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Bellefonte, Pa., July 27, 1906.
"JAMES QUIN.
feign of the Great Irish Actor In the
Eighteenth Century.
The son of an Irish barrister, himself
tutended for the bar, lack of means
«ofl consciousness of ability sent Quin
oa to the stage. He made his first
success In 1720, when he persuaded
hristopher Rich to allow him to ap-
pear as Falstaff in “The Merry Wives
of Windsor.” After Booth's death he
advanced still further in public esteem
5y what he modestly described on the
»laybill as “his attempt” to follow that
sragedian in his greatest part of Cato.
ile so delighted the audience by his
sttempt that after his delivery of the
fine “Thanks to the gods, my boy has
Jone his duty!” they cried: “Booth out-
done! Booth outdone!” And after he
mad spoken the then famous soliloquy
en the immortality of the soul the en-
thmsiasm reached such a pitch that In
amswer to a vociferous demand for an
encore Quin was obliged to repeat the
speech.
From this night Quin as an actor
reigned supreme for ten years. It was
a solemn reign, dignified, weighty, tra-
ditional. He was unsurpassed in such
characters as Falstaff and Sir John
Brute, but In tragedy he did no more
than uphoid with fine elocution, pon-
werous majesty and rugged independ-
eace that solemn unreality of speech
2nd action which both in England and
France was then considered the ap-
propriate expression of tragic sentl-
went. As in France Le Kain was the
rst to restore nature to tragic acting,
so did Garrick in England by a similar
soturn to nature expose the dullness,
the lifelessness of the settled methods
of the actors of the type of Quin. And
wuln had too much good sense not to
see it himself, for as a man he was the
rather coarse embodiment of that rough
vat ready witted, prejudiced but gen-
erous and warm hearted disposition,
which we admire and respect in Dr.
Johmson.
The few of Quin’s sayings preserved
to us almost make one regret that he
2ad no Boswell by his side. Lords and
bishops, clergy and gentry, all were
represented In the circles of Quin's
many friends, who delighted in his wit
2nd conversation. He could hold his
«wn in an argument with any man.
vue instance must suffice. At some
zathering Bishop Warburton, dictato-
rial and overbearing, was arguing in
support of royal prerogative. Quin said
to was a republican and thought that
perhaps even the execution of Charles
i. by his subjects might be justified.
“Aye,” asked the indignant Warburton,
~&hy what law?’ “By all the laws he
had left them,” answered Quin. The
socked bishop then cited the wrath of
eo divine judgment as visited upon the
sogicides; they all, he sald (though it
is not strictly true), had come to violent
euds. “I would not advise your lord-
«2p” said Quin, “to make use of that
wu:farence, for if I am not mistaken that
«8 the case with the twelve apostles.”
tiamace Walpole greatly admired this
zustance of the player's readiness and
== ness of retort.—H. B. Irving in Fort-
uishtly Review.
Saflor's Story of Jungle Sargery.
“There wuz {Ls here black Kamerun
s=uage, nakel! os an animal” sald the
+. lar, “and ticre wuz this explorer in
i. pretty =uit of white drillin’, and
«...1 a healdress o' human bones. They
«272d under a palm tree. I sot on a log
z... watched ‘em. The medicine man
r=. the right arms of the savage and
r..» explorer close together and then,
+o =ishin’ a dull lookin’ knife, he nicks
2 +.n in the white arm and then an
«omy in the black arm. The blood
«>» a-gushin’ and a-gushin’ out o
£ = black arm, and the medicine man
«red it up in the holler of his hand
2:0 rubbed it into the nicked white
«:z>. He must 'a’ rubbed in a pint be-
1 «+ te closed the wound. Transfoosion
« 2's0d is what they call it. They say
a)
for African explorers to geo
1--z2gh the transioosin’ process. And
§ 1 you a funny thing about it. It
:z".z3 the hair thicker and darker and
& «-“kens the skin a couple of shades.”
- rw Orleans Times-Democrat.
ldest Body of Human Being.
