The Frostburg spirit., November 13, 1913, Image 5

About The Frostburg spirit. (Frostburg, Md.) 1913-1915

Image provided by: University of Maryland, College Park, MD

                
I LOCAL AND GENERAL $
It pays and it pays big- to read the
advertisements in this paper.
Conrad Hohing, of the Fidelity
Bank, is suffering with an attack of
quinsy.
S. R. Tiddy has been awarded the
government contract for painting mail
boxes and posts in town.
Eugene Eivengood, of Meyersdale,
recently took employment as a paint
er with paint contractor S. R. Tiddy,
of this place.
Frostburg has a good many diph
theria cases at present, and the dread
malady is unusually prevalent at
Eckhart, so much so as to cause gen
eral alarm.
W. S. Eivengood, editor and pub
lisher of The Meyersdale Republican,
was the guest last Sunday of his broth
er and family, at the P. E. Eiven
good home, No. IS Frost avenue.
Constable Geo. Cook reached the
69th milestone on his life’s journey
yesterday. He is very active for a
*• man of that age, and has a good rec
ord as constable, as well as a good
record as a soldier in defense of his
country in the War of the Rebellion.
Mr. and Mrs. M. J. Eivengood of
Meyersdale, Pa., spent some time in
this city on Sunday and Monday, vis
iting friends. They stopped off here
on their way from Midland, where
they had been on Sunday in attendance
at the funeral of Thomas Caton, a
relative of Mrs. Eivengood’s.
George Brown, of Johnstown, Pa.,
was a passenger on a Frostburg car
yesterday. When asked for an opin
ion on the “Billy” Sunday meetings
now in progress in that city, he stated
that he believed the meetings were
doing good, but admitted that the
great evangelist uses some language
hardly fit for angels to hear.
The Parker Hosiery Mill, of this
city is now working about 70 employ
es, mostly young girls and young
women. However, some boys are al
so employed. Beginners,' of which
there are now a good many employed,
are paid $2.00 per week. Most of the
other employes are making from $5.00
to $7.50 per week. An industry of
that kind is quite a benefit to a town
like this.
H. A. V. Parker, of Portsmouth,
Va., was a business caller at The
Spirit office yesterday morning, leav
ing an order for some job printing
and also paying for a year’s subscrip
tion to The Spirit. Mr. Parker is
prominently connected with the Park
er Hosiery Mill, located in this city,
and he reports the mill running full
time, turning out a large amount of
goods. The late dififerance between
employers and employes at the mill
have all been satisfactorily adjusted,
and everything is now working
smoothly. This is a very desirable
state of affairs.
At the time of going to press this
morning, John, the three-year-old son
of Editor and Mrs. P. E. Eivengood,
shows hopeful indications of recovery
from an exceedingly bad case of
diphtheria he has been suffering with
since last Friday night. The Spirit
regrets to say, however, tl%t his
mother is now threatened with the
malady or some other serious illness.
Mrs. Eivengood is confined to the sick
room, where she has been minister
ing to her sick child night and day,
and if she escapes the deadly diph
theria, it will be almost a miracle, as
she has been suffering a great deal
during the past two months with a
bad bronchial trouble.
NAMING A TOWN. ■
<
Concord Was Selected After Fifty
Years of Controversy.
The name of Concord, N. H., was
given to the town after a controversy
which lasted fifty years. In 172a the
land now within its bounds was grant
ed to the colonists under the name of
Peacock by the colony of Massachu
setts: This claim was disputed by the
colony of New Hampshire, which two
years later granted this same land to
the township of Bow. 1733 Massachu
setts incorporated Peacock into a
township named Rumford, and fof
more than forty years a fierce legal
controversy was carried on. No agree
ment could be reached, and the mat
ter was taken to the authorities in
England, but even then there was no
satisfactory nor peiunanent settlement.
In the face of an evident leaning
toward the claims of Bow, both in
England and in . America, the littie
band of colonists in Rumford fought
on valiantly, and in 1765 an act of
incorporation was granted to the in
habitants' of Rumford. This was stilt
highly unsatisfactory because it only
made them a parish in the town of
Bow.
The controversy continued until 1774.
when it was finally settled and an
independent town was formed under
the name of Concord. It was due to
the devotion of the little band of
settlers to their cause and the unity
which existed among them that the
Independent incorporation of the town
was finally obtained, and it was emi
nently fitting that the concord which
existed between thdm during the strug
gle of nearly fifty years should be
memorialized in their town’s name.—
Ladies’ Home Journal.
U nfair.
First Burglar (examining safe)—
Four spoons, six forks and a burglar
insurance policy of $5,000!
Second Burglar—Gee whiz; de guy
ought ter divide up with us on dis!—
New York Globe.
Ultimate Determination.
“Money won’t do everything.”
“What now, for instance?”
“It won’t keep a cook who has made
up her mind to quit.”—Atlanta Consti
tution.
BOWSEBJLOWS,
Seeks Exercise Behind a Yoke of
Fiery Oxen.
A THRILLING EXPERIENCE.
Everything Goes Along Smoothly Until
His Plow Strikes a Snag and a Run
away Ensues —Bowser Gets No
Sympathy.
By M. QUAD.
[Copyright, 1913, by Associated Literary
Press.]
Notwithstanding the dis
aster attending his efforts
with the scythe at the Green
farm, as already recorded, Mr.
Bowser was anxious to go out for
another Sunday, and Mrs. Bowser had
no serious objections to offer.
They were eating their country Sun
day breakfast when a farmer made
his appearance witfh a yoke of oxen
and a plow.
“Why, what does this mean?” asked
Mrs. Bowser as she caught sight of
the outfit.
“Oh, just a little exercise,” replied
Mr. Bowser.
“But it’s Sunday.”
“They don’t keep Sunday in the
country, you know.”
“But It’s not the season to plow.”
“I am going to do a little plowing,
Mrs, Bowser, and I don’t know that
the time of year has anything to do
with it. I want to get this yard in
shape and have some needed exercise
at the same time.”
“But when did you ever plow?”
“Before you cut your eyeteeth.”
“And you can manage oxen?”
“I used to plow with five yoke of
oxen ahead of the plow, and I guess
I can manage one pair. You just keep
out of my way and I’ll rip up the clay
around here in away to astonish the
natives. The gamboling farmer will
now go forth to hold the warbling
plow and manage the patient ox.”
Farmer Proffers Aid.
“Look here, naybur,” said the farm
er as Mr. Bowser went out to him,
ME. BOWSER WAS PLAYING CIRCUS.
“shan’t I do this bit o’ work fur you?
Mebbe you ain’t used to oxen and
plows.”
“I was driving oxen and holding
plow's when I was six years old,” re
plied Mr. Bowser with his usual mod
esty.
“,Oh, you was? Then you must know
all about ’em. What you want is the
exercise, eh?”
“That’s it. I came out here to work
off about thirty pounds of fat and get
a healthy color. Yelling at the oxen
will also strengthen my voice. If you’ll
send a boy up in about half an hour
he can take the outfit home.”
“If you plow all this yard in half
an hour you’ll beat the hull caboodle
of us,” said the farmer as he looked
the ground over. “Waal, I’ll send a
boy after the critters about sundown.
Of course you kndw all about ‘haw’
and ‘gee?’ ”
“My dear man,” smiled Mr. Bowser,
“I used the words before I had cut
six teeth, and you needn’t worry in
the slightest. Drop over this even
ing and see. if you can find any fault
with my work.”
When the neighbor had gone Mrs.
Bow'ser came out and said;
“If you’ll wait until I hunt up an
old dress I’ll drive the oxen for you.”
“Never you mind about driving any
oxen for me,” he replied as he remov
ed his coat and vest. “If I had as
many dollars as acres of ground I’ve
plowed with oxen we’d go to Europe
this fall. Who’d a thought two months
tgo that we’d be out here in the coun
try today turning up the golden soil
and bathing in the glorious sunshine!
Say, what a painting that landscape
would make down there across the
meadow!”
“Y-e-s,” replied Mrs. Bowser as her
eyes took in an old straw stack, two
rail fences and a cornfield gone to
weeds.
Bowser Goes It Alone.
“And the merry hearted plowman Is
now ready to plow. If you don’t
want to be buried under the mellow
soil you’d better stand back. These
oxen look to me to be a little frisky,
and when we start we may go eighteen
times around the yard without stop
ping. All ready now—haw over—gee
up!”
Mr. Bowser flourished the gad about
his head and brought it down on
the backs of the waiting oxen to start
off with enthusiasm. They started. No
fault could be found with their en-
Tip For a College Graduate.
“My son has just graduated from
college. What would you advise him
to read?”
“The help wanted column”—New
York Times.
