THE JHIRD GENERATION By Leila M. Churcli. The mirror over the dressing-table reflected the tired but flushed and eager face of the mother as she stood back, head at one side, to view er last addition to the room the making of the bed. It stood In the corner by one dormer-window, through which one might see entranc ing pictures of swaying elm tops, blue ky, and far away the line of the hills. The bed itself, a resurrection, was the mother's pride. Its tour slender posts were draped with a wonderfully clever imitation of that which had dressed it seventy-five years earlier. 'And the valance, with Quaint little knotted fringe that the mother had searched the city over to And, and the beet and pillow cases beautifully embroidered with the daughter's monogram all standing waiting and ready. "Isn't it all just too lovely T" said the mother, delightedly. And then, ,wlth a little anxious note in her voice, "Do you think she will like It?" The father stood In the doorway, looking on. "Why, yes; how can she help It?" he answered, hopefully. Being a man, he was optimistic. The next day the daughter would return from her long absence from home, a visit of a few weeks with cousins in a distant town. Together now the mother and father stood, to examine and to appreciate all the de tails of the great surprise. The room had always been the daughter's, since she had been old enough to discover how fascinating a third-floor room is, with four dormer-windows, but the mother had found the possibilities. With all the ardor of a girl planning her long dreamed Ideal of a roem, she had bought, selected, sorted and ban ished, till now it was perfected, the last thing was done. It was father who had the fireplace fitted in, with Its high, colonial man tel, and he also contributed the and-Irens. The mother selected the paper, with its riot of roses and buds over walls and sloping celling alike, and she bad covered the high-backed reckers and low chair herself with the flewered cretonne exactly like the pa per. The mirror was Great-Grandmother Drake's, and the candlesticks at each end of the mantel; but the dressing-table not even father knew hew much she had paid for that from her own allowance. The old, dresser had been in the room before, but it looked quite different in its new cov er, and little new bedroom slippers peeped from beneath the valance ef the bed. With appreciative eyes they both studied the room. Over the mantel was a dark old portrait of Grandfa ther Drake as a young man, in high collar and satin stock, with sloping shoulders and fancy waistcoat. The oval frame was dull gilt and effective. The mother was doubtful about It -she feared it was hung too high then she wondered It the daughter would care tor It, although she had always been such a great admirer of Grandfather Drake. Once the daughter had said she wlBhed she might have certain old photographs ef her father and moth er. On each side of the mirror, and directly over the candlesticks, an the dressing-table, was a small, oval frame like that of Grandfather Drake's picture, only in one of these as a demure little maid, with parted hair, and low-necked, short-sleeved goffn showing dimpled arms and shoulders, and In the other the dear est, pudgiest, round-faced and won drously kilted little father. "Weren't you the dearest thing?" cried the mother, giving him a sud den little hug. "I don't know," he answered, smil ing, "but I am quite sure you were." "Do you think she will like it?" he repeated again, after a pause In which she took In every detail, the result of weeks of planning and hard work and anxious effort to please. "It Is Just the sort of room I sheuld nave liked." The next day was cold, with alter nating downpours of rain and fog. The father left late In the afternoon for the depot, arriving a full balf "onr early, that he might be there In time for the train." At home everything was aglow with "Eht and warmth. The dining-room table was laid with the best silver and china and the new table-cloth, and was lighted softly from the can delabra, which were heirlooms of feat value. The library fire snapped and crackled cheerily, and on the Piano and en the table In the hall were bowls of carnations. . A new Picture hung at the stair landing. Everything was ready. Katie at that jnonient, in the kitchen, was whipping cream for the delectable dessert. The mother stood by the window, watching and listening eagerly for the nrst sounds of arrival. She had ar rayed herself In ber best white wool n, with pipings of pink velvet, worn over her very best pink slip. Her cheeks were pink with excite ment, and In the cells of her soft Mown hair was tucked a pink geran ium, she ran from the window to 'arrange a flower that dropped too w, and missed the sight ef their PProacU up the street; but at the wund of feet ou the porch, she was t the door, the light streaming out ver her lovely Bushed face and eager, outstretched arms. . 'or a few moments little was said, nd the father made a great pretence of kicking oft his rubbers. Then the laughter extricated herself ' and wokd around. ,, She was a perfectly healthy, fresh, "''looking girl of about nineteen, b clear, gray eyes, a rather round c and a pretty color. People said t. with a few changes In her hair a slight tightening of the lips. " might resemble strongly her "Other's raothor, Grandmother Ball. y, but aren't you all ablaze The mother's face grew sober a trifle. k . "Shall I go right up, mother? I want to get into something comfort able." , "Yes, dear. Father will carry your bag." The father and mother exchanged a very knowing glance. The daugh ter started for the stairs, and they eagerly, trying to appear unobtrusive and above suspicion, followed. At the first flight he put down the bag, and they finished the last flight at a gal lop, close at the heels of the daugh ter. Hand In hand, with pleased, ex pectant smiles, they stood In the door way, peering In as the daughter en tered. The fireplace, where a small log was cheerily burning, sent eut a soft glow, aided by the candles on the dressing-table. The dull frames of the pictures sparkled bravely in places. One chair was drawn com fortably to the fireplace, while anoth er stood invitingly near. Flowers were on the table, and the bed showed snowy and temptlngi with its fittings beautifully embroidered with the monogram of the daughter. They watched her stand, amazed, and look slowly around the roem. Turning suddenly, she saw them there In the doorway. , "How awfully nice!" she said, af ter a silence that was breathless on the part of those without. "Why, what made you do it? I am afraid you'll get all tired out, mother. Seems to me you don't look quite as well as usual to-night," scanning re provingly the face of the one stand ing in the doorway, whose pretty color had almost entirely disappeared. "It is very nice, I am sure," she continued, going up to the fire to in vestigate that. "You're a great per son for surprises, mother. New pa per, although I really think I like the old paper better, I had it so long, The daughter was conscious of queer little thrills of Interest as she read of these things, little intimate manners and tender caresses, when they were new and strange and won derful. It was like the most entranc ing love story. And to think It was father and mother! It made one's heart grow big and soft and eager to love. "Dear old dad!" she murmured with a smile, as she read an eloquent account of a charming necktie he wore in his youth. She understood now why mother and father each must ever be young to the other. She finished the book and gazed dreamily Into the fire. New thoughts, new ideas came into her mind. "What a very fascinating girl mother must have been!" she said, aloud. For a long time she thought deeply over what she had read. Precious Indeed they must seem to father, these books. After a while she opened the other diary, written before father had ap peared in her life. Grandmother Bell, whom the daughter had stood In awe of most of her life, figured strongly in the pages. She felt that she never understood before how lonely her mother had been as a girl, although she had al ways known that her childhood had not been particularly happy. She could see why she had been so lonely In spirit, the mother as a girl was so entirely different from her brother, who was a good deal of a prig, and from her Puritan mother. The daughter smiled as she read in one place, "Te-day mother re ceived a letter from her friend, Sarah Smith, who is a terribly good wo man. She wrote she had been to visit a poor, sick woman, bedridden over twenty years, who believed in the Life Everlasting, but liked to have some one come In now and then. I laughed. Mother said I laughed Just like all the Bells, the worst think she thought she could say to me." In another place she read, "What I like about Thanksgiving and Christ mast and New-year's and Fourth et July is that it is a holiday, and you dress up, but you can sew and do things. Sundays there are so few WHAT IS A FRIEND? 53MEONE has asked the question, "What Is a friend.' It is the fellow who will inconvenience himself for you. It is the man who will Bit by your bedside when your frame has been touched by disease. It is the man who will come to you when the clouds are black, when the muttering thunder of misfortune growls along the sky. It is the man who says, "Don't be discouraged; I'll see you out." It Is not the man who will do you a kindness only when he feels he will get back full pay tor services rendered. Remember that all who write their names in script in your friendship album are not your friend.. . dad, and new curtains, and I see you have the same old bureau. But where on earth did you get the bed?" There was a pause, when the mother tried bravely several times to say something. At last, murmur ing an incoherent remark about din ner, she turned and fled. The father found her at one corner of the library sofa, staring straight ahead and with one hand tightly clenched over a ball of a handker chief. He smiled whimsically. "How about it?" he asked. "Do you think yeu are going to cry?" each, seeing the anxious face of the other, suddenly began to laugh, to laugh long and heartily at the whole situation. "Anyway, you are better off than I am," h,e said, finally. "She spoke of the bed, but she didn't say any thing about the fireplace." And he put his hands reflectively .deep Into his pockets. The mother only laughed, but It ended with a little sob that caught at her threat. One evening a few days later the mother was called away to a sick friend. The daughter brought her books to the library, where the father stood, rather almlesBly moving about the table. Ever since the night of her arrival borne, the father had acted queerly, it seemed to the daugh ter. Often, after a long sober pause, she would find him studying her in tently, as If there were something be could not understand. Of course the mother was always mother one expected her to be what she was. That day one of her .girl friends, whom she had taken up stairs to show her new room, had re marked, "What a perfectly lovely mother you have! If I had a mother, and one like yours, I should be the happiest person on earth! I should love her to pieces!" The daughter had taken It as a matter of course, and smiled care lessly at ber orphan friend's ravings. The father. went to the safe, and after a short search, brought back to the table two little leather-covered books, worn and old-looking, called the daughter to blm. things you can do. I know some girls who always make candy. I shall let my girls make randy, week In, week out, night and day, if they like." And again: "I, said to mother, 'I always make believe I am a butcher slicing eft cold boiled ham when I' cut bread, don't you?' Mother was disgusted. I 'No,' she Said, coldly, 'I have no desire to be a butcher." Sometimes sentences or paragraphs caught the daughter's eye. The tears sprang inick 'o her eyes as she saw her successful, rather pompous Uncle She shook her head mutely. Then(John in the HneB, "When we were ready to go, John kissed his wife nodded awkwardly to me, and said, coldly, 'Well, good-by.' I get so hun gry for something to love and hug and squeeze, and never let go. I wonder if I had a husband if he would kiss me good-by." The daughter remembered that the mother's husband was equal to the most affectionate, and was glad. The pages that Interested the daughter most contained an account I of a home-coming of her mother from ' i ..J -I 1 , . . . I a siiuri vioii. iever ut'iore oaa sne realized how much it might mean to one who loved all the little beaut ies and graces of life to live sur rounded by those who never dreamed, never idealized, and lived In a small world of plain outlines. She was with her mother, In the pages of the diary, on the car of ber return home. She saw the eager girl, j in imagination, with a love for home. in spite of all, a desire to see her mother and tell her of ber visit, of the things that had happened, and to show the little gift she hid denied herself to bring home w'lth her. She could hardly wait to open the door, all eagerness, all smiles. When the door opened, she saw the girl mother enter joyously, ready to be welcomed. And she saw vividly I her Grandmother Bell, sitting there , at. one corner of the dining-room table, gloomily lighted by a small kitchen lamp, eating bread and but ter with a cup of cold tea, her severe face not softened In the least by ber dark woolen dress. The daughter He could see her look of amazement as the girl mother entered; she could "Here Is something I should like hear her say. "Why. what made you you to read to-night I think you come home to-night? I didn't expect will find these Interesting.. I have you till tormorrow." always meant to have you read them i And then, when the wonderful gift some time, and to-night is a good was produced, a new table-cloth, that time you'll be alone. I am going appeared to have been wished for. down to the shop. You will find me and representing a sacrifice of long there if you want me." saved money, she could see her un ' She took the books and glanced at fold it slowly, almost severely, rub them curiously. At the door he one corner between her two hands, paused. "Don't tall asleep before hold it up to the light, spread It out, you read them, and drop them into and say, "What made you spend your the fire," he added, humorously, money, Cornelia? I had hoped you "They are precious." , would get a new bat. The table "No, Indeed, I won't, father! What cloth is very nice, though I never are tbey?" But he bad gone. cared much for the snowdrop pat She opened one of the books. The tern. How large la It?" name on the fly-leaf caught ber atten-1 The daughter laughed. It sounded tlon "Cornelia Bell, Diary for exactly like Grandmother Bell. Igg ." How odd, how Interesting!! The mother bad written out ber she thought. - Mother's diary! She heart's burden In ber little diary, drew her chair to the open grate, then At the end of this episode she wrote, abandoned it and dropped to the "When I have girls I shall just lie hearth-rug. where she began to, reaa. , await nignts planning now I can It was the later diary she read first, the bappy chronicle of the moth er' first meeting with the father, of their growlug friendship, ber shy de light In the secret of ber love for make them bappy, and everything as bright and pleaant tor them as I can. I shall let them do as tbey please, and try every way to please them. But perhaps, after all, they him. and later, exultant and awed i won't care, like mother." joy over the precious theught of bis I The other affair when the girl In love. Tender, shy and quaint emo- the diary had made a dressing-sack , . 1 l ,v. n I . . .nnwlu ... k.- mnh mr,A euv iniu, cueeruy, - Ana tue story or. a maid ana a man in spreaa u out inTiungiy m m new ""r why Vetrer Drake, bow at- their beautiful youth, one's tether front room, and written a series of "vgant' ' ' ana mother. ' note containing directions as to bow to find It. The daughter laughed to think of the grandmother running from pincushion to parlor vase, from teapot to chatr-cushlon, each time finding a note telling where to go next. "I should think Grandmother Bell would have been dizzy," she thought. At last, when she found the dressing-sack in the front bedroom., she said to the girl mother, "The shades are up and the sun Is fading the carpet. How long has that been like that? The dressing-sack Is all well enough, but don't ever leave the shades up again like that." After finishing the diary, the daughter sat still on the hearth-rug for a long time. She thought of all she had read and learned of the cheerless life that must have been her mother's, of her sensitive tem perament, her love of the beautiful, and the austere Grandmother Bell. The words kept repeating themselves in her mind, "Perhaps they won't care!" the girls whom she had planned to do so much for. The daughter suddenly realized how much the mother bad done fer ber one girl, what a dear, lovely, charming mother she was, taken al ways as a matter of course. She felt now that she never had appreciated her, she bad been like Grandmother Bell. Tears came to her eyes and rolled unheeded down her cheeks, staining their pink roundness. She looked at the picture of the mother n father's desk, mother in her wedding-gown, as she was at the begin ning of a newer and a happier life. She clasped the little books against her wet cheek. "Dear girl mother," she said, softly. "I dotIove you." Suddenly she rose and went in search of father. Along the halls she crept softly, quickly, as if she feared some one would steal away the beautiful thoughts that kept crowding into her mind. Father was In his workshop, in the basement, where be liked to think be made things, and where he framed pictures sometimes, and -bad a good time. She opened the door, filled with the thoughts of her mother, and went to him. "Father," she said, softly, her eyes still bright with the tears of her emotion. He did not hear her at first. When she called again, and laid her face against his shoulder, he looked up. He put his arm round her and drew her to him. "Father," she said, again. This time there was a little break In her voice. "I have read the books, and can't I can't we oh, let us do some thing for mother quick!" The Youth's Companion. WORDS OF WISDOM. Love your neighbors. You can al ways get more out of them that way. When a woman weeps she wonders why there ins't a second deluge. The only reason some men are not gluttons is because they are dyspep tics. The man who thinks seriously of marriage Is likely to remain a bach elor. Dead men tell no tales, but the same can't be said of their biogra phers. The tallest shaft in the cemetery Isn't going to take a man any nearer heaven. It Is Impossible to buy happiness', but that is no reason why we should go by It. . - The heiress doesn't have to fish for a huBband. She can buy one In the market. Many a man who builds castles in the air winds up by finding himself in a hole. "Gent" is shor. for gentleman, but the average gentleman prefers not to be short. Every young girl thinks she is com petent to write a book called '.'Advice to Parents." 1 What has been done once can be done again, and with the bill col lector it usually is. Many a man whose aim in life' Is to acquire riches proves to be a mighty 'poor shot. It Is necessary to strike the average man below the belt it you want to reach his pocketbook. It is probably the uncertainty ol the future that prompts women to cry at weddings and funerals. From "Musings of a Gentle Cynic,' in the New York Times. Ruby Glass. . All along our beaches one Hp.Jj bits of plain glass that have taken on a delicate ruby color from expos ure to the sun's rays; some pieces very faintly ruby; others, usually small glass bottles, almost turned the color of the most delicate amethyst jewel. The new artificial pure rubles and sapphires miy be similarly col ored by radium, or by electrical de composition of dichromate of potash. It is possible that Philadelphia's old window glass, that becomes rubescent from years of sunshine, bad traces of dichromate of potash In Its composi tion, and that the desired ruddy radio-active color would be moat quick ly gotten by the action of the sun and sea water. Ruby-tinted glass is old and manufacturers mold or grind It Into lenses by the barrel. No doubt Philadelphia ophthalmologists cannot be taken la. and can tell the genuine Boston and Philadelphia ruby win dow glass from the red-tinted ones sold in the Bowery, it not by the bin opticians In Philadelphia. New York-Press. Mores Versus Manner. ' ThjB late nonagerlaa Duke of Rut land, whose family name was Man ners, met the poet Tom Moore shortly after the publication of the latter'a "Lalla Rookh" and bis own elevation to the dukedom. Deeming that the poet bad bean unduly puffed up by the success of bis work, the Duke told him that be verified the old proverb; m. "Konoree mutant mores." "Ne, my lord," Moore instantly re torted, "the pun will do much better la Knllsb: " 'Honors change manner!.' " New York Time. The Cows and Alfnlfa, It la the experience of dairymen thu alfalfa Is far superior to timothy hay for cows, and that they may be fed all the alfalfa hay they will con sume, and that a mixture consisting of 400 pounds of ground corn; 300 pounds of bran or pats supplements the alfalfa very well. Seven or eight pounds of this combination Is suffi cient to produce one pound of fat when fed with all the good alfalfa hay an animal will consume. If tbe droppings of the animal seem some what dry do not hesitate to recom mend the use of one pound of ollmeal per day. Indiana Farmer. roultry Hints. As garden ground gets dug or plowed spring eggs will be more and more plentiful, and, further, will hatch better If you let hens and roosters have a run on newly turned earth. Among fruit trees after fork ing around roots is good scratching tor fowls and also helps trees. Fowl running on any piece of rough ground or poor pasture Improves same. A lady makes birds pay well by letting them through a hole In the fence to a run on an adjoining wood pasture some one else's where cows are fed dally. Bread pills crammed into the craw fatten fowls quickly. This Is a lot of trouble and only good where a man has hundreds fattening for mar ket. Cramming may be done by hand or machine, and the good, well-fatted birds bring big prices and more or ders, for their meat is tender and tasty. Young fowls are best. Old birds simply get belly-fat. New York Press. A t'soful Ten. Little chicks come as many cock erels as pullets.' Few roosters are fit to save, and all the rest are good only to eat, so take them, from hens, put them In pens, and turn them Into dough by turning dough Into them. An old packing box makes a fine pen. Get one without a lid about three or four feet square for six or eight roos ters. Knock off one .side, and here an inch and a half apart nail laths from one end of the box to the oth er. This Is the floor of the coop. Droppings fall through to the ground after four legs are nailed to the box, one at each corner. Now nail laths three inches apart across the front, only leaving enough space for a small door, so as to. reach the band and arm In and pull them out. A good trough or pan should . be fastened outside the coop near enough for the roosters to poke their heads through and eat. If the pan- is put Inside roosters step on it and turn it over, or get their feet into it and make a mess, and then they don't like to eut the befouled food. Put in a perch. New York Press. Needless HnrncRs. Horses are placing mankind daily under everlasting obligations to them, says Secretary Pershing, of the South Bend (Ind.) Humane Society, but how cruelly and thoughtlessly are they repaid by those who are most Indebted to them. A horse is a noble animal; patient, kind-hearted, self sacrificing, willing to work till be dies in his tracks, uncomplaining, a lover of kind treatment, and who 1b willing to work a whole lifetime with no other compensation than his bed and board. Of the many things which make the daily life of a horse miserable, two are blinders and the tight check rein, the worst parts of a horse's har ness. Very many people believe that they are part and parcel of a horse and that he would not be a horse without them. The majority of horses could read ily dispense with blinders, and all could It they bad never been invented. Blinders were first used by a noble man in England to hide a defect on his horse's head, and later were found excellent locations for the displaying of his coat-of-arms. A horse's head was never Intended for blinders, for his eyes are so set In his bead that be can see behind blm without turning his head and, of course, the blinders deprive blm of seeing the very things be should see for bis own safety as well as his driver's. A horse's eye is a beautiful object, and it is a shame to cover it. Whenever I see a man driving a horse without blinders I always feel like stopping him and shaking hands with him. A horse's bead Is the best part of blm and should have on It as little harness as possible. Another insturment of torture to a horse is the tight check-rein. It Is responsible for poll evil, abscesses, sprung knees, paralysis and disorders of the brain and muscles. It spoils his appearance and detracts from his free end graceful movements. Horse World. Hints For Milkers. Remember that you are dealing with a living machine, and that there fore kind and quiet treatment will produce more milk with less trouble than harsh methods. Tbe machine can only work at Us best when properly handled. Every drop of milk should be drawn, for only by this means will the udder be Induced to work at full pressure, and give a supply of the richest milk. It should also be borne in mind that the laBt milk is the richest. Observe cledtillueus in all tlilngi. Make sure that tbe milking ute-.uiln are above reproach. . Cleank ti;o cow's udder and your own hauJs be fore commencing to milk. Draw the milk by pressure, cot by the stripping method. Carry out the operation, as quickly as possible, re membering that generally a good milker Is a fast one and that the cow Is liable to become Impatient after a time. . Pay attention to the cow's health. It her teats are sore, if there is any discoloration or unusual feature about tbe milk, do not mix It w'lh tbe rest. Take care that the buildings In which milking is carried ou ar wall aired and free from avoidable dust. Fresh air and sunlight should be con stantly admitted, and litter or food should not be handled during the milking hour. Be punctual. The cow knows as well as you when the hour has arrived for milking, and delay will not only cause a diminution of her yield, but also a decrense of fat percentage. Milk at as nearly even intervals of time as possible. A good deal of at tention has been given to this ques tion, and It has been found that milk poor in fat Is very largely the result of allowing too long an Interval to elapse between mllklngs. But what ever hours are chosen see that they are very strictly adhered to. Observance of these rules should lead to tbe largest amount of milk, with the greatest proportion of but ter fat, at a minimum of trouble to the milker. W. R. Gilbert, In Farm Journal. THE n EPICURE'S CORNER Broiled Sweetbreads. Split Into flat slices, dust with salt and pepper and dredge lightly with flour. Broil over a clear fire, basting often with b'ltter. Serve with maltre d'hotel butter, mnde by melting a quarter pound butter In a saucepan, adding as it heats a tablespoohful each water and chopped parsley, a little paprika or cayenne and the Juice of a half lemon. New York Telegram. Transplanting the Red Cednr. The red cedar of our woods and meadows forms a much prettier tree under cultivation than It does In its wild state. Sharing the fate of all trees under like conditions, it is much more esteemed in Europe than it is here, nurserymen there growing It as one of the chief kinds in their grounds. So much attention has been accorded It that numerous varie ties of it have been discovered and propagated, some of such upright character as to resemble an Irish ju niper, others with steel blue foliage. As many as a halt dozen distinct va rieties are known, and, funnier than all is the fact that our rich folks are buying these sorts to decorate their grounds. To many persons the at tempt to transplant these trees from their wild homes to their gardens meets with ill success. Of course, wild plants have but few roots, be cause of never having been trans planted, which calls for great care in their removal. No evergreen, trans planted or not, will suffer its roots to become dry without Injury. It should be the first consideration when lift ing them from tbe ground to Bee that the roots are kept damp until they are again in the ground. Trees of about two or three feet are the safest to transplant. Get all the roots possi ble, keep thera damp, and plant again as soon as possible. Le the soil that Is tnrown in over the roots be as fine and dry as possible, so that it will work its way around the roots nicely, then when the hole is half filled up, pour in water, two or three bucket fuls, filling in the remainder of the soil lightly after the water has all soaked away. It Is a help towards success to prune the branches well, but no evergreen should have Its branches cut back below Its green foliage, for they will not break freBh shoots from bare wood as deciduous trees and shrubs will. In the colder States transplanting of all evergreens is best done in spring, but our South ern friends could do the work at any time when there Is no freezing of the soil; and they could not find prettier wild evergreens than the red cedar. Weekly Witness. Dandelion Snlnd. Gather in the early morning before the sun has touched the fibre. Wash thoroughly lent by leaf, drain, pat dry on a soft cloth, then lay on the Ice until ready to serve. Put into the salad bowl, dress with a good French dressing of olive oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, then add hard-boiled eggs cut In quarters, to garnish, and serve. Or sprinkle the salad with powdered sweet basil to flavor and garnish with fillets of anchovy. New York Telegram. Cream Pie and Orange Dessert. Cut the oranges In thin slices and sprinkle sugar over them; let them stand two or three hours; serve on ordinary fruit plates: the pi" '3 made with a bottom crust only, and that not thick, but light and flaky; take one colfee cupful of thick, sweet cream, or.e-hnlf cup of pulverized sugar, a tahlespoonful of flour, one egg; flavor with lemon extract; bake until you are sure tbe crust Is brown and hard, bo that it will not absorb the custard. Ann M. Fuller, in the BoBton Post. Creamed Sweetbreads. Cook until tender, then flake or eut in dice. Put a little butter in a fry ing pan and toss the diced sweet breads In it until slightly fried. Have ready a cream sauce, allowing for a pair of sweetbreads two tablespoon fuls butter, two tablespoonfuls flour and two small cupfuls crem. Add the sweetbreads, season with salt and pepper and a teaspconful mlnrcd parsley, if you like; then pour over slices of hot toast freed from crusts and serve very hot. New York Telegram. The Farm Milk House. In a recent article in Hoard's Dairy, man Professor Farrlngton, the well known writer on dairy topics, gives the following good suggestions on farm milk houses. He Bays that the luws of the State of Wisconsin at the pres. ent time do not permit the keeping of a hand separator in the cow stable. It must be placed In a separate build ing or In a room partitioned oft from the cow stable. Plans for building small milk houses have been given In dairy pa pers and tho catalogues of dairy sup ply firms. At farms where a hand separator Is used and the cream sold, a small milk house will answer every pur pose. One large enough to give space for the separator and a water tank, through which the water is pumped directly from the well and then to the stock tank, is all that Is needed. The question has arisen as to the advisability of placing a gasolene en glne, when this is used as a farm power, in this milk house. There is little danger of contaminating the cream from the odor of the engine, If this Is well taken care of and the exhaust from the engine is tightly connected to a pipe which leads out side the building. The cooling of the cream as It comes from the separator Is absolute ly necessary. It should be brought to near fifty degrees as soon as possi ble after separating, then placed In cans and these allowed to stand In a tank of cold water until the cream Is collected by cream haulers. If the milk house contains in addi tion to these pieces of apparatus, some sort of a boiler, for furnishing hot water and a wash sink, these can be included In the same building, but It Is advisable to place the boiler in separate room. It Is Important that the milk house be built with a cement floor and cemented corners from the floor up the walls for at least one foot. This gives a sanitary surface which can be fituhed with water and kept clean, provided the floor pitches well to the gutter and a good drain with a trap In carries off all surplus water spilled on tbe floor. After the essential points of a good milk house are well understood, eaeh farmer or dairyman can determine for himself how large a building ha wants and locate it In a dry, clean place where it will not be contamin ated by the drainage' or the odors from the cow stable, pig pens or any refuse material. Onnseklein or Scliwar Snuir. Tills Is an economical dish beloved of the Germans. It Is made with the feet, wins?, gizzards, hearts, neeks and blood of Feveral geese. Srnld the feet in boiling water and remove the skin. It will peel off like a glove finger. Cut wings lr.to two and necks into three pieces. Wash all In cold water, then place over the fire with just enough water to cover. For every quart of water u?d, allow two onions with three cloves stuck in each, half a tablespoonful of salt, one bay leaf, twelve peppers, and a sprig of thyme, tied with three sprigs parsley. Cook until tender. . Now make a white sauce by cooking to gether In a small stewpan one tea spoonful butter and two of flour, cooking a few moments, then add a quart of wnter In which the pieces of ,lose were cooked. Cook five min utes, then add blood and just enough vinegar to give a sour taste. Add a tablespoonful BMgnr an.l a quarter teaspoonf-.il pepper, couk two min utes and strain. Skim out the goose pieces, add to sauce and serve with bread, farina or potato dumv''"'. New York Telegram. iKOaND:A130Ui HOUSED If She Only Had Time. "How nicely you bave ironed the things. Janet" said the mistress, ad miringly, to her maid. Then, glanc ing at tbe gloisy Jinen, she continued la a tone of surprise: "Ob. fci I set they ara all your own!" "Yes," rani id Jane, "and I'd do all yours just lika that it I bad tliaa," Central Chrlstiaa Advocate. , A rlot.i wrung out of vinegar, and wrapped round cheese, will keep it from moulding. When you seal an envelope with the white of an egg It is impossible to steam It open. A largo safety pin makes a con venient holder for odd buttons and loose hoks and eyes. Ammonia water that has been used for washing may be used for plants. It Is an excellent fertilizer. A coarse cloth dipped In salt and water, and rubbed over straw matting will prevent It from turning yellow. A can of Welsh rabbit Is all ready for serving when melted in a little water or milk and turned over toast. Suede shoes that have become shiny and wo-n-looklng ran be fresh ened by rubbing tbem with fine sand paper. It you are obliged to burn a light In your bedroom. It had better be a candle or a night lamp. The ordinary gas flame consumes much of the oxy gen. For a cheese omelet, beat six eggs slightly and stir in an eighth ef a cupful of grated cheese with a little salt and pepper. Cook like an ordi nary omelet. . As a substitute for a bodkin needle a safety pin Is excellent. It opens up tho way without puncturing the' cloth. It is especially good to ' use with starched articles. It Is the drying of delicate muslins and lawns that fiJ-i them rather than the washing. Thay should never be hung In the sun, but should be laid upon a do-.iMed shoet. covered I wltb another and rolled up Vwr an hour. Girls who are export with their needles could cover their own para sols it an old frame Is available, for rover could be ripped away, one sec tloa opened and praised and this will serve as a pattera for tbe new rover. Whan ripping etamlce carefully the sewing. Dlond and brunette aandwtches ar pretty addition to the tea table. To make tbe blend ones cut while treat luto tble trlngl and spread wlit butter and chopped crss; tbe brun Mas ar made of circles of brown bread spread "tth cream cfcaeic p'tl chopptd otlvM. They should be arvel oa separate pla'.ee.
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