! Bellefonte, Pa., October 26, 1928.
TETAS UNS
“BELLE FONTE.”
A copious fount of beauty rare,
So gurgled, gurgled up,
Within a shady valley, where
Twas so inclosed, that nature there
Seemed formed in one huge cup.
Twas thus a wand’rer first had seen
It gurgling brightly up;
And nothing in proportions, mean,—
He saw its glories had not been,
As down he knelt to sup.
When quenched his thirst, he ‘rose to gaze
Upon this cool retreat:
Shut in by hills, the woods, a maze,
It seemed as if no end of days
Could make ’it a village seat.
For thus it was, his thoughts would take
A quite ambitious stand;
“A spot so grand, oh! who'd forsake,
Although it all his genius wake
To clear and till the land!”
But thwarted not by such a doubt,
He first began to think,
“I'll workmen bring, this pool scoop out,
And put a wall of stone about,
And put a cup to drink.’
“And soon the world will learn its fame,
And some will come and stay;
And by degrees twill get a name
When nature wild turns nature tame,
And then, a town, we'll say.”
“The iron rail will pierce yon hill,
And science find us out,
Where deep the vale, there'll be a will
To bridge it so that trade may still,
Come in, and stir us ’bout.”
“Thus, I forsee a town will rise,
Around this lovely spet,
And, it will grow to wondrous size,
And when this generation dies,
This scene there’s naught ean blot.’
Thus queried be; the dream seemed wild
It grew to be a taunt;
He acted as the dream had styled,
And proved at last ‘twas very mild,
He called that town Bellefonte.
—From the Watchman of August 1900.
—Written by Rev. W. A. C.
ee ee. pene. X
THE UNHAPPY STORY OF MARY
TODD, THE WOMAN LINCOLN
LOVED.
_ Mary Todd, daughter of Robert
Todd, President of the First Nation-
al Bank of Lexington, Kentucky! We
come upon her at an embarrassing
moment, perhaps. She is fourteen
years old and determined to attend
- the Derby Day races, in spite of the
fact that her Presbyterian father and
still more Presbyterian mother have
forbidden her to do so and have lock-
ed her in her room.
Mary is not as much cast down as |
might be supposed. She stands by the
window, wearing one of her mother’s
best frocks—a deep rose silk, with a
skimpily gathered skirt cut six inches
from the ground, a high Byron col-
lar, enormous puff sleeves and a huge
hat with a rose-colored plume stand-
ing a foot above the crown.
She is decidedly pretty. The hat
cannot conceal the mass of chestnut
curls over her shoulders. Her eyes
are beautiful, a deep blue, large and
set well apart. She has a round little
face anda pink-and-white skin. She
pus one foot out of the window, fol-
ows it with its pantaletted fellow,
scuttles across the porch roof, goes
monkey fashion down the clematis
vine and for the moment we lose her.
It was a long time ago—in 1832,
to be exact. But stiib the story of
that escapade of Mary's persists. It |
was early afternoon and the street,
on which stood the Todds’ house, was
almost deserted. Almost! As Mary
ran under the shade of the syringa
hedges, her father appeared from no-
where.
Mary got her lifelong love of fin-
ery from her father. He wore a bell-
shaped blue broadcloth coat and
white linen trousers strapped under
his boots, and a bell-shaped hat, and
a _chokingly high stock, and he halt-
ed his daughter by obtruding a gold-
mounted cane across her path. His
temper flared.
“What are you doing here and in
your mother’s dress? Go home to
bed, Miss.”
A temper like his own crackled in
Mary’s blue eyes. “I won’t! I'm go-
ing to the races with the Thurstons.”
Robert Todd did not propose to
give public exhibition of either his
own or his daughter’s peppery tongue.
The neighboring windows were open.
He took her by the arm, whirled her
about and in five minutes Mary was
relocked in her room. There she tore
off her mother’s dress, thrust it in the
grate and set fire to it. Then she
burst into tears, shrieked “Fire!
Fire!” until the entire family had
crowded into the room, and in an
agony 4° contribution, forced into her
mother’s hands her savings for four
years. Then she offered to take a
whipping!
No one could resist Mary in a re-
pentant mood and she was forgiven.
But still, her mother was troubled.
Mary’s love of dress, Mary's fiery
temper were elements of character
her mother could not reconcile with
the fact that Mary had a scholar’s
mind. At fourteen, Mary led all the
girls of her school. And this was
no backwoods school. Lexington, in
1832, had earned the name “Athens
of the West.” It was the center of
a very real culture. It had a uni-
versity and many private schodls
where some of the newest European
theories of education were being tried
out. The wealthy families of Lex-
ington, like the Todds, gave their
children a solid education.
At this time Mary and her older
sister, Elizabeth, were attending the
Mantelli school, where nothing but
French was spoken. At fourteen
Mary was the best of an accomplish-
ed group of Joung linguists. At least,
it seems like an accomplishment
that her schoolmates were able to
twit Mary in French and
ing of Latin on the subject of the at-
tempted runaway and an indecent ex-
posure of cambric pantaloons,
for Mary to lose her temper in French
s0 completely that the preceptress
took an hour to bring her to a proper
state of contrition. ;
Mary was a sensitive, ardent child.
It was difficult not to excite her to
too great repentance. That night
Mary set a punishment upon herself
for impertinence to the preceptress.
She appeared the next morning in
the astronomy class wearing a dread-
ful-looking frock of linsey-woolsey,
dyed with walnut juice. When the
preceptress demanded an explanation,
Mary replied that as love of clothes
was one of her besetting sins, she had
decided to remove the object of sin.
Therefore she had exchanged her own
wardrob for that of Tessie Grey, a
poor white who lived in a cabin out on
the Frankfort turnpike.
She threw the class: into convul-
sions of merriment as she miniicked
Tessie’s agony of joy over the trans-
action. Standing with arms akimbo,
her body slack, her little feet in Tes-
sie’s huge brogans, Mary drawled
through her nose:
“I ain't goin’s to give these hyer
cambric pants up, Miss Mary, now
you say they're mine, not if the Al-
mighty says He wants to wear ’em
in Heaven.”
The preceptress, who had caught
herself joining with the children id
their avid following of Mary’s inimit-
able description of the details of her
penance, rapped on the desk and sent
ary home.
How could one punish a child like
Mary Todd so as to teach her self-
control? Certainly the preceptress
did not know how. Nor her parents.
Her father said she’d outgrow her
bad temper, quite obvious to the fact
that he’d never outgrown the habit
of letting go when he wanted to let
go. Her mother hoped that her good
blood would tell. For Mary was not
only of distinguished stock on her
father’s side, with a grandfather who
succeeded Daniel Boone as Chief Mili-
tary Commander of the State, but her
mother’s people were of the best in
the Union. Her maternal grandfath-
er was General Andrew Porter of
Revolutionary fame, one uncle was
Governor, of Michigan, another of
Pennsylvania, and still another was
to be Secretary of State under Tyler.
But even if her good blood did” not
teach her self-control, it, combined
with her mother’s training, made of
her that good old-fashioned thing, a
lady. Mary was accustomed from
birth to a home where guests were
frequent and were beautifully enter-,
tained. By the time
through school, she was fitted to car-
ry on the family’s social traditions.
But she was to have little opportu-
nity to do this in Lexington. Mary’s
Mary was boots pulled up
own dear mother died and a step- |
mother came to the house on Short
Street. Elizabeth married and went
to live in Illinois. Small stepbrothers
appeared. The new Mrs. Todd had
i little patience with what she called
Mary’s saucy tongue. There was con-
stant friction that ended one day,
when Mary was nineteen, in Mary’s
furiously packing her trunk and furi-
ously departing for Springfield, Iili-
nois.
Elizabeth had married Ninan Ed-
wards, Attorney General of Illinois.
It was in the Edwards’ home Mary
settled and it was in the Edwardses’
home that she met the young intel-
lectual elite of the town, among oth-
ers Stephen A. Douglas and Abraham
Lincoln.
Immediately after Mary’s arrival in
Springfield, the young men organized
a cotillion party for her and thus
gave her instant opportunity to take
her place as a belle of the town.
Which she did. She waltzed divinely.
Stpehen Douglas told Lincoln so, af-
ter dancing three times in succession
with her.
Lincoln was near the refreshment
table, telling a story to a large
group of young men. He paused, look-
ed down from his enormous height at
the dwarfish Douglas in his impec-
cable black broadcloth and ambled
over to Miss Todd. He asked her to
be his partner in the next square
dance.
Mary looked up at this careless
giant in shabby, snuff colored clothes
and heavy shoes. She was much too
finicky about people's dress. Yet as
she felt her lips curl in scorn, she
caught the look of his eyes and told
herself that she never had seen such
beautiful eyes in a man—gray eyes
of an unfathomable sadness and ten-
derness. She rose and took Lincoln’s
arm for the dance.
After the quadrille Lincoln found
himself telling her about his night
study of Euclid. Mary knew Euclid
and engaged him to come the follow-
ing evening to see her, bringing his
book along. He discovered at the mo-
ment that Mary knew French and
German and her stock with him took
another bound. And she was so dain-
ty with all her erudition, so pretty !
He kept his engagement the next
night and for many nights.
Mary had a gift for friendship with
men of the mental type, a gift few
women possess. She had not been in
Springfield a year before she had es-
tablished several such friendships.
The most solid of these were with
Douglas and with Lincoln. Long be-
fore they knew it she recognized that
both were in love with her.
Her brother-in-law,
wards, and her sister, Elizabeth,
watched with not unanxious interest
Mary was a flirt but one never could
tell! Douglas, whose brilliant future
was obvious, was entirely eligible as a
suitor. Lincoln, no! A likeable fel-
low but socially an outsider. When
Edwards protested against Lincoln’s
constant presence, Elizabeth insisted
that Mary’s sense of humor and her
social ambitions would protect her.
}
Ninian Ed-'
“Why, Mary made fun of him yes-
terday,” she said, “for the benefit of’
the sewing circle. She had us in con-
vulsions showing how he led her
through the Virginia reel. And she
can tell a story with every one of
Abe’s grimances. One doesn’t do
that with a man one loves.”
“Mary does. Mary would poke fun
at the twelve Apostles’
“And wash their feet afterward
a smatter- | with tears !” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, but that doesn’t do away with
the hurt to the heart. I wish she’d
as the control that tongue of hers. Just be-
latest leg coverings were called. It | cause she’s so lovable makes it all the
was stili more of an accomplishment i worse.” He sighed and picked up his
hat, then came back to say, “You
warn Mary that Abe Lineoln as a
friend is delightful but as a suitor he
won’t do.” -
Dutifully,
warning the first time she was alone
with her sister. Mary tossed hor
curls with a laugh.
“The man I'm going to marry, dear
Elizabeth, will one day be President
of the United States!
That evening Elizabeth reported to
her husband that Mary was planning
to marry Stephen Douglas.
In the two years that followed
their meeting Mary Todd and Abra-
ham Lincoln grew to know each other
well. Lincoln saw many unhappy ex-
hibitions of her hasty tongue. Some-
times he himself was the victim. On
the other hand, she represented to
him all that he lacked in family back-
ground, in culture, in refinement of
mind and manner. More than that,
she was utterly lovable and she crept
into his heart as a brilliant child
might have crept.
Lincoln’s uncouthness irritated Mary,
but she had not known him a month
before her capacity for keen esti-
mates of human beings told her that
the stuff of Lincoln’s brain was as
much above that of Douglas's as
quartz crystal is above glass. Lin-
coln excelled anyone she’d ever known
in mental and moral power. He was
the only person she’d ever known
whose sense of humor exceeded her
own. Her temper at times interfer-
ed with hers, as she ruefully admit-
ted to herself. Lincoln’s never.
She was of a type that could love
greatly only where she admired great-
ly. It was not six months after this
meeting that Lincoln held Mary
Todd’s heart in his ecalloused palm.
But she fended him off for a long
time, She knew that poverty and
toil would be the lot of Lincoln’s wife,
and she wanted to play a little longer.
It was, of course, her own “hasty
tongue that finally betrayed her.
He was careless and absent-minded
about his engagements with her. He
ambled into the parlor late one win-
ter evening, his Euclid under his arm,
to find Mary standing before the
grate, in her best party dress, cheeks
scarlet, eyes snapping. He recog-
nized the danger signals and threw
up both hands.
“Jings, Miss Todd, I forgot all
about the cotillion! I got into an
argument down at the office about—
Well, come along! I won't waste any
more time.”
Mary looked at the unpolished
over the faded jean
pantaloons, at the threadbare, spotted
roundabout coat, lacking all but one
button, at the rusty black stock, half
tied, at the unkempt black hair.
“You are not a gentleman,” she
said in a low voice of fury, “or you
neither would forget an engagement
with a lady nor come into her pres-
ence looking like a horse drover.”
“Noj” replied Lincoln gently, “I
reckon I never was meant to be eith-
er a gentleman or a lady’s man. And
I don’t like that knowledge any better
than you do.”
She was staring up at him, a new
insult forming on her lips, when the
tragic humility and pride in his beau-
tiful gray eyes pierced through her
anger. She gasped as she realized
the ‘enormity of what she had said
and springing forward, she seized one
of his great rough hands in hers and
bowed her head upon it.
“Oh, my dear! my dear!” she groan-
ed. “I am not worthy to tie your
shoe latchet!”
The Euclid dropped to the floor and
Mary was lifted into his mighty em-
brace and folded to the breast that
through life and through death was
to be her home.
Mary’s various relatives did not like
the engagement and did not hesitate
to say so. It should have been a quick
marriage—let the world go hang!
But Lincoln was heavily in debt and
was only beginning to build his law
practice. He dared not undertake the
duties of a husband and father until
he was better established. So it was
a long and stormy engagement.
Lincoln was neglectful of the small
attentions and amenities that make
an engagement beautiful, careless in
keeping his appointments. Indeed,
sometimes it seemed to Mary that he
forgot for days that he was engaged.
This mortified her and she would re-
prove him bitterly and go off with one
of her other admirers to the dance
Lincoln had forgotten.
What Mary had not then eome to
understand in some ways was Lincoln
was abnormally sensitive. Gradually,
as the months slipped by, he began to
think that however much he loved a
woman, he was by ngéure unfitted to
make her happy. He grew depress-
ed, spent long hours in his office star-
ing into space, would listen to Mary’s
stormy reproaches and repentances
with tear-dimmed eyes.
nearly a year, on the first of J anuary,
184, he said to her with a heavy
sigh:
“Your right, Mary. I'm not fit for
anything but the barnyard. So I'm
giving you back your freedom,” and
he walked out of the house and out
of her life for many months.
Everyone knows that his broken en-
gagement made Lincoln suffer the
torments of the damned. But what
the world has ignored is that Mary
Todd suffered as much. Not only
was she utterly humiliated, not only
did she know that her own lack of
self-control was partially to blame
for the situation, but she loved Lin-
cdin passionately and unwaveringly.
No other man ever could or ever did
enter her life. She became ill with
her suffering as did Lincoln. He fin-
ally went to recuperate with his
friend Speed in Louisville but Mary
remained in Springfield. She gave
away her trousseau,
In the fall of 1842 Lincoln return-
ed to Springfield and settled down to
work, dejectedly enough. One ev-
ening he went to call at the home of
Simeon Francis, editor of the Sang-
amon Journal, who was a great friend
of both Lincoln and Mary. The two
men were talking in the parlor when
the outer door slammed and Mary ap-
peared, blinking in the lamplight. She
gasped and turned to go, but Lincoln
made one great stride and seized her
by both hands.
