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.