Demoorai atc Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 28, 1900. THE PLODDER’S PETITION. Lord, let me not be too content With life in trifling service spent— Make me aspire! When days with petty cares are filed, Let me with fleeting thoughts be thrilled Of something higher ! Help me to long for mental grace To struggle with the commonplace I daily find ; May little deeds not bring to fruit A crop of little thoughts to suit A shriveled mind. 1 do not ask for place among Great thinkers who have taught and snug And scorned to bend Under the trifles of the hour— 1 only would not lose the power To comprehend. — Helen Gilbert, in the Independent. THE QUALITY OF MERCY. 1 “And if he is guilty, what then ?”’ ‘Well, who cares about his guilt? You mean, if the jury find him guilty.” ‘Yes, of course, the verdict.” McClune of the First Ward was slightly embarrassed by the railroad attorney’s severe tone. “Why, tbat’s what we're here for. There’s just one thing to do—work on the Judge to get him off easy.” The third man was the Sheriff—taciturn, calenlating, anxious to be re-elected—a power in the county’s politics. “It won’t do to send him up,” he remarked, with unwonted eagerness. ‘‘He can do more with the French vote along the creek than anyone in the county—and you know we hev’ just got to get that vote.” In a little room back of the Sheriff’s of- fice the trio were considering ways and means. An important local politician was on trial for the most heinous offence of the plains—cattle-stealing. To be sure, only one cow had been traced in such a manner as to lead to his arrest, but hundreds of head had been missing in the community, and the existence of an organized band of cattle thieves was suspected. . For days the trial had dragged along in the stuffy prairie court room. The space within ‘the railing, where the lawyers, witnesses and prominent (or self-impor- tant) citizens sat, was filled session after session, but the benches for the common public were mostly vacant. From a corner, the prisoner—a gaunt pallid settler—faced the jury. He was ac- companied by a veiled woman — his wife. The best criminal lawyers in the county, Merton & Hammond, were fighting for Johu Warden’s liberty. At last it ended, and all awaited the verdict. Attorney’s and court officers discussed the case while the jury was deliberating—the group in he Sheriff's’ apartments most earnestly of all, ..;. “I don’t believe he is guilty,’”’ spoke up Merton, ‘‘and yet there is something mighty queer about how that animal got in his yard.”’ ‘‘Mayhe,’’ suggested the Sheriff, looking through the unwashed windows across miles of dun western Kansas prairie, “‘maybe there wa’'n’t no stealin’—th’ erit- ters may hev’ broke into his corral.’ “No, that couldn’t be’’—Merton took the remark seriously. ‘‘The cattle inside the fence were put there, but I don’t be- lieve John Worden did it. ‘Of course not, or you would not have taken the case,’’ laughed his rival, the railroad attorney. Merton reddened a little, then arose as the twelve men in whose hands was his client’s fate came into the court-room in charge of a bailiff. The jury did not agree with Merton. After much discussion and wrangling in their shabby room, the august body re- turned a verdict of guilty. The local papers applauded or criticised as ran the personal prejudices of the edit- ors ; the jurymen were serene in the con- sciousness of duty, done and the prisoner, his face more wan than ever went back to the stone dungeon that served the county- seat for a jail. The session of the court went on, and di- vorees, mortgage foreclosures, quarrels and damage cases took their turn on the docket. But Merton still worked for his client. Another meeting of the local leaders of his party was called, and again in the little room back of the Sheriff’s office the gather- ing came to order. ‘“‘He’ll be sentenced to-morrow,’’ Mer- ton explained,” and if we're to do any- thing, now is our chance. The judge has refused us a new trial—we must get him off with a light sentence.”’ “It would be a mighty good thing to handle the creek townships with,’’ drawled the Sheriff. ‘‘This next election’s goin’ ter be mighty close.” ' “Afraid you won’t pull through, are you ?’’ sneered the editor of the county pa- per. He had praised the jury’s verdict, and his real sentiments were against War- den, but he had been called vigorously to time by his leading supporters and told to get on the other side for the party’s sake. It made him cross and pessimis- tic. “Well, . Jim,” replied the Sheriff, “‘a good majority along the creek will be about the only thing that will allow you ter keep yer grip on the county printin’ at robber rates,” and the langh was on the newspaper man. McClune was clearly the leader to whom they looked for counsel, and when he spoke there was close attention. ‘I take it,’’ he announced, after awhile, ‘‘that the Judge wants to do what’s right, but he ain’t anxious to cut his own politic- al head off to spite somebody. He's got to be elected next November, too, or he might as well leave the State—an’ to be elected, he’s got to pull every rope.” “Just what I was tellin’th’ boys,’’ put in the Sheriff. -*“The district’s close,”’ went on McClune, and if there’s any doubt about Warden’s guilt as Merton says there is, it’s all right for the Judge to give him the benefit of it and make his sentence light--say a couple months in jail. He can stand that and get out in time to round things up hy election day.” The others nodded approvingly. *‘Of course you know the penalty ruus to ten years,’ added Merton, quietly. “Yes, an’ in some communities that ain’ civilized as well as we are, it’s hang- in,’’ remarked the Sheriil. The editor voiced the feeling of his com- rades : ‘Somebody must go to the Judge, and make a talk—and McClune is the one to do it.”’ The First Ward politician denied his fit- ness. ‘I don’t want to,”’ he said, depre- catingly, ‘but, of course, someone will have to do it.” “‘Well, you’re the man. You nominat- ed Holland, and he’ll listen to you when he would show us the door.” “I suppose that’s so. Well, we'll try it,”’ and McClune went out into the biting winter afternoon. Judge Holland was surprised to see Me- Clune that evening. The Judge's home was with a sister on the edge of the strag- gling prairie town. He was compelled to ask his visitor into the sitting room where the children were studying school lessons by the shaded lamp. “J came to see you very particular,” blurted out the First Ward leader, embar- rassed by the family circle. “Oh yes, you wish to see me alone— come upstairs.” . In the little bed-room, warmed by the stove-pipe from the apartment below, they faced each other. The Judge was slender, clean-shaven, nervous, with deep-set eyes and high student’s forehead ; his visitor, big brusque, and whiskered. was much the older, and considered the young lawyer whom he had assisted in the political race as his protege. “Now, Holland,”’ began McClune, seat- ing himself carelessly on the bed. “I’ve come to see you about Warden—the cattle- thief, you know.” “Well, what's the matter ?’’ «Youn’ll have to sentence him at the end of the term—to-morrow.’’ “Yes.” Involuntary the judge glanced towards a table wheregn lay a bundle of legal papers. “T's a pretty serious job, I know, but we want you to be easy on him.”’ “The jury found him guilty.” “J know—hut Merton thinks there is some doubt about the jury just being right. And I want to say to you'’—it was a fa- vorite expression of McClune’s-‘‘that Mer- ton’s opinion’s worth something.’’ “Mr. Merton is perhaps prejudiced.” The Judge smiled quizzically. Merton had been his rival for the judgeship, and neither had quite forgiven the other for the part taken in the campaign. ‘‘For my self. I think the jury was correct.” ‘Well, I reckon it was—but we don’t want him in jail more than two months.”’ “The Judge's face darkened, but his visitor went on : ‘‘Youn’ve got to run for office again next fall. You pulled through last time by less than a hundred. and you wouldn’t have done it at all if it hadn’t been for me and John Warden. Do you know what would bave happened then ?”’ The young Judge knew too well. The. burden of debt, the meagre law practice still more diminished when the bursting of the boom sent people out of the county by the hundreds, the expense of the cam- paign—his hair had whitened while he waited for the returns from the back pre- cinets, one of which was John Warden's. “You haven’t got your debts paid yet ; you don’t see any great opening for a law business here, do you ?”’ McClune laughed harshly. Both knew that the town was in worse financial condi- tions than ever in its history. “You have just got to be elected, now ain’t you ?’’ The Judge did not reply “Jf you send Warden to the ‘pen’ for five or six years, you'll lose all three of the creek townships. The French are his friends and swear by him—not another man in the county can handle them for us. That’s one hnndred and fifty votes. It'll beat you. Give him a month or two in jail and he can stand it ; he’ll get out in time to swing things and we’ll be all right. See? I want to tell you that it is the thing to do.” Holland’s features grew hard and for- bidding. ‘‘In other words you want me to sacrifice justice to politics—to sell my soul for place?’ The Judge looked his visitor square in the eyes. McClune refused to meet the gaze, but thrned away with, ‘Oh, don’t be a fool and try to work off an oration on me.” “Bad as I want this office, bad as I need it,” went on Holland sternly, ‘do you think it my duty—between man and man, honor bright—to do this ?”’ McClune did not answer. He was lying back on the bed and apparently not listen- ing closely. “If the man is guilty, he deserves pun- ishment ; if he is innocent, he ought to go free—there is no middle ground—’’ “_but what of good politics,” inter- rapted the First-Warder. ‘‘Maybe the man’s innocent. You want to hold your job on the bench four years more, don’t yon? And you know I want to run on the ticket with you for Clerk of the Court."’ “God knows I do—but this is a mon- strons thing you ask. McClane, and I’m tempted to tell you to leave the house. You've been my friend. When I was a poor boy, taking care of horses in this old town to buy my clothes, you were good to me. I don’t forget that. and I don’t for- get how you helped me to attend school, to get a start, and then to secure the nomi- nation for Judge—you pulled me through the campaign. Of course I'd have been beaten but for you—"' “And John Warden.” “Yes, and John Warden. But this thing you ask is another matter—Ilet me think over it?” McClune rose to go. At the door he turned and, with the finesse of a born dip- lomat, played what he knew was his strongest card. ‘‘Remember I'm to be on the ticket with you,’’ and was gone. Holland sat a long, long time in the chilly bed room. Once he went over to the table and took from the bundle of pa- pers a slip on which were written some memoranda. Slowly he read them : “Titus James, arson, eight years.”’ “Richard Roe, larceny, two years.’ “John Warden, larceny, six years.”” “And McClune wants me to make it two months or less !’’ he mused. A studious, conscientious youth, an ear- nest, hard-working lawyer,a man who look- ed for truth in his fellows—the thought of prostituting his high office, even to serve a friend to whom he owed so much, un- nerved him. It haunted him through a sleepless night, it sat beside him on the bench in the stuffy court-room the next morning, it went with him to the Judge’s chamber at the noon recess. He wanted no lunch. With the slip of paper in his hands he sat pondering, as he firmly be- lieved, the question of his duty and of his political and business future. 1 The door opened. ‘‘A lady to see yer Honor,’ and the bailiff brought in a veiled woman. Holland recognized her as the one who had, day after day, been sitting ‘beside John Warden. , “What can Ido for you, madam ?’? his air was courteous. . “Once you did not call me ‘madam.’ ”’ She threw aside her veil, and he saw in her sweet but worn face familiar lines. a #L thought—I thought it was Mrs. War- en. “It is. I have been John Warden's wife for four years, but you did not know se IT in ap —and probably you did not care.” eee eet eee eer Holland could not speak. The one ro- mance of his life—the days when he had admired Mary Heather's pretty face and form—ecame back to him. “Yes—I cared—but I did not know,”’ he stammered, at last. “Youn loved me once!’ exclaimed the woman, impetuously, as if determined to present her strongest forces first. “You said you loved me—and then you left me—"’ “No, you left me Mary—beg pardon.’’ “Well, we won’t go over that,”’ she had not noticed his familiarity with her first name. “It is too late now. I married John Warden a month after, and we went to Texas. We nearly starved there’’—the woman shuddered at the remembrance— “and came back to settle on Sand Creek. Our home is there.”’ “I never knew,’ repeated the Judge. “And we nearly starved again,”’ went on the woman. ‘‘I never realized before on how little people could keep up life if it was necessary. 1 cared for the horses while John was sick. I drove to the store with eggs. and I followed the plough and harrow. I read in the Herald every week that you were rising in your profession, and how you became Judge—but I never saw a notice of your marriage.” Holland shook his head. She was play- ing her game well, and had him at a disad- vantage. “T have come here to tell you something —something terrible. There came a time when we had nothing to eat, when the cupboard was bare of potatoes even, and it seemed that we must go on the town—or sell our horsss,if we could get anything for them above the mortgages they carried. You don’t understand what that means. I thought of you that terrible day—thought of how different life would have been with vou, Mark—and I cried for the first time since my marriage.’ r The Judge’s eyes were moist and they avoided the woman’s. “On the plain, near our house, was a great herd of cattle belonging to some rich company. Who would know or care if one was missing ? I begged John to help me, and together—yes, together, hut at my suggestion—John Warden and the woman you once loved, and around whom you once put your arm tenderly, went out in the dusk of evening and drove a cow into their corral. They killed her, and the meat made their first meal for thirty hours.” “Somehow, after that, things went bet- ter. No one knew how desperately poor we had become, and John’s influence with the foreign-born settlers on the creek brought him work. He was above them in intelligence, and had a tender heart. He nursed their sick and helped bary their dead—and they worship him.”’ “Bat a lawyer, working for this great cattle company that had robbed us of pas- ture, and whose herds have trampled down our crops, traced a missing cow to our cor- ral, and my husband is in jail—for how long you are to say this afternoon.” A pause followed, and Judge Holland, rising, went to the window. “Mark !”? The old familiar title of youth caused him to turn quickly. The prisoner’s wife stood close beside him. “Mark, be merciful—for my sake! Iam as guilty as he, and will suffer more than he.” The settler’s wife threw herself into an easy-chair and sobbed. “Qyez, Oyez, Oyez!”’ the Sheriff was calling at the front door downstairs. The bailiff rapped. “Time for court to commence, yer Hon- or,”’ he announced. The prisoner’s wife, her face again hid- den, went out. ‘Ina moment the Judge followed. The town knew that sentences were to be pronounced, and the room was filled. The prisoners stood in a dejected row, awaiting their fate. Occasionally the Judge glanced at a piece of paper in his hand. Titus James re- ceived his eight years behind the bars. Richard Roe was ordered to the peniten- tiary for one-fourth as long. Several short terms were distributed as a teacher might give out prizes on the last day of school—only these were not received with joy. “John Warden, stand up! In accord- ance with the verdict found by the jury,” the Judge’s voice was far from firm,and he nervously tore into fine pieces the slip of paper he held in his bands—‘‘you are sen- tenced to one hour’s imprisonment in the county jail, to commence at one o’clock to-day.”’ Everybody looked up at the big clock above the Judge’shead. Itshands showed that nearly one-half of the sentence had expired. No, not ‘‘everybody’’—McClune, as the, sentence was pronounced, slid quickly through the green doors at the rear of the room into the deserted hall without. Softly he chuckled to himself, ‘The Judge wants to be re-elected a mighty sight worse than I thought he did,”’ ran his meditations. *‘I didn’t know I had so much power over him.” And thinking so, his surprise was all the greater when, two days after, Judge Hol- land gave an interview to the Herald in which be said that, owing to the need of rest and a contemplated trip to the Pacific coast, he would under no circumstances be a candidate for a second term.—C. M. Harger, in Harper's Weekly. Easy When You Have To. This new story of Abraham Lincoln is from Eben Holden : “My son,’’ he said, taking my hand in his, ‘Why didn’t you run ?”’ “Didn’t dare,” I answered. ‘‘I knew it was more dangerous to run away than to go forward,” ‘‘reminds me of a story,” said he, smiling. ‘‘Years ago there was a bully in Sangamon county, Ill., that bad the reputation of running faster and fight- ing barder than any man there. Every- body thought he was a terrible fighter. He'd always get a man on the run ; then he’d ketch up and give him a licking. One day he tackled a lame man. The lame man licked him in a minute. “Why didn’t ye run ?’’ somebody asked the victor. “Didn’t dast,’”’ said he. ‘‘Run once when he tackled me an’ I've been lame ever since.”’ “How did ye manage to lick him ?’ said the other. “Wall,” said he, “I hed to an’ I done it ‘“That’s the way it goes,’’ said the im- mortal President, ‘‘ye do it easy if ye have to. He reminded me in and out of Horace Greeley, although they looked no more alike than a hawk and a handsaw. But they had a like habit of forgetting them- selves and of saying neither more nor less than they meant. They both had the strength of an ox and as little vanity. Mr. Greeley used to say that no man could amount to anything who worried much over the Lit of his trousers ; neither of them pe. ever encountered that obstacle. in A A isi Price of Powder Caused Strike. Chief @rievance of Miners in Present Troubles in 4n- thracite Region. No Special Arbitration. Mitchell Insists on Broad Base of Settlement. Amounts Earned by the Men Greatly Vary in Different Colli- eries. Sliding Seale at Some Places. The list of grievances prepared at the Hazleton convention last month, and upon which the present strike is based, does not apply toall the mines in the anthracite district, nor can it be said that all the grievances apply toany one mine. The in- dictment was intended to- cover all the grievances that exist in all the mines, and it is upon that basis only that President Mitehell and his associate - officers of the Mine Workers’ association are willing to arbitrate. They refuse to arbitrate special