“The court is taking a recess,
Francis,” he said over his shoulder
and the editor fled. “Mary,” Lin-
Elizabeth issued ‘the
And after |
coln went on huskily, “I am. the most
miserable man living. If what I feel
were equally distributed to the whole
human family, there ‘would not be one
cheerful face on earth.”
She looked up into the gray eyes
that were so inexpressibly dear to
her and although her lips quivered she
could not prevent a dimple from
appearing at the corner of her mouth
as she said, “Misery loves company.”
But for once Lincoln would not
smile. “I’ve reached the point where
I realize I'll never be anything but a
husk of a man without you. I don’
see how you could mourn for a fellow
like me, but Francis says you have.”
Mary threw her pride to the winds.
“I shall go widowed all my life,
Abr’am, without you!”
Lincoln turned her face up to his.
“Then we're going to be married be-
fore your friends or your relatives
know what's happening. I reckon
I've learned my lesson.”
A few days later, Lincoln met Nin-
ian Edwards on the street and in-
formed him that he and Mary were
going to be married that evening in
the Episcopal church.
Edwards, who was over six feet
tall, drew himself up to utter a re-
tort that should once and for all put
the quietus on Lincoln. But the look
he caught in the gaunt face above his
own caused a sudden change in his
words. What came forth, though
grudingly, was.
“No, Mary is my ward and must
be married from my house.”
Thus on the rainy evening of No-
vember 4, 1842, in ‘the parlor of the
Edwardses’ home, Mary Todd and
Abraham Lincoln were married. There
were no attendants. There were not
more than thirty people present. And
Mary, who had all her life looked fox-
ward to the magnificence of her wed-
ding dress and outfit, was married in
a muslin dress with neither veil nor
flowers.
Lincoln had prepared no home for
Mary. They went to live in the Globe
Tavern, kept by the Widow Beck.
Their room and board cost them four
dollars a week. But they did neg
stay in the tavern long after Bobbie
was born in the summer of 1843.
Mary induced her husband to make
the plunge and they bought a story-
-and-a-half frame house with a barn
and well fenced yard in a good neigh-
borhood.
Temperamentally, Mary was a syb-
arite. She could not have endured
» without breaking the labor and the
deprivations of those early years of
marriage had she not finally achiev-
ed the finest luxury that can be vouch-
safed to marriage—complete mental
| Companionship with the man she had
|
married.
They both cherished that compan-
ionship. After his marriage, Lincoln
spent less and less time sitting round
the sawdust spittoons in the stores of
Springfield, arguing and swapping
yarns. Mary was educating him. He
spent more and more time in study
and in general reading. However
scantily the larder might be supplied,
Mary saw to it that in the parlor
there were always good books and she
made her husband read these books
aloud to her and diccuss them with
her. She regularly read French and
German poetry and philosophy and a
French journal to him, translating
as she read in her vivid, eager voice;
no one could read or tell a story more
: expressively.
One marvels at her energy. She
did all her own ‘sewing and house-
work. She kept everlastingly at Lin-
coln about his bad manners. She
saw that he was dressed properly—
at least he ceased to wear jeans in
court and top-boots to dinner parties.
Their home was beautifully ordered
and in spite of poverty they began to
build a reputation for hospitality.
Bobbie was almost three years old
when their second son was born and
named after their close friend, Ed-
ward D. Baker. Bob was a preco-
cious youngster whom Lincoln spoil-
ed outrageously. Lincoln’s .incapac-
ity as a father was rapidly becoming
a real anxiety to Mary. There were
days when Bob was so. naughty and
his father so lackadaisical that Mary’s
nerves flew to pieces and Lincoln fied
the house, leaving Mary to wrestle
alone with the child he had spoiled,
with the wretched kitchen stove, the
smpty larder, the teething little Ed-
ie.
Lincoln often mourned to his
friends that he was not a “good pro-
vider.” Poor Mary at first was con-
stantly dogging him to split the kin-
dling, to attend to the winter's supply
of wood, to lay in the stock of winter
vegetables. But finally she saw that,
herein, she could not change him and
ceased to demand anything of him in
the house, but concentrated entirely
on pushing him forward in his pro-
fession and in politics.
