EE SB ors tosses soo Re Ail ypsd 5 3 mo Biemortabi Waco Bellefonte, Pa., July 24, 1903. RAITT, OR GET A BALLOON. Beware of dust pneumonia, It lurks upon the sireet ; Far better that you swiftly flee The city’s grime and heat. But go not to the countryside, ‘Where blooms the blushing rose, Because rose fever will attack Your foolish eyes and nose. And go not to the mountain high, For if you take the trip The chances are you’ll run across The fierce microbe of grip. Nor seek the ever sighing sea, Where bold mosquitos lurk, And with bacillus-ladened bills Get in their deadly work. ‘Tis thus the doctors every day With advice abound. To dodge the grave we yet may have To burrow under ground. — Chicago Tribune. THE MARRIAGE OF MARTIN. Patrick O'Shea, called somewhat reluc- tantly into the presence of his off-spring, removed his black clay from his mouth and stared helplessly, burdened with a sense of personal impotence. And when Mrs. O’Shea informed him that one was already named Martin and the other Peter, he dumbly scratched his head for a moment and asked in deep bewilderment. ‘But, which o’ thim—ain’t the other ?”’ It was a pertinent inquiry. Martin might have been Peter and Peter Martin, and none but their respective guardian angels been the wiser. Although Mrs. O'Shea drove the discom- fited Patrick from her presence with scorn- ful contumely, it soon became evident that she herself was at no little difficulty in dis- tinguishing them. Indeed, it is probable that they were carelessly mixed many times during infanoy, and it is a matter of honest doubt whether the one who eventually an- swered to the name of Martin was the one whom the priest so christened, or his broth- - ed Peter. When the novelty of them had dulled, if Mrs. O'Shea were asked which was which, the one she happened to lay. hand on first invariably became Martin, the first born. Patrick, laboring under his own incom- petence, observed this tendency, not with- out an unrighteous scepticism. ‘“Which wan’ll this be ?”’ he would de- mand, grabbing one of the sprawling in- fants by the slack and holding him aloft. “Twill be Martin, ye lummox,”’ was always the answer. Patrick would lower the squalling child and retire with a smile of masculine superiority. He didn’t know them apart and freely acknowledged it, and after sufficient though cautious experi- ment, he gathered that Mrs. O’Shea was in similar case, albeit unwilling to admit the disquieting fact. So the twins grew through the abomina- tion of long dresses and short, aud arrived at the heroic age of pants, inextricably mixed. True, one of them by that time had elected to be known as Martin and the other as Peter; but how this came to pass is not clear, for each was as likely to be ad- dressed by his brother’s name as by his own. Apparently they had pnt their small red heads together and come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement of the matter. Patrick fell into the habit of addressing them impartially by both names. *“You Martin,”” be would call, ‘‘or are ye Pete? Fetch me a match fur me poipe.”’ This had the desired effect and became an established form with him. ‘With their snappy Irish wite the two early learned the possibilities of their mix- ed identity. In school they were the de- spair of teachers. Martin had a paper route which demanded his attention immediate- ly after school. If an infringement of the rules necessitated his remaining after hours he purchased his freeeom from Peter by a transfer of marbles and departed to serve his customers. Peter stayed and took the reprimand with a cheery lightheartedness born of a bulging pocket. One bewildered teacher was wont to say the only way to tell them apart was to count their freckles; tbat Martin had forty- nine on hisstub nose and Peter forty-seven, or perhaps, after all, it was Peter who had forty-nine and Martin forty-seven, she wasn’t sare. At fourteen they left school, and found positions together as wipers in the round- house of the M. & K. railroad. Either alone would excite no comment at this time. He was simply an ordinary, quick- witted, Irish-American lad. But if, for in- stance, one was talking with Peter and Martin strolled up, the sight produced a shock. They were so nearly identical in appear- ance that only sharp scrutiny with the two side by side could determine between them. Their broad, good-natured features had been run in the same mould, their red hair dipped in the same vat, and they kepta perfectly even pace as they grew. ey looked alike,spoke and acted alike, thought alike, and ended by falling in love alike. They had more than one offer from dime museums $0 appear as Siamese twins (dis- severed, of course), but preferred to stick to their jobs. Martin was advanced to fir- ing an engine first, not because any more steady or efficient than Peter, but because but one vacancy occurred, and the two tossed a quarter for it. Peter got his pro- motion six months later. Then the two being all even once more and in receipt of ample wages, they proceeded, together as usual, to think about homes of their own, an eminently proper and wholesome con- dition of mind, but which hrought them to the parting of the ways. ‘‘Pete,’’ says Martin, ‘I’m thinkin’ I'll git married.”’ x ‘‘No ! says Peterincredulous. ‘‘Who’ll have ye, ye red head ?’’ ‘Sure there’s plenty would have me, no fear, but I’m thinkin’ of one in partic’lar. The fine girl she is, t00.”’ “Oh, sure,’’ says Peter, ‘‘but I’ve one in me own eye will make anny of them take the count,’’ and he nodded shrewdly. Martin opened his eyes. : ‘‘Ye’ll not be gittin’ married, too Pete ?’’ he asked. “I been thinkin’ about it,’’ replied Pe- ter, calmly. ‘“Who's the girl you’re thinkin’ of Pete 2’ Martin demanded, not without anxiety. ‘“Well,”’ said Peter, ‘‘I’ve bad ‘me eye this long while on Maggie Doyle, an’ the sweet-—"’ ‘‘What d’ye say, ye thief?’ shouted Martin, leaping up. ‘‘Maggie Doyle! Would ye steal me girl from me arrms?”’ He shook a big fist in Peter’s face. Peter was up, too, his blue eyes hot. ‘*Would ye claim Maggie then, ye bla’- guard ?”’ he shouted back, his own fists doubled. Now it would bave been a battle royal, for they were big men and hot blooded. They had fought often and fiercely as boys, but nature had made it too even a game for an abiding decision. Martin suddenly dropped his hands. ‘‘Have ye asked her then ?”’ he demand- ed, anxiously. Ei 5 ‘Why wouldn’t I?’’ replied Peter, with caution. : ‘Because I’ve not,”’ said Martin. “Then no more have I,”” said Peter, ‘“‘an’ tis no use to fight.’’ They sat down and looked at each other. ‘‘Perhaps,’’ said Martin, after a pause, ‘‘we better find out will she have either of us or not.”’ ‘*Yes,”’ replied Peter, sheepishly, *‘like- ly we would.” So a mighty battle was avoided, at least for the time being. Dating from that day, however, began another struggle, not less strenuous, and there is evidence to show that until the matter began to pall, Miss Maggie Doyle had the time of her life. She wore Martin’s brooch and Peter’s bracelet, Martin’s watch on Peter’s chain, and so on through endless intricacies, each striving to sur the other if only by a hair’s-breadth. If she went trolley riding with Martin one Sunday afternoon, she went in a livery rig with Peter the next. A catalogue of their agonizing struggles, each to outdo the oth- er, would prove unprofitable, for the point demanding notice is that neither made the slightest apparent gain. Nay, worse, Mag- gie could not tell them apart even when they stood side by side in her presence, a thing which seldom happened. In time it came to be a pitiful case. The poor girl wag willing enough to marry eith- er of them if she conld get him separated from the other in her mind and keep him £80 long enough to make sure he was him- self and not his brother. There was the rab. About the time she determined to accept Martin she fell to wondering if she were not thinking about Peter after all. If she set herself to enumerate the sterling virtues of Peter she presently discovered that they precisely fitted the neglected Martin. So she hung between the two. So matters wens for the better part of a year. The twins were by that time desper- ate and near bankruptcy, and Maggie no less desperate and rapidly becoming over- burdened with jewelry. Whereupon she determined upon a coup which should end this intolerable situation. Marry one of them she would. Which one she did not know, but was minded to find out. Consider then the arrival of Martin and Peter at the Doyle abode on a given even- ing. They came by invitation within a few minutes of one another, each evidently sur- prised at his brother’s presence. As they sat with an exaggerated display of ease and glared sidewise at one another they were a remarkable pair. The initial, inquiry of the bewildered Patrick held good, and which of them wasn’t the other, it were in- deed hard to state. Nerved hy the almost intolerable past, Maggie proceeded bravely vet not without blushes and some confu- sion, the situation being delicate. *‘Boys,’’ said she, ‘‘you know I'd be glad to take both of you, or—that is—I pean, I'd be glad to take each of you, if the other wasn’t around confusin’ me. But with the two of you so like, I’m near out o’ my mind. One o’ ye’s got to he disap- pointed. That’s sure, for I can’t take both, though—I'm wishful—to do it. I do’ know which one it’ll be, for I do’ known one from the other as you sit now.”’ She nervously twiddled a fold of her apron for a moment. “Bat I’m thinkin’,”” she continued, ‘‘that Martin’s a handsomer name to be callin’ me man by than what Peter would be, so—1I’ll fake Martin. I'll marry him Monday week. Now which of ye’s Mar- tin 27? “I am,’’ came with forceful unanimity from both of the twins, and Miss Maggie's beautiful scheme fell wofully to the ground. From that moment Peter was not, or, more precisely, became a mere supposi- tion, an animate conundrum, walking the earth in the sight of men, yet hidden as by the cloak of invisibility. Each of them rose instantly with strong language on his lips and blood in his eye, but which was shamming and which was not, even the distressed Maggie conld not determine. Peter, whichever he was, was playing for a wife and played well. In despair Maggie swore them to peace and sent them away. Later, after a long, com- fortable cry, she felt somewhat better. At least the day was set and whichever Mar- tin came first should have her. Passed then a riotous week in the shanty O'Shea. The twins respected their prom- ise to Maggie to the extent of refraining from actual blows. but their language was no less than murderous. Mrs. O'Shea, her faith unshaken by twenty years of Patricks covert scepticism. and with intent to pour: oil upon troubled waters, selected one as the original Martin and an hour later was tricked by the other into choosing him. The result was more like kerosene on a bonfire. ‘Fight ut out, bhoys, fight ut out,’’ counselled the parental O’Shea, himself not unwilling to witness such an unpar- alleled meeting,and fight it out they would but for their promise. By Saturday this promise was worn very thin, holding by a frayed strand or two, so to speak, the fric- tion baving been keyond belief. As it was, one of them sought out Maggie and with tears in his eyes begged permission to ‘pound the head of the liar,’ between whiles strongly asserting his own right to the coveted name of Martin. Maggie re- fused to be party to any head-pounding, and the two remained peaceful perforce. Each morning they turned up together and asserted their respective rights to Mar- tin’s foot-board. Martin's engineer chose profanely but impartially between them, and the unsuccessful candidate retired with bitter language to fire in the one time Pe- ter’s place. It was a week charged with mighty possibilities, but it rolled away without a conflict, and the appointed day arrived. It happened also to be pay-day on that division of the M. & K., and therein lay a pregnant source of trouble for the spurious Martin. When it came to signing the pay-roll one or the other must sign ‘‘Peter’’ if pay was to be forthcoming for both. Moreover the one who was not Mar- tin would assuredly stand discovered il he set his hand to paper and endeavored to sign his brother’s name. The two went to the pay-car together surrounded by a heavily charged atmos- phere. They went not alone, there being a general impression, as expressed by Bar- ney Flynn, that here was where things broke loose. One of the two hastily jostl- ed the other aside and signed, and beyond question stood revealed as the injured party, for his signature was the signature of Martin. Whereupon the second advanc- ed his envelope with a sturdy grin. Martin went temporarily insane. He frantically called the bystanders to witness this open exposure. He shook his fist un- der Peter’s nose, dancing with the joy of it, and his language would have enhanced even the extensive vocabulary of the pa- ternal O’Shea. Gesticulating wildly he circled about the discomfited Peter, whose face, however, exhibited no distress, and directly his right hand came sharply in contact with the pen in Peter’s hand. The inky point tore through the skin and the black flnid spread in a broad mark across his fist. ; For an instant Martin was inclined to take this as no accident. Then the glori- ous possibilities of the chance scratoh in- tervened and he shouted afresh. Peter was indeed delivered over to him. In the pres- ence of many witnesses he, the original and only genuine Martin O'Shea, had been indelibly marked. He judged the matter settled and took himself off to arrange de- tails with Maggie. Wherenpon Peter, supposedly trampled upon and orushed, selected his friend Bar- ney Flynn from the crowd and the two ad- journed to the baggage-room of thestation. Here Peter put an inky pen in Barney’s hand and stietched out his own. ‘‘Barney,’” he said, *‘if ye love me, stab me.” So Barney stabbed him and once more Peter was not. Meanwhile Martin had arrived with two witnesses in the presence of Miss Maggie. It bad been infinitely better if he bad not lost sight of his deceitful brother. With pardonable relish he retailed the circum- stances of Peter’s identification, exhibited his tatooed fist, called upon his witnesses for corroboration, and, this being given,de- manded her acceptance of him,the genuine Martin, a demand Miss Maggie thankfully granted. Whereupon Martin, a happy man, left her to wait the appointed hour. A scant thirty minutes later one of the two knocked again at Maggie's door. It might have been Martin or it might have been Peter, Martinized so to speak. He displayed a lacerated right hand not with- out ostentation. ‘‘Maggie,”’ says he, ‘I’m thinkin’ we better find Father Ryan and have done with it. “For why ?”’ demanded Maggie. ‘I’m fearful of Pete,’ he replied. Maggie glanced at the tatooed hand. ‘‘But aren’t ye marked, darlin’?’’ she asked. ‘‘Sure,”” he assented, dubiously, ‘‘but supposin’ now Pete was to up an’ mark himself. Then where’d we be? I’m think- in’ we better he about it. Pete's that’s desprit ’tis dangerous to wait.’ Maggie considered this aspect of the case. A reopening of the settled controversy with all the harrowing difficulties of the mixed identity was a thing to be avoided at any cost. A moment’s thought decided her. “I’m with you in a second,” said she, and ran for her things. As they started away he might have been observed to glance cautiously about, but Maggie was too nervous to notice. Luckily they found Father Ryan, and the look of the pair no doubt announced their errand. ‘‘So you’ll be marryin’ ?’’ said the priest, with a smile, and being a husy man, went at the matter without delay. They stood before him, the bridegroom plainly nervoas, shifting from foot to foot, the bride now self-possessed and smiling, with a rose in each cheek. ‘‘Do you, Martin, take this womal ?"’ “Do you, Margaret, take this man?’ A little mumbled Latin, and he raised his hands to bless them and pronounce them man and wife. He got no farther, for here the door burst open and swung hack crashing to admit the other brother, wild-eyed and murder- ous, breathing ont sulphurous fumes, eager for blood. The situation was eloquent,and with a soulful yell he jumped for the startled bridegroom. The priest halted in amazement and Maggie stepped between with all the dignity of a new-made wife, which she was not. “What is it, Peter ?”’ she demanded. ‘Peter I’ howled the new-comer, black in the face. ‘‘Peter is it? Then look at me hand.” : Maggie looked and drew back. “I’m Martin, I tell ye,” shouted the raving man. His eye fell upon his brother. “Come outside wit’ me, ye lyin’ thief o’ perdition,’”’ he urged. ‘‘I’ll—’ Father Ryan took a hand. ‘Are you Martin?’ he asked of the new-comer. “I am that,’’ came the answer, fiercely. The priest looked him in the eye and thought he saw truth. He turned quickly upon the hridegroom. ‘Peter,’ he said, quietly, ‘‘let me see your hand.’”’ And Peter, the subtle, with all his cunning, stretched out the mutilat- ed fist. ‘‘That’s enough,’’ announced the priest, with'a smile. *‘‘We’ll have to begin over again, Maggie child. This is Peter, not Martin.”’ ‘““And we aren’t married ?’’ gasped Maggie, suddenly seizing Peter’s arm. *‘Not yet, Maggie,’’ said the priest,smil- ing. Peter’s face grew long with real anx- iety, but he died hard. ‘But yer riverence,’’ he stammered, ‘‘ye married ue. Ye said the words.” “I did not,”’ said Father Ryan. ‘‘Can I marry one man in the name of another?’’ And Peter stood silent. Martin’s smile grew broad. ‘*Ye’ll be marryin’ me now, Maggie dar- lin’ ?”? said he. ‘‘Me that’s no thief an’ liar.”” He shot an exultant glance at Pe- ter and advanced with assurance. ‘‘Sure didn’t I come in the nick o’ time through ? A little more an’ ye’d ’a’ heen cheated for fair. Leave go of her, will ye !”” This last to Peter. Peter was wasting no time in words. His sole demonsfration at this crucial time was a gentle stroking of Mag- gie’s band. Incidentally this displayed Barney Flynn’s work upon his own to the very best advantage. ‘ Now the workings of Maggie’s mind are beyond the gropings of my psychology. There are things which no man can fathom; and if the wise Solomon, not laoking ex- perience, found the ways of a man with a maid too wonderful for him, what shall be said of the ways of a maid with two men ? Also I am at a loss whether to call it con- sistency in her in sticking to the one she had chosen or inconsistency in refusing the one she had thought to choose: for Mag- gie, far from spruning the deceitful Peter, as surely she should have done, clung even tighter to his brawny arm. ‘Mary us again, your reverence,’”’ says she, ‘‘and make a better job of it this time. I'll be keepin’ the one I got first.”’ She smiled up in Peter’s face, and Peter smiled back. Also his arm slipped about her waist. i As for Martin, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows went up. This was the blow he had least expected, and as the meaning filtered through to his consciousness he opened his mouth to express his bursting sentiments. But Maggie interrupted what would doubtless have been a masterpiece. “Martin, ’’ she said, aren’t you going to —Tkiss the bride?” She meant it kindly, but I think that was ‘rubbing it in.” Mechanically he kissed her and uncon- sciously wiped his mouth with his fist, and so departed. As Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea followed a lit- tle later, Maggie lifted Peter’s hand and examined the black mark. “Did you do that just to get me, Peter ?’? she asked. “Who else?’ answered the grinning Peter. Maggie thought a minute. ‘‘Peter darlin’,”’ she said, glancing slyly at him, “I’m thinkin’ twas you I liked best all the time,”’ a remark which un- doubtedly declared her a fitting helpmeet for her deceitful husband.—By Frederick Walworth, in Everybody’s Magazine. To Texas and Back. Mrs. Hurl’s 4.000 Mile Drive tor the Benefit of Her Husband’s Health. Mr. and Mrs. Frank Hurl, says a Bing- hamton correspondent of the New York Sun, have just completed a jonrney which perhaps has not heen matched since the day’s when prairie schooners navigated the conntry east of the Mississippi. They went to Texas aud returned in a truck. The round trip took just a year. Mis. Hurl was the prime mover in the enterprise, as she has been in all the affairs of her family since her husband became ill several years ago. It was for the bene- fit of her husband’s health that the trip was taken. Mr. Hurl was a cartman iu Binghamton until he had to give up work about three years ago because of lung trouble. Mrs. Hurl then took her husband’s place, driv- ing his truck every day. No work was too heavy for her to undertake. She shoveled coal and did heavy moving ‘and similar work. Mr. Hurl’s health continued to grow worse, and about a year ago the doctor ad- vised a change of climate as the only thing that would save his life. Texas was rec- ommended as a good place for him. Mrs. Hurl quickly conceived the plan of driving to Texas, just as many. people from the east traveled to the new western homes in the first half of the last century. This method of travel was decided upon because it was cheap, and also because it was thought that the outdoor life would benefit Mr. Hurl. Mrs. Hurl accordingly fitted the truck with bows, over which she placed a canvas cover, and packed in the wagon a tent and necessary camping articles. On June 10th, 1902, the family,consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Hurl and their little son, started on their journey. Mrs. Hurl drove most of the time and for the first part of the trip did most of the the camp work. The outdoor life was of benefit to Mr. Hurl’s health, aud he was soon able to do more work than he had done for two years. The family traveled leisurely, usually making 20 or 25 miles a day. They camp- ed wherever night overtook them, purchas- ing supplies of the farmeis along the way. Mr. and Mrs. Hurl are fond of masie, laying the mandolin, guitar and cornet. requently while they were traveling through the country districts people would gather at their camp in the evening, and they would give a concers. During the last half of the journey they traveled through country almost as wild as any traversed by the early emigrants. In some places there were no roads, nothing but rough trails, and it was necessary to ford rivers, Across the Indian territory the traveling was particularly bad. But in spite of the hardships, Mrs. Hurl kept pluckily at her task, always thinking of the health of her husband. They ex- pected to reach Texas in about three monthe, bus it was on December 19th, or more than five months from the time they left Binghamton, when they arrived at their journey’s end. The frequentstops of several days at a time made on Mr. Hurl’s account, bad lengthened the time. After reaching Texas they were disap- inted. The climate did not agree with url at all. Although he had improved considerably while on the road, he soon be- gan to fail after reaching the journey’s end. As soon as she saw that life in the south- west would not bring the desired result, Mrs. Hurl decided to return to her home in Binghamton. Again the tedious jour- ney of more than 2,000 miles was begun, and just a year from the time that they left the city they returned to their Bing- bhamton home, Mr. Hurl is still an invalid, although his health is better than when the journey was begun. Rest Oceastonally. . S— In Order to be Happy One Must Know How to Do This. After work comes rest, says the Pitts- burg Dispatch. When they alternate per- fectly a man will enjoy both the work and the rest that follows is. Nature is a just old lady. She seldom gives a man more than he needs. If he elects to live a lazy life she lets his muscles get flabby and his brain go sleepy. She never permits him to long possess a faculty or a nerve or a muscle or a sinew. that he does not use. The proper way to keep your muecles or your brains is to use ’em up and let nature provide you with a fresh supply. Nature is assisted in this work by rest. One may rest sometimes by seeking a change in labor. Labor thus becomes a recreation— re-creation. To live happily in this world it is not enough to know how to work; a man muss also know how to rest. The man who knows only how to work will soon wear out. If he doesn’t wear out immediately his work will suffer in some way. No man can do his best work unless he alternates it with a little play or a little rest. . A man who can’t drop his work from his mind as readily as’ he can drop his tools from his bands had better take a few weeks off to study the rest question. His nerves are not what they should be. If a man wishes to keep his nerve let him avoid nerves. Kept Husband Hid for Seven Years. W. Vance Wilson, 22 years a fugitive from justice for killing his father-in-law, Franklin Odum, in Cannon county, Tenn., is in jail in Nashville for safe keeping. Wilson’s crime started a feud which cost seven lives. Though many of the parties to it are dead his arrest has fanned the em- bers, making county jails unsafe places of confinement. Since his arrest he has been transferred to Murfreesboro, which in turn, has been deemed unsafe, necessitating his. removal to Nashville. : The old factions are lining up again the feeling of the Odums being not in the least abated against Wlison. Cannon county was in the throes of a hot political contest in 1881 when Wilson and Odum wereon opposing sides. An alter- cation ended in Odum’s death and Wilson's arrest. The latter was carried to Mur- freesboro for safe keeping. Friends sur- rounded the jail and released him. Then the law lost sight of him. ’ The last seven years were spent by Wil- son at home, his faithful wife effecting his concealment. Officers obtained a clue with-. in the last few days and arrested him. ~=Subseribe for the WATCHMAN. et Woman Falls Over 300 Feet and Is Saved. Mrs. A. E. Johns of New York Takes Awful Drop In the Yosemite Valley. Finally Lands on a Ledge. For Fifteen Hours Victim Lies Uncon- sclous While Searchers Looked For Her. Rescued After Hard Work. Mrs. A. E. Johns of New York City, who has been staying in the Yosemite valley for afew or aod last Tuesday morning in a steep crevasse hack of Sentinal Dome. Monday Mrs. Johns started from Glacier Point Hotel to walk to Fissures, located some two miles from the hotel, and did not return that night. Early Tuesday morning searching parties started out, one of them making a dis- covery that filled the spectators with hor- ror. Far down the Sentinal fissure, whose crevasses drop in some places for thousands of feet, suspended on a ledge that jutted out from the steep side, the almost lifeless form of Mrs. Johns was found. Provided with ropes and carrying a stretcher a party of eight made its way to the crevasse, where the work was com- menced of trying to extricate Mrs. Johns from her dangerous situation. The party found Mrs John’s position to be critical in the extreme. She had fallen 300 feet from the crevasse walls and had partially broken her fall by catching at juniper bushes and scrub trees as she plunged through their branches. When the rope had been lowered a man named Potter descended to examine the ground and determine the best way to get Mrs. Johns from her perilous position. There, lodged upon a two-foot ledge, with her clothing torn to fragments and her flesh scratched and bruised. lay the wom- an, weak from exhaustion and lack of food and benumbed by the frosty night. With difficulty the rope was tied around her waist and an effort made to help her to the room above. This attempt proved futile because of Mrs. Johns’ weight. By leaning over the abrupt precipice, Potter could discern another ledge 100 feet below, from which was a sheer drop of hundreds of feet. Hedetermined to try this plan of rescue. Giving she order to those above to lower the rope, Mr. Potter swung the inanimate form of Mrs. Johns out from the tiny strip of rock upon which she had braced herself for 15 hours, and by swinging the rope to and fro, Potter was able to lodge the body of Mrs. Johns on a larger ledge. He then descended himself. Calling to one of the mountain guides above. Potter had him drop the rope to the ledge upon which all three were now rest- ing. Then the two picked up Mrs. Johne and together they made their difficult way around dangerors ledges and over yawning precipices beneath, until, almost worn out, they finally reached the rim above once more. Mrs. Johns is suffering much from ner- vous shock, but as no bones were fractur- ed she will recover. Leg that was Cut Off. A remarkably coincidental accident oc- curred, when George McDermott, a boy of Bor 9 years of age, lost a foot, says the New Haven Register. The accident occur. red in this way : James Doyle was driving a heavy load of railroad ties down the street toward the railway station, just as the pupils of the Sacred Heart school were let go for the day. A number of little fel- lows, among them young McDermott, gathered around the wagon, and some of them must bave shifted a tie, for one fell off the wagon striking the McDermott boy and throwing him under the heavy wheels. One of the wheels passed over one of Me- Dermott’s legs cutting it: clean, off above the foot. Doyle, the driver, at once: stopped and tenderly took the little fellow in his arms to the nearest drug store, and setting him Future of the Philippines. ‘‘Lincoln’’ the able and well informed Washington correspondent of our local contemporary, the Transcript, says the Bos- ton Herald, has been utilizing the time be- tween the sessions of Congress in making a trip to the Philippine Islands for the pur- pose of studying conditions there, and en- deavoring to judge of the bearings that these have upon the relations which are in the future to exist between that archipelago and the United States. A letter from him which the Zvanscript has recently publish- ed on the Americanization of the Philip- pines, is an important contribution to the discussion of what these islands are ulti- mately to become. ‘‘Lincoln’’ savs that there is absolutely no hope that Americans can be colonized in the Philippines. Even relatively high pay and living in a state of Oriental ease, go far as having numerous at- tendants is concerned, offer no inducement to the average American to remain there. Those Americans in the customs service of the Philippine Islands—official positions which, in this country, men cling to as long as physical and mental conditions will per- mit—are in a state of continuous rotation. Seven out of eight of all the American offi- cials in the customs service, amounting to several hundred, retire after a service of not over twelve months. Some of them, is is true, find other local occupations, but most of them wish to get back, and do come back to this country. There are very few business opportunities to hold our citizens there, now that the work of supplying the soldiers of the army with various means of spending their money has been greatly cut down by the reduction in the military force that we maintain there. It appears to be ‘‘Lincoln’s’’ opinion that if we were to hold the ielands for the next half century, at the end of that time there would only be a handful of representatives of this coun- try found residing there, these consisting of officials, of men connected with our army and a few persons engaged in busi- ness, and practically all of these would be of the rotating class—that is, going there to take the places of others, with the idea of having others go later on to take their places. Colonization in the way that we have built up settlements by migration all over this country, and even in so seeming- ly inhospitable a region as Alaska, is en- tirely impossible in the Philippines. It cannot by any circumstances be to us other than what India is to the English—that is, a dependency made up of people thorough- ly alien to us, but over whom we assume to exercise the right of political control. To the Electric Chair. Strangler Knapp Found Guilty of Murder in the First Degree. Wretch Has Been in State Prison Two-thirds of His Life, but, Until His Confession, the Five Violent Deaths of Women for Which He Was Responsible Were Not Suspected—A Strang- ler by Instinct. Alfred A. Knapp was convicted of mur- der in the first degree for the murder of his wife, Hannah Goddard Knapp, by Judge Belden’s jury at Hamilton Ohio last week. The verdict was reached at 7:30 o'clock, the jury having been out since 5 o’clock on Wednesday night. To the sur- prise of everybody, there was no recom. mendation of mercy,and Knapp must go to the electric chair. The jury stood ten for conviction without mercy, being unani- mously for guilt. The case will be carried higher on the usual appeal, but it is generally believed that Knapp will now be electrocuted. The five cases to which Knapp confessed February 26th to officials there are as fol- OWS : Emma Littlemann, killed in lumber yard | at Cincinnati June 21st, 1894. + May Eckert, murdered in room on Wal- nut street, Cincinnati, August 1st, 1894. Jennie Knapp, thrown into canal at Liberty street, Cincinnati, August 7th, down with instruction to telephone for the | 1894 nearest doctor, betook himself to the near- est saloon to take something to quiet his nerves. Just as he had the second horn down some one followed from the dru store and informed him that the foot taken off was but an artificial substitute for one lost two or three years ago, when it was taken off on the same street by a trolley car. In the suit against the railway com- pany which followed, McDermott’s father was awarded $6000 damages. Doyle drew a long breath of relief when be realized the exact conditions, but the people living over on the hill marvel at the ccincidence of the real leg and the wooden one being cut off under similar cir- cumstances on the same street within a very few years. Son Born to the Clevelands at Their Buzzard’s Bay Home. New Arrival Makes the Fifth Child and Their Second Son. A son was horn to former President Grover Cleveland and Mrs. Cleveland Sat- urday at their Summer home at Bunzzard’s Bay. The attendants say that all the con- ditions affecting hoth mother and child are satisfactory. The new arrival in the Cleveland household makes the fifth child and second son. The other children are Esther, Marion, Richard Folsom and Ruth. This is the fifth child and second son of Mr. and Mus. Cleveland, who were married in the Blue Room of the White House June 2nd, ¥886, while Mr. Cleveland was President, Mrs. Cleveland was then in her 23rd year and her hushand was 49. Their first child ‘‘Baby Ruth,’’ was born in New York October 3rd, 1891. Since then two other daughters, Esther and Marion, came, and in 1897 their first son was born. He bears the name of Richard Folsom Cleve- land and is a native of Princeton. Es- ther’s birth place was the White House, in 1892, and Marion’s Gray Gables, the Clevelands’ Summer home, in 1894. Mrs. Cleveland is the only woman married in the White House. She and the former President live a quiet life ab Princeton, devoting themselves to the care of their children. Mr. Cleveland who is now in nis 67th year, having been born March 18th, 1837, carries his age well. He much time in the open air and still makes frequent gunning trips. Mrs. Cleveland’s main ambition now appears to make her children happy. She still possesses the charm of face and manner that made her so popular in Washington, but goes little in society. bee ee ——Lee Marshall, one of the Rough Riders with James and Youngers’ wild west show, was killed by an accident which befell him during the performance at DuBois Tues- day of last week. The Courier says there was an exhibition of bucking bronchos and Marshall was one of the riders. The bron- cho he was on began to rear high in the air. After a few leaps it reared up on its hind legs so high that it fell squarely over backwards. The young man had no chance to escape, falling on the under side, and the horse fell full on top of him. The pommell of the saddle struck him in the stomach, ruptured his bowels and caused his death within an hour. Ida Gebhard, strangled at Indianapolis July 1895. Hannah Knapp, murdered at Hamilton € | December 22ad, 1902. ; Regarding the killing of his wife, Han- nah Goddard Knapp, for whose murder he has been convicted, Knapp. said that when he awoke on the morning of the crime he was seized with ‘an impulse to strangle his wife. After accomplishing her death, he got a box and nailed her up. He hauled the body two miles from there and threw the corpse into the Miami River at Linden- wald. The hody was found March 2nd in the river at New Albany. Knapp has spent two-thirds of his life in prison, but the five murders to which he confessed had gone unsuspected until a fuw unguarded words he let drop set the law upon him. For years he had been a strangler, he had admitted, pouncing upon innocent children and choking them to death. He was twice in State’s prison for fiendish assaults upon women. Insanity was the defense made by his relatives and attorneys. All of his victims were strangled. Croup and Kerosene. “I have saved my eldest boy twice by the use of kerosene,’’ says a mother. ‘‘The first time it was out on a ranch in Kansas. He had a fearful attack of membraneous croup. His father was racing over the prairie for a doctor, who could not be got in time. I watched for the boy’s death at every convulsive struggle for breath, when into my mind rushed a saying of my old nurse, ‘We always kill the croup wid kero- sene.’” I had a horror of her advice in my childhood, but then I blessed her as I seiz- ed my lamp, blew out the flame and suc- ceeded in forcing some of the oil into my child’s mouth. In ten minutes the hard- ness of the phlegm was gone, and the child was saved. “‘Once again I used it and with none but good effect, and, while in all cases where I could have medical aid I should prefer to rely upon my dootor, still I feel that arm- ed with kerosene I am equipped to fight croup and win.”’ ‘ Uriah Slack Otto. Died at Kermoor, Clearfield Co., of spinal meningitis, June 27th, 1903, Uriah Slack Otto, aged 6 years, 10 months and a few days. The deceased was the young- est of 7 children born to David and Ellen Otto formerly of Centre Co., and although having but recently become citi- zens of that community, they have made many friends there who sincerely sympa- thize with them in their sad affliction. Uriah was an unusually bright, cheerful little fellow, and had endeared himself to all his young companions. Words of sym- pathy, however sincere, cannot do much to alleviate the sharp pain in times like this, but these heart-gsore parents are sustained by the assurance that at the final gather- ing of the redeemed, they will stand with him in white, and with him sing and wear the crown. i The services were conducted by Revs, Runyon and White, of Woodland, and, the remains tenderly laid in the New Mill- port cemetery.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers