Bema adn
Bellefonte, Pa., February 3, 1928.
IMMORTALITY.
There is no death. The winds of yester-
da
Have id to stir the grasses otherwhere.
Nothing shall die. The rose that bloomed
last May
Will wake next spring as sweet,
subtly fair.
as
The ripened seed that left its withered
pod
But fell to earth to sleep beneath the
SNOWS ;
It is not dead; nay, in the plan of God
It will revive again when summer glows.
Nothing shall die. What though the dark-
ness falls
Across dim eyes that gaze their last
on light!
Look up, oh Heart, to where the splen-
did halls
Of God's great palace shine beyond the
night.
There is no death. The flower may
droop and fade,
The ripe seed fall, the wind be hushed
“to sleep;
The night will pass, and, gloriously ar-
rayed,
The Day Star burn above the eastern
steep.
--By Will Spencer in The Churchman
WHAT HE NEEDED
WAS TROUBLE.
Romance is dead. Machinery,
transportation, increased population
and a lot of other things combined to
murder dear old Romance. This is
the age of materialism, of matter-of-
factness, of prosaic dulness and such.
That is, if you believe a lot of dodoes
with hardened arteries, softened
brains, fallen arches and rising golf
score. Myself, I take a look at Lind-
bergh, and I don’t believe them.
Will realism kindly take a walk
around the block while we chatter of
love, kisses and similar matters?
“The trouble with you, Wilming-
ton,” said Doc Kilbane, “is that you
haven’t any trouble.”
Young Frank Wilmington moved
impatiently.
“Come on, Doe,” he pleaded, “for-
get that sort of stuff. My mind is
o. k. I tell you it’s the tummy.”
“And I tell you it isn’t anything of
the sort,” retorted the Doctor. “You're
sound as a bell. Heart, liver, lungs,
blood-pressure—everything fine.”
“Yeah, everything great,” sneered
Wilmington. “And I don’t sleep worth
a hoot, and I don’t eat, and I’m bored
with books, and I hate the theatre,
and I don’t want to swim, or ride, or
play golf, or motor, or—anything.”
“How about snuggling up to a girl,
slipping the right arm about her lis-
scm waist, and whispering a lot of
good old nothings into her shell-like
ear, eh?” suggested Doc. Kilbane.
Wilmington snorted in disgust.
“Listen, Doc, you're as good a man as
old Freud himself. Do I act as if I
had any repressions? I tell you it
must be the liver.”
“And I tell you that a bed of roses
with every thorn extracted is bad
medicine,” replied Kilbane. “You’ve
ten—or is it twenty millions? You've '
a yacht, motors galore, town house,
country places, shooting-boxes and .
Lord knows what all besides.
money is in tax-free securities.
have a cellar filled with pre-war stuff,
so that you don’t even need to worry
Your
You
liked the location, hesitated a mo-
ment, then settled down to rest.
Trouble, Doc. Kilbane had said.
That was what he needed. How did
one go about finding trouble? Sure-
ly the Doctor had not meant that his
patient should pick a fight with Tun-
ney. . :
wee Wilmington studied Kil-
bane’s utterance. The physician had
given no advice; he simply had made
a statement. Well, it was obvious
that Wilmington couldn’t, in sanity,
get into trouble. But—and this was
the idea that had found parking space
in a cell of his brain—why couldn’t
he pretend ios i? had trouble, try
to live accordingly?
Here he was, so bored with the
seashore that he’d come into town.
But when he came to New York, what
did he do? Dropped into the club,
saw the same old gang, those of them
that were held to the city during the
week, heard them discuss the same
subjects in the same voices. ...
Kitty Kennedy nudged Jane Martin.
“Lamp the new sheik,” she whispered
excitedly. “If it wasn’t that I thought
my Ted was the grandest boy on
earth, I hate to tell you what that
slim young devil could do to me if
he caught me in one of them weak
South Ca’lina Oldhams please; slaves
and willing moments.”
