Bellefonte, Pa., September 13, 1907. That Is Ome Sight You will Not See In Edinburgh. A writer of the London Tatler has been in Edinburgh aud reports as fol- lows: There is one thing that always disappoints the visitor to Edinburgh, ; and that is a complete absence of kilts, : or, rather, the absence of Scotsmen in kilts. If you meet a man wearing a kilt in the streets of the Queen City of the Forth it will be a grave mistake to suppose that he is the laird of Gor- | muck or some other equally famous | highland chieftain. He is nothing of | the sort. As a matter of fact, his name is Hodgkins, and he is employed dur- | ing eleven months of the year licking | up envelopes for a firm on the shady | side of Lothbury avenue, London, E. C. | Another mistake which strangers are apt to make lies in supposing that the | good people of Scotland talk Scotch. 1 | shall never forget my surprise on the occasion of my first visit to Edinburgh, when a policeman at the corner of | Frederic street, to whom I remarked | pleasantly that it was “braw, brient | nicht the nicht, whateffer,” told me to push off and stop asking him conun- | drums. Scotsmen do not as a rule talk | at all. They possess the gift of silence | to a really remarkable degree. 1 know | a gillie named Donald, who lives in Perthshire, in whose society 1 have sometimes spent whole days stalking | the elusive stag without his ever vouchsafing a single remark of any kind. I rewmonstrated with him once, pointing out that such silence as his almost amounted to taciturnity., He | promised to try and cultivate a certain measure of garrulity, and after we had walked across the heather for five | hours, during which time I could see ! that his brain was working feverishly, he suddenly turned to me and exclaim- | ed, “Yon's a fearfu' earthquake they had in Jamaica!” after which striking effort he relapsed once more into his habitual attitude of Peshectivl silence. s “OLD ) GLORY. » The Way This Name Fo For the Stars and Stripes Originated. The term “Old Glory,” used to desig- nate the flag of our country, is a favor- ite, and the expression is a very happy one. It is said by those who claim to be well informed that the name originat- ed with William Driver, captain of the bark Charles Doggett. This statement appears in a history of the Driver family, and from this we find the fol- lowing facts: Driver was a successful deep sea sailor and was at the time making his vessel ready for a voyage to the south- ern Pacific. In 1831, just as the brig was about to set sail, a young man at ' the head of a party of the captain's friends saluted Driver on the deck of the Doggett and presented to him a | handsome American flag 19 by 38 feet in size. The banner was done up in! stops, and when it went aloft and was | flung to the breeze Captain Driver, | says the tradition, then and there named it “Old Glory.” The flag was | carvied to the south seas and ever aft- | ervard treasured by its owner. Driver removed to Nashville, Tenn. in 1837 and there died in 1886. Before | the outbreak of hostilities between the | north and south Old Glory flew daily | from a window in the captain's Nash- | ville house, Lut when the rumors of | war became facts it was carefully se- | creted. When the war broke out the precious flag was quilted into an innocent look- ing comfortable and used on the cap- tain’s bed until Feb. 27, 1862, when the Sixth Ohio marched into Nashville. Then the flag came out of its cover- ing. and the captain presented it to the regiment to be hoisted over the capi- tol. There it floated until it began to tear ip ribbons, when it was taken down and a new one placed on the building. After the death of Captain Driver the first Old :3lory was given to the Es- sex institute at Salem, where it is still preserved and may be seen by the curi- ous.—Kansas City Journal, Too Much to Expect. Camp Meeting John Allen, the grand- father of Mme. Nordica, was for many years a picturesque figure among the Methodist ministers in the state of Maine. He was a good deal of a wag, and his utterances were much appre- ciated by both saint and sinner, At one time, having gone to Lewiston to attend a quarterly meeting, he was ap- proached in the street by several young men who were evidently out for a good time. “Camp Meeting John,” said the spokesman, “who was the devil's grandmother?” “The devil's grandmother,” replied the old man in the quick, sharp tone so characteristic of his speech, “the devil's grandmother—how do you ex- pect me to keep your family record?” —Cleveland Leader. Peanut Meal Bread. Peanut meal has been for a long time a staple article in the dietary of the poor classes in Spain. Bread made from pure peanut meal is light and porous, but it is said to be un- palatable because of a persistent, pop- prlike taste. Rye bread containing 25 per cent of peanut meal cannot be dis- tinguished from ordinary rye bread, while far more nutritious. Skim milk cheese is the only ordinary article of diet comparable to peanut meal in its percentage of nitrogenous matter. All Alike. Visitor (in country village)—Well, it's a simple thing to elect a man surely. Choose the cleverest man. Viilager— There isn't one unfortunately.—Meg- gendorfer Blatter, | work is the figure of ‘Nirvana’ in the { juniors was bold enough to question | | AN ENIGMA IN STONE. “Nirvana” In the Rock Creek Ceme- | tery at Washington. | So many things may be said of St. | Gaudens—of the traits of his genius, | his modesty, his deep sympathy with ll who possessed high ideals or who bad noble thoughts; of his own noble generosity, his willingness to sacrifice himself for the advancement of art, his keen perception of beautiful char- acter, or of a fine impulse that often shone for him out of the most com- monplace of lives or of features. One incident of many, says Harper's Week- | ly, may not only illustrate him, but help to illumine a masterpiece of his | which bas perplexed some minds that | may be worth the enlightening. “The | Rock Creek cemetery at Washington. St. Gaudens was in Washington in | the winter of 1902, making his beauti- ful relief of Wayne MacVeagh and | Mrs. MacVeagh, and Hildegarde Haw- | thorne was there, too, and visited more | than once that dreaming figure in the | cemetery. At last she was moved to write some verses, which she sent to a magazine, but the editor thought that he had seen verses on the sculptor's | work that better expressed its senti- | ments, and returned the verses with the stimulating suggestion that some day he would show the young woman | some real poetry about the figure. St Gaudens, too, had seen both poems, | and when he heard of this expression | of the editor's he wrote to him and | said that Hildegarde Hawthorne had | divined his intention as no writer had | done, and therefore the verses are In print. So, if you like, you may solve the riddle by reading them.” i JOYS OF A COLLECTOR. Picking Up a Valuable Painting at an Auction Sale. | Collecting will always have its ro- | mances. I know of one that occurred | at the sale at Christie's of the effects | of the lite Sir Henry Irving. Some | one I knew had been to see the coilec- tion before the sale. He came across u portrait with which he was familiar because he had seen it thirty years before. On consulting his catalogue he discovered that the portrait was de: scribed as being that of a man un known, and, further, the artist was also unknown. Now, he knew that the portrait was that of a famous actor hy a famous English painter. He longed to buy it, but decided that it would go at too high a price. He went to the auction with very little hope. The Whistler and the Sargent were sold, and then it was the turn of this picture, Nobody recognized it. Finally he had to start the bidding himself, and this he did. Only one man bid against him, but he soon stopped, discouraged, and then the picture was knocked down to the man who had never expected to get it. He hurried to the desk to pay the small amount and to carry off his prize. “Do you happen to know any- thing about that portrait?’ the auc- tioneer usked him as a porter took it down to a cab. “I know it very well,” sald the new owner, conscious that it was now safely his property. “It is a portrait of Buckstone, the actor, by Daniel Maclise. There is an engraving of it in the Maclise portrait gallery.” — Mrs. John Lane in Pearson's Magazine. | Started the French Walking. The celebrated Dr. Tronchin, friend of Voltaire, Rousseau and Diderot, was | the inventor of walking. In France until his epoch (1700-81) the leisured class never walked either for health | or recreation, Walking was only prac- ticed by the Tiers Etat. Folks footed it from one place to another simply because they possessed neither coach nor sedan chair. Dr. Tronchin, an initiator in many other respects, in- duced “les elegants et les elegantes,” writes a historian, to take what is now | called a constitutional. To stroll abroad was named “tronchiner” after the inventor, and for their airings both | sexes had special costumes and shoes, | the latter being more especially neces- sary. The verb “tronchiner,” by the way, has not had the fate of our “to | boycott,” having passed Into disuse | long ago.—Westminster Gazette. A Baldheaded Reply. A naval officer, very well and favor- ably known in London, has for some : unknown reason been advanced in his | profession very slowly, though he has | grown gray in the service and indeed | lamentably bald. Recently one of his | him as to his remarkable absence of hair, “How comes it that you are so very bald?" The officer replied promptly and with much vindictiveness: “You, man, you would be bald, 1 think, if you had had men stepping over your head for years in the way I have.”—London Punch. A French Joke. Two doctors were called to attend a man who had suffered an accident to his hand. “We shall have to amputate three fingers,” said one. “No, two,” said the other, “Three,” maintained the first. “Oh, well, three, then,” replied the second. “We won't quarrel over a lit- tle thing like that.”—Nos Loisirs, Easy Permission. “Willie, did you put your nickel In the contribution box in Sunday school today 7" “No, mamma. I ast Eddie Lake, the preacher's son, If I couldn't keep it an’ spend it fer candy, an’ he give me permission.” —Denver News, They who menace our freedom of thought and of speech are tampering with something more powerful than gunpowder.-—~Conway. Thanks to the Weather. # By JOANNA SINGLE. Parcells. Copyright, 1907, by E. C. It was the weather in the first place, thought Edith very drearily as she watchad the rain beat against the win- dow. If she and Richard had not been caught in a sudden shower to the ut- ter ruin of ber very prettiest dress, she would never have been irritable and quarreled with him about nothing at all, and she would not have expected him to take the fault upon himself when she alone--after the weather— was to blame. And now it had rained for nearly a week, and the inaction was driving her wild. She could only think, think and vainly try to over- come her pride and send for him. For the thousandth time she drew from her dress his last letter and re- read it: Dearest—We have been friends and neighbors and sweethearts all our lives and should not let anything come between ud I love you, and if you will just send one word saying you want me I will come at your call and forget the nothing we quarreled about. Should we let anything so childish part us? I look for a word from you. If it does not come, I shall know that you really meant to break our engagement and shall of course not trou- ble you. But you couldn't have meant it, | Edith? Fraternally yours, RICHARD COPELAND. That was all, but she had sent him no word, thinking that In time he would come anyhow, and then she would let him coax her out of her anger. But he had not come, and she could not fail to respect him for refus- ing to be played with. So she was very wretched and blamed her own pride and the weather. The rain beat down warmly and inter- mittently, and all nature expanded and throve under its moist influence. Edith looked across the fields to the south to Richard's home, which cne day was to have been also hers, and saw him out in the rain on his horse, coming from the town a few miles away. How often they country together! over. He would never come back to her—unless she sent for him. she do it? It was early in the after- noon, and she might send her little brother over with a note. She hesi- tated; then she went to her room and sat down to her desk. It would be a relief to write to him, even if she could not bring herself to send it to him. Dear Richard-—-Will you come to see me tonight? I was horrid, and I am very sorry. If 1 had not been wet and cross I should not have thought of caring be- cause you rode to town with Fay. Of course vou could not help her overtaking you. She always was forward. Forgive me and come back. You know that—I love you-always. EDITH. She sat looking at it. Then her heart misgave her. It had been two long months since they parted, and he might no lonzer exre for her. He might care for Fay. The neighbors had said he tad been to see her. The letter was altogether too unguarded. She could not tell him she loved him. So she carelessly thrust it into her dress with the letter from him. She tried to busy herself about the house, but somehow she could not work. She was restless and felt as if her mother and sister saw it and would know that she fretted for Richard. She tried to read in her own room, but it seemed like a prison. Along about 8 o'clock she felt as If the day had been years long. She could bear it no longer. She put on some heavy shoes and an old water- proof riding habit, wound her fair hair closely under a little cap and stood be- fore the glass thinking what a fright she looked and rather rejoicing in the fact. What was the use of being beau- tiful when Richard no longer loved oer? She slipped out to the barn and sad- dled Ginger, her little mare, mounted and rode quickly out of the gate and northward, as she did not want to pass Richard's house. Her mother saw her ride off in the storm and wondered if the girl was going crazy, but was too late to call after her. At first Ginger wheeled and refused to believe that she was expected to,splash her dainty hoofs through such pools of mud and water, but after a few snorts of pro- test Edith convinced her with the quirt that this wind and rain were really to be faced, and the little beast settled into a spiteful trot. Edith rather rejoiced in buffeting the storm. The rain and wind cooled her bot cheeks, and the open air relieved the unbearable tension of her nervous- ness. For the first time since the trou- ble with Richard she allowed herself the unrestrained luxury of tears. Here out in the open, with the sting of rain- drops in her face, she was free from prying eyes. She did not need to keep up her pride, and she could be as wretched as she really felt. She did not look about her, but rode mile after mile, letting the mare take her own course. After riding an hour or so she no- ticed that tlhe storm abated and, look- ing up, saw that the clouds were less dark. Here and there was a gleam of blue, though the warm wind still blew intermittent drops into her face. She drew her collar closely about her neck and pulled her cap over her eyes and rode on with her own thoughts. At last an idea came to her. Why not phone to Richard—jJast call him up and talk to him in the old way about nothing in particular and, if he made it easy for her, ask him to come to see her that evening? Streng in this new resolve, she looked to see where she was and realized that after a long detour they were about a mile below Richard's house, which they | Bits. Could | two had ridden about the | And now It was al! | held Colonel rust puss. She could not go back, for | ‘t was probably ncar evening. The ui threatened to break through the dotds near the horizon. The rain bad atively ceased. She felt tired, but sappier and quiet after the relief of reurs. Then she remembered a way through | Richard's fields that they had often | taken. She would have to pass a bad tlough, but that could not be helped. te must not see her gn her present Might. She realized that her face was swollen and her eyes red with weep- Ing and that she was covered with mud. Her hair was flying wildly, though the dampness always made it the curlier. She turned into the pas- ture after dismounting to open a heavy gate, and as she rode along she re- woved her cap and, transferring her hairpins to her mouth, let the reins fall m Ginger's neck while she shook out her long hair and prepared to coil it more closely. But Ginger gave a sud- den jerk, and in calling “Whoa!” the pins fell from her mouth into the mud and water. Then she laughed long and heartily and gave the wind Its will with her hair. No one would see her anyway. As she neared the slough she felt very warm and unfastened her habit at the throat. Ginger was plunging and snorting through the mud and stopped once with a jerk that almost threw the girl from her saddle. The wind caught at her dress, and before she realized it the two luckless letters were spread out in the mud. It was no laughing matter, for Richard would be sure to find them, and the mud was so deep she could not possibly dis- mount. She drove Ginger as close to them as possible and was leaning over reaching for them so attentively that she did not see Richard till he rode up almost against her. Her eyes met his, defiantly conscious of her floating hair and her solled face and above all the telltale letters. She wished her writing was finer—she could see that hateful “I love you” from where she now was! He lifted his hat and was getting down to hand her the leiters when she stopped him. “Richard Copeland, you go right away. Don't touch them. 1 will get | them myself” i “You can't. You'd get stuck in the | mud. Let me.” | “Ir you do, I'll—hate you." “Yon do anyway, and, besides, 1 won't look at whatever it Is you seem to | value so.” Fle coolly dismounted, but | she sprang down ahead of him and | snatched at them, sinking to her knees in the slush. Ginger started, and Rich- | ard called “Whoa!” but gave the poor | beast a sly cut with his whip that sent her on a mad gallop for home. He | by the bridle. Edith faced him. i “Now, Edith,” he said, “hate me or not. You will have te get on Colonel and be taken home. Come-—-dear.” “I'll die here first!” He mounted and, riding close to her, suddenly caught | her in his arms and drew her strug- gling and angry to the saddle in front of him. “Edith,” he sald, “1 couldn't help seeing the ‘I love you' on the letter you were so anxious about. Was it written for me?’ Suddenly she felt that she could bear it no longer. She turned her face against his shoulder and cried, while he smoothed back her long hair and held her very close. Her pride was quite gone. She was in tears and a fright generally. She felt that it was positively a miracle that he could still love her. He kissed the only available place, which happened to be her left ear. Then he asked her again about the letter. “I meant it for you,” she owned, “but I couldn't send it, and 1 was misera- ble.” He laughed softly and bade her look up, and Colonel somehow understood that he was expected to go very, very slow. Crow's Way of Opening Clams. The crows that live along the sea- shore live on sea food. At times they show a gull's dexterity in picking eat- ables from the tossing water with their bills. Their ingenuity, however, is taxed by the hard shells of clams, which they can neither pry iuto nor break with their bills. Like some gulls, the bright crow will seize a clam ‘and fly to a great height and drop it on a ledge of rock. That breaks the shell, and the crow gets the meat. Near Vancouver, B. C. the crow rides around on the backs of hogs that are rooting in the flow ground of the tide. The hogs crush the shells of clams and mussels in their jaws and then drop them on the ground in order to sepa- rate the meat from the shell. The crow jumps in and gets the meat for itself. On the other hand, the remark- able story comes from Africa that crows there carry stones to a consider- able height above a nest of ostrich eggs and let them fail on the tough shells, and then feed on the exposed albumen. His Poem on a Dog. The ethereal being with the unshorn locks was shown into the editorial sanctum. “I have written a poem on the dog,” he said. “Whose dog?’ demanded the editor fiercely. “It is not on any particular dog,” tered the poet. “Do you mean to say that you took advantage of the dog because it was not particular and wrote your poem on it? “I am afraid that you do not un- derstand me. I was inspired by the dog's fidelity” — “If the dog was faithful, why shouid you hurt its feelings by writing a poem on it? Did you have the poor brute shaved and tattoo the verses on Its back, or did you brand them on? Perhaps you" — But the poet had fled.—Loodon Tite fal- “Bellcfoume Shoe Emporium. — — a —,. SHOES — FOR — The New Season Came in nicely. The late styles are on exhibition and all are invited to look them over. We offer the best in styles and makes and always save yon money. Yeager & Davis BELLEFONTE, PA. fL.won & Co. Lyon & Co. Summer CLEARANCE SALE is Still Going on. We mean to clear out all our Summer Dress Goods. Corsets, Gloves, Lace Hose, Shirt Waists, Underwear, Clothing, Straw Hats, Ladies’, Misses’ and Children’s Slippers. Oxfords at less than cost. We are showing Fall Goods and must have the room for the new goods. If you want to share in these low prices now is the time to buy. Our buyer is now in the Eas- tern Cities and we will have every department filled and no room to carry Summer Goods. Lyon & Co. Allegheny St., Bellefonte, Pa.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers