Demi adn Belletonte, Pa., March 20, 1914. omm——— ists TODAY? We shall do so much in the years to come, But what have we done today? We shall give out gold in a princely sum, But what did we give today? We shall lift the heart and dry the tear, We shall plant a hope in the place of fear, We shall speak with words of love and cheer, But what have we done today? We shall be so kind in the after while, But what have we been today? We shall bring to each lonely life a smile, But what have we brought today? We shall give truth and grander birth, And io steadfast faith a deeper worth, We shall feed the hungering souls of earth, But whom have we fed today? — Nixon Waterman. A BAD LI'L DEVIL. “Yes, I know I'm a bad 1i’l devil,” said Roberta equably, twisting her slim length toward the hearth-fire (for the nights were getting cold) and revealing a nymph-like unbroken line from shoulder to ankle. “But—I notice you seem to like it, Jimmy!” Cg She looked up at him with an impish light in her long green eyes. They were most annoying eyes—you never could tell what color they were going to be from one moment to the next. Sometimes they were gray, sometimes they were yellow-green, and sometimes—but that was when she lost her temper—they were a queer icy-blue. When she was teasing Jimmy Thorne, or engaged in some other such pleasant task, they were normal: melting, slanting dull-green things with little imps underneath. : “Yes,” said Jimmy ruefully, looking down from his solid height at Roberta where she lay curled on innumerable cushions, I’m afraid I do like it.” Roberta grinned; a wide mischievous street-boy grin that was sure to appear just as you had decided that she was over-wise and over-mocking for a girl of twenty. “Jimmy,” she went on, “I wouldn’t be as good and responsible and trustworthy as you are for worlds! Where do you sup- pose you'll go when you die, angel-child? I'll tell you—to a solid gold jewelers’ heaven, with a solid gold crown full of family diamonds, and a harp to play for always. And when you ask for Satur- day off to go down and play with a lil devil named Roberta, they won't lef you, Jimmy dear! And you can’t think how lonesome you'll be!” Jimmy laughed. He didn’t exactly want to, but it was hard not to laugh when Roberta intended you should. Jim- my was blond and big and square and undeniably responsible-minded. He look- ed down from his post by the mantel, and wished for the thousandth time that Ro- berta wasn’t so frivolous. He was a born householder; a man cats and children were made for, and to whom hostesses turned automatically when crises loom-.| ed below-stairs. So, naturally, he had. always intended to get married— some day. But the wife his well-ordered mind had arranged for was a stately, amiable, well-poised lady who would entertain his guests charmingly,and have various other accomplishments, solid and light: but never do anything at all unexpected, and especially never lie on the floor. And now here was Roberta, green-eyed, elfish and mocking—and he was in love with Roberta! It was certainly very annoy- ing. He was nevertheless not so much to blame as his conscientious conscience told him. Roberta had dropped suddenly into the middle of a house-party of young people all very much alike; rather ath- letic, rather obvious-minded, rather well- to-do. The other girls were handsome, sunburned, wide-shouldered creatures with nearly as little vivacity as the men, and quite as great a fondness for hunt- ing and comic stories. Most of the crowd had gone to school together. Roberta was a total stranger to everybody, a fourth cousin of the hostess from some remote little Southern town nobody knew anything about. She was a thor- oughbred to the tips of her thin little hands, she rode superbly and seemed to have read a great many things the others had vaguely heard of. And she was like a streak of flashing wildfire in the middie of a garden full of big, handsome holly- hocks and nice substantial trees. was all anybody knew. Now it is well-known that, while you may admire hollyhocks, you want to play with fire. All the men felt a desire to play with Roberta, Jimmy in particular. What Jimmy wanted he generally got, ‘because he helped himself to it with a large simplicity. By the time the first adjustments were over, Jimmy and Ro- berta were paired so irrevocably that no- body ever thought of prying them apart. They fished together, they rode together, they helped each other to find nuts, they picked the hostess’ grapes side by side. Tonight, all alone with her by the li- brary fire, he found himself facing a con- clusion that everyone else, Roberta in- cluded, had faced long before. He was badly in love with Roberta. It was just about the time she laughed at him that the thought struck him, and he sobered down abruptly. He was in love with her. He just stopped himself from pulling out his watch to time the event exactly. It was a habit of his with important things. “Conscience hurt?” asked Roberta, watching him move uneasily. “Jimmy, I wish you would put a nice fat pillow back here, behind me. Thanks. Mr. James Thorne will now deliver his fa- mous lecture on ‘What no truly womanly woman does.’ ” She laughed at him again, openly, as he bent down to adjust the pillow, but the light in her long em- erald eyes was a very affectionate one, and she gave the careful hand a little The whole crowd, except Jimmy and Roberta, had gone off on a ’possum hunt “by the light of the silvery moon.” Ro- berta had refused to go. She was “gun- shy,” as she had explained when she first came, and had proved it effectively one day by fainting dead away when a pistol went off near her. So she never went hunting for anything that had to be shot at. Jimmy, of course, stayed with her. As he watched her lying by the fire he tried to tell himself severely how much he disapproved of twenty-year-olds who wore clinging yellow gowns, and who curled up in balls and were insolent and off-hand and impossible to fathom. He himself wondering, instead, why Rober- ta’s face had such a queer little tragic look when it was at rest, and feeling as That | if, after all, there was something very brave and forlorn and pitiful about her like a poor little child who needed pet- ting and looking after and—yes—father- ing. He spoke out his thought. “Funniest thing,” he said. “I felt as if I ought to be sorry for you a minute ago, Roberta.” Roberta looked at him intently for a moment, her eyes narrowing angrily. Then she laughed. “Perfectly good sympathy wasted. This is a gorgeous fire, and the cushions are just right, and I'm looking lovely to- night. Weep not for me!” “Roberta,” he said again abruptly, “I wish you’d tell me about yourself.” She looked up sideways, elfishly, then reached over and gathered her knees into a close embrace. “Want something to be sorry for me about? Well, get out three of your im- maculate handkerchiefs and lay them ready in a row, and I'll begin. I'm a poor lone orphan, and nobody loves me. No- body loves me!” She glanced at Jimmy out of the corner of her eye as she made this untrue statement, and Jimmy felt himself turn a deep pink. He also felt that this was what Roberta was watching for. He sat down abruptly. “I live in a large black house with crape on the door,” she went on dolefully. “The crape’s been there twenty years—when it wears out we buynew. I live all alone with a Chief Mourner—oh, yes, and a black maid or so, chosen for their color. The shadow of an early tragedy has darkened my whole young life.” Jimmy grinned in spite of himself. “And I suppose if I believe all that, you'll tell me more,” he said. “Might if you were trustworthy,” said Roberta lazily, then pulled herself in- dolently nearer the fire, threw both slen- der, graceful arms above her head, and was silent. Jimmy could not think of anything further to say. He felt that the part of discretion would be to talk rapidly and fluently about the weather, or to rise and go away. The whole scene was too desperately domestic for a man in his frame of mind. This was the way it would be if he married Roberta; only perhaps the slim arm would be thrown across his knees, and her crisp, dull- colored hair would be where he could put his fingers through it— If only she weren’t such a wise, mock- ing, impish, languid little piece of wild- fire! If only she could lose some of the wicked little tricks he loved her for, and stay just as lovable! If only he could even hope that she could ever add the least bit of responsibility or common sense or gentle womanliness to her witch- charm! The Ideal he had cherished through so many earnest-minded years looked at him with decorous reproach over Rober- ta’s careless, extravagantly coiffed little head. If only!— He was still staring straight before him when Roberta rose swiftly and slip- ped back of him. He felt her hands drop on his shoulders—such thin, hot little hands! He sat very still. Roberta had never touched him affectionately before. “I haven’t always been nice, have I, Jimmy?’’ she said softly from behind him. “But it hasn’t been because I haven't liked you—only because—well, because I'm a i'l devil, I suppose. I didn’t think there were such good people in ‘the world—real people, I mean. You're very real and good and hold-on-to-able. I don’t think you quite know how much it is to be real like that. I’m not real, you know—imps and witches and 1i’l devils never are. But sometimes they’re—grateful. Good-night, Jimmy.” He felt her soft, smooth cheek touch his for a moment, as burning hot as her hands had been. By the time he had risen and turned she was gone. He could hear her light footsteps flying up the staircase. He sat down again in a daze. He could feel the touch of the hands on his shoulders still asif they were physically there, and the soft, poignant voice, so unlike Roberta’s, echoed in his ears. He sat without mov- ing for three hours longer, sat there by the fire till the servants came in to put the lights out, at an early hour of the morning. The natural result was that when he did get to sleep he never woke till they rang the first gong for luncheon. “Where’s Roberta?” he asked the table- ful blankly. A chorus answered. “We thought she’d carried you up the chimney, too, old man.” "Vanished away like the dews of morn- ing!” “Roberta’s gone.” “Gone!” said Jimmy—the last speaker was the hostess. “She didn’t say any- thing about going last night.” “She got a special just after dinner last evening, she said,” the hostess explained. “lI thought she must have told you, Jimmy. She didn’t have any time to say any good-bys this morning, but she left all sorts of messages for everybody. Her grandmother wanted her.” “Oh, come!” said one of the men, “Don’t tell us that child had a grand- mother or was anything as useful as wanted.” They went on talking and wondering and discussing, but Jimmy ate in silence, thinking hard. He was not at all polite to himself in his mind. He had stay’d in a chair and let her go away, and never lifted a finger! That vision of the decorous Ideal Wife and Mother which had kept his mouth shut and his mind irresolute should have risen up to comfort him, about here, but for some reason it did not. The fact was that there was no room in his mind for any thoughts not of Roberta. He wanted her, witch, imp, hoyden, just as she was. He wanted her all day. He found him- self wanting her quite as badly the next day, too. The third day he packed with deliberation, got her address from her cousin, and took a train to the remote lit- tle town where she was. The trains would have seemed slow even to a man not in love. The stage that took him to Roberta’s place was even slower than the trains, a thing he had not considered possible—but he finally got there, in the late afternoon. It was a big, beautiful old house, so far back in the grounds that you could scarcely see it from the road. The whole place was handsome and well kept up. Somebody with a watchful mind and an eye for landscape gardening was evi- dently responsible for it. Jimmy ap- proved subconsciously as he hurried through the grounds and up the steps. Then his heart stood still. The house was obviously lived in, for he could see a colored maid moving about back of a half-open window on the floor above, But otherwise it looked like a house of mourning. It was not nearly sunset, but ev shutter was bowed. He remembered Roberta’s non- sense, so few nights before in the fire- light—suppose it should have turned to bitter earnest, and the darkened house be—for her! | motor-car on a | “Is—is anyone dead?” he asked hur- | | riedly of the staid old black man who answered the door. ; “’Taint nobody dead, dis vear,” said the old negro with dignity. “Ole Miss she has huh preferences fo’ havin’ it dis way. Those blinds been that way ever since Mr. Robert die.” Jimmy wasted no time asking any news of “Mr. Robert.” A relative, doubt- less—but perfectly welcome to be dead as long as Roberta wasn’t! “I want to see Miss Roberta; is she here?” “Yes-sah —she’s in de parlor with—" Jimmy found himself in the parlor without any particular remembrance of the transit. It was a long, dark old room, heavily and handsomely furnished | in an old-fashioned way. He could see | very little more at first, coming in out of the light. Then he made out, at one end of the room, sitting in a high chair, a very little, very still old lady in long black draperies. She was neither talking nor sewing--merely sitting still,staring ahead. But by her side, black-clad and pallid, too, sat—the one human-looking thing in the place—Roberta, sewing. Itall looked theatrical, a stage effect—the two black figures, immovable in the dusky room. “Roberta!” he said, hurrying to her. His welcome was not encouraging. “What do you want?” asked Roberta in a voice like ice, without movement, or other greeting of any kind. Jimmy had gone through a variety of emotions in the last forty-eight hours, and, not being used to emotions, was a little upset. The result was the abso- lute and tactless truth. “I want you,” said Jimmy flatly. Roberta rose and looked at him with ice-blue, angry eyes. “Indeed?” she said. “You have merely to ask, of course!” “Roberta, my dear!” said the old lady in the chair in a tired, uninterested voice, “Will you not introduce this gentleman to me?” “This gentleman is a Mr. Thorne, grandmother,” said Roberta in a tone that was nearly as quiet and formal as the old lady’s own. “I met him at Cousin Janet's.” The grandmother rose and bowed, tak- ing a stiff step toward him. “This is a house of mourning, sir,” she said, in a thin, wavering old voice. “You are wel- come, but we cannot give you as merry a time as if matters were otherwise. My son has died under very tragic circum- stances—I cannot trouble a stranger with particulars. Roberta, my dear—" She stopped, as if she was confused. “It’s all right; grandmother,” said Ro- berta soothingly. “I’ll explain to Mr. Thorne. Sit down again.” She helped the old lady back to her chair with incredible gentleness and skill. Then she’ turned to Jimmy. “Come outside on the veranda,” she said briefly, leading the way. She look- ed ten years older in the long black gown, with her hair braided closely around her head, and her eyes were still icy with anger. “How did you dare to come here?” she demanded, shutting the hall door and facing him. “You came to see, I suppose—you came to be amused by grandmother, and hear the whole inter- esting story.” Jimmy had not the least idea what she was angry about, nor what the whole thing meant, but he knew that it would be a good idea to apologize. “lI didn’t come to see anything but you,” he said. “And I'm awfully sorry if I've done anything Ishouldn’t. But your cousin gave me your address, and I came to seeyou—" r “I didn’t want you at all,” said Roberta, still unappeased. “Roberta,—Roberta dear, what is it all about?” asked Jimmy, too frightened about her to be frightened by anything she could say. “Why are you dressed in this terrible mourning, and what are you angry at, and who died? And what is anyone thinking of to let you stay in this dreadful vault, anyway? Why, you must have been here three days!” “I've been here twenty years,” said Roberta stonily. “I was born here. . It is not your affair in the least. Jimmy, please pick up that suit case and go away from here.” “But what is it all?” asked Jimmy again. “Who died, and why are you in mourning? It’s got to be my affair—it’s | about you!” “I suppose I had better tell you—it will be a more accurate version than you would get from the people in the village, though it may not be as exciting—it’s been their pet bit of gossip for a genera- tion. Nothing much happens around here, you see,” said Roberta bitterly, “and it’s still a pleasure to them to discuss us. It was my father that died. You heard my grandmother say so. He—shot him- self before I was born. That's why I faint when guns go off. It killed my mother—she died when I was a month old—and it made grandmother the way she’s been ever since, She thinks it all just happened, and the blinds have been shut and I’ve worn mourning always. “Do you wonder that when Cousin Janet happened to remember me, and sent me some money for a birthday pres- ent, I used every scrap of it in making the very brightest, most daring things I could find in the fashion-books? Do you wonder I was mad with excitement and deviltry when she gave me my very first chance in all my life to be with people who didn’t krow, and couldn’t say, ‘Oh, that poor child!’ every time they saw me in my black clothes? Do you wonder I'd rather be struck in the face than pitied or sympathized with? I made up my mind when she asked me to that house- party that if I was different from the rest I'd make them think I liked being dif- ferent! I've managed things here for years—do you wonder I tried to fool you all into thinking I didn’t know anything, like real girls who haven't had to be grown-up all their lives? “I wish you'd staid with your house- party, where you belong, Jimmy Thorne —you’re about as appropriate a figure in tragedy, even a twenty-year-old one, as a Greek vase. .. Ididn’t want anyone to come here and pity me! I thought—I thought I'd never see you again, and you'd always think I was hap- py and insolent and—and—" In spite of her gallant effort to keep voice and lips steady, they shook at last, and the storm broke. Roberta flung her- self face down in a hammock, her slender shoulders heaving. Jimmy looked at her, and his heart ached with an almost unendurable pity. While he had been going his pleasant, unshaken, prosperous way, this poor child had been enduring her unnatural life in this dreadful house of Lotpetual mourning; and enduring, too, that most cruel of all things to the young, that greedy, careless public pity that is a very little part sympathy and a great deal gloating excitement over a dramatic hap- pening. What were all his complacent Editor of the Democratic Walchman: The knowledge obtained by a physically weak boy, who is now past seven- | Let People Know. Trade Evolution Can’t Ob. | tain Commercially Roasted Barley, Por- | ter, Stout and Beer. The Home Equip- ments Reduce Infirmities and Cost of Liv- ing ty-five years of age, by meditation and observance on what are the most whole- some foods and drinks and solids, to obtain the greatest nourishment and pro- duce stamina, muscle, development and the courage to dare to do right for humani- ty’s sake, un which he found many impediments, such as local option of those you shall not obtain here, what you have found in practice to be a necessity of your life; and the combine that has caused an evolution of trade for selfish gain we have produced a spurious and injurious production of the liquor trade, etc, such as roasted barley and hop brew, changed to a mash of barley to germinate on the floor, and kiln bake to any required wants, and other procedures of you know not what—because of government immunity, to make porter, stout, beer and ale out of anything and collect a revenue thereon. There being no restraint on spurious brews they are apparently driven off the American market by the brand of roasted barley, porter, brown stout and its coloring to make straight barley beer and ale, darkened by wholesome coloring of roast barley, therefore our markets and knowledge are inadequate to cure speedi- ly bronchitis, tuberculosis, nervousness, etc., and thus avert the downward trend of American stamina. The increased price on the most favorable brands is from $16.00 to $20.00 per 100 pints and no tariff change, and my recent attack of violent bronchitis and successful cure by the provide in “gentlemen’s cellar”— American wines, imported stout, lamb and beef broth, syrup of prunes and crisp toast in liquids. It inspires me to keep on going; be in the open for public better- ment. “So let your light shine.” Joy for the farmer, and everywhere to willing, able, honorable labor to reduce the cost of living. Behold the illustrated “Kit” and read its use for mak- ing wholesome drink from roasted barley and hops, and wine from cultivated grapes and wild grapes with huckleberries, by the following procedure: For por- ter brew stout use three pounds of barley per gallon of complete brew intended, have two large black pans, spread barley three layers thick, have hot oven to make them crack and roast to a dark brown uniformly, by changing pans from bottom to top of oven, and grind, to crack the grain. (The one illustrated is too small, it wears out by grinding 40 pounds, needing duplicate grinder.) Wash boiler or pot holding ten gallons, put on stove two-thirds full of clear soft-water preferable, at temperature of 135 degrees Fahrenheit; place two gallons of roast- ed crushed barley therein, pour boiling water thereon and keep temperature just below boiling point for one-half hour; then empty in top tub as illustrated, with inch rod in faucet that projecis two inches through bottom of tub, and when the mash is settled draw off clear liquid into lower tub having two faucets in cylindrical part, one at level of bottom and one 1} inches above. For barley mash squeeze the juice out by illustrated hopper screw press and the juice of barley, place in lower tub and keep on giving mash until obtain- ing half more liquid in lower tub than will fill the barrel, for the allowance of evaporation in the barrel of the liquid boiler fill and in one-half hour or more boil- ing down to % of fill; place therein % lb. native hops and pour slightly boiling wa- ter thereon, boil the whole one-half hour more and empty into upper tub, when taking out from lower tub for your second boil empty in mare storage, whereby to clean the lower tub, then empty the clear liquid from upper tub that has had readjustment of faucet to one-half inch through bottom, and press out juice from hops. When you don’t want barley for stock food a most simple and quick way would be a one hour boil of two gallons of crushed barley, add one-third pound of native hops and pour boiling water thereon, to fill of boiler, and then empty in top tub for clear liquid to lower tub and put the mash through hopper press and specially boil the liquid, repeating the boil to the amount required to fill the bar" rel. When cold, for one-half day draw off clear liquid in pail and dissolve in ra- tio of three-fourths pound of sugar per gallon. Prior to the same mixture, have on hand and trial an adjustment of a bent lead pipe through the bung with three- fourth inch hole and glass jar, whereby to connect from barrel to water in jar without touching the liquid brew, then use granulated sugar in the mix of fill speedily and close up per illustration of gaseus going off without letting air in bar- rel. In three weeks disband the pipe and close up barrel tight, or draw off to bot- tle in half pints or quarts, and wire cork, and in three months the brew will be fit to use, containing little alcohol; we think not exceeding three per cent; that is allowable commercially free from tax. It should be at the rate of five per cent. for humanity’s sake, to reduce the cost of living, premature death and American stamina decline. To make wholesome wine from cultivated or wild grapes, and huckleber- ries, mash them in a tub or jar, lifting up from bottom to top every day for four days, cover with cloth and board thereon and place in temperature of about 70 degrees for fermentation of fruit, then put through hopper screw press into up- per tub, having faucet projecting only one-half inch through the bottom, with rod therein to be withdrawn when ready for second settling, add granulated sugar, free from blue, in ratio of 13 pounds per gallon of the whole, including any water used. When crushing wild grapes have on hand 2 pounds of sugar dissolved in } gallon of soft, clear water to the gallon of this very valuable wine making a mix- ture with huckleberry juice of previous making, and barrel or jug the same to four-fifths full, thereby to keep the lead pipe illustrated, from touching the wine Put shoemaker’s wax around this tub bung so that it will be perfectly air tight. You can allow this to remain in the jug or barrel until about December then rack it off as carefully as possible from the sediment, into a clean jug. Let that re- main until next spring and then rack it off clear again into clean vessels, and in the course of two or three years your wine will be good. In my condition—I must have wine at meal time, to live and circumstan- ces at times forces me to use for three months the home-made wine. For eigh teen years I have not partaken of whiskey, brandy, gin, beer, tobacco or coffee. Lamar, Pa. JAMES WOLFENDEN. plans for the kind of woman he should marry, compared with the reality of what poor brave little mocking Roberta was? Responsibility? She had managed house and estate since she was a child. Gentle- ness and womanliness? He had seen her dealings with the crazed old woman who had made her life what it was. Poise— self-control—breeding? She had held her- self controlled and brave and even gay in an atmosphere that would have crush- ed or ruinad nine girls out of ten. He bent over her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Roberta—"” he began, and his voice broke. “You're sorry for me!’’ sobbed Rober- ta. “You're—sorry for me!” Then Jimmy Thorne rose to the occa- sion and told the best lie of his life. “Sorry for you?” he said, “Not a bit! I love you very much, and I admire you— you're ever so much cleverer than most people—but I don’t pity you ia the least. As for keeping house, I think it’s good for you. You've got to spend the rest of our je keeping house for me, you ow ” Roberta sat up and brushed off the tears. “You certainly ought to pity me!” she said scornfully. She seemed to him the most piteous, lovable little thing he had ever seen, sit- ting there and mocking him through her tears. He knelt impulsively down beside per and folded both arms close round ner. “There, there, dear,” he said soothing- ly. “You aren't ever going to have any- thing to bother you again as long as you live. We're going up to town tonight and get married, and tomorrow we'll pick out a trustworthy elderly woman with a taste for grief, and send her to look after your grandmother. The housekeeper can take care of her till tomorrow. Can you get your trunk packed for the six-seven, do you think?” She twisted herself out of this new and amazing Jimmy’s arms and surveyed him. He looked at her apprehensively. Had he made the wrong move, and—no ney thought-ewhat would Roberta do next She laid her hands very lightly and | lovingly on his, and for a moment there was a new mist of tears over her green, long eyes as they looked at him. “There’s nobody on earth like you,” she said softly. Then the innate devil- try that, whether he knew it or not, was what Jimmy loved her for, flamed into her face. She sprang up. “I can pack in ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she passed in at the door. “And— Jimmy—I never dreamed you’d get here as soon as this. I'd timed you for about three tomorrow!”—By Margaret Wid- demer. { State Leaders Plan Active Campaign i Before Next Election. i | HARRISBURG, MARCH 11.—Division lead- { ers and county chairmen of the Woman : Suffrage party at their conference here | today decided that after April 21 they will work actively as an organiza- | tion and as individuals to secure the de- | feat of the candidates for the State Sen- { ate and the House who refuse to support the referendum bill on woman suffrage. Miss Hannah J. Patterson, chairman of fhe party, read letters from a number of the candidates, all of whom supported the woman suffrage measure, but since so many reported candidates have not yet decided whether or not they will en- ter the field, we cannot now say that those who have failed to reply to our in- quiry are opposed to us. If it should be that one or two of these candidates was opposed to woman suffrage itself an op- HANNAH J. PATTERSON, chairman. portunity would - be presented to the Woman Suffrage party to show its strength. Nothing would prove to the political parties the expediency of includ- ing in their platforms an indorsement of woman suffrage itself as much as a suc- cessful fight against a candidate for such an important office as that of Governor of the State or that of United States Senator. The party workers are now going over the records of members of the last As- sembly who are candidates this year and their records on woman suffrage, child labor, workingmen’s compensation and about a score of other bills will be pub- lished. ie Resolutions pledging the women to re- newed activity during the next 18 months were adopted and a declaration. of prin- ciples pledging the party to the fask of securing political freedom of women was approved. Look Ahead. It’s only a trifle now, that little touch of stomach trouble. But look ahead. Every dangerous disease begins in a trifle, just as the destructive avalanche begins, perhaps, in a rolling pebble. When the first symptoms of a disordered or dis- eased stomach appear begin to use Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery. The perfect control exercised by this remedy over the stomach and other organs of digestion and nutrition makes a speedy cure certain. It will cure in extreme cases. Butit cures quickest when the disease is taken at the start. Take no pill which reduces you to pill slavery. Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets do not beget the pill habit. They cure con- stipation, and its almost countless conse- quences. Pumping It Out Costs a Big Pile of Money Every Year. It costs quite a bit of. money to pump 1,000,000,000 tons of water out of the anthracite mines of Pennsylvania every year, but it must be dome or there could be no mines. In times past, col- lieries were abandoned because of in- ability to cope with the water flowing into them, but more and more pumps, some of them costing $30,000 and $40,- 000 each, have been installed, and the enormous amount of work they do is all that enablesethe operators to keep open the mines. The calculation as to the amount of water handled in this way is simple. The output of the mines is a little less than 70,000,000 tons a year. The av- erage amount of water.pumped-is about fifteen tons for every ton of.coslipro- duced. The cost of this is one of the most important elements in the in- creased cost of mining. As the richer and more accessible veins have been exhausted, shafts have been sunk deeper and the volume of water to be pumped has increased rapidly. The pipes, of which there are thou- sands of miles in the mines, wear out quickly because the sulphur in the mine water eats into the.iron like'an acid. This destructive quality prohib- its the use of the water in the boilers that generate steam at the collieries, and the result is that, when there is a drought, the companies often are oblig- cars from many miles away—New York Post. ed to haul water to the mines in tank .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers