Word: scotia
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...firs, Dealer Chapman tramped into Maine's woods each winter to oversee the selection and cutting of fine trees even in his 80's. In those days Maine supplied about half the trees sold in the U. S. Eastern dealers now get their best trees from Nova Scotia. After Oldster Chapman's death five years ago the moth blight settled funereally on Maine's balsam forests, nearly ruined that State's Christmas tree production...
...tutors. They are: John D. Ferry of Dawson, Yukon Territory, Canada in Biochemical Sciences; Paul M. A. Linebarger of Washington, D. C. in Government William D. Greene of Dublin, Ireland, in Greek and Latin; Hunter D. Farish, of Camden, Alabama, in History; and Donald O. Hebb, of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada, in Psychology...
After a bewhiskered fortnight in the nowhere off the Maine and Nova Scotia coasts, Franklin Roosevelt went ashore last week and once more climbed back on to the front page. His seagoing sideburns were gone before he showed himself in range of a camera. A few minutes after dark his chartered schooner Sewanna dropped anchor in Friar's Bay below the Roosevelt cottage on Campobello Island, N. B. Forty red-coated Canadian police drawn up on the dock snapped him a brisk salute as the sleepy President went in to supper...
Loitering along the Nova Scotia coast, lying fog-bound in isolated harbors, seagoing Franklin Roosevelt last week provided the seven correspondents expensively trailing him in a chartered schooner with no more newsworthy facts than that he had clicked on a radio for Alf Landon's acceptance speech (see below), trolled seven hours for tuna without getting a single strike. This week, bronzed and fit after a fortnight of his favorite sport, wearing new-grown mutton-chop whiskers like his late father's, the President ended his 417-mile cruise at Campobello Island, seeing his summer home...
...northeastern tip late next afternoon Yachtsman Roosevelt suddenly changed his northerly course, struck eastward across the choppy waters of the Bay of Fundy on the longest open-water sail he had taken since boyhood. Thirty hours later he had covered 125 miles, dropped anchor off Cape Sable on Nova Scotia's southern tip. As the flotilla headed north next day the President's prayer for fog was answered (TIME, July 20), but it was not heavy enough to let him escape the stream of dispatches convoyed from the Hopkins at every stop. Off the tiny fishing village...