FREELAND TRIBUNE. ZstabliahOL 1883. PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY AND THURSDAY BY TUB TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY, Limited. OFFICE: MAIN STHKET ABOVE CENTRE. LONG DISTANCE TELEPHONE. SUBSCRIPTION KATES: One Year $1.50 Six Months 75 Four Mouths 50 Two Mouths 35 The date which tho subscription is paid to is on the address label of each paper, the change of which to u subsequent date becomes a receipt for remittance. Keep the figures in advance of the present date. Report prompt ly to this office whenever paper is not received. Arrearages must be paid when subscription is discontinued. Jf ahe all mimey orders, checks, etc., payable to the Tribune Printiny Conxpany, Limited. FREELAND, PA., MAY 29, 1899. (Juaylsra and Its Fruits. From Philadelphia City und State. Last week a youth, who apparently j had no evil intent, placed a spike upon j one of the rails of the Reading Railroad, and because it happened to be at a most j inopportune point, a train was thrown off the track and two men wore killed. At about the same time a full-grown man publicly boasted that for purely fac- ! tlonal onds he had blocked the course of tho Loan bill for noarly a year, during j which time some six hundred people j have died of typhoid fever and ten j times as many have narrowly escaped death from the same disease, in con sequence of an impure water supply. r Had the work contemplated by the Loan bill been started, we might, even now, have been reaping some of the benefit of the improvement to our water supply, and have been looking forward confidently to a reduction of our death rate in the near future, not to speak of all the other benefits which the citizens j who voted iu favor of the Loan bill hoped to dorive from it. Anything more contemptible than the act of this man, as he explains it, is hard to conceive. The youth, who will doubtless be found guilty of manslaughter in the death of the two unfortunate men on the railroad, will probably go to prison. The man, who ought to hide his head in shame, will continue to boast that he succeeded in preventing his political opponents from getting the jobs which he wants his friends to have, and in the profits of which, we venture to say, he will, direct'y or indirectly, share when they get it: he will continue to bo known as the "Hon." Israel W. Dur ham, and will continue to hold an im portant position in tho cabinet of Mr. Quay's govornor. Such is Quayism, and such arc its fruits. What Lower F.ndem Ought to I)o. It is reported that the Democratic leaders at tho county seat are looking up a lower end man to nominate for register. As it is probable that Register Kuntz will bo renominated by his party, the Democrats of the lower end who are willing to soek office are not anxious to cross swords for that position. If the Democratic leaders want to poll a large Democratic vote in this district they should allow a lower end Democrat to be nominated for commissioner. This is an office which by all that is fair and right belongs this year to a Fourth district Democrat, and whether the leaders favor the idea or not the delegates from this section should act as a unit in supporting some one for commissioner who resides here. Any good lower end Democrat can be nominated if the delegates go there, not in bunches, to be traded to and fro by some of the party barnacles, but with a determination that tho rights of the lower end to representation in the commissioner's office shall no longer be ignored. Tho lower end can get justice only by going after it in a businoss-liko manner. Lying Apologists. The apologists for Governor Stone's action in cutting §1,000,000 off the school appropriation claim that this sum was an extra item placed there to enable districts to purchase text books for the scholars and that nearly all tho districts being now fully supplied with books there was no necessity for that item in tho appropriation. This claim Is a lio. The appropria tion bill makes no mention of text •books. It simply appropriates §11, 000,- 000 to the common schools of the state for the next two years, and those who allege that it says otherwise are merely repeating a silly lie which Mr. Stone's friends set agoing to lossen tho fire of criticism which his cowardly action brought forth. Tho "machine" newspapers which are spreading this lie broadcast through out the state must have queer ideas of their readers' intelligence if they be lieve a dishonest statement like that will not react upon them. TIIM Truth About th Philippines. Multitudes of letters, nowadays, writ ten from the Philippines by soldiers to their friends at home without a thought of their being published, are getting into print, and so reveal the true char acter of the present war that the most headlong of "patriots ' can hardly resist the impression naturally mad* by them. The New York Evening Pot>t, in one of its recent issues, gives to its readers in full the letter of a Colorado soldier, written from Manila, April 9, to a friend in that 9tato and forwarded by the latter to the Post, with permission to use as may seem good, declaring that "it expresses the sentiments of the West." We give an extract or two there from. The soldier, Luther 11. Wiley. Company C, First Colorado Volunteers, says: I have been uncompromisingly op posed to this war on the Filipino; 1 think it wrong from start to finish. The "policy," I mean. It was entirely unnecessary, but now, of course, It must be fought out. And it looks now as though the men that enlisted to light to liberate people must now fight to enslave them. . . . My heart is not in this war as it was in the one I enlisted to fight in, and I go into it simply because I have to. If I were not a American, I think I would be helping the Filipinos. You may well bo glad that you did not enlist in the war. To be a soldier in such a cause as we are engaged in is nothing to be proud of. lam chagrined, and ashamed to think of it as it is. In the same issue the Pott prints also the now well-known letter of Captain Gustave Schaaf, of the Tenth Pennsyl vania, written homo from Manila in March, in which he says: I do not feel it an honor to war with these people. Of course, we are here and will do our duty, a duty that has been forced upon us by some of the so called statesmen that should, at this particular time, bo in our places. It is a burning shame, and the United States must forever feel it. I have seen men die that wero too good to bo put up as targets for a half-civilized people, all on account of blunders made by a civil ized nation like ours. The war we en listed for is over. We enlisted in a war in the cause of humanity—or, at least, so wo were led to believe. Now we are trying to take from a people what the American forefathers fought for—in dependence. Is this humanity? If it is, I fail to grasp the idea. Sergeant Williams, a Wyoming sol dier, also, in writing to his home at Evanston, in that state, says, among other things: I am positive that the entire archipel ago and its 7,000,000 inhabitants are not worth one single American soldier's life to our government. Just as sure as we retain possession of, and attempt to govern, the Philippines, so sure will they prove a financial loss. If I were run ning matters here, I would say to Aguin aldo and his ignorant followers, "Take your islands and welcome to them." As Williams, it is to be notod, has just been proraotod to a lieutenancy for brave and soldierly qualities, his views are not to bo taken as those of a disgruntled soldier. Private A. A. Bailey, of tlio Wyoming battery, at the close of a letter home, gives a soldier's impressions of tho Philippine country, lie says: You can hot your ears and "every thing" you have that this is not a white man's country, and I would not agree to remain here permanently for a 310,000 starter, and will bo as ready and willing to return to God's country as anybody on the islands. A a banquet on Wednesday night of last week given by the members of tho Pennsylvania Medical Society, then in session at Johnstown, Major Daly, of General Miles' staff, in response to a toast, according to the report of the meeting given by the Philadelphia Ledger , gave utterance to sentiments of radical antagonism to what he called "Imperialism of war lords, and all that it implies." His remarks called out enthusiastic approval on the part of his hearers. He said: A soldier in two wars, I am opposed to fhe use of the soldier for anything but the defense of the honor and laws of bis country. To take up the work of destruction of human life in the Philip pines where the Spaniards were by us compelled to leave off is revolting to our sense of right, and to civilize thorn with sword and cannon is contrary to modern ideas of philanthropy. And such benevolent assimilation is worse than hypocritical, and has not ovon the element of national advantage to recom mend It. Warfare in tho Philippines has drifted away from the methods of civilization, and tho shooting down of a people who only desire tho opportunity to be free and self-governed is contrary to the essence of our traditions. The people of the nation have not authorized it, and it is the work of men elected to official position for other and bettor purposes, who, of right, should use our armies only for tho defense of our country's honor and not for the conquest of empire, less it proves for us and our country an overvault.ing ambition that leaps and falls upon the other side. Quay will, apparently, control the next Republican state convention in spite of all tho bluster of lho anti- Quaytles. The latter faction should vote as they talk or shut up altogether. HOME-COMING- '• =9 Once more upon the old stile's top I rest my arms aDd look Upon the dear, oft-dreamed-of scene Of meadow land and brook. The tall fir trees about me stand Like clustered soldiers grim, And through their tops the evening breeze Sighs, a soft requiem. Those happy days of long ago, When life was in its spring, With youth's glad heart, aB free from care As birds that soar and sing. And dreams of that sweet bygone time Shine through the dark'ning past As harbor lights to sailors' eyes, Storm-tossed, show home at last. From all the turmoil of my life I find a sweet release, And to my burdened, tired heart Comes God's most perfect peace. Ah, weary souls, whose dearest dreams Earth's fate and grind may blight, Let nature's teachings point the way If you would find true light. —MARY DEVEREUX. so GOESYHE WORLD. John Wattcrson sat on the edge of his bed in his little hall bedroom thinking. The lower drawer of the bureau in front of him within two feet of the bed was open, and in it two or three shirts lay in great disorder, as though tumbled by an impatient hand. "They're all pretty bad—frayed and worn," said John to himself. "It's a question, though, whether to wear one of them or buy a new one and go without a decent dinner. Let's look again." He took the shirts out, one after an other, examined the bosom of each critically, and threw them in turn on the bed. Then he opened his wallet and took out some bills. "Four dollars, and It's only the mid dle of the week," he sighed. "I shall have to buy the new shirt and eat a 30-cent table d'hote at Buccl's." He threw the shirts into the draw er. "If I hadn't sent those flowers this afternoon " It came over him sud denly how absurd it was for him to buy roses, like those. But he remambered the fine sense of luxury he had experi enced when buying them—only it was a bit humiliating to have to ask the price beforehand. But they were for her, and he would go without his din ner any time to be able to send her flowers. Still, it was absurd. What a bitter chance of fate it was that had thrown him into well-bred society, where people dressed well and dined well habitually—where he belonged, he felt, by every right, but the possession of filthy lucre. He said "filthy lucre" aloud, and took a certain pleasure in the phrase. Better for him to have liv ed quietly and known only the people he met everyday at his work—and nev er seen her. He put on his hat and coat and went downstairs. As he was opening the front door his landlady entered the hall from the- front parlor, and pre sented him with the bill for his lodg ing. "Last week's, Mr. Watterson, you know " "Yes, yes, Mrs. Higgins. This Sat urday I will settle for last week and this week together. I overlooked it last Saturday, and I haven't the money with me just now. But this week Sat urday " "Oh, all right. I thought I'd remind you " Watterson had closed the door and was out in the street. A few minutes later he was sitting in Bucci's restaurant. He could not help noting the meanness of the place, the smoky atmosphere, the cheap pine chairs with cane seats, the thin table linen, and comparing them with the appurtenances of the dinners he had eaten in private houses. He found a certain pleasure In doing so. There was a piquant contrast in dining excel lently three days a week, and wretch edly the other four. "Here I am now at half-past 6 eat ing in this disgusting place"—he no ticed that the man who was sitting opposite him at th* table had his nap kin tucked under his chin and WUB eating with his knife —"in two hours I shall be sitting in a beautiful draw ing-room, where every object speaks of refinement and luxury, talking with It seemed hideous to think of her in his present surroundings. She did not know he dined, had to dine sometimes, in such places. Would she not be dis gusted with him if she knew? The thought took away his appetite. He finished the insipid entree and the Bicklsh pudding as soon as possible, lighted a cigarette to take the taste out of his mouth, and hurried out. On his way back to hiß room he stopped at a haberdasher's and bought a shirt. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he be gan to argue with himself whether he should go to see her or not. He knew all the time that he would go. He realized that it was dangerous for him to go, that his eyes constantly betrayed his secret —which he knew she knew. Could he trust his lips not to betray It? Three words might put an end to everything. It was a terrible risk. He had decided long ago not to tell her, not until he had the right to say more than three words. But suppose—yes, suppose she should care a little—per haps a great deal—— It was possible. He recalled two or three glances, two or three words, soft-spoken at a dance, which were burned Into his memory. The old thrill of them returned. Bui suppose she should not—what then'. Ah, yes, what then? Anyway, he would go to see her that night. He put on his dress clothes and went out. Half an hour later he climb ed the steps of a brown stone house, rang the bell and was admitted. It -was cold and late when he stood again on the brownstone steps. The street was deserted. Some one with creeklng shoes was walking away in the darkness. The Insistent clang of the cable-car bells sounded three blocks away. Watterson buttoned his coat tightly around him and walked slowly down the steps. Which way should he go? It didn't matter much —he would walk over to the avenue, where the cable cars were. As he walked along the deserted cross street a perfect calmness came over him. After all, he was himself, living and breathing, seeing and feeling. It sur prised him somewhat that it should be so, but it made his mere physical senses strangely acute. He noticed how hard the pavement was, how rough the brownstone copings, and he realized a certain pleasure in these keen sensations. But at the same time it seemed to him that part of him self was absent or asleep —that part of him that really noticed and felt — and that it would come back or wake up to acute sensation —he could not foresee exactly when. In the middle of the avenue he stop ped and peered down into the cable slot. The light from the arc lamp overhead poured down into the opening and he could see the cable and the little wheels on which it ran. How it rat tled and galloped along! Miles and miles of it and hundreds of little wheels —it was interesting to think of. Suddenly it occurred to him that he wasn't interested in the least in the cable and the little wheels —that there was only one thing he was really in terested in, and that thing he wanted to forget. "It can never be." The words rang suddenly In his ears and stunned him. The cable, the street, became hazy and indistinct, and at the same time the part of him that really felt seemed to come back or awake. "It can never be." That part seemed to be repeating like an echo, while he himself stood gazing at the cable slot and seeing nothing. A violent clanging right in his ear brought him to himself. With a bound he reached the sidewalk and stood there with beating heart, while the cable cars whirred by. "I will be calm," he said to himself. "I will walk back and think of some thing else." He reached his room in a passive state of mind. "I am not sleepy," he thought, as he laid away his hat and coat. "I will sit down and read awhile and then go quietly to sleep." "I am perfectly calm," he said to himself, after finishing two or three pages. "I understand perfectly all I am reading." He had read half a page further when a snatch of a tune some how got caught In his head and kept repeating Itself mournfully over and over again. He struggled to read on. Always that snatch of a tune. Why? He had never heard it under any cir cumstances to make him remember it. And yet there was a certain fitness about it to tha present case. He felt that and he hated the tune for it. He threw down the book. "I will go to bed—and to sleep," he said. In the darkness his thoughts became terribly vivid, almost tangible. And always that snatch of a tune kept re peating itself like the murmur of the orchestra In a theater when a melo dramatic situation occurs. To-day hadi been marked, different from all other days. Would to-morrow be like the others? He wondered what it would be like? "I shall get up as usual and breakfast. Where? At the Hopkins. And what shall I have? Why not a good breakfast? Yes, I will have some fruit, and then some coffee and boil ed eggs and some nice French rolls. That will not be so different, though. I have eaten that breakfast before. But yes, it will li different. Why? Because of to-day. Yes, that will make it After breakfast he should go to the