NR sp Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 3, 1900. THE VOLUNTEER. Maine blown up. War declared, Great excitement, People scared. Don’t know who's Scared the most. Spanish gunboats Off the coast. Smart young Aleck Hears the call, Wants to go Fight orfall. Family kicks, He insists, Gets his back up And enlists. Throws up job, Boss exclaims, “‘Noble fellow; Country’s claims, First of all, Doa’t be slack; Have your place When you're back.” Off to war Boards the train, “Hip hurrah! T’ell with Spain!” Women weep, Some are dumb, Girls throw kisses, Yum! Yum! Yam! Camped among Southern hills, Suffers misery Constant drills, Practice marches, Eagan’s beef, Chills and fever, No relief. Hates the army, Hates the cause, Wants some one To kick his aus— tere commander In the neck; Feels himself Total wreck. Goes to Cuba, War is done, Fighting ended No more fun. Ordered home, Fortunes tarn, Big reception. Food to burn. Girlee, glrlee, Full of joy, Walking with Soldier boy. Mustered out, Quit the flag, Meets his friends, Gets a jag. Pays his fine To the clerk, Money gone, Must get work. No more girls’ Hearts to break, When he meets ’em Gets the shake. Seeks his boss, No disguise, States his case, Boss replies: Can’t let loafers Hang about; Place is filled, Getrkicked out!” Gees away, Drops a tear, Can’t get trusted For a beer. Dies at length; By and by Parson springs Eulogy: Keep his memory Ever dear, Brave and noble Volunteer! Unknown Evchange. THE STORY OF ANN POWEL. One old woman's letter to another—what can there be of stirring interest in the cramped lines that trembling fingers pen for time-dimmed eyes to see? Yet fifty years’ standing seasons a romance as it does a wine. PHILADELPHIA, First Month Second, ’85. MY DEAR FRIEND ANN PoWEL :—Thy letter of Eleventh month last was duly re- ceived. I regret to learn of the death of thy sister Rebecca. She and thee have ever been the seniors of all my friends both in long standing and in affection. Dear Ann, she has gone to that rest which awaits us all sooner or later, and which cannot be far off from either thee or me. Thou writest thou art on the verge of eighty-five, and on the 23rd day Tenth month next will be my eighty-fourth birthday. When I take a retrospective view of by gone days, and re- call the large number of our friends and associates who have loug since passed away I query why it is that our lives are extend- ed so far beyond these. I trust itis for some good purpose, and that we shall he enabled to fulfil the designs of our heaven- ly Father. Hast thou ever heard that Neil Esric died at the age of forty-seven? He lies by the side of his father and mother on Fair Hill. He returned to Philadelphia in about his fortieth year, having gained large fortune and great respect. At the time of his death he was elder in Friends’ Meeting and sat in the second gallery. As thou. knowest I was away from our native city many years, and therefore never saw him since onr youth. : Dear Aun, since I received thy letter my thoughts have been much of Rebecca. I have taken from a mahogany chest which contains my most treasured possessions many bundles of her old letters, and re- read them. One packet—stained with over sixty years, and cut by the string that binds it, as many a life is cut by the cords of circumstances—concains something which I think thou shouldst know. Dear Ann, perhaps it would he more in the line of my duty never to tell thee, yet I cannot but feel thon shouldst know. Take all the sweetness thou canst gather from the in- closed packet as thy overlate due; for the rest—forgive. I find age more lenient than youth, for when the sap of life has ran sluggish, neither anger nor pain hath the poignaney it had of yore. Thou who art on the verge of the here- after wilt surely let naught embitter thee against those who are gone, or thy few friends still remdining, one of whom feels now that, through fear of unwarrantable interference, she did not do all she might have done for thee in years gone by. Awaiting thy answer, I remain Thy attached friend, MATILDA GRIFFITH. Ann Powel folded the letter. and laid it on her knee. rs closed on the yellow packet, and in her heart she knew the long lost chapter of her sweetest story. ‘bit. But she was not impatient; impatience dies with youth. She even took off her glasses and laid them on the table, and her quiet eves, which had looked at life always with trusting resignation, turned from the small, warm room that represented her individual life to the snowy fields and gables and steeples that brought the pulse of humanity near her. a0 FT : The wind jostled and crowded the fall- ing flakes and disposed of them at its will, as fate jostles and crowds and disposes of men. way corners were overfull, while the knolls and highest gables were bare and almost empty. Ann Powel’s eyes fell unseeing on the dull dreariness of the scene, while she turn- ed the pages of the letters. In 1820 the City of Brotherly Love lay in almost its entirety on the low, irregular oblong between the Schuylkill and Dela- ware rivers. Freshening winds swept even its remotest angles and tinged the cheeks of the Quaker maidens with vivid color. On one of the guiet streets, where the walnut-treez grazed the sloping roofs of the comfortable honses, and in the fall distrib- uted green-shelled frait in abundance over sidewalks and gutters—on one of these quiet streets, in 1820, stood a house some- what older, perhaps, than the others, a two storied stone affair, with a steep roof and a flight of six stone steps, guarded by an iron railing, which led up to the short, four paneled door. There were two win- dows on the first floor front and three above, and they must have had at least thirty little panes of glass apiece. It look- ed, on the whole, like the comfortable residence of respectable middle-class peo- ple, which it was; but besides being that it was a store. The small square sign that hung on a projecting rod to the left of the door, and on a level with its knocker, read : “Neil Esric. Pork and Poultry. Tenth to Fourth Month.” With the exception of an occasional re- newal of paint, the sign had swung there unaltered for three generations. The Neil Esric who was upon the field of action in 1820 went with his wife and son and daugh- ter to the farm every 1st of April, as the Neil Esrics and their wives aud sons and daughters of the past has done, as Neil Esrie, Jr., and his wife and children would in all probability do in the days to come. The house was blinded by heavy wooden shutters half the year. Rosy-cheeked Neil Esric,Jr., was twenty- three. His shoulders were broad and strong, and his gray coat sat upon them with a grace a West Point cadet might envy. He stood six feet three inches, and his muscles were like iron. When little Prudence, his sister, teased him about his bigness or played him tricks, —which was often, for she was a very elf for mischief,—he would catch her about the waist, which required. exceeding swift- ness and dexterity of motion; and seat her on the topmost of the storeshelves without the least trouble. And there he would let her sit like a saucy gray squirrel with very black eyes till she begged for mercy. This she never did or gave up her chatter till she saw some one coming up the steps or heard her mother calling from the room within. ; “Now, Neil, thou hearest! Let me down !”’ ‘‘Hast ceased thy banter ?”’ “‘Neil.”” His father’s voice would come in quiet remonstrance from the desk in the corner. “When she says ‘please,’ father.” The steps would perhaps be just at the door. ‘Please, then. Harry!” “Oh, no. ‘Please, dear brother.’ ”’ ‘I wo—Oh, oh ! Please, dear brother !”’ And down she would come, as pert as ever as soon as her feet touched the floor. One day the door opened before she suc- cumbed. It was Ann Powel. Neil went red to his hair. Ann Powel was twenty, as sweet and rosy and prim as Quaker maiden can be. He would rather any one in the world had seen the episode than she. Yet it did not make her think the worse of him, though the sight of his big head thrown back and his hig ‘eeth showing in teasing laughter was novel to her. She knew now he could be merry. Heretofore in her presence he had always been grave and bashful. When he reddened and put his magnificent arms up in a shamefaced way to lift the in- dignant little elf to the floor, Ann’s heart beat so hard that it hurt her. That was just before they closed for the summer. Somehow the thought of six months of country life did not suit Neil this year. The mowing and barvesting, the long walks, the rides behind Peggy, the boating—none of them had their ac- customed attraction. It was with a weary heart that he helped his father put up the wooden shutters. It was witha strange sense of desolation that Ann Powel watch- ed them from her window over the way. She could not look long, for she had just come up for some blocks for the quilt, and Matilda Griffith and Rebecca would be waiting. She tore herself away, and had just begun to fumble in" the box of pieces that stood in the corner of the great square closet, when she heard Rebecca call : ‘‘Canst thou not find them ?’’ “Yes, 1 have found them; I am com- ing.” = She put them hastily together and ran to the window to peep out once again. She of the moment she stirred the slat the least She was sure he was looking then, for he started and smiled. The blood surged into her'cheeks, and she seized the bundle ‘of pieces and ran'down the crooked stair- way as fast as she could go. {ida By note her agitation. They were busy talk- it for the first time to meeting, and were in no hurry for the patches. : _ “Didst see how she switched her skirt in ing Joseph Potter?’ cried Rebecca. surely have rebuked had she not been too much engrossed to realize the scandal of it. Just at that moment there was a quick jerk at the knocker, and Ann’s scissors and some of her pieces fell to the floor. ‘‘Why, what ails, thee,Ann?”’ cried Re- becca. Matilda looked at her with half-parted lips, as though she held an unfinished sentence suspended. + “I fear 't is awkwardness ails me,’’ Ann answered, laying the scissors and pieces on the table, her face very red from stooping, and starting for the door. In the dim hall she pressed her hand to ber heart and lingered before she opened the door. “It is Elizabeth Pleigh for the receipt for clam chowder, ’’ she said to herself, breath- ing quickly as she drew the holt. ; en the door opened she did not need to look higher than the big feet in their low shoes and silver buckles to know it was Neil Esric. Many. of the ditches and out-of-the- | thought Neil was looking. On the impulse |’ "She could scarcely uutie the bundle, She | did it at tlie table, with her back to Rebecca | and Matilda Griffith, that they might not ing of Esther Pennett’s new gown, and how she had carried herself ‘when she wore | hich remark Ann,being the elder, would | “I am going away, as thou must know, and am come to bid thee farewell till the Tenth month,’’ he said. * He put out his great hand, and she laid her little one in it for a moment, then drew it shyly away, but neither looked up nor spoke. 3 : : “1 will see thee then,”” he said pres- ently. : ; Her head sank lower; her slim white fio- gers laced and interlaced; she said noth- ing. He stared down at her till his eyes were fall of her beauty and his beart was burst- fig. a “1 love thee!’ he said, and thrust his hand into his pocket, and strode away. ‘All the summer he marveled at his temer- ity, and waitéd for the fall. . ‘Who was it ?’’ said Rebecca. “Neil Esric.”’ : ‘‘Prithee, what for?” “To bid farewell until the Tenth month,” said her sister, with clear, calm eyes full upon her. ' All the long, hot months she kept re- peating ‘Until Tenth month,” and the song that was in her heart rose to her lips and flowed over, sometimes in hymns the meaning of which appealed with strange, new power to her hearers, sometimes in broken fragments of love-songs she had heard her mother sing. Often her father would lay aside his accounts or his paper to listen. Up-stairs, down-stairs, wherever her manifold duties called her, her lilt song went, too. October came, and the Esrics with it. Ann saw Neil to her heart’s content. He held her yarn while she wound it in great gray balls; he mended her spinning-wheel when it was broken; he walked with her and her fatber and Rebecca and little Ellen from meeting. People began to whisper. He spent his evenings in. the Powel sit- ting room. The high mahogany dresser caught his reflection so often and held it so long, as he sat opposite Elder Powel in his great stiff chair, that years afterward Ann used sometimes to see it there when she looked up suddenly from her sewing. Sometimes when he came Ann would be up-stairs putting little Ellen to bed, and the murmur of his deep voice and her fath- er’s, with now and then Rebecca’s shrill treble, would float up to her till she smiled in the darkness. ‘‘Art asleep, Ellen ?”’ “No.”? But she was never impatient, she was so sure of him, and so happy. What did it matter if he were in the sitting room be- low half an hour before she could see him ? Did she not know he was there? Could she not hear him? All the time he was talking so gravely and so well, was he not listening for her step on the stair? Would he not smile when she came down with her knitting, and talk with an added zest even though he only went on discussing politics with her father? Oh. how the months fiew ! It was Feb- ruary before they knew it; and then— then, of a sudden, he ceased coming. Save for occasional glimpses of him through the blinds she did not see him again until April. It was as though all the freshness and sweetness of life were gone. The song that had bubbled up from her heart to her lips sank lower and lower till it died away. There was nothing bub- bling or springing left, only a leaden weight of pain. = The haughty pride, which was a heritage all Powels gave their chil- dren, made her hide it as the Spartan lad hid the fox that gnawed his vitals. She knew Rebecca watched her, and sometimes when she looked up from her work she wouid find her father with his book lying open before him and his eyes resting upon her with a wistful, questioning expression that made her throat ache with sobs. Once when he was putting on his hat in the hall and she came unexpectedly out of the dim parlor, he was so struck by the dumb sorrow he surprised in her eyes that his love got the better of his stern reserve. “Daughter,” he said, his fingers grip- ping the knob of the thick stick he always carried, ‘‘hast thon questioned thy heart well 27? He had not spoken so sentimentally since he had asked Ann’s mother to wed him. The scene came back to him now as his daughter lifted her wondering eyes to his face. ‘‘Hast thou questioned thy heart well ?”’ he repeated. The wondering eyes flowed over. ‘Oh, father—father—father !”’ she cried, laying her face on his shoulder. ‘“There, there, Ann ! There,there ! Thou knowest best. But remember it is a serious thing, my daughter—a serious thing. Per- haps if thou wert to think again and think different; but there, wipe thy eyes, or Re- becca will question. There, she is coming from the kitchen; run away to thy room.” The slab over his grave was hid with ivy, and his dust for years and years had min- gled with the soil, before Ann understood the words he spoke that day. "On the 1st of April the shutters went up on the Esric windoiws as they had done on every 1st of April for three generations. Ann Powel thought of the 1st of April the year before, as she watched Neil and his father from her window. When the last ‘bar was in its place, the elder Esric re- entered the house, but Neil brushed ‘the dust from his coat.and : crossed directly to the Powel door. es Ann went down the stairway like one in a dream tomeet him. ~~ = oo” “I saw thee coming,’’ she said simply as she opened the door, His hand was just raised to the knocker. He took off his hat gravely, and stepped in. a wf Ellen and she were alone. The child got up from her lessons and conrsesied to him. “I am going away, as thou must know,” he said slowly to Ann. ; He was standing in the middle of the room. The top of his handsome head was within a foot of the low ceiling. ‘J am come to say farewell.”’ ‘Until Tenth month,’’ she said, looking into his eyes and smiling gravely. “I do not know till when,” he answer- ed. He turned his big hat over, and look- ed into it gravely. ‘In the fall I go to my uncle at Summit Hill, I have told thee he has interest in the mines of an- thracite coal there, the demand for which has greatly increased during the past year.’’ ‘‘And thou art going—"’ Why did Le not understand that cry ? He seized her hands for just one moment, and, with a mad pressure of them to his breast, was gone. On this side of the grave she never saw him again. ! “Why dost thou weep, sister?’ The child came and flung her ar=is about her waist. ‘Why dost thou weep?’’ Ann sank to her knees and drew her to her bosom. Her sobs shook them both: ‘Is it that he is gone—Neil Esric?”’ “Oh, Ellen, yes! It is—itis! I love him !”’ “Do not weep, sister dear; donot. I will tell father, and be will go after him for thee.” A writer in the Pittsburg “Oh, Ellen, thou must not! Thou wouldst not if thon knew it would hurt we ? Thou wilt not say to father Rebecca that thou sawest me thus?’ “Never, never, if thou wishest me not.” said the child. The year that followed Rebecca married Joseph Potter. She was just eighteen, as tall and stately as a goddess. ‘Hast anything in thy past thou wouldst have altered ?’” she asked of her betroth- ed, half jesting, half earnest, as they stood parting at the door the night before their marriage. . {Why dost thou ask me?” he said, laughing. “Dost thou not know that if thou hast done or ‘said aught ill thon must make reparation the day before thy marriage ?”’ “‘If that be so, I shall hold convention with my conseience on ‘the ‘way home,” he said gaily. ‘‘Thou, I know, hast naught that needs repentance,’’ he added, pressing her fingers. She thought of the words after he was gone—''Thou, I know, hast naught that needs repentance.’’ She was standing with her elbow on the mantel, watching Ann take Ellen’s clothes for the morrow from a great time-blackened bureau. ‘Art thou happy, Aun?’ she said sud- denly. It was as though the question formed itself from her thought and sprang into words unbidden. Ann looked up smiling. The year had given a luminous tenderness to her face, but a certain light that used to glint in her eyes—the light of hope,perhaps—was gone. Her sister’s words came to her like a self- question. ‘Art thou happy ?”’ Rebecca repeated. Ann laid the white pile of garments on the chair by Ellen’s bed. ‘‘Happy in thee and father and Ellen,” she said slowly, ‘‘happy in the Lord. It is not given to all to be happy like thee.” She finished the last sentence with a smile and a sweet note of joy for her sister that alinost hid the little cry of self-pity with which it began. Rebecca started, but made no answer. The flame of the candle blinked at her like a solitary human eye. For a while the soft rustle of Anun’s skirts as she moved back and forth from the bureau was the only sound that broke the silence. “Thy life will be hut meager if thou dost never marry.”’ There was the sound of ‘a sob in Rebecca's voice as she spoke. Ann’s face flushed slightly. ‘‘Thou must not say =o, Rebecca. If I never marry, thou must let me share thy joys with thee.”’ ‘But thou—oh, Ann !—oh, God forgive me !”’ cried Rebecca. “Hush ! Thou wilt wake Ellen ! What troubles thee, sister? Thou art weary. Come, let me plait thy hair and turn down thy coverlet for thee. Dost thou know, I shall be very lonely when thou art gone ?”’ Ann Powel lifted the packet of yellow letters and loosed the string. The first finished the story. ? PHILADELPHIA, 2nd Month, Eighth, ’21. DEAR MATILDA : Thy long-continued absence grieves me. Ann, too, thou know- est, is away this. week with our aunts Han- cock, one of whom is ill. I have none for companions but Ellen, who is strangely childish for a girl of seven,and father, who but seldom speaks. Elizabeth Pleigh has come in thrice to cheer me, and made me ache with weariuéss ere she was gone. She talks of nothing but cooking, which I abhor. The household goes all awry in Ann’s absence. She hath a marvelous way of keeping its machinery in running order. I have not. My conscience stings me greatly to-day for something I have done. Just before dinner, when I stood at the window watch- ing for father and fearing the beans and meat would go cold before he came, Neil Esriec saw mie and came over. As he seem- ed to wish to speak, I pushed up the sash, and said, ‘‘Good morrow.”” He paid .no heed, but stood looking at his hat, which he had doffed. Presently he said, without looking up: ‘*Rebecea, were [ to ask Ann to marry me, dost thon think she would have me?’ Matilda. I thought how wretched the house would be, and how father and Ellen could not possibly get along without her, and Isaid, ‘‘No.”’ He lifted his head and looked steadily at me. ‘‘Art thou sure?”’ he said, and it sornded as though it were a life-or-death question with him. 1 wae already half ashamed at what I had done, but something possessed me. I looked straight in his eyes.and said, ‘‘Yes.” He just turned on his heel and walked away. I have heen wishing all day I bad re- versed my answers; but it is better as it is, for, after all, I never could make the home what it should be for father, as Ann can. Even now we are all longing for her return. Joseph Potter walked home with me from meeting yesterday evening, and spoke with father at the door. With the hope to see thee, : Thy friend, 4 i . REBECCA POWELL. By Annie E. Tynan, in Century Magazine. EE Sirius Ascendant. The Dog Star Has His Innings and Dog Day Weather is Here. pp y For dix wasks now we will have. to_en- ure the ills peculiar to ‘‘dog days.” Every ill oo Pea all the mishaps of the housekeeper will be charged ‘to the dog star’s account. Aching heads, burning feet, poor appetities, taint- ed meats, souring milk and mouldy bread. will all be accounted for hy the fact that | ‘we'are inthe midst ‘of dog days. ‘Keep cool,’? advises the smart: aleck who knows it all and: knows that with the mercury cavorting around the nineties it can’t be done. The Irishman’s advice “‘to be aisy, and if you’ can’t be aisy, be as aisy ‘as you can,’’ is suitable of adaption by sweltering humanity during the remainder of this month and all of the next. . : g Times suggests that a law be passed forbidding all work during the hot months, except that of ne- cessity and mercy. It is bardly possible that this dream of the millenium will ever come to pass, but many people can, if they will, carry out the idea to a certain degree, | by omitting much work that in more mod- erate weather is easy to perform and neces- sary to the comfort of the household. Care- ful diet, plenty of sleep and the free use of water will do much to keep one in good health, while a plentifal supply of ice when obtainable, the use of lime and charcoal as a preservation of milk and meat, and a generous use of concentrated lye or soap er and lots of water will enable the ousewife to keep her supplies from spoil- ing and house cool and clean without over- work. The dashing on of plenty of water where it is not so hard to get as to make if a hardship, is a great help in keeping flies away and in lowering the temperature. Te | 1 ——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. at human flesh is heir to and | were ciroumven! Nowhere was it Men and Things. The principle that the majority shall rule in the election of the president and vice president of the United States is one which stump orators are fond of dilating npon. Yet it is not strictly true that the majority do rule in determining the final results of presidential elections. There is probably no part of our federal ‘system which is more vulnerable and which has passed through mere severe strains than the method of choosing the chief officers of the government. The electoral college, while it is still legally the body of citizens chos- en by the people to elect the president and vice president, ceased early in the century to be more than an_ association of figure- heads. The manner in which these electors have been chosen. was long wanting in ani- formity—in some states through the legis- lature, in others through the congressional districts, in others on a state ticket. How this privilege of each state to name its elec- tors in whatever way it may desire, may be exercised, was shown a few years ago, when Don M. Dickinson, of Michigan, a Republican state in its aggregate majority. persuaded a Democratic legislature, to pass a law that the electors should be chosen one in each congressional district. The re- sult was that, as there were five congress- ional districts which had a Democratic majority, Grover Cleveland obtained five votes in the electoral college when he was a candidate in 1892. * 0% 3% The strength which a candidate may show in the electoral college is frequently much out of proportion to the popular vote. Iu- deed, sometimes a candidate has bad a ma- jority there when he was supported by actually a minority of the people, while several presidents have had only a plurality behind them. John Quincy Adams went into the White House when he was second both in the popular vote and in the vote of the electoral college and after the contest had heen thrown into the house of repre- sentatives. Thus, referring to Mr. Stan- wood’s well known tables, it will be seen that the vote was as follows among the four candidates : General Jackson, John Quincy Adams, William H. Crawford and Henry Clay : Jaeksoni LL Lalani 153,544 499 Adams... 108,740 84 Crawford. 46,618 41 CIAY,.... 1cccssssrenssinsnsrrensssnsssissscrnsannares 47,136 37 The fact that Jackson was far ahead of the next competitor in the vote of the peo- ple, together with the circumstances by which was raised the suspicion that Adams was elected in the house of representatives in pursuance of a ‘‘bargain and sale,’’ was the potent cause of the reaction which car- ried him into the presidency when he again became a candidate. * ok * We often hear old men refer to the great Harrison ‘‘tidal wave’ and the obliteration of Van Buren in 1840. The vote in, the electoral college was 234 for Harrison and sixty for Van Buren—a majority, indeed, of almost four to one. And vet on the popular ‘vote Harrison had 1,275,000 and Van Baren '1,129,000—a majority grossly out of ratio to his vast preponderance in the college. In 1844 the combined vote of Henry Clay and of James G. Birney, the Abolition candidate was in excess of the victor’s, James K. Polk’s. by upwards of 25,000. General Taylor's electoral vote was 163 to 127 for General Cass, but the combined vote of Cass and Van Buren, with his Free Soilets, was more than 150,- 000 in excess of Taylor's. Franklin Pierce had a majority of nearly 60,000 over the total vote of General Scott .and John P: Hale, but Pierce’s majority in the elector- al college was actually at the ratio of six to one, or 254 to 42. The election of 1856 is a curious exam- ple of this disproportion. In the electoral college James Buchanan had 174 votes, John C. Fremont 114 and Millard Fillmore 8. But on the popular vote, in round pumbers. Buchanan had 1,838,000, Fre- mont, 1,341,000 and Fillmore 873,000. In other wo, ds, Buchanan, the successful can- didate, with a large majority in the college fell several hundred thousand behind the total vote of the other two candidates. Even more carious inthis respect was the result in Abraham Lincoln’s first election, when he received less than 40 per cent of the whole vote of the people. On this oc- casion there were three other candidates be- sides Lincoln—Stephen A. Douglas, John ©. Breckinridge and John Bell, and the votes were distributed thus : 2 LIDCOM. Ch eiiiivaiannss fusssssyshensandinabinny 1,866,452 189 Douglas........... ..1,376,957 12 Breckinridge... 849,781 72 Bel ili. fii aiid dan dniiigrimens. 588,870 39 In other words, Lincoln, with a combin- ed majority upwards of 950,000 against him nevertheless exceeded all his rivals togeth- er in the college. Yet Douglas, with al- most as many votes as Breckinridge and ‘Bell united, did not come'anywlere near to receiving the number of electoral votes that were cast for either of them. Indeed, the only. state that cast its full electoral vote for him was Missouri, and a change of ‘a few hundred votes would have deprived him even of that. par ; PLE oh RL Lincoln at his second election and Grant at both elections had large majorities in both ‘the popular vote and’ ‘the electoral college, and ‘it was not until 1876.that oc- curred the greatest national strain that the country has ever passed through peacefully. Rutherford B. Hayes was made president in the final outcome of an'election in which Samuel J. Tilden was returned on the pop- ular vote, with a majority of more than a guarter of a million over Hayes and of at 160,000 field. It is well’ known how on .the day alter the election every. prominent Repub- lican paper of the period, with the excep- tion of the New York Times, either ¢onced- | ed Tilden’s election or ‘declined to claim a | victory for Hayes. Colonel Forney, for ex- ‘ample, ‘strong Republican’ partisan as he then was, made a speech from the famous “bay window?’ of the Press office, on Sev- enth street, in which he virtually threw up the sponge for the Republicans, and this was the frame of mind in which most of the | editors and leaders of the party received the returns up to the hour when Zachariah Chandler and the New York Times came out with that pronunciamento that Hayes ‘had 185 electoral votes to Tilden’s 184 and stiffened up the drooping Republican senti- ment throughout the country as if a cur- rent of electricity had heen shot through the party’s nerves. . : The series of manoeuvres, strategies, liti- gations, legislatives aots and judicial de- cisions by which at évery point during the | next four months the Democratic claims | and invalidated and im on that one needful the Republican ¢ vote for a majorif : Y ema nees in modern history of the political 'snccéess won by sheer audacity and technical procedure. possible to induce a single elector to change his vote to Tilden, even James Russell Lowell, afterward chief of : “over ‘Peter Cooper ‘and 'one or two other minor candidates in the | the su ed. iF y ‘maintained, is one of | hai ‘the most remarkable in } literary mug wumps, who was one of the Massachusetts electors, insisting that this was something he could not and dare not do when the suggestion was made to him that he might thus patriotically save the country from the civil war whieh at one timeseemed imminent. Finally, when the members. of the supreme court in the elect- oral commission divided exactly on party lines in the consideration of every essential question that came before the commission, it was realized how party ties hold down even the ablest and purest men in public life. It was shown, too, how, even with the popular majorities which the Republic- ans claimed in South Carolina, Florida and Louisiana in making up their electoral majority of one, that a presideutial candi- date might be a quarter of a million votes ahead of his rival and yet he a loser inthe * * Garfield, too. came near being a minori- ty president, for, although he was chosen in the electoral college by a vote of 214 to 155, he had only 9,000 votes more than Hancock, throughout the Union, in a total pole of more than 9,000,000, the combined vote of Hancock, Weaver and Dow con- stituting a majority upward of 300,000. When Cleveland was first elected, he bad, on the popular vote, only 23,000 more than Blaine, and 300,000 less than a majority when the Butler and St. John vote’s were added to Blaine’s. A notable election in illustrating the diversity between the pop- ular vote and the electoral vote was that of 1888, when Benjamin Harrison became President, with not only a majority of nearly 500,000 against him on the com- bined Cleveland, Fisk and Shuter vote, but with more than 100,000 majority against him on the part of Cleveland alone. In 1892 Cleveland had an overwhelming majority in the electoral college over both Harrison and Weaver, the Populist; he had on the popular vote upward of 380,000 more than Harrison. Bat on this occasion ‘Weaver polled considerably more than 1,000 000 votes, the largest ever given to a third party candidate, and the combined vote of the field against Cleveland left him more than 900,000 short of a majority. The first president since the time of Grant who has bad a clear majority in both college and the popular vote was McKinley, for with 601,854 votes more than Bryan, he was still 286,000 in the lead when the votes for all the other candidates were added to Bryan's. But it is only when there is something like an abnormal ‘preponderance, as there was in 1896, that the ratio in the electoral college is anywhere nearly proportionate to the popular vote.— Philadelphia Bulletin. Lady Randolph Churchill’s Wedding Took Place Friday. Wests Go to Ireland. Four Hundred Presents. Lord and Lady Algernon Gordon Lend their Castle for First Days of Honeymoon. The Duke of Marlborough gave away T.ady Randolph Churchill at her marriage to Lieut. George Cornwallis West Friday in St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, London. The service was full choral. The Rev. Mr. Sheppard, sub-deacon of the royal Chapel of St. James, assisted by Prebendary Villiers, of St. Paul’s, per. formed the marriage ceremony. Lieut. H. C. Elwes; of the Scots Guards, was best man. There was no bridesmaids. The wedding dress was of pale blue chiffon, .ashioned with a tucked bodice completed by a bolero of real cluny lace. A flounce of the same lace edged the skirt. The toque worn with this was of white chiffon, ornamented with a blue ostrich tip and a cluster of cream roses caught be- neath the brim. 4 No invitations had been sent out and there was no formal reception. Four hun- dred presents have heen received. The first day’s honeymoon will be passed at Broughton Castle, Oxfordshire, lent hy Lord and Lady Algernon Gordon. Lennox Winston raised no objection to the marriage, but all attempts to propiti- ate West’s family have failed. The bride- groom’s father and mother departed from Ruthin Castle Friday, to stay in Ireland. A joint wedding present arrainged by the Duchess of Devonshire, is a £250 pearl and diamond tiara. Subscribers at £5 each in- cluded Arthur Balfour, Ladies Chelsea, Tweedmouth, Crewe, Devonshire Georgina Curzon, Essex, Dudley, Londonderry, and Mrs. Paget. Some officers of West’s regi- ment gave him a beaten silver jug. By the bride’s special request there was no flowers. Lady Randolph’s friends stood loyally but regretfully by her. The Prince of Wales’ remark was: ‘‘And I always considered you such a sensible woman.” Head Split Open by & Tree. Adam Berry Meets With a Fatal Accident at Glen Union. ! Adam Berry, a well-known resident of Rote, Clinton county, met with a fatal ac- cident last week while at work in the woods four miles from Glen Union. | Berry was in the employ of the Glen Union Lumber company and was a chop- per. He cut down a large hemlock tree and when it fell it lodged againet a: small birch tree. The hemlock, however, bent ‘the birch overand slid away from it. When ‘it: did sd the birch flew back striking Berry {.on the head, killing him instantly. His head was split open from the nose to the back of the head. The body was placed on a truck on the lumber railroad adh tak- ‘en to Glen Union station, ‘and ‘after- wards taken to. Lock Haven. Under- | taker Waters took charge of = the body ‘and prepared it for burial and later the re- mains were taken to the late home of the deceased, at Rote. dln tind £3 ‘Mr. Berry was aged 34 years, and is sur- vived ‘by his wife and three ‘children. He had been in the employ.of the lumber com- pany for about four weeks. of Constant, Steep. = es woke ie Peculiar Case of Austin. Dubbs, Who wos Injured on June 22nd.. Physicians cre, Puzzled. Austin Dubbs, 37 years old, of Duncans- ville, has entered upon his fifth week of continuous sleep at the Altoona hospital. Dubbs was struck three times on the head June 220d with a brass beer spigot by George Knee Jr., a bartender, during an altercation in a Duncansville hotel bar room. He immediately became uncon- scious. On July 5th he was taken to the hospital, where his skn1l was trephined, in position that » hain clot had form-. onscionsnes: i1cturned, but lasted only a few minutes. During this brief period he recognized his mother and ut- tered a few sentences. Then he fell asleep. again and has so remained since. ' The hospital physicians are puzzled and | are unuable to diagnose the case. iy Ene, Dubbs’ assailant, is under $2.000 $e —Nervonsness is cared ness red by making the blood rich and pure with Hood’s Sarsapa- rilla. It gives the sweet, refreshing sleep. of childhood. Beals
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers