Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1922-09-13

cONlEf lGLD, =. N.3 w.
Miss Florence Minis ReneWs
Her Acquaintance With @
Boston.
Dear Advertiser: {
What could be more New Eng:
landy and Bostonesque than the serv-
ing of soup with sweet rolls bedeck-
| ed with raisins?
The pious New Englander goes to
church on Sunday, bakes beans and
brown bread for Saturday nights
supper and eats doughnuts every
morning for breakfast. II you would
be Bostonian, you must accept
that! And more than that, be a de-
votee of holidays. 20
This is labor day, which, being In
terpreted, means Rest Day, an eng
ma that I can not explain. On this
day / tried to get schools over the
telephone, but the officials had a hol-
iday. In the process Of calling, | got
the Brookline police station twice
and by the time I had asked them
the second time if they were the Ex-
preston School, OF something, they
were ready to indict ME for grand
larceny, whatever that is, or some
thing worse.
In the directory I came across the
Boston Baked Beans Company. They
are not satisfied with beans cooked
in kitchens galore, but must have
factories for them that they may be
more plentiful: They maay be nutri-
tious but as for taste, l would class
them with grass sandwich.
Yesterday afternoon the strike de-
layed US, and after a wreck had oc-
Cured ahead, and after our own
train had happened to some mishap,
Ito which they gave some technical
name which l could not understand)i
/ was told that after all, we were
lucky to be moving, and said iwon-
deringly, "Why?" / thought we had
endured quite enough. They replied
that the fireman, lunch basket in
hand had left the train, and started
down the street declaring that 5ise.
had worked sixteen hours and would
stop BHb=t I,e4eug ginee ees Isall;
dlii 7aina, nj With Ii arsuas1ve words and
kind, induced him to return. If l had
known about it in time, I think 1
should have run with the engineer,
for was aweary with much stop
ping and slow moving.
Usually, I arrive in Washington
about Z o'clock in the morning, but
at that time, or later, yesterday, I
was eating breakfast in the station
at Charlottesville, Va. Then I reached
New York, long after the time l
should have arrived in Boston.
l was surprised that between New
York and Boston I had to take an
upper berth. On getting on the train,
the colored porter Informed me that
so far, I was the only lady and that
the "New York Giants" ball play
ers, had engaged most of the car. /
think he was perfectly delighted
that he was to serve professional
athletes, and I climbed into the up
per, resigned by necessity to this last
irony of fate. The "Giants" were ex-
ceedingly quiet. If they had been
school boy players, I think they
might have had a little yelling, but
professionals are settled and serious
with pep for business and less for
fun like the amateurs.
l have not been here long enough
this time to feel like Bostonian
again. I look out over the tops of
grayish buildings and think, "This is
not Boston," What is Boston any
way and where is it? I want to put
my arms around it all at once and
tell it that I am here, but the streets
stretch endlessly into more streets
as far as the eyes can see. So Boston
as someone said, is not situation,
but a condition; not locality, but a
state of mind.
Think in terms of Boston and you
are a Bostonian. Think unlike it and
here, at least you are hereto.
Be still, and it will delight you,
and take you for it's own. like the
ouietness as though il fairly said "I