Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, June 12, 1925, Image 2

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    ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW,
Copyright by
Doubleday, Page & Co.
WNU Bervice,
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS
BR L—Introducing “So Big”
rk DeJong) in his infancy. And his
other, Selina DeJong, daughter of
m
i eon Peaie gambler and gentleman
$ fortune. er life, to young woman-
00d in Chicago in 1888, has been un-
oonventional, somewhat seamy, but
generally enjoyable. At school her
hum is Julie Hempel, daughter of
foEust Hempel, butcher. Simeon is
illed in a quarrel that is not his own,
and Belina, nineteen years old and
Taotically destitute, becomes a school-
er.
CHAPTER JII—Selina secures a posi-
tion as teacher at the High Prairie
chool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
iving at the home of a truck farmer,
laas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
ld, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
kinared spirit, a lover of beauty, like
reelf.
CHAPTER IIL.—The monotonous life
of a country school-teacher at that
time, is Selina'e, brightened somewhat
by the companionship ot the sensitive,
artistic boy Roelf.
CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip
ncerning the affection of the “Widow
BaXlenberg, rich and ‘good-looking.
for Pervus Delong, poor truck farmer,
who is insensible to the widow's at-
ractions. For a community “sociable”
elina Ficpares a lunch basket, dainty,
ut not of ample proportions, which is
‘auctioned,” according to custom. The
smallness of the lunch box excites deri-
lon, and in a sense of fun the bidding
becomes spirited, DeJong finally secur-
ng it for $10, a ridiculously high price.
Over their lunch basket, which Selina
and DeJong share together, the school-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
atured farmer, whose education has
en neglected.
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in thelr
sitions of “teacher” and “pupil,” and
elina’s loneliness in her uncongenial
urroundings, lead to mutual affection.
ervus DeJong wins Selina’'s consent
to be his wife.
CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes Mrs.
Delong, a ‘farmer's wife,” with all the
hardships unavoidable at that time.
Dirk is born. Selina (of Vermont
stock, businesslike and shrewd) har
plans for building up the farm, which
are ridiculed by her husband. Maartje
Pool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the
requisite decent interval Klaas marries
the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy
Roelf, sixteen years old now, leaves
his home, to make his way to France
end study, his ambition being to be-
eome a sculptor.
CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years
old when his father dies. Selina, faced
with the necessity of making a living
for her boy and herself. rises to the
occasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck-
oad of vegetables to the Chicago mar-
et. A woman selling in the market
place is an innovation frowned upon.
CHAPTER VIIL—Ag a disposer of
the vegetables from her truck Selina is
a flat failure, buyers being shy of
dealing with her. To a commission
dealer she sells part of her stock. On
the way home she peddles from door
to door, with indifferent success. A
oliceman demands ‘her license. She
as none, and during the ensuing alter-
cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie
Eempel, now Julie Arnold, recognizes
er.
CHAPTER IX.—August Hempel, risen
to prominence and wealth in the busi-
nese world, arranges to assist Selina
in making the farm something more of
ea paying proposition. Selina grate-
fully accepts his help, for Dirk's sake.
Early the next week one of the uni-
versity students approached Dirk. He
was a- Junior, very influential in his
class, and a member of the fraternity
to which Dirk was practically pledged.
A decidedly desirable frat.
“Say, look here, DeJong, I want to
talk to you a minute. Uh, you've got
to cut out that girl—Swinegour or
whatever her name is—or it's all off
with the fellows in the frat.”
“What d’you mean! Cut
What's the matter with her?”
“Matter! She's Unclassified, isn’t
she! And do you know what the story
is? She told it herself as an economy
hint to a girl who was working her
way through. She bathes with her
union suit and white stockings on to
save laundry soap. Scrubs ’em on her!
’S the God's truth.”
Into Dirk’s mind there flashed a ple-
ture of this large girl in her tight
knitted union suit and her white stock-
ings sitting in a tub half full of water
and scrubbing them and herself sim-
uitaneously. A comic picture, and a
revolting one. Pathetic, too, but he
would not admit that.
“Imagine!” the frat brother-to-be
was saying. “Well, we can’t have a
fellow who goes around with a girl
like that. You got to cut her out, see!
Completely. The fellahs won't stand
for it.”
Dirk had a mental picture of himself
striking a noble attitude and saying,
“Won't stand for it, huh! She’s worth
more than the whole caboodle of you
put together. And you can all go to
h—11!"
Instead he said, vaguely, “Oh. Well.
Uh—"
Dirk changed his seat in the class-
room, avoided Mattie's' eyes, shot out
of the door the minute class was over.
One day he saw her coming toward
him on the campus and he sensed that
she intended to stop and speak to
him—chide him laughingly, perhaps.
He quickened his pace, swerved a lit-
tle to one side, and as he passed lifted
his cap and nodded, keeping his eyes
straight ahead. Out of the tall of his
eye he could see her standing & mo-
ment irresolutely in the path,
He got into the fraternity. The fel-
lahs liked him from the first. Selina
sald once or twice, “Why don’t you
bring that pice Mattie home with you
out!
again some time soon? Such a nice
girl—woman, rather. A fine mind, too.
She’ll make something of herself.
You'll see. Bring her next week, h'm?”
Dirk shuffled, coughed, looked away.
“Oh, I dunno. Haven't seen her lately.
Guess she’s busy with another crowd,
or something.”
He tried not to think of what he had
done, for he was honestly ashamed.
Terribly ashamed. So he said to him-
self, “Oh, what of it!” and hid his
shame,
A month later Selina again said, “I
wish you'd invite Mattie for Thanks-
giving dinner. Unless she's going
home, which I doubt. We'll have tur-
key and pumpkin pie and all the rest
of it. She’ll love it.”
“Mattie?” He had actually forgot-
ten her name, side
“Yes, of course. Isn't that right?
Mattie Schwengauer?”
“Oh, her.
geeing her lately.”
“Oh, Dirk, you haven't quarreles
with that nice girl!”
He decided to have it out. “Listen,
mother. There are a lot of different
crowds at the U, see? And Mattie
doesn’t: belong to any of ’em. You
wouldn't understand, but it's like this.
She—she’'s smart and jolly and every-
thing, but she just doesn’t belong. Be-
ing friends with a girl like that doesn’t
get you anywhere. Besides, she isn't
a girl. She's a middle-aged woman,
when you come to think of it.”
“Doesn’t get you anywhere!” Se-
lina’s tone was cool and even. Then,
as the hoy’s gaze did not meet hers:
“Why, Dirk DeJong, Mattie Schwen-
" gauer is one of my reasons for sending
you to a university. She's what I call
part of a university education. Just
talking to her is learning something
valuable. I don't mean that you
wouldn't naturally prefer pretty young
girls of your own age to go around
with, and all. It would be queer if
vou didn’t. But this Mattie—why,
she’s life. - Do you remember that story
of when she washed dishes in the
kosher restaurant over on Twelfth
street ana the proprietor used to rent
out dishes and cutlery for Irish and
Italian neighborhood weddings where
they had pork and goodness knowe
what all, and then use them next day
in the restaurant, again for the kosher
customers?”
Selina wrote Mattie, inviting her
to the farm for Thanksgiving. and Mat-
tie answered gratefully, declining. “I
shall always remember you,” she wrote
in that letter, “with love.”
Chapter XI
Throughout Dirk's Freshman year
there were, for him, no heartening,
informal, mellow talks before the
wood-fire in- the book-lined study of
some professor whose wisdom was
such a mixture of classic lore and
modernism as to be an inspiration to
his listeners, Midwest professors de-
livered their lectures in the classroom
as they had been delivering them in
the past ter or twenty years and as
they would deliver them until death
or a trustees’ meeting should remove
them. The younger professors and in-
structors in natty gray suits and
brightly colored ties made a point of
being unpedantic in the classroom and
rather overdid it. They posed as be-
ing one of the fellows; would dashing-
ly use a bit of slang to create a laugh
from the boys and an adoring titter
from the girls. Dirk somehow pre-
ferred the pedants to these. When
these had to give an informal talk to
the men before some university event
they would start by saying, “Now lis-
ten, fellahs—" At the dances they
were not above “rushing” the pretty
coeds.
