Nappanee Advance-News, Volume 18, Number 25, Nappanee, Elkhart County, 2 September 1896 — Page 3

TEAR BOTTLE. ninsa. wherein a Greek girl’s tears Once were gathered as they fell, After these two thousand years Is there still no tale to tell? Burled with her, In her mound She Is dust long since, but you OfdS' yesterday were found Iridescent as the dew— Fashioned faultlessly, a form Graceful as was hers whose cheek Once against you made your warm While you heard her sorrow speak. A t your lips I listen long For some whispered word of her, For some ghostly strain of song In ypur haunted heart to stir. But your crystal lips are dumb. Hushed the music In your heart; Ah, If she would only coma Back again and bid It start! Long is art, but life, how brief! And the eCd seems so unjust; This companion of heFgrlef Here to-day, while she Is dust! —Frank Demster Sherman, In Atlantic.

4jt THE BOOSE V ftf OF TBE WOIF. ©© © © BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.

CHAPTER Vl,— Continued. I did not tell her of her husband’s danger, or that we sttspected him of wronging her, and being, in fact, the cause of her detention. I wanted her services as a guide. That was the main point, though I was glad to be able to put her in a place of safety at the same time that we fulfilled our own mission.^ She rose eagerly. “You are sure that ■we can get out?” she said. “Sure,” I replied, with a brevity worthy of Bezers himself. And I was right. We trooped downstairs, making as little noise as possible; With the result that Mirepoix only took the alarm, and came upon us when we were at the outer door, bungling with the lock. Then I made short workof him, checking his scared words of remonstrance by flashing my dagger before his eyes. I induced him in the same fashion —he was fairly taken bv surprise— to undo the fastenings himself; and so, bidding him follow us at his peril, we slipped out one by one. We softly closed the door behind 11s. Audio! we were at last free—free and in the streets of Paris,, with the cool night air fanning our brows. A church hard by tolled the hour of two; and the strokes were echoed, before we had gone man} - steps along the illpaved way, by the solemn tones of the hell of Notre Dame. We were free and in the streets, with a guide who knew the way. If Bezers had not gone straight from us to his vengeance, we might thwart him yet. I strode along quickly, Mme. d’O by my side, the others a little way in front. Here and there an oil lamp, swinging from a pulley in the middle of the road, enabled us to avoid some obstacles more foul than usual, or to eap over a pool which had formed in the kennel. Even in my excitement, my country-bred senses rebelled against the sights, and smells, the noisome air and oppressive closeness of the streets. The town was quiet, and very dark where the smoky lamps were not hanging. Yet I wondered if it ever slept, for more than once we had to stand aside to give passage to a party of men, hurrying along with links and arms. Several times, too, especially towards the end of our walk, I was surprised by the flashing of bright lights in a courtvard, the door of which stood half

open to right or left. Once I saw the

Flashing my diggsr before his eyes. glow of torches reflected ruddily in the windows of a tail and splendid mansion, a little withdrawn from-the street. The source of the light was in the forecourt, hidden from us by a low wall, but I caught the murmur of voices and stir of many feet. Once a gate was stealthily opened and two armed men looked out,"the act and their manner of doing it, reminded me on the instant of those who had peeped out to inspect us some hours before in Bezers house. And once, nay twice, in the mouth of a narrow alley I discerned a knot of standing ihotionless in the gloom. There was an air of mystery abroad, a feeling as of solemn stir and' preparation going on under cover the darkness, which awed and unnerved me. But I said nothing of this, and Mme. and O was equally silent. Like most countrymen I was ready to beliese in any exaggeration of the city’s late hours, the more as she made no remark. I supposed—-shaking off the momentary impression—that what I saw was innocent and normal. Besides, I " as thinking what I should say toPavnnnes when 1 saw him—in what terms I should warn him of his peril, and cast his perfidy in his teeth. Wo had hurried along in this waj and jn absolute silence,save when some obstacle or pitfall drew from us an exclamation—for about a quarter of a mile, when nny.compnnjon, turning into * slightly wider street, slackened her •Peed, and indicated by a gesture tha had arrived. A lamp burg ° vei