grievances or with individual operators, but insist upon an omnibus proceeding, which makes agreement the more difficult, because an operator will naturally refuse to arbitrate grievances that do not exist in his own mines, but do exist in the mines of his neighbors. He may be exempt from one and his neighbors exempt from others, but the union officials place all operators in the same class and insist upon dealing with them as a class and not as individuals. In the Jeddo mines, where the operators and the miners have agreed to arbitrate, there is probably less cause for complaint than in any other mines in the entire an- thracite region, and Mr. Mitchell argues that they should not be used as an example. If Archbishop Ryan as arbitrator, should decide in favor of the miners, the grievance that exist in other mines would not be re- moved, but if he should decide against them, the public would infer that the com- plaints of the men in other mines were not well founded and their moral support would be lost. POWDER A STRONG GRIEVANCE. The greatest source of trouble is the price of powder, and it does seem queer that men cf such experience and intelli- gence as the owners and operators of mines should permit it to remain as a continual cause of friction and complaint. As I ex- plained the system of management in the anthracite mines is awkward and antiquated and has not been changed for nearly 30 years. After the troubles in the '70’s the present scale of wages and methods was adopted. Owing to the disturbances which occurred in that strike. It was not consid- ered prudent to place powder and other ex- plosives on sale to the public, and there- fore the operators agreed to provide the min- ers with whatever powder they needed for blasting purposes as fast as they required it, at the rate $2.75 a keg, which was the ruling price at that date. In the meantime power has become cheaper year after year, until now it can be bought for $1.10 to $1.25, and I am informed that it has been as low as 90 cents a keg. Some of the operators furnish powder to their men at cost price. Others at a slight advance, $1.50 a keg, others will charge $1.75 and $2. In all these cases the excess over the cost is a profit to which the opera- tor is not fairly entitled, from ‘he stand- point of his employes. The operator on the other hand, argues that the money from the sale of powder is a part o! the re- turn he should receive from his employes, and that if the price is to be reduced he should not be compelled to pay as much per ton as he is now paying for the mining of his coal. This is an individual matter, and no two operators look at it alike. Lib- eral employers give their men the benefit of the reduced cost of powder. Those who work close and try to make as much as pos- sible do not. CHANCE TO INCREASE EARNINGS. The powder grievance is the most serious of all the matters involved in the present troubles, and if the operators would all agree to let the miners buy their powder in the open market or furnish it to them at cost price. the bottom would fall out of the strike A keg of powder will last two or two and a half days under ordinary cir- cumstances, hence the miners’ earnings would be increased about fifty cents a day. The method of estimating earnings is as complicated as a metaphysical problem to the ignorant miner, and the great majority of them are ignorant. Furthermore, it is an inheritance from the past generation, and like the price of powder, is a continual source of misunderstanding and friction, when it might be made so simple that everybody could understand it. The min- er is not paid by the ton, but by the carload but the word ‘‘ton”’ is generally used to describe a carload, although a full car will contain from 2,600 to 3,000 pounds of coal. Hence, in the indictment of the Hazleton convention, the operators are accused of swindling their employes by compelling them to furnish 3,000 pound to the ton, when the same coal is sold to the public at the rate of 2,240 pounds to the ton. The explanation is as follows : Every car is supposed to contain a net ton of coal after all the stone, slate and other foreign substances have been remov- ed. The miner works in the dark, under- ground and although a man of experience can distinguish a chunk of coal from a stone or piece of slate by the weight and feeling, nevertheless it is almost impossible to avoid getting a certain ‘amount of foreign substance in every car, and 24,000 boys are employed in the anthracite regions to pick over the coal and remove the foreign parti- cles. Some miners are honest and some are dishonest. They will grade up on the matter of morals about the same as other laborers of equal intelligence, and dishon- est miners will throw in stone and slack their coal in the cars so as to cheat their | Rock employer whenever it is possible to do so. HONEST SUFFER FOR DISHONEST. Hence, they are required to send up sev- eral hundred extra pounds to cover defi- ciencies. ‘This isrequired of honest as well as of dishonest miners. When the car gets to the mouth of the mine the coal is inspected, and if an un- reasonable amount of slate is found in it, the miner is fined or docked 25 cents, in- stead of being discharged for dishonesty. It would seem that some simpler way might be devised, for the ignorant Pole or Hungarian cannot be made to understand why he should be compelled to produced 3,000 pounds for a ton, when he is honest, then have his wages reduced 30 per cent when he is caught cheating. The coal is inspected by a ‘‘weighmaster’’ who keeps the accounts of the miners, and reports to the office what each has sent out from the shaft during the day. He is usu- ally a faithful, intelligent man, selected from the force of miners because of these qualities, but as soon as he 1s placed in a Josition of authority his former chums and llow workmen regard him as their enemy and complain of his actions. Iam told as a rule, men who have been employed as miners are much more exacting and arbi- trary when they are prometel to weigh- masters or foremen than men who have never worked underground, and do not un- derstand the tricks of the trade. At any rate a friend becomes a foe when he is plac- ed in authority over you, and the miners ‘the companies do not empl object to having their fellow workmen ap- pointed to serve as weighmasters. They demand, too, the privilege of having what is termed a ‘‘check weighmaster’’ of their own selection at the month of the mine to represent their interests and protect them from the exactions and dishonesty of the weighmaster. TWO MEN CAUSED QUARREL. At a few mines this has heen permitted but the operators say that the experiment was a failure hecause the two men were al- ways quarreling and sometimes fighting, and kept the entire mine stirred up with controversies. They say also that the only reason why the men object to an examiner as weighmaster is that they are unable to deceive him if he is honest, and if dishonest he levies blackmail. Another complaint is the lack of regular work in some of the mines. As a rule, miners work about 18 days in the month, and from six to seven hours a day. That is believed to be as much as any ordinary man can do without over-taxing hisstrength The number of days is determined by the superintendent. The number of hours is optional with the miner, and men of great endurance oftener work 10 and 12 hours a day and increase their income accordingly. Eight or ten cars of coal are the result of an ordinary day’s work, for which the miner is paid from 70 cents a car and upward, ac- cording to the character of the vein of coal in which he is working.. This isdetermin- ed by the superintendent. Thus a first class miner, who produces 10 cars of coal gets $7 a day. From this he pays his as- sistant $1.60 a day, and his powder bill which is a dollar or so, and finds himself with $4.40 or thereabouts as the net earn- ings of the day, which figures up about $79 a month. The great majority of miners do not produce more than eight cars a day, so that their earning are not more that $54 a month. I have made an average of four ordinary miners where I was permitted to see the, pay rolls, and find that 2,730 min- ers employed in them earned an average of $52.53 during the month of August. The question of pay is also involved in the strike, and is, in fact, the fundamental reason for it. The mines demanded an in- crease of 5 per cent, for those making the highest wages, and 10 per cent increase for all earnings between $1.50 and $2 a day, and 15 per cent increase for all earnings less than $1.50. PAID ON A SLIDING SCALE. In some of the mines, particularly those belonging to the Philadelphia & Reading railroad, and Cox Brothers, which market their own coal, including perhaps 42 colli- ers and 25,000 men, the miners and labor- ers are paid by the week on a sliding scale, according to the fluctuations in the price of coal. Their pay is regulated on a basis of $5 a ton retail at tide water, and the fol- lowing statement shows the actual wages paid per week to laborers and miners dur- ing the last eight months : Price Miners Laborers of wages wages coal pr. wk. pr. wk. December, 1899 $4.40 $11.84 $10.15 January, 1900 4.60 12.10 10.37 February, 1900 4.80 12.35 10.58 May, 1900 4.70 12.22 10.47 August, 1900 4.80 12.35 10.58 Involved in the strike are about 59,000 laborers and general workmen, who assist the miners in the shafts and do whatever is necessary on the outside. They are paid an average of $10.50 a week ; there are 5,000 engineers whose pay averages $60 a month, and the same number of firemen who re- ceive an average of $45 a month; 2,000 blacksmiths ‘and earpenters from $45 to $75 a month; 10,000 men who drive the mules and horses and attend the stables, from 75 cents to $1.25 a day; 24,000 boys from 12 | to 18 years of age, who are engaged in the picking of slate and other foreign substances from the coal. They receive from 35 cents to $1 a day, according to their age and effi- ciency, averaging perhaps 65 cents. There are perhaps 5,000 boys engaged about the mines in various capacities who receive similar compensation. At one of the small mines near Scranton employing 56 men only, when I was allow- ed to examine the pay roll for August, the average earnings of the miners working beneath the ground were $50.57 for an average of 18 days. The largest earnings of any one miner for that month were $81.- 49 and the smallest were $35.89. EARNINGS OF MINERS GREATLY VARY. I was shown the pay roll for August in one of the collieries in the Hazleton district and the amounts earned by the men range from $38 to $152. The man who earned $38 1aid off nearly half the time. The man who earned $152 went into the mine every day and remained long hours. The others ran about as follows : Two miners $81.57 each, one miner $89.37, one miner $93.67, one miner $75.54, 16 miners $61 each, two miners $83 each, four miners $68 each, two miners $76 each, one miner $65, one miner $6225, one miner $57. The average number of days worked dur- ing the month was 18. ) A neighboring mine worked 136 men, whose average earnings for the month were $52.45, the maximum being $91.48, and the maximum $36.52, the average number of days worked being 19. Tn another mine employing 192 miners, the average earnings of the men were $52.- 60 for the month, the maximum being $61.90, and the minimum $53.81 for an average of 17 days work. | The following is an exact copy of the rate of wages paid to other employes than underground miners in the colliery last re- ferred to: Tracklayers, per day......cceee cue Track helpers, per day. Masons ........eeeeene Yt < Door boys........ Outside laborers. Headmen and ft Loaders........ Plane engine Headmen. Loaders.... Drjvers arpenters... Carpenters h Blacksmith....... Blacksmith helpe . Engineers at shaft and breaker... Engineers at supply shafts per ea] @ & g = z B He oie + SER ed ed pd pd od pd eo peoazbnrokanabanbaoqiys 2.00 1.95 SPI 1 1S Bi pn eessessensasenninmee eT promke iremen... Platemen. Bi Hela 5 Slate Ging DOSSeB..c.uerveriasass weer 1.35 " The company’s doctor, who is complain- ed of, is employed at the isplated mines to attend the miners and their families. When the mines are situated in or near large towns like Scranton and Wilkesbarre pani te Seetors, The miners employ an ysician they please. At the isolated is to gu toe the ‘doo- tor a living and makesure that his services are paid for, each miner is ti<ed one dollar a month, each laborer 50 cents a month, and other employes accordirgly, except the boys whose fathers are employed in the mines. They pay nothing. None of this money goes to the company. It all goesto 8 ° = - = ee E8 ENsR2283 1.10 90 the doctor, and in consideration therefore he is required to answer all calls from that company night and day and farnish all medicines and surgical supplies that are necessary for the proper treatment of his patients. These mine doctors make from $1,500 to $4,000 a year, according to the number of employes. Smaller mines in the same neighborhood usually combiue in the support of the some doctor. OUTGROWTH OF MANY YEARS, This system is the outgrowth of many years’ experience. It is explained that, before it was adopted, miners who were ill or injured took little care of themselves and lives and limbs were frequently sacri- ficed to avoid the payment ot doctor bills. Often miners would refuse to pay and tell the doetor to .collect from the company. Uader the laws of Pennsylvania these as- sessments for medical services are optional, and the miners cannot be compelled to pay them, but it is asserted that those who re- fuse to pay the doctors’ assessment are dis- charged as soon as their service can be dis- pensed with although other reasons are as- signed. Another ground of complaint is the com- pany stores. Formerly it was the custom here as elsewhere to pay all employes in orders on their store, so that the company madea profit coming and going, but such establishments are now regulated by law, and it is optional with the employe whether he receive his pay in store orders or cash. Here enters a delicate question. The women in the mining districts are general- ly in favor of payment by store orders for that allows them to control the expendi- ture of the family income, whereas the men generally prefer to be paid in cash, and it is often a matter of serious dispute between husbands and wives. In such affairs the paymasters of the mining companies have some amusing experiences. The women claim that when their husbands are paid in cash they speedily seek the saloons and generally come home drunk with empty pockets on pay day, whereas if they are paid in store orders such misfortunes can- not ocenr. The dissolute miners are said to be behind the demand for the abolition of the company stores. Although the trading at the company stores under the law is optional with the miner, it is complained that many compan- ies will not employ men who trade else- where, although, of course, when men are discharged for this cause other reasons are assigned. It is said to be the almost universal rule that the poorest miners are the most active agitators and make the most trouble and the men who are temperate industrious and skillful and are making good incomes are contented and make no complaint.— W. E. Curtin in Pittsburg Post. Cane Rush May Cost Life. Rutgers Callege Student Probably Fatally Trampled. Unnoticed in the Struggle. In the fierce cane rush at Rutgers College Saturday night 18-year-old Fritz Wittig. a member of the freshman class, was knock- ed down in the scrimmage, trampled on and, it is feared, fatally hurt. The rush was won by the sophomore class, but doubtless at fearful cost. The contestants gathered on the field shortly after midnight, and it was freely stated that the struggle would be a fierce one. And it was the hardest fought rush in years. The sophomores, smarting un- der their defeat on Wednesday, were de: termined to win the victory at all haz- ards. Dressed in football togs and old clothes the collegians were in readiness for a hard fight. The members of each class were on the ground, and those who did not take part in the contest cheered the others on. Young Wittig was in the thickest of the scrimmage, and did good work for the freshman class. In some manner he lost his footing and disappeared in the midst of the struggling mass. In the darkness and excitement his absence was not noted, and for several minutes the rush continued over his prostrate body. When time was called he was discovered on the ground . unconscious. Willing hands carried him to a fraternity house near by and Dr. Nicholas Williamson found that he was soffering from concussion of the brain and had heen badly bruised about the body. All efforts to restore him to consciousness being futile. Dr. Williamson asked that ‘the young man’s parents be notified. Since the rush the physician has repeatedly tried to revive the young man,but without avail. ; The contestants in the cane rush are very -much grieved over the affair, and are eager and willing to do what they can for their suffering comrade. Peppermint Oil Crop. Beet Sugar is now Being Largely Raised in New York instead of the Mint. The beet sugar industry is attaining wonderful proportions in various sections of this country. A few years ago in some sections of central New York the pepper- mint oil crop was the leading feature, and brought more money into the hands of the farmers than did the apple crop. But now the peppermint crop is mostly a thing of the past in that section and the mint stills are kept in operation by the crop of a few acres near them. : The beet sugar crop has driven the mint crop westward, for the farmers find it more profitable to raise sugar beets. Ten years ago every community in central New York had a resident who was getting rich by stilling mint, but these same mills are now falling into disuse. Lyons, N. Y., was the centre of the mint market of the world, but that honor is now among the claims of distant western cities. The fame of the Wayne county oils was known near and far and took the world’s prize at the Col- umbian exposition in 1893. The Pan- American exposition wiil bring a new lo- cality into similar prominence in all proba- bility. Thus, the peppermint crop, like the march of civilization has gone west- ward. —— NEBULAE OF SONG. Dim nebulz of song! Pirst, a cold star dust in the spirit’s void, Whirling with measured sweep the through, in Then more compact, centripetal and strong, Swifter and surer and of warmer hue! Thy brothers wait thee in the blue above, Far through the silences their songs descend; Thou, too, shalt join their ancient choir of love And send thy light across the paths of men. Now the faint music of the early dawn, Feeling its way with broken chords and slow, Then the C major, resolute and strong, Surer in conscious strength the measures go. But thou, dim dust, that trailest through the night, Lceasting the waves of that unsounded sea, Swift be the course of thy triumphant flight And sweet thy music in the years to be! —Herbert Muller Hopkins in Bookman. -ddpBfr
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers