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ROBERT IREDELL, JR., PuntignEn,
ALLENTOWN, PA
[Written for She Chronicfe.l
A SUMMER IN KANSAS
BY ESTELLA De.NORD
The fresh cool night air refreshed Maud
very much. In the east the round moon was
rising, throwing a pale radiance over the
great prairie and calming her insensibly. Sit
ting there, Maud thought over the strange
chance, if there be such a word, by which her
life had been saved, and tbat, , too,, by this
man whom she bad never expected to see
again. Her thoughts went back to that bril
liant Juno morning, live years ago, when she
had seen him for the first.time.
It was while she was spending a few weeks
at Niagara, before going to Newport, and on
that morning she had gone out with a small
party for a walk along the river above the
falls. They stopped where the bank was five
or six feet above the water and amused them
selves by throwing pieces of wood and bark
into the river and watching the torrent carry
ing them away. They were talking and
laughing merrily, when suddenly a large atone
on the edge gave way, under the pressure of
her foot, and with one wild cry for help she
was precipitated into the rushing waters.. She
heard faintly the exclamations of horror and
despair that fell from the lips of her terrified
friends, and then came that frightful rushing
sound in her ears, that only drowning persons
can experience ; for one moment only, then
she felt herself seized by a strong arm and her
head supported above the water. Wild cheers
came from the shore above them to the brave
man who had rescued her. lie fought the
current with a strength that was almost bur
culean, and succeeded at last in gaining a
point far down towards the falls, so near them
that Maud fancied she felt the ground rocking
when he laid her on the shorn. Then for the
first time she opened her eyes ; they rested not
on one of the gentlemen of her own party, but
on a stranger who was bending over her, his
dark hair washed back from his brow and his
keen eyes watching her face eagerly.
"Thank Heaven !" be exclaimed as her
eyes opened.
Then her party came up, eager to reward
the brave fellow who had done what the brav
est of them dared not do. He must be some
sailor, or perhaps one of the dwellers near
that fearful ever, who had braved its dangers
before.
"Name your reward my brave man and
Harry Willis stopped short, for the stranger
had turned and faced him, and there was that
in hie face which caused him to leave the sen
tence unfinished. In spite of the rude, plain
dress he stood before them like a young king
in his haughty self-possession.
"I deserve no reward and want none," he
said quietly, " The lady was in danger and I
happened to be a good swimmer—that was
all." ,
He turned to go, but Maud had arisen and
followed him, holding out her hand, "At
least, let me thank you," she said, with tears
in her beautiful eyes, " I shall never forget
you as long as the life you saved this morning
is mine ; will you let me know your name?"
" With pleasure ; my name Is John Win
gate. lam a western hunter on my way to
New York, where I have business," replied
the stranger, holding for a moment her hand
in a firm, warm clasp.
Maud unwired ntur..gave him ner isuureee,
and urged him warmly to visit her during hie
stay In New York. " Perhaps," she said
softly, " I may find some way of acknowledg
ing your braveiy when I see you again.','
He loved an acknowledgement of her Invi
tation, and, returning to the place where he
bad leaped into the river, picked up the hat
he had thrown away and disappeared among
the trees beyond. .Maud lad not seen him
. ,
afterwards, for though she shortened her stay
and hastened home, hoping to show her grati
tude more fittingly, he never came, and now
after all those months and years she was rid
ing with him over that far western prairie.
How often shelled thought and &carried of that
proud, handsome face I and how like another
dream seemed the reality I All this Maud
thought as she eat there under the pale moon
light. Her companion was silent ; he fancied
that she needed rest and quiet after that ter
rible day, and rude as his surroundings were,
he was naturally kind and considerate, and
let her have both ; presently he noticed that
ber head drooped wearily, and, leaning
forward, found that she had fallen asleep. He
drew her toward him gently till hcrhead rest
ed on Ills breast, then supporting her with his
left arm, he congratulated himself on having
made her very comfortable.
On, on they sped, Gipsy's feet never halt
ing, and his great strength never flagging. It
was after three o'clock, when John Wingate,
watchful and cautious, turned for the 'tun
dreth time to discover any signs of pursuit
that might appear. His heart .gave a great
bound ashe discovered on the western horizon
a number of dark spots, Invisible to n less
practiced eye, but most surely pursuers, as he
knew only too well. He turned his horn, ut
tered a few warning words and then wheeled
again giving him a quick encouraging pat.
The sagacious animal had seen and compre
hended the danger . and now actually flew over
the level ground.
The hunter's arm tightened involuntarily
around his precious charge and the motion,
slight as it was, awakened her.
• " Have I slept long 1 I fear I LISNO• a iOO
you," she said, drawing herself liomitib Irm
that had supported her, crimson with' embar
rassment.
" Tired me 1 not at all ; you have • slept for
more than an hour," ho answered, unwilling
to let her know the . danger that menaced them.
" How fast we are going ! Do you fear pur-
EMU
Yes, the red-skins are coming, as I feared
they would."
Maud shrank lt& Into the shelter she had
quitted in such confusion a moment ago, and
clung convulsively there. . .
" Oh, they will kill us, they will kill us
both 1" she cried, shivering.
The bridle dropped on Gipsy's neck, while
Ids master folded the frightened helpless girl
in his strong arms, drawing her closer sod I
closer till she could feel the beating of his
great brave heart against her own.
" I will save you if it Is in mortal power to
do it, and whatever comes of our race for life,
they shall not touch a hair of your head be
fore they have taken my life."
Then taking up the bridle he urged the
faithful horse on to renewed efforts, while
Maud, half fainting with terror, turned to see
the danger that was threatening them.
" They are very far away," she said, half
hopefully.
"They will he near enough anon," -an.
swered her companion with a grist smile.
" BUt if we succeed In reaching the timber be
fere they overtake us we arc safe enough."
"What timber ?"
" Brall's woods, where you were captured
You can see it in the distance. Gipsy knows
a bridle path leading straight through the
thickest part, which I do not think they will
benble to find. If they take the usual road,
- which is a round-about one and enters the
forest at nearly the same place, we shall gala
enough time to reach the settlement' before
they overtake us." ' -
" Perhaps they will not pursue us farther
than the woods for fear of being capthred."
"It Is not certain that they will venture
very near the settlement, their horses being
VOL. XXV
too tired to enable them to escape should the
settlers give therth chase."
On they flew, the savages drawing nearer,
till the fugitives could hear their tierce yells
In the distance, but nearer, too, loomed the
dark shadow of the timber to the eastward.
Gipsy strong and willing, was straining every
muscle to reach the destined shelter as if his
instinct told him that the safety of his beloved
master depended on his efforts. At last, at last
they dashed into the dark haven of safety,and
Maud looking back shuddered as she saw how
near their dreaded erierniee were. The hun
ter gave a triumphant shout as his horse turn
ed into the narrow tangled path, known only
to him. The sudden silence of the savages
told the fugitives that they were discussing
the propriety of further pursuit. Only for a
moment, then the crackling of the bushwood
proved that they had not given up the chase.
"If they should take this path also," whis
pered Maud breathlessly."
"They will not" answered her companion,
"don't you hear their yells growing fainter,
they are going far to the right of us."
Wingate's conjecture was correct, they were
far into the open country before the Indians
emerged from the woodland. Their complete
silence proved how utterly discomfited and
astonished they were at the headway made by
their pet enemy and his companion, and after
a short consultation they turned back silently
and reluctantly.
For a few momenta longer the hunter al
owed his brave horse to dash on with unaba
ed speed, then he drew' the rein in and turned
him. The animal gave a triumphant snort,
while his matter dismounted and threw the
bridle over his arm.
"You can occupy the saddle during the re
mainder of our journey, Miss Radcliffe," he
said, " Gipsy has dohe his duty bravely and
deserves to be relieved," • throwing his arm
over the arched neck of the panting foam-cov
ered creature, who understanding the mute,
familiar caress, :rubbed his head against his
master's shoulder.
find I not better walk also I" Hand
asked
"No, we brae still several miles to go and
you will need all the strength you have left,
even to ride that distance. Besides, Gipsy
scarcely feels your weight."
So Maud rema'ned where she was while the
hunter walked by his side. The houses of the
settlement were visible at last.
"We shall take the settlement la our course
and inform your friends of your safety, and
then proceed at once to the house of your
cousin, or, if you wish, you can remain at
Mr. Oshorn's while I ride over."
"I should like to go home to-night yet, If
is not putting you to too much inconyeni-
ME!
" None at all, and I shall have the satisfac
tion of seeing you myself safely with your
natural protectors," replied . Mr. Wingate,
smiling.
There were lights burning In every house
as they rode into the little village and halted
before the house of Mr. Osborn. The hunter
assisted Maud to alight and the next instant
Susie Osborn ran out of the house, new up to
her friend and flung her arms around her.
" Ok I" she exclaimed, crying and laughing
at the same time, " I am ao glad, so very glad
that you are safe. Will and Charley have
been ant all night and we had given up the
hope of seeing you again. I was sure the
ch.rw,
mother, here she is I Oh I am .n gurt
dear, precious darling," , giving her another
hug before she released her. The whole fam
ily hastened out of the louse to welcome back
the lost girl. Mr. Osborn was the first one to
recover his senses sufficiently to notice her
deliverer.
" Why, John Wingate, bless your dear,
good heart I" he cried out, grasping the hand
extended to him, "this is kind of you. Come
in. Barry take his horse."
"No, thank you, Harry," said the hunter
laying his hand on the bridle, "Miss Rad
cliff desires to proceed at once to Mr. Fair
fax's and I shall take her there of course, if
she is not too much fatigued."
"Ah I" laughed the old settler, "I never
knew John Wingate to do anything by halves,
but from the appearance of your horse I
should judge that you had come quite far
enough for one night."
" Oh, you will remain here, will you not ?"
pleaded Susie, coaxingly, putting her arm
around the waist of her friend,
"No, my dear, we must go at once ; Nellie
must be nearly distracted." -
"At least tell us where you have been. It
seems so unaccountable, and 1 shall never for
give myself," said Will Osborn penitently.
"Oh, there is nothing to forgive. The
fault, If fault there was, attaches to myself. I
should not have strayed away from you,"
answered Maud ; and in as few words as possi
ble she told the story of her capture and escape,
after which, mounted on fresh -horses, (for
the settlers would not allow Lipsey to go
another step) they left for Mend's temporary
home. . .
Confusion and despair reigned In the pion.
eer's cottage, which was usually so happy,
Nellie was sobbing on the lounge, while her
husband was pacing the room, anxious to
join in the search, yet • unable to leave hls
terrified wife.
In this state the sound of horses' hoofs
struck on Richard's ear. He hurried to the
door and the next moment the wanderers
drew up before the gate.
" She has come, Nellie," he cried joyously.
" Oh, Richard, you would not deceive me ?"
" Certainly not, my love. It is Maud her
self and there is a stranger with her. John
Wingate, as I live I" hastening to throw
open the gate. The next instant poor little
Nellie was Bobbing on the bosom of her friend,
while Mr. Fairfax was persuading her com
panion to remain.
"I shall not let you go, John," he said;
" even if you had not done us such a service
I should insist on your remaining for the sake
of old times.".
Maud's curiosity was aroused by the
words.
"Did you know Mr. Wingate; Richard ?"
she asked.
"Yes, over since I have been out here."
" And you never mentioned him." •
"Oh, he had forgotten the very existence
of his old friend, at least his visits have ceased
entirely of late," answered the hunter.
Richard's frank face took on a puzzled ex
pression.
" I really don't know how It came about, I
did like you always and do still," he said.
"Oh, I see plainly," said his friend with an
expressive glance at the settler's pretty wife,
who had quite recovered her equanimity,'" I
have been supplanted."
Nellie blushed rosily and Richard laughing
in a happy, contented way, went to put up the
horses. In the meantime Maud related her
adventures to Nellie Who, when all bad retired
for the remainder of the night, repeated them
to her husband in the privacy of their own
rooms with many comments of her own. '
. "We shall go to see him some time, shall
we not ? It wasn't kind in you to neglect him
all this time." '
" I know it wasn't ; and now go to sleep,
there's a good little wife, the day is dawning
already." • ' •
Breakfast the next Morning was lateiand In
formal enough, hut the little circle that gath
ered around the table were in the beet humor,
although Maud declared that it would take her
several days to get goer the effects of her tom-
3 1'tbitib
pulsory ride. Nellie was In her element, do
log the honors of her table with a matronly
dignity that was very becoming, and on the
whole, Mr. Wingate thought he bad not en
joyed a meal more. for many years.
" You must come often, John," said Rich
ard as the former was taking his leave, " we
shall always be happy to see you."
"Yes, I do not want to lose sight of you as
suddenly and mysteriously as I did the other
time," added Maud.
"I am going further east, having husinens
at the next fort, that ought to have been at
tended to long ago ; I may atop here on my
way back in a few days."
" We shall cut your , acquaintance if you
don't," said Nellie following her guest to .the
gate, where the horse stood eager to be otr.
Mr. Wingate did stop in on his way home
and spent a very pleasant day with his friends.
Nor was that visit his last. He was surprised
to find how often business called him to the
settlement and natural it was to extend his
trip to the little white cottage further on. Alas
for John Wingate's habitual shrewdness I He
would have blushed with shame at the mere
Idea of more then a friendly interest in his
friend's wealthy guest; but he did not think.
Once they rode over to pay him a visit, and
Maud, -not terrified this time by the close pro
pinquity of her copper•colorcd lover, fairly
reveled among the books, and paintings of the
eccentric hunter. She was deep in the mys
teries of a queer old volume of• Mythology,
while the rest of the party, including Mr.
Wingate had gone up the ravine a short dis
tance, as she thought, when a form darkened
the doorway. She turned with a frightened
look In her eyes, quite expecting to see the
horrible well•rcmembered features of Red
Feather, but instead she met those of her host,
wonderfully soft and smiling.
"I know who you were thinking of," he
said, "I know by the loving expression of
your face."
Maud laughed and assured him that she had
no doubt her face expressed her sentiments
towards the illustrious individual who hon
ored her by his preference.
"By the way, I have nerve about Red
Feather that will grieve you."
" Ah, indeed I What is it 1"
" A party of tie rodo down to the village the
other day, and found that the whole tribe had
removed further west."
"Thank fortune!" exclaimed Maud fervent•
ly.
" We gained the Information from an old
scout living in the neighborhood, who used
to trade with them as amicably as if he had
not tracked them to the death In his younger
days. That reminds me—Excuse me one
moment." '
The hunter hastened Into a small room at
the rear where he kept his relics and other
valuables, and returning in a moment, threw
over the head of his guest the identical chain
and cross she had given to the Indian.
"My chain I" cried Maud gladly. "I never
expected to see it again. What an extremely
convenient man you are, Mr. Wingate.'!
Mr. Wingate acknowledged the naive com
pliment by a slight bow, and went on to ex
plain :
" Your savage admirer exchanged It for a
string of beads, a wolf s-skin and a quart of
fire-water—"
The wretch," Interrupted Maud indig
n antl v
You see he believed in quantity rather
observing that Red Feather had stolen or
begged it of a white woman, and guessing
who the owner was, I possessed myself of it
and now claim the pleasure of returning It."
"You are very kind, Mr. Wingate, but—"
Maud blushed and hesitated, winding the
chain round her slender forefinger, then hast
ily taking it off she fastened it around his neck.
" You will keep it as a slight token of my
gratitude and esteem, will you not ?" she
asked raising her eyes to his with a look in
them that brought the hot blood into his dark
cheeks.
" If you wish it, yes," ho replied and many
hanks for your esteem as well as for the beau-
Uhl gift. May I never lose either."
The voices of the rest of the party were
heard at this moment, and Maud at once
turned to her book, while her companion hid
the cross in his bosom. The merry compa
ny burst upon them, laden with flowers and
berries.
" A.h, you truants I thought we should
find you here," cried Susie Osborn, who
happened to be foremost, "to remain in-doors
on such an afternoon, I am ashamed of you,
Maud Radcliffe."
" Not ashamed, only jealous, because Mr.
Wingate bad the bad taste to leave her at the
outset of our walk and return to the house,"
interrupted her brother mischievously.
"I owe Miss Susie an apology. I returned
with the intention of inducing her friend to
join us but she had picked up a book that
interested her so much that I did not succeed.
Would you like to take it along to read at
your leisure, Miss Radcliffe ?"
" Oh, if you could let me have it, I should
read it with the greatest pleasure," said Maud.
"And now I dare say it is time to start,"
broke in practical Frank Wallace, who had
only after much persuasion on the part of
Susie and hie merry little wife been induced
to join the party at all.
"Oh, you tiresome man I" sold the former,
with an impatient stamp of her foot, ".you
are spoiling our fun at every turn, you haven't
suggested one pleasant thing yet, to-day."
"It is four o'clock, and it will take us till
ten to reach home, and that is always my
hour for retiring," said the Imperturbable
Frank coolly. "Isn't it, Bessie?"
Mrs. Bessie deigned no reply; however,
Mr. Wallace carried his point. In less than
half an hour the little party was mounted.
The ride homeward was a very pleasant
one. Maud, riding so securely by the side of
her handsome escort, Will Osborn, could not
hclp remembering that other ride, two months
ago, when life or death depended on the .
strength and speed of one noble animal. Bhe
had thought of it with tears in her eyes that
day, as she stole away to Gipsy's stable and
pressed her soft cheek to his glossy neck.
How she had wanted to show him her love
and gratitude. Perhaps be had understood
her wish, at least he had rubbed his smooth
sensitive ears against her shoulder and looked
with an almost human intelligence into her
eyes.
How swiftly that bright summer passed
away. To Maud it seemed likeone long holi
day away from the school of fashion, the tasks
of metropolitan We. How calmly beautiful
this western world was 1 How genial and un
affected its Inhabitants I She looked forward
almost with dread to too time when she must
leave this new life for the monotonous routine
of fashionable society, and yet that time drew
nearer and nearer,till one calm September day
saw her kneeling before her trunk and stow
ing away the last article. Mr. and Mrs. Fair
fax had gone to the settlement and would not
be back before night. In a few days at the
farthest, just as Boon as the trader with whom
alto was to go as far as 131. Louis could get
ready, she was to bid farewell to the scones
that had become so dear to her. One circum
stance troubled her sorely. She had notseen
Mr. Wingate for nearly a month, and it was
not likely that she should see him before she
left, for be came seldom of , late ; he had been
there but once since their visit to his cabin
early In August. And now she longed to see
him once more as she had never longedto see
ALLENTOWN, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, MAY 3 1871.
any one before. She did not question or
blame herself because of this wish ; it seemed
so natural that she should wish to see this
man, who like an earthly Providence had
twice snatched her from mortal danger, and to
thank him, even though she knew' that, once
under the spell of his clear, steady eyes and
genial manner, she should find the task as im
possible as she always had, as-impossible as
he desired her to find it. Had she offended
him t Kneeling there Maud tried to think of
all she had said and done when she had seen
him last, but she could think of nothing that
could have hurt his feelings.
"Dreaming, Miss Radcliffe ?"
Maud started to her feet and confronted the
object of her speculations.
"I was thinking of you, Mr. Wingate, I
am so glad to see you," she said holding out
her hand with real pleasure in her dark eyes.
"You are pot going away V pointing to
her trunk.
" Yes, in a day or two. I was afraid I
should not sec you again. You are not well,
Mr. Wingate," she added hastily. *
The man's face had grown deathly pale and
he steadied himself on the back of a chair
near him. •
" Excuse me. I have Wen 111 since I.,was
here last, and I fear the ride has been too
much for me." Ills voice was lovl but quiet
and he had 'seated himself on the lounge and
was resting his head on his hand.
Maud poured out a glass of water and held
it to his lips. He drank it eagerly.
"Thank you. I feel better now. Are Mr..
and Mrs. Fairfax not at home."
" No they have gone to spend the day at
Mr. Wallace's and to see how soon Mr. Wilde
will start for St. Louis. I shall go under his
protection.
" You will be glad to get back into the civil
ized' world after your sojourn among us semi
barbarians," said the hunter with a touch of
bitterness In his voice.
" No I have been very happy here, and I
shall be sorry to leave you all,believe me."
Ile did not reply : he only looked moodily
out over the green prude with a sad faraway
look in his stern eyes that brought the tears
=EI
"Mr. Wingate have wanted to ask you
Something this long while. Will you tell
IMO
Perhaps so. I must know what it is
" Will you tell me why you hide yourself
Jere, when you might till such n high position
n Society ?"
" Society l" lie exclaimed bitterly " What
right has a poor man to claim a place in so
ciety. I hate the very word. Shall I tell
you my history ?"
"Yes," she answered eagerly.
"Itis a very simple one. It will not take
five minutes to tell. I was born in New
York. My father was a wealthy man and
denied me nothing. I graduated at Yale
college and was about to finish my education
as a lawyer with an t eminent practitioner
when my father died, and died a ruined man.
It was rumored that he lost his fortune at. the
gaming table, but I know it was false. When
I returned to my home I was almost penniless.
My lather's friends closed their doors upon
me. I was young and proud and hot-head
od, and the slights I met stung me to the very
soul. Thoroughly disgusted with everything,
with no one to advise or restrain, for I was
motherless from my infancy, I fled from the
. . .
pardonable injury, and buried myself in this
newer and better world. I have been to New
York only once since, five years ago. I went
then at the summons of the man who had
been my father 4 s partner and who was on his
death-bed. Ile confessed that he had ruined
my father but could make no reparation as
every cent of his money had been lost in
gambling. He had sent for me to crave my
forgiveness without which he could not die.
I gave It freely for how could I refuse It to the
dying wretch Y Then I went back to my sol
itude. I have no desire to leave It."
" And yet you are not quite happy," Maud
said, looking searchingly Into the proud
gloomy face.
"No one is happy who lives an unloved
life." The words seemed wrung from his
very heart, and his eyes studiously averted
hitherto met hers, and in the fierce, yearning
glance that shot from them Mend read his
carefully guarded secret.
" No one need live an unloved life,". she
answered softly, " you, least of all men."
"Be careful how you speak to me, Maud
Radcliffe,.l cannot bear platitudes In my pres
ent frame of mind, much less flattering."
The white tenth were clenched under his
heavy mustache and the look of intense suf
fering on his face touched the girl as no words
could have done. The next moment proud,
beautiful Mend Radcliffe was on her knees at
his side.
. " Do you love me, John ?" she asked, her
face burning With blushes.
"Better than my own soul, my darling;
let me call ymi that only once."
"I am so glad;" was all her answer; but
John Wingate read more In the arm stealing
around his neck, in the soft cheek pressed
against his face, than volumes could have
told.
He held her closely to his heart for a
moment, kissedher once passionately, then lie
seated her by his side aryl looked into her face.
How the cold hard eyes softened and warmed
as he scanned the beautiful blushing face !
" Why did you not tell are long ago that
you wanted me to love you, John ?" she
asked, her eyes dropping ben'eatli the earnest
ness of his gaze.
" I would not allow myself to think of love,
ranch less speak about it. I meant to kill the
love in my own heart ; that was why I stayed
away from you, but I could not stay away
long, I wanted to see you. Only I did not
mean to betray myself. How fair you are,
my darling I" putting back tho bright hair
from her brow and looking into her face with
wonderful boldness, now that he need not
fear betraying himself. " And yet I must
give you up."
"Give me up I What do you mean?"
Maud's brown eyes opened wide with aston
ishment.
"I mean that you are a beauty and an
heiress, and that I am—you see what I ani."
"Yes ; a brave noble man, who saved my
life and has a right to claim its best love. A
man whose heart any woman might be proud
to win."
" Thstis your Idea, Maud, 'but the world
would see In me only a fortune-hunter, a mise
rable adventurer."
"And because it would , you wish to make
us both unhappy."
"Ob,my beautiful Maud, if you were only
a penniless girl, how I could love you I how
I could toll for you I as it Is it were better for
us if wo bad never met. Our lives must sep.
orate here."
"This is the end then, when for five long
years I hoped against hope to meet you again,
searched for you brave face and strong arm
in every new acquaintance, Maud answered
with something like anger in her face. "As
you please Mr. Wingate."
"Mend, Maud you must not, shall not be
angry with me, I cannot bear it." He caught
her hands while a frightened look came into
his fece. " You would not leave your world,
and share my life in this wilderness, my
dearest ?"
" Certainly not, unless you wished it,"
answered Maud coolly, as she arose and
walked towards the windott•
He followed her, and stood ik perplexed
Silence by her aide, looking out over the
MEI
" There are my cousins coming now. Yon
will stay till to-morrow, 711 r. Wingate."
'• Don't go back to the old, every-day life,
Maud. Do you love me ? Answer me before
they come,you must," as she still hesitated,
half pointing.
" Yes, John."
"Then if you still love me In one year
from to-day, will you sit down and write to
me?"
" What shall I write ?"
" Only one word—Tome'."
" And you will come at my request ?"
" Yes, at once. I shall love you forever
as I do now.. but I cannot tako any pledge
from you until you have hod time to recon
sider your choice. It was wrong In me to
allow my feelings to run away with my
reason. I should not have spoken, but I can
not give you up now. It will be easier when
you are hundreds of miles away and wish to
be free. You do not wish It now ?"
One long loving look from the beautiful
eyes, such a look as no other man bad ever
received from them, answered him. Then
the settler and his wife entered the room.
" You Lyre, old fellow ?" was Richard's
boisterous salutation, "Bless my heart I what
a charming tete-a-tete you must have bad."
But shrewd little Nellie only gave a keen
look at both and never said a word. She
saw much more than her husband did, but
she kept her own counsel.
*•** * * * *
" There was a sound of revelry at night."
The season was near its close but the hop at
the favorite hotel at Newport was well at
tended, and the company was ns brilliant as
any that had assembled during the summer.
There was a stir near the door. Two. gentle.
men, who were conversing, made way, allow
ing another, evidently a stranger, to enter the
romp.
" Who's that, Hal ?"
" The new arrival, I haven't heard his
name, came only about two hours ago."
".2i. fine-looking fellow. Wonder whether
he would have any objections to a talk with
fellow ?"
"I wouldn't advise you to question him
much. lie dosen't look like one of that
kind."
However the first speaker gradually made
his way to where the new-comer was leaning
against a pillar, while his companien started
off in search of a partner for the next waltz.
"Fine evening, sir," said Charley Fenton,
for the gentleman tvho was so desirous of
making the stranger's acquaintance was no
other then our old friend, Charley Fenton.
The stranger's eyes came back slowly from
some object at the other end of the room.
"Yes sir, a very line evening," he answer-
cd absputly.
"I beg your pardon, you seem to be a stran,
gcr here. I can introduce you to some lady
if you wish to dance," persisted the officious
little fellow briskly.
" Thank you, Ido not dance". •
" Know anybody in that group yonder?
you appear to be interested."
"I was admiring the lady in blue."
" Nothing remarkable in that, sir, she has
at least a score of admirers in this room."
The stranger's eyes glittered dangerously
thee AWCtlt,over the crowded root's. .only
" She is very beautiful."
" Yes and quite as heartless as she Is beau
tiful," said Fenton bitterly, smarting at the
recollection of n brief conversation he had
had with that same lady a few days ago,
" Ah I" the stranger's cold eyes flashed tri
umphantly, and a wicked little smile played
around his lips for a moment as he regarded
his companion. A moment later he left the
MEM!
"I have something for you, Miss Radcliffe,
please."
Maud felt a small hand laid On her arni and
looking down saw little Fanny,the landlord's
daughter smiling up into her face. She kissed
the child and took the folded paper she hand
ed her
mechanically
"Thank you, Fanny,'' she said with a
MEI
The child dropped d demure little courtesy
and was lost In the crowd. Excusing herself
to her companions, Maud opened the paper
carelessly. What was It that brought the
blood in a crimson torrent all over the fair
calm face of the belle ? Her companions could
not conjecture, and these were the words
Maud read :
" Maud : Meet me on the southern veran
dm Yours,
AT TREUALL DOOR
Instinctively glanced from the paper to the
door, and there looking straight into her face
with that sweet rare smile she remembered so
well, was John Wingate, not the rude hunter
of Kansas, but &gentleman elegant in appear
ance and faultlessly perfect in dress. Aland
gave back his smile involuntarily but before
her friends had time to follow the direction of
her glance he had disappeared. Only Charley
Penton saw the quick interchange of intelli
gence and began to see the drift of the stran
ger's interest in the lady in blue.
Meanwhile ou the southern veranda stood
Mr.Wingatc waiting with a lover's impatience,
for the appearance of his fair lady-love. A
light step behind him at lengths caused him to
turn quickly. Maud sprang with a glad cry
into the arms opened to receive her.
"At length, my darling, the long year is
Past," he whispered, "and you ace true to
me."
" Oh, it has been such a long, long year
It was cruel in you to insist on such a long
probation without even writing to me once."
"I was morally certain that you would for
get your western lover amid the fascinations
of the elegant men of your own world."
" You are a miserable skeptic. and I ought
to have punished you by marrying one of
them."
"The little fellow who made himself so
agreeable to me awhile ago for Instance,"
said Mr. 'Wingate laughing, "I wonder who
MEM
" Charley Fenton, I'll warrant he is always
making himself agreeable to strangers," sug
gested Maud, ",and, by the way, there ho Is
coming this way now for all the world as if be
did not know we were here ; shall we return
to the house."
****** * * •
On the spot where once stood Richard Fair
fax's cottage, a prosperous town has sprung
up, and there, near neighbors and close friends
as well as prominent citizens John Wingate
and Richard Fairfax live a happy contented
life, and the former still remembers, with par
donable pride, how ten years ago he curried
off the belle of the season at Newport and
broUght her to share his life in the far west.
BICE=
TII F, Joint High Commission at Washington
is about closing its labors. The reports con
cerning their work have been so numerous
and so contradictory that It rs difficult to un
derstand exactly what has been done, but the
Commission seems to have been quite as suc
cessful as was anticipated at the outset. It Is
now stated that the Commissioners aro now
busy in preparing a treaty which Is to consoll
date thmesults of their labors, and that this
I treaty will embrace the Alabama Claims, the
fishery question and the Ban Juan boundary
dispute.
ARGUMENT
OF FRANKLIN B. GOWEN
Before the Judiciary Committee of
the Senate of Pennsylvania, on
lielialfof the itadiroati and Mining
IntereNts of l'enopiylvania, Itlarch
311, 1871.
Wt., who are Pennsylvanians,
have always been under the impression that
our State derived great benefits from having
within her borders the only accessible deposits
of anthracite coal yet discovered in the United
States. I have been taught to regard thi3 pos
session of the vast mineral wealth as a great
blessing ; but I can assure you, that in conse
quence of two years of suffering under the
control and mismanagement of the leaders of
the Benevolent Association, I am almost
tempted to doubt whether all this treasure
upon which our commonwealth has so largely
depended for her revenue—which has given
such an unexampled Impetus to our manufac
tures, and has attracted to us an aggregation
of capital that has supplied employment for,
and fed and clothed so large at proportion of
an industrious laboring population—has not
been a great evil and a great curse ; and I fear
that you, gentlenlen, who haire spent so much
time in an earnest endeavor to fathom the cau
ses of the present unfortunate condition of
affairs in the coal regions, will be willing to
agree with mo in this conjecture.
Our neighbors of Now York derive their
prosperity from,
and boast of the supremacy
of commerce ; but when we recall to our
minds how fleeting and evanescent has been
the xeign of commercial prosperity in all the
countries of the world, and remember that at
the beginning of this century Salem was one
of the most important ports in the United
States, who can tell whether, ere the close of
the century, Salem or Boston may not have
regained its supremacy, or whether the Ships
whose sails now whiten the bay of New York
may not float upon the waters of the Dela
ware, or ride at anchor in the harbor of Nor
folk I' But the prosperity derived from the
possession of mineral treasures is more endur
ing ; and in her coal fields our own great
Commonwealth has control of an unfailing
source of wealth, which, if properly fostered
by the State, will be far more lasting than that
which depends upon the diamonds of Brazil,
or is derived from the gold of California.
You may be surprised to learn that the coal
traffic alone has within the past ten years paid
into the treasury of the State between five and
six millions of dollars; and that, notwithstand
ing the difficulties with which we have had to
contend during the pastyear, the corporations
for whom I now appear before you have paid,
as taxes to the state in the year 1870, nearly
eight hundred thousand dollars. Why is it
that our farmers have been releived from State
taxation upon their lands, the State debt has
ceased to be a burden upon our population,
and - the finances of the Commonwealth are in
so sound a condition ? Simply because the in
terests for which I appear before you—which
have been stricken down by the unlawful
combination of an ignorant faction, and are
now struggling to be heard, in a calm, judicial
investigation, against the wild clamor of the
demagogue and the fanatic--have paid into
the coffers of the State so large an amount of
taxes that other Interests and other, industries
have been relieved from the payment of any.
Having called your attention to the great
importance of the subject under consideration,
and fully conscious that the result of your de
liberations may be either to rescue these great
interests from the evils that environ them, or
to consign them again to the control of a ty
rannical association, I now propose (because
it is necessary as part of the argument I shall
make in d2lence of the course pursued by the
railroad companies) to give, as succinctly as I
can, and with some regard to the chronology
of events, a statement of the causes which
have led the several corporations to adopt the
course which has called forth this investiga
hiteg,U3T, Rrf u seat v a legal arpment in
present difficulty and preventing its recurrence
le the future.
It is well known that during .the late war
the demand for coal was greatly increased.
The navy required a large supply, and manu
facturers—who are always the great consu
mers—were prosperous and active ; coal-min
ing became exceedingly profitable ; the coal
carrying railroads all made money ; tho miners
and laborers were paid high wages ; and it
was no uncommon occurrence for a good
miner to earn several hundred dollars a month.
In consequence of this, a great impetus was
given to the coal trade. New collieries were
rapidly opened; new coalyegions were brought
into connection with the markets by new
railroads, 'which were extended into every
valley that contained a deposit of coal; and
the high wages earned by the miner attracted
from other countries a large immigration of
skilled workmen, and diverted to the business
of mining many who left other trades and
occupations to gather the golden harvest
which was spread before them. The natural
result of this was that after peace was declared,
and the war demand had ceased, the produc
tive capacity of the anthracite coal regions
was far greater than was required to supply
the consumption of coal, and the laboring
population had increased so rapidly that em-
ployment could not be given to all.
The natural remedy for this state of things
would have been enforced by the law of de
mend and supply. The badly-constructed
and illventilated collieries that could not pro.
duce coal at the rate the public was willing to
pay for it would have been abandoned, and'
the better class of collieries that could have
supplied the market would have continued at
work and given employment to as many men
as were necessary to produce the amount of
coal required by the wants of the community.
The surplus population that could find no
employment at mining would have gone back
to other occupations until the increased de
mand for coal, resulting from low prices,
would have called them again to the coal
regions. Thus lie ear or two of low prices
would have supplied the cure for all the evils
that were felt at the close of the war. But
about this time there came into prominence
an organization which is now known as the
Workingmen's Benevolent Association. Em
bracing originally [leveret distinct societies in
the different regions, it gradually became a
united and compact organization, chartered
first by the courts and subsequently by the
Legislature; and by the year 1868 it embraced
nearly the entire laboring population of the
anthracite coal region.
The object of this organization was to se
cure employment for all its members, and pro.
vent the reduction of wages which every other
class of labor had to submit to at the close of
the war. Well knowing that if all its mem
bers worked a full day during the year, the
production of coal would be much greater than
the demand, they Insisted upon an increased
rate of wages and decreased amount of work,
which would enable a man to earn in six or
seven months as much as had previously been
earned in a year—so that the entire poulaon
should receive employment without increas
ing the supply of coal above the demand. As
it was also well known so them that such
wages could not be paid unless the price of
coal was kept up to a high rate, they suspended
work whenever the price reached such a sum
as made it impossible for their employer to
comply with their demands.
We, who thought we understood something
about the laws of trade, and knew that natural
causes would soon bring relief, remonstrated
with the leaders of this organization in vain.
The law of supply and demand, and every
sound maxim of trade which experience has
demonstrated to be correct, were thrown to
the winds ; and from the bowels of the earthl
there came swarming up anew school of petit.
ical economists, who professed to be able,
during the leisure hours of their short working
day, to regulate a great industry and restore
it to vigor and health. In the Wildest flight of
the imagination of the moat pretentious char
latan there never was conceived such a cure
for the ills with which we were afflicted as
was suggested by these new doctors. In their
hands, however, we were powerless and
with thinl eagerness of a student, and the assur
ance of a quack, they seized upon the body of
a healthy trade, and have so doctored and
physicked it that it is now reduced to the
ghost of the shadow of an attenuation.
The first dose of this new panacea was admin
istered in the year 1868; and a general sus.
pension of work for many weeks, resulting in
advanced prices andligher wages, encouraged
them to proceed with - the treatment. Again
in the early partof 1869 a general suspension
in the regions was inaugurated, accompanied
by a demand for a rate of wages based upon
the price for which coal was sold; so that as
coal advanced the wages of the men were also
to advance; but a minimum rate of wades was
demanded, which was never dollars wer than
when coal was Sold at five at Eliza.
bethport i and three dollars at Port Carbon.
When coal brought these prices It was pos.
siblo for the coal opemtor to pay the minimum
rate of wages without losing money; but as
these prices were about from fifty to seventy
five cents a ton higher than coal could possibly
be sold for when all the regions were at work,
and consequently that much higher than the
public should be asked to pay for it, the ope
mtors of all the regions refused to accede to
the demand. After six weeks of idleness,
when it was apparent that the strike in the
Wyoming and Lehigh regions would be of
long duration, the operators of Schuylkill
county agreed to the terms demanded by the
men, and commenced work at the three-dollar
basis as a minimum. Both of the other regions
being Idle, the price of coal :was very high at
Port Carbon; and so long as the Schuylkill
county operators had the entire market to them
selves they could afford to pay the wages.
The public, and the miners and operators of
the other regions were the only sufferers.
After five months of idleness in the other re
gions, when the depletion of the supply bad
increased prices to a high rate, and It was evi
dent that Schuylkill county was taking cue.
tomers away from the other districts, both the
'Lehigh and Wyoming regions resumed work
—the former upon the terms demanded by the
men, and the three larger companies in the
latter without a basis, but at a rate of wages
far greater than had been originally asked.
During the few weeks of the close of the sea
son of 1869, when all the regions were pro.
ducing, it became evident that the price of coal
could not, and ought not, be sustained at such
a rate as would enable the operators !n all the
coal fields to pay the wages which those of
one could pay when the others were idle ; and,
accordingly, in the winter of 1809-70, a now
basis was asked for by the operators of Schuyl
kill county, which would enable them to pro
duce coal as low as $2.25 and $2.50 per ton.
This was refused by the Workingmen's Be.
nevolent Association, and the result was, the
long strike of 1870, which kept the Schuylkill
region idle for twenty weeks, Lehigh and Wy
oming continued at work in 1870; and in con
seqUenze of the large amount of Schuylkill
coal kept out of the market, the operators of
the other region realized high prices, and were
able to pay the high rate of wages—the only
sufferers being the public, as in 1869, and the
operators, workmen, and carrying companies
of the Schuylkill region.
In the latter part of July, 1870, the Work
ingmen's Benevolent Association agreed to a
modification of. their domande ; and in the
Schuylkill regions work s as resumed August
1, 1870, at what has so frequently been alluded
to In the course of this investigation as the
"Gowen Compromise," which, while it
adopted the same rate of wages at $3 as was
paid the previous year at $3, permitted the
rate to decrease in the same proportion as it
advanced, and established the minimum at $2;
so that when coal sold for $2 at Port Carbon
the workmen received thirty-three per cent.
Mei; wages than when it sold forsl3 ; and when
$4 per ton at Port Carbon-was reaized by the
operator, the workmen got an advance of thir
ty-three per cent. above what he was entitled
to at $3. Under this 'new basis work was
continued in Schuylkill county during the re
maining five months of 1870, and the amount
of coal then sent to market, in addition to
what was mined in the Lehigh and Wyoming
fields, was such that prices fell to $2.25 and
$2.50 per ton at Port Carbon. As this " Gow
en Compromise" was only to last during the
season of 1870, it became necessary to adopt
some
season - of
for 1871, and in the month of Nov
ember last the regular committee of the Work
ingmen's Benevolent Association and opera
tors met and agreed upon a rate of wages for
1871, which Alas entirely satisfactory to both
parties and which has been called the $2.50
basis..
You will remember that during the whole
of 1870 the three large mining companies of
the upper 'Wyoming region had been paying
the exorbitant rate of wages which they agreed
to, rather than submit to the claim for a basis.
It must he evident to all of you, that at this
rate of wages the coal of these three companies
was costing them more then they could realize
for it during the months of October and No
vember last. Accordingly, they announced a
reduction of wages to take effect on December
1 ; and though this 1'4010,10n was not greater
mitsik..lllo.zuto About
mit to it, and on the Ist of December, 1870,
they struck and quit work.
I now desire to call your particular atten
tion to the fact—which is undisputed—that at
this time there wqs no difficulty whatever ex
isting between the Workingmen's Benevolent
Association and their employers, upon the
question of wages, in the Schuylkil, Lehigh
or Lower Wyoming districts. • In the Schuyl.
kill region the men were working under the
"Gowen Compromise,"which was to continue
during the year 1870, and their representa
tive had agreed with their employers in re
commending the adoption of the 2.50 basis for
1871. In the Lehigh and Lower Wyoming
coal fields no intimation had been given by
either aide of an intention to change the basis
under which the men were working. Not
withstanding this, however, a general suspen
sion was ordered by the Workingmen's Be
nevolent Association to take place on Janu
ary 10, 1871, and this order was literally
obeyed.
The object of this suspension, as stated by
the officers of the Workingmen's Benevolent
Association, and published in their organ, tho
Anthracite Monitor, was to deplete the market,
reduce the supply, and advance the price of
coal ; and there can be no doubt that it was
resorted to in the first Instance to assist the
men of the three large mining companies, who
had been upon a strike since the lstof Decem
ber, and who could not hope to hold out very
long in their demands for exorbitant wages if
the coal market was being supplied from other
regions. I presume that the consideration to
be given by these men of the three companies
for this assistance was•an absolute adhesion to
the Workingmen's Benevolent Association,
and obedience to its demands, that no work
should be done except upon the basis. Tito
suepenalon, therefore, became general in all
the districts on January 10th. On the 15th of
February the General Council of the Work
ingmen's Benevolent Association ordered a
resumption of work ; but this order was ac
companied by a claim in the Upper Wyoming
districts for the high wages of 1870, and in the
Schuylkill region It had been predded by a
demand for the old $3 minimum basis. These
demands were not acceded to, andthe suspen
thou still continues.
I have thus gone over two years of alternate
suspensions and etrikCs, by which, occasion
ally, the workingmen of one region would
realize exorbitant wages, but always at the
expense of their suffering brethren of another,
who were kept In idleness by their own,
actions. Out of the last twenty-two months
the workingmen of Schuylkill and the upper
Wyoming districts have been' idle for nine
months—and thoso.of the Lehigh region have
been idle for eight months—and yet, with
moderate wages and low prices for coal, they
could have had steady employment.
Let me now ask. What bas been the effect
of this control of the coal trade, so relentlessly
exercised by the Workingmen's Benevolent
Association during the last two years-1
mean its effects upon others than themselves
—upon the operators, upon the railroad com
panies, upon the coal trade, upon the iron in
terests, and upon the State?
Before entering, however, upon this sub
ject, I desire to say a few words in behalf of
the coal operators. Ido not moan in behalf
of the one out of the five hundred who has
appeared here as the especial champion of the
workingmen, but on.behalf of the remaining
four hundred and ninety-nine whom the ono
referred to bas characterized, out of his choice
vocabulary of abuse, as " lying thieves and
scalawag operators." I will take Mr. Cen
drick as an example. Ile commenced lias a
laborer in the mines, became a miner, worked
for twenty years as such, was made a super
intendent, saved ont of his hard earnings
enough to enable him to possess a colliery of
his own, and now, when well advanced in
life, be finds the accumulated earnings of long
years of toil threatened with destruction, and
himself hold up to Ignominy and reproach,
because In this free country' be has had the
courage to resist the fierce tide of agrarianism
that has threatenedo reduce him to beggary,
and to run riot with the property which his
own patient industry and toil have enabled
him to lay up for old age.
You must remember, gentlemen, that In the
effect of thesesuspensions upon the two classes
of men, employer and employed, there is a
wide difference. The miner or laborer, if ho
does not choose to work, can pack up his ef
fects and move to another locality ; but the
employer Is bound to his colliery, all his prop.
erty Is there invested, and upon the success of
the enterprise depends not only i ts s ence but that which to some men dearer
than'llfe—his character for eommercial integ
rity. The miner lass no money invested in
the coal business. • The operator may have
twohundred thousand dollars expended at ono
colliery. lie may have notes to pay and con
tracts for the delivery of coal to comply with ;
Oil of these be can meet If he is permitted to
work his mines. employes may be
anxious to work for Mut, and may be entirely
- -
ROBERT ER,EDF.X.T.,TR.
Main anb ,ffancp 21ob 'printer,
No. 008 HAMILTON STREET, -
ELEOANTPRIIPTING
LATIM STELES
6i t arn i Checks , Odds ws , Circulars, Paper BookA,.Cons
BureloDes, Letter qv:"
Mlle, Tare and Shipping Cards, Posters ozallY
Ire, eto., etc., Printed at Short !Pollee
NO. 18.
satisfied with their wages; but the grasp:of
the Workingmen's Benevolent Association is
around their throats : the decree goea forth
that there must be a general suspension. The
poor laborer well knows the ghastly fate In
store for him If ho disobeys this decree, and
the result of his obedience is the ruin and dis
honor of his employer. We have called many
of these coal operators before you, and they
have testified to the injurious effect of their
continued suspensions and strikes, and have
stated that if the present condition of affairs
is not improved, they will be glad to sell their
property at one-half or two-thirds of its cost, ,
and be thankful that they escape the wreck
with even that little to call their own.
Let me take the Reading Railroad Company
as an illustration of the Injurious effect of the
management of the leaders of the Working.
men's Benevolent Association upon tailmad
companies. We have three hundred locomo
tives, twenty thousand coal cars, an extent of
railroad amounting to about twelve hundred
miles of single track, and a canal ono hundred
and eight miles long. We employ about twelve
thousand'men, and aro fully equipped and or
ganized for a business of one hundred and
eighty thousand tone of coal a week. When
the districts which depend upon us for an
outlet are all at work, they can supply us
with this amount of trade it, becomes neces
sary for us, therefore, to be prepared to train.
sport it; and we would not be carrying out
the design of our charter If we were unable to
do the business which was offered. This
equipment and organization, therefore, must
at all times be kept up; and it is almost as
expensive to us when we are doing no coal
business as when we are transporting 180,000
tons a week. We cannot discharge our em
ployees; the railroad track must be constantly
watched, repaired and guarded; every super
intendent and agent must be at his post, and
receive his salary or his wages; the only men
whom we can temporarily dispense with are
the coal train hands. It Is greatly to our
interest that the prices of coal should be low,
because low prices increase consumption, and
we make money more from a large tonnage
than front high rates of charges.
You can Judge of the effect of such a rail
road company, when an imperative decree of
the Workingmen's Benevolent Association
suddenly deprives it of all Its coal tonnage ;
when the receipts of the road from coal traffics
are suddenly reduced from over a million dol
lars, while the expenses remain nearly the
same ; and yet to this extremity have we been
reduced time and again during the last two
years, and all because the Workingmen's Be
nevolent Association have determined thattho
public shall never purchase their fuel at less
than $3 per ton at Port Carbon, or $5 per ton
at Elizabetliport. Why, gentlemen, I stand
here in all sincerity, speaking for the several
railroad companies that I represent, to soy,
that if this evil is not abated, we will be glad
to have our charters forfeited and taken from
us, so that our stockholders may invest their
money in some other enterprise, and It some
other country where the rights of property ore
respected, and the citizen may appeal with
confidence to the protection of the law. I
trust I may not be misapprehended. I speak
the language of sober truth when I say that if
this state of society is continued for six months
longer we will come before you as petitioners,
asking you to invoice the assistance of the
courts, so that we may be permitted to 'sur
render our charters and obtain for our stock
and bondholders the money they have invested.
Then let the Workingmen's Benevolent As
sociation take charge of our roads in name, as
they have done in fact. Better, far better for
us all, that this should come to pass, than that
we should continue the farce of pretending to
control our own property, while the baleful
Influence of this organization is brooding like
a dark shadow over the land.
Let me now call your attention to the coal
trade itself, and show you how injuriously It
has been affected by the insane action of the
workingmen. You knew that anthracite coal
enterainto competition with bituminous-coal
and with wood as a fuel. Whenever anthra
cite can be introdeeed at a moderate price It
displaces both of the other fuels for domestic
purposes and is generally preferred to bitu
minous for steam and for many manufacturing
tutrraecq.....illrblStv~t..enl --
position. Even at a lower rate many manu
facturers will discard anthracite and use bitu
minous coal, if the supply of the former is con
stantly interrupted, and the latter can at all
times be obtained. I think I speak within
bounds when I say that there are consumers
now burning bituminous coal at the rate of
150,000 tons per month, who have been driven
to it by the high prices and irregularity of sup
ply of anthracite caused by the repeated strikes
and suspension of the last two years. If you
go into the steeple of Independence Hall, and
look out over the city of Philadelphia, you will
see the thick Mack cloud of smoke of bitumin
ous coal. rising from the,stacks of many mac
ufacturies at which nothing but anthracite had
ever before been burned ; and if you go to the
bay of New York, and look over thoshipping
congregated there, you will see that hundreds
of ferry.boats, steamboats and steamships,'
which formerly burned anthracite, are now
tiring bituminous coal. It is no exaggeration
to say that in the year 1871 there will be burned
at least 2,000,000 tone less of anthracite coal
than would have been consumed had it not
been for the the criminal folly of the managers
and leaders of the Workingmen's Benevolent
Association.
So much for the coal trade. Now let us
look at the iron trade. Within the next few
years the question is to be decided whether
the State of Pennsylvania is to maintain her
supremacy in the iron trade; whether the val
leys of the Lehigh and Schuylkill are to be the
sites of furnaces and rolling mills, or whether
the manufacture of iron is to be moved to the
Southern States—to- Kentucky, to Tennessee,
and Alabama—where vast depositsof iron ore
have lately been brought to notice. I know
of many instances where some ofour largest
iron manufacturers have invested largo
amounts of money in the iron districts of the
South. If coal can be obtained at Port Car
bon at from $2.25 to $2.50, and at Mauch
Chunk at from $2.75 to $9, there can be no
doubt that the valleys of the Schuylkill and
the Lehigh will continue to be the great cen
tres for the manufacture of iron. But if the
policy of the Workingmen's Benevolent As
sociation is to be enforced—lf coal is to be •
kept at fifty 'cents a ton higher than It should
be, and the regularity of the supply be con
stantly interrupted by strikes and suspensions
—there can be no doubt that Pennsylvania
will have to bid farewell to its great iron man
ufactures, and be content to see other States
that are free from the tyrannhal rule of trade; .
unions, prosper In an industry which, bypro
per care, she could have retained 'forever for
herself. A very experienced iron manufactu
rer lately stated that the English iron trade
required no better protection for its products
in America than has been afforded by an ac..
tive co-operation of the Workingmen's Bene
volent Association in Pennsylvania; and with
in the last sixty days it is believed that more
orders for Scotch pig iron have leftthe United - .
States, than under other circumstances would
have been sent in a year.
Upon the general prosperity of the State the,
results of the course which I have been con
demning are but too apparent. Since the Ist
of January wo have fallen behind last year's
trade to the extend of about one and a half
millions of tons of coal. , Of this two-thirds
would have gone beyond the State if It had
been mined, and would have been worth, at•
the State line, at least four dollars a ton; ao
that four millions of dollars, which in the
space of three months would have been sent,
into the Commonwealth by foreign consu
mer% of our products, are now lost forever. .
But let me call your attention to the effects
of this association upon its own members. I
speak now In behalf of the rightaof labor—not
of the rights of the sleek, well-fed and well
dressed leaders of the organization thatyou see
around us here, but of the thirty thousand suf
fering men who are anxiously awaiting the
decree of their society to know whether they,
have a right to make use of their hands to la
bor for the support of their families. Capital
has its right—property is entitled to the pro-.
tection oLthe law ; but higher and dearer than
the rights of capital, or the claims of property,
Is the right of the laboring man—condenined
to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow—
to make use of the strength which God has
given hint, without hinderanco or-molestation •
from any one. But do these men possess this
right, or, rather, dare they exercise it ? Is it
not a notorious fact, that the decrees of a tri
bunal called the General Council of the Work
ingmen's Benevolent Association have con.
deumed to idleness thousands of. men who
were, entirely raddled with their wages, and
who would now gladly return to work if they
felt certain that the State to which they owe
allegiance had the power to protect them from
outrage ? Will the leaders of the Workingmen's
Benevolent Association agree that the question
of resuming work at the 42.50 basis may be
submitted directly to the men, to be voted upon.
by secret ballot t If they will, I can venture to
prcdlet that eight out of ten would gladly eta-.
brace the opportunity of going to work.
(CONTINUED ON BEOOND PAM)
, ILLENTOWN,PA
NSW DESIGNS