New Britain herald., 1923-07-31

who smokes cigarettes, wears skirts tc her knees and carries pocket flask ?' she was asked with smile, her in terviewer already anticipating the re- ply that would be forthcoming Don't ask me. she said," I might say too much. I don't think a woman was made to smoke.'
 Returning to the subject of short skirts of the extreme style, Mrs. Traver showed her ever ready wit and at the same time threw a heavy bombshell into the'fapper camp with the statement: When we wore hoop skirts the men looked up to us. Now they look down at the girls" Wants a Ford q don't think there is anything would like better than a Ford,' she admitted. She has had trouble with rheumatism recently and has been somewhat lame from an old fall so does not get away from home very often and then only with the assist ance of some one else or with cane. But I'm not troubled so much now" she says T guess the rheumatism has given me up.'
 "I'll be back to see you next year" said her caller. ''I'll be here 10 years from now" she replied confi- dently, land to judge from her ap- pearance and mental attitude on life, she surely will.
 "Of course, they didn't have any of these modern conveniences when l was young" she said, ruminating on tho oa rly doyc In NaW York
 Approves of Prohibition
 What do you think of prohibi- tion?" she was asked, Again the thoughts of days when New York po- licemen patrolled the Bowery in twos and nary copper ever appeared alone, returned to her mind. Tt Is good thing for the country, I re- member the days when fathers and mothers used to send the children to the saloons forsliquor in pails and cans."
 One of the most vivid things in the history of Mrs. Travers girlhood is the memory of feather and straw mattresses and rope or cord beds she slept in.
 Smiles cover her face as she re- counts the creaks and ghostly groan- ings in the night from the ropes of the high four-posted cord bedsteads of earlier days. "The man who could sleep in one of these beds and get up in the morning without swearing was real ChrIs- tian," she said. For the benefit or all New Britainites of older genera tions she requests the Herald to re- publish the following poem, sent her by friend and clipped from the Bur lington, Vt, Free Press, of June l, 1928:
 That Dear Old Cord Bedstead We
 All Loved So Well. How we'll I remember the house on
 the hillside, By wide-spreading naples half hidden
 from view The fragrant pink lilacs that bloomed
 in the springtide, i The daffodils, tulips and crocuses too. i The smooth sloping lawn and the
 garden below it, With plum trees oerhanging a green,
 messy dell; The shady old orchard, the brook
 TuHlllHs lul oush And cen the old swing that we all
 loved so well. How sweet to remember the home
 of my childhood. The fields in the sunlight all spark
 ling with dew!
 The flowers of the Maytime we
 plucked in the wildwood, Sweet scented arbutus and violets
 blue.
 The bright, yellow primrose that
 bloomed in the meadow, | The bluebirds that sang in the deep |
 shady dell;
 The pearl tinted sunsets with hues of the rainbow.
 The wide old backporch that we
 all loved so we'll. How we'll I remember those days in
 the springtime When house cleaning frenzy our peace
 overthrow!
 When upstairs and down stairs from
 daylight to bedtime, Like soldiers in skirmish the furniture
 flew.
 The walls gayly revealed in newly laid
 paper,
 The wood work and ceilings In new
 coats looked swell, The chairs and the bureaus were
 vanished all over,