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I FE REE TRL
Bellefonte, Pa., August 29, 1890.
HE RAN THE NIGHT EXPRESS,
1 met a little girl one day,
Beyond the railroad bridge.
With a pail of berries she had picked
Along the bank’s high ridge.
‘Where do you live, my child 2” I said,
“And what might be your name ?”’
She looked at me with eyes askance,
And then her answer came ;
“The house upon the bluffis ours ;
They eall me Bonny Bess ;
My father is an engineer,
And runs the night express.”
A sparkle came into her face
A dimple to her ehin— ®
The father loved his little girl,
And sbe was proud of him.
“Ten-forty-nine, on schedule time
(Scarce e’er a minute Jate,)
Around the curve his engine comes,
At quite a fearful rate.
“We watch the headlight thro’ the gloom
Break like the dawn of day—
A roar, a flash and then the train
Is miles upon its way.
“A lamp in mama’s window burns,
Placed there alone for him.
Ris face lights up, for then he knows
That all 1s well within.
uYometimes a fog o’erhangs the gorge,
The light he cannot see,
Then twice he whistles for mamma,
And clangs the bell for me.”
“And are you not afraid ?” asked,
“That h : may wreck the train?
And there may be a sad mishap,
And he nowise to blame ?”’
A pallor crept into her cheeks,
er red lips curled in pain ;
They parted, then serenely smiled—
Her heart was brave again.
“God watches over us,’ she said,
“And he knows what is best ;
So we have but to pray and trust,
And leave to Him the rest.”
‘How great that childish faith of hers!
It made my o¥n seem weak"
I bent my head, with throbbing heart,
And kissed her on the cheek.
I said to her, in cheery tone,
“God bless you, Bonny Bess!
God bless your mother and the man
Who runs the night express I”
PARTED BY PRIDE.
An east wind blew up the rugged
coast sharp and keen, and cut like a
knife the faces of a few hardy fisher
men assembled on Owl's Head.
The rain poured down in blinding
sheets and it was with extreme difficul-
ty that they could keep alight the fire
which they had kindled,hoping that its
light would warn any ship that hap-
pened to be in the offing to keep away
from the dangerous coast.
On Cape Dreadnought the revolving
light gleamed bright and lurid for a
moment, then disappeared, making the
darkness which intervened seem even
thicker and nore palpable by contrast.
Before midnight half of the little
population of Breakwater had gathered
on the headland, discussing the dread-
ful weather, and the probability of
wrecks before morning. Women wraped
in cloaks, whose sons were on the sea ;
young girls, whose lovers had sailed
away months before, and must now be
on their voyage home; children whose
fathers were exposed to the cruel mer-
cies of the great deep, and wives whose
sole hope and support were out at sea
somewhere—the Lord only knew where.
By and by, afar off, a sound was
heard like the rumble of distant thun-
der ; but those gathered on the coast
ghuddered and drew in their breaths.
They knew that it was a signal gun—
the sign of a vessel in distress.
« Heaven help them!” cried a hard
featured woman, whose only son wasat
sea in the fishing-schooner which was
daily expected in port. “It is only the
help of Providence that can reach "em !”
* Again and again the ominous sound
boomed over the water; nearer and
nearer with each repetition. 1t wae
evident that the vessel wes drifting
ghoreward, and if she once got within
the current that swept in from Dread-
nought Cape, she was lost! Nothing
could save her from going to pieces on
Blue Rock Reefs.
They pilled higher the driftwood-
fire, and hoped the ship might keep off
if those on board saw the warning
light ; and they could not well help it..
But the wind set strong to landward;
the tide was coming in also; and there
seemed little probability that the vessel
would escape the impending doom.
She was visible now by the red light of
the beacon, her white sides distinctly
outhned against the black horizon.
There was a momentary lull in the
storm, and the crowd of anxious watch-
ers had an accession in the person oi a
tall, graceful woman, wrapped in a wa-
terproof cloak. The hood was blown
back by the wind, revealing the pale,
beautiful face, with its violet eyes—
black now with apprehension—and
framed in rippling masses of golden-
brown hair that were tossed about over
her white forehead by the rude blast.
There was a hurried movement
among the crowd, a falling back to
give the new comer room, and a whis-
pered exclamation among the women :
“Miss Archelans! It is Miss Arche-
Miss Archelaus came forward to the
edge of the promontory, where half-a-
dozen of the oldest men were standing,
and touched Tom Conly on the arm.
Tom was an old salt, and had made
more than one voyage round ‘the
“' He turned quickly, and pulled awk-
wardly at his cap. Tom had probably
heard that a gentleman should lift his
hat to a lady. And Miss Archelaus
was the only lady Tom happened to
“Will she weather it, think you?"
asked the girl, pointing to the tem pest-
“It's a matter o' doubt, mum,,’ re-
plied Tom, rolling his quid to the other
cheek. “It's a rough night to be out,
and the tide sets round the cape like a
race-horse. No mum. I don’t think
éhe'll weather it. She's bound to found:
er, ‘cause, you see, she can’t help it.”
Miss Archelaus drew a long breath.
“But the crew—the passengers!
(Cannot assistance be given to them ?”
“Qnpossible, mum—intirely onpossi-
ble! Unless the Lord sees fit to tend
to their cases hisself, there hain’t no
mortal man that can do 'em any good.
A boat would be swamped in five min-
nits, and brave as the Breakwater
lads be, there isn’t one foolhardy
enough to think of venturing out
among the reefs to-night.”
Miss Archelaus suppressed a sight
which was more like a groan, and fell
back to where the women were stand-
ing. None nf them addressed her; che
was not of their kind. She was the
daughter of Mr. Archelaus, the wealth-
jest man is=the county, and she lived
in state at the great mansion on Fair-
view Hiil, the house so large and high
that its lighted windows could be seen
almost as far out at sea as the great
lamp inthe lighthouse.
Why was she there? She had no
fisherlad abroad exposed to the peril
of the storm. Why did sheintrude upon
them, with her costly dress and her
Why, indeed? Miss Archelaus her-
self could not have told.
It was quite as much a wonder to
her as to the women themselves.
She had been in bed, and had been
wakened out of a troubled sleep by
some one calling her. *She was almost
certain that she had heard her own
name ; and it was his voice; the voice
of the man who once had the power to
stir the remotest depths of her spirit ;
for whose brightest smiles she cared
more than for the admiration of the
She supposed she must have dream-
ed it all; but still, the spell was so
strong upon her that she had risen, put
on her clothes and stolen out without
the knowledge of any one.
All the way to the headland she had
been thinking of Kenneth Derond.
Years ago—as many as five—they
had parted. He was fickle; she was
proud and unrelenting. There was in
her nature no gentle spirit of forgive
ness. Single-hearted herself, she
would not pardon one in whose nature
was the least shadow of turning.
He had gone'away ; she knew not,
cared not, whither, and she had killed
the strong, passionate love she had
borne him ; and showed herself to the
curious world cold and haughty, as
such a women are liable to become
when love leaves them desolate.
Maud Archelaus suffered as a meek,
clinging woman never can suffer, but
she gave no sign. There was a secret
place in her heart where she never dar-
ed to look ; she did not care to see the
grave where she had buried her love
But this night it seemed as if he bad
called her, asked her to help, and she
could not help obeying. There was
no other way.
Meanwhile the ship drifted in, and
by and-by she remained stationary.
And over and above the wild wail of
the wind and storm, and the roar of the
breakers on the beach, came to their
ears the despairing cry of those who
were doomed to perish.
It was dreadful to stand there and
listen to those agonized shrieks ; to see
the wretched vessel beaten to pieces by
the strong billows ; to know that scores
of fellow beings were dying for want of
the help which those on shore would
so gladly have rendered; but, alas!
they were powerless. .
Every wave now brought to land
boxes and bales of merchandise, frag-
ments of broken timber, and by-and-by
they bore a more dreadful burden. The
vessel had sunk long before daybreak,
and the bodies of the crew strewed the
stony beach for half its extent.
Dead, all of them ! - The fishermen
saw that at once, and made no attempts
at resuscitation. A thrill of reliet was
felt by all those anxious hearts, as body
after body was cast up, and no familiar
faceappeared. The ship was a stranger;
none of their dear ones were among the
Drawn thither by a horrible fascina-
tion, Maud Archelaus had gone down
to the stretch of beach with the others,
and stood gazing on the gastly spectacle
with shuddering heart.
A great wave broke almost at her
feet, and left lying there, white and
stiff, the body of a woman, Maud bent
over her, and took the cold hands in
“It's no use to breathe into] her
mouth, mum,” said Tom Conly, flash-
ing the light of a lantern over the body;
“she’s dead. But what's this ?”’ and he
touched a bundle the dead girl held
closely clasped to her breast.
Maud drew away the wrappings;
she had guessed what she should see
long before the last fold of a shawl was
removed. A rosy baby, not more than
a year old, its face smiling and serene,
its blue eyes as untroubled as the sar
face of a sunny lake. The child was
tied to the waist of the girl with a
strong cord. Evidently the last thought
ot the poor young thing was how she
could save her baby.
Maud laid down the heavy head of
the mother and lifted the child in her
arms, held it to her bosom with a great
gesture of tenderness and warmth,
which all who knew her greatly won-
“Let me take her, miss,” said Tom
Conly's wife; “she’s heavy, and you're
not used to babies.”
“Thank you. I can manage very
well. She clings to me. See!” And
she did. The little damp head bad
snuggled itself away among the folds of
silk and lace on the lady’s bosom, and
the dimpled hands were clasped around
her neck with all the touching con-
fidence which a child gives its mother.
The dead bodies were buried from
the parish church, and those who
dwelt at the Breakerwater will never
forget the awfully solemn spectacle.
‘The young girl-mother—her face
calm and beautiful as that of a saint—
was laid a little apart from the rest, in
the village burying-ground., Miss
Archelaus had requested that it might
The babe was the sole survivor of
the wreck. From the broken bits of
the vessel which drifted ashore it was
ascertained that she was called the
Royal Charlotte, and the Captain's desk
revealed the fact that she was English,
and had sailed from Liverpool, bound
Miss Archelaus kept the child.
Nothing was known of its parentage,
though all were sure that its mother
was dead. Around its neck was a slen-
der gold chain, to which was attached
a broken gold coin, and on the clasp of
the chain was engraved the name—
So the babe was christened Zelia,
and was formally adopted by Maud
Archelaus. Mr. Archelaus thought it
was a foolish whim of his daughter to
keep the child, but he was an indulgent
parent, and never opposed Maud in
any way. So the little waif found a
home at Archelaus Hall.
Mand trembled sometimes when she
realized how well she loved this child.
Tt almost seemed as if she took no
comfort or pleasure in anything but
Zelia. And her affection was fully re-
turned. The little girl's love for her
beautiful mother, as she always called
her, was strong and deep, and un-
But Heaven never allows us to have
idols, and one day Zelia fell ill. From
the first she told all who approached
no use to trouble the doctor to leave
her medicine, she ssid, 1 her quaint,
unchild-like way ; she had passed be-
yond the help of medicine.
Mand hung over her in an agony of
grief and despair, crying out to Heav-
en not to take away her little blessing ;
begging and pleading with Zelia not to
go and leave her alone.
The fifth day the disease rezched a
crisis. The sympatizing physician re-
mained through the night, watching
with Miss Archelaus the faint respira-
tion of the suffering child.
It was near midnight when Zelia
was relieved from all pain, and Maud
grew wild with hope.
“My darling, you will live! you will
live!’ she cried, gathering the child
into her arms.
Zelia turned her fast-glazing eyes
fondly upon the anxious face of this one
“Don’t weep,” she said quietly ; “it
hurts Zelia. I have asked God to send
somebody to comfort you, and Ile
promised me. After a while you will
not miss your little Zelia. Iam going
to my mamma. She came last aight
and spoke to me. She had blue eyes,
and hair like sunshine. Good-by, dear
Mamma Maud ; I see the go'den gates
The lips fell apart, the rapt eyes
closed, and Miss Archelaus, like one
in a fearful dream, suffered the physi-
cian to lead her from the room where
the dead child lay.
After the little coffin was put into the
grave, and the others had gone away,
Maud lin ered. There was something
sacredly dear about the place. She
stood by, and saw the old sexton heap
the fresh earth high above the cold
form of her darling, and then he, too,
went away, and Maud was alone.
It comforted her to sit there by the
new grave, and she remained. How
long, she did not know; she took no
heed of outward things until startled
by a step at her side, and, looking up,
she saw the tall figure and bronzed,
bearded face of alstranger.
“Maud,” he said—*Miss Archelaus,
will you not bid me welcome home?”
and held out his hand.
She knew the voice; it was that of
Kenneth Lerond. At any other time
she would have swept haughtily past
him, but now her heart was softened
and subdued. She reached out her
hand and touched his.
“Yon wonder at my agitation. I
think you will understand it when I
tell you that Zelia was my child.”
“Your child!’ she exclaimed in
amazement. “Il do not comprehend
“Sit down here by her side with me,
and I will tell you. It is fitting that
the story should be repeated by her
‘grave. I see that you have buried her
beside some other—was it her mother?”
“Yes. At least, we thought so. They
were + ashed ashore together.”
“You will forgive me for alluding to
the past, Miss Archelaus. I know the
subject is painful to you. Iwas won
from you by Azelia Mayne. Only my
fancy was touched—my heart was yours,
then, and always. I wearled of her
almost immediately, but you were cold
and distant. Your haughtiness drove
me from you ; I was sure that you had
ceased to care for me. I married her,
and in doing so I did hera great wrong.
I carried her beyond the seas, so that
I might avoid the chanceof ever meet-
ing you. For, Maud, notwithstanding
everything, I never ceased to hold youn
dearest of all. I thought I would make
ber happy, and tried to, in a listless sort
of way, which never yet won a woman's
affections. I failed. I think that be-
fore she had been my wife a year, she
would have given half her life to have
“Looking back upon it now, I cannot
blame her so much that she sought the
love of another. He, at least, was ar-
dent and earnest. Hedid not chill her
with a lnkewarm sentiment ofaffection,
worse than the most utter indifference
to one of her impassioned organization.
But before she lost herself for George
Argaud’s love. our child was born—our
little Zelia. I hoped much from the
holy influence of the motner’s love
which comes to every woman who has
a child to cherish. I can not tell you
how I worshipped Zelia. I was never
content when she was out of my pre-
“Do you know the punishment of
idolatry? Every idol shall be broken.
So was mine taken away from me. I
returned home one day from a week’s
absence, frantic to embrace my child.
I found my home deserted. Both wife
and child were gone! Azelia had fled
with her lover, and they had taken my
darling with them !
“For more than a year I sought to
obtain a trace of them, but in vain. Ac-
cident at last revealed what I wanted
to learn. They had sailed for America
on the ship Royal Charlotte. And at
the same time I learned the dread tid- ' or sailor who
Ler that she was going to die. It was!
ings that the ship had been wrecked, |
and every soul had perished.”
“What proof have you that Zelia
was your child?” asked Maud.
“The proof of my own feelings, now
that I stand by her grave! And if that
is not enough, I have still another
There is the other half of the broken
coin, which she wore about her neck.
I placed it there fastened to a little
chain, the clasp of which bore the
Tle gave the bit of coin to Maud;
and without a word she drew thee chain
from her bosom, to which was yet at-
tached the severed coin. She put the
two pieces together, They fitted axact-
ly. There could no longer beany doubt.
“She was all I bad to love,” he said
sadly, “All except the old memory!”
A little flush crept up to Maud’s
cheek. How the oid familiar sweet-
ness of his voice thrilled her! Faint as
was the flush, he observed it and lean-
ed towards her.
“Maud, my darling, my only. love!!
I have nothing left to me in all the
world! And what have you?”
“Nothing,” she answered, without
lifting her eyes.
“But I ask something !"" he went on
passionately- “I cannot let life cheat
me thus. Maud will you come back to
the old place—the place in my heart
which no other has ever filled ?"
She put out her hands towards him,
as if she would push him away from
“Go away,” shz said hoarsely; “I
am weary, and I will not be tempted.”
“Maud, pride parted us once; is it
going to part us again? My darling, I
know I am unworthy, but I ask you to
forgive me and trust me once more.
You shall never have cause to regret
The strong magnetism of his gaze
drew her eves upwards to his own. She
had not intended to yield, but she conld
not withstand the pleading in his face.
He saw that she was melting; he lean-
ed his face down to her and kissed her.
“You are mine, Mand, and I am
yours. Shall it be so?”
She stole her arm around his neck,
and the words, though faint, were dis-
tinet in his ears :
“Oh, Kenneth, be kind to me, for I
love you; I have loved you always!”
So the comforter of whom Zelia had
spoken had come to Maud Archelaus,
and as Kenneth Lerond’s wife, happi-
ness came to her also, and peace, deep
and abiding as life itself.
Our Army of Pensioners.
300,000 New Applications Made, and
Coming in 10,000 « Day.
The Washington correspondent of the
New York Sun writes, August 15: The
most remarkable passage in the addresss
of General Alger to the Grand Army
veterans at Boston, was that which de-
clared that “more than 300,000 applica-
tions have been made to the Commis-
sioner of Pensions under the new Dis-
ability law, and he informs me that ap-
plications are coming in at the rate of
about 10,000 per day.”
‘Where do they all come from ? It is
evident, to begin with, that the number
is outrunning what had been expected,
or at least intimated, in the discussion
of the measure by Congress. It was
then estimated that the number of
applicants during the first year would be
about 200,000. And yet within the first
three months of that year the number is
officially declared fo have exceeded
300,000 and to be going on at the pro-
digious rate of 10,000 per day. In
this respect the experience of the
Disability law recalls that of the Ar-
rears Repeal law, which cost about
ten times as much as some of its ad-
vocates estimated, and also that of the
act of 1818 for dependent Revolutionary
pensioners, under which the number of
beneficiaries was estimated to be 874
and turned out to be 22,297. Congress
in those early days of the country was
dealing with soldiers numbered by thou-
sands, but in ours it is dealing with hun-
dreds of thousands ; then it was startled
to find that it had incurred extra obliga-
tions of more than a million a year, but
the new Disability bill is involving
scores of millions.
The question recurs, however, where
all these new candidates for pensions can
possibly be recruited. General Alger is
reported to have said that even the
Grand Army could not tell within 250,-
000 how many soldiers of the civil war
were still surviving. That would give
an enormous margin for uncertainty;
but he made the statement prior to the
passage of the Disability bill in order to
show that it was better not to try to esti-
mate its cost beforehand, but to go ahead
and pass any away. Commissioner Dud-
ley about eight years ago estimated the
total number of enlistruents in the civil
war at 2,790,178. Deducting from these
the re-enlistments he got a balance of
2,063,291 actual individual enlistments.
Of those living at that time who had not
applied for pensions there were 1,009,-
469, while those who had so applied
Last spring Commissioner Raum re-
vised these ostimates and put the total
number of Union soldiess, excluding re-
enlistments, at 2,218,365. From this
number the deduction of the desertions
and the deaths in battle or by disease or
other cause let 1,702,069 at the close of
the war. By calculating on the usual
mortality rates, he found that the prob-
able number of survivors on January 1,
1890. was 1,246,089. Of these 363,102
were already then on the rolls, so that
the remainder numbered but 872,987.
We farther find that at that date the
number of invalid claims pending was
182,955, which will give a balance in
round numbers, of 690,000 survivors not
included 1n these classes.
And now, it appears, more than 300,-
000 applications are already made for
pensions under the Disability bill, while
the torrent has still head enough to pro-
duce 10,000 a day, which continued ev-
en for only a month, would obviously
make another 800,000. It must accord-
ingly, in view of the figures already
given, be a matter of some astonishment
where the applicants come from, and al-
so how many survivors of the war there
can be who are in ordinary health and
strength. For although, as General Al-
ger complacently remarked, the Disabil
ity bill givesa pension to any soldier
was honorably dis-
charged, after a service of ninety days
or more “no matter what his financial
condition may be ; yet at least Le must
be ‘suffering from a mental or physical
disability of a permanent character, not
the result of his own vicious habits,
which incapacitates him from the per-
formance of manual labor in such a de-
gree as to render him unable to earn a
support.” If, therefore, out of the num-
ber of survivors who had not already
applied for or received a pension, we
have these hundreds of thousands addi-
tional who are testifying that they are
unable to perform manual labor, the
wondering inquiry must come as to how
many veterans are not thus incapaci-
It may be explained, however, that:
the new bill fixes the rate of pensions, |
at $12 a month and, sinee this is a high-
er rate than many existing pensioners
have, a large part of the applications |
are doubtless for repensioning at the
new rate. It was estimated in the |
House that there would be 50,000 such
cases. Again, the new bill makes pro-
vision for pensions for dependent par-
ents of soldiers and sailors and also for |
children. Finally a large part of the ex- |
isting pension list is not for survivors of |
the war, bat for the widows and child-
i ren of the dead. Taking all these facts |
into consideration it is more intelligible |
that the supply of surviving soldiers has |
really astonishing rush of between 300,- |
00 and 400,000 new applications already
made and now going on.
While nothing but the official re- |.
port of the Pension Office can show the |
exact state of the pension roll to-day, |
and also of its prospective increase, thers |
are yet some means of making an esti- |
mate on the subject. The last annual |
report showed that there were 489,729 i
peasioners on the rolls at the beginning |
of the last fiscal year. The net addition |
for the previous year had been 37,168. |
That was perhaps an average of the net |
increase for several former years. The
net increase for the year before, howev-
er, hal been 46,560 names, which was
an unusual growth. During the last
twelve months there has been almost
unprecedented activi y in adding nam>s.
Still, if we suppose the total net increase
for the year tohave been only a little
over 40,000 from ordinary routine
sources, we should have on the rolls, at |
the beginning of July, 530,000 pension- |
ers. We next have to consider 300,000
applications under the Disability bill,
increased at the rate of 10,000 a day.
Supposing these new applications to
stop at 400,000, although General Alger
offers no hints on that subject, and also
supposing that 50,000 of these applea-
cions are from pensioners already
on the list, as estimated in Congress, we
shouldstill have a balance of 350,000
new applications. Even ifonly 60 per
cent. of thesa were successful, we should
still havea total of 210,000 new names
aded to the list, making, with the 530.- |
000 already estimated, a total of 740,000 |
on the pension roll. |
It is evident that this is a very conser- |
vative calculation of what may be ex- |
pected. The army of Germany and the |
army of Frande are small in numbers |
compared with this army of pensioners.
The Straight Road to Ballot Reform.
How to attain a pure and free election?
is now the great question before the
American people. To that end a secret
ballot is absolutely necessary. Such a
ballot is provided by the Australian sys-
tem, accepted by ballot reformers all
over the world as a model, and, so far
as human ingenuity can make it, the
perfect election law. Under it every
elector is the master of his owu vote.
The vote, if cast in secret, without mar! s
or numbers, can never be indenti-
fied or its contents ascertained by any
person but the voter himself. Under it
corruption and intimidation are
impossible, because the corruption-
ists and inmidaters have no means
of ascertaining for whom or for
what the voter voted. The danger of
ballot box stuffing, and of all other
election frauds, is likewise reduced to
the minmium under this system. Wher
ever this system has been employed,
these crimes have totally disappeared.
They are, in fact, next to impossible.
It is on all sides confessed that we
need this system of secret voting in the
state of Pennsylvania more than it is
needed anywhere else in the union. The
free suffrage of the citizen is assailed in
this State by systematic corruption and
by equally systematic intimidation.
Many intelligent citizens are worse tian
disfranchised, since they are often com-
pelled to vote contrary to their own
interests. A secret, and, for that reason
a free vote, is, therefore, the most im-
portant object of political endeavor in
this State. Unfortunately, we cannot
have such a vote under our present con-
stitution. The ballot. numbering pro-
vision, especially designed for identifi-
cation of individual ballots, is fatal to
the secrecy which is essential to a free
The Republican convention at Harris-
burg, which nominated Delamater and
Watres, admits, in its resolutions, the
evil character of the provision—its in-
compatibility with a secret system —
and vaguely promises a change by legis-
lative amendment. This, it faithfully
carried out, would require not less than
five years. On the the other hand, the
Democratic convention at Scranton,
which nominated Pattison and Black,
declared emphatically for the Austraiian
system, with which the existing consti-
tutional provision is wholly irreconcil-
Shall the ballot numbering provision
be taken out of the constitution at once ?
The Democratie partv says unanimously |
that it shall. Its candidates for State !
officers and its candidates for the legis-
lature if elected, will favor the calling of
an immediate constitutional convention
for ballot reform, and for the complete
and instant enfranchisement of all the
citizens of the commonwealth. The
candidates of the Republican party, or,
to speak more exactly, of the boss power,
propose to leave this vital reform in the |
hands of the legislature, where the anti- |
ballot reformers will certainly be in con-
trol of the Senate, and where there are
been permitted to employ their peculiar
system of corruption and coercion in
still another election for Governor and
legislature of Pennsylvania and Presi-
dent and Congress of the United States.
They dare not openly oppose the re-
form. They are fighting for delay, and
with the hope that by the chances and
accidents of time jt may be postponed for
many weary years and perhaps forever.
Good citizens should move for a con-
stitutional convention for ballot reform
without regard to party. They should
require explicit declarations from the
candidates on all State tickets, and from
the candidates for the Senate and House
in every district. Let there be no mis-
take, for it is the gravest question that
has arisen since the adoption of the pres-
———— LL b—
A Desperate Affray.
Two Men Slashed With
an Ar in a
BroomsurG Pa., Aug.—A shocking
tragedy occurred at Danville Saturday
night, the details of which have just
reached here. The reports, as far as re-
ceived, do not say that the principals of
the affuir were killed instantly, but sub-
sequent developments show their
wounds are fatal. The names of the
victims are Frank Schuraski and Pat-
rick Monahan. John Minics, who
committed the crime, is now in jail
awaiting a hearing.
Public opinion is in sympathy with
the prisoner, as evidence so far as can be
learned shows he committed the deed
while resenting an insult to his wife.
Schuraski and Monahan went to Min-
ics’ house during the night under the
influence of liquor . After reaching it
some noise was made which attracted
the attention of Minics, who appeared
in the room with a lamp in his hand, fol-
lowed by his wife. One of the men
told her to go in and mind her own busi-
ness, but this she declined to do, at the
same time making a retort, but before it.
was finished, the lamp which her hus-
band was holding was grabbed and
thrown across the recom in the direction
where the woman was standing.
Minics at once became furious and
seizing an ax, slashed right and left with
terrible effect. The light was now ex-
tinguished and a terrible struggle took
place. Mrs. Minics was knocked to the
floor senseless, where she was found
when the rescuers arrived. Minies was
also overcome by a blow on the head
but soon rallied. Monahan was found
on the step with his skull split, a deep
gash was cut in his shoulder and he was
otherwise bruised. His companion,
Schuraski, was found in the house where
he had been knocked down by a blow
on the forehead, which was split clear
across. Neither of the men can recover.
Take Care of Your Health.
The State Board of Health has issued
a circular of explar.ations and directions
for guarding against cholera morbus,
diarrhoea and dysentery, from which
the following is taken :
Cholera morbus is caused by improper
food and sudden chilling of the body
after exposure to great heat. Certain
substances will produce it in certain
persons, such for instance as veal, raw
milk taken with fish, or shell fish, and
all dishes cooked with milk, such as
rice pudding, cream puffs and
even ice cream, when kept too long.
Unripe and over ripe fruit, especially
if taken with large draughts of ice wa-
ter, will also cause it. But sound ripe
fruit is a nataral food in hot weather
and wholesome. Avoid becoming
chilled during sleep. In a climate as
changeable as ours, a light blanket
should always be at hand, to be drawn
up in case it becomes cold during the
Persistent summer diarrhoea is usual-
ly caused by malaria, sewer air or
impure water. The conditions liable
to contaminate air and water should be
carefully sought out and remedied. The
water can be rendered safe by boiling.
As dysentery is often epidemic, it is
wise to consider every case asa possible
source of danger to others, and to dis-
intect the discharges with the greatest
A Heavy Train Robbery in Missouri.
About $900,000 in Cold Cash Secured.
Kansas City, Aug. 27.—The Limit-
ed Express on the Missouri Pacific
toad was stopped by seven masked
men to-night near Otterville. The rob-
bers secured about $900,000.
When the train was stopped the en-
gineer was commanded to go to the ex-
press car and tell the messenger to open
the door. He did so. When he reach-
ed the express car he found that the
robbers had five confederates stationed
at convenient places about the car, all
armed and their faces concealed behind
He walked to the door of the express
car, and,covered by the revolvers of the
robbers, called to the express messen-
ger, Sam Avery, to open the dooy.
Avery suspecting no danger, pushed
back the door. As hedid so the leader
and one confederate pushed their re-
volvers in and ordered the messenger to
hold up his hands. The order was
obeyed, and three of the robbers jumped
into the car.
They proceeded immediately to the
safe, which was locked. Avery was
commanded to open it, and at the point
of a revolver did so.
One of the robbers unfolded a gunny
sack, and in it were placed the entire
contents of the safe.
The robbers then made an examina-
tion to see if they had overlooked
anything, and finding nothing more of
value backed out of the car, their re-
volvers pointed at the messe:.ger, and
made good their escape.
A later dispatch says that the amount
secured by the robbers is unknown, but
is believed to be large.
——Some preachers are not successful .
Perhaps ' they have not been prayed
two houses between which to shift the
responsibility and finally to accompiish |
the defeat of any true reform. HKven
should they ever agree to an amendment
eliminating the odious marked ballot
provisions it would be at least five years
before it would be submitted and adopt-
ed, during which time the bosses, the
rings, and the monopolies will bave
for after the manner of the colored broth-
er who having obtained the pulpit serv-
ices of a northern clergy man made this
supplication : ‘0 Lord, bress dis yer
white brudder dats come down from de
norf to preach to us. Fill him wid de
flame of the spirit. ‘Noint him wid de
kerosene oil of salvation und set him on