Ti» oldest body of any human be-
2. - reposes In the Egyptian gallery of
a.» ritish museum. It is the body of
= r2:n who was buried in a shallow
«=~ hollowed out of the sandstone on
+ west bank of the Nile In upper
wt. This man must have hunted
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With Claudia’s
Assistance
By INA WRIGHT HANSOM
Copyright, 1908, by E. C. Parcells
From the doorway Fitzgerald looked
moodily at me from in front of the
dresser. 1 looked moodily at Fitzger-
ald.
“She refused me,” he said.
“I've got to go to Mrs. Whiting’s din-
ner,” I answered.
Fitz nodded and threw himself bheav-
ily into a chair,
“1 wouldn't go, you know, after Mrs.
Whiting’'s niece refused me, so she had
to rustie up you.”
1 glared at him, then jerked open the
top drawer.
“Seems to me, in the interest of hu-
manity, you might have staved off
your old proposal till after the dinner.
I've got to take Miss Whiting in, What
shall 1 say to her? I'm no soclety
man.”
“You might talk about me, It's
darned strange she refuses me,” Fitz
responded modestly. “Of course I'm
fat, but what of that? Look at my
money ?”
I turned from my hair brushing and
regarded Fitz with surprise,
“She's different from other girls,” he
went on mournfully. “You never know
what she is going to do or say next.
She said if she ever found the man she
wanted to marry and he didn't ask her
she would propose to him, You say a
word for me, old man, and maybe she
will change her mind about it.”
“All right,” I sald and started for the
infernal dinner. If I had been left in
peace I could have translated a few
more pages of that Latin work I was
on.
Why 1 should have (figuratively of
course) fallen on my face and wor-
shiped Claudia Whiting the moment I
saw her I don't know. That any man
could help adoring her after he came to
know her is incredible, but I think I
begAn before ever she sald a word to
me. It couldn't be because her eyes
were the bluest I ever saw or her hair
crinkled sunshine—I suppose a poet
would describe it better—or her lips
red as the roses she wore in her bel
One day since that dinner she told me
something about affinities, It may be
that mysterious word holds the reason.
What we talked of is vaguely remem-
bered. I know that I walked home-
ward carrying with me a vision of
sweetest seriousness, for that describes
Claudia as she appeared that day.
When I turned the corner, beyond
which were my lodgings, I saw Fitz-
gerald at my gate, his broad back to-
ward me. I remembered my forgotten
promise and fled incontinently. I
couldn't face him. Later I stole into
my room like a thief in the night.
Next day I went to call on her and to
make my peace with Fitz, who had in-
terviewed me that morning. She was
iu the garden, and I stated the object
of my call at once.
“If you knew him better you would
appreciate him more,” I sald and
launched forth at some length into his
peculiar graces and virtues. Claudia
listened, and when I had finished she
leaned toward me, smiling roguishly.
“And didn't you care about coming
to see me? If it had not been for Mr.
Fitzgerald you would have come any-
way, wouldn't you?”
To think that she should have looked
straight into my heart and discovered
my perfidy! I almost let go of my se-
cret. I almost answered, “I came be-
| cause 1 love you.” And this on the
! second meeting.
| Then because, must talk, and there
{ were some things I must not say, I
began talking of myself—my college
life, my failing health, forcing me to
live for years In the pine forests; then
when my health was restored how the
woods still held me with their soli-
tudes, =o that I was unhappy and {ll at
ease in society.
“I have quite a pretentious cabin
there,” I sald. “In it are my books
and my viclin. Back of it flows a
clear stream with trout waiting for me
to catch them for my breakfast. Noth-
ing is wanting there to make me en-
tirely comfortable.”
i My face grew hot, for all at once 1
realized there was a want—a vold—to
be filled. That If I went back to my
cabin now it would be as lacking as
the body whose soul is not within.
“1 was born and bred in the woods!”
exclaimed Claudia. “The stars look
closer and bigger than they do in the
cities of the lowlands. Up there in the
mountains are ferny nooks and man-
zanita; there Is water cress which
”»
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| and those
| tomes—why should I have supposed
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with laughter, and I suspect she
poking fun at me In her irrepressible
way. Then there was the morning
when we walked together to church
and she talked so quietly of holy
things, and there was that last after-
noon in the garden before Fitz
home.
That day it was the hardest of all to
£0 insistently over their blue beauty.
At last I pulled myself together with
the thought that he could do so much
more for her than I, even if she could
bring herself to think of me at all, and
made my last earnest speech for him.
She frowned a little, then she smiled
and looked thoughtful.
“I think I shall have to teach you to
read poetry,” she said.
“Will you?’ I asked eagerly.
“Begin on ‘The Courtship of Miles
Standish,’ then,” she answered and
ran, laughing, up the walk.
“1 did the best I could for you, Fitz,”
I told him when he returned that even-
ing. And I rehearsed the last speech
in full,
“What did she say?” he demanded.
“Why—she didn't say anything to
that. She told me—or hinted—that my
education was deficient because I had
little knowledge of poetry, and ghe told
me to begin on ‘The Courtship of Miles
Standish.’ ” .
Fitz looked at me mournfully. “That's
my finish then. Have you read it?”
“I was just beginning.”
Fitz walked heavily from the room,
and I took up my new Longfellow.
Short of atature he was, but strongly
built and athletic;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his
russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow.
Pretty good description of myself, I
thought. Not exactly patches, but there
were certainly threads of gray. I read
on till the speech was finished, the
egotistical words of Miles Standish;
then I bowed my head In shame and
anger. I had talked steadily of myself
and my work, but she had led me on.
She had no right to call me down so.
Tomorrow I would go back to my
cabin and forget, but yet I knew I
ghould always remember. I was still
brooding when Fitz came back.
“I don’t blame you, old man,” he be-
gan. “Probably you'll make her hap-
pler; but, Lord, look at my money!”
I blinked at him as he settled down.
“Neat way she had of bringing mat-
ters to a focus,” he went on, picking
up my book which lay face downward
on the table. “Why, darned if I be-
lieve you've read it all!”
“I've read enough,” I said resentful-
ly. “I read what she thinks of me.”
One moment that blessed Fitz gazed
at me, then In words of one syllable he
gave me the gist of that poem—made
me to understand that my Claudia was
impersonating the Puritan maiden in
her immortal speech, “Why don’t you
speak for yourself, John?"
And to think I ever had deemed
Fitzgerald stupid!
I found my blessed girl in the gar-
den, but she did not hear my approach.
She was on tiptoe, trying to reach a
rose which swung above her head.
“I have come to speak for myself,
Claudia,” I sald.
The dear hands ceased from their
quest to hide the blushes of her sweet
face. Her girlish form trembled.
“You think me bold!” she cried ap-
prehensively.
It was such a glorious affair to prove
to her just what I did think of her, and
it took a long time. And then she ex-
plained to me about affinities.
Some Funny Speeches.
An Irishman who was very ill, when
the physician told him that he must
prescribe an emetic for him, said, “In-
deed, doctor, an emetic will never do
me any good, for I have taken several
and could never keep one of them upon
my stomach.” An Irishman at cards,
on inspecting the pool and finding it
deficient, exclaimed: “Here is a shilling
short. Who put it in?’ A poor Irish
servant mald who was left handed
placed the knives and forks upon the
dinner table in the same awkward
fashion. Her master remarked to her
that she had placed them all left hand.
ed. “Ah, true, indeed, sir,” she said,
“and so I have! Would you be pleased
to help me to turn the table?’ Doyle
and Yelverton, two eminent members
of the Irish bar, quarreled one day so
violently that from hard words they
came to hard blows. Doyle, a power-
ful man with the fists, knocked down
Yelverton twice, exclaiming, “You
scoundrel, I'll make you behave your-
self like a gentleman!” To which Yel.
nation: “Nv, sir; never!
You could not do it!"—London Specta-
tor.
The Queer Burmans.
One who has lived among them says:
“The Burmans are a primitive people.
They are a very young people. There
are certain marks and signs by which
physiologists can determine the relative
youth or age of a race. One of these is
:
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STOCK CLEANING
We are now offering the bal-
ance of our SUMMER FOOT.
WEAR at bargain prices.
This offer includes everything
that remains in Women’s, Miss-
es and Children’s White Can-
vas and Kid, Black and Pat.
ent Leather and Tan Low Cuts.
Also our Men’s, Boys and
Youth’s Oxfords of all kinds,
and a splendid Ime of Men's
Tan Blucher €3.00 Shoes at
$1.98 We still have a few
Boys’ and Youths’ Tan Shoes
at a very low price. We can
please you now but come early
for the supply is limited.
YEAGER & DAVIS
OPEN EVENINGS.
A Mussulman’s Ideas,
A respectable and honest Mussulman
—and of course there are millions of
Mussulmans entitled to that descrip-
tion—will not swallow alcohol if he
knows it, even for the good of his
health; will not lift “the harem veil,”
even {if lifting it is essential to the life
of his wife or daughter; will not take
out an insurance, even when failure
to do so Is ruinous to him in a busi-
ness competition, and will not in a
country ruled by Mussulmans from
any motive whatever short of a neces-
sity such as destroys freedom of will
accord equality to men of any other
faith. In these respects he is a “fanat-
fc"”—that is, he will act upon the pre-
cepts of his creed as interpreted by its
doctors without reference to any other
consideration, and especially without
reference to convenience or to the opin.
fons, moral or otherwise, of men ot
any other faith. A Mussulman’s creed
is for him the operative law, as cus-
tom is for a Chinaman, or a caste rule
for a Hindoo, or duty for a good Eng-
lishman, or that which is convenient
for a respectable Frenchman, and,
though there are points upon which he
will break the law, especially for gain,
there are also points, es; those
we have mentioned, upon ch he
will not—rather will be chopped in
pleces or chop you and take all con-
sequences serenely. — Lonuon Specta-
tor.
T_T,
Medical.
Boop HUMORS
Commonly cause pimples, boils, hives,
eczema, er salt rheum, or some other form
of eruption ; but sometimes they exist in
the system, indicated by feelings of weak:
ness, languor, loss of appetite, or general
debility, without causing any breaking
out,
Hood's Sarsaparilia expels them, renc-
system. This is the testimony of thous.
ands annually.
Accept no substitute, but insist on hav.
ing
HOOD'S SARSAPARILLA,
Ia usual liquid form or in chocolated
tablets known as SARSATABS. 100 doses
£1. 51.28
aear the Passenger Station.
16-18
—
MONEY TO LOAN on good secarity
5l14-1vr.
HIGH STREET,
BELLEFONTE.
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inside a piece of wrapping paper.—
Somerville Journal.
Coal and Wood.
JLPWARD K. RHOADS
Shipping and Commission Merchant,
DEALER [Ne
ANTHRACITE axp BITUMINOUS
(ze)
w=CORN EARS, SHELLED CORN, OATS we
snd other grains.
—BALED HAY and STRAW—
SOILDERS' and PLASTERERS' SAND
= KINDLING WOOD——
vy the bunch or cord as may suit purchasers.
Respectfully solicits the patronage of his
and the publie, at -
we HIS COAL YARD...
~—Take Vin-te-na and the
will put new life in you. If not ted
money refunded. All druggists.
Plumbing etc.
A. E. SCHAD
Fine Sanitary Plumbing,
Gas Fitting,
Furnace, Steam and Hot Water
Heating,
Slating, Roofing and Spouting,
Tinware of all kinds made to
order.
Estimates cheerfully furnished.
Both Phones.
4243-1y
Eagle Block.
BELLEFONTE, PA
Telephone.
OUR TELEPHONE
is a door to your establish.
ment
If Your Time Has Commercial Value,
If Promptness Secure Business.
If Immediate Information is Required,
If You Are Not in Business for Brercise
at home and use your
Distance
Lots tance Telephone.
excuse for travel
47-251 PENNA. TELEPHONE CO.
tobe cule {Son IE
Money to Loan.
and houses for rent.
J. M. KEICHLINE,
© Att'y at Law,
HOTEL FIXTURES FOR SALE!
All the fixtures and furnishings of the
MUSSER HOUSE, MILLHEIM,
are offered for sale by the landlord,
whose health demands his release from
the cares and responsibilities of the hotel.
‘The building}is for rent or sale, For par
tieulars, call on or address
A. M. REESER,
51-1841 Millheim, Pa.