EsTAUMSIIISD, ISBB. Cameron County Press HENRY H. MULLIN, Editor and Publisher. PUBLISHED KYKKY Till iISDAV TCOMMON ERROR. The Same Mistaks is Made by flany Emporium People. It's a common errror To plaster the aching back, To rub with liniments rheumatic joints. When t'ne trouble comes from the kidneys. Doan's Kidney Pills cure all kidney ills. And are endorsed by Emporium citi zens. Mrs. Anna Ziiumet, W. Fourth St., Emporium. Pa., says:"l suffered from kidney trouble for years und though I ir mingham, Ala. These tablets are for sale at Taggart's. The Best on Earth. Protection agai ist Accidents and Sickness is an absolute necessity. It costs but $5 00 a year for $15.00 weekly benefits, and $2,000 death claim. The only policy paying such liberal bene tits. This Company also writes policies for SIO.OO ami $25.00 per year. Liberal to agents, by the Merman Commercial Accident Co., PhiPa, Pa. W. R. Sizer, Gen'l Agent, Sizerville, Pa. C. R Husted of Emporium, is a representative of the Company. Drop him a postal—He will do the balance. In case of sudden injury this Company provides temporary re lief to the amount of $2-5.00. if notified by wire of an accident. 17-ly. Cedar Shingles $4.50 perjthousand at C. B. Howard & Co's. For Rent. A good house, located on West Creek Road, west of Emporium Will givejwork for rent. 13-tf. E. J. ROGERS. REDUCED RATES TO GETTYSBURG, Dedication Regular Army Monument. On Monday May 31, Memorial Day, tlie monu ment to the regular army engaged in the battle of Gettysburg will be dedicated on the Battlefield by the United States Government. President Taft will participate in the ceremonies. Excursion tickets to Gettysburg will be sold by the Pennsylvania Railroad from all principal stations May 27 to 31, good to return until June :i, inclusive, at reduced rates. 317-14-2t. Latest Popular Music. Miss May Gould, teacher of piano forte has received a full line of the lat est and most popular sheet music. All the popular airs. Popular and class ical music. Prices reasonable. 44-tf. Living Rooms for Rent. Convenient suite of living rooms, over our store, for rent. Apply to MRS. E. S. COPPERSMITH. Deer Brand Tomatoes, 3 cans lor 25c, at C. B. Howard & Co's. | Aunt Manila's Memorial Day | .—, — IF you ain't never had no Aunt Martha in your family, ma says that you have missed one of the best things that ever happened in tbis world. She is ma's oldest old maid sister. Well, now, you needn't turn up your nose! She ain't one of them sour, lean, cranky, weazened, vinegary dispositioned, spit curl, spit ' fire, oilcloth fading critters—not by a ; long shot! She's short, stout, white j and carries a smile that warms and lights a hull room, just as when father | lays a lire in the llreplace. Some folks say that the reason she | ain't married is because she ain't nev jer had no chance. Ma says 'tain't so. ! For live years Uncle Silas' hired man, | Henry Peters, kept company with her, j ma says, and come to see her every Wednesday and Saturday night right "I'LII OO IN TOUR FLACK.' 1 through corn plantin', hayin*, harvest in' and thrashin', no matter how busy. I have beard ma tell the story about Ilenry Peters a good many times. Henry lived alone In a little house on Uncle Silas' farm, which jines ours— that is, Henry roomed there. Uncle's house was pretty small for the growin' family, so the hired man slept there. So did extra help durin' hayin', har vestin' and thrashin'. It is a little two room affair. Aunt Martha lives there all alone now ex cept when she is stayln' with some of the relatives, helpin* care for the sick, layin' out the dead or something like that. And it keeps her pretty busy, because both pa and ma have a grist of brothers and sisters livln' in these parts. Well, durin' the war ma says pa was drafted. It didn't seem as if he could be spared. Ma had been sick | all winter and had run up an awful i doctor's bill. The crops had been | mighty poor the season before, almost | a failure. There wasn't enough sold | from the farm to keep us going and I pay the interest on the mortgage, i There was no money to pay for a ; substitute, and things did look blue. Through the orchard one mornin', scythe on shoulder, come Henry Pe ters, who had learned of the trouble. Pa was out by the pigpen when Hen ry walked up to him, placed his hand l on pa's shoulder and said: "Uncle Hi ram"—he always called pa that, they ; say—"l'll go iu your place. I am a single man, without any ties. Xo one cares for me, and there is none dc pendin' on me as there is on you." Pa bursts into tears and says, "Ilen , ry, I have no money to pay you." I "Drat the money," says Henry, 1 liangin' up his scythe in the apple tree by the pump. I Henry went to the county scat and i 'listed and went to war. Ma says | there was a tearful partin' between I Aunt Martha and Henry, she guessed, | because Martha's eyes was most ! swelled shut next day, but her smile J was still there. ! Good news was heard from Henry. ' He was brave and got to be second i lieutenant till at some big battle, the j name of which I forget, he was | among the missin'. From that day to | this nothin' more has been heard I from Henry Peters. Aunt Martha was | clean heartbroken, ma says, but she I went about her work, carin' for the ! sick and layin' out the dead, as usual. 1 Aunt Martha organized a society, ma I says, to send lint bandages, canned j fruits and jellies to the sick and I wounded in the hospitals and worked ! on that all the time she could spare from family matters. Henry Peters' scythe hangs out in the apple tree right where he left it when he went to war. Pa said none of us boys should tech it, and we never have. The blade Is terrible rusty— sp'lled, I guess—but nobody has ever dared take it down. Aunt Martha never goes to Memo rial day down at the Forks, and I often wondered why. All the rest of us do, rain or shine. I didn't think I could go this year, because I was just over the mumps and it was a coollsh day, with a raw wind. Just over the hill from our house, at Its foot, runs the road to the West Branch cemetery, and, while it Is out of sight of the house, you can hear the band as it ! marches by, but you can't see any j thing. It is quite a ways round by the j road, but cross lots it ain't far. Ma left her blanket shawl and my pea jacket lyln' on the sofa in the slt | tin' room, lntendin' to take them along | to use If we got cold, and In the ex- I citement of gettln' started forgot 'em. i "Georgie," she says to me—ma always 1 calls me Georgie when she wants me ! to do anything—"can't you run home and get our wraps that I laid out on i the sofa?" I hated to. The procession was just formin' for the cemetery—the CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, MAY 27, 1909. hand ahead, next the orator of tlie da* find the preachers of the town in car riages, then flic flower wagon, with Hit little girls dressed in red, white and blue; next the Grand Army post, Wo man's Belief corps, followed by eiti yens in carriages and on foot. I bustled along home, and when git tin' near the house I thought I would steal in and see what Aunt Martha was doin' and mebbe I would find out why she don't ever goto Memorial day. The doors was all open. I slipped into the sittin' room and found the things as ma said. Then I went into the buttery by the window and lis tened and watched. I heard Aunt Martha com In' down stairs. Instead of belli' dressed 111 white, as usual, she had on a dress as black as uight and wore Aunt Pa tience's bonnet and veil that she got when Uncle Wall was killed on the log slide up Kittle creek. The band was marehln' along the road to the graveyard. I could hear the dirge, and Aunt Martha walked with slow step, keepin' time to the sad music, around the house, out to the pump, where hung the scythe that Henry Peters hitched up there before lie went to war. There Aunt Martha stopped. She had a book in her hand, and I heard her read somethin' from it. It is somebody's oration; can't re member the exact words, but it is something like this: "We cannot con centrate; we cannot desslcate this hol lowed ground." It's a noble piece. I have heard it read on many a Memo rial day by •some lawyer at the Forks durin' the exercise. It winds up. "A government from the people, with the people, to the people, shall not perish from off this 'ere earth." After this I heard Aunt Martha say in', "We will now pet-cede to decorate the graves of our fallen heroes." And she stepped up and hung a wreath of everlastin' flowers on that old scythe snath. Then she dropped 011 her knees, bowed her head, clasped her hands as if she was makin' a prayer to God. I could look 110 longer and took my sneak. I felt mean to think I spied on her, but now I knew why Aunt Mar tha never went to Memorial day. I went back to the cemetery, and ma was plad to get her wrap. After drlv in' all around through the graveyard and lookin' at the decorations we went to the ball game and saw the Catliu Hollow Daisy Cutters mow down the Stony Fork Giants by a score of 34 to 20. We got awful cold goin' home, but when we all piled out there was a big fire In the elevated oven kitchen stove, the table was spread with a white cloth and a dandy supper ready, thanks to Aunt Martha—eggs "boiled just three and one-half minutes in the shell and sure the water's boilin'," says she; potatoes cut up fine; cooked in ham grease and then cream poured over them, which she knows so well how to fix; fresh apple sauce, warm biscuit, honey, spiced peaches and a one egg cake as light as a feather. Aunt Martha In her white dress, warmln' us all with her smile, bus tlin* about, helpin' us kids off with our things and givin' us several help ill's of our favorite dishes. After supper I teased ma to walk out to the pasture with me and see some now lambs that had come while we were gone to Memorial day, and then while walkln' back I told her what I saw about Aunt Martha. She just broke down and cried and said she had never knew such love and de- A WBEATU OF EVEIiLASTING FLOWEItS. votion. She made me promise not to tell, and I uever have, nobody but you. But you won't give me away, will you? I have been thlnkln' what ma said. For the life of me 1 can't see why Aunt Martha's dressin' up iu Aunt Pa tience's -widder's weeds and goin' out to the pump and hangln' a wreath of everlastin' flowers on Henry Peters' rusty old scythe that has hung there for forty years has anything to do with love and devotion. Can you? A Story of Grant. General Fred Grant's favorite story of ills father is one that very aptly illustrates that great soldier's faculty of sizing up a situation in a few words. "We had au old coachman," he says, "who was not tlie brightest man iu the world, but what he did not know about a horse was not worth knowing. Moth er used to call on him to do all sorts of things that were not in his line, and old John, of course, was always making mistakes to annoy her. Once she sent him to tlie bank to do some business, and he did it wrong. She told father about it and said: "'I guess you'll have 1> I-t John go. He never d "M as lie s' «::ll lliyrhPi.',' I want hi 1.1 i j i!o.' '"Well, mother.' said my f.ither. '!." John could do everything you w.ini him to do, and do it right, he would not have to bo our coachman.*'"—Philadel phia Ledger. A Relic of John Brown IN n very dilapidated condition—in the midst of the accumulation of old casting boxes and scrap lum ber in the yard of the Emery company's coppc-r smithy on Railroad row, Springfield, Mass., now given over to the tender care <»f rats and pigeon.!, with an occasional tramp drifting in as tin extra guest-stands the identical warehouse used by John Brown and his sons, John junior and Jason, be tween the years 1547 and 1851. John Brown had lived in Massachu setts before. lie studied to be a min ister in the family of IJev. Moses Iltl lock of Plainfield just before he readi ed his majority in the winter of 181!>. At that time he was described as "rather tall, sedate, dignified," and lit: was sent back to his father's tanyard in less than a year because of Inflam mation of the eyes. In the warehouse John Brown work ed daily with his men, some white and some colored, sorting, classing and transshipping wool. There (IKIS) Fred erick Douglass called upon him and "was surprised to find him in such a small wooden house on a hack slreet." In that same year Brown, elated at ids successful sales, "plunged'' to the extent of going to Europe to interview English buyers. It is related that he was phenomenally astute in grading wool by the sense of touch. A half dozen Englishmen met the Yankee farmer and, having heard of his keen ness In tills particular, resolved to put it to the test. He was led into a dark room In which three small sample packets were lying. Brown instantly detected which was Saxony, which was from Ohio, but at the third lie hesitated a moment. Turning to the jokers, he said, "If you have any sau sage machines in England that will work up dog's hair, put this 111 it!" The laugh was on his companions, for they had indeed used the shearings from a poodle to fool him. Brown greatly endeared himself to the blacks. In his Springfield ware house he formed a lodge of "Spring field Gileadites," primarily aimed to protect the negroes from gathering trouble with the whites. Forty-four members joined, Beverly C. Downing heading the list. He would have them come to the downstairs, low ceilinged office an hour before work began In the morning, and they were there far into the night after work was over. The late Thomas Thomas, long a res taurateur In Springfield, was engaged at the very first of Brown's career in JOHN BROWN'S WAREHOUSE. that city as a porter. lie said that when he asked Brown how early in the morning he should come to work the reply was, "We usually begin work at 7, but come earlier, for I want to talk with you." He declared that Brown was wont to talk by the hour with white or black sympathizers. It made little difference how press ing the business; the enthusiast was al ways ready to call a halt when the op portunity to exploit his views present ed itself. He preferred to do most of the talking and appreciated a good lis tener. In the collated correspondence of Brown there are two later items hav ing a distinct bearing upon tills wool working Springfield era. On the copy of Brown's letter to his son John, as given in Dr. G. W. Brown's book, ap pear these words apropos to the la ther's elation at making a business connection with Colonel Perkins (Jan. 11, 1844): "This, I think, will be considered no mean alliance for the poor bankrupt and his family in a manner so unex pected. I most certainly hope we will have the wisdom given us to make the most of It." In the letter quoted in Frank B. San born's book, under date of April Hi. 1858, when lie was rapidly nearlng hi • self imposed martyrdom, addressing "dear wife and children, every one." Brown speaks of"the liabilities I In curred while connected with Mr. Per kins" and further says. "Most of y-'i know well I gave up all I had to Per kins while with him." It was somewhat startling to sec re cently, after almost sixty years lu passed. on the great billboard whi ' now completely hides this dilapidate' tumbledown wool storage warelicu • • from passers en the railroad, the lurid advertisement; of a traveling "I"i <■! Tom's Cabin" e-'mprny, with fw!:i< slaves being i ha e-l b" h'fx d'> -r •' when less than j'-t—c o • ' ■' bane of tile !':l ",!C I :MU- l!|.' same ceuntlng f' ■ «• 'lich t-d ' • ' In f'cry hair and ; times an attitude of pro meditat ion. "Hair cut. sir?" "Please!" The barber cuts his hair. "Like a shampooV" "I'm pleas*;!" lie gets the shampoo. "Shave you, Kir':" "Urn—yes!" One shave. "Massage?" He nods assent and consequently is massaged. The barber removes the towel; the professor arise and mechanically takes the proffered check. "What's this?" "Tour check, sir." "My check ?" "Certainly, sir—hair cut, shampoo, shave and massage." The professor rubs his hand over face and head. "Did I get all that?" "Surely, sir." "It's queer—very queer -most ex traordinarily queer! A most wonder ful example of philosophical phenom ena !" "What's queer?" asks the barber in dismay. "Why, the working of the human mind. What I came in for was to get my razor honed."—Puck. What Constitutes Baseball? The essential apparatus of baseball is simple, and inexpensive. All that is required is a field, a stick, the ball it self and police protection for the um pire. One advantage of the game as played professionally is that those sit ting in the grand stand can play the game a great deal better than Ilie eighteen men 011 the diamond. It is also true that any one of the specta tors, even though perched on a tele phone pole across the street or looking through a knothole In the fence be yond right field, can judge of the pitch er's skill or the runner's fleetness much more Intellicrently than the ar biter who stands behind the battery. The great merit of the game is that the people can participate in it. It Is not like bridge whist. Its science Is not synonymous with silence. The thing to do Is to take off your coat and root as long and as loudly as you can, even if you don't know what is happening.—Philadelphia Ledger. THE DRUMMER BOY OF SHILOH Colonel John L. Clem's Story of How He Got Into the Regular Army. An Interesting story is told of the way Colonel John L. Clem, the famous "drummer boy of Sliiloh" and now assistant quartermaster general, got into the regular army. In the early days of General Grant's first term as president Clem, without aid. secured an audience. The president said, "What can I do for you?" Clem said, "Mr. President, I wish to ask you for an order to admit me to West Point." "But why," said the president, "do you not take the examination?" "I did, Mr. President, but I failed to pass." "That was unfortunate," said the president. "Haw was that?" "Why. Mr. President, you see, I was in the war, and while I was there those other boys of my age were in school." "What!" said the president, amazed. "You were in the war?" Clem was then scarcely eighteen and boyish looking. "Yes, Mr. President, I was in the war four years." And he related his experience. Tlie president then wrote something, sealed it and. handing it to Clem, said: "Take this to the secretary of war. 1 guess it will fix you all right" Clem went to the secretary, to whom he had already applied, and was re ceived somewhat coldly. He delivered the note. The secretary read it and said: "Do you know what this is?" "No," said Clem, "but I supposed it was an order to admit me to West Point." "Well, it isn't," said the secretary. "It's an order to commission you sec ond lieutenant in the regular army."— Leslie's Weekly. Hooker's Grand Chestnut Charger. General Hooker probably had the fin est looking horse in the Union armies. This was Lookout, a horse of rich chest nut color, standing seventeen hands high and possessing all the dainty and elastic action of the most delicately fashioned colt. This was the horse, Kentucky bred, which bore Ilookei during the "battle above the clouds." The horse was intended for exhibition In England, but got no farther than New York, where Hooker bought him, although having to compete with the agent of the emperor of France, who wanted him for his majesty Louis Na poleon. Close Quarters. At the bottle of Charleston, Mo., in August, 1801. Lieutenant Colonel Ran som of the Eleventh Illinois was urging his men to the charge when an officer rode up to him and said: "What do you mean? You are killing our own men." "I know what I am doing," replied Ransom. "Whom are you for?" "1 am for Jeff Davis." was ihe reply. "Yoe. are the man P:n after," returned Ran som, and instantly two pistols were drawn. The Confederate fired first, hitting Ransom in the arm. Ransom shot his antagonist dead. The Watch 3rlow. Brlnpr blossoms for the sailor dead Who rlif. in oece.it grove*. Brintr fragrant Miles, p■ 111• and pure To l!oat upon the waves. And dewy purple lilacs, too. From mmy n cottage home. And starry daisies, white and sold. To mingle with the foam. How Sherroan "Put the Lid On" DURING the siege of Atlanta SOUK; of t!i" ('onfi lerate but teries oppn.siii:: Shell: in oil the we: i front of the city were sheltered from attack by a mountain which could IM»I readily be Mailed by I'oiVral artillery. After long delay and tedious lab' r th:' light field pieces of the Kicventli li.diamt battery were hauled to the crest of ili:- moun tain, where the men of the Second Massachusetts had cut a roadway and constructed earth and log pits to shield the suns. A day was fixed, the earliest possible, to open fire upon the line below. Sherman, General George 11 Thomas, the "Rock of Chiekamauga," "Fighting Joe" Hooker and General .1. M. Brannan, Thomas' chief of artil lery, were on the ground to witness the effect of the fire, which was ex pected to open the way for a success "TO WILIJ NOT OPEN FIRE TODAY." ful attack upon Confederate positions which baffled the advanco of Thomas' troops. The time was August, and the heavy, stifling atmosphere inclined the men of both armies to suspend activity. The stillness of death reigned everywhere except around the isolated battery on the mountain top. There the gunners moved with the grim energy of sol diers facing a crisis. Guns wen' trained upon the most conspicuous and vulnerable -targets. Sherman and his lieutenants stood apart, scanning with fieldglasses the camps where the shots were to strike. At last the signal was given. Bat terymen went forward to pull the lan yards and send the shots home, when attention was diverted by the soft pealing tones of a bell trembling on the heavy air across the valley. Loud er and still louder the measured chimes sounded over the city, over the camps, up to the mountain crest. Sher man raised a warning linger to gun ners. who looked into the eyes of their officers for explanation of this strange gesture. The officers, equally non plused, looked to the generals, and Sherman spoke out calmly, but in tones for all to hear, "Gentlemen, we will not open fire today." Then, turn ing to the chief of artillery, he said, in the same quiet tones, "General Bran nan, you will open fire tomorrow." "Today" was the Sabbath, a day, ac cording to Sherman's orders, not to be interrupted by the inferno of guns ami shells.—Harper's Weekly. Minus the Picture. The bridge builder with Stonewall Jackson's army was a rare character if the following story be true: The Union soldiers, retreating from the valley of Virginia, burned a bridge over the Shenandoah. Jackson, who wanted to pursue, sent for his old bridge builder. "Sir," he said, "you must keep men at work all day and all night and fin ish that bridge by tomorrow morning. My engineer shall give you the plan." Old Miles saluted and withdrew. Early the next morning the general sent for Miles again. "Well, sir," said Jackson, "did the engineer give you the plan for the bridge?" "General," said the old man slowly, "the bridge is done. I don't know whether the picture is or not."—Her ald and Presbyter. Swearing In the Cook. The darky contrabands who fre quently strayed wltliiu the Union lines were often very acceptable as serv ants, particularly as cooks. The non commissioned officers frequently had a heap of sport with these unsophisticat ed negroes. Occasionally there was great formality in swearing in these cooks. The drums would be sounded or the bugles blown, and amid much impressive pomp the darky would as sume his new duties, having sworn to perform them properly, to support the constitution of all the loyal states, clean the plates without wiping them on his coat sleeve, solemnly swearing to put milk In the coffee every morn ing and other like deeds. The Unknown D;ad. Now many a soldier slumbers. His resting place unknown; His hind* were crossed, his lids were closed. The dust wis o'er him strewn The drifting soil, the molderin ; leaf. Along the sod were blown. Ills mound has melted into Kla memory lives alone. So !"t it live unfadin ;. The memory or tlie dead long as tlvs pale anemone Springs where their tears were she!. Or raining in the summer's wind. In flakes of burning red The wild rose sprinkles with iti leav • The turf where once they bled —Oliver TVerdMi Holmes.