Demarralic aidan
Bellefonte, Pa., March 3I, 1899.
THE ROUND HOUSE.
You start at the door by the office and circle
around to the right,
Past the engines run in from their labors, at
home and in bed for the night.
The first is a monster, “hog,” mogul, just back-
ing itself for a climb
Up the mountains, with ninety full loaded, to
Renovo and Erie, on time;
Here “17-20 stands puffing, its steam grimy
smoke hissing through;
It's in from a run up the valley: Eighty miles
in an hour it flew;
And “5-0 9,” further ’round here, stands wheez-
: ing and shakey and gray,
With flanges and bumpers well battered, fast
falling apart from decay.
“Old 2-61," 7” Why, bless you!
round house at ajl;
It belonged here since back in the 60's, but went
to the scrap pile last fall.
And =o through the building you cirele and
pass out the door you came in,
Back again into life’s greater round house-—the
‘world with its sorrow and sin—
Where you are an engine awaiting the
of your duty to do,
To run on the road of the Master and pull his
great business on through;
To “do unto others” in meekness, so long as
life’s signals shall burn,
Then on to nature's old serap—I mean to your
place on the hill in your turn.
—G. W. Furey.
It's mot in the
eall
Sunbury, March 21st, 1899.
MISS ANN’S VICTORY.
In the spring of 62 George Osborne was
brought to Knobhill, the house of his
grandmother, wounded. He was there for
two months, and when he returned to the
army the town agreed that he was engaged
to Ann Miller. Lame as he had been,
people had seen him go to the Miller’s
more than once, and when the time came
to say good-bye, Ann Miller walked with
him down the path between the rows of
Easter lilies to the gate and watehed him
ride away.
Perhaps it was the walking side by side
down the long straight path that made the
observers think of the church aisle; maybe
it was the white glory of the Easter lilies
that made them think of a wedding; be
that as it may, the town pronounced them
engaged.
In the spring of ’63 Jane Simmons went
from Knobhill to pay her father a visit in
camp, and then and there she was married
to George Osborne. Of eourse the town
talked; but those were busy days, when,
all the men having gone to the front, the
women had to manage not only their
houses and children, but the plantations as
well, so that the talk died very soon; if
Ann Miller was stricken, she made no
sign.
7 Osborne lived through the war,
lived to be Governor of his State, lived to
raceive a foreign appointment; but al-
though the little town was bursting with
pride because of his achievements, and
longing to welcome him and to do honor,
he somehow never came back to Knob-
hill.
When she became a widow, Mrs. Jane
Simmons Osborne returned, and opened
once more the old Osborne house. It was
in the spring that she came, and looking
from the stage, she saw Ann Miller's lilies
blooming just as they had bloomed on that
day long ago when Ann Miller walked
down to the gate with George Osborne.
Ann Miller was still Ann Miller, she
found, living alone in the big old house
that once had been so full. For the rest,
she dressed in gray now instead of in
white, and her brown hair had come to
match her gowns and her eyes. She came
at once fo see Mrs. Osborne, stepping light-
ly down the path between the lilies, cut-
ting them here and there, and bringing
them with her.
Knobhill had shrunk, Mrs. Osborne
complained—which was more than could
he said for Mrs. Osborne—and so many
whom she had known were missing, and
all who were left seemed so poor.
‘‘But, in spite of everything,”’ she fin-
ished, looking critically at the flowers Miss
Ann had brought, “you still keep up your
fad for lilies.”’
‘Yes,’ Miss Ann answered: ‘‘my mother
loved them dearly, and we have always
had them.” 5
It was a cool afternoon—cool enough for
a little fire; and when Miss Ann had gone,
Mrs. Osborne cast the flowers behind the
backlog, and held them there until they
were consumed.
Bat, in spite of her dissatisfaction, Mrs.
Osborne had come to stay; and to Knob-
hill, grown so poor, she seemed a very rich
person. Nobody knew what her financial
resources were, nor what sacrifices she
made, if any, to keep her only child away
at expensive schools and colleges; but as
time went on, one or two clear-sighted
people observed that were Mrs. Osborne
had begun with four servants she gradual-
ly came down to one, and instead of going
to spend every summer holiday with her
boy, she went once in two years, then once
in three years, then staid at home. Was
she getting poorer? Had she ever been
rich? Had she inherited everything, or on-
ly a life interest? And while these clear-
sighted ones watched and wondered the
years swept by, and one springlike Febru-
ary Knobhill waked up to find itself facing
two excitements; young Oshorne, having
- graduated, had for the first time in his life
come to Knobhill, and Miss Miller's niece
had been selected to fill the position of
school mistress.
It was a serene bright afternoon, and the
Knobhill social circle, which always met
at Osborne’s, had gathered and was thread-
ing its first needles, when little Miss Wil-
son said, softly: ‘‘Ann Miller is waiting at
home for her niece. How nice it will be
for Ann to have some one with her, after
all these years of loneliness!”’
‘I, for one, would look on it as a great
trial,” Mrs. Oshorne answered, coldly.
“This girl has grown up in a city, which
means that she is worldly; she is young,
which means that she is scatter-brained
and will make a bad disciplinarian. 1 op-
posed her election; I wanted an older wo-
man; but Ann Miller overpersuaded the
trustees. I don’t expect the girl to succed,
and I should not thank Providence for
sending me any such company.”’
‘Ab, dear Mrs. Osborne,” said a third
voice, ‘with such a son, you can never
have realized what loneliness means, even
though alone; and you have no need of
company.”” And Mrs. Snider, the young
widow who had spoken, was smiling—
smiling very much indeed.
‘My son,” Mrs. Oshorne answered, curt-
ly, ‘‘has seen the world—I took good care
of that; I doubt if he will stay here long
enough to be company for any one—not
even for his poor old mother.’
There was an ominous pause, for the cir-
cle felt that Mrs. Osborne had attacked
Knobhill. Several of the ladies cleared
their throats, and one had her lips open to
speak, when little Miss Wilson, the most
timid of women, made a spasmodic remark
that diverted the conversation and preserved
the peace. Miss Wilson was always doing
this kind of thing. Terrified at the sound
of her own voice, she seemed to become
still more terrified at the warlike silences
that so frequently occurred in the circle;
and with a noble bravery worthy of a better
cause, she would throw herself recklessly
into these breaches. And now she felt al-
most as anxious as Miss Miller did about
the girl and the experiment of making her
a school teacher. For in this matter Miss
Wilson had followed up the trustees with a
hesitating yet quiet persistence that had
more effect perhaps than open persuasion;
and many evenings, after candle-light she
had slipped over to give her sympathy and
encouragement to Miss Ann. All this has
had done because she loved her friend, and
in her heart thought fitness for the position
was a small matter compared with Miss
Ann’s happiness. But now that the girl
was actually arriving, and Mrs. Osborne
was predicting dire failure, Miss Wilson
was terrified beyond expression.
The stage meanwhile was lumbering
along the Knobhill pike, most unusually
cumbered with baggage. A great lot it
seemed for the one lonely passenger within
who from time to time sighed deeply and
impatiently. It was Miss Miller’s niece,
Sylvia Williard, and she was rapidly losing
heart. At the first sight of the old vehicle
her courage had cooled, for a stage meant
remoteness, and with every long jogging
mile through the bare country, most of it
cleared and divided into fields, she became
more and more depressed. For many
reasons she had been glad to agree to her
aunt’s proposal as to Knobhill, and had
come with all sorts of happy resolutions
and expectations. But this bare wintry
landscape, this long white road winding in
and out and up and down the rolling
country, this farawayness of Knobhill, made"
her almost unhappy. Where was the
town, and what kind of place could it be?
How many people consented to live so far
from everywhere, and could such people be
sane? Her aunt had written of the society
that it was very select, that Sylvia’s mother
had loved the place, and she hoped that in
time Sylvia would love it also. The letters
had been so gentle and so kindly that an
enthusiasm had sprung up in the girl’s
heart for the writer, and she had deter-
mined to like eyerything; but now she be-
gan to wonder. Of course, in this last
little spot in creation, the society must be
‘‘select,”” because there could not be many
to select from. And would Mrs. Osborne
and Miss Snider and Miss Wilson, the
names made familiar to her in the letters—
would they know anything but Knobhill?
How awful!
‘Hullo!’ came from the roadside.
“Hullo!” the driver answered, and the
stage came to a standstill.
Sylvia looked out eagerly. A young
man in a golf suit was standing by a dis-
abled wheel.
“I’ve broken my wheel, he called. ‘‘Can
you give me a lift back to Knobhill?”’
A well-dressed young man and a wheel!
Sylvia’s opinion of Knobhill rose.
‘“Yes,” the driver answered; ‘‘there’s
plenty of room.”’
Sylvia heard the wheel being hoisted on
top the stage; then the young man came to
the door. He took off his hat and stepped
in. There was silence, until a lurch of the
stage dislodged, for about the twentieth
time, Sylvia’s traveling-bag, which the
young man caught.
‘Thank you,’’ she said.
‘‘No trouble,” he answered, and each
liked the other’s voice.
At last Sylvia asked, ‘‘How far is it to
Knobhill?"’
‘‘Really,’” the young man answered, *‘I
can’t say. I have been there just one
week, and I don’t know the landmarks
yet.”
‘Oh,’ cried the girl ‘‘then you must be
Mrs. Oshorne’s son! My aunt wrote me
that you were to come.’
‘‘And you must be Miss Miller's niece,’
Osborne returned. ‘My mother told me
you were to come.’’
Then they laughed together and became
friends. The ride seemed shorter after
this, and great was Miss Miller’s astonish-
ment when young Osborne helped Sylvia
out of the stage, and, loaded down with all
her traps walked her up to the door.
The ladies who were dispersing from the
social circle saw the same sight, and were
as much astonished as Miss Miller—more,
indeed, for they were not favored with any
explanation.
Miss Miller was immensely pleased, first
with the tall niece who seemed so glad to
see her, then with young Osborne, the
present hero of Knobhill, who came in so
pleasantly, quite like an old friend, as in a
way he was, and who consented so willing-
ly to stop for a cup of tea. Then again
with Sylvia who at once fell in love with
the few pieces of old silver and old china
remaining to Miss Miller, with the big old
house, and the big old furniture and fire-
places, calling it all *‘jolly’’ and “‘quaint,”’
and Cecil Oshorne agreed with her. And
when the girl ended by putting her arm
around her aunt and saying, “But I’m aw-
fully glad you’re not as big as the furni-
ture, aunt Ann,’’ finishing with a squeeze,
Miss Miller was completely vanquished.
Nevertheless, she blushed, and looked
deprecatingly at young Osborne. This was
not the way in which she had been taught
to behave before strangers, and especially
not before gentlemen. But Cecil watched
them, smiling, and when he reached home
he told his mother that Miss Miller made
him think of a spray of lavender.
“Ann Miller?”’ Mrs. Osborne repeated;
then raising her eyebrows and smiling, as
if to herself, she said, slowly; ‘‘She has been
told that she looked like a lily, poor soul.
and now a spray of lavender! Humph!”’
*‘She doesn’t look a bit of a poor soul,’
the young man retorted.
‘‘And what about the niece?’’ his mother
went on.
“Thoroughly nice, and—well, she’s tall
and rather striking. I’m sure you’ll like
her, mother--like her immensely.”’
The very next afternoon, when Mis.
Snider and Miss Wilson called at Miss
Miller’s, they were greeted with sounds of
uncontrollable mirth, mingled with the
tones of a violin and a piano. Miss Miller
let them in herself.
‘Sylvia and Mr. Osborne,’’ ‘‘she said,
“are trying to make music on my dreadful
old piano.’
Mrs. Snider raised her eyebrows. ‘‘How
very nice!’’ she said.
“Just the thing!” Miss Wilson exclaim-
ed, under her breath, and squeezed Miss
Ann’s hand.
Sylvia put down her violin and came
forward slowly, Cecil Osborne following
her. She was taller than either one of the
ladies, and so seemed to have them at a
disadvantage. At least, Mrs. Snider said
later that Miss Willard had a very con-
descending air, and that she treated young
Osborne as if she owned him.
‘And it does seem queer,’’ she went on
“‘that Miss Ann should have sent for her
niece just at this time.
Of course this talk reached Mrs. Osborne,
and Miss Ann also, and while Miss Ann
smiled and seemed not to hear, Mrs. Os-
borne began to cast about for reasons why
her son should leave Knobhill.
As the day approached on which Sylvia
was to meet the trustees and be installed
in the school, Miss Miller became seriously
nervous, but the girl tried to laugh away
all fears.
“I’ll put on my best frock,’ she said
blithely, ‘‘and the most becoming hat and
smile, and you’]l see how nice everybody
will be. To look well is a woman’s best
card.”
‘Sylvia, Sylvia,’” Miss Ann cried, ‘‘how
can you talk so?’
“It’s quite true, dear,”’ the girl went on,
laughing. ‘‘I shall eat a hearty breakfast
to keep me strong, look my best, and be
quiet and dignified and sweet—oh, so
sweet!—and you will see that all will be as
you wish.”’
But Miss Miller was not comforted.
Two ministers, two farmers, and a law-
yer constituted the board, and before a half
hour was over Miss Ann saw that they
were not only satisfied, but delighted, and
they then did the unprecedented thing of
going in a body to the school house to in-
troduce the girl to herscholars. After this
things went very smoothly, for the chil-
dren were willing victims to Sylvia’s youth
and brightness, and that evening after tea
the girl retailed it all to Cecil Osborne, and
they went off into fits of amiable laughter
over the quick capitulation.
Young Osborne did not feel impelled,
however, to tell his mother of Sylvia’s suc-
cess; but the next day, when she made re-
marks to the effect that Sylvia was too
young for the position, that old men were
fools over a pretty face, and that new
brooms swept clean, her son answered
briskly that Miss Willard was much too
fine a broom for the job, and that the only
really good feature in the whole arrange-
ment was that Sylvia lightened life for that
‘‘dear Miss Ann. And now that you
speak of it, mother,”’ he went on, *‘Miss
Ann must have looked like a lily when she
was young, she is still so fair and fresh.”
And again Mrs. Osborne said: ‘‘Ann
Miller? Poor soul!”” And the young man
began to wonder about his mother’s atti-
tude toward Miss Ann.
As the spring drew on, Sylvia developed
an enthusiam for work among the flowers,
and after school each afternoon she would
potter about after Miss Ann, digging where
she should have raked, and raking where
she should have dug. And as Cecil Os-
borne assisted her vigorously, Miss Ann
declared that unless she gave them a plot
to themselves she would not have a flower
left. On the instant Miss Wilson offered
her garden as a sacrifice rather than the
young people should be balked of their
pleasure. ‘They are flowers enough in
themselves,’’ she added, romantically; then
looked over her shoulder ina terrified way,
fearing that her neighbor, Mrs. Snider,
might have heard her. But instead, Miss
Ann gave Sylvia a bed which she could
plant and replant and overwater to her
heart’s content, stipulating only that she
should not cross the line into the long
border where the Easter lilies grew. These
were quite tall now, shooting up day by
day, making ready to bloom; and Miss
Ann’s stipulation drawing attention to
them, Cecil Osborne said:
‘‘How beautiful they will be, Miss Ann,
and how many you have! You are very
fond of them!”’
“Very,” Miss Ann answered. ‘‘We
have always had these borders filled with
them.”
‘‘Have you a lavender hed?’’ the young
man went on. ‘‘You should have one.
May I make it? Will you give me a plot
too?”’
And Mrs. Snider from the opposite side
of the street, and Mrs. Oshorne further
down, could watch it all, and by the time
the lavender bed was planted Mrs.Osborne’s
patience was exhausted.
“I have heard from Mr. Lenox,’’ she
said to her son one day,”’ and he thinks, if
you want a position, you’d better come on
at once and watch for an opening.”
‘Why, mother!’ and the young fellow
looked up in astonishment. ‘Can’ I play
a little while? Are we s0 poor that I must
go to work at once?”’
‘The shrinkage has been very great,’
Mrs. Osborne answered, looking out of the
window, ‘‘and your education has been
very expensive; and what may be play to
you, Cecil,”" she went on, ‘‘may be deadly
earnest to others.”
She might have meant herself; she might
have meant Sylvia. Cecil thought the lat-
ter, and rose to his feet. ‘I would to
Heaven it were as earnest with her as it is
with me!”’ he said.
For a day or two nothing happened;
then Cecil asked to know about the proper-
ty, aud, being well over age, he could not
be denied. It was nota pleasant investi-
gation. But he said nothing tbat he
would regret, nor did he reveal anything
with regard to his plans. He wrote pri-
vately to his father’s friend, Mr. Lenox,
then mentioned to Miss Ann that soon he
would have to go away to work.
“I'll give you the primary department
in the school,” Sylvia said, laughing. and
Miss Ann said that work was good for
everyone.
They were in the garden, looking at the
first lily that had opened, and Cecil went
on in a depressed way.
‘If my father had lived it would have
been different,’’ he said; ‘‘and these lilies,’
he continued hurriedly, as he stooped to
smell the half-opened flower-—*‘‘these lilies
always bring him back to me. For in his
last illness—’twas in the spring-time—he
sent me day after day to buy them for him.
They took him home, he said. I put some
in his coffin.” A faint color was rising in
Miss Ann’s cheeks, and her eyes were fixed
on the young man. ‘‘And at home,’’ he
went on, ‘‘there are no lilies. Could he
have remembered these, Miss Ann?"
Miss Ann shook her head. The house
you live in was your great-grandfather’s
house,” she said. ‘‘Your father came to
Knobhill very rarely after he was grown,
and once—when he was wounded.”’
“And were these lilies blooming?’ the
young man persisted.
‘‘Yes,’’ she answered, ‘‘they were bloom-
ing.”” Then went away to the house.
Before the lilies had opened to their full
glory young Osborne left Knobhill; but be-
fore he went he had a long, long talk with
Miss Ann, and afterwards he kept up a
steady correspondence with both ladies, but
Miss Ann's letters were the thickest and
most frequent. Things seemed to move
rather heavily after this, and Sylvia wilted
a little, as the flowers did, with the sum-
mer heat. The circle, however, met re-
lentlessly every week, and she and Miss
Ann felt bound to be regular attendants.
One afternoon in September Mrs. Osborne
had on a most triumphant expression. She
had heard that very day, she said, that her
son had been appointed to a sub-professor-
ship in a college. Congratulations poured
in, and Miss Ann smiled, and did not say
that the news had reached her the day he-
fore. She had not told Sylvia even, and
now the girl remembering the recent letter,
looked at her questioningly. Why had
not her aunt told her, she wondered.
*‘I doubt if he ever comes here again,”
Mrs. Osborne went on, ‘‘unless to take me
away to keep house for him,” She smiled
meaningly. Mrs. Snider smiled to, but
Miss Wilson cried, quickly:
‘Oh yes, he will! He told me he would
—he is devoted to Knobhill.”
‘Really, Eliza,”” Mrs. Osborne answered,
‘‘one would think that I did not know my
own child!”’
Miss Wilson's face was very red, and her
breath came quickly. “Well,” she
gasped, ‘‘perhaps you don’t Jane,—not just
—well, not in this particular.”
The circle stood aghast, and there was a
dead silence, until Miss Ann asked, quiet-
ly, “Have you had any instruction about
the next mission box, Jane?’’ then the com-
pany once more breathed freely.
Sylvia did not question her aunt as to
her silence—a silence which had seemed
strange when there had heen such impor-
tant news to communicate; it must mean
something; and if it must have been an
agreeable something, Miss Ann would sure-
ly have told her. So she only said how
nice the appointment was, and laughed a
little bit over Miss Wilson’s daring.
‘‘She fights when it comes to Knobhill,”
Sylvia said.
“‘Yes,”” Miss Ann answered, “she is de-
voted to Knobhill.”” And both knew that
the fight had heen partly on Sylvia’s ac-
count.
A few days later Sylvia received a very
thick letter, and though some of the thick-
ness was due to ap enclosure for Miss Ann,
she carried it in her pocket all day, saying
nothing about it until in the evening after
tea, when, turning very red, she approach-
ed her aunt.
‘Mr. Osherne sent you this, Aunt Ann,”
she said.
Miss Ann looked up.
you,” she said, quietly.
consent, dear.”’
After this Sylvia took her violin, and
played softly until just before bedtime,
when she came and stood beside Miss Ann’s
chair.
“I shall tell him not to come at Christ-
mas,’”’ she said, abruptly, ‘‘and shall
charge him not to tell any one until he
comes at Easter.”’
‘‘Not even his own mother?”’ Miss Ann
remonstrated.
‘Not even his own mother,” Sylvia re-
peated. ‘I will not submit to persecu-
tion.”
‘“You cannot tell him that.”
‘‘He will understand without telling.”
Then, laughing a little: ‘““He writes in the
most confident manner, Aunt Ann; it is
almost impertinent. What have you been
telling him?’’
“Nothing detrimental, my dear.
you agree to his plans for Easter?’’
Sylvia turned to put up her violin. ‘‘I
“I shall not allude to that part of his let-
ter,”” she said: ‘‘that is really too pre-
sumptuous.’”
After this the thickest letters came to
Sylvia, and a great many of them, and the
postmistress being a younger sister of Miss
Wilson’s, no word of the correspondence
was whispered even to the birds.
Just before Christmas Mrs. Osborne an-
nounced to the ever attentive circle that
her son would not come to Knobhill for
his holidays, and she looked at Miss Wil-
son meaningly.
‘Of course,’”” chimed in Miss Snider,
‘“Knobhill cannot have any attractions for
a young and handsome man.’
But this was the only response, for Miss
Wilson was trying in vain to find her
needle. She eked out her living with sew-
ing, and sometime before this she had
moved her machine over to Miss Miller's,
explaining that Sylvia Willard was com-
ing out of mourning, and that as she was
teaching all day long, she had no time for
sewing. So now Miss Wilson did not an-
answer Mrs. Osborne’s challenge nor Mrs.
Snider’s slur; instead, she hent lower over
her work, smiling a little to herself.
It was an early spring that year, and an
exquisite one. Everything seemed to he
rejoicing, and everyone at Knobhill seemed
to be contented, as usual, when one day,
about a week before Easter, a notice was
sent round by Mrs. Osborne to say that
there would be no meeting of the circle
that week.
Knobhill was astounded. It was the
very first stoppage since the organization
of the society, and no one could under-
stand it. Mrs. Snider rushed over to see
if ‘‘dear Mrs. Osborne’’ was ill, and other
ladies followed suit. Miss Wilson, how-
ever, ran over to Miss Ann’s—actually ran
—and she was chuckling audibly.
Miss Ann met her in the hall, and the
ladies clasped hands.
‘‘Ob, Ann, she knows!’ Miss Wilson
cried.
Miss Ann nodded.
‘‘And I’m sure she’s nearly dead,’’ Miss
Wilson went on.
Miss Ann nodded again, and this time
her eyes were flashing.
‘I should like to sing the Nunc Dimittis,
Ann,” and the tears came to Miss Wilson’s
eyes. ‘‘It’s all right now; Jane cannot
sway this boy. He is quite as capable of
coming here and fighting for Sylvia as she
was of going to camp and capturing George
Oshorne by maligning you. Poor
George!”
“Eliza,” and Miss Aun’s voice was very
low, ‘‘when George was dying his room
was filled with Easter lilies, and they were
buried with him in his coffin.”
The tears were rolling down Miss Wil-
son’s cheeks now.
Oh, Ann,”’ she almost sobbed, ‘how
glad I am! How it must have enraged
Jane Simmons! Oh, Ann, how sweet—
how sweet! Poor George!”
The wedding just after Easter was a very
simple affair; so was the reception at Miss
Miller’s. Mrs. Osborne, however, went
straight home from the church, saying that
she was too much overcome, and the peo-
ple must forgive her, as it was her only
child.
But from behind her parlor curtains she
caught a distant view of her son and Syl-
via as they walked down between the rows
of stately lilies and drove away. Once be-
fore she had watched two people come
down that path between the swaying flow-
ers. Then her heart had been filled with
anger; now her eyes were filled with tears;
and Miss Ann, coming in with some wed-
ding cake, found her so.
‘‘Jane,”” she said gently, ‘‘try to love
the girl.”
Then Mrs. Osborne broke down and
cast her arms ahout Miss Ann.
‘Oh, Ann,” she sobed, ‘I never knew
till now what desolation meant! Forgive
me Ann, forgive me!”’
‘‘Of course,”” Miss Ann answered, and
wiped the poor thing’s tears away.—By
Sarah Barnwell Elliot in Harper's Bazar.
‘So he has told
‘‘He has my full
And
California Elects No Senator.
The California legislature adjourned sine
die at 11:45 o’clock Sunday morning with-
out electing a United States senator to suc-
ceed Stephen M. White, term expired.
—~—Subsecribe for the WATCHMAN.
Panay and Iloilo.
Just at present the American people will
be interested in the information concerning
the city of Iloilo and the island of Panay,
upon which it is situated, and of which it
is the capital. Panay, according to some
authorities, is the third largest of the Phil-
ippines, being exceeded in area only hy the
great island of Luzon to the north and the
second largest island of Mindanao to the
south. Between these two great islands
lie a'group of smaller ones known as the
Visayas. Several of these are of considera-
ble size, including Negros, Cebu, Samar,
Leyte and Mindoro, some of them by some
authorities being credited with being
slightly larger than Panay. The island of
Palawan, which lies west of the Visayas, is
also about as large as Panay. But the lat-
ter, however its precedence in the matter
of size may be disputed over those named
as its competitors, exceeds them all and al-
so Mindanao in population, ranking after
Luzon in this respect. Panay, according
to some authorities, contains 4,540 square
miles, while others give it 4,633 square
miles. Its population is estimated at from
800,000 to 1,000,000. Iloilo is next to
Manila, the principal seaport of the Philip-
pines, and its reduction and that of the isl-
and of Panay to American control, coupled
with the occupation of Luzon, must be fol-
lowed by the surrender of the whole of the
islands to the authority of the United
States.
RE
Panay is triangular in form. Its north-
ern coast is about 75 miles long, the west-
ern one about 100 miles, and the third side
of the island, the southeastern, about 125
miles in length. Iloilo is situated along
the last mentioned coast near its center.
The island is divided into three provinces
—Antique, which lies along the west coast;
Capiz, in the north, and Iloiloin the south-
east. In general the island is wild with
very high coasts, except in the northeast-
ern part, where the coasts are somewhat
marshy. A mountain chain crosses the isl-
and, from Point Juaraojurao on the south,
as far as Point Potol on the north, follow-
ing a direction almost parallel with the
west coast. Large groups of sierras branch
out to the right and left of the central
chain; on the eastern slepe begins another
chain running northeast to the extreme
northeasterly point of the island. Owing
to its cragginess the island has a great num-
ber of streams running in different direc-
tions, the valleys of which are very fertile.
The mountains are also covered with
luxuriant vegetation. There are gold and
copper mines and much tobacco, sugar,
rice and abaca is raised. There is good
pasturage for cattle and horses, and large
herds are raised. The largest population
and principal industries are in the province
of Iloilo, in which the operations of the
American troops are now being conducted.
In that province. about 30,000 looms are
employed manufacturing fabrics of sina-
may, pina, jusi, ete.
wr NX
As to the city of Iloilo itself, there are
very conflicting accounts concerning its
population, the figures ranging from 10,000
to 30,000. It is 335 miles from Manila, on
alow, sandy flat on the right bank of a
small river, which is navigable to the city’s
wharves by the vessels drawing not over
15 feet. At the end of the flat on which
the city is situated is a spit on which there
isa fort, close to which there is a deep
water. It isa town of great commercial
importance and a brisk coasting trade is
carried on from it. The better class of
houses are built on strong wooden posts,
| two or three feet in diameter, that reach to
the roof; stone walls to the first floor,
with wooden windows above and an iron
roof. The poorer class of dwellings are
flimsy erections of nipa, built on four
strong posts. It is these latter houses
which are reported destroyed by the insur-
gents, and they can doubtless be easily re-
placed, while their owners, because of the
mildness of the climate, will probably suf-
fer but slight discomfort. The whole isl-
and of Panay is about one-third larger than
Porto Rico, and its reduction to American
authority is not likely to prove a very ser-
ious task. The possession of Iloilo give
the American forces a commanding posi-
tion in the whole Visayas group, and they
are likely to meet with little trouble in se-
curing the submission of the other islands
belonging to it. The Filipino population
in the great island of Mindanao, to the
south of the Visayas, is small and scattered
in towns along the coast, where our naval
vessels can enforce our authority. The
bulk of the population of this island is in
the interior and of a savage or semi-civil-
ized character.
A School Teacher’s Victory.
Miss Mabel Heichel, a school teacher at
Hastings, was acquitted this week in the
Cambria county court of the charge of as-
sault and battery. Having punished a boy
named Sheeban for unruly conduct, the
boy’s father had the young woman ar-
rested. The teacher gave bail for court.
The Clearfield Spirit says that the case pro-
voked much attention of a favorable kind
toward Miss Heichel, as the testimony of
Dr. Rice, a prominent Hastings physician,
made it plain that the boy had not been
cruelly whipped. It was said that Miss
Heichel had used good judgment in admin-
istering to the boy just enough ‘‘hickory
oil,” thus ‘‘suiting the punishment for the
crime” with admirable effect. Judge Love
tried the case. The jury acquitted Miss
Heichel and complimented her efficiency
by dividing the costs equally between the
prosecutor and the county. Miss Heichel is
from Karthaus, Pa.
Dead List is Now 23.
Four More Corpses Taken from the Windsor Ruins—
Hope for the Missing Abandoned.
Four more bodies were recovered from the
ruins of the Windsor hotel, N. Y., Saturday.
The record is 23 dead, 40 or more missing,
and a large collection of small hones. The
injured in hospitals and other places are
recovering. Anxiety on the part of friends
of persons reported missing has increased
to a certainty almost that they perished in
the fire. From the condition of the bodies
80 far recovered there is but little hope
that they or any of the bodies that may be
found hereafter can be identified. Among
the articles found to-night were a woman’s
gold watch marked ‘J. W.’’ a metal top of
a purse marked ‘“N. P. J.” and some wear-
ing apparel marked ‘‘H. H. 8.”
Formerly Resided in Beech Creek.
‘Dr. W. P. Rothrock, who years ago
resided in Beech Creek, but who is now
located at Floral, Kan., was injured re-
cently. In getting out of his carriage to
visit a patient, he missed the step fell on
the front wheel and the tongue, which
caused the horses to run off. The wheels
of the vehicle passed over the physician,
breaking several ribs and his collar bone
and bruising his body. When picked up
he was unconscious. He is now improv-
ing. Dr. Rothrock is over 80 years old.
Hard to Make Ends Meet.
Appropriations More Than Eat Up State Revenue.
Extra Cash Must be Raised—Way Smoothed in the
House to Slide Through Pay Roll Bill. Liquor
Licenses as Personal Property.
Chairman Marshall, of the Appropriations -
Committee, made a statement in the House
last Friday that the committee had reported
all billsfor State and semi-State institutions,
amounting to $5,739,000, and that the
general appropriation bill, which would
be reported by April 4th, would carry
about $16,000,000 more. This would
amount to more than the revenue in sight,
and Mr, Marshall suggested that the com-
mittee be not required to report private ap-
priation bills until more revenue is pro-
vided.
A motion was made by Mr. Bliss, of
Delaware, and adopted, rescinding that
part of a resoluticn which required imme-
diate report on private bills.
The appropriations favorably reported
show an increase of more than $800,000
over the aggregate for the same purposes
two years ago. The biggest increases are
for the indigent insane and the National
Guard.
AN EIGHT MILLION SHORTAGE.
The nearly $22,000,000 income assured
for the next two years falls more than $8,-
000,000 short of the aggregate demands on
the State Treasury. In making his caleu-
lations Mr. Marshall allows for Governor
Stone’s declaration that at least one-fourth
of the $3,500,000 deficiency caused by
floating debts must be paid off within a
year, and the remainder before the end of
his term.
The Legislature is confronted with the
task of finding new revenues somewhere
before any money will be in sight for the
charities, such as hospitals, which do not
come under the head of State or semi-State
institutions. In addition to the crying
needs of the charities, including the hospi-
tals that took in soldiers of the war with
Spain. there is nothing but anticipation of
the passage of some of the pending revenue
bills upon which to make either a partial
payment of the floating debt or an appro-
priation for the new Capitol.
FRIENDLY TO CHARITIES.
Leading legislators feel that either by
additional revenue or slashing in the Gen-
eral Appropriation bill. or both, the hos-
pital and homes should be saved from
much, if any, cutting below the aggregate
of about $1,500,000 appropriated to them
two years ago. Neither chairman Mar-
shall nor the chairman of the Ways and
Means Committee, Mr. Hosack, however,
seems hopeful that this Legislature can
do enough cutting in governmental expen-
ses or bring in sufficient new revenue to be
as liberal to the charities as was its pred-
ecessor.
The reform axes will not get a chance at
the General Appropriation bill until April
4. Meanwhile the revenue hunters, al-
though somewhat discouraged by the kill-
ing of the Direct Inheritance and Manu-
facturing Corporation Tax hills, and by
the prospect of an overwhelming majority
against either reducing the $11,000,000 ap-
propriation to the public schools or keep-
ing all the personal property tax from the
counties, will do what they can to send to
the Governor the Beer Tax bill, the Bald-
win Mercantile Tax measure, the Hosack
Corporation and other revenue schemes.
Mr. Hasson, of Venango, proposed to
ask the House for special orders for his bills
to have $4,000,000 expended on the Capitol
by a new commission, but refrained on be-
ing reminded by Mi. Marshall that as this
is an appropriation bill it will go on the
special calendar of such bills, and, there-
fore, is in no danger of not being disposed
of.
TO BAR LIQUOR FROM GROCERIES.
Earlier in the legislative term, when a
new hill had some chance, an influential
delegation of prominent grocers from Phil-
adelphia and elsewhere might have been
expected here in opposition to a bill which
Elias Abrams, of Philadelphia, introduced
in the House to-day to prohibit the sale of
spirituous, vinous or malt liquors at places
where groceries or food are sold. The new
rules presented by Mr. Abrams’ Sixteenth
district colleague. Mr. Stewart, Thursday,
and adopted, to expedite revenue and ap-
propriation. bills, practically kill all be-
lated measures on the calendar except those
of urgent importance.
LICENSES AS PERSONAL PROPERTY.
Representative Fow, of Philadelphia, in-
troduced a bill making liquor licenses,
wholesale or retail, personal property and
subject to levy and sale, and providing for
the transfer thereof to the purchaser.
Transfers would be under the usual re-
strictions.
THE PAY ROLL TO GROW.
The fact that one of Senator Martin’s
stanchest’ friends in the House, Elias
Abrams, made a successful motion to-day
providing special orders on Monday and
Wednesday for the Senate bill increasing
the number of legislative employes is ad-
ditional evidence that enactment of the
measure is expected, through Martin men’s.
aid. Mr. Martin voted for it when it pass-
ed the Senate finally. The Democratic
Representatives will be solid against the
bill; but the Quayites hope for its success
through Mr. Martin’s support.
In the Senate Mr. Brown, of Philadel-
phia, introduced a bill to repeal the local
option laws in the Fifteenth and Twenty-
ninth wards of that city.
The House took a recess during the
morning and listened to an anti-expansion
address from Senator Wm. E. Mason, of
Illinois. He said he was confident the
American liberty should not be injected
hypodermically into the people of other
countries with 13-inch guns.
Father's Sad Discovery.
Found His Boy Dead After Returning from an Errand.
Last Friday afternoon the 10-year-old
son of George Woodhead, of Estella, Sul-
livan county, was assisting his father to boil
maple sugar. His father went away for a
short time and when he returned he found
his son dead a short distance from one of
the kettles. All his clothes were burned
off and his body was badly blistered. The
boy was subject to epileptic fits and it is
supposed that during one of these spells he
fell into the fire and afterwards crawled
away to the spot where he was found.
Anecdote of Kipling.
Seldom one tells a joke on one's self; not
so, however, with Mr. Kipling, who relates
an amusing story at his own expense. Dur-
ing his stay at Wiltshire one summer he
met little Dorothy Drew, Mr. Gladstone’s
granddaughter, and, being very fond of
children, took her in the groundsand told
her stories. After a time Mrs. Drew, fear-
ing that Mr. Kipling must be tired of the
child, called her and said: “Now Dorothy,
I hope you have not been wearying Mr.
Kipling.”” ‘‘Oh, not a bit, mother,”’ re-
plied the small celebrity, ,'‘but he has been
wearying me.”’ .
O