the corn lot. —Cornstalks, the largest single item of waste of America’s largest industry, farming, have had their challenge answered not by an Amer- ican scientist but by a Hungarian. Dr. Bela Dorner, head of the labora- tories of the Royal Hungarian rail- ways, has recently come to this coun- try with a process which he states is commercially practicable for the utili- zation of the stalks in the manufac- ture of paper, rayon, auto finishes and many other products for which wood pulp at present is the only sat- isfactory basis. A number of New York capitalists have become interested in the possi- bilities of Doctor Dorner’s method, and a prominent consulting chemist retained by them has reported favor- ably on it, after a series of large- scale tests. It has long been known that corn- stalk substance is chemically and physically suited for the needs now met only by wood pulp, but certain practical difficulties prevented the de- velopment of a stalk-pulp industry. One of the chief obstacles in processes hitherto tried has been the necessity for cutting out the hard cross-plates at the joints, which made too great an expense for commercial develop- ment. In the Dorner process, how- ever, the whole stalk is ground up, and it is claimed that the hard parts 1 make no trouble in the later manufae- | turing stages.