Two of Dirk's classes were con-
ducted by women professors. They
were well on toward middle age, or
past it; desiccated women. Only their
eyes were alive. Their clothes were
of some indefinite dark stuff, brown or
drab-gray; their hair lifeless; their
hands long, bony, unvital. They had
seen classes and classes and classes.
A roomful of fresh young faces that
appeared briefly only to be replaced
by another roomful of fresh young
faces like round white pencil marks
manipulated momentarily on a slate,
only to be sponged off to give way to
other round white marks. Of the two
women one—the elder—was occasion-
ally likely to flare into sudden life;
a flame in the ashes of a burned-out
grate. She had humor and a certain
caustic wit, qualities that had man.
aged miraculously to survive even the
deadly and numbing effects of thirty
years in the classroom. A fine mind,
and inoclastic, hampered by the re-
str} of a conventional community
oy or of a congenital spinster.
Under the guidance of these Dirk
chafed and grew restless. Miss Eu-
phemia Hollingswood had a way of
Uh—well—I haven't been |
ble, bringing her volée down hard or
it.
He found himself waiting for that
emphasis and shrinking from fit as
from a sledge-hammer blow. It hurt
his head.
Miss Lodge droned. She approached
a word with a maddening uh-uh-uh-uh.
In the uh-uh-uh-uh face of the uh-uh-
uh-uh geometrical situation of the ub
uh-uh-uh—
He shifted restlessly in his chair,
found his hands clenched into fists,
and took refuge in watching the shad-
ow cast by an oak branch outside the
window on a patch of sunlight against
the blackboard behind her.
During the early spring Dirk and
Selina talked things over again, seated
before their own fireplace in the High
During the Early S8pring Dirk and
Selina Talked Things Over Again,
Seated Before Their Own Fireplace
in the High Prairie Farmhouse.
Prairie farmhouse. Selina had had
that fireplace built five years before
and her love of it amounted to worship.
She had it lighted always on winter
evenings and in the spring when the
nights were sharp. In Dirk’s absence
she would sit before it at night long
after the rest of the weary household
had gone to bed. High Prairie never
knew how many guests Selina enter-
tained thére before her fire those win-
ter evenings—old friends and new. So-
big was there, the plump earth-grimed
baby who rolled and tumbled in the
fields while his young mother wiped
the sweat from her face to look at him
with fend eyes. Dirk DeJong of ten
years hence was there. Simeon Peake,
dapper, soft-spoken, ironic, in his shiny
boots and his hat always a little on one
side. Pervus DeJong, a blue-shirted
giant with strong tender hands and
little fine golden hairs on the bucks of
them. In strange contrast tc these
was the patient. tireless fangs
Maartje Pool standing in the doorway
of Roelf’s little shed, her arms tucked
in her apron for warmth. “You make
fun, huh?’ she said, wistfully, “you
and Roelf. You make fun.” And
Roelf, the dark vivid boy, misunder-
stood. Roelf, the genius. He was
always one of the company.
Oh, Selina DeJong never was lonely
on these winter evenings before her
fire.
She and Dirk sat there one fine
sharp evening in early April. It was
Saturday. Of late Dirk had not al-
ways come to the farm for the week-
end. Eugene and Paula Arnold had
been home for the Easter holidays.
Julie Arnold had invited Dirk to the
gay parties at the Prairie avenue
house. He had even spent two entire
week-ends there. After the brocaded
luxury of the Prairie avenue house
his farm bedroom seemed almost star-
tlingly stark and bare.
Selina frankly enjoyed Dirk’s some-
what fragmentary accounts of these
visits; extracted from them as much
vicarious pleasure as he had had in
the reality—more, probably.
“Now, tell me what you had to eat,”
she would say, sociably, like a child.
“What did you have for dinner, for
example? Was it grand? Julie tells
me they have a butler now. Well! I
can’t wait till I hear Aug Hempel ‘on
the subject.”
He would tell her of the grandeurs
of the Arnold menage. She would in-
terrupt and exclaim: “Mayonnaise!
On fruit! Oh, I don’t believe I'd like
that. You did! Well, I'll have it for
you next week when you come home.
I'll get the recipe from Julie.”
He didn’t think he’d be home next
week. One of the fellows he'd met at
the Arnolds’ had invited him to their
place out north, en the lake. He had
a boat.
“That'll be lovely !” Selina exclaimed,
after an almost unnoticeable moment
of silence—silence with panic in it.
“I'll try not to fuss and be worried
like an old hen every minute of the
time I think you're on the water. . . .
Now, do go on, Sobig. First fruit
with mayonnaise, i'm? What kind of
soup?’
He was not a naturally talkative per-
son. There was nothing surly about
his silence. It was a taciturn streak
inherited from his Dutch ancestry.
This time, though, he was more volu-
ble than usual. “Paula , . .” came
again and again into his conversation.
“Paula . . . Paula . . 3 and
again * . . Paula)” He did not
geem conscious of the repetition, but
Selina’s quick ear caught it.
“I haven't seen her,” Selina sald,
“since she went away to school the
first year. She must be—let's see
—she’s a year older than you are. She's
emphaglzipg every. third or fifth sylla- | pineteen going on twenty. Last time
scrawny little thing. Too bad she
didn’t inherit Julie’s lovely gold color-
ing and good looks, instead of Eu-
gene, who doesn’t need em.”
“She isn’t!” said Dirk, hotly. “She's
dark and slim and sort of—uh—sensu-
ous”—Selina started visibly, and raised
a smile—"like Cleopatra. Her eyes
are big and kind of slanting—not
squinty 1 don’t mean, but slanting up
a little at the corners. Cut out, kind
of, so that they look bigger than most
people’s.”
“My eyes used to be considered. rath-
er fine,” said Selina, mischievously;
but he did not hear.
“She makes all the other girls look
sort of blowzy.” He was silent a mo-
ment. Selina was silent, too, and it
was not a happy silence. Dirk spoke
again, suddenly, as though continuing
aloud a train of thought, “—all but her
hands.”
Selina made her voice sound natural,
not sharply inquisitive. “What's the
matter with her hands, Dirk?”
He pondered a moment, his brows
knitted. At last, slowly, “Well, 1 don’t
i know. They're brown, and awfully
thin and sort of—grabby. I mean it
makes me nervous to watch them.
And when the rest of her is cool
: they're hot when you touch them.”
He looked at his mother’s hands
1'that were busy with some sewing. The
stuff on which. she was working was a
bit of satin ribbon; part of a hood
intended to grace the head of Geertje
Pool Vander Sijde's second baby. She
had difficulty in keeping her rough
fingers from catching on the soft sur-
face of the satin. Manual work, wa-
ter, sun, and wind had tanned those
hands, hardened them, enlarged the
‘knuckles, spread them, roughened
them. Yet how sure they were, and
strong, and cool and reliable—and ten-
der. Suddenly, looking at them, Dirk
said, “Now your hands. 1 love your
hands, Mother.”
She put down her work hastily, yet
quietly, so that the sudden rush of
happy grateful tears in her eyes
should not sully the pink satin ribbon.
She was flushed, like a girl. “Do you,
Sobig?” she said.
After a moment she took up her
sewing again. Her face looked young,
eager, fresh, like the face of the girl
who had found cabbages so beautiful
that night when she bounced along
the rutty Halsted road with Klaas
Pool, many: years ago. It came into
her face, that look, when she was
happy, exhilarated, excited. That
‘was why those who loved her and
brought that look into her face
thought her beautiful, while those
who did not love her never saw the
look and consequently considered her
a plain woman.
There was another silence between
the two. Then: “Mother, what would
you think of my going east next fall,
to take « course in architecture?”
“Would you like that, Dirk?”
“Yes, I think so—yes.”
thing in the world. I—it makes me
Poppy just to think of it.”
*= canld—engt an awful lot?
“I'll manage. I'll manage. . .
What made you decide on architec-
ture?”
“I don’t know, exactly. The new
buildings at the university—Gothiec,
you know—are such a contrast to the
old. Then Paula and I were talking
the other day. She hates their house
on Prairie—terrible old lumpy gray
stone pile, with the black of the 1. C.
trains all over it. She wants her fa-
ther to build north—an Italian villa or
French chateau. Something of that
sort. So many of her friends are mov-
ing to the North shore, away from
these hideous South-side and North-
side Chicago houses with their stoops,
and their bay windows, and their ter-
rible turrets. Ugh!™
“Well, now, do you know,” Selina
remonstrated mildly, “I like ’em. 1
suppose I'm wrong, but to me they
seem sort of natural and solid and
unpretentious, like the clothes that old
August Hempel wears, so squarecut
and baggy. Those houses look digni-
fied to me, and fitting. They may be
ugly—probably are—but, anyway,
they're not ridiculous. They have a
certain rugged grandeur. They're Chi-
cago. Those French and Italian gim-
cracky things they—they're incongru-
ous. It’s as if Abraham Lincoln were
to appear suddenly in pink satin knee
breeches and buckled shoes, and lace
wnfos at his wrists.” :
(Continued next week.)
Yank Doughboy Introduuced Gum
Habit to Europe.
Gum chewing is a seasonal pleasure
in England, according to a survey
conducted by the department of com-
merce.
Beginning with January, when sales
are low, gum chewing gradually in-
creases, reaching a peak in the sum-
mer months, thereafter falling off rap-
idly until the next spring.
Although American chewing gum
sells at twice the price of the Eng-
lish product, its superior qualities are
such that it has little competition.
France, Denmark and Scotland are
also large consumers of gum, with
Germany fast acquiring a taste.
It is a well known fact that the
American army took the gum habit
| to Europe and planted it there appar-
ently for all time to come.
r——————— A eines
Snake Bite Now Calls fer New
Remedy.
Yakima, Wash.—In the absence of
the old and well known remedy, work-
men employed by the Pacific Power &
Light company have been ordered to
‘include potassium permanganate in
their first-aid kits as an antidote for
the bites of rattlesnakes.
—————— rece
——Get the Watchman if you want
the local news.
“Then I'd like it better than any- |
————————————————————————————— ———————————
— -
I saw her I thought she was a dark |
BELLEFONTE NEWS OF 1817.
From Edward L. Gates, a former
Bellefonte boy and now telegraph ed-
(itor of the Johnstown Tribune, we
| have received a column of excerpts
| from Vol. 1, No. 29, of The Independ-
| ent Republican, published in Belle-
' fonte Monday, May 12, 1817. The pa-
{
|
|
i
her hand quickly to her mouth to hide, | per was found among the effects of
the late S. Dean Canan, of Johnstown,
' by his daughter, Mrs. S.. M. Miller. It
was a four column folio, 11 by 17
inches in size, and published by Hugh
| Maxwell at $2.50 per annum, if not
i paid in advance, or $2.00 if paid half
yearly in advance, exclusive of post-
age. 25 cents per annum was charged
those subscribers who had their pa-
' pers left at specified places by the
post-rider.
| Advertising was inserted for $1.00
per square tor three insertions, and
| 25 cents per square for every contin-
, uation.
The front page is devoted exclu-
i sively to “Foreign News—from
| French papers received at New York,
by the ship Comet, Capt. Center, in
36 days from Havre de Grace.” Trans-
lated for the Evening Post, a lengthy
story under Londan date of Feb. 2,
under the caption “Report of the Coni-
mittee of Secrecy.”
Under the “masthead” at the cen-
ter of the last column on the second
page is the anouncement:
APPOINTMENT BY THE GOVERNOR.
William Tilton, Esq., (a Federalist)
of the borough of Reading a Justice
of the Peace, in and for the county of
Berks.
i And for editorial the paper says:
We are every day compelled to no-
tice the wonderful changes produced
upon men grossly ignorant or of very
common capacity, by accidental cir-
cumstances—one of this class was el-
evated a short time since to the Leg-
{ islature, he was a plain homespun
farmer, but not remarkable for any
quality suitable to the situation, ex-
cept that of professing himself a Re-
publican. He came back among his
old neighbors, a few days since, so full
of the Findlay cant as to be “literally
running over,” and he applies the
: terms seditious fellows, sowers of dis-
cord among the people, etc., to some
| of his constituents, as impudently as
|if he was the representative of an
i English rotten borough, and had serv-
jo under my lord Castelreagh him-
| self.
Under an italic communication was
‘ the bold caption:
A WARNING.
It is probably unknown to the par-
| ents and heads of families in Belle-
fonte, that many of their children and
of the youth under their care, are in
the habit of assembling almost every
Sabbath day, through the summer, on
the bank and in Spring creek, at the
head of the mill dam, for the purposes
of diversion and amusement, to the
great disgrace of a Christian Society
and the annoyance of persons passing
to and from the church.
Would it not be desirable to put a
stop to this evil practice in future, by
imposing a salutary restraint on those
young persons, or enforcing the pro-
: visions of the law against such as are
' refractory.
<
~e
| Among the advertisements were the
following: :
CENTRE BANK OF PENNSYLVANIA.
"| Notice is hereby given to the stock-
holders that the Directors of said
I bank have this day declared a divi-
| dend for the last six months, at the
| rate of eight per cent. per annum pay-
able at any time after the 14th inst.
| JNO. NORRIS, Cashier.
' Bellefonte, 5th May, 1817.
| BELLEFONTE & NORTHUMBERLAND
; MAIL STAGE.
Leaves Northumberland every Fri-
day and arrives in Bellefonte on Sat-
urday afternoon at 1 o’clock. Leaves
the house of Evan Miles, Bellefonte,
early on Monday morning and arrives
in Northumberland on Tuesday in
time for the Reading and Philadelphia
Stage.
May 12, 1817.
TO ALL OUR CREDITORS
NOTICE
That the Subscribers have severally
applied to the court of Common Pleas
of Centre county for the benefit of the
several acts of Assembly of this State,
made for the relief of insolvent debt-
ors; and that the same Court hath ap-
pointed Monday, the twenty-sixth day
of May, instant, to hear us and our
creditors, at the Court House in the
borough of Bellefonte.
THOMAS GREEN,
JAMES GREEN,
WM. BEATTY,
JASPER MILES,
THOMAS MOOKE,
Centre County Jail,
2nd May, 1817.
NOTICE.
Franklin B. Smith, intending to
leave Bellefonte, has empowered John
Blanchard, Esq., to receive all debts
due him. Those indebted to him are
therefore notified to make immediate
payment to the said John Blanchard,
Esq., of Bellefonte, Attorney at Law,
without delay, or suits will be com-
menced without respect to persons.
May 5, 1817.
HORSE TAKEN UP.
Came to the Plantation of the Sub-
scriber, living on the Mill Hall road
three miles from Bellefonte, a Straw-
berry roan horse, about 14 hands high,
four years old. The owner is required
to come forward, prove property, pay
charges and take him away, or he will
be sold for expenses.
DANIEL WEAVER.
TAKE
May 5, 1817,
A SMALL FARM FOR SALE.
of Excellent land, beautifully situat-
ed, in Buffaloe valley, inquire of
printer.
“THOUGH LAST, NOT LEAST.”
Colhoon, Taylor, informs the fash-
ionable, the plain, the whimsical, and
the eccentric, that he, after expelling
the scraps and parings from the dom-
icil lately occupied by William Welch,
cordwainer, removed, has been regu-
larly appointed to succeed him as the
occupant of said tenement, dwelling,
or office.
Colhoon, though he cannot boast of
having taken his degrees in either
Paris, London, sweet Dublin, or the
city of Brotherly Love, yet, from his
studious application to the higher
branches of the scientific profession to
which he has the honor to belong, and
which is confessedly the most ancient,
and, some of his admirers affirm, the
most necessary of the polite arts, he
feels confident he has attained that
happy command of his faculties which
enables him to suit his measures to
men of all parties, of all sizes, whims,
caprices, peculiarities and particular-
ities. Indeed, he has made it the
great study of his life to set off Na-
ture to the best advantage—to
straighten her abberations,— to cor-
rect her extravagancies, to compen-
sate for her neglects, and to give Lo
her most exquisite models of beauty,
the indispensable accompaniments of
fashion, ease and grace.
As punctuality has, of late, become
a desideratium in the polite world, as
well as among men of business, Cal-
hoon has determined that his promis-
es shall be honorably fulfilled and his
engagements rigidly .executed. He
deems it indelicate to his brethren, to
say anything of the superiority of his
style and manner; and it might sa-
vour of egotism to produce any of
|those personal acknowledgements
! with which he has been honored, by
| numerous gentlemen, who are indebt-
|ed to him for their all of elegance
and fashion, and who, through his in-
| genuity, have become, like the grandi
flora of the parterre,—chief orna-
‘ments of the socety in which they
| bloom. He will therefore conclude, in
{the language of that great captain,
| General Smyth, Come on horseback,
| come on foot,—Come in troops—come
| single—Come any how, but armed!
*’Tis not ours to command success,
But we'll do more—We will deserve it.”
| Bellefonte, May 5, 1817.
Another ad. reads:
THE EAGLE TAVERN, BELLEFONTE.
James Watson, Junr.
Has removed from Irwin’s Mill,
Pennsvalley, to that large and com-
modious house lately occupied by
Hamilton Humes, in the Borough of
Bellefonte—which he intends to con-
tinue as a house of Entertainment;
and where he has everything calculat-
ed for the accommodation of company:
His Liquors are of the best quality,
the bed-rooms airy and neat, the sta-
bling convenient and good; and every
attention shall be paid to render the
house agreeable to his friends, to the
traveler, and to the public generally.
Bellefonte, Pa., April 21, 1817.
$75 REWARD.
WAS stolen, on Friday night last,
from the Subscriber, living in Mun-
ster, Cambria county, Pennsylvania,
a large
STUD HORSE,
about nine years old; he is a dark bay,
i black mane and tail, a natural trotter,
and is very well forehanded. He has
been worked in a wagon all winter,
and was taken from the wagon tongue
"in the town of Hollidaysburg.
{ The supposed thief is about 25
| years of age, had good clothing and
‘a very handsome bridle, and saddle-
bags; he also stole a wagon saddle.
{ Tke above reward will be paid on
| securing the thief and horse, or fifty
dollars for the horse, if brought home.
: ZEPHANIA WEAKLAND.
| Munster, Cambria Co., Pa.,
April 14, 1817.
Printers in this and adjoining
States will forward the cause of Jus-
tice by giving the above an insertion.
Any information directed to Munster
Post Office, that may assist in detect-
ing the thief, or in recovering the
horse, will be thankfully received.
FLEMING STEWART, TAYLOR,
Has just commenced business, in
the house next door to Joseph Unde-
graff’s tavern, Bellefonte.
He respectfully informs the public,
that he will pay every attention to the
orders of those who may please to
employ him; and his work shall be
done in the best and neatest manner.
April 14, 1817.
SPECIAL COURT.
Agreeably to the provisions of an
Act of Assembly passed the 15th day
of March . 1816, a Special Court of
Common Pleas for Centre county, for
the trial of all causes in which the
‘Hon. Judge Walker has been concern-
ed as counsel, or is personally inter-
ested, is ordered, and appointed by
the Hon. Judge Chapman, to com-
mence on Monday, the 7th day of July
next, and to continue two weeks if
necessary, of which all persons inter-
ested will please take notice.
J. G. LOWERY, Proth'y.
Bellefonte, 22d April, 1817.
Dairy Cow is Market for Farmer's
Crops.
Dairying is primarily a matter of
marketing, not of dairy products, but
of the crops that grow on the dairy
farm. The dairy farmer produces a
variety of crops in a more or less
definite rotation, and once produced
these crops must be marketed or con-
verted into money if the dairy farm-
er is to prosper. The price received
for milk is a factor, but a matter of
far greater importance to the dairy-
man is the milk making or working
ability of the cows that stand in his
barn. The price for milk is determin-
ed very largely by market conditions
and the range is within very wide
limits.
Susceptible Audience.
Professor—“I am going to speak on
liars today. How many of you have
read the twenty-fifth chapter of the
text?”
Nearly every
hand.
rrofessor—“Good! You are the
very group to whom I wish to speak..
There is no twenty-fifth chapter.”
student raised his
Marriage Licenses.
John L. Houtz, Unionville, and
Thelma L. Matz, Wooster, Ohio.
Joseph Elwood Pope and Cora Al-
ice Napp, Sunbury.
Franklin C. Davis, Utica, N. Y., and
Beatrice A. Decker, Geneva, N. Y.
Paul J. Reber and Alice C. Gar-
brick, Bellefonte.