Alike.
“My dear, having your father to live
with us won’t work.”
“But neither will father.”—Balti
more American.
The happiness of life consists in
something to do, something to love and
something to hope for.—Dr. Chalmers.
thusiasm. He dropped the gad and
seized the plow handles, and the
next minute the oxen were on the run
for the opposite fence and Mr. Bowser
was playing circus behind them. Sorne
tiipes he was on one foot, sometimes
on two. Sometimes he bounded into
the air like a high jumper; sometimes
he seemed to be sailing after the
plow, which ripped through the grass
and did not enter the soil at all. When
the oxen brought up against the fence
with a crash Mr. Bowser was flung
to the left into a patch of pigweeds,
and he lay there blinking at the sun
when Mrs. Bowser came up and said:
“I thought you knew all about plow
ing and driving oxen.”
“And why don't I?” he shouted as
he got up with the few hairs on his
head standing on bnd. “You’ve got
to strike out a furrow before you can
plow, haven’t you? I was simply get-,
ting a start. I told you these oxen
looked frisky, but I’ll tame ’em down
after a bit.”
Mrs. B. Offers a Suggestion.
"Hadn’t you better let the man do
the plowing, and you can follow on be
hind and pick up the stones and sods?”
“Never! What am I out here on a
farm for? What did I get this plow
for? You just keep away and I’ll be all
right. The oxen are probably afraid
of you, and that’s the reason they
started off as they did.”
“But you might have been killed,”
she persisted as she started for the
house.
“Yes, and I might have spread my
wings and sailed away to heaven!” he
retorted. And then to the oxen;
“You go on! Now, then, haw around
here and gee up. That’s the way. Tell
me the merry, merry plowman can’t
plow, will you?”
The oxen started off at a gentle pace
this time, but going where they pleased,
and Mr. Bowser followed after. Some
times he dug the point of the plow into
the hard soil: sometimes the handles
were down in the grass and the point
in the air. He was “ripping things,”
however, and was well pleased for
about two minutes. Then he made a
sudden lunge on the handles, the plow
struck a rock, and as he went into the
air the oxen whirled about and ran
over everything behind and brought
up in a fence corner. Mrs. Bowser,
who was looking on from the back
steps, had just reached the scene and
was hunting in the grass for Mr.
Bowser’s body when the farmer who
owned the outfit came up and said:
“I kinder guessed he didn’t know
anything about plowing, and so I was
hidin’ down thar behind the fence to
be at hand. He’s had the wind knock
ed out o’ him, but I guess he’s all
right. Let’s drag him up by the back
door.”
Bowser Comes To.
It was half an hour before Mr.
Bowser sat up on the grass and look
ed about him. The man was plowing
the yard, and Mrs. Bowser had the
camphor bottle at his nose.
“Well,” said she. “the merry, merry
plowman has held the warbling plow.”
“I—l understand,” he replied as he
transfixed her -with his glare. “Just as
I got started you threw a rail at the
oxen and hoped and expected I’d be
come a mangled corpse! I’ll—l’ll see
you later!”
“You needn’t feel bad about it. nay
bur,” said the farmer in a consoling
voice as he came and bent over the
warbling plowman. “These ’ere oxen
have killed three different hired men
for me, and if you’d been flung about
a foot further you’d have struck a stun
and been mashed up like a pumpkin.
You’d better stick to bluffin’ and let
plowing alone!”
FATE OF OLD BOOTY.
The Only Judicially Accepted Ghost
Story on Record.
Stromboli, the island volcano, known
as the lighthouse of the Mediterranean,
which is in violent eruption, once fig
ured in a court of law in connection
with one of the most circumstantial
ghost stories on record. In 1688 a Mrs.
Booty brought an action of slander
against a certain Captain Barnaby for
saying that he had seen old Booty run
ning into the flames of hell, pursued by
the devil.
The words were admitted, but for
the defense it was proved that May 15,
1687, the day of old Booty’s death, the
captain, with a large party of friends,
went ashore at Stromboli to shoot rab
bits. At about 3:30 in the afternoon
two men were seen running toward the
volcano. Captain Barnaby exclaimed,
“Lord bless me. the foremost is old
Booty, my next door neighbor!” They
then vanished in the flames, a fact of
which every one took note.
In addition to the testimony of Cap
tain Barnaby and his friends, old Boo
ty’s clothes were brought into court
and identified by several witnesses as
being similar to those worn by the fore
most man who ran into the crater.
The judge. Chief Justice Sir Robert
Wright, was so impressed by this evi
dence that he said: "Lord have mercy
upon me and grant that 1 may never
see what you have seen. One, two or
three may be mistaken, but not thirty.”
Mrs. Booty lost the day. and the case
still remains the only judicially ac
cepted ghost story on record.—London
Chronicle.
Big Hearted.
“You,” sighed the rejected lover,
“will find your name written in imper
ishable characters on my heart could
you but look.”
“So?” murmured the fair young
thing who was aware of the fact that
the swain had been playing Romeo at
the seaside for something like twenty
years. “So? Then you must have a
heart like a local directory by this
time.” —Tit-Bits.
Sowing and Reaping.
Gibbs—Some people expect impossi
bilities. I tell you, in order to raise
things you’ve got to sow.
Dibbs —That’s true! And yet It’s the
fellow who has “sown the wind” who
is oftenest able to raise it.—Boston
Transcript.
Question of Beauty.
“Don’t you think a woman's appre
ciation of beauty is greater than a
man’s?”
*“No,” repliedj Mr. Growcher; “not if
you judge by the dogs they make pets
of.”—Washington Star.
THE FROSTBURG SPIRIT, FROSTBURG, MD,
* ')
A Roll of Honor Bank
•
THE CITIZENS NATIONAL BANK
FROSTBURG, MARYLAND
Panital Kn nnn fin A “Roll of Honor Bank” is one possessing Surplus and Profits
■ ■ ■ ■ j . j n excess of Capital, thus giving- tangible evidence of Strength
Surplus and Profits. . $82,000.00 and Security. Of the 7,500 National Banks in the United States,
_ . . ... __ only 1,200 occupy this proud position.
Assets (over) . . $800,000.00 we are among the number
On Roll of Honor this Bank Stands:
FIRST IN THE CITY THIRD IN THE COUNTY
NINTH IN THE STATE
D. ARMSTRONG, President. FRANK WATTS, Cashier.
• The •
Scrap Book
A Stroke of Business.
Years ago in Jamaica, West Indies,
before artificial ice was very well
known, a shopkeeper who tried to keep
up with the times thought he would
mtclass his rival across the street and
purchased a thousand pounds of fine
“cool” Ice, paying about sl2 for it. He
did a wonderful business the next day.
All the town trade came to get a cool
drink, while the shop opposite was
empty. When she shopkeeper shut up
that night he had made good profits
and had about 800 pounds of ice left.
The next morning his brilliant black
boy, who opened up the shop, greeted
him with a happy grin. “Morning,
boss,” he said. “I’s done a good bit of
business this morning, sah.”
“How’s that, boy; how’s that?”
"Well, sah, I sold that fool nigger in
the store across the street all that stale
ice that was left for 4 shillings, and he
never knew the difference, sah!” —Ev-
erybody’s.
Content With Little.
Some murmur when their sky is clear
And wholly bright to view
If one small speck of dark appear
In their heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God’s good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.
In palaces are hearts that ask
In discontent and pride
Why life Is such a dreary task
And all good things denied,
While hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has In their aid—
Love that not ever seems to tire —
Such rich provision made.
—R. C. Trench.
Must Have Been a Terror.
Gene Stevens, being asked if he knew
a new story, deposed and said that he
did not, but that he had a friend who
was very sick and that the friend had
had a good doctor, but that the doctor
was puzzled about the case. So a con
sultation was held. Four other doctors
came, looked wise, shook their heads,
talked it over together and went away.
Then the first doctor summoned the pa
tient’s wife.
“I am sorry to tell you that your hus
band is in a bad way,” he said. “If he
is religiously inclined I should advise
that you send for a jninister without
delay.”
“Yes, doctor. Shall I get just one
minister or will he need a consulta
tion?” —Cleveland Plain Dealer.
What Saved Him.
William was not kind to his small
brother Henry; in fact, be looked upon
him as a nuisance, a scourge sent from
heaven to try his spirit and spoil his
fun. Especially that day was Henry
a thorn In the older boy’s flesh. In
his efforts to rid himself of his bur
den William resorted to all the meth
ods the mind of youth suggested, but
in vain. Henry continued to stick as
close, If not closer, than a brother.
“William,” finally said the boy's fa
ther, who had witnessed, unheard,
the final paroxysm of the unequal
struggle, “you should be ashamed of
yourself to treat your little brother in
that way! He ought to be sacred to
you.”
William made no reply, but shortly
afterward, believing himself to be free
of surveillance, he was heard to ad
dress Henry thus: “Always taggin’
after me! If you weren’t sacred I’d
break your blamed face for you!”—
New York Tribune.
PERFECT PERFECTNESS.
SOME good folks can practice
What gifted ones can preach.
But, oh, to preach and practice
What perfectness to reach!
—Cora Lapham Hazard.
Family Complications.
Many Ingenious complications in gen
ealogy have been compiled, but the fol
lowing one has the merit of being defi
nite as to time, place and people. It
concerns a family living at Faversham,
in Kent, in February, 1760. Old Ha
wood had two daughters by his first
wife, of whom the elder was married
to John Cashick, the son, and the
younger to John Cashick, the father.
Cashick senior had a daughter by his
first wife. This daughter old Hawood
married and by her had a son, which
led to the complication summed up in
the following distich, supposed to be
spoken by Cashick’s second wife;
My father is my son, and I am my moth
er’s mother.
My sister is my daughter, and I’m grand
mother to my brother.
—London Tatler.
‘ 1
Rough on Aunt Anna.
When Rev. Anna Howard Shaw’s
little grandniece of eight confessed to
her 'mother that she could not be a suf
fragette because the other children
made fun of her, her wee sister of six
fiercely exclaimed, “I wouldn’t be a
coward; they’ve been making fun of
Aunt Anna for hundreds of years!”
None to Spare.
In the days when the Clyde was
navigable to Glasgow for only very
small vessels, a steamer stuck In the
mud near Renfrew, and the skipper
was not sparing in strong language.
While waiting for the rising tide he
1 )(JL
SHAKING HIS FIST IN EASE.
saw a little girl approaching the river
with a bucket to fetch some water.
This was too much for the poor cap
tain, and leaning over the side and
shaking his fist in rage at the little
girl, he thus addressed her: “If you
tak’ ae drap o’ water oot here till I get
afloat, I’ll warm yer ear for’t”—Scot
tish American.
The Solemn Englishman.
An Englishman in New York got in a
car and sat opposite to a lady who had
a very peculiar looking child in her
arms. An awfully funny looking kid it
was, and the man could not keep his
eyes away from it. He would look at
it, look away and then look back again,
absolutely fascinated by it, it was so
ugly.
Finally the mother became very much
annoyed over the man’s rudeness and
leaned over and said to him, “Rubber!”
A look of relief came over the Eng
lishman’s face as he exclaimed:
“Thank heaven, madam. I thought
it was real.!’—New York American.
Dumas and Coppee.
The following interesting story is go
ing the rounds of the European press:
“Francois Coppee’s one act play,
‘The Passerby,’ in which Mme. Bern
hardt appeared, attracted much atten
tion in France. The elder Dumas was
so enthusiastic over Coppee’s little
play that he embraced the author in
the foyer of the theater in the pres
ence of a large gathering and ex
claimed:
“ ‘Oh,- you talented man; tell me
your name!’
“But Coppee was on guard. He
knew Dumas; he knew that he was
leading a luxurious life and that he
borrowed money right and left to
maintain such a mode of life. And
Coppee was known as a rather stingy
young man.
“In answer to the flattering question
of Dumas, Coppee also embraced him
and said:
“ ‘Oh, divine Dumas, I shall never
dare to mention my. insignificant name
in your presence!’
“Dumas. was flattered. He shook
Coppee’s hand warmly and exclaimed:
“‘I wish that every young French
man were as modest as you are!’ ”
Strictly Business.
Dear Sir—Your favor, recent date,
Received and contents noted.
If, as you say, I’m your “soul’s mate“
No more need here be quoted.
Still, when you ask me for my hand
You pledge “a life’s devotion.”
Such I. O. U.’s, please understand,
Are scarcely to my notion.
My lawyer rates extremely low
This contract that you proffer.
I am a business woman, so
I must reject your offer. -
Such poor collateral, you see,
My banker won’t consider.
"For ‘love preferred’ or ‘bonds,’ ” says he,
"I cannot find a bidder.”
However, if you care to make
A little business journey
The matter you may freely take
To J. Brown, my attorney.
There half your worldly wealth assign
And your life partner make me.
Then J will joyfully be thine.
SUE SMITH.
P. S.—Come take me.
—Chicago Daily News.
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