tho porch, to which she pointed, and showed the small side gale half opened. We were close behind the other three now. I sow Croisette stoop to enter, and .as qtiickly fall back a pace. Why? In a moment it flashed across my mind that we were too late—that the vidamc had been before us. And yet how quiet it all was, / Then I breathed freely again. J saw’ that Choisettc had only stepped back to avoid someone who was coming out —the Coadjutor, in fact. The moment the entrance was clear, the lad shot in, nnd the others after him, the priest, taking no notice of them, nor they of him. I was for going in, too, when I felt Mme. d’O’s hand tighten suddenly on my arm, and then fall from st. "Apprised of something by this, I glanced at the priest’s face, catching sight of it by chance just as his eyes met hers. His face was while —nay, it was ugly with disappointment and rage, bitter, snarling rage, that was hardly human. He grasped her by the arm roughly and twisted her round without ceremony, so as to draw her a few paces aside; yet not so far that I could not hear what they said. “He is not here!” he hissed. “Do you understand? He crossed the river to the Faubourg St. Germain at nightfall —searching for her. And he has not come back! lie is 01. the other side of the water, and midnight has struck this hour past!” She stood silent for a moment, as if she had received a blow—silent and dismayed. Something serious had happened. I couid see that. “He cannot recross the river now?” she said, after a time. “The gates—” “Shut!” he replied, briefly. ’The keys are at the Louvre.” “And the boats are on this side?” “Every boat!” he answered, striking his one hand on the other with violence. “Every boat! No one may cross until it is over.” “And the Faubourg St. Germain?” she said, in a lower voice. “There will be nothing done there. Nothing!” /— —-.'■ ACHAPTER VII. A YOUNG KNIOHT-ERKANT. I would gladly have left the two together, and gone straight into the house. I was eager now to discharge the .errand on which I had come so far; and apart from this I had no liking for the priest or wish to overhear his talk. His anger, however, was so patent, and the rudeness with which lie treated Mme. d'O so pronounced that I felt I could not leave her with him unless she should dismiss me. So I stood ' patiently enough —and awkwardly enough, too, I daresay—by the door, while they talked on in subdued tones. Nevertheless, I felt heartily glad when at length, the discussion ending, madamc came back to me. I offered her my arm to help her over the wooden foot of the side gate. She laid her hand on it, but she stood still. “M. de Cavlus,” she said; and at that stopped. Naturally I .looked at her, and our eyes met. Hers brown and beautiful, shining in the light of the lamp overhead, looked into mine. Her lips were half parted, and one fair tress of hair had escaped from her hood. “M. de Caylus, will you do me a favor?” she resumed, softly, “a favor for which I shall always be grateful?” I sighed. “Madame,” I said, earn tstly, for I felt the solemnity of the occasion, “I swear that in ten minutes, if the task I now have in hand be finished, I will devote my life to your service. For the present —” “Well, for the present? But it is the present I want, Master Discretion.” “I must see M. de Pavannes! lam pledged to it,” I ejaculated. “To see M. de Pavannes?" “Yes.” I was conscious that she was looking at me with eyes of daunt, almost of suspicion. “Why? Why?” she asked, with evident surprise. “You have restored—and nearly frightened me to death m doing it—his wife to her home; what mare do you want with him, most valiaut knight-errant?” “I must see him,” I said, firmly. I would have told her all and been thankful, but the priest was within hearing —or barely out of it; and I had seen too much pass between him and Bezers to be willing to say anything before him. “You must see M. de Pavannes?" she repeated, gazing at me. “I must," I replied, with decision. “Then you shall. That is exactly what I am going toJielp you to do,” she exclaimed. “He is not here. That is what is the matter. He went out at nightfall seeking news of his wife, and crossed the river,, the coadjutor says, to the Faubourg St. Germain. Now it is of the utmost importance that he should return before morning ,—return here.” “But is he not here?” I said, finding all my calculations, at fault. You are sure of it, madame? “Quite sure,” she answered, rapidly. “Your brotHers will have by this time discovered the fact. Now, M. de Caylus, Pavannes must be brought here before morning, not pnly 4 for his wife s sake-though she will be wild with anxiety —but also “I know,” I said, eagerly, interrupting her, “for his own, too! There is a danger threatening him.” She Jurued swiftly, as if startled, and I turned, and we looked at the priest. I thought we understood one another. “There is,” she answered, softly, “and I would save him from that danger; but lie will onlv be safe, as I happen to know, here! Here, you understand! He must be brought here before daybreak. M. de Caylus -He must! He must!” she exclaimed, her beautiful features hardening with the earnestness of her feelings. “And the coadiotor cannot gx I cannot go. There L onlv one man can save him. and that is yourself. Thera is, above all, not a moment to be ioat."

My thoughts were in a whirl.]* Even as she spoke she began to walk bock the way we had come, her hand on my arm; and I, doubtful and in a confused way unwilling, went with her. I did not clearly understand the position. I would have wished to go in nnd confer with Marie and Croisette; but the juncture had occurred so quickly, and i.t might be that time was ns valuable as she said, and —well, it was hard for me, a lad, to refuse her anything when she looked at me with appeal in her eyes. I did manage to stammer: “But 1 do not know Paris. I could not find my way, lam afraid; and it’is night; madame.” She released my arm and stopped. "Night!” "she cried, with a scornful ring in her voice.* “Night! I thought ytflx were a man, not a boy! You are afraid!” “Afraid,” I said, iiotlv; “we Caylus’ are never afraid.” “Then I can tell you the way, if that be your only difficulty. We turn here. Now, come in with me a moment,” she continued, “and I will give yo.u something you will need—and y our directions.” She had stopped at the door of a tall, narrow house, standing between larger ones in a street which appeared to me to be more airy and important than any I had yet seen. As she spoke, she rang the beil once, twice, thrice. The silvery tinkle had scarcely died away the third time before the door opened silently; 1 saw no one, but she drew me into a narrow ball or passage. A taper in an embossed holder was burning on a chest. She took it up, and, telling me to follow her, led the way lightly up the stairs, and into a room, half parlor, half bedroom —such a room as I had never seen before. It was richly hung from ceiling to floor with blue silk, nnd lighted by the soft rays of lamps shaded by Venetian globes of delicate hues. The scent of cedarwood was in the aii - , and on the hearth in a velvet tray were some tiny puppies.. A dainty disorder reigned everywhci - e. On one tabic a jewel case stood open, On another lay somerlaee garments, two or three masks and a fan. A gemmed riding whip and a silver-hilted poniard hung on the same peg. And, stx - angest of all, huddled away behind tho dooi\ I espied a plain, black-sheathed sword and a man’s gauntlets. She did not wait a moment, but went at once to the jewel case. She took from it a gold ring—a heavy seal ring. She held this out to me in the most matter-of-fact way—scarcely turning, in fact. “Put it on your fingei - ,” she said, hurriedly. “If you are stopped by soldiers, or if they will not give you a boat to cross the river, say boldly that you are on the king’s service. Call for the officer and show that ring. Play the man. Bid him stop you at liis peril!" I hastily muttered my thanks, and she a.s hastily took something from a drawer, and tore it into strips. Before I knew what she was doing she was on her knees by me, fastening a white band of linen round my left sleeve. Then she took my cap, and with the same pi’ecipitation fixed a fragment of the same stuff in it, in the form of a rough cross. “There,” she said. “Now, listen, M. de Caylus. /There is more afoot to-night than you know of. These badges w/11 help you across to St. Germain, but the moment you land, tear them off. Tear them off, remember. They will help you no longer. You will come back by the same boat, and will not need them. Ii you are seen to wear them as you return, they will command no respect, but on the contrary will bring you—and perhaps me —into ti - ouble.” “I understand,” I said, “but—” “You must ask no questions,” sfie retorted, waving one snowy finger before my eyes. “My knight-errant must have faith in me, as I have in him; or lie would not be here at this time of night, nnd alone with me. But remember this also. When you meet Pavannes do not say you come from me. Keep that in your mind; I will explain the reason afterwards. Say merely that his wife is found, and is wild with anxiety about him. If you say anything as to hiR -danger he may refuse to come. Men are obstinate.” I nodded a smiling assent, thinking I understood. At the same time I permitted myself in my own mind a little discretion. Pavannes was not a fool, nnd the name of the vidame—but, however, I should see. I had more to say to him than she knew of. Meanwhile she explained very carefully the three turnings I had to take to reach the river, and the wharf where boats most commonly lay, and the name of the house in which I should find M. de Pavannes. “He is at the Hotel de Bailli,” she said. “And there, I think that is all.” “No, not all,” 1 said hardily. “There is one thing I have not got. And that is a sword!” She followed the direction of myeyes, started, nnd laughed—-a little oddly. But she fetched the weapon. “Take it, and do not," she urged, “do not lose time. Do not mention me to Pavannes. Do not let the white badges be seen as you return. That is really all. And now good luck! ” She gave me her hand to kiss. “Good luck, my knight-errant, good luck—and come back to me soon! ” She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she said these last words, and the same smile followed me downstairs; for she leaned over the stairhead with one of the lamps in her hand, and directed me bow to draw the bolts. I took one backward glance as I did so at the fair stooping figure above me, the shining eyes, and tiny out-stretched hand, and then darting into the gloom I htjr: ried on iny way. 1 was in a strange inbod. A few minutes before I had been at Pavannes’ door, at Hie end of our journey; on the verge of success. I had been within an ace, as I supposed at leafst, of executing my errand. I had held the cup ol successdn my hand. And it had slipped. Now the conflict had to be fought over again; the danger to be faced. It would bare been no more than natural if 1

had felt the disappointment keenly; if I hod almost despaired. But it was otherwise—far otherwise. Never had my heart beat higher or more proudly than as I now hurried through the streets, avoiding such groups as were abroad in them, and intent only on observing the proper turnings. Never in any moment of triumph in after days, in love or war, did anything like the exhilaration the energy, the spirit, of those minutes come back to me. I had a woman’s badge in my cap—for the first time —the musio of her voice in my ears. I had a magic ring on my finger; a talisman on my arm. My sword was at my side again. All round me lay a misty city of adventurc, danger and romance, full of the richest and most beautiful possibilities; a city of real witchery, such as 1 had read of in stories, through which those fairy gifts and my right hand should guide me safely. I did not even regret my brothers, or our separation. I was the eldest. It was fitting that the cream of the enterprise should be reserved for me, Anne dc Caylus. And to what might it not lead ? I fancy I saw myself already a duke and a peer of France —already I held the baton. Yet while I exulted boyishly, I did ftot forget what I was about. I kept my eyes open, and soon remarked that the number of people passing to and fro in the dark streets had much increased within the last half hour. The silence in which, in groups or singly, these figures stole by me was very striking. I heard no brawling, fightingor singing, yet if it were not too late for these things, why were so many people up nnd about? I began to count pi-esently, and found that at least half of those I met wore badges in their hats und on their arms, similar to mine, and that they all moved with a business-like air, as if bound for some rendezvous. I was not a fool, though I was young, and in some matters less quick than Croisette. r JJie hints which had been dropped by In many had not been lost on me. “There is more afoot to-night than you know of!" Mme. d’O had said. And having eyes as well as ears I fully believed it. Something was afoot. Something was going to happen in Paris before morning. But what, I wondered. Could it be that a rebellion was about to break out? If so I was on the king’s service, and all was well. I might even be going—and only 18 —to make history! Or was it only a! brawl on a great scale between two parties of nobles? I had heard of such things happening in Paris. Then—well I did not see how I could act in that case. 1 must be guided by events. [TO HE CONTINUED.] AN UNEXPECTED CHAMPION. A Lively Kate Concluded by the Entrance of an Elk. While, a freight train was lying over at a small mountain station in Mon tana, the engineer borrowed a shotgun and started out for a hunt. He was about returning to his train when a cow made her appearahcc. Before he realized that there was any danger th animal made a rush at him and he ran with all his speed. But the cow was a better racer, and in a few minutes caught him by the clothing, splitting his coat from waist to collar und tossing him into the air. Getting to his feet ns quickly as possible, he dodged behind a tree, and then, to his dismay, found that the gun bnrrel wus bent no as to be useless. The next ten minutes were very lively ones. The cow chased the engineer round and round the tree, und when b got a chance to hit her with the gun barrel it only seemed to enruge her the more. It was’ only a question of time when lie would succumb to fatigue, when a diversion occurred which saved his life. An angry snort was heard, and a big elk nppeared upon the scene, head down, and prepared for a fight. The cow was so mad by this time that she was ready for anything, and in another moment the two animals dashed at each other. The engineer watched the combat for a few minutes, until prudence suggested that he should make a retreat while he could. He regained the train in safety and never knew the outcome of the battle, but the presumption is that the elk was the victor.—Bozeman Avant Courier. Lavender Salts. In answer to several requests we republish an old recipe far smelling salts flavored with lavender. Purchase from a thoroughly trustworthy chemist one pound at the best carbonate of ammonia and three ounces of oil of lavender. Break the ammonia in small pieces and pour the oil of lavender over it. Put the mixture *nto widemouthed bottles with glass stoppers, which are fitted tightly. Put the bottles intoa pan of warm water, allowing the water to reach nearly up to the mouths of the bottles, and set them in the oven. Let them heat in this way in a rather cool oven for halt an hour. If they arc heated nt a more intense heat the corks will be driven out. After removing them from the oven let them cool, and when they are cold open them and tsst them and replace the corks. They should be rather powerful, with a delicious odor of lavender. These salts should Is*, kept tightly /dosed and they will last a long time.—N. Y. Tribune. An Able Conjurer. Burmese conjurers are rather clever in excuses. One sold to a man a talisman to make him invulnerable. The conjurer let the customer Lave several cuts at his arm with a knife, and these cuts produced no effect. The customer paid a good price, went home, bared his arm, drew his knife, and asked his w jfe to make a chop at him. She nearly hacked his arm off. He therefore went back in a rage to the conjurer, who only said: “Ah. the lady is"Jn au interesting situation which entirely nullilfes all charms.” Longman’s Magazine.

FARM AND GARDEN, WORK FOR CONVICTS. Dad MOll Can It* Employed In tho Buildinn of Uood Hoads. In a good many of tfie*stnTes tTfhTnimutes of penitentiaries are already employed. to a greater or less extent, An, improving the highways, and everywhere the verdict is that good roads J have been secured where they would not have been built for a century to come if the taxpayers had been obliged to initiate the work and bear the whole cost of it. Curiously chough, this most excellent scheme has made most progreas in the communities where it is connected with a prison system that is strongly and justly reprehended. In those states of the south where they have what is known as the “chain gang system,” the idea .of putting the prisoners nt work 011 the highways suggested itself naturally. The convicts were kept in open-nir camps with guards furnished by the state, and nothing was more natural than to engage them in road repair in the vicinity. Where convicts are housed In great buildings of stone nnd iron, and where they have been put to labor at mechnnical employment, the transition is not so simple nnd natural. Still it can be made to n certain extent, nnd that without destroying or impeding the work of prison reform. In South Carolina there are now said to Ik* about 000 convicts at. work on the highways, and the value of wliat they have done lias produced such on effect upon the people of the rural sections of that not particularly progressive state that county commissioners everywhere are stirring up the subject of systematic road construction. Tennessee has a Inw that permits it, and New York has authorized a similar experiment. It seems to us that the New York law might very profitably be Adopted in Minnesota at. the next session of the legislature. This contemplates the employment of only a portion of the state’s convicts, to be selected by the prison warden, probably with the assistance and approval of tho state hoard of charities and corrections, who should be put to work on road improvement under the of experts in road construction engaged by the state. It is unquestionably true that the work of reforming the criminal, of which we must never lose sight ly exulting the commercial motive, is entirely consistent with utilizing convict labor on the highways. There is a very large percentage of prison population for whom this would be the most desirable .form of labor. By judicious selection of men, and by engaging them in small gangs upon the highways, it is probable that more wholesome Influences might be brought, to bear upon them even than in a well-conducted prison itself. At any rate, here is an occupation which does not compete with honest labor, which is available for a great number of convicts to whom mechanical pursuits are not naturally adapted, und whose results would be In the highest degree beneficial to the state. We believe tlint further experiment along this line should be made nt once, and that our own community should attempt it. St. Paul (Minn.) /Globe. V DAIRY SUGGESTIONS. Keep 110 more cows tbuu can be fed and handled profitably. Sweet cream poured into that which is sour docs not all oh urn. If u cow's attention is attracted, she immediately lets down her milk. So fur ns is possible discard nil cows Hint develop objectionable hublts naturally. The real test of a cow is her performance after the first three or four months in milk. If milk is to be used for butter or creuni, deep setting und speedy separation give the best results. A heifer is valuable in proportion to the smallness of the feed required by her to make a pound, of butter. There arc three general faults in but-ter-making, overripening of cream, overchurnlng nnd overworking. A good quantity of good, rich milk for ten months in the year is what every dairyman should huve from every cow in, the herd. While fat cows may present rather a better appearance, it is pretty certain that when the milch cows are putting fat on their backs they are not putting it into the milk pail. By selling giltedged butter a dairyman is not impoverishing his farm. He is selling his crops to his cows at a profit, and returning thevmanurial elements to the farm, which becomes more productive every year.—Rural World. OPEN YOUR EYEB. Go to tho City and Get Bid of Conceit and Prejudice. The farmer who never leaves his farm except when he goes to the.cheese factory, creamery, post office, grocery or to church, is usually the most conceited and-egotistical of all men; knows the least about his business; makes the poorest dairy product, and grows the poorest and lightest crops. If he will once go to the city and note the arrival of his butter or fruit, coippare it with other arrivals, and note the comments thereon, he will go borne with a better knowledge of his needs. The best and most profitable lesson I ever learned, says u prominent writer in Farmers’ Home Journal, whs on such a trip, and the concejt aud self-esteem I disposed of on libit occasion would have filled a volume. Go some day and see for yourself. You will come home vastly wiser and with a determination to discard prejudice and make butter. As much loss comes from using Inferior packages and poor products, ship only the best goods, and in the most attractive and neatest packages. You triH find that small packages, if neat and attractive, sell for the best prices; there is no room for poor goods of any kind.

DAIRYING MYSTERIES. Improving the Butter Flavor by Cert ala Kinds of Bacteria. Among the most remarkable of recent discoveries is (he fact that bacteria arc responsible tor ; th flayjr of butter and cheese. After all, the popular notion that these organisms ir* enemies of mankind is a mistake. Nearly nil of them are harmless, and soma arc exceedingly beneficial. It is only a fsw eccentric siiecies that have adopted parasitic habits, and, 1 ceding on lh* body tissues of mankind nnd other animals. produce thereby unpleasant diseases. The Cnited States patent office lias just issued to Vilhelm Storch, a citizen of Denmark, n patent for certain bacteria “cultures,” which ure designed tor

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BACTERIA THAT MAKE GOOD BUTTER. use in the artificial fluvor of butter. Added to fresh cream, these microscopic organisms multiply in incalculable numbers, and give to the substance the peculiar taste quality that is desired by people who ent butter. In Denmark dairying is conducted on scientific principles, and in that country buctcrial cultures have come into general use in the creumeries. Already such cultures have been placed on the market in the United States, nnd'small quantities of them are obtainable by farmers, put up in bottles und hermetically sealed. Among them perhaps the best-known is Prof. Conn’s culture of “Bacillus No. ■41,” the original germs for which were obtained by that scientist from a jar of preserved cream from South America, sent to the world’s fair at Chicago. The notion that Philadelphia butter may be made to order out of any sorb of cream merely by the addition of n few microbes of a particular specie* Kin surprising; yet it is a fact. Tt used to be imagined that, the pure aro-

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BACTERIA THAT SPOIL BUTTER. mafic flavor peculiar to fresh butter of specially line flavor resulted chiefly from the feed consumed by the cows, and that the great difference between winter butter and summer butter \v:ih due to the difference between winter feed and the fresh grass feed of the summer. This idea proves to be wholly a mistake. The difference is due to the varying species of bucteriu that find their way into the cream. Having discovered this fact, the next tiling obviously was to isolate the bacteria that produced the proper flavor and to make cultures of them—i. c., multiply them in beef tea, gelatine, or some other material on which they woidd feed. It is found that a very small quantity of such n culture, Introduced into a pan of cream, will effect the desired result, the good microbes driving out the bad ones. Thus it in easily conceived how valuable to the dairy fanner is a supply of a proper culture, by which his butter product inny be mode of a first-rate and uniform quality. To-day he is able to buy the cultures, either in a liquid or ill n dry state, in hermetically sealed bottles. The sealing Is ull-liuportant, inasmuch as tiie uir is uiive with bacteria of ull sorts, uiul none not wanted muit be admitted. There are a good many kinds of bncteria which are foes of the dairymen. They get into his cream and spoil his product in the shape of butter or cheese. Did you ever taste milk that was,sour? Probably you huve. Well, the souring Is the work of n certain species of bnc- „ terlum. But there are ever so many other species which give a bad taste to the cream, even causing the butter made frofn it to smell badly. T'wo of these are represented In figures 3 and 4 accompanying this article. Figures 1 and 2 are the sort of bacteria which make flrst-ratc butter. Without such ns they you would probably forsake that agreeable edible and take to oleomargarine. * Churning at Low Temperature. The aim in churning, aays~Hpard’s Dairyman, should be to churn at os low a temperature as will bring the butter in a reasonable length of time, and it is an excellent plan to keep a memorandum of the temperature of the cream, the temperature of the room in which the churning is done, together with the length of time of the churning. After such a memorandum hue been kept for awhile, one will be surprised at its usefulness. And, in fact, unless one is blessed with a phenomenal memory, a memorandum of the dairy operations will be found to be of benefit. ■> Good Roads Is tba Cry, jsEvpii the mute animals in Munch Chunk bear inscriptions: “I want good roads.” We call the attention of the borough fathers to this. According to our way of thinking, with theamount of taxes realized,, and the limited number of streets to be attended to, the Switzerland should have streets that should be a pride jto every wayfarer. Had noi our borough fathers better put on their thinking caps and put more money into good roods and less in other improvements?—Mauch Chunk (Pa.) Times. Tha Bast Country Roads. Hoad experts agree that the beat road for country districts is a narrow, stone road, with an earth road alongside. Such a road, according to loclity and the difficulties of construction, may be built for from SI,OOO to $3,000 per mile. A ff'iw in a poor condition is sure to ; .xr, thin, inferior milk.