VOL.* xxxvii Grand Clearance Sale Of Summer Footwear At BICKEL'S. * We have commenced a grand clearance sale of all summer foot wear. We have too many tan shoes and Oxfords and will not carry a pair over. Every pair must be closed out during this sale and will go during this sale at away down prices. So look out for some great shoe bargains at Bickel's. Men's $5.00 Tan Shoes at $2.50 Men's $4 00 Tan Shoes at $2.25 Men's $3.50 Oxford Shoes at $2.25 Men's $2.50 Oxford Shoes at $1.50 Ladies' Fine Russctt Shoes .at $2.00 Lidie-»' Fine p.ussett Shoes at $1.26 Misses' Fine Russett Shoes at 90c Misses' Fine Strap Sandal Slippers at 50c Men's Fine Vici Kid Shoes, Patent Leather Trimed at $1.25 Men's Fine Tan Coin Toe Shoes at $1.20 Men's Fine Slippers at 75c Boy's Fine Slippers at 35c Ladies' Fine Slippers at 40c Boy's Fine Tan Shoes at SI.OO Children's Fine Shoes at 50c It will pay you to visit this great sale and secure some of the bargains being offered. JOHN BICKEL, 128 SOUTH MAIN STREET, - - BUTLER, PA | jThe+Centennial +Souvenir H 50c 50c H / S As a pictoral record of Butler and Butler Co., con- / \ ) ' tains 94 pages of the highest Style of the printers and / / * C photo-engravers art —bird-eye views of some of Butler J f V / county's most famous oi! towns and historical spots. 1 J f ) Borough Government, Board of Trade, City Government, v / J Members of The Bar Association, etc , etc. Over 400 / C f S of the finest kind of half tone pictures. / t C / For Sale by all Newsdealers or by the Publishers on x ( oor » Troutman BTg, Butler, Pa. Out of Style. Out of the World! ff&rj.ftp n —^ ur K arrnents have a style that is pjHPyy ' r -:" ! JT\ 'I easily distinguished from the ordin- Q ary. They are the result of careful study and practical application[ofthe ideas gathered by frequent visits to '{ the fashion centres, and by personal contact with the leading tailors and Hi| % fashion authorities of the county. Wli!' 1 They are made in our own work , i ih shop by the highest paid journey- V I) - - men tailors in Butler, yet it is pos- Jlo (and we do) give our patrons these first-class clothes at the I you would pay for the other sort. We believe we have given II reasons why our tailoring is the best and cheapest and would lateful for the opportunity to show you our handsome spring ■ < and give you prices to prove them. I llanrl MAKEROF I "\ICII MEN'S Clothes, Spring STYLES § /y» T* M* »j» *l* T* T* »T* iir 1 I / / / \ I * Men don't buy clothinjr for the pur[ ** j 111 w 1« f Zap- \ .i&tpose or spctidiug money. They desire Ir v-rwWMr J^ get the l>est possible results for thefT! expended. Not cheap gooi« '*■ We will fit you up a bathroom ' as Lucullus never laved him- Jjs* I ''*' self in, with all the modern im - M provements and conveniences, at ' prices that cannot be competed Geo. W!. Wl Hite-hIII, 318 South Main St., PLUMBER, Butler, Pa. subscribe for the CITIZfcIN THE BUTLER CITIZEN. Hood's PSIls Are prepared from Na ture's mild laxatives, _ and while gentle are reliable and efficient. They Rouse the Liver Cure Sick Headache, Bil iousness, Stomach, and Constipation. Sold everywhere, 25c. per box. Prepared by C.l.Hood & Co. t LoweU,Mass. Good Fit and Work Guaranteed Karl Schluchter, Practical Tailor and Cutter 125 W. Jefferson, Butler, Pa. Busheling, Cleaning and Repairing a Specialty. SNYDER k THOMPSON West Jefferson St, Butler, Pa. LIVERY, BOARDING AND SALE STABLE. PLENTY OF ROOM, GOOD CARE AND FIRST CLASS EQUIPMENT. BIRD SNYDER, A. THOMPSON. People's Phone 109, Bell's Phone 59 Milk Cans | f We make the strongest, iC (heaviest and most service- JL £able milk cans made. If ] ( 5 gal, Cans $lB per doz. X . C Try Our Cans. X IT I. J. KING, X < 7532 Grant St., Pittsburg,Pa. £>oooo<»oCX>oo;»i •SV;Srrs»;*»*3t Is Lyndall. followed by Doss. Quiet ly as she enters he hears her and turns. "I thought you were not coming." "1 waited till all !.: 1 gone to bed. I could not come befi . e." She removed the slur.. ! ; ' envelop ed her. and the ktranger 11...c to offer her his chair, but she took her t on a low pile of sacks before the u. ..low. "I hardly se<' why 1 should be out lawed after this fashion." he said, re seatiiig iiiuis* If and drawing his chair a little nearer to hi r. "These are hard ly the (j'.jj iei* one expects to tlud aft er traveling a Luniired miles in answer to uu invitatiou." "1 said, •('on.e if /on wish.'" "And I tti.l wihh You give me a ctilil r«-i-e|.: i..i "1 fi.i.M iK.t take you to llie house. Qtleptio:.- would be asked which 1 could not answer without prevarica tion." "Yw r ■ • tiscicuoe Is growing to have a eel tain virgin tenderness." he said in a low. melodious voice. "I have no conscience. 1 spoke oue deliberate lie tills evening, i said the man who had come looked rough. We had hert not have him lu the house. Therefore I brought him here. It was a deliberate lie. and I hate lies. I tell them If 1 must, but they hurt me." "Well, you ilo not toll lies to yoursrlil at all events. You are candid so far." She Interrupted him. "You got my short letter?" "Yes; that is why 1 come. You sent a very foolish reply. You must take It back. Who is this fellow you talk of marrying?" "A young farmer." "Lives here?" "Yes; he has gone to town to get things for our wedding." "What kind of a fellow Is he?" "A fool." "And you would rather marry him than me?" "Yes, because you are not ono." "That Is a novel reason for refus ing to marry a man," he snid, lean ing his elbow on the table and watch ing her keenly. "It Is a wise one," she said shortly. "If I marry him, I shall shake him off my hand when it suits me. If I re mained with him for 12 months, he would never have dared to kiss my hand. As far as I wish he should come he comes ami no further. Would yon ask me what you might and what you might not do"?" Iler companion raised his mustache with a udressing movement from his Hp aud smiled. It was not a question that stood in need of any answer. "Why do you wish to enter on this semblance of marriage?" "Because there Is only oue point on which 1 have a conscience. I liave told you so." "Then why not marry me?" "Because If once you have me you would hold me fast. 1 shall never be free again." She drew a long, low breath. "What have you done with the rlng -1 gave you?" lie said. "Sometimes 1 wear it. Then I take It off and wish to throw It Into the fire. The next day I put it on again, and sometimes I kiss It." "So you do love me a little?" "If you were not something more to me than any other man in the world, do you think"— She paused. "I love you when 1 you, but when you are away me I hate you." "Then 1 fear I must be singularly in visible at the present moment," he said. "Possibly if you were to look less fixedly Into the fire you might per ceive me." He moved Ids chair slightly so as to come between her ami the firelight. She raised her eyes to his face. "If you do love me," he asked her, "why will you not marry me?" "Because If I had been married to yon for a year I should have come to my senses and seen that your hands ami your voice are like the hands and the voice of any other man. I cannot quite see that now. Rut it Is all mad ness. You call Into activity one part of my nature. There Is a higher part that you know nothing of, that you never touch. If I married you, afterward it would arise and assert Itself, and 1 should hate you always, as I do now sometimes." "I like you when you grow meta physical and analytical," he said, lean ing ids face upon his band. "Go a lit tle further In your analysis. Say, "1 love you with the right ventricle of my heart, but not the left, and with the left auricle of my heart, but uot the right, and, this being the case, my af fection for you Is not of a duly elevat ed, intellectual and spiritual nature.' I like you when you get philosophical." She looked quietly at him. He was trying to turn her own weapons against her. "You are acting foolishly, Lyndall," he said. ddenly changing his manner and speaking earnestly, "most foolish ly. You are acting like a little child. 1 am surprised at you. It Is nil very well to have Ideals and theories, hut you know as well as any one can that they must not bo carried Into the practical world. I love you. 1 do not pretend that It li> la any high, superhuman sense, i do uot say that I should like you as well If you were ugly and de formed, or that 1 should continue to prize you whatever your treatment of luo might be, or to love you though you Were a spirit without any body at all. That is sentimentality for beardless boys. Every one not a mere child (and yon are not a child, except In years) knows what love between a man and a woman means. I love you with that '<>ve. I should not have bellev<*' »♦ Bible that I could have brought myself twice to ask of any woman to be my wife, more especially one without wealtli. without position and who" — "Yes; go on. Do not grow sorry for me. Say what you were going to— 'who has put herself Into my power and who has lost the right of meeting me on equal terms." Say what you think. At least we two may speak the truth to one another." Then she added, after a pause: "I believe you do love me. as much as you possibly could love anything, and I lielieve that when you ask me to marry you you are performing the most generous act you ever have per formed In the course of your life or ever will. but. at the same time. If I had required your generosity, It would not have been shown me. If, when 1 got your letter a mouth ago, hinting at your willingness to marry uie. I hail at ouee written. Imploring you to come, you would have read the letter. Toor little devil." you would have said aud tore It up. The uext week you would have saili-d for Europe and have seut me a cheek for £l5O, which I would have thrown In the lire, and I would have heard uo more of you." The stranger smiled. "But because 1 de clined your proposal, and wrote that lu three weeks 1 should be married to au other, then what you call love woke up. Your man's love Is a child's love for butterflies. You follow till you have the thing and break It If you have broken oue wing and the thing flies still, then you love It more than ever and follow till you break both. Then you are satisfied when It lies still on the ground." "You are profoundly wise in the ways of the world. You have seen far into life," be said. He might as well have sneered at the fnelight. "I have seen enough to tell me that you love me because you cannot bear to be resisted and want to master me. You liked me at first because I treated you and all men with Indifference. You resolved to have me because 1 seemed unattainable. That Is all your love means." He felt a strong inclination to stoop down and kiss the little lips that defied him, but he restrained himself. He said quietly. "And you loved me"— "Because you are strong. You are the first man I ever was afraid of. And"—a dreamy look came into her face—"because I like to experience, 1 like to try. You don't understand that." He smiled. "Well, since you will not marry me, may 1 Inquire what your Intentions are, the plan you wrote of? You asked me to come and hear it, and I have come." "I said, 'Come If you wish.' If you agree to It. well; If not. 1 marry on Monday." "Well." She was still looking beyond him at the fire. "I cannot marry you," she said slow ly, "because 1 cannot be tied; but. If you wish, you may take me away with you and take care of me. Then when wc do not love any more we can say goodby. I will not go down coun try," she added. "I will not go to Eu rope. Y'ou must take me to the Trans vaal. That Is out of the world. People we meet there we need not see again In our future lives." "Oh, my darling," he said, bendlug tenderly and holding his band out to her, "why will you not give yourself entirely to tne? One day you will de sert rae and go to another." She shook her head without looking at him. "No; life Is too long. Hut I will go with you." "When T' "Tomorrow. I have told them that before daylight I go to the next farm. I will write from the town and tell them the facts. I do not want them to trouble me. I want to shake myself free of these old surroundings; 1 want them to lose sight of me. You can understand that it is necessary for me." He seemed lost in consideration. Then he said: "It is better to liave you on those conditions than not at all. If you will have it, let It be so." He sat looklug at her. On her face was the weary look that rested there so often now when she sat alone. Two months had uot passed since they part ed, but the time had set Its mark on her. He looked at her carefully, from the brown, smooth forehead to the lit tle, crossed feet on the floor. A worn look had grown over the little face, and It made Its charm for him stronger, for pain and time, which trace deep lines and write a story on a human face, have a strangely different effect on one face and another. The face that is only fair, even very fair, they ninr and flaw, but to the face whose beauty Is the harmony between that which speaks from within aud the form through which It speaks power Is added by all that causes the outer man to bear more deeply the impress of the Inner. The pretty woman fades with the roses on her cheeks and the girl hood that lasts an hour. The beautiful woman finds her fullness of bloom only when a past has written Itself on her, and her power Is then most Irre sistible when It seems going. From under their half closed lids the keen eyes looked down at her. Her shoulders were bent. For a moment the little figure had forgotten Its queeu ly bearing aiul drooped wearily. The wide dark eyes watched the fire very softly. It certainly was not In her power to rtslst liim nor any strength In her that made his own at that moment grow soft as he looked at iier. He touched one little hand that rest ed on her knee. "Poor little thing I" he said. "You are only a child." She did not draw her hand away from his and looked up at him. "You are very tired?" "Yes." She looked Into his eyes as a little child might whom a long day's play had saddened. lie lifted her gently up and sat her on his knee. "I'oor little thing!" he said. She turned her face to his shoulder and burled It against his neck. He wound his strong arm about her and held her close to him. When she had snt for a long while, he drew with his hand the face down and hHd It against his arm. He kissed it and then put it buck In Its old resting place. "Don't yon u;..ii to taiK to met "No." ' I "liave you IWgotteu the uight in th« , r venue?" lie could feel that she shook her head. "Do you want to be quiet now 7" "Yes." They sat quite still, excepting that only sometimes he raised her fingers softly to his mouth. Doss, who had been asleep In the , corner, waking suddenly, planted him self before them, his wiry legs moving nervously, his yellow eyes filled with anxiety He was not at all sure fhat she was uot being retained In her pres ent position against her will and was not a little relieved when she sat up aud held out her hat i for the shawl. "I must go," she said. The stranger wrapped the shawl very cnrefully about her. "Keep It close around your face, Lyn dall. It Is very damp outside. Shall 1 walk with you to the house?" "No. Lie down and rest. 1 will come and wake you at 3 o'clock." She lifted her face that he might kiss it, and when he had kissed It once she still held It that he might kiss it again. Then he let her out. He had seated himself at the fireplace when she ro opened the door. "Have you forgotten anything?" "No." She gave one long, lingering look at the old ro<>tu.» When she was gone and the door shut, the stranger filled bis glass aud sat at the table sipping It thoughtfully. The night outside was misty and damp. The faint moonlight, trying to force Its way through the thick air, made darkly visible the outlines of the buildings. The stones and walls were moist, and now and then a drop, slowly collecting, fell from the eaves to the ground. Doss, not liking the change from the cabin's warmth, ran quickly to the kitchen doorstep, but his mis tress walked slowly past him aud took her way up the winding footpath that ran beside the stone wall of the camps. When she came to the end of the last camp, she threaded her way among the stones aud bushes till she reached the German's grave. Why she had cotne there she hardly knew. She stood looking down. Suddenly she bent aud put one hand on the face of a wet stone. "1 shall never come to you again." she said. Then she knelt on the ground and leaned her face upon the stones. "Dear old man, good old man, I am so tired!" she said, for we will come to the dead to tell secrets we would never have told to the living. "I am so tired! There Is light, there is warmth!" she walled. "Why am 1 alone, so hard, so cold? 1 am so weary of myself! It Is eating my soul to its core—self, self, self! I cannot bear this life! I can not breathe, I cannot live! Will noth ing free me from myself?" She pressed her cheek against the wooden post. "1 want to love! I want something great aud pure to lift me to Itself! Dear old man, I cannot bear it any more! 1 am so cold, so hard, so hard! Will no one help me?" The water gathered slowly on her shawl and fell on to the wet stones, but she lay there crying bitterly, for so the living soul will cry to the dead and the creature to Its God, aud of all this crying there comes nothing. The lift ing up of the bauds brings uo salva tion. Redemption is from within, and neither from God nor man. It Is wrought out by the soul Itself with suf fering and through time. Doss, on the kitchen doorstep, shiv ered and wondered where his mistress staid so long, aud once, sitting sadly there in the damp, he had dropped asleep and dreamed that old Otto gave him a piece of bread and patted him on the head, and when he woke his teeth chattered, and he moved to an other stone to see if It was drier. At last he heard his mistress' step, and they went into the house together. She lighted n candle aud walked to the Boer woman's bedroom. On a nail un der the lady In pink hung the key of the wardrobe. She took it down and opened the great press. From a little drawer she took £SO, all she had In the world, relocked the door and turned to hang up the key. Then she paused, hesitated. The marks of tears were still on her face, but she smiled. "Fifty pounds for a lover! A noble reward!" she said and opened the wardrobe and returned the notes to the drawer, where Em might find them. Once In her own room, she arranged the few articles she Intended to take tomorrow, burned her old letters and then went back to the front room to look at the time. There were two hours yet before she must call him. She sat down at the dressing table to wait and leaned her elbows on It and buried her face In her hands. The glass reflected the little brown head with its even parting and the tiny hands on which it rested. "One day 1 will love something utterly, and then I will be better," she said once. Pres ently she looked up. The large dark eyes from the glass looked back at her. She looked deep Into them. "We are all alone, you and I," she whispered. "No one helps us; no one understands us. Hut we will help our selves." The eyes looked back at her. There was a world of assurance in their still depths. So they had looked at her ever since she could remember, when it was but a small child's face above a blue pinafore. "We shall nev er be quite alone, you and I," she said. "We shall always be together, as we were when we were little." The beautiful eyes looked into the depths of her soul. "We are not afraid. We will help ourselves!" she said. She stretched out her hand and pressed it over them on the glass. "Dear eyes! We will never be quite alono till they part us— till then!" CHAPTER XXIII. GREGORY ROSE UAH AN IDEA. Gregory Hose was In the loft putting It neat Outside the rain poured. A six months' drought had broken, and the thirsty plain was drenched with water. What It could not swallow ran off In mad rivulets to the great "sloot" that now foamed like an angry river across the flat. Even the little furrow between the farmhouse and the kraals was now a stream, knee deep, which almost bore away the Kaffir women who crossed it. It had rained for 24 hours, and still the rain poured on. The fowls had collected—a melan choly crowd—ln and about the wagon house, and the solitary gander, who alone had survived tlie six months' want of water, walked hither and thither, printing his webbed footmarks on the mud, to have them washed out the next Instant by the pelting rain, which at 11 o'clock still beat on the walls and roofs with unabated ardor. Gregory as he worked In the loft took no notice of It beyond stuiling a sack into the broken pane to keep It out, and. In spite of the pelt and patter, Em's clear voice might lie beard through the open trapdoor from tl.e dining room, where she sat at work, singing the "Blue Water" "An«l likf n»e away, AimJ take mo away. An-! take tne «w*y To th« Blue Water" that quaint childish sou ft of the pooph' that has a world of sweetiu-ss nnd sad, vague yearning when sung over and over dreamily by a woman's voice as she sits alone at her work. But Greg ory beard neither that nor yet the loud laughter of the Katiir nialds that every now and again broke through from the kitchen, where they Joked and worked. Of late Gregory had grown strangely Impervious to the sounds and sights about him. Ills lease had run out, but Em had said: "Do not renew It. I need one to help me. Just stay on." And she had added: "You must not remain In your own little house. Live with me. You can look after my ostriches better HO." And Gregory did not thank her. What difference did It make to him. paying rent or not, living there or not? It was all one. But yet he came. Etu wished that be would still sometimes talk of the streugth and master right of man. but Gregory was as one smit ten on the cheek bone. She might do what she pleased, he would find no fault, had uo word to say. lie had for gotten that It Is man's right to rule. On that rainy morning he had lighted his pipe at the kitchen Are and when breakfast was over stood in the front door watching the water rush down the road till the pipe died out In his mouth. Em saw she must do some thing for him and found him a large calico duster. He bad sometimes talked of putting the loft neat, and today she could find nothing else for him to do. So she had the ladder put to the trap door that he need not go out In the wet, and Gregory with the broom and duster mounted to the loft. Once at work, he worked hard. lie dusted down the very rafters and cleaned the broken candle molds and beut forks that had stuck In the thatch for 20 years. lie placed the black bottles neatly In rows on an old box In the cor ner and plied the skins on one another and sorted the rubbish In all the lwxes, and at 11 o'clock his work was almost done. lie seated himself on the packing ease which hail once held Waldo's books and proceeded to examine the contents of another which he had not yet looked at. It was carelessly nailed down. He loosened one plank and be gan to lift out various articles of fe male attire old fashioned caps, aprons, dresses with long pointed bod ies such as he remembered to have seen his mother wear when he was a little child. He shook them out care fully to see there were no moths and then sat down to fold them up again one by one. They had belonged to Em's mother, and the box as packed at her death had stood untouched and forgotten these long years. She must have been a tall woman, that mother of Em's, for when he stood up to shake out a dress the neck was on a level with bis. and the skirt touched the ground. Gregory laid a nightcap out on his knee anil began rolling up the strings, but presently his Angers mov ed slower nnd slower, then his chin rested on Ills breast, and finally the Im ploring blue eyes were fixed on the frill abstractedly. When Em's voice called to him from the foot of the lad der, he started and threw the nightcap behind him. She was oulv come to tell him that his cup of soup was ready, and when he could hear that she was gone he picked up the nightcap again and a great brown sun "kapje," just such a "kapje" and such a dress as one of those he remembered to have seen a Sister of Mercy wear. Gregory's mind was very full of thought lie took down a frngment of aa old looking glass from behind a beam and put the "kapje" on. His beard looked some what grotesque under It. He put up his hand to hide It That was better. The blue eyes looked out with mild gentleness that became eyes looking out from under a "kapje." Next he took the brown dress and, looking round furtively, slipped It over his head. He had just got his arms In the sleeves aud was trying to hook up the back when an Increase In the patter of the rain at the window made htm drag It off hastily. When he perceived there was no one coming, he tumbled the things back into the box and, covering It carefully, went down the ladder. Em was still at her work, trying to adjust a new needle In the machine. Gregory drank his soup and then sat before her, an awful and mysterious look In his eyes. V 1 am going to town tomorrow." he •aid. "I'm almost afraid you won't lie able to go," said Em, who was intent on her needle. "I don't think it Is going to leave off today." " am going," said Gregory. Em looked up. "But the 'sloots* are as full as rivers. You cannot go. We can wait for the post," she said. "I am not going for the post" said Gregory Impressively. Em looked for explanation. Nono came. "When will you be back?" "I am not coming back." "Are you going to your friends?" Gregory waited, then caught her by the wrist "Look here, Em," he said between his teeth. "I can't stand It any more. I am going to her." Since that day when he had come home ami found Lyndall gone he had never talked of ho they say so to men wlio are ( thirst forget forget? Why Is It only to us they say so? It Is a lie to say that time makes It easy! It is afterward, afterward, that It eats In at your heart! All these mouths, he cried bitterly, "1 have lived here quietly, day after day, as If I cared for what I ate and what I drank anil what I did! I care for nothing! I can not bear It! I will not! Forget, for get!" ejaculated Gregory. "You can forget all the world, but yon caunot forget yourself. When one tiling Is more to you than yourself, how are you to forget It? "1 read," he said—"yes, and then 1 come to a word she used, anil It Is all back with me again! 1 go to count luy sheep. a till I see her face before tne. ami 1 staud ami lot tl»e sheep ruu by. I look nt you. nuJ In jour smile. * something at the corner of your lips. I see her. How cau I Curvet her w hen, whenever I turn, she Is there and not there? I cannot, I will not, live where I do not see her! "1 know what you thluk." he said, turning upon Em. "\ou think 1 am mad; you think I am going to see whether she will not like me! I am not so foolish. I should have known at tirst she never could suffer me. Who am 1. what am I, that she should look at me? if any one says It Is not. It Is a lie! 1 am uot going to speak to her," he added, "only to see her, only to stand sometimes In a place where she has stood before." £TO BE CO.VTINTEDk] GROWING TOMATOES. Mrld Culture on a Ijirsr Scale Vow Canneries. Etc. Everybody Is familiar with tomatoes is a garden crop In a small way, but If 1 d culture for the use of canneries uul wholesale consumers Is a matter lot so generally undersUsxl. Conveni ng this The Rural New Yorker advises '.has: Pates of planting vary with the lati tude as a mat tor of course. In the funning districts alnuit New York to jiato seeds are planted for tills pur pose alnrnt April I In frames without bottom heat. They are sown In drills ibout seven Inches apart. The soil has previously been made light and rich, ind the seeds are covered half an Inch leep and well packed with the pres sure of a board on which the planter walks while planting the next row. The soil Is then well watered, the sash ?s put on and kept rather close until the seedlings come up. after which lbundant ventilation is given in clear weather. An average of 1,000 plants, requiring about one ounce of seed. Is lommouly grown under each ordinary sash, six feet' by three. The plants should l>e kept well weeded and the space between the rows often stirred with n narrow hoe. Good plants can often be raised In seed IMHIS in the open ground without the use of sashes, but the danger of loss by late frosts is too great to put much reliance on this method. Good corn or potato land, especially if light and well drained, will usually produce satisfactory tomatoes In an average season. The Held is plowed and harrowed In the usual manner about the middle of May and furrowed out in checks throe feet apart each way. Fertilization is effected by put ting a shovelful of composted manure or a handful of a complete chemical fertilizer in each check and incorporat ing it well with the soil. The plants are set out from May 25 to the middle of June, choosing dull weather when possible. The plants are taken to the fields standing In buckets of water and dropped by t>oys in the checks. They are flrmly set by men following closely after. If the plants are tall and drawn, they are layered to some extent—that is, they are laid nearly flat and the roots and stem covered with earth to within three or four inches of the top. Addi tional roots are thrown out from the burled stem, and the plant Is less likely to suffer from dry weather. A better stand of can be expected from transplanted plants, and by pud dling the roots In thin, rich mud Just before planting, but at the low prices ruling for the past few years the plants are generally transferred direct ly from the frames to the field with as little handling as possible. A larger proportion of plants will live under or dinary conditions wh-re chemicals are used to fertilize the checks or hills than in the ens..' of stable manure or com posts, as there Is less tendency to dry out at the roots l>efore the plants be come established, though the yield, es pecially late in the season, is rather in favor of animal manures. Cultivation begins within a week after the plants are set and is contin ued after each rain or at Intervals of ten days in dry weather until the growth of the vines interferes. One or two dressings with a hand hoe are generally needed to take out the weeds In the hills, and at the last working the hills are ridged up somewhat in order to keep the tomatoes from too close contact with the soil. The practice of pinching out the top of the growing plants to Induce an early formation of laterals Is not generally followed now, as it has not been found to ndd greatly to the yield. The tomatoes begin to ripen in August, and from that time until frost they are picked two or three times a week and hauled directly to the canneries or market. The contract price for several years has been varied from |5 to $8 per ton, according to locality. Six dollars Is considered a fair price In northern New Jersey and usually yields a small margin of profit over ex penses In the hands of an experienced grower. liriv Standard Hay Stacker. The cut shows a standard hay stack er Invented by a Colorado man which is very simple in construction, strong and durable and has no castings. It Is a combination of bnse frame, swinging derrick and stationary standard. The standard is the most novel feature about this machine. It serves to short en the draft and elevate the draw rope to the arc of a circle, the derrick l>elng STANDARD HAY STACKER. pivoted in the center of gravity, there by minimizing the power required to elevate. The draft is the same at all points until the hay Is delivered. One liorse docs the elevating. It is claimed that the new Invention will do an equal amount of work in less than one-fourth the time required by the old style der ricks. Its eapaclty is estimated at from 75 to 100 tons a day. The California russet, tile potato commanding the highest price In the Philadelphia market the past winter, lias Its name from Its peculiar color of deep russet brown. The tubers are ob long, have few and shallow eyes, mak ing them a favorite In the kitchen. The report from stnte growers is of pro ductiveness and freedom from rot, says The Ledger. Preliminary Instruction. McJlgger—Has Prudentz bought hit automobile yet? Thingumbob—No; ho hasn't finlshei his course of Instruction with Profess or Philip Flopp yet. McJlgger—Oh, he's teaching him how to run one, eh? Thingumbob—No, indeed. He teach es ocrobatlcs.—l'lilladuJpliia Press. No. 23 PRM\Q*Sg?N THE SOY BEAN. ta Volar to Stock, Mourn and BkCof 4 llott to riant anil Harvest. Souie of the following reasons on aQ t'lint of which the Kansas station ree» (mmends the soy bean to fanners of bat state will apply In some other sec ions and may Interest those who are ■oitsidt>rlng the question, "Will It pay o raise soy beans?" The soy l>ean stands drought as well us Kaffir corn or ouched by the chinch bugs, the grain THE bOY BEAN. Is a richer feed than linseed meal, and the plant enriches the soil on which It Is grown. It will cost the Kansas farmer from 40 to 53 cents per bushel to raise the soy bean, sl3 to $lB per | ton. Pound for pound soy beans are ! worth a little more than oil meal, and ' feeders are paying $24 to S3O a ton for ill meal. A bountiful supply of protein w greatly Increase the milk yield. beans are rich In protein. Three to four pounds of soy beans per day add »d to the usual dairy ration of hay, fodder, sorghum and corn will Increase the winter milk yield of the average Kansas cow from 25 4o 100 per cent. Fed to young pigs, soy beans will make them grow more rapidly 'and have better health. Fed to fattening bogs, soy beans will Induce them to eat more, make more gain for each bushel sf feed eaten and shorten the fattening • period. Soy beans fed to young stock will push their growth and "keep the calf fat," which Is so necessary to econom ical feeding. Fed to fattening ani mals, soy l>eaus, will produce the same results as linseed meal at less cost. Kansas sheep men should raise soy beans and secure the results obtained from linseed meal with a home grown feed at reduced cost. Soy beans quickly and cheaply In crease the yield of other crops. The soy beau should not be planted until the ground becomes warm and the danger of severe frost Is over. While the plants may not die if the Jf BOY 11EAX KNIFE OX CULTIVATOR BEAN* seed is put in earlier, they do uot thrive. The beaus should be planted In rows 30 to 42 inches apart, with the tingle beans dropped one to two Inches apart In the rows. One-half bushel of seed per acre Is required. We prefer surface planting and cultivate the same as corn. Level culture Is neces sary to harvesting a full crop. The crop should be harvested when the pods turn brown and before the beaus are fully ripe. If left until the beans become thoroughly ripe, thi'pods will oi>en and the beans will be scat tered on the ground. The only satisfactory way we have found for harvesting the crop Is to cut the plants off just below the surface of the ground and rake them Into wind rows with a horse rake. Where not »ver ten acres are grown this cutting tan be done by removing the shovels from a two horse cultivator and bolt lug to tin; inner shank of each beam a horizontal knife about 18 inches long, the knife set out from the cultivator and sloping back from point of attach ment to point so as not to clog. Any blacksmith cau make these knives. Mlzliik of Sivret and Field Corn. I have been growing sweet corn for 20 years, and when I have planted Bweet corn within the range of field corn I have had them more or lesß mixed. I grew field corn for market, and when the sweet corn came In range with It I would have a small strip of sweet corn, but It would conform to the size of the field corn. I am satis fied that they would mix the first year. —Charles Rlack, New Jersey. «•( W«Mt mt It Too. "Poor man! 1 svipposc you've been i soldier and had to have your legs am putatodV" "Oh, no, lady. I'm a seafarln mat an wunst 'ad a nargyment wlv a shark."—Ally Sloper. Ilia E re» Open. "Have you considered what matri mony means?" asked old I>ar la Mark. "Oh, yes," replied young Spendy. That's why I want to marry your daughter."—Philadelphia North Ameri can. m ~ "•