office, see the same faces, do the same work, but it would all be different—because of to-day. "It never can be." But could it never be? Possibly it could be, years hence. She would marry some brute of a husband who would make her unhappy. Then, after years, she would be free—somehow. He would be famous, rich, very rich, perhaps, then. She would be poor. They would meet and then it might be. She would be willing then. But she had said It never could be and of course it couldn't be then. He should be too reconciled to its not being. But then it was not because he wasn't rich or famous, it was because she didn't . He felt something hot and moist on his cheeks. Why, he was crying. He didn't mean to let himself do that. He was glad it was dark. He felt ashamed. At the same time he was angry—angry that any one should have the power to make him cry. He almost hated her for a moment. Sud denly, while he was in this mood, the thought of plßtols came into his mind. He pictured out what he would do. He would go and shoot himself on the doorstep, her doorstep, late at night— no, early in the morning. He saw himself lying there, covered with blood. Somebody opens the door — screams. He is recognized—bah! what nonsense. He wouldn't do anything like that. He would go on living Just as he bad been living. Again he saw her married to some one who made her unhappy; then free. This time, though, he felt no resent ment. He was saying something to her in low tones—the words sounded in his ears as he lay there in his bed, but he could not make out Just what they were, and she was looking up with that look "It can never be." Again the words rang in his ears. "It Is all at an nd," he said, bury ing his face in hie pillow. "But I love her—l love her—l love her!" THEY BROKE EVEN Wh* Both Bad * Kicks" to Hake Bnt Decided te Withdraw. "Say, I've got a kick to make," ro ared the angry mat) in the loud check suit. "I've got two kicks to make!" "What's the matter?" asked the ho tel clerk. "Some fellow in the room right under mine had a card party iast night uud the loud talking and singing kept mo awake until after 2 o'clock. That's the tirst kick. You ought'nt to allow disorderly mobs of young men to make a nuisance of themselves Iu your hotel. I left word that I was to be called at 6 o'clock. I wasn't called at all, and I've missed my train. It's 0:30. That's the second kick. When I come to this town again I'll hunt up some other—" "Say," interrupted a red-eyed young man. grumbling his way up to the clerk's desk, "I kick! What did you want to have the boy hammer ut ray door at 6 o'clock this morning for? 1 didn't leave any orders of that kind. He spoiled my nap . I haven't slept a wink, by George,since (i o'clock! If You can't " "What's the number of your room?" asked the man in the check suit. "It's 40." "Mlne"s 50. That's the reason con found it, why 1 wasn't called on time this morning! The boy went to the wrong——" "Are you the man who kept hammer iug the floor over my room and howl ing that it was time for decent people to be in bed and all that sort of thing.?' "I am sir." ' And you got left this morning, did you ?" "I did, sir." "Clerk. I take back my kick. I'm even with him." "Say are you that chap who had that card party and broke up my night's rest ?" "I'm the chap that had that card party all right enough. "And you've been tossing on your bed. trying to go to sleep, for the last three or four.hours?" "I have, by George!" ' Clerk, I withdraw both my kicks. I'm even with him and a little more. —Kennebec .louruul. Conversation Slmpllfiod. "It's a fraud," exclaimed one of the men who had stopped to read their papers in the warn) though unpreten tious little place which serves both as railway waiting room aud postofflce. "The whole business is a downright swindle." "Of course It Is," answered his neighbor, who was busily engaged in pronbunclng under his breath all the words iu an article on successful fer tilizing. "It's an outrage on n confiding pub lic. and a backset to civilization." "That's what It Is," was the some what grudging response. The liidlguant old gentleman be came so excited that he had to go out and walk up aud down the platform. As his friend glanced up from his pa per to watch him depart he caught the eye of a traveling man who, pending train time, had nothing to do but watch people "Excuse me for asking questions about things that nre none of my af fair," said the traveling man, "out are you a mind render?" "Not that I know of." "You knew what your friend was talking about without ills telling you." "Well, not precisely." "Hut you answered him as if you knew." "Yes, but I wa'n't takin' any risk In that. I knowed he was maivin' al lusions to either a 'lection or a prize fight. An' whichever it was, them was my sentiments." No Connotation. "There's no use in being discour aged, Victor," said his young wife. "Remember that when William Cul len Bryant began to write he ouly got $2 apiece for his poems." "Only $2!" exclaimed the strug gling young literary genius, with bit ter emphasis oil the 'only.' If I could get $2 apiece for my poems, Ara bella, I could make S4O a day." Caution. "Shall we shoot or hang him," asked the western cowboy. The meth odical man of business paused to think. "Let us not be hasty," he said, "for hurry begets criminal waste and ex travagance. The first tiling to do is to learn the price of rope and compare it with the cost of ammunition."— I'earsou's Weekly. Pn'§ Experience. "Say, pa," queried Willie the other morning while preparing his geogra phy lesson, "how muuy motions has the earth?" "I don't know, Willie," replied the fond parent, as he bound a towel soaked with ice water about his tlirob lng brow, but they're numerous, quite numerous."—Chicago News. Sympathized With Him. "And still my warcry Is," exclaimed the temperance orator, down with al cohol !" "I know how to s.vmpthlze with you. old man," interrupted a man from the back sents, "I've been down with it myself more than once." A .Suitable Receptacle. Mrs. Wise—What are yon going to give Marguerite for a wedding pres ent? Mr. Wise—Judging by the character of her Intended I should regard n tureen as the thing. Keanonn. Little Harry—Pa. why do you call It North Carolina when It's away down South? rn—For the same reason that they call It South Dakota when It's away up North. I guess. The lntricsel*. of English Mionsleur de France—You wind up ze clock to make him go? English Tutor—Exactly. Monsieur de France—Zen what for you wind up ze heeslnss to make k stop?— Jewelers' Weekly. S'gnl Seoul. The JHser—Bridget, where in thun der are my collar buttons? Tlie Maid—Share, an' yez had 'em In yer pocket whin yez wlnt to church yesterday.—Ex. CHANT'S Heap to SHERIDAN WAS: "Push Things." We are pushing things here in away that has brought us splendid business and a multitude of new faces. People )fc are beginning to realize that we perform all we advertise to do. When we said we were selling goods at their real worth every body did not understand the assertion—it was so different from some of the stores where they formerly dealt. But many gave us a trial—and were pleasantly surprised to learn that our goods were just what we claimed they were—no better, no worse. THIS WEEK'S LEADERS: Hats vary In price from 75c to $2 50; weight, quality, color and price that straw goods from 5c up. We have an can't be beaten in this town, unequallod line of Stiff Hats, Alpines, Men's and Boys' Hose can be had at Fedoras, etc., besides a large assortment all prices. A very tino lino of Summer of Working Hats and Caps and Hundreds Hose has just been placed on sale, of Boys' and Children's Hats. For Working Jackets and Overalls of Madras, Percale, Negligee and many th Wearable Kind you should try the other kinds of Outing Shirts. Men's make we sell. and Boys' sizes in every design and We haven't said much about our Shoes pattern, 25c up. White shirts have lately. Wo were waiting to learn how made our store their Freeland head- th *>' those who have tried them, quarters. The reports are coming in every day. Our lines o[ Collars and CufTs will s.ir- and 11 \ , ? c9 prevents us from V prisa you in their extent and variety. te '" ng >' OU ll '° ,"' ce re '" ar,<,, ,ua,l ' t No inferior goods on hand. We guaral.- °" r bh .? KS those who ar. wear tee what we sell. B lng IbBUI - Meu h , ave tB dus they never wore a more comfortable shoe, a better Neckwear bought from us can bo do- shoe for the money, a shoe that fitted so r pended upon to be the 1899 stylos and well or a shoe that shaped itself to the makes. We have no stowaways to palm foot so easily. Ail this Is very gratify off on you. A bewildering display to j n g and has Induced us to further en select from at 10c per tie up. large our stock of Shoes. Why not give Underwear from 25c per garment up us a call next time you need a pair? to 81 gives the buyer a selection in Only Men's and Boy s' Shoes on sale. McHENAMIN'S Hals' [mil?, Bat ail Shut Sta, 1 * e© CENTRE STREET. X S, The Cure that Cures > P Coughs, fr . \ Colds, 1 0 Grippe, §, V, Whooping Cough. Asthma, J 2) Bronchitis and Inclplsnt A d Consumption, Is K folio Sj TVve German remedV £ V V\h\Q J 25^50