Both of them having such pro-
nounced characteristics it took a
long time for them to make the mar-
riage adjustment. But they climbed
the final hilltop to understanding
| when they had been married about
i seven years. Lincoln had been back-
( sliding in the matter of spending ev-
{ enings at home. He was running for
| Congress and that gave him an ex-
cuse for many a long evening in his
office. with Herndon, his partner,
swopping yarns in the old bachelor
manner. After all, a spoiled boy, a
sickly baby, a peppy wife at times
| take the savor out of the most order-
ly home.
Mary was hurt and worried. She
didn’t like Herndon. With her un-
canny skill at sizing up men, she had
seen his dangerous weaknesses. He
drank too much, used drugs, was lax
with women. He had a strong hold
jon her husband’s affection and admij-
| ration. She had right to worry. And
| the more she fussed, the more Lin-
coln stayed away from home.
Eddie was the very darling of
Mary’s heart. He was the quaintest
baby in the world. At four he was
a long, lean, brown little chap with
pathetic gray eyes and a humorous,
full mouth, the image of his father.
{ In the middle of January, 1850, he
was taken ill. It did not seem ser-
ious, but his deep affection for the
child made Lincoln anxious and he
did his utmost to share the nursing
with Mary.
After two weeks of slow fever, it
looked as if the worst was over and
Lincoln ventured to stay down-town
‘until midnight one evening,
talking
atheism with Herndon. About the
time he started for home, a little
moan from Eddie startled Mary, read-
ing beside him. The child was in a
violent convulsion and before she
could apply a single remedy he was
Lincoln heard her shriek as he en-
tered the back door. He made the
stairs in a leap and rushed into the
bedroom.
“Eddie! Look! Look ”—holding
“Dead!
the little body toward him.
My baby! My little son!”
Lincoln stared, horrified. “It can’t
be! Tt's just a fit! I'll get the doc-
tor!”
But Mary knew. It was death. She
could not let Lincoln go. “Don’t leave
me alone again! I shall go mad.”
Lincoln gave a great groan. “You
were alone with him while I fooled
with Herndon! If I had been here
to get the doctor: if
But Mary would not blame him
now. “If I’d not been a shrew,” she
wept, “you’d have been here!”
“God has punished us both!” Great
tears ran down Lincoln’s cheeks, and
clasped in each other's arms, Eddie’s
father and mother mingled bitter
tears of loss and of regret.
Long after the little fellow’s death,
they grieved for Eddie with the ex-
travagance inherent in their peculiar
natures. But, as if God had, indeed, a
purpose in the tragedy, the Lincolns
found themselves working together in
a harmony they never before had
achieved. Their love deepened to a
complete understanding.
More. and more Mary gave the
force of her tremendous personality
to moving Lincoln forward on his
career. She entertained more and
more. People who went to the Lin-
coln home said that the two were ut-
terly unique: Lincoln with his perpet-
ual fund of stories and his wife with
her witty tongue that sometimes hurt
but was always funny, and with her
kindness of heart that permitted no
guest, however humble, to feel that
he was not one of the important per-
sonages present.
In December, 1850, another son,
William Wallace, was born, and in
April, 1853, a fourth son, Thomas,
whom his father called Tadpole. Just
before Willie's birth, a crisis came
in Lincoln’s career. He came home
one day and said that he’d been offer-
ed the job of territorial Governor of
Oregon and wanted to accept.
To his astonishment, Mary shook Ebe
“No! They are,
her head vehemently.
merely trying to hide you on the Pa-
cific Coast, Abr’am, because they fear
you on the Atlantic.”
Nonsense!” protested Lincoln. “I've
no more reputation than a yellow dog
in the East. I'd like to go out into
the wonderful new country. I think
we'd do well. Perhaps we could get
out of debt.”
“You are meant for better things,
Abr'am. The Almighty had a reason
for giving you your wonderful brain
and your unassailable balance. Some
day He'll show you that reason un-
mistakably, and you must be free to
follow.” ’
And although different committees
of politicians waited on her urging
her to change her decision, Mary
remained the same.
The terrible question of slavery was
now tearing at the vitals of the na.
tion. Mary studied the question with
Lincoln, read omnivorously, handing
on to him epitomes of what he had
no time to read himself. She took
notes on his speeches whenever she
could leave the babies, criticized them
and made suggestions. When his
friends suggested that he debate tha
slavery question with Stephen A.
Douglas, Mary was enthusiastic.
Money? She'd find it somehow. The
children? She’d manage somehow.
And she did.
She wrote her sister while the de-
bates were going on that although she
was sitting in the kitchen, one foot
on the cradle rocker, one hand stir-
ring the stew pot while the other held
the pen, she wished her sister to real.
ize that Mary Todd was married not
only to one of the Lord’s saints but
to a saint who was one of the intellec-
tual marvels of the world. “And I
know his intellect, for I've helped to
stock it with facts!”
He needed a Pianager for all the
externals of life and Mary was that
manager during all the years of prep-
aration for the “far-off, divine event.”
The debates with Douglas launched
him well on the road to the Presiden-
cy. During the summer of 1860 Mary
entertained extensively. She acquir-
ed a hired girl, used a Chicago cater-
er when necessary, made herself sev-
eral party dresses with crinolines as
enormous as those of any Broadway
belle and kept open house for the weil
known who came from all parts of the
United States.
On Election Day Mary suffered
more from nerves than did her hus-
band. He spent the day in his crowd-
ed office. There were a good man
callers at the Lincoln home in the i f
ternoon, but in the evening the house
was deserted. Mary, with the boys,
went down-town for a little while and
looked in at the hall, where her hus-
band was surrounded by an enormous
and noisy crowd of men and women
shouting out the early returns and
singing, “Oh, ain’t you glnd you join-
ed the Republican Party!”
She felt that the boys ought to see
the acclaim their father was receiv-
ing. Her only regret was that Eddie
had not lived to witness it. But she
could not bear the excitement and
shortly she returned with the children
to the quiet house. The boys went to
bed. ary sat beside the lamp sew-
ing and thinking. It was nearing
dawn when her husband came in. His
face was ghastly white in the lamp-
light. :
“Mary,” he said huskily, “God help
us, they have elected me!”
She rose and stood for a moment
supporting her weak knees against
her chair, a sudden and inexplicable
sadness choking her. Lincoln held
out his arms and husband and wife
clasped each other in a long embrace.
The White House was in a badly
run-down condition when the Lincolns
moved into it. Mary had no idea how
much it would cost to renovate it or
how many servants were actually
needed to run it. With the common
sense of the experienced housewife,
she discharged the steward and un-
a ——————
dertook to run the place until she un-
derstood its need. With this more rose
the first whisper of gossip.
The Lincolns had been in the White
House about a week when Mary,
splendid in a purple grenadine, swept
into young Stoddard’s office, Stod-
dard was the third of Lincoln's secre~
taries and among other duties he was
to help Mary with the social work aE
the Administration.
She tossed a letter before him.
“How can I have the author of that:
arrested?” she cried.
Stoddard read—“You do your own:
work because you have been a servant
yourself. Both you and your husband
are known to have nigger blood in:
your veins. You had better not insult.
the Southern arisocracy of Washing-
ton by making any advances toward’
them.”
Young Stoddard flushed. “It’s annoy--
mous. You'll receive many such,.
Madam President. Don’t read them!”
He threw the letter in the grate.
Mary set her lips firmly and went
on with her task of inspecting the:
contents of the White House,
(Continued until next week.)
ernie
Two Bus Lines Planned by Pennsyl--
vania Road.
The Pennsylvania General Transit
Company, the bus subsidiary of the:
Pennsylvania Railroad and R. K.
khouse, of Philadelphia, a direc-
tor of the transit company made
application to the Public = Service
ommission to operate the first in-
terstate bus service across the entire
State.
. Two routes are proposed in the pe-
tition ag Presented. The. bus company
would operate through the central
part of Pennsylvania, while the route
described in the Stackhouse application.
is along the southern tier counties.
Six busses capable of carrying 29 pass-
engers each would be placed in ope--
ration.
The transit company’s service
would begin in Philadelphia and ex-
tend to the Ohio State line at a point
near East Palestine. The cities and
towns along the proposed route are
Paoli, Downingtown, Lancaster, Har-
risburg, Lewistown, Hollidaysburg,
Ebensburg, Blairsville, Pittsburgh and
Beaver Falls and other intermediate
points. Some of the busses would:
deviate from this route at Hunting--
don and go to Tyrone and Altoona
and thence back to the main route at
nsburg.
The southern line, as proposed by
tackhouse, presenting his petition as.
an individual because Franklin county
was not included in the charter re-
cently granted by Gov. Fisher per-
mitting the bus subsidiary to operate
in 55 counties, originates in Philadel-
phia also. It follows the other route
to Lancaster, where it branches off to
York, Gettysburg, Chambersburg,
Bedford, Greensburg, Pittsburgh and
Beaver Falls and thence to the Ohio
boundary line.
Other busses would go to towns
south of Gettysburg, visiting Em-
mitshurg, Waynesboro, Green Castle,
Mercersburg and thence to MeCon-
nellsburg, where they would continue
along the main southern line.
——e.
Silence Band In Honor Of Armistice.
To celebrate the tenth anniversary
of Armistice Day on Nov. 11 ga dem-
onstration of silence at 11 a. m., liter-
ally world encircling in its scope, has.
been arranged.
For this purpose the League of Re-
membrance, with headquarters in
New York, has sent invitations to the:
heads of every country within the
latitudes of 30 degrees and 45 degrees.
to cooperate by the suspension of ail
industrial activity as far as possible,
and the cessation of all vehicular
traffic during the two solemn minutes
at 11 a. m., the hour when the Ar.
mistice agreement was signed in 1918
and the great war ceased.
In this way, says the League as the
earth revoles around the sun, and the
hands of the clock move in unison,
every hour of the procession of twen-
ty-four on Armistice Day will be sig-
nalized in every longitude by a rev-
erential and prayerful pause.
The League of Remembrance, es-
tablished on Nov. 11, 1919, to pro-
mote world peace, is cooperating with
national, State, civic and other agen-
cles in the United States and abroad
to secure the world wide. celebration
of Armistice Day by the two minutes:
silence.
The invitations have been sent out
not only to the heads of every govern-
ment of countries within the latitudes
mentioned but also to various groups
of peoples in those countries and to
their diplomatic representatives in
Washington.
This year’s work, limited to a belt
of countries around the globe is but
the Preparatory stage to a greater
campaign next year to capitalize
world sentiment for peace by invit-
ing every country in the world to ob-
serve the silence at the eleventh hour
of the eleventh month of the eleventh
year since the first Armistice Day.
et eseses—
American Men Spend $750,000,000
Annually In Keeping Good Looks.
Mere man in the United States
spends more than $750,000,000 yearly
in 75,000 barber shops trying to make
himself beautiful, according to Jo-
seph Byrne of New York.
Byrne, secretary of the National
Beauty and Barbers Supply Dealers
Association, addressing the annual
convention in Chicago said there are
thousands of men who have their hair
marcelled or permanent waved,
“There are more than those who
admit it who have their faces mas-
saged and have facial treatment to
rub out wrinkles,” Byrne declared.
“There are many men too who have
their faces lifted.
“It used to be an oddity to see a
man get a public manicure. Today
men give almost as much trade to
the manicure shops as do the women.
em pe
Minister: “Come, come, my friend,
try to lead a better life. Why, you
are continually breaking one of the °
Commandments.”
His Friend: “Nope, parson. I don't
have any trouble with a single one of
the Commandments. It's the amend-
ments that I simply can’t keep.”
—Country Gentleman.