ISKBiSl
Zf3&i2$H
( m"
2 . '"f "S ', W. ' Ji " "-1
i'?i
THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH," . SATURDAY, ' AUGUST 31, 1889i"
-t ar"t
10
fa
s
J
&
1
ir 54
what ho had never before admitted to him
self, that he loved Mary Armstrong. The
admission was a hitter rather thaa a pleas
ant one.
"I shall never marry now,"he said to his
mother, at his last interview wtth her. "No
wile or child of mine shall ever hear it
whispered that her hnshand or father was a
murderer. Unless this cloud is some day
lilted and how it can be, heaven only
knows? I must go through the world
alone," and so he thought still. It might
be that as Harry Blunt he might settle down
in the colony and never be recognized; but
he would always have the fear that at any
moment some officer he had known, some
man of his regiment, some emigrant from
his own country, might recognize him, and
that the news would be passed round that
Harry Blunt "Was the Captain Mervyn who
escaped, only from want of legal proof, from
being hanged as tbe murderer of his consin.
"I didn't think I was such a fool," he
muttered to himself, "as to be caught by a
prettv face. However, it will make no dif
ference. She will never know it. If her
father recovers, which is doubtful, she will
go back with him to the old country. If
not, she will go back alone, 'for without
friends or relatives she cannot stay here,
and she will never dream that the Sergeant
of the Cape Bifles. who had the luck twice
to save her life that is, if I do save it was
fool enough to fall in love with her."
An hour before morning oqeol the Fin
goes came back from the front with the
news that the Kaffirs had turned off into a
kloof and were going to halt there. The
party soon collected, and retired to a clump
of trees a mile back. One of them waB
ordered to act as sentry near the kloof, and
bring back word at once should any move
ment take place. The rest of the party,
upon reaching the shelter of the trees, threw
themselves upon the ground and were soon
fast asleep, even Bonald, anxious as he
was, remaining awake but a few minutes
after the others.
The sun was high before they awoke. As
they were eating their breakfast the sentry
returned, and another was dispatched to
take his place. The man reported that he
had seen or heard nothing of the Kaffirs,
but that four of them were placed on the
watch near the klooC Kreta led Bonald to
the edge of the wood, and pointing to a
jagged range of hills in the distance said,
"Amatolas."
"How far are they away, Kreta?"
"Six hours' fast walking," the chief said.
"They get to foot of hills to-night ,If Ma
como's kraal anywhere this side, they may
get there. If not, they wait and rest a bit,
and then go on. No need travel to-night.
When they get to. hills. they know very well
DO wl.ite no'dier there."
"What had we better do, do you think?"
"There are plenty of men always on look
out, sure to be some 6n hills. I will send
two men after them, and they creep and
crawl through the bushes, find out the way
and bring news to me, then when they come
back we will start"
"But we must be there in the evening,"
Bonald said; "we must be there, Chief, do
you hear?"
"Yes, incos. but it seems to me that it do
no good to throw our lives away. It you
say go, Kreta will go too, but if we killed,
the girl will be killed too, and no good that,
that Kreta can sec; if we go in daytime we
killed, sure enough. Not possible to get
into Amatolas without being seen, all grass
and smooth land at foot of hill. On hill
some places trees, there we manage yerj
well; some open spaces, there they see us.
"I don't wish to throw our lives away.
Chief; if I wanted to throw my own away, I
have no right to sacrifice yours and your
men's but scouts on the lookout would surely
take us at a distance for a party of their
own men returning from some plundering
expedition, probably as part of the party
ahead who had hung back for some purpose
on the roid."
"Great many kraals, great many people
in Amatolas,'7 the chief said; "sure to meet
some one. They begin to ask questions,
thev see very soon we not Kaffirs, they see
with half an eye you no Caffir; might pass
at night very well, but no pass in day. But
perhaps we have time, incos. Chiefs wan
der about, hold council and meet each
other; perhaps Macomo not at home, very
like he away when they gat there."
"Pray God it may be so," Bonald said
despairingly. "It seems the only hope we
have. "Well, Kreta, I put myself in your
hands. You know much more about it
than I do. As you say, we shall do no
good to Miss Armstrong by throwing away
our lives, therefore, I put aside my own
plans and trust to you."
"I no say we can save her, incos, but if
we can we wilL You make sure of that"
The next night took them to the foot of
the hills, and when the Kaffirs halted, the
chief ordered two of his men to make a cir
cuit around the hills and conceal them
selves in the wood before morning broke, so
that when the Kaffirs moved on they could
at once follow them without having to cross
in daylight the grassy slopes of the foot
hills. Minute instructions were given to
both as to following the Kaffir
party, the orders being that if either of
them could pounce upon a solitary Kaffir
he was to stun him with his knob-kerry and
force him, when he recovered, to give in
formation as to the distance, direction and
road to Macomo's kraal, and that he was
then to be assegaid at once. Feeling that
Bonald might not altogether approve of this
last item, for he was aware that the white
men had what he considered a silly objec
tion to unnecessary bloodshed, Kreta, while
telling Bonald the rest of the instructions he
had given to the spies, did not think it
necessary to detail this portion of them.
"Where shall we stay during the dav?"
Bonald inquired of him; "the country
seems perfectly flat and. unbroken, their
lookout will see us a long way off."
"Yes, incos, not do to stop here. We
send horse back to first bush and tell man
to bring him every night to bottom oi the
hill, or if he sees us from a distance coming
down the hill with Kaffirs after us, to come
to meet us. "We lie down here till morning,
lookout on hill may see us, but Kaffir at
foot of hill no see us. Then when they go
on, we go on too, as you said, and follow as
far as first wood; lookout think we belong to
big party; then we hide there till one of my
men come back. I told them we should be
at the edge of the wood, and he is to make
signals as he walks along. We will push on
as far as we can, so that we don't come upon
kraals."
"That will do very well indeed," Bonald
said, "for every inch that we can get nearer
to Macomo's kraal is so much gained."
He removed the pistols from his holsters,
and fastened them to his belt, putting them
so far back that they were completely hid
den by the blanket he wore over his shoul
ders, and then went with the party some
little distance back and lay down till morn
ing. Almost as soon as it was daybreak,
the Fingo who was on the watch announced
that the Kaffirs were moving, and the little
party at once followed. The Kaffirs had
disanpeared among the woods, high up on
the hillside, when tbey began to ascend the
grassy slope. They had no doubt that they
were observed by the Kaffirs' watchmen,
but they proceeded boldly, feeling sure that
it would be supposed that they belonged to
the party ahead of them.
The path through the forest was a narrow
one, and they moved along in single file.
One of the party went 60 yards ahead,
walking cautiously and evidently listening
intently, the others proceeding noiselessly,
prepared to bound into the forest directly
the man ahead gave the signal that anyone
was approaching. For upward ot a "mile
tbey kept their way, the ground rising con
tinually; then they reached a spot where a
deep valley fell away at their feet It
divided into several branches, and wreaths
of smoke could be Been curling up through
the trees at a number of points. Similar
indications of kraals could bo seen every
where iipon the hillside, and Kreta shook
his head and said:
"No can go further. Heaps of Kaffir
all about Must wait now."
Even Bonald, anxious as he was to go on,
felt that it would be risking too much to
proceed. The kraals were so numerous that
as soon as they got into the valley they
would be sure to run into one; and, more
over, the path would fork into many
branches, and it would be impossible for
them to say which of these the party ahead
had taken. They went into the wood some
little distance and lay down, one being left
on the watch in the bush close to the road.
The hours passed slowly while they waited
the return of one of the men who had been
posted before daylight in the wood, and who
were to follow close upon the footsteps of
the Kaffirs. It was 3 o'clock before the
lookout by the path returned with one of
these Fingoes.
He said a few words to the chief, and al
though Bonald could not understand him
he saw by the expression of Kreta's face
that the news was satisfactory.
"Girl got to Macomo's kraal," the chief
said. "Macomo not there. Gone to San
dilli. May come back to-night Most
likely get drunk and not come back till to
morrow. Macomo drink very much."
"All the better," Bonald said. "Thank
God we have got a few hours before us."
The man gave a narration of his proceed
ings to Kreta, who translated them to
Bonald.
Directly the Kaffirs had passed the point
where be and his comrade were hidden, they
came out of the bush and followed closely
behind them, sometimes dropping behind
a little so as to be quite out of sight if any
of them should look round, and then, going
on faster until they conld get a glimpse of
them, so as to be sure that they were going
in the right direction. They had passed
through several kraals. Before they came
to each of these the men had waited a little,
and had then gone on at a run, as if anx
ious to catch up the main body. They had
thus avoided questioning.
Three hours walking took them to Ma
como's kraal, and they hung about there
until they had found out that Macomo was
away, having cone off early to pay a visit
toSandilli. Kreta did not translate his
followers' description of the manner in
which this information had been obtained,
and Bonald, supposing that they had gath
ered it from the lips of the Kaffirs, asked
no questions. As soon as they had learned
what tbey wanted to know, one of them
had remained in hiding near the village,
and the other had returned with the news.
He had been nearly twice as long coming
back as he was going, as this time he had
been obliged to make a circuit so as to pass
round each of the kraals, and so to avoid
being questioned.
"Did he see the young lady?" Bonald
asked; "and how was she looking?"
Yes, he had seen her as they passed his
ambush the first thing in the morning. She
looked very white and tired, but she was
walking. She was not bound in any way.
That was all be could tell him.
"How soon can we go on. Chief?" Bonald
asked, impatiently. "You see, it is three
hours marching "even if we go straight
through."
"Can go now," the chief said. "Now we
know where Macomo's kraal is we can go
straight through the bush."
They went back to the path. The Fingo
pointed to the exact position among the
hills where Macomo's kraal was. There
were two intermediate ridges to be crossed,
but Bonald did not doubt the Fingo's
power to follow a nearly direct line to the
spot
"Now," the chief said, "you follow close
behind me. Never mind where you are
going. Do not look at the trees or the rocks
or anything, but tread in my footsteps. Be
member if you tread on a twig or make the
least sound perhaps someone notice it May
be noticed anyhow. Fellows upon the
watch may see us moving through the trees
overhead, but must risk that; but only don't
make noise." -
Bonald promised to obey the chiefs in
structions, and the party again leaving the
path, took their way through the trees
straight down into the valley. At times
they came to such precipitous places that
they were forced to make detours to get
down them. One of the men now went
ahead, the rest following at snch a distance
that they could just keep him in sight
through the trees. From time to time he
changed his course, as he heard noises or
sound of voices that told him he was ap
proaching a kraaL At times they came
across patches ot open ground. When
it was impossible to avoid these they
made no attempt to cross them
secretly, as they knew that the sharp eyes
of the sentries on the hill top could look
down upon them. They, therefore, walked
at a quiet pace, talking and gesticulating to
each other as they went, so that they might
be taken for a party going from one kraal to
another.
It was 8 o'clock in the evening, and the
sun had set some time when they approached
the kraal of Macomo.
It was a good-sized village, and difiered
little from the ordinary Kaffir kraals except
that two or three of the huts were large and
beehive shaped. There was a good deal of
noise going on in the village; great fires
were burning, and round these numbers of
the Kaffirs were dancing, representing by
their action the conflict in which they had
been engaged and the slaughter of their
enemies. The women were standing round,
keeping up a monotonous song, to the
rhythm of which the men were dancing.
At the chiefs order, two of his men went
boldly forward into the village. Avoiding
' the circlesof lightround the fires thev moved
carelessly about, catching scraps of conver
sation here and there. In ten minutes they
returned to the party, who were hiding a
hundred yards apart
"The white woman is in the women's hut,
next to that of Macomo."
"Are there any guards at the door?"
Bonald asked. The chief put the ques
tion. "No, no guards had been placed there.
There were many women in the hnt There
was no fear of her escape. Besides if she
got out where could she go to?"
Well, now, incos, what are we to do?" the
chief asked. "We have brought you here,
and now we are ready to die if you tell us.
What you think we do next?"
"Wait a bit, Kreta, I must think it
over."
Indeed Bonald had been thinking all day.
He had considered it probable that Mary
Armstrong would be placed in the hut ot one
of the chiefs wives. The first question was
bow to communicate with her. It was al
most certain that either some of the women
would sit up all nisht or that sentries would
be placed at the door. Probably the former.
The Kaffirs had made a long "journey and
had now doubtless been gorging themselves
with meat They would be disinclined to
watch, and would consider their responsi
bility at an end when they had banded her
over to the women. It was almost certain
that Mary herself would be asleep after her
fatigue of the last three days; even the
prospect of the terrible fate before her would
scarce suffer to keep her awake."
"Do vou think two women will sit up
with he'r.all night?"
"Two or three of them sure," Kreta re
plied. "Mv plan is this; Kreta; it may not suc
ceed, but I can think of no other. In the
first place, I will go into the kraal. I will
wait until there is no one near the door,
then I will stoop and say in a loud voice, so
that she may hear, that she is to keep awake
at night Macomo's women are none of
them likely to understand English, and be
fore they run out to see what it is I shall be
gone. If they tell the men they have heard
a strange voice speaking unknown words
they will be laughed at, or at most a search
will be made through the kraal, and of
course nothing will be found. Then, to
night, chief, when everything is still, I pro
pose that three of you'shall crawl with me
into the kraal. When we get to the door of
the hut you will draw aside the hide
that will .be hanging over it and peep in.
If only two women are sitting by the fire in
the center, two of you will crawl iu as
noiselessly as possible. I know that you
can crawl so that the sharpest ear cannot
hear you. Of course, if there are three,
three of you will go in; if two, two only.
You will crawl up behind the women, sud
denly seize them by the throat and gag and
bind them. Then you will beckon to the
young lady to follow you. She will know
from my"warning that you are friends. If
she has a light dress on, throw a dark
blanket round her, for many of the Kaffirs
will go on feasting all night and might see
her iu the light of the fire. Then I will
hurry her away, and your men follow us so
as to stop the Kaffirs a moment and give us
time to ger into the bushes if we are seen."
"Kreta will go himself," the chief said,
"with two of his young, men. Do you think,
Incos, that there is danger in your calling
out?"
"Not much danger., I think..Kreta. They
will not dream of a white man being hare,
in the heart of the Amatolas. I think there
is less danger in it tnan that the girl might
crv out if she was aroused from her .sleep by
men whom she did not know She might
think it was Macomo come hoi.v'
Kreta agreed In this opinion.
"I will go aown at once," Bonald said;
"they're making such a noise that it h un
likely anyone outside the hut would hear
me, however loud Ispoki while 11 1 waited
until it got quieter, I might be heard.
Take my rifle, Kreta, and one of the pistols.
I want to carry nothing eitra with me.in
case I have to make a sudden bolt for it
Mary Armstrong was lying apparently
unnoticed by the wall of the hut while a
dozen women were chattering around the
fire in the center. Suddenly she started;
for from the door, which was but three feet
high, there came a loud, clear voice: "Mary
Armstrong, do not sleep to-night Bescue
is at hand." ,
The women started to their feet with a cry
of alarm at these mysterious sounds, and
stood gazing at the entrance; then there
was a clamor of tongues, and presently one
of them, older than the rest, walked to the
entrance and looked out
"There is no one here," she said, looking
round, and the greater part oi the women
at once rushed out The conduct of the
women convinced Mary Armstrong that she
was not in a dream, and that she had really
heard the words. Who could have spoken
tljem, or what rescue could reach her? This
she could not imagine, but she had sufficient
self-possession to resume her reclining posi
tion, from which she had half risen, and to
close her eyes as if sound asleep. A min
ute later one of the women approached
with a blazing brand, and held it close to
her eyes.
"The girl is asleep," she said in Kaffir,
which Mary understood perfectly; "what
can have been the words we heard?"
"It must have been an evil spirit," an
other woman said; "who else can have
spoken in an unknown tongue to us?"
There was a good deal of hubbub in the
kraal when the women told their story;some
of the men took up their, weapons and
searched the village and the surrounding
bushes, but the greaterpoftion altogether
disbelieved the story, whoever heard of a
spirit talking in an unknown tongue to a
lot of women? If he had wanted to say any
thing to them he would have spoken so that
they could understand. It must have been
some man who had drank too much, and
who had bellowed in at the door to startle
them; and so gradually the din subsided,
the men returned to the dance and the
women to their huts.
Had Mary Armstrong been in spirits to
enjoy it she would have been amused at the
various propositions started by the women
to account lor the voice they had heard; not
one of them approached the truth, for it did
not occur to them as even possible that a
white man should have penetrated the Am
atolas to Macomo's kraal.
To be Continued.)
PASTORS AND PEOPLE.
A Family of Missionaries Carrying "Light
to tbe Benighted of All Land Prepar
ing for the Winter Campaign Church
News.
There are few families that have been so
devoted to missionary work asthatofthe
Bey. I. N. Hays, D. D.. pastor of the Cen
tral Church, Allegheny, as branches of the
family are to be found in nearly all quarters
of the globe one sister being a missionary
in Siam for the past 25 years, her husband,
Bev. S. McFarland, D. D., being principal
of King's College, Bankok, Slam. His
brother's son, Bev. G. S. Hays, is professor
in the Mateer College, Chafoo, China. Two
of his nephews are in the employ of the
Government in Siam, and one other will
soon go as a missionary physician. Two
other nephews are preparing to go, one as
missionary, the other as physician. A
niece has recently been married to the Bev.
Mr. Holliday, of Cadiz, O., and will sail
for Northern India the early part of Octo
ber. His two brothers are well-known min
isters in the Presbyterian church, the one
atMavsville, Ky., the other at Kansas
City, Mo.
Church Note.
The United Presbyterian Cbnrch at Canons
burg is undergoing extensive repairs.
The Bight Bev. Cortlandt Whltehead,Blshop
of this diocese, has returned from Alexandria
Bay.
AliEaHENT Presbytery of the United Pres
byterians, will meet at West Bellevue Septem
ber 10.
The First Christian Church, of Allegheny,
went with Its Sunday School to Idlewild on
Thursday.
The School Street Sunday School, of Alle-
fheny. took their annual outing atAvalonon
'bursday. '
The various ministers' meetings will be re
sumed September 9 when vacation experiences
will bo the order of the day.
Key. C. A. Holmk?, pastor ot the Union
Methodist Church, Allegheny, mourns the loss
of his wife, who died Sunday afternoon last
The Second Presbyterian Church, of Alle
gheny, very much needs a new edifice, but the
outlook in this line is far from encouraging.
Extensive repairs have been made on tbe
Second Presbyterian Church, Pittsburg, during
the vacation season. It will be reopened to
morrow. The Presbytery of Allegheny meets at Belle
vne Tuesday, Beptember 10. The Presbytery
of Pittsburg will meet on tbe same day at
Hazel wood.
Bet. George Hodges, who is so well known
to the readers ot this paper, will return from
the East next week and officiate In his church
Calvary the 8th Inst
AT Phillipiburgon Sunday last the Method.
ist Church, which has been renovated and re
furnished, was reopened. All the bills are paid
for these Improvements.
The Methodists of Braddock will gather In
large numbers to witness the laying of the
cornerstone' of their new church this afternoon.
The ceremony will take place at ft o'clock.
The Rot. Hanson Byllesby, rector of Im
mannel Church, North and Allegheny avennes,
has returned from Meadvllle, and will preach
-both morning and evening on Sunday next
The union services of the First, Second and
Third Presbyterian Churches will close to
morrow.they will be held In the Second Church,
Dr. Sutherland, tbe pastor, being the preacher
for the day.
Ok Thursday afternoon the corner stono of
the new Presbyterian Church was laid at Can
onsbnrg. the address "being delivered by the
Rev. J. W. HoJand, D. D., of this city. Peace
be within its walls.
On account of sickness the Bev. John N.
MacGonlgle has been compelled to resign the
pastorate of the First Presbyterian Church, ot
Oil City. The congregation passed resolutions
expressive of their deep affection for him.
At Verona, St Thomas' Episcopal Church
has been newly carpeted and adorned in other
ways. Thoy havo been presented with an ele-
Sant chandelier tor natural gas. This church
as not been closed at any service in the 15
years of its existence.
After a two months' tour In foreign lands,
Bev. B. F. Woodbum, D. D., pastor of the San
dusky Street Baptist Church, has returned to
his labors. During his absence he attended the
International Association of Sunday School
Workers, to which he was sent as delegate.
St. PauI'S Cathedral, of this city, is under
going extensive repairs, and is to be very elab
orately decorated. It Is expected It will have
as fine an Interior as almost any similar edifice.
Tbe work will be pushed as rapidly as possible,
so that it may be ready for Christmas Day.
Bev. L N. Hats, D.D., who baa been so ac
tive In the cause of prohibition, has prepared a
pamphlet on "License Wrong in Principle."
which will be published at once by the Perma
nent Committee on Temperance of the Presby
terian Church, also by tbe Constitutional
Amendment Association of Allegheny county.
Many of tbe ministers ot tbo various
churches have returned from their summer
tours, and will be In their accustomed places on
Sunday next when they will begin their win
ter's campaign against the works of darkness.
Among these will be the Bey. Samuel Max
well. D. D of Trinity Church, who has been
fetting renewed vigor from the air of Ocean
each. Tbe Sunday school and church will be
gin again,to-morrow.
The Convocation of the Diocese of Pittsburg,
at its meeting' in Oil City, elected the
Beva, & Maxwell, Trinity Church; M. Byllesby,
Immannel; J.IL B, Brooks, Oil City; Henry
Pardon, Titosville, aa ministerial, and Messrs.
Hill Burgwln, Hazelwood: H. L. Foster, Oil
City: W. Metcalf, St Peters, and T. C Jenkins,
Trinity Church, as lay delegates to the General
Convention of the Protestant Episcopal
Church, to be held In New York City la Octo
ber next One of tbe principal subjects to be
discussed will be the mooted change ot same of
this church. These delegates were iaMrMted
to vote a nalnst aay wot being faado. ,.
GIPSIES', FUNERALS;
Strange'Rites in the lovely Valley of
tbe Presnmscott,
WHERE HAWTHORNE SOJOURNED.-
Burning the Effect of the Dead Hero and
linker, Zeke.
EETERENCE AHDFEAE0FGEATETAED3
(THOU OU TBAVXMXO COMJnSSIONEB.l
Camp on Lake Sebaoo, Me., August
26. A20-mlle drive from old Portland town
through'the lovely valley of the Presnm
scott, or an equal journey from the railway
station at the southern end of Lake Sebago,
in which you will wind, along the lake's
eastern shore through many an olden ham
let, will bring you to a little group of
ancient buildings clustered on either side
of a brook about an old mill. This spot, in
the old days called "Dingley's," is now
without name,' save that known'by country
side folk as "Eadaux's Old Mill." It was
here the Hawthornes once lived. Beautiful
as is tire quaint -place itself the sur
roundings are picturesque and romantic
in the extreme. Lake Sebago is
worth the fondest picturing. It is
one of the most beautiful of Maine's count
less inland seas. Laying your mittened
right hand, back downward upon your desk,
you would fairly have its contour before
you, your wrist, were it little, standing for
its southern boundaries; the tips of your
clumped fingers for its widened northern
exlreme; and your thumb lying just where
the witching Jordan Bay reaches for miles
inland to the northeast between which and
your hand, the long, narrow Cape Baymond
pushes down to the southwest, its splendid
point breaking into the romantic Squaw
and Fry Islands. -A great chain of lakes is
accessible to tbe north through the winding
mazes of the Songo river; and lake and
river have furnished a fruitful theme for
poet and artist for more than a century.
Sense toresta and lofty promontories add a
marvelous beauty to the cove-indented
shires of Sebago.
PAKADISE 07 FISHE3S.
t is the paradise of fishers of land-locked
salmon; anatnousanas oi summer wanaer
en come here, with never a one to know of
th : beauty and interest hid about the little
ne ;t by Badaux's Mill. Below the lake are
th : deserted bed and locks of the old canal,
wl ere wondrous affairs of commerce and
w( nderful canal boat shippers were rife in
th old days. Still below foams and dashes
thi little Presnmscott on its way to Casco
Bay. Around to the right, to the east and
the'northeast, are pond and lake innumer
able. Lake and field, stream and fallow,
forest and river, winding road and sunny
hamlet, feast the tye on every hand'. To
day it seems an enchanted region of still
life iu man and nature, touched and tinted
in tenderest fashion by heaven and the first
frost-fires that gleam across the land.
This is the spot where the gentle Haw
thorne passed nearly eight years of his life,
the most formative period,with the windows
of his heart and soul wide open to heaven.
It is also a spot which my iriends, the gip
sies, love dearly. There are two reasons for
the latter. Gipsiemore than any other liv
ing folk long for closeness to all that is ten
der and winsome in 'nature; and they com
bine with that affection a thrift which is
matchless among lowly classes in America.
Boundabout through all this enchanting re
gion there is such sumptuous plenty among
countryside folk that the easy-going farmers
and farm-wives annually welcome the tawny
wanderers, while dickering, tinkering,
horse trading and fortune-telling go merrily
on to the great gain of the Bomany. This
feeling of hospitality is so marked that this
camp-nest among the pines is given and ac
cepted free of rent, the-'firttrlnstance of the
sort I have ever known'1 in my pilgrimings
with gipsies; for invariably farmers take
advantage of the gipsy's fear oi "law" to
exact extortionate prices for camp privi
leges, and the gipsies of the American roads
of to-day will never pitch their tents until
they possess formal acknowledgment of their
right of occupancy
ETEBKAI, SILENCE HAD COME.
But beautiful as was this camp among
tbe pines, the very path that led from the
highway to it under the odorous boughs
seemed possessed of an added hush and
solemnity; and while-the faces of m?
Bomany friends brightened as I approached,
there was a reticence of manner and-sottness
of speech on the part of those who came for
ward to greet me, which told without words
that the eternal silence had come to 'one
among -them. If this had not been enough
there were surer signs. Every one of the
vagabonds was in camp. Every horse was
securely picketed. Each hooded tent, save
one, was empty of humans, and the occu
pants of ail, particularly the women, were
gathered in and about one mean and shabby
tent, where their "company," as is the gip
sy custom, served to comfort those who
mourned. Besides this., a glance, showed
me that near the dilapidated tent were the
indubitable proofs of death in a gipsy
camp. A cart, "wholmed," as they call it,
that is turned upside down, as is often done
for shelter in a one-night -encampment, a
half dozen empty chests and boxes, an old
portable forge and a sadly-battered
grinder's wheel, with the stone and fittings
removed, were gathered together near the
tent at the edge of the circling pines for a
barbaric ceremony which I knew would
occur that night.
It all meant this: The tinker of the band,
"Lazy Zeke," whom I had known for a
quarter of a century, had been gathered to
his Sanscrit fathers. They had buried him
nnder the velvety brown ol the forest turf,
over there 10ft yards, this very day; the en
tire camp had put aside dickering and duk
kering out of respect for the dead and liv
ing; and the last rite, that of burning the
effects of the dead, would occur when night
closed in upon the forest camp.
DIED AS A EEBO.
"Lazy Zeke" was a gipsy ne'er-do-well.
That sort of a man is an unusual one among
the Bomany. Ethically under the unwritten
but inviolable communism, of the race, as a
dead 'gipsy be was as good as any live one
among them.' So they were all extolling his
virtues, though in life a guzzler, a spendthrift
and tbe noblest of all liarsj and like the dead
Irish scapegrace whose friends could still o p
roariously mourn at the wake aa a "square
drinker," because "any man could drink
with San in a coalhole wid his back to the
slack," Zeke's songs, his mirth, and even his
foxy deceptions were transformed into no
blest qualities. It seemed never to occur to
these nomads that "Lazy Zeke's" ending
had been somewhat heroic. I had passed
many an idyllic day and night with Zeke
under his want blankets and my inquiries
disclosed the fact that he had given his life
for another's. The children had been sent
to Lake Sebago for fish. A little one had
fallen from a ledge near "Painted Bocks"
into deep water. Zeke, old, infirm, but a
eiild with tbe other, children, was with
them. He plunged In after the little one,
saved it, but, himself enfeebled, had fallen
back and perished in an element which In
any form of application always gave him sore
dismay. They fished his old body out, put it
here under the whisperingpines in the sacred,
hurried way the .gipsies always" have at
their funerals because ot their dread of the
impenetrable mystery beyond, and at once
made tbe ideal Zeke a hero; not for the noble
act he had done, bnt because that is the way
"of the race.
I talked with then oi Zeke and was curi
ous to touch any chord which mighty reveal
their standard of what. constituted heroism
in any act or degree, and. In endeavoring to
warm them into enthusiasm was myself en
thusiastic in dwelling upon the brave and
fatal act of sacrifice, out their opaqueness
on heroics was Immeasurable.
"Oh, ay," oat "would, reply warmly,
"none o' hns as' eould match Zeke at a
V "Zeke's we&Vti & 'lowed JMrtMM
as his bellows, an' Zeke 'ad a mighty arm
at hit;" another would testify.
"Bight well could Zeke shine a pan-hole
'thout wastin.' spdder;" came from; another
true admirer.
' "Ef him 'adri't been one o' hus," came
from another emulative tongue, "an w'at
a rare chor (thief) 'e would a made, to be
sure.
But the most seductive eloquence on my
own part could not secure a word of praise
for the grander Zeke who had given his life
for that or the littly gipsy child who played
at my knees as we talked. This was because
of the universal fatalism of gipsies. It
would have been precisely the same in their
strange minds if the shirtless fellow had
fallen from a ledge and had been drowned,
or from a horse and broken his -neck.
DEATH IS THE E2TO.
"When a gipsy dies that is the end. Every
member of the race has a horror of death be
cause no gipsy lives who has faith in a
hereafter. They cannot be induced to con
template it No genuine gipsy ever ac
cepted Christianity. Borrow in his many
L years ot Bible and missionary work among
them never claimed to have converted one.
I have witnessed a great many gipsy fu
nerals. At some, especially in the case of
the burial of "king" or "queen" of a tribe,
there is much gipsy pompand display. Yet
on all occasions of this sort there is a celer
ity oi action in getting the remains under
ground and leaving the place of interment,
which are both cowardly and ludicrous,
"When old '.'Bing" Faa was buried in Scot
land, some 40 years since, over 300 asses and
sbelties were in the cortege, and yet so dis
mayed were the gipsies when the remains
of the merry old rascal were lowered into
the ground that they all took flight, many
running their donkeys to death to escape to
their homes, so that for days there was none
brave enough to decently cover his coffin.
In gipsy funerals the world over there
are three distinct rites, or features of one
rite. These comprise tbe burial; burning
the effects of the dead, and tbe blng-drom-ing,
or "giving tbe devil the road," that is,
driving away the evil spirit of mourning
and melancholy from the tents and hearts
of those who have lost relatives or friends
by death.
It is a singular fact that while gipsies are
universally disbelievers, they will resort to
all manners of shifts to secure at least a final
interment of their dead in some churchyard
cemetery. Their reverence for tbe canonic
al, or authorized, cemetery is only equaled
by their utter disregard and contempt of all
other . things the Christian world holds as
sacred.
The burning of poor old Zeke's effects is
sufficiently illustrative of all similar scenes,
which are seldom witnessed by Gorgios, or
non-gipsies, as the rite is held to be a secret
and sacred one transmitted from Aryan
haunts, as gipsy tradition has it and prac
ticed for thousands of years. Though my
relations with this particular band were
those of the greatest intimacy and trustful
ness, no information was given me of what
was to occur, and I should have misled it
altogether had I not laid awake in my tent
determined not to be cheated. About mid
night J. heard low voices in.the tents about
me; could soon distinguish the sounds as of
the gipsies all gathering at one spot in the
camp; and could see the flicker ot firelight
shining upon tent cover, wagon top and the
circling forest edges without I stole noise
lessly to the side of a most intimate gipsy
friend, who regarded my coming with
anxious concern, but without actual objec
tion to my presence.
BOEKEfO THE TINKKE'S GOODS.
In the dim light I saw that all the oocu
pants of the camp were standing in a circle
about the cart grinder's wheels, forge and
chests which had accompanied tinker Zeke
on numberless merry and profitless pilgrim
ings. Beneath and "about the articles were
piled dead pine, branches, and bunches of
dry cones and needles. Suddenly the wife
or "the dead tinker emerged from the circle,
and, as a hush fell upon the throng, mourn
ing aloud in some plaintive words she
walked slowly around the articles four
times, each time pausing for a moment and
kneeling at the eastern side, when she at
once resumed her place in tbe silent circle.
Instantly there was a rush from .the single,
.burning camp-fire, and dashing through"
the crowd camegan old gipsy hag, the old
'est spae-wife or fortune teller of the band,
who with a flaring pine torch set the wait
ing pile ablaze in many different pla-,
ces with wondrous celerity. The flames in
stantly leaped to the tree-tops disclosing
mute and apparently awe-struck faces sur
rounding the sacrifice. The old hag repeated
the movements oi the widow, torch in hand,
the meanwhile uttering shrill lamentations
in Bomany, and disappeared as suddenly as
she had come. Then the entire band stood
speechless and motionless until the flames
had consumed the articles, when in the
flickering light of the dying embers each
male gipsy greeted the widow heartily and
quietly passed to his wagon or tent, all the
women of the band finally escorting the
'widow to her own tent, where after a. bit of
cheery chattering she was left in quite a con
tented mood for the night
Biog-Droming always occurs the succeed
ing night, as it did in our Lake Sebago
camp. The devil "is given the road" with
the utmost hilarity and merry-making, and
roystering which occasionally takes on out
landish aspects. On more than one occasion
have I seen a man of straw, provided with
horns and hideously painted, tossed about
the gipsy camp the subject of terrible mis
use, and finally, when the revelries were at
their height, kicked and thumped ior miles
down some dusty highway, to at last be
pitched into some noisome pool, with stones,
sticks and clouts of mud cast upon and after
his diabolical highness. If after this sacri
fice and expurgation "gipsies continue to
mourn, they always suffer contumely and
contempt "Hus does w'at we can to cheer
sorrow," these strange folk say, "an then
doesn't abear chitterin' and enifSin' no
longer!" Edoae L. Wakemak.
WOES OP THE MINEES.
The Poverty and Distress or the Illinois
Strikers Something Horrible to Con
templateThey Are Still Determined
Not to Yield.
Chicago, August 30. The Bev. J. O.
S. Huntington, O. H. O., arrived in this
city this morning en route from the Illinois
mining district to his home in New York,
and was subjected to an interview. He said:
Tne situation in the mining regions iscnex
pressibly distressing. Hunger and disease are
aboard, and death Is desolating the homes of
the hopeless victims of the unnatural struggle.
It would be hard to exaggerate the ( horrors
which I have witnessed during my week's trip
through tbe coal region. It is bad enough
everywhere I went bnt it is worse at Spring
Valley than elsewhere. But even there the
poverty stricken inhabitants are not like the
poor I am used to seeing In New York. There
Is no whining; the people show intelligence and
pride; even hunger has not debased their feel
ings, as one might expect 1 am used to see nes
of want bnt what 1 saw at Spring Valley was
different It was more pitiful than anything I
ever witnessed before. I went among the cot
tages. Tbey are nice, and are surrounded by
pretty lawns and gardens, but the awfnl pov
erty within was shocking. -Women told me
that thev had not as much as a piece of soap
with which to clean their children's clothing,
and their stoves were rusting for want of a
little polish. Sickness Is increasing, and the
doctors told me the people were so enfeebled
by long privation and anxiety which might
break out at any moment
Business is utterly dead. Merchants are giv
ing their goods away. Tbe people go to the
drug stores for necessities and the drngglsts
supply them as far as may be, but take no ac
count ot the purchases on their books. Despair
is written everywhere, but there is determina
tion also in the faces of the hungry men and
they will not yield. Tho work of the Arbitra
tion Committee was a distinct victory for tbe
strikers. It was a vindication of the principle
of arbitration and a clear indorsement of their
refutalto accept the degrading terms ot the
operators.
"What is the outlook? Well, It is black
enough. The mine owners profit. whether the
mines are operated or not When production
is lively land values rise; they sell lots at a
handsome advance, tbe miners prosper and
build houses, and then bard tijoes come; wages
are cut; a strike or lockout results; the opera
tors repossess themselves ot the miners' homes
and in due time another wave ot prosperity
rules up and again the operators reap a rich
reward la advancing laud values. , ,,
I BsbchakTb PUls care MMousaadaervewrMie
I PKAag' Soap wares a heaattm iMlwrig
LITTLE ETHEL
At Long Branch.
Long Bbakch, August 28.
To the Editor of The Dispatch:
I am a little girl 12 years old, stopping at
a big hotel here with my mamma. You
ought to see my mamma. She's got the
whitest skin, and. the prettiest hair, just
like gold, and you ought to see how the
diamonds on her hands sparkle when "she
moves them. She's the loveliest woman in
the world, for I heard a gentleman with a
big black mustache tell her so on the piazza
and then she sent me to the beach to play.
My name's Ethel, but everybody here calls
me "Bunaway Dear;" that's because they
hear my mamma say that to me all the time,
and the gentleman with the big black mus
tache, he says"JEnn away'dear" too, so I
run away and then all the other children
call me "Bunaway Dear."
I've got a baby brother. Hit name's
Frankie, and he's got the biggest blue eyes
and the cutest dimple in his rcbln. He's 2
years old, and he has a French nurse to
take care of him. Her name's Julie.
My papa isn't here, but he
comes down to see us sometimes on Satuc
day, and then we have such good times.
He plays with Frankie and me all day. He
takes us in bathing and gives us lovely rides
In a pony phaeton. He wanU mamma to
go too, but she always has ji headache and
can't She never has a headache except
when my papa's here, and she often goes
out riding with the gentleman with the big
black musUche. My papa has a light
brown mustsche. Hike that ever so much
better than a black one.'- Julie's awful cross
to Frankie and me sometimes, and if we
don't go to sleep as soon as she puts us to
bed she says great big wolves will come and
eat us up. I wish mamma would put us to
bed and hear' us say: "Now I lay me." I
asked her to last night when she was sitting
on the piazza with the gentleman with the
black mustache and a.whole lot or other
people, but she said: "Don't bother me;
run away, dear," and then the gentleman
with the black mustache said: "Bunaway,
dear," too, and then all the other people
langhed.
Julie says I mustn't write any more, be
cause she wants to put Frankie and me to
bed, but I don't want to go to bed till my
mamma comes home.
"Your mamma won't be home till ever so
late. She's out driving with him," Julie
says. She says "him," oh, ever so hard,
with her teeth all shut tight, sd I'll write
H. L M., all in capital letters. Frankie
doesn't want to go to bed, either, and is
crying for mamma. I think the reason
Julie wants to put us to bed so early is be
cause the servants are going to have a ball
to-uight 1 heard her say to one of the
waiters when she thought I wasn't listening:
"Iveel bezere. "eefl can get reed of zese
lee tie deveels." . But I must stop now, for
Julie rays that if we don't let her put us to
bed right away the big wolves will coma
and eat n.i up-, X will write some more
when I have time.
Youb Affectionate Ethel.
Long Bbanch, Thubsdat.
Deab Editor I want to tell vou what
has happened since I stopped my last letter.
Last night Julie put us to bed as quick as
ever she could. She wonldn't let us say
"Now I lay me." Frankie was still crying
for mamma, and Julie told him if be didn't
keep quiet that besides the wolves a terrible
lion would come and tear him to pieces.
But Frankie still kept calling for mamma.
Then Julie said, "You leetle deveel I veel
make you keep quiet" Then she took a
bottle out of her pocket and poured a whole
lot out of it into a spoon and made Frankie
take it Then she turned down the gas and
went out and locked us in. I was awful
afraid of the lion and the '.colves, so I cov
ered up my head with tbe sheet, and I guess
I went to sleep soon,.for I don't remember
anything fox. a long time, and when I
woke up J"uHe was leaning over
Frankie all dressed up like she
had just come from a ball. She looked
awful scared and white and her eyes looked
wild. Frankie was fast asleep and she was
trying to waken him. She shook him and
called to him and pinched him and slapped
him awful, but Frankie would not waken
up. Then she got water and threw on him,
but still he would not waken. Then Julie
looked more scared than ever, and she ran
up and down the room making her hands go
awful funny and saying in such a queer
voice, "Mon dieu! mon dieut What have I
done! what have I done!" Then she told
me to cover up my head with the sheet and
lie still, or devils would come and eat me
up. I could hear her taking things
out of her trunk and wrapping them in pa
per. Then I peeped out and saw her put on
her bat. Then she went out and shut the
doer very soft. I was awful afraid, but I
crept up as close as I could to Frankie. He
felt awful cold, but after awhile I went to
sleep.
"When I woke up the sun was shining and
our room was full of people. Frankie was
lying awful white and still on Julie's bed,
pud mamma was leaning oyer him sobbing
and crying terrible-
"O, my baby, my babvl Come back to
me, come back," she said.
A strange gentleman with gray whiskers
tried to take mamma away, and I heard him
say, "Bemember, you have another child
left"
My papa was sitting by my bed with his
hands over his face and his hsad stooped
down.
"Doctor," he said, and his voice sounded
so hoarse and broken like, "are there no
women with hearts nowadays? "Why does
God give children to 'society mothers?"
The strange gentleman said, "Hush, she
has suffered enough already."
I asked papa why he was crying, and then
he told me that poor little Frankie had
gone away from us and would never come
back any more. But I said, "Oh, papa,
why there's Frankie lying on Julie's bed
now," but he said that that was only his
little body and that his soul had gone away
to heaven.
I felt awfnl bad at first, but I'm sure
Frankie will come back, so to cheer papa
up I got the letter I wrote you the other
day and showed it to him. He read it all
and then he said, "write more, my darling,
write in your own way and tell all that has,
happened. With God's blessing, it may
teach a lesson in time to some other gay
mother who is periling her good name and
her children's lives at some fashionable
watering place."
Your affectionate Ethel.
It is a good thing, during the heat in
summer to five ycur children a good anti
acid and strengthening medicine, in order
to prevent fermentation of food in the
stomach, and tbe indigestion, fever, diar
rhoea and other attendant evils, which are so
apt to follow. .For this purpose you will
not be disappointed in the use of Dr. D.
Jayne's Tonie Vermifuge an excellent
anti-acid, a strengtbener of the best de
scription for either young or old, pleasant
to the taste, and withal not expensive. Its
timely use may save anxiety, expense, and
possibly the loss of a child. Sold by all
druggists.
Aa InvIseratloK Beverage.
- A glass of pure beer is both beneficial and
delightful to a warm and tired mortal. The
well-known brand of "Iron City Beer,"
brewed exclusively by Messrs. Frauenheira
& Vllsaek is such'a beverage. It is made
carefully, from the purest materials,- and is
wholesome and nutritious. Ask for it
Telephone 1186.
The Exposition Opralna-.
The Exposition will open next week and
your fries (is and relations from slL over the
country-will be in to see you. - Don't bother
with the baking'at such a time; get Marvin's
bread, ortckers and cakes and be happy.
', 1 TTSStt
.hondlM.bv "Komartg ie-tnorrew't J)ia
TATm. JPrtltoJrurttmalmt to tw-Mf atmomd,
cm4i
i s'iBvtaVwBrBfsj WmiQftQQ WWPW"fsT wkJ F
A WEST END S0M
'
Mrs. Zimmerman Graphically '"Telfi
Her Experience. .-"" '4
A CANONSBURG REMINISCENCL
Directly across what is known asthi.
Point bridge, which spans the Moaongahela"
river' at its intersection with the Allegheny!
is situated a suburb of Pittsburg called theL
West End. This extends far back into the
hills and valleys, and to the old citizen it is
familiarly known as Temperanceviile. It
is notable for. the number of iron works
which line the river bank for several squares.
Leaving the busy portion, the visitor sooa
enters the pretty part of the suburb. Hand
some residences can be seen on all sides,
with lawns in front, decorated with flowers'"
and here and there a fountain.
It was in a residence on Catherine street
in this suburb, directly back'of the West
lake school house, that the writer met Mrs.
Caroline Zimmerman, a lady who has lived
in the West End for a long time, and is
well known throughout the community. la
an interview she said:
"I have been troubled with coldi and
headache for over twelve years. In all that
time I did not know what it was to enjoy
what I call a well day. My head was
stopped up and felt dry and leverish. I f
had a severe pain in it continually. At first
it was a dull, heavy feeling over the eyes,
but gradually it extended entirely around
my head. My nose was clogged up so that
I could scarcely breathe through it My
eyes became inflamed and watery, and my
sight was seriously Impaired.
"I had a hard cough and raised dark
yellow mucus, which was afterward inter
mingled with blood.
WmSsHHHIBslllllllllllllllW.
Mrt. Caroline Zimmerman, Catherine Street,
"After a time I began to grow worse rap
idly. X would have severe pains in my
breast They would come on 'me suddenly.
Sometimes they would be so severe as to al
most take my breath away. There was a
twitching sensation about my heart Some
times my heart would palpitate rapidly,
and then beat slow and irregularly. This
would be followed by a feeling of dizziness,
as though I was going to faint
"My throat was sore and inflamed. At
times my neck would feel lame and swollen.
Sometimes I would become so hoarse that I
could not speak above a whisper. There
seemed to be a lump in my throat which I
could not get up or down. I could feel the
mucus dropping back into my throat, and
when I would lay down it almost stran
gled me.
My whole system at length became affected
and I lost rapidly in flesh and strength. I
had night sweats. My sleep was broken. 4X
would get up in tne morning leenng more
tired than when x went to oea at nignc.
"I conld not eat at all in the morning
very little at any other Urn. After-cS
J. would leel inclined to vomit, ana n
- ... - . . T. - . .. .l
only by an effort that J. could retat
rood on my stomacn. .
"I .became alarmed at my condition and
tried various medicines and different physi
cians, spending large sums of money with
out obtaining any relief;
"It was when I was feeling the very worst
and had about given up all hopes of getting
cured, that I noticed a case in the newspapers
which was similar to mine that Doctors Cope
land and Blair had treated successfully. I
called on them, and finding, their charges reason
able, placed myself under their care.
"I began to notice an Improvement In my
condition in a very short time. First my head
and, throat became clear. I had no mora
trouble with mv eyes. The night sweats
ceased. My cough left me. The pain in my -breast
gradually disappeared, and my heart heat
regularly. In fact, I am entirely cured, acdam
as well to-dav as 1 was 12 years ago. I owe my
recovery to Doctors Copeland and Blair, and
think It no more than right that I should make
this statement"
LOOKINQ BACKWARD.
Preliminary Trtlnlug at 'Belleva Hospital..
Noting Credentials. ,-,,
An article in one of the Pittsburg daily
papers some time ago gave something of a .
personal nature regarding Drs. Copeland &
Blair, which may be not entirely without
interest at this time. It contained the fol
lowing: "Graduated at Bellevue Hospital MedieaT .
College, NeTV York, after years devoted to
hospital and infirmary practice in the spe
cial lines mentioned below, Dr. VT. H.
Copeland has been for some time located ia
Pittsburg. ,
"Passed through a similar course, and.
after years of post graduate study in the
New York Polyclinic, New York Eye and
Eas Infirmary, Manhattan, Bellevue and
other large hospitals, Dr. Blair also devoted
himself entirely to treatment of troubles of
the eye, ear, throat and lungs, and the re
sults of their work in this city ia the
specialties mentioned have been indicated
from time to time In the dally papers, and shew
how complete and painstaking was their prep,
aration.
"Their credentials and indorsements are la
deed noteworthy. In general, there is no higher
collegiate medical authority in the country
than that referred to Bellevue Hospital:
locally, no higher than that of the Western
Pennsylvania Medical College of Pittsburg,
which, April 8, 1889, through Its dean and
faculty, and, after a searching examination,
placed Its formal written indorsement upon the
diplomas of both Dr. Copeland and Dr. Blair.'
Treated by Mall.
Some time ago Mr. M. C Wilson, ef
Canonsburg, Pa,, placed himself, under
treatment, by mall, with Drs. Copeland &
Blair. His catarrhal trouble had extended
until it had involved his whole system. Ia
stating his case by letter early in July he
complained of a full, heavy feeling ia hia
head over the eyes, a bad taste in the moa th;
coughing and raising phlegm, dimness of
sight, sharp pains in the chest with a tight
pinched feeling and soreness In the luBgs. aad
a weak and shaky condition ot the limbs.
July 23 he wrote: "I jun improving steadHy:.
feel ever so much better than I have hi years.",
Aug. 8 be wrote: "My bead aad threat feel
clear. I sleep well and eat well, aad feet better
in every way." Aug. 18 he wrote: "I tee Hke a
different being from the one I was wbea I com
menced your treatment and I am quite wfflteg
that a short statement of what your treatment
has done for me should be made la the papers."
nnrTnuc -4
WAV1W1VU J
Are located permanently at
, t.
66 SIXTH AVENUE.
t
Coehoa-toUA.JC;3 tofi r.Ktri
v. iciBasoav neisaeai. '-
ka ttmnl
WE
BLlflWIi
'? i . - -J .-!
f
v. -'w
it
. i-M 'l.. f-fetv-al
.-