Democrat
Bellefonte, Pa., Sep. il, 1896.
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN.
The following is the song that made
Crouch, its author, famous :
Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is
shaking, :
Kathleen
still ?
0! hast thou forgotten this day we must sever ?
0! hast thou forgotten this day we must part ?
It may be for years, and it may be forever,
Oh! why are thou silent, thou voice of my
heart ? 7
Mavourneen ; what, slumbering
Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers,
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden
light.
Ah, where is the =pell that once fell on my num-
bers ? 5
Arise in thytbeauty, thou star of my night!
Mavourneen ! Yavourneen tf my sad tears are fal-
ling, £
To think that from Erin and thee I must part.
It may be for years, and it may be forever,
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my
heart?
THE TREE DEVIL.
“Put the bed there-there !"’ I said, point-
ing with my finger to the exact spot in the
veranda where I wished it to be.
The servants, led by the old ayah, hesi-
tated.
‘What are you waiting for? Bring the
cot here,” and I walked forward to the
only airy corner of the bungalow.
They did not move. To try my temper
still more, the two men who carried the
cot set it down and deliberately stood at
ease. The ayah, a woman who had been
with me for years, and who had nursed me
and my babies with infinite tenderness,
came toward me.
‘What is the meaning of all this?’ I
asked, with impatience. ‘‘Why don’t you
make the men do as I tell them ?”’
The woman’s face assumed an anxious
look, and her eyes sought mine ifi mute
appeal. I laid my hand on her shoulder
and gave her a gentle shake.
“Bring that cot here.”
“‘Missus—please missus, not here! Not
good for the children. This air bad air.
Missus sleep in the house.”
“I tell you I won’t. It is hot and close
in the house, and there isn’t a single pun-
kah in the place. Look at the roof ; it has
no ceiling cloths and must be full of snakes
and rats. I won’t sleep in the house.
Bring the beds here and put up the mos-
quito nets.’’
With the exasperating mulish obstinacy
of a native servant, she stood as stolid as
a rock under my orders.
“I tell boys to put the cots on the other
side of the bungalow,’ she exclaimed sud-
denly, brightening up as the new solution
of thedifficulty presented itself to her mind.
“What ! All among the pots and pans,
the coolies and the bullock carts? Nol. I
am not going to sleep there. Ayah,” I
said very seriously, ‘‘you don’t generally
disobey me in this way. Tell me what
you mean by it. Why am I not tosleep
here ?
She was silent, but compelled by the al-
most fierce gaze under which I held her
she whispered :
“That tree bad tree! Devil in that tree.”
I drew back in absolute wrath.
*‘You idiot ! You a Christian woman,
believing in such heathen rubbish! You
know as well as do I that there is no such
thing as pishashas.”’
She was abashed at my words and began
to look ashamed of herself. She alluded no
more to the devil in the tree, hut harped
back to her first objection.
‘Not good for children to sleep here.
Wind blowing in the night, bring fever—
dysentery.”"
‘‘At this time of the year! Nonsense!
The tree will keep off the dew and shade us
from the moon. Now come; waste no
more time in such foolish talk. Bring the
cots—mine and the children’s—at once.”
Very sullenly she obeyed me. The men
who carried the heavy old teakwood bed-
steads out of the bungalow turned fearful
glances on the tree ; they also looked cur-
iously at the English woman who dared
to brave the anger of the devil.
The bungalow was one belonging to the
forest officers of the Tinnevelly district, in
south India. I, the wife of one of the se-
nior men, was moving by easy stages across
country to the seacoast for a change of air.
My husband did not accompany me. Duty
called him elsewhere. I was perfectly safe
in the hands of his people, and well sup-
plied with fowls, milk and bread at each
stage. I might have traveled faster had I
chosen to make longer journeys, but with
two small "children I decided that short
stages were best ; hence I found myself at
this bungalow, which was seldom used. A
new one had been built at a station only
six miles farther on. Six miles meant two
hours more on the road, and in the increas-
ing heat of the day I had not cared to doit.
I brought my own servants and kit with
me, and was therefore independent toa
great extent of dark bungalows. AllI
needed was some sort of a roof over my
head to protect me from the sun in the day
and cots to sleep on at night. Camp tables
and chairs I carried with me, besides camp
crockery and cooking utensils.
More than once during the ten days of
travel I had slept with my children in the
open air, under the sheltering foliage of the
tamarind or banyan. To-night I did not
propose to have the beds carried out under
the tree, but only asked to have them plac-
ed at the corner of the open, wide veranda
next the tree. :
My orders were at last” obeyed and the
beds put into position. The elder child
was to occupy the inner one, and I, with
my baby of nearly 2 years old, was to sleep
in that hearest the tree.
The children had their supper and were
put to bed.
‘‘Bring me a cup of weak tea, and then
vou may all go to bed. Leave the lantern
in the veranda, David, and mind that you
wake the men in good time, so that we get
off at 5.”
‘Yes, ma’am.”’
He paused -by my chair, as though he
wished to speak.
‘Well 27?
“I think missus will find it plenty cool
over there,”’ indicating the corner where
the beds were placed, and where the chil-
dren were now fast asleep.
‘*Nousense ; I know best. Now go and
finish your work, David, and don’t trouble
about me. If I want you, I will call you.”
“I sleep on that side,’’ he replied, point-
ing to where the bullocks and their drivers
were quartered.
“Very well, I wille send -ayah to wake
vou at the right time.
I took up a novel.
“You can go,’” I said as my cyes sought
the page.
He turned away without another word
and busied himself over the dinner table.
Once he whispered to the ayah as she pass-
ed to her evening meal. She replied, but I
was too much intetested . in my bock to
heed what they were yg When the
table was cleared, he brought me my tea.
After putting the cup down on the little
round table by my lamp, he fetched the
lantern and I went out toward the tree. I
wondered what he was going todo. He
walked slowly round it, making a large
circle. The dead leaves crackled beneath
his feet as he brought each foot heavily
down upon the dry earth. This was to
frighten the snakes away. I lost sight of
him in the darkness, but I could see his
lamp bobbing about on the other side, as
though he were examinining the locality by
the aid of its light. When he returned, I
handed him my empty cup.
‘Plenty of rubbish over there,’ he re-
marked. ‘‘I send sweeper to clear it away.’’
‘Oh, goand eat your rice and don’t
bother about that tree I’ I replied, impa-
tiently.
He left and I read on, absorbed in the
love troubles of the heroine, without heed-
ing the time. Suddenly asharp scream
startled me. It more than startled me—
for the moment it terrified me. It was like
nothing less than the agonized cry of a
woman undergoing the process of having
her throat cut in slow, deliberate inches.
In another second I laughed. It wasabird,
a kind of a night jar, commonly known as
the devil bird. I had heard it once before,
and having heard it it was impossible to
forget the fiendish cry as it it rent the air.
The bird tonight had uttered his discordant
note in the banyan tree.
I listened for the answering call of its
mate. From the distance came the respon-
sive shriek. A heavy flapping of wing told
me that the ghastly owl had gone to join
its companion. I sincerely hoped that the
two would find pressing business in the op-
posite direction and not trouble the neigh-
borhood of the bungalow again with play-
ful!imitations of the cries of murdered wo-
men.
There was a stir among/my servants and
followers.
I could easily guess at the terror which
had struck their hearts. To them it would
be the malignant call of the tree spirit.
I got up and entered the house to per-
form my toilet. In spite of open doors and
windows, ‘the rooms felt hot and ill ventil-
ated, and how the place smelt of bats ! It
must have been years since the walls had
known the cleansing whitewasher’s brush.
The rafters and beams which supported the
thatched roof were coated with dust, and
huge bats fluttered among the ragged reeds
of the thatch.
I hurriedly put myself into my night
garments and my flannel dressing gown.
Then, turning down my lamp, I went out,
into the cool, fresh veranda and crept be-
neath the mosquito curtains. My little son
was sleeping soundly. The ayah’s mat and
pillow lay on the floor at the foot of the cot.
As soon as she had finished her chat with
the cook and the butler round the campfire,
she would come to bed.
Perfectly easy in my mind, I lay down
and gazed out at the bright starlit sky.
The moon would not rise till midnight.
How beautiful it was! There was a large
planet, as white and steady in its light as
a small moon, illuminating a patch of sky
seen through the foliage of the banyan.
The network of branches and leaves re-
minded me of gigantic lace work, and the
many stems which supported the wonder-
ful canopy seemed like a crowd of slender,
long limbed giants sheltering beneath it.
Surely that was a firefly flitting over the
carpet of dry, crisp leaves. No! its flight
was too steady, too systematic. It could be
rothimg but a lantern carried by a man’s
hand. Yes. There was the sound of cau-
tious feet among the dead leaves and the
whispering of voices.
‘What could my men be about? Surely
David was not so foolish as to extemporize
a gang of sweepers at this time of night to
clear away the rubbish. And what a dust
he would raise! Stupid fellow ! If I had
not changed into my nightclothes, I would
go and order them all to their beds.
Hark! What was that? The cry of a
fowl.
“Cluck, cluck, cak, cak, ca’’—Its fright-
ened cry was stifled by a strong hand.
The beauty of nature was marred by
death. The stars no longer seemed so pure
and lovely. The night wind was soft and
balmy no more. >
Anotherery ! ‘‘Ba’a, ba’a !” A blow
Again death marred the repose of the night.
I shuddered. The poor goat which had
just suffered was probably to provide me
with so called mutton tomorrow. It was
really too bad of David to allow these crea-
tures to be slaughtered before my eyes.
One must eat to live, but I had often told
the cook that all signs of his detestable
work must be scrupulously hidden from
me and the children.
The lights multiplied ; more lamps glim-
mered under the tree, and a fire was being
made.
This was intolerable. It was the last
straw to my endurance. The night breeze
set in from that direction, and I should get
all the abominable smoke. I rose from my
bed, put on my slippers and went down
the broad veranda steps. I could see quite
a number of men grouped by the tree.
They were not cooking their evening meal,
for that has been disposed of long ago round
the camp fires. Cook was not to blame,
that was quite certain. These people were
my cartmen and the family of the men who
had charge of the bungalow.
Tiresome, provoking creatures!" They
were holding a heathen function and were
worshiping the tree devil. Such being the
case, it was impossible to stop them or in-
terfere with them in any way. I must
make up my mind to an hour’s wakeful-
ness and think myself fortunate if every-
thing became quiet again at the end of that
time. The shriek of the night jar had rous- |
ed them to this sudden activity in religious
ceremony. To them it was the angry cry
of the devil.
I moved into the shade and stood against
one of the outstanding stems which sup-
ported a huge spreading limb overhead. I
could see without being seen.
There was a small devil stone—a shape-
less mass of black gneiss—set up against
the parent trunk of the tree, Before it was
erected a low platform of brick and mud—
the work of bygone generations of worship-
ers. On this platform burned some small
Jamps, merely flaming wicks of cotton
floating on pans of oil. Immediately in
front of the stone lay the bleeding heads of
the fowl and goat, together with leaf plat-
ters of rice, sugar, butter, curry stuffs and
cocoanut.
A cautious step behind startled me. It
was the ayah. She plucked at my skirt
and drew me back.
“Why have they begun all this nonsense
to-night ?’’ I asked.
“‘Missus hear that devil bird? Those
men plenty frightened. They say devil
grumbling, got nothing to eat. But if they
see missus they will be more frightened—
perhaps they will run away, because missus
spoil poojah. How should we get on to-
niorrow without bullocks and drivers?’
She added, seeing that I was not inclined
at first to move.
Her last suggestion had the desired ef-
fect. It would be very awkward indeed if
my means of locomotion forsook me. I re-
turned to the veranda. :
“That devil, very bad mischief devil,
these men say’’'—
‘“There is no devil in that tree,’’ I cried,
interrupting her.
She shrugged her shoulders, implying
ignorance on her part and disbelief. The
old woman prided herself on her Christian-
ity, and often spoke contemptuously of the
heathen and their practices. She and the
butler would have scorned the notion of
taking part in any heathen worship.
Yet so deeply rooted are the supersti-
tions of the country that even the educated
class of servants—Christian though they
may be—cannot wholly divest .their minds
of belief in the pishashas. They are as much
a possible reality to them as the ghost is to
the imaginative English woman. Indeed
the pishasha isa kind of ghost. It is the
spirit of a man who has led a wicked, evil
life on earth. Obliged by his sins to haunt
after death the neighborhood where they
were committed, he is supposed to take
awful, monstrous forms, and to find pleas-
ure in nothing but vindictiveness and spite.
The spirit must be propitiated, or dire cal-
amity will befall the people who live in its
vicinity ; fire, accident, sickness, death—
all are put down to the door of some evil
demon.
The ayah corrected herself : ‘‘Those men
say that the devil is bad. I don’t know. I
know nothing. I’m Christian woman. But
if those bandy men think devil is angry
still they will run away to-night.”’
The muffled sound of the tomtom com-
menced. It was not unlike the beat of a
horny hand: upon an old tin. Possibly
one of my own tins had been pressed into
service. Then followed a monotonous nasal
chanting, diversified with occasional low
propitiatory cries.
‘“‘How long will they go on with that
folly ?”’
“Ono hour, two hours, and then they
will go to sleep.”
“Then I must go to bed and try to sleep
as best I can.”’ I murmured.
The sounds were familiar enough, for in
the south of India the air is filled at times
with the beat of the tomtoms.
‘‘Lie down, ayah, and go to sleep.”’
With the instinctive solicitude of her na-
ture she looked at the elder child, tucked
it up still more securely in its mosquito
net and returned to the baby. The little
man was restless and hot. He tossed in his
sleep and flung his arms about. She pat-
ted him softly till his sleep deepened into
stillness. Then she wrapped herself in her
sheet, head, arms and feet, till she looked
like a swathed mummy, and laid herself
down on her mat.
The sounds of the chanting and tomtom-
ing continued with monotonous regularity.
I turned my back on the tree and very
shortly fell into sound slumber.
I do not dream often, but I did that
night. I dreamed that one of my cartmen
had got the old ayah on her knees before
his disgusting swami stone and was delib-
erately hacking her head off with a blunt
knife. The scream that she gave broke the
dream and restored me to consciousness. In
a moment I was awake, every particle of
sleep dissipated. I sat up in bed and gazed |
uneasily around. It was not only the
dream that had aroused me. There must
have been something else.
Ah, of course, the devil bird again.
At the foot of my bed knelt the ayah,
her terrified face raised to mine. She was
speechless with fright and showed more
whites of her eyes than I thought it possi-
ble for her to possess without turning her
head, as she rolled her eyes around in the
direction of the tree whence the sound had
come.
I was afraid she would have a fit. I jump-
ed out of bed, throwing the mosquito cur-
tains upon the frame above. The moon
bad risen, but did not shed much light,
and my lamp had burned out.
‘‘Ayah, ayah, don’t look so terrified. It
is only the owl again.’’
I forbore to call it by its more familiar
name. :
She rose to her feet.
“Iwill call the butler,’”” she grasped,
shuffling off in thedirection of the servants’
quarters.
I took up the lamp and hurried after
her.
‘‘Here, get this lighted again.
What's that ?”’
Some animal passed out of the house just
in front of the ayah. She saw it and stood
still, paralyzed with fear. It went slowly
down the steps toward the tree. ‘‘It’s only
a jackal,” I said reassuringly. ‘‘Come,
ayah, don’t be so frightenad. You are not
generally afraid of jackals.’’
“‘That’s no jackal,” she replied ina
hoarse whisper.
The poor woman trembled so that she
could scarcely speak.
The animal did not seem to fear the
sound of human voices, for we could hear
its feet among the dead leaves. It was
scratching the ground. It might have been
a dog, but whether dog or jackall I did not
feel disposed to let it remain so close to the
house, I ran down the steps toward it.
‘Shoo, shoo!” I cried. ‘Get out, you
beast !’’ and I stooped to pick up in panto-
mime the fear inspiring stone, of which all
creatures, from the blundering buffalo to
the impudent crow, have an instinctive
terror.
It did not move away. The scratching
continued, and in the checkered moonlight
I could see that it was larger and stronger
than an ordinary jackal. I was not in the
least alarmed, for I knew that no danger-
ous animals were to be found in that dis-
trict. I ran back into the veranda, put on
my slippers and seized my sun umbrella—
a strong stick substentially petticoated in
cotton. Out I went again.
‘Shoo, shoo, shoo! Go away !”’ at the
top of my voice
"For I remembered that a good discord-
ant human cry might strike terror even to
the heart of a tiger. This, however, was
no tiger.
My fresh onslaught caused the obstinate
animal to bestir itself. It ran or rather
shambled along, skirting the house. Then,
instead of departing, it doubled back.
‘‘Get me some stones, ayah, and come
and help.”
But not a sound or movement did she
make in response.
I returned to the veranda a little out of
breath. The woman stood exactly where
I had left her, holding the extinguished
lamp in her rigid fingers. She was now
ghastly with fear. I laid my hand on her
naked arm and clasped it lightly above the
elbow.
‘Ayah, ayah !"’ I cried sharply. ‘“‘Don’t
look like that ! It’s only a big pariah dog.”’
But my words made no impression. Her
gaze was fixed on something which she
could see at the end of the veranda beyond
the cots.
And now a most extraordinary thing
happened. I have never been able to ac-
count for it satisfactorily. Either my im-
agination, being suddenly played upon,
" Hallo!
served me a curious trick, or contact with
the ayah communicated to my brain the
distorted vision which held her in such
spellbound horror.
Following her gaze, I turned my eyes in
the same direction and met a most unac-
countable, blood curdling sight.
The creature which I had been so vainly
endeavoring to frighten away was coming
up the veranda steps—coming toward -us
with slow, deliberate mien. It shuffled
along in half human style, crawling rath-
er than walking. It seemed stoutly built,
with long, sinewy limbs. But its form of
‘body was nothing compared with its hid-
eous head. The face was ashy gray and
had a weird, human look, with a fiendish
expression of malignity upon it. I could
see its teeth and fiery eyes. Its mouth was
extended in a grin of malice, and its red
tongue hung out, parched and dry.
With hand still upon the arm of the
ayah, I, too, gazed spellbound on the mon-
strosity. It seemed to see us, but showed
no fear at our presence.
It approached the bed whereon lay my
youngest child. I had thrown up the cur-
tains, so that even the small protection of
the mosquito net was gone. The little one
the full view of the mysterious creature.
When it reached the bed, it reared itself
up on its hind-legs and bent over the child
with an evil grin of malice.
It was the action of a few seconds only.
The ayah gave a piercing shriek, rivaling
the owl, and dropped to my feet in a faint.
With one bound I flew toward the mon-
ster. It dropped upon its four legs and
shambled away, disappearing in the direc-
tion of the tree, with a hoarse cry.
The extraordinary part of it was that the
moment I released my hold on the ayah’s
arm the humanity of the creature faded,
and it become thoroughly animal in its
bearing. The malignity changed to a
gaunt, starved ’expression, such as extreme
hunger or thirst might have produced.
The fiendish look in its eyes gave place to
one of distress. After all, I must have
been mistaken. It was only a jackal or a
gray wanderoo monkey, hunting for a drop
of water to quench its thirst, after its meal
on the sacrificial offering.
The ayah’s cry, followed “on the screech | the anthracite coalfields of Pennsylvania to material; but in buying any of these.
of the night jar, had roused the servants.
They came hurrying up, and David was
the first to detect her inanimate body, ly-
ing in a heap upon the floor. I had enough
to do to soothe my startled children, who
were both erying fretfully.
A little water restored her senses. She
sat up and gzlanced around her fearfully.
The sight of the butler reassured her, her
tongue was loosened, and “with voluble
speech she described the scene in her own
language.
Yes, she had seen a fiend! Missus might
say what she liked; it was the tree devil—
nothing but the tree devil—and, oh,
Amah! it had called her child, her darling
sonnie! Hark at her crying! To-morrow
would bring fever. One cock and one goat
were not enough. It wassuch a bad, wick-
ed devil, Hadn’t she told the brandy men
to kill ten fouls and three goats? Hadn’t
she promised to persuade missus that the
jackal had taken all the fowls? They
would not listen to her advice; they had
only killed one fowl and one goat, and the
devil was not satisfied. Now he would
take her darling sonnie. Oh, Amah, Amah—
‘What time is it?”’ I cried loudly and
sharply to the butler who was listening
with elongated face to the drivelings of the
old woman. He glanced at the moon.
‘About 3:30,’’ he answered promptly.
‘Tell the drivers to get ready to start. I
cannot sleep again. Come, ayah; stop all
that noise. Come and dress the children.
David, tell the cook to get the bread and
milk ready, and you make me some tea.
Now, look sharp.”
I poured a torrent of words on the terri-
fied crew, knowing well that nothing but
an excess of bustle and work would dispel
the horrors of the night. :
No need to rouse the drivers. They were
all awake, thanks to the early morning
note of the devil bird. Never before had
the packing been done so promptly; never
had so expeditious a start been made.
There were no loiterers. Each man strove
not to be last. Instead of heading the pro-
cession, as usual, my cart was the last to
move out of the yard. It was with un-
scrupulous goading and shouting that my
driver urged his bullocks forivard, not sat-
isfied till he had placed a string of vehicles
between himself and the dread tree, lest,
true to the old proverb, the devil should
take him at the hindmost.,
Alas, poor sonnie developed fever and
dysentery.
The sea air did him no good. He had al-
ways been a delicate child. After some
weeks of delicate nursing his gentle soul
returned to its maker, and with many tears
I laid his faded little body in a quiet grave
by thas lonely Indian seashore. The doc-
tor said that he had had the fever in him
for some time previous, and that nothing
could have saved him.
The ayah, however, had other convic-
tions, which were also held by the rest of
my servants. To her dying day—Christian
though she be by profession and faith—she
will always believe that he was sacrificed
to the malignity of the tree devil.— London
Society. :
Record.
Why the Dear Little Girl Never Has to go Down
in her Class.
“Mamma,’’ said 7-year old Frances, as
she burst in from school.
“What is it, sweetheart?’ asked mam-
ma, as she kissed the ruby lips.
‘‘You know in our school, if one scholar
can’t answer a question and the next one
can, the one who answers goes up and the
one who can’t answer goes down. ”’
“Why, that is the way we did when
mamma was a little girl and went to
school.”*
£1s itP?
‘Yes. I suppose you are trapped pretty
often, Frances ?”’
‘Yes, mamma,’ replied the truthful lit- |
tle girl. ‘‘I was trapped this morning.”’
‘‘Who went up into your place ?’’
“Freddy Trotter.”
“I should think Freddy wouldn’t be |
able to trap you often. He is only 63
while you are past 7.”
‘‘Yes’'m. Say, mamma !”’
‘Well 1”
‘You know Susie Briggs ?”’
“Yes.”
“I never saw her trapped even once.”’
“Didn’t you ?”’
No.”
“Isn’t that nice? Don’t you wish you
knew your lessons that well ? Don’t you
wish you were never trapped, like Susie
Briggs ?”’ ’
“No’'m. You see, mamma, Susie has
been clear at the bottom of the class ever
since I’ve heen going to that school.
——Dick—But how do you know he is
a sign painter ?
Harry—Because he wrote a sentence in
which there were six apostrophes, and he
got every single one of them in the wrong
position.
SE
Anthracite Coal Supply.
According to Recent Estimates It Will Run Out in
a Hundred Years.
The Bond Record has been making a care-
ful investigation of the anthracite coal in-
dustry. No expense has been spared to
obtain correct information. so that those
interested in the coal carrying rail-roads
and other companies owning or leasing coal
lands may be able to judge of the present
prospective values of their properties.
Eleven corporations control 96 per cent. of
the available coal supply.
According to the summarized estimate
of the Bond Record, in--109 years, on the
basis of shipments made in 1895, the sup-
ply of anthracite coal will he exhausted.
The largest proportion of the annual in-
crease of tonnage has been furnished by
the Wyoming region. - In 1894 Lehigh and
Schuylkili furnished 45 per cent. and Wyo-
ming 50 per cent. of the year’s output, but
the Wyoming region is nearing the point
of maximum output and increase of ton-
nage is likely soon to deminish. The
present annual capacity of the anthracite
21,000,000 tons in excess of annual con-
| sumption. It is therefore clear that pro-
duction should be reduced, as the oversup-
ply prostrates the market and at the same
time encourages waste in the world. Un-
less the gross mismanagement and criminal
| wastefulness that have characterized the an-
| thracite industry for the past few vears are
t stopped they will result in the ruin of the
| great properties engaged in the mining and
| transportation of coal.
| Could the various interests involved co-
operate and limit the production of the
mines to meet the requirements of the mar-
| ket, at fair prices, before many years; with
| the increasing consumption, the demand
I would equal production, there would be an
end to the present demoralized markets
| and those who have invested their savings
| in the stocks and bonds of these anthracite
| properties would eventually get back their
| investment with interest.
But the great fact which this publication
| of the Bond Record discloses is the brief
: period of time which we can depend upon
snnly us with heat and power. Its place
| will have to be supplied with some other
| element, and there is none in sight so ad-
! mirably adapted for the purpose. The
| supply of bituminous coal is practically
| exhaustless, but this greasy, sooty, dirty
| fuel is a resource from which our genera-
| tion ought to be profoundly thankful it is
spared.
Standing Stone Ionument.
The Standing stone which was
cated in Huntingdon during the cen-
tennial, was quarried on the Simpson place,
a short distance north of town, and isa
odlumn of slate eighteen feet long, about
eighteen inches at the base, and tapers to-
ward the top. The stone is believed to be
an exact counterpart of the original stand-
ing stone erected by the Indians near the
mouth of Stone Creek and described by
John Harris, who visited Huntingdon in
1754, as being fourteen feet high and six
inches square. It was covered with hiero-
glyphics, the meaning of which is not
known, but is supposed to be the record of
the history of the Oneida tribe of Indians.
It was taken away by the tribe when they
took their march toward the setting sun,
as it was looked upon by the red men as a
talisman, and revered almost. as an idol.
Another stone ‘was subsequently erected
near the same spot by white men, but it
was accidentally broken, and a fragment
was kept for many years by the late Col.
E. C. Summers and was among the relics
which were exhibited in the opera house
building during the centennial.
below Penn will be surrounded by a neat
little park and will be seen by persons
passing through the town on railway trains.
The dedication of the stone was duly ob-
served on the first day of the centennial, at
10 o’clock. Hon. J. Simpson Africa, ex-
secretary of internal affairs, and Gen.
Horace Porter, of New York, a native of
the town, son of the late Governor D. R.
Porter, delivered addresses.
——Passing up the Hudson river the
other day on a visit to West Point, Li
Hung Chang, under the especial chaperon-
age of Colonel Fred. D. Grant, as reported
in the Philadelphia Press, ‘‘ began through
the interpreter, to speak of railroads and
their paying five per cent.” The distin-
guished Chinaman, it seems, is much in-
terested in such matters, more by far than
he was in West Point—where he would
not even land after sailing up there. In
connection with this same money or in-
vestment topic and in continuation there-
of, it is furlher said in the report: ‘‘ The
Dolphin was then passing the Williams-
burg sugar refineries, and Colonel Grant
said: ‘ There is a place which pays 12 per
cent. on an invested capital of $37,000,000.”
If Colonel Grant, we may add, had only
explained further how a capital so large as
that, invested in a business really so sim-
ple, could afford to pay so large a dividend
in these times—by what method or on
what ground—could give the entire secret
of the matter, it- would interest a great
many people in this country, we imagine,
just as surely as so gilt-edged a statement
was of a sort supposed to be pleasing to the
mind of Li Hung Chang.
——A driving horse belonging to Will-
iam McCann, a well known farmer who re-
sides near Newmanville, recently broke
through the wooden covering of a water
well on the premises, going to the bottom,
a distance of 25 feet. The horse’s hind
feet went through first throwing him back-
wards, and in this manner it slid to the
bottom. Mr. McCann was absent from
home at the time but all the neighbors
turned out, a derrick was built, and James
Turk’s team was hitched to a rope and
| tackle block the other end of the rope hav-
ing been fastened to the horse. In this
way the horse was pulled out and placed
on his feet again but little the worse for
{ the mishap. There was but a few feet of
drowned.—7ionesta Vindicator.
| ——Henry M. Riddle, a young farmer of
| Millerstown, Butler county, drove his
| spirited team into the Allegheny river, |
| : .
| near Clinton, for the purpose of washing
off his carriage on last Saturday. He ven-
i tured too far out and the horses went be- |
| yond their depth. and as they sank, Riddle
| succeeded in releasing the vehicle, in
" which he floated to Freeport whe#e® he was
rescued. The horses were drowned.— Kit.
Tribune.
——My son. while thou hast left in thy
| skull the sense of a jay bird, break away |
from the cigarette habit, for lo, thy breath
' stinketh like a glue factory oh thy whole |
| appearance is less intelligent "tT store |
Yea, thou art a cipher with the |
dummy.
rim knocked off.—Ew.
| region is about 67,000,000 tons, or about |
was thus exposed to the night air and to
The Shaft Dedicated the First-Day of the Centennial. |
dedi- |
The stone in its position on third street |
water in the well or the horse would have’
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN,
Every woman has a furtive desire to
keep her youthful looks as long as possible
and according to one exponent of the ‘‘se-
cret of eternal youth,’’ it seems a very sim-
ple thing to accomplish. ‘Interest in
life, excitement, something to do which
keeps the mind active, and a certain care-
lessness of temperament are the leading
essentials, beside which careful eating and
regular habits are of very little import-
ance.”” Activity accompanied by late
hours and irregular habits of living is bet-
any virtue in this theory of youth.
White lawn ties, after. the manner of
men’s evening dress ties, are gaining in
favor. Until this season they were not
considered the thing at all, but more and
more of them are noticed on the shirt
waist brigade every day. By the way,
never be guilty of the solecism of wearing
a necktie bought already tied, always tie
your own, and have the loops and ends
straight across, as a man ties his, do not
allow the ends to hang below the loops.
| nearly so becoming, or so comfortable, as
the ones now worn, and women on all
sides are openly expressing their dissatis-
faction at the change. They are adopting
the new fashion very slowly, and modify-
ing the new style by bowknots, collars
that extend over the sleeves and different
sorts of trimming.
| The smaller sheathlike sleeve is not
In renovating gowns to give them the
required, fall-like touch, remember to
match “Nature and you will be correct.
Scarlet, brown or mixed goods combining
these two shades, or brown and yellow.
Broadcioth or ladies’ cloth is always in
fashion when braiding is revived, and as
has already been stated, braiding is very
largely to he used. Even on velvet and
camel’s-hair serges there are rows of braid-
| ing, while the smooth cloths are fairly
covered with it. From 81.50 upwards
| ladies’ cloth can be hought, which®is wide,
i and if well sponged, is a most satisfactory
I smooth cloths it is well not to choose too
| heavy a weight, particularly if the skirt is
ito be braided; weight does” not mean
| warmth in cloth or woolen materials, and
| that we have only learned, many of us,
{ through hard experience. In coats and
| tight-fitting waists the smooth cloths are
, more becoming than the rough ones, for
| they seem to fit the figure better, probably
on account of being more closely woven.
| But this year it is not safe to say arbitrar-
ily that either one is the only possible ma-
{ terial. All the different shades of blue,
| brown, green, and gray, besides black, are
fashionable, but black leads all in the
smooth cloths. In the mixed cloths there
is a pepper and salt combination which is
immensely fashionable, but not becoming
to everybody, as it really has a gray shade
which needs a pink and white complexion
to bear well. This last material for hard
wear is simply unsurpassable, and is being
used by a great many women for both
bicycling and shopping, made in one jack-
et-waist with two skirts, one short and one
long—really two gowns out of one.
During the warm weather, when the
head perspires freely, dandruff is apt to
form rapidly and not only presents a very
unsightly appearance, but. weakens the
energy of the hair, and will cause it to fall
out. To prevent this keep the scalp in as
healthy a condition as possible by the fre-
quent use of the brush, and also by fre-
quent and careful bathing of the body. Do
not use cheap oils and washes on the: hair,
for many of them destroy the little bulb-
ous root, and cause baldness, the hair be-
ing much like a delicate plant which needs
careful handling. Above all do not be
tempted to bleach or dye the hair, for the
process is injurious in many cases, and the
results are disastrous to beauty, the natural
color of the hair, blending with the com-
plexion far better than with an artificial
color. To wash the hair beat up the yoke
of an egg in a pint of warm water,
adding a small pinch of borax to soften the
water. Apply it tothe hair while warm,
washing it out thoroughly with warm
water. The Brazilians, who are noted for
their luxurious and beautiful hair, use
castor oil freely, first rubbiug in the oil,
then brushing the hair vigorously, giving
at least 100 strokes upon arising in the
morning, when making the evening toilet
and again upon retiring. Consequently
the hair of the Brazilian is exceptionally
beautiful.
Miss Fannie McCinnon, a compositor in
a newspaper office in Superior, Wis., re-
cently received $40,000 from a gold mine
stock investment made ten years ago.
The fashionable autumnal wrap will be
the short cape, which is fuller than ever,
or the jaunty cloth jacket with box front
and Watteau back—a style, which in spite
of its unbecomingness, has been adopted
by modish Parisiennes.
For fruit stains on white stuffs rub on
yellow soap; then wet powdered starch to
the consistency of. thick cream; cover the
place and hang for several days in the sun.
A fresh fruit stain will yield always to
boiling water poured through it. For
mildew and iron rust, wet with tdrtaric
acid in strong solution and hang in the
sun.
The new fall styles in coats show but few
radical changes except in minor points.
The sleeves are less bouffant at the shoul-
der, with little or no fullness at the elbow;
the slope of last winter is entirely cut away
so as to give more the effect of a coat
sleeve. The long rage for pale lints has
entirely done away with any fancy for
them so far this season; the new shades
are all more or less dark and of rough che-
viots of Scotch mixtures that are made to
stand no end of wear.
A pretty coat is made of a soft tone of
brown showing a gray thread running
through it. It is quite short skirted, and
has a full box-plaited back, stiffened to
stand out like a postilion. It is double-
breasted and fastens with large flat pearl
buttons. The plain coat collar is faced
with dark brown velvet and the seams are
all beautifulfy strapped.
It is quite bad to see young chil-
dren in these days suffering with bad teeth,
and suffering from toothache. Much
{ trouble might be saved if children were
| taught when very young, to use their tooth-
{ brushes night and morning. The night
| cleansing is more important, as it gets rid
of the acids and of the particles of food tbat
| have accumulated during the day, and
"which if allowed to remain causes decay.
| Warm water and a fairly hard brush should
| be used. If children were taught when
quite young that cleaning their teeth night
{ and morning was as important as brushing
the hair, or any of the duties of the toilet,
the habit acquired in youth would remain
with them in after years, and would, I
| feel sure, save them much trouble and pain.
ter than a listless, stagnant life, if there is .