Jane Martin glanced toward the
dining-room door. Mrs. Oldham—
before the war and a huge plan-
tation, but now reduced to running
this Twenty-third Street - boarding-
house—was ushering into the room
a tall, slim young chap, obviously
dressed in ready-made apparel, but
nevertheless seeming the best-
groomed man in the room.
“We're just one big family here,
Mr. Johnson,” she was saying. “I like
all my patrons to feel that they're
my guests, and that we’re having a
happy house-party. Now I ’ll make
you acquainted with everyone.”
The only vacant place at the table
was next to Jane Martin. The new-
comer, presented to everyone, slipped
into the chair next the pretty blonde.
Did I say “pretty?” Excuse me,
everybody; a slip of the typewriter.
Look her over. Shingled hair that
fluffed a bit at the temples. Violet
eyes shaded by the blackest lashes
you ever saw in your life. Straight
nose and curving lips. Round sweet
throat, slightly sloping shoulders, and
from there down matters that would
make Mr. Ziegfield stand right up and
holler.
A figure, if you understand me.
Curves and such, if you get what I
mean. The man that didn’t want to
kiss her had something wrong with
him, and old Doc Kilbane himself is
our authority that there was nothing
wrong with Frank Wilmington.
Ever see a landslide? It starts
with a pebble slipping, then a rock
then a mass of earth, and then the
old mountain starts nose-diving down.
That’s how it was with Wilmington.
He found the footing uneasy as he
stood in the doorway with Mrs. Old-
ham, he was losing his balance as he
sat down, and by the tine the lamb
was served he was plunging headlong
to destructiomn.
But uot slone! Right with him,
the air rushing by her, was Jane
Martin. Made for each other, every-
one at the table was thinking. Neth-
ing coulu stop a match there. Tt was
just too darned obvious. Handsome
dark young man, beautiful blond gi:l.
Send for the minister and have cone
Later on that evening Jane Martin
studied herself in the not-too-bright
mirror of her hall room. She tried
te roud in her eves the answer to a
questicn, which bad already been sap-
vlied by ker heart. And at the same
about where the next case of Scotch "time, 12 a singlav room on the next
is coming from. You need trouble,
young mun, trouble.”
“And so you suggest a girl? 2
sneered Wilmington.
floor abcve, Fiark Wilmington stad-
ied his reactions.
Well, Doc Kilbane had sucegsted
trouble as ar antidete to his ailment,
“There’s more trouble in one hun- | whatever itl was, and trouble had
dred and twelve pounds of girl than | come instantly. He'd decided to meet
in a ton of dynamite,” chuckled the a different class of people.
older man. He lighted a cigar and
beamed upon the patient. “If a man
has everything in the world he wants,
he soon wants to want something.
That’s you. A little trouble, not too
much, but just enough to take your
mind on a little excursion. Get out
of here; I've really sick people wait-
ing to see me.” .
Wilmington picked up his stick,
clapped his panama on his curly head
and left the dector’s office. He walked
disgruntedly, up the Avenue and to
his house. A servant, on watch for
him, opened the door; his hat and
stick were taken from him. When he
reached his bedroom he found things
|
|
|
|
{
Under
the name of Frank Johnson he’d rent-
ed a room from Mrs. Oldham. He
was, ne professed, a young chap from
New Hampshire, in the city looking
for a job. And here, right off the
bat, he’d met the one and only girl
in all the world.
“Marry you?” said Jane a week
later. “But we’ve only known each
otber seven days, and—"
“What difference does that make if
we love each other?” demanded
Frank.
His arms encircled her; her averted
head turned toward him, their lips
met, and if you’ve ever been kissed
i you know the rest.
for the evening all laid out. His bath |
“I hate to think of any man giving
was drawn for him; studs were in his you dictation,” said Frank finally.
shirt. The late afternoon—or- early
evening—cocktail was all prepared i jealous of the boss, are you?
He didn’t even |dear boss.
and handed to him.
have to shake it up.
He waved the valet from the room 'not. Only,
and sat down on the edge of his bed.
He’d been feeling like the deuce for
weeks—maybe months. No interest
in anything. Ate mechanically, drank
because someone handed him the
glass, and tossed in bed most of the
night. Yet Doc Kilbane—and there
wasn’t a better doctor—had examined
Bim exhaustively and pronounced him
t.
Could there be anything in the
doctor’s analysis? Did he need a bit
of trouble? Was life so well oiled
that it was becoming a burden? No,
he didn’t have any morbid thoughts.
His mind was, as he'd told Kilbane,
o. k. But just the same, with money
enough to satisfy every possible de-
sire on earth, why on earth couldn’t
he enjoy himself ? Why did it hap-
pen that he had no desires?
Girls? Well, the old Doc was on
the wrong track there. Gosh), he
knew plenty of corking girls. But
they didn’t interest him. Well enough
to dance with, or sit beside at a stu-
pid dinner-party, but nothing more
than that. All of them said the same
things, thought the same thoughts,
went to the same places, knew the
same people . . . Maybe that was it.
Maybe he needed a change. The kind
of change that would include a dif-
ferent way of living, meeting an en-
tively different class of perple.
From somewhere in the void, where
ideas are born, a thought came skid-
ding along, hit a corner of his mind,
Jane smiled. “Not going to get
Poor
He’s sixty-five and—”
Frank shook his head. “Certainly
the idea that anyone can
look at you eight hours a day—”
“But I have to work,” she ex-
plained. “And even after we’re mar-
ried I ought to keep my job, don’t
you think?”
Frank turned away to hide a smile.
“If you think it’s necessary, Jane dar-
lin, why, of course—”
She became practical. “But it will
be necessary, Frank You—you do
not have a job yet, have you?”
He shook his head, trying to look
lugubrious. “You know,” he said, “I
only blew into town last week, think-
ing I'd look things over and land
something. And the very first night
I met you, and that sort of drove ev-
erything else out of my head. But
I'll support you, all right. You don’t
think I'll not be able to, do you?
As soon as we’re married I'll hustle
out and land something.”
She shook her head.” “But don’t
you think, before we’re married, you
ought to be working?”
“I have five thousand dollars,” he
said. “That will keep us for a while,
and—"
She became more practical. “But
I haven't saved much of anything,
Frank. That money of yours that
you saved working in New Hampshire
ought to go into furnishing our flat,
and— her lovely lips trembled—“that
you ought to have a regular position
before we're married.”
Sweet thing. Practicality so ill be-
came her. And she didn’t dream that
Frank Johnson, ambitious young
clerk from Portsmouth, who’d come
to New York to better himself, was
really Frank Wilmington, multimil-
lionaire. And he didn’t want to tell
her—yet. Let it be a surprise on the
eve of their marriage.
“Listen, Sweetest,” he pleaded.
“You trust me, don’t you?” She
turned dewy blue eyes to him. “Of
course.”
“Well, if I give you my word that
everything will be all right, that I
can support you amply, that I don’t
intend to live off my wife's earnings,
will you believe me?”
“You know I will,” she assured
him. 3
“And youll marry me right away
—tomorrow ?”’
She assented with a kiss. ;
“Then I'll tell you something, right
now, that I didn’t intend to tell you
so soon. But if we’re to be married
tomorrow—Jane, dearest, my name
isn’t Johnson. It’s Wilmington. I
haven’t five thousand dollars put
away. I have several millions. I—
something was wrong with me. The
same people, the same things—I de-
cided to pretend I was a poor chap
trying to get along, looking for a
job, and found out that I'd been look-
ing for you. Sweetheart, we won’t
worry about my work. We won't
worry about anything except being
happy.”
She stared at him.
Frank Wilmington ?
I wish—'
He didn’t learn what she wished,
A moment later he released her.
“Tomorrow morning we're to be
married,” he announced.
She nodded mutely. He took on
authority.
“Now you go up-stairs to bed,” he
ordered. “I want my bride to have
roses in her cheeks, to be rested, hap-
py smiling. First thing in the morn-
ing you resign your job, and then—”
She leaned swiftly toward him and
kissed him. Then she darted from
the old-fashioned stoop, which they
had been occupying exclusively, into
the house. He heard her light foot:
steps as she ran up-stairs. He light-
ed another cigaret and gave himself
over to, a happy contemplation of the
future.
How right Doc Kilbane had been!
A girl was what he wanted, and he
hadn’t known it. A girl from a dif-
ferent milieu, a girl who instantly
had fallen in love with jobless Frank
Johnson, a girl who, unused to the
things that wealth could bring, never
would be bored but eternally thrilled
by new luxuries, new joys. The old,
boring round would be exciting in
her company.
Next morning he delayed breakfast
for her arrival. So late was she that
he finally went up-stairs and knocked
upon her door. She didn’t answer,
though he pounded on the panel.
Alarmed, hz sent for Mrs. Oldham.
Together they opened the door. She
wasn’t there, nor had her bed been!
slept in. Mrs. Oldham discovered
that her suitcase was gone. She had
no trunk, the landlady teld Frank.
Incredulously, Frank and the land-
lady opened the closet, the dresser;
drawers. Not a paper, nothing that
could be used in tracing her. Frank
telephoned her employer. That in-
dignant gentleman informed him that
he had just received a note, obviously
mailed at an early hour in the morn-
ing, which was Miss Martin's resigna-
tion from his employ. i
And that was all. Six months later
Frank was no nearer finding out what
had happened to his fiancee than he
had been on that first morning. He
even went to the town, up-state, from
which she had supposedly come to |
New York. No one there ever had
heard of Jane Martin. Mrs, Oldham
had wanted to call in the police, but
Frank had persuaded her not to do
SO.
“She just left. She didn’t want to
see me again. That’s all,” he told the
landlady. “Something I did— some-
thing I said—but she loved me; she
said she did; she kissed me—”
“And you, “said Mrs. Oldham won-
deringly, “just after telling her that
you had all the money in the world— !
ain’t girls strange?”
They were, Wilmington decided. So
strange that he never could love an-
other. What on earth had he done
to offend her, to make her steal away |
in the middle of the night? :
Doc Kilbane was frankly worried. |
“I don’t care what you do,” he said,
“but do something. You're all run
down.” The doctor had heard the |
story. “You can’t let yourself go to!
pot because of her. Find another;
girl.” :
Unfeeling people doctors, some -
times. Find another girl. Wilming-
ton never could do that. No other
girl ever would do. If he only knew
why. i
And then he learned. He had gone
to the debut of Jim Reynolds's young
sister. And he saw Jane Martin,
dashed up to her, was stopped by Jim
Reynolds and presented, not to Jane
Martin, but to Jane Ogyivie.
They danced off together.
“Why?” demanded Frank.
She looked at him. With lips that
trembled, she answered him.
“Because it was too dreadfully sil-
ly,” she replied. “Two of us masquer-
ading, looking for true love, pretend-
ing to be poor—I was disappointed.
I—I wanted romance. And here I
was doing—and you were doing—the
very thing that had been destined for
us when we were born.”
“You mean, marrying the person we
loved ?” demanded Frank.
“Not at all. I mean marrying the
person who fitted into our social
scheme, into our financial sphere, It
was too absurd.”
“But I love you and you love me,” |
said Frank.
“How do we know? You were the
noble man who was to lift the beggar
maid to splendor. I was the id 1
girl who would dazzle my true love
with my unexpected wealth.”
“But haven’t you missed me? Have
you not ached for me?” demanded
Frank. “I've been mad for you.”
“I’ve missed the poor boy who was
going to work hard and support me,”
admitted Jane. “Just as you've missed
the poor girl upon whom you were to
lavish luxury. But do we love the
real each other, have we missed the
“A millionaire ?
Oh, my dear—
uself.. ..
real persons whom we are? How do
we know?”
“Marry me and I'll teach you to
know,” whispered Frank. :
She shook her head. “You think you
love me. Perhaps,” she admitted, “I
think I love you. But we each, per-
haps, love memories, and—memories
can’t be revived.”
Then someone claimed her, she was
danced away. And when he later
looked for her, she was gone. But
he knew her name, knew where she
lived—the telephone book gave him
this information, and half an hour
later he had called her number. Yes,
Miss Ogylvie had come home, but had
gone out again.
Next morning, next afternoon, next
night, Frank telephoned. But Miss
Ogylvie had gone away. For the sec-
ond time she had fled him. And she
wasn’t eccentric. He could understand
and sympathize. Only, if she’d give
him a chance to prove that Frank
Wilmington was as nice as Frank
Johnson . . . Where could she have
gone? But this was a silly question.
The Ogylvie heiress was as rich as the
Wilmington heir. She might have de-
parted on her yacht, for anywhere.
“The only time you've been happy,”
said Doc Kilbane, “according to whar
you tell me, was when you lived at
that West Twenty-third Street board-
ing house. Why not go back there?”
“I was happy because I met Jane,”
said Frank.
“Well, you might meet another girl
ther’e,” said Kilbane.
Ridiculous, absurd, silly. Still, he
had been happy there. And so, ten
days after Jane’s second disappear-
ance, Frank presented himself to Mrs.
Oldham.
“I'd like my old room back, Mrs.
Oldham,” he said.
The landlady beamed. “Cant give
you your old room, Mr.—Johnson,”
she said. “But another room—will it
do?”
He nodded carelessly. He picked
up a suitcase and followed her up-
stairs. She opened a door. He saw
feminine belongings scattered on the
bed. He backed away, but Mrs. Old-
ham shoved him across the threshold
and slammed the door upon him.
There was Jane.
She stared at him. “Why did you
come?” she asked.
“Because—I don’t know. I think be-
cause—I was happy here.”
“You didn’t know I was here ?” she
demanded.
He shook his head.
Jane?”
“Because—I was happy here,” she
admitted.
“You knew,” he cried, “that sooner
or later I'd come back here.”
“I felt that if it was love, not silly
yearning for chivalry, you’d be here,
and—"
The rest of it is none of our busi-
ness. Let’s walk right out on this ro-
mantic episode and have some real.
ism. Only, if you and your best-be-
loved ‘ aren’t making the grade as
smoothly as of yore, take this tip
from me: season your lives with a bit
of romance. You only need to look
backward to a day when she blushed
snd you sighed, and—write it your
“And you,
Some Things You Ought To Know.
Carload shipments of fresh fruit
and vegetables practically doubled in
number during the last eight years.
Some of the oil used for lubricat-
ing watches, clocks and other del
cate instruments is obtained from the
head of the porpoise. The better
grades of neat’s foot oil are also used
similarly.
Leaflet 6-L of the U. S. Department
of Agriculture will tell you all about
the Experimental Fur farm of the
Biological Survey at Sarato ga
Springs, N. Y., and when it may be
visited. !
Trees slightly damaged by field
mice will usually recover soon if the
injured parts are completely covered
by mounding up soil around the
bases, or if paint or other material
is used to prevent the wounds from
drying out. When the injury is se-
vere or the trees are entirely girdled,
bridge grafting should be resorted to.
In 35 years the citrus fruit crops
have increased tenfold, from 5,000,-
000 to 50,000,000 boxes annually. A
series of profitable years during and
immediately after the war led to an
expansion of acreage which is not
vet in full bearing, so the prospect
is for considerably increased produc-
tion within a few years. In the five
years from 1920 to 1924 nearly 10,-
000,000 orange trees were planted in
Florida, where the number of trees
bearing fruit in 1924 numbered only
7,306,000.
Will Plant Qauil.
A shipment of Hungarian quail
has been made to Pennsylvania from
Austria-Hungary. Ninety pairs will
be distributed in the district of which
W. C. Kelly, of DuBois, is the field
' | superintendent, and of these about 50
i pairs will be liberated in Clearfield
and Jefferson counties.
Richard Reitz, of Brookville, the
newest member of the State game
commission, and incidentally one of
the most active and enthusiastic mem-
bers of the commission, was largely
instrumental in purchasing the Hun-
garian quail. - Four thousand have
been purchased in Austria-Hungary
and this shipment numbers 1400.
The Hungarian quail is consider-
ably larger than the bob white quail,
native to this section, and in some
instances is nearly as large as the
native grouse. It is said to be much
swifter in flight than either the bob
white quail or the grouse, and sports-
men who have hunted them say that
they provide a greater thrill for the
hunter than any other bird.
The Hungarian quail, unlike the
native variety, does not covey. They
mate each season and are almost in-
| variably found in pairs—a cock bird
rand a hen.
This shipment is the first to west-
ern Pennsylvania. A few were re-
leased in central Pennsylvania a year
ago and these are said to have thrived
and multiplied.
————— Rp st psn
—Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
ERE
El AE ———————
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT
The mistakes committed by woman are
almost always the result of her faith in
the good and her confidence in the truth.
—Balzac.
Of course, you are going to have
a Valentine party. Even if you do
not entertain at any other time of the
year, you will find this a delightful
occasion as the decorations and enter-
taining may be so easily arranged.
A heart race will start things off
hilariously. Give each contestant two
red hearts of cardboard, about 12
inches across. He puts his foot on
the one and holds the other ready to
place in position for the other foot
to step on at a given signal. At each
step he must place a heart before put-
ting his foot down as he races to a
given spot and back. ”
Pass telegraph blanks or pieces of
paper and pencil to each guest. Give
them three minutes to compose a tel-
egram, the first letter of each word
being taken from the word V-A-L-
E-N-T-I-N-E. A prize is given for
the best.
As a part of the decorations have a
large hoop wound with red crepe
paper with streamers, at the end of
which are red and silver hearts. As
the couples dance by each girl takes
a silver heart and each man a red
for supper are selected by matching
numbers on the hearts.
red satin or sateen under a filet cloth,
or the usual white damask may be
used with little red hearts scattered
over it regularly. Crepe tablecloths
are useful for a children’s party or a
hall, but not so nice for the home.
A little tree which grows a crop of
gay red hearts is a pretty centerpeice.
The hearts may be gummed to the
branches, or red roses in a crystal
bowl are beautiful.
Favors may be flat boxes of powder
for the ladies and of talcum for use
after shaving for the men. They are
wrapped in red paper with a heart
on which a funny face has been drawn
pasted on each, and a little white card
for a place-card tied on with red rib-
bons. Very attractive hearts with
faces may be had in all sizes. Strings
of hearts for decorating the rooms are
new this year.
There are all kinds of delightful
Valentine candy in the shops. A dish
of hearts will add interest if each
reads the motto aloud. Vegetable sal-
ad garnished with hearts cut from
beets, heart-shaped sandwiches of
deviled ham and chopped green pep-
pers, nut bread sandwiches, olives,
coffee and heart-shaped cakes with
red and white icing are a pleasing
menu. Cherry or cranberry ice may
be added and will be appropriate in
color.
Certainly, short skirts, and the
shorter the better! That is the slo-
gan of Miss Minnie Pallister, one of
the best known political organizers in
the Independent Labor Party in Lon-
don, and herself a Labor candidate at
the next general election, .
“Any skirt is stupid, b€cause it at-
tempts to join together what nature
has put asunder, but if skirts are to
be worn at all there are only two pos-
sible lengths—knee or ground. The
knee-length shows a complete limb,
the ground length no limbs, and any
other length cuts the limb in two.
Could anything be more ungraceful ?
“Why do humorists always pick out
plus-fours as the articles of men’s
clothing most suitable to make jokes
about? Why does a man, who is
radorable in knee breeches and irre-
,sistible in a dress suit, look a fool
iin) plus-fours? Because plus-fours
{are the only garments in a man’s
wardrobe which cut his legs in half.
“Of course when we come to crin-
jolines and bustles and things it is
i another matter. In the days of crino-
‘lines women were not supposed to
‘look like human beings. It was the
| height of indelicacy to do so. In their
tiny bodices and enormous skirts they
looked like frilly fuchsias, or inverted
full-blown roses. If they showed no
leg, they showed the whole lovely line
of the shoulder and the whole arm
except the ugly little bit where it
joins on, which they were wise and
covered with a tiny puff.
“The Victorian silhouette was pret-
ty in its own way—even the bunched
skirts of Du Maurier’s ‘Punch’ ladies
were not unpleasing. Certainly both
crinoline and trailing skirt charitably
hid many deficiences, but obviously
they cannot return. The modern wom-
an is a real person, not an artificial
flower. She knows too much about
microbes to want her skirt to trail
on the ground. She could not goif
or drive a car or even get into a post-
war house—to say nothing of a bus—
in a wide crinoline.
“There remains only the knee-
length, until such time as women be-
come wise enough to wear knee-
breeches for other things than riding.
“Freedom of limb is as important
as freedom of mind—indeed, it is
doubtful whether it is possible to
have full freedom of mind without
freedom of limb. Physical stuffiness
has a dreadful way of spreading to
the mind and spirit.
Shorter skirts by all means. Short-
er and shorter and shorter and short-
er till they disappear altogether, the
sooner the better, but longer-—no, not
i 2 million reach the age of a hum-
red.
PUMPKIN-DATE PIR.
One pint pumpkin pulp, one half
cupful sugar, one-half cupful chopped
dates, one-half teaspoonful cinnamen,
one-half teaspoonful allspice, one cup-
ful cream or rich milk, one-half tea-
spoonful salt, two eggs, one-half tea-
spoonful ginger, one-quarter te a -
spoonful nutmeg.
Blend all the ingredients to a cream.
Beat up the yolks and whites of eggs
separately and fold in the whites the
last thing. Pour into crusts and bake.
Serve cold with a layer of whipped
cream on top flavored with a little
vanilla and dotted, if liked, with a
few crystallized cherries. These pies
can be made in the form of patties.
——The Watchman gives all the
news while it is news.
The table may be covered with a |
FARM NOTES.
The prospective builder should talk
the matter over with his lumber deal-
er and see how little cash it takes to
put up a shed in which to house ma-
chinery. There is a depreciation of
about 115 per cent each winter in that
machinery allowed to stand uncovered
and exposed to the weather. Some-
times, this amount of depreciation on
high-priced machinery will pay for
constructing the building in which it
should be housed.
Stacks of straw or hay make a good
windbreak for any class of live stock.
Horses and cattle are often allowed
to run to stacks of straw. Indeed,
this seems to be a very good practice.
Of course, there is some waste, but it
saves a good deal of labor. Then, too,
the fact that the stock can be kept
outside in comfort many days through
the winter when it would be impes-
sible without such a windbreak is
worth considering by any livestock
breeder.
The packing industry in the inter-
est of economy, moves to localities
where its raw material—live stock—
is most readily available. The rela-
tions between the freight rates on
! pork products and live hogs is influ-
{ential in determining the location of
| packing centers. Freight rates on
one. Partners for the next dance or | 1085 have advanced from 40 to 85
The
ease of shipping dressed meats as
compared with shipping live animals
iis another factor.
per cent above prewar levels.
The popularity of silage for steer
feeding is increasing, especially since
its use is becoming better understood,
Through the growing period it can be
fed to about the same extent as to
dairy-fed animals of similar relative
development, but with the approach
of the fattening stage and its require-
ment for a more concentrated ration
the grain is increased without a cor-
responding increase in the amount of
silage fed.
The rate and economy of gains
made by silage-fed steers justify the
more general adoption of this feed
for beef production, especially where
pasturage is limited or uncertain. The
same is true to a certain extent with
sheep. Moderate feeding is the rule
and more general regard to the qual-
ity of the silage.
The case of grazing animals pre-
sents certain special difficulties. They
habitually soil their “table” with ma-
nure, insuring the prompt return to
the body of the bacteria, worm eggs
and larvae and other infectious agents
passed in the manure. With sheep,
experiments have shown that rotation
of pastures or of different kinds of
stock on the same pasture is an aid
in the control of stomach worms, but
it is far from being the effective con-
trol measure hoped for. Control of
parasite diseases would go a long way
toward solving the problme of losses
among lambs. So far as sanitation
is concerned, lambs should be given
special preference in the matter of
pasture. They should be placed on
fairly dry hillsides—not on bottom
lands—away from wethers and all,
older sheep except the mothers, wher-
ever possible, and the mothers should
be treated for worms.
An important source of bacteria in:
milk is the body of the cow, especially
the part immediately above the milk
pail. Manure, loose hair, bedding ma-
terial, and other foreign matter laden:
with bacteria sometimes drop into the
‘ pail at the time of milking. Cows kept.
(in stables require a thorough groom-
ing at least once every day, says the
United States Department of Agricul
ture. Even those on pasture are more:
or less dusty, and need to be brushed
before milking. It is advisable to
clip the long hairs from the udder,
flanks, and tail to prevent dirt cling-
ing to them. In order to remove any
dust or loose hairs before milking
carefully wipe the udders, flanks, and
bellies of all cows, using a clean,
damp cloth. These parts if dirty will
need washing. Keeping the stable well
supplied with fresh bedding and the
frequent removal of manure will also
help to keep the cow clean. A type
of stable providing ample ventilation
‘and sunlight and so constructed as to
be readily cleaned will likewise aid in
maintaining the cow in a sanitary
condition.
There are subjects even to this day
that none of us can agree upon.
That this is a fact one need only look
about nevertheless I want to bring up
an important question that affects at
least one portion of our agricultural
industry, and that is, grubs in sheep,
writes H. W. Swope of Pennsylvania,
in the Farmer's Guide. Ever since I
was a boy, and that has been some
years ago, I have been told that grubs
in the heads of sheep can be success-
fully removed by cutting a disc of the
bone over the nose, or nasal cavities
of the sheep so treated. Then the
grubs are taken out or they are driy-
en out, as the case may be with the
squirting in of some kind of liquid
suitable or calculated to get rid of the
grubs. Some say that the method is
a good one, others say not. I have
experimented upon sheep myself for
the purose of finding out if there is
anything in this sort of treatment for
grubs. In one case, I lost two sheep,
then, in another, I believe, this meth-
od did remove the trouble. However,
I am inclined to believe that such a
method is at best inefficient.
I know several men who have prac-
ticed this thing for years, and then I
know a young veterinarian who has
successfully operated in the same
manner upon more than one flock of
sheep, for this annoying trouble is to
be found in the best of flocks. Yet,
it does seem to me that such an op-
eration is more of a harm than the
relief obtained.
The question is whether it really
does the work on a percentage basis
high enough to warrant its continued
use and practice, or is there a better
way of removing grubs. Here is a
chance for some young intelligent fel-
low to get busy and put his improved
methods into use, preferably some
one who is genuinely interested in
sheep and their future possibilities,
for at present the outlook for sheep
; raising is considered wery goed by
most observers.