FBEELfIND TRIBONE.I ESTABLISHED l RSB. PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY, BY THE TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY, Limited OFFICE; MAIN STREET ABOVI ( F.NTKB, LOIJQ DIBTAKCB TELEPHONE. SUBSCRIPTION KATES FREELAND.—The TRIBUNE lt delivered by owners to subscribers in Freclnnduttho rate of 12K cents per mouth, payable every two months, or $1.50 a year, payable In advance- Tbe TBIBUNE may be ordered direct fortn th, carriers or from the office. Complaints of Irregular or tardy delivery servico will re. oeive prompt attention. BY MAII, —The TRIHUKB IS rent to out-of town BUbsorihers for Sl.Bta year, payable In advance; pro rata terms for shorter periods. The date whon the subscription expires is on the address label of each paper. Prompt re newals must be made at the ex pi ration, other wise the subscription will be discontinued. Entered at the Postolfico at Freeland. Pe as Second-Class Matter. Make all money order*, cheeke. etx,pay able to file Tribune J'rinting Company, Limited. According to the report of R. G. Dun, the cost of living has advanced ten per cent, during the past year. What a pity that stomnehless men should die, while heartless and brain less fellows are permitted to linger. No one is so sanguine ns to imagine that the visit of Prince Henry of Ger many to the United States and his hos pitable reception will seriously influ ence the policy of the two countries toward each other. National relations are not often affected in that way, re marks the Philadelphia Record. The statistics of British commerce for 1901 are of more than ordinary inter est. They show an unmistakable dis turbance in the current of trade. One cause is the progressive decadence of British agriculture; another is the di minishing coal deposits, and a third Is the decreased ability to pay for food imports. The Investigations or the Pennsyl vania Society for the Prevention of Tuberculosis show, that in the spai'sely settled country districts the death rate from tuberculosis is only one fourth of that of the cities. In France the death-rate from tuberculosis in cities of 5000 Inhabitants is I.SI per 1000 of population, while in cities of 100,000 It Is 3.5, and in Paris 4.90. An evidence of the growth of the au tomobile industry in the United States may be had from the statement that the repair and disposition of second-lxnnd vehicles has become a most important part of the business of every dealer. As was the case in the palmy days of the bicycle, wealthy automobile opei'ators "trade in" their old machines each year for new ones of the latest pattern. The latest census of the city of Lon don shows that, exclusive of the outer belt of the metropolis, thei'e are 4,356,- 541 inhabitants huddled in an area of 117 squai'e miles. The metropoli tan and city police districts combined contain, however, 0,580,009 Inhabitants, occupying an area of 693 square miles. Greater New York covers 326 square miles, and its populace Is placed at 3,473,000. Two society women in Massachu setts, between whom the ixitensest rivalry exists, have cawicd It to the senseless extent of Importing palaces from abroad for their abodes. One of them bought a Venetian palace, tore it down and shipped the materials to Massachusetts, where It was re built. The other has just finished the re-erection In Boston of a palace which she brought from Italy in the Same way. ' One of the main motives of misers which the London Spectator recognizes Is the passion for collecting. Asiatics often hoard coin and Jewels to their own hurt, knowing that their posses sion involves extreme danger; and there are two authentic stoi-ies of great accumulations of gold coin made by Englishmen who seemed to derive pleasure from Its actual sight and touch. These are, however, rather il lustrations of the collector mania, so often described and analyzed in the case of books and china, thnn instances of true miserliness, which is based, we are convinced, rather on fear than on the passion of bearding. Java and America are to be con nected by a new steamship line, whose vessels will touch at Chinese and Ja panese ports. The projected line be longs to the Royal Packet Company. San Francisco will be the American terminus. The "Hundred Years Club," In New York, proposes to silence city noises and stop tbe adulterations of food. THE HOUSE AND THE VINE. The house is old—its windows racked; Its doors are falling down; Where once the dainty tintings were Is now a faded brown. The steps are rotting; in the porch Great gaping holes are seen; The roof-tree's broken; with thick mold The boards are fairly green. The yard is filled with weeds and trash; The walk is crumbling fast; The trees and shrubs are broken—all Their beauty-days are past. The sagging rails tug at their posts As though they fain would drop. Ave. all is drear and desolate From floor to chimney top. ✓ £ f Jr PEAKING of police stupld- Ity and queer crimes." I (i J said the captain musingly, "remiuds me of my first big case, lio\v cutely I worked It and what a failure it turned out to be from the public point of view. I was a green hand, but I had risen to the degree of 'plain clothes,' and was be ginning to get a reputation with the department, and the newspapers when the Kaufman case came up and put me to the bad for keeps, especially with the police reporters. "Old man Kaufman was cashier of the Dexter National Bank and lived In Cedar Grove, a suburb chiefly noted for 'exclusive society.' Half the popul ation kept poor trying to cut a wide social swath, and the other half lived In misery from envying their neigh bors. Nobody was very rich, and nobody was very poor, and it was one cf those places where the people are always talking about 'our first famil ies,' pulling off 'functions' and pitying the 'plain people.' Of course I didn't class up very well, being a detective, but old man Kaufman overlooked that and was the best, perhaps the only friend I had among the swells. "He had a big family, about seven children—all grown young women of the 'high-society' kind—and they did n't do a thing to the old man's finances. What with summer tours and winter gayetles, pink teas, soirees, theatre parties and all that sort of doings, ' "IIE TOLD ME HE VANTED TO KILL A WICIOUS DOG MIT IT." they kept the old fellow's nose to the grindstone for true. He didn't have a thing In the world but his home nnd his salary, and 1 don't think that was over three or four thousand. I used to sit with lilnx In the train pretty of ten, and as he was stuck 011 talking and I Wasn't, I came to know n good doal about bis affairs. I don't tlxlnk bo was very strong at the society game himself, but he wa3 all wrapped up In his family and let them work him to the limit. "The 'black sheep' of Cedar Grove owned the house next door to Kauf man's, and the chief ambition of tlxe cashier was to buy out bis objection able neighbor. His name was Heck burg; he was a professional gambler, and liis wife was what the suburban ites call 'vulgar.' Once about every month the Hcekburgs would have what they called a 'house party.' but nobody ever en me to It except a lot of flash looking guys from town. That made the Kaufman ladies wild, and as Heckburg's was a dingy sort of a cot tage, built right up against Kaufman's lot, the old fellow, his wife and his high-toned daughters had their hearts set on buying it. " 'lt ain't worth more th. n 83000,' Kaufman explained to me one nigh t, 'and I could have had it for 82500 lust suxu mer when Heckburg weut broke on tbe races. I'll get him in the same fix again, I hope. He won't sell now. Never will sell so long as he's Eush, but the first time he goes broke I'll And yet about the crazy door And round the tottering stoop Clambers and clings a tendriled vine In many a verdant loop; And on that vine bright blossoms <dow And smile through all the day; From every dainty flow'r the bea Sweet burdens bear away. The broken house —a ruined man With blighted life and fame; Soul-windows dimmed, a tarnished coat— A more than tarnished name. The clinging vine, a woman's love— Perchance a mem'ry dear Whose fragrant blossoms bless the world Through all the changing years. —S. W. Gillilan, in Los Angeles Herald. get the place. Last time I didn't have the cash, and, gambler-like, he wanted it right off—wouldn't wait a day. I'm ready for him now, though.' "And Kaufman tapped his breast nnd whispered, 'I got S3OOO in my inside pocket. Carry it there all the time, ready for Heckburg to go broke.' I told the old man that he was foolish to carry so much cash nround with him, but ho said Heckburg was one of those men that couldn't be induced to let go for anything but ready money. 'I carry it in my inside vest pocket, and nobody knows it but you and me,' he said. I was n little surprised to know that he had so much cash of his own, hut I didn't think much about it till a few days later, when, as 1 said I got my first big case. "Of course I didn't live in the swell part of Cedar Grove, but at that my room wasn't more than six or seven blocks from Kaufman's. It was about three o'clock one winter morning, just before Christmas, when I was routed out of bed by Kaufman's coachman. I lit the gas and let him in, and while I was dressing he told me that the old man had Just been murdered. 'Taint more'n three days ago he told me if anything ever happened to call you. nnd so I came here first.' I thanked my stars that I was to have the first chance, and in live minutes we were trudging through the snow to the Kaufman From the coach man's talk I learned that the first in- dication of trouble had come about a half-hour before, when he and the family were awakened by the report of a shotgun, followed ulmost immediate ly by a pistol shot. "He slept In a room over the barn, but had run over to ihe house and reached the side porch before anyone in the house had appeared, lie found old Kaufman lying face down, dying, on the porch floor. His shotgun lay beside him, and, further away, a pis tol, which he supposed must have been dropped by the burglar. When I got to the house it was all lighted up, the women were upstairs screaming and going on, and two or three neigh bors, attracted by the shots, were Just , arriving. The poor old banker was yet where be had fallen, and nobody seemed to have the nerve to take even a second look at him. I made everybody stay in the nouse, got a lantern and stationen the coach man at the front gate to keep newcom ers from tracking up the snow. "One of the first things I did after making sure that Kaufman was dead was to examine ais pockets. His watch, a good gold one, was in his vest, which was unbottoned as if he might have hurriedly thrown it and the coat on. He was fully dressed even to the lac ing of his shoes. I remembered about the SSOOO which he was in the habit of carrying in his inside vest pceket and looked for it. It was gone. The pistol ball had entered his forehead, was powder bu ued. I looked for tracks in the snow and found only the single trail of the coachman as he came from the stable and those of a fox terrier, Kaufman's, which was now following me about in the yard. As most of tne snowfall had come since midnight I began to be mystified about the burglar—how he had come and how he had gone. Then I looked about for signs of the single discharge of the shotgun, and found the shot had imbedded itself in the side of Heckburg's house, just across the lawn from Kaufman's porch. "Well, the town authorities soon ar rived, and the coroner and all of them made a thorough examination of the whole premises. They decided that Kaufman had frightened the burglar away before the latter had a chance to rob him. The neighbors began to tell yarns about 'suspicious-looking tramps' having been seen, and of course the next day's papers played it for a mys terious murder, which was 'baffling the whole police department.' I got charge of the case and was still working on it when the Kaufman family moved away to town. All I found from them was that 'poor papa had been late that night searching the house for some paper he had lost two days before,' and that since his loss he had been much worried. The next day I went to the President of the Dexter National Bank, and after swearing to keep the secret, learned that the semi-annual count of the hank's money made by the directors on the day after Kaufman's murder dis closed a shortage. 'How much was it?' I asked him. 'Three thousand dol lars,' said he. 1 may get it back for you, I told him, only asking that he maintain the same secrecy lie had re quired of me. Meanwhile the papers and the people of Cedar Grove were roasting the police in general and me In particular for not catching the burglar and murderer. I got the keys of the Kaufman house and lived there alone, searching it for three days before I got n clew. And what do you suppose it was? "I simply found a lot of cliewcd-up greenbacks In the empty doghouse in the hack yard! Then I knew that the fox terrier was the burglar. I sifted the old straw, waited until the snow was gone, and raked over every inch of that yard, looking for pieces of the money. I found nearly a hatful of faded, tattered shreds. You can guess the rest. I took the old pistol found beside poor Kaufman and showed it to every pawnbroker in town. I wanted to Hud out who bought it, for I knew that Kaufman never kept a pistol in the house and never carried one. At last I landed in an old junk shop on the West Side and showed the pistol. The owner recognised it at once. He knew me and made a straight story of it. He had sold the gun to a fine looking old man who wore side whis kers and was very nervous. 'He tqjd me he "anted to kill a wicious dog mlt it,' explained the dealer. But I knew all I wanted to know. "'But you haven't-explained every thing?' objected the lock-up man, who was dull. " 'You're a fat-headed Denny,' sneered the Captain, 'Can't you see the dog carried off the money? Well, when the old man couldn't find It and re membered that next day was 'count' day at the bank he Just bought the pis tol, took n shot at Heekburg's house as a blind, and then killed himself with the 'burglar's' pistol. And it was a slick game, too, for it's no disgrace to be killed by a burglar, but an em bezzler! Why, the very hint of it would have ruined the soelnl prospects of the Kaufman ladles forever, and the poor old cashier was all wrapped up in his family. " 'And what did you get, Cap'n?' mar veled the lock-up. "Oh, I got SIOO from the bank for turning in the scraps and keeping still, and from everybody else I got— roasted. To this day the newspapers keep talking about how 'the Kaufman murder was never avenged.' " —John If. Eaftery, In the Chicago Record-Herald. Integrity Is the Price of Promotion. If those who are not succeeding in proportion to the amount of effort they exert would examine themselves closely, they would find, as a rule, that their locomotives are off the track. Not realizing where or what the trouble is, they merely intensify it by putting on more steam, and, the more they put on, the deeper they sink into the mud and the harder it Is to move. If they would stop long enough to examine their machinery intelligently, and make a thorough investigation of the causes that prevent Its working properly, they would probably succeed in getting their locomotives 011 the right track before they waste all their steam plowing in the sand and mud. Even if they do not discover, until after middle life, the secret of their failure to get on, they may ultimately reach their destination.—Success. Electrical Possibilities. When one realizes that it is possible to-day to transmit with a fair efficiency from a single station over a territory of 1100,000 square miles area, or, to put it in another way, over a diameter of 500 miles extent, and realizes that only six such stutlons would be required to serve the entire country from the At lantic to the Pacific Ocean throughout a belt of 500 miles wide, one tnuy well think that the alternating current sys tem has approached the limits of its serviceable expansion, but I am con vinced that, while the extension of the territorial limits covered by the system need no longer demand the study of the engineer, we will expand its use enor mously by the perfection of the ap paratus employed uud by the employ ment of new principles and methods of generating our currents.—William Stanley, in the Electrical Review, i <s>r i ' _ /QSME] Tennyson** Father's Flight. THE following curious story, somewhat differently related in the life of Tennyson, is part of the Personal Itecol lecciot.s of Tennyson by Captain W. Gordon McCabe, published in the Cen tury. The laureate is speaking: "My father," he said, "was a most impulsive man, and spoke whatever was uppermost in his mind. Soon after the assassination of the Emperor Paul he went on a tour through Rus sia, nud stopped at Moscow, where the court resided, and where Lord St. Helens was English ambassador. He and my father had been friends at Cambridge, and so my father had the freedom of the embassy while it the. Russian capita!. One night St. Helens had a grand dinner, at which were all the foreign ambassadors and many Russian notables, not one of whose names my father had caught. "In some way it came about that a guarded allusion was made, during the dinner, to the death of the late czar. My father, who caught it, lean ed over, almost across the breast of some Russian dignitary covered with decorations, who snt next to him, and cried out in his quick, impulsive way, 'Why, St. Helens, what's the use of speaking so gingerly about a matter so notorious? We now well enough in England that the Emperor Paul was murdered in the Mikhailovski Palace, and we know exactly who did It. Count Zoboff knocaed him down, and Benningsen and Count Pahlen strang led him.' "An appalling hush fell for a moment upon the table, and then Lord St. Helens at once rushed into some sub ject discreetly foreign to the sixth commandment. "It's the custom, as you know," con tinued he, "in Russia not to sit over the wine, as is usual In England, but to go into another room where the samovar is, and there have tea, or more wine ar.d vodka and to smoke. As the company rose, Lord St. Helens, standing by the door as the guests filed out. gave my father a meaning look to drop" behind the rest. As my father came up to him, ho said in a hurried whisper: 'Don't go into the next room, but fly for your life. No flag can pro tect you in such a country as this. The man next you, across whose breast you leaned, was Count Palilen, one of tlie most powerful nobles in Russia. ZoboH was at the table, too, and you have publically charged both of them with being assassins. If you don't get away to-night, you'll be inside the dungeons of St. Peter and St. Paul within forty-eight hours. Go to a Scotch merchant's, whom I know, just outside of Odessa' (giving him the name), 'and be will conceal you until I can contrive to get you out of the country, if it be possible. Post to night—the fastest horses you can get. I'll keep the company as late as I can. Don't even stop to change your clothes.' "My father rushed away to his ho tel, called up his courier, and made him order a four-horse droshky, while he literally pitched his clothes into his portmanteau. He posted all night and the next day still in his evening clothes, weather bitterly cold; but he had a clever courier, and folnd his Scotch man, in whose house he lay perdue for weeks. "St. Helens managed t > get n mes sage to him to be on the alert, and when he heard the horn of the 'Queen's Messenger' blown three times to be ready to go with the man who gave the signal. At last, one stormy night, he heard the welcome sound, and, dis guised as a servant of the messenger, who was being sent home with dispatches (which, by the way, he lost, as he was very drunk, but which were found by my father), and for whom an English frigate was waiting at Odessa, got safe on board and so back to England." A Wonderful Escape. One cf the most remarkable in stances of the escape of a white man from the Indians was that of John Colter, a famous hunter and trapper. On the day in question he and his com panion were surrounded by six hun dred savage warriors. The companion was instantly killed and Colter was captured. His foes had no intention of saving his life, however; they want ed the sport of putting him'to the torture, or at least of playing with him aa a cat plays with a mouse. The chief asked him if he could run. He said, "Not much." He was released and told to save his life If he could. Colter darted away at high speed, and most of the six hundred savages set off after him. There was a plain before him six miles wide, bounded on the far side by a liver fringed with trees. Colter had always been famous as a runner, and his practice now stood hint In good stead. He made straight across the plain for the stream, and the yells of his pursuers lent hint wings. His foes had removed every shred of clothing from his body, and the plain was covered with prickly pears, so that his unprotected feet were lacerated at every striae. Half-way across the plain he glanced back, and saw that only a few Indians were following him. Again he rnn on, and soon realized that one of his pur- suers was nearing hfan. He redoubled his efforts, and blood gushed from bis nostrils and flowed down over bis breast. The fringe of trees was near, but a hasty backward look showed him the pursuing brave close upon him with spear raised. Moved by a sudden im pulse, Colter stopped, turned and faced the savage with outstetched arms. The Indian was so taken aback at this unexpected movement that he stumbled an& fell! This was Colter's opportunity. He ran back, seized the spear, and pinning his antagonist to the ground, ran on. Other savages came on, Ccrcer than before at the death of their comrade; but Colter reached the trees, plunged into their midst and then into the river, and swam to ■ pile of driftwood that had lodged. He dived beneath it and stuck his head up between two logs covered witn smaller timbers and brush. The Indians came up and searched for several hours, but failed to iind him. Again and again they walked over the dirftwood. Luckily they did not fire it, as he feared they would. At last they went away. Then Colter swam out and fled through the forest. Seven days he went on, living on roots and berries, with 110 clothing, until at last he reached a trading post on the Bighorn river. He never fully recovered from the effects of this ter rible experience. Caught lu a Stampede. Two years ago, when the cowboys of Northeastern Arizona came together to find out who was the "best man" in various ways, James Evans won the steer-tying championship by roping, throwing and tying a vicious steer in twenty-four seconds. But in a recent round-up the champion did a more re markable thing, by which, says the Kansas City Star, ho saved his own and another man's life. While he and some companions were camping for the night on a high table land, which ended a few miles away in , an abrupt drop of 200 feet, a storm % swept through the mountains. Made nervous by the lightning, the herd of 1500 cattle stampeded in the direction of the precipice. Evuns and his men mounted hurriedly, and circling to the front of the maddened cattle, tried with whoops and revolver-shots to turn them back. In the dense blackness of the night Evans' horse missed his footing and went down in a heap, one leg in a gopher hole. The horse of a cowboy named Davis, running close behind, stumbled over Evans' horse, and Davis, too, came to earth and lay still, uncon scious. Fifty yards away came the herd, nnd a short flash of lightning showed Ev ans the situation. The swiftly moving sea of cattlereached 100 yards each way Unable to arouse Davis, and never thinking of leaving his disabled com- 4" rude, Evans took the only chance of " saving both. He emptied his own re volver and his companion's into the centre of the herd, cutting a breach In the front of the mass. Then, throw ing the Inanimate form of Davis over his shoulder, he awaited his opportun ity. As one of the leaders brushed by, Davis, with one movement, put the body cf Duvis across the shoulders of the steer and mounted, also. Vainly the animal leaped, bucked and side jumped. With his legs wrapped tight ly around the body of u,s mount, Evans drove his spurs deep in and held him self and Davis in pluce. The steer, wild with rage, agony and fright, rapidly le.t the herd In the rear, and veering to the right at a furious gallop, carried his riders out of danger. Then Evans rolled off the back of his strange rescuer, and a half-hour later, | when his cowboys turned the head >|j of the herd at the rim of the cauon, I and rode back to look for the foreman and Davis, they found them, boti. un conscious. The weary steer, with his sides covered with blood, lay exhaust ed a short distance away. The outfit ordered a medal for Evans, and the steer has been pensioned for life on the best alfalfa in the valley. Grizzly Bear Kill. Two Men. The steamer Tecs has arrived from the north with news of the killing of two men by an enormous grizzly bear at Elvers Inlet, British Columbia. One of the men was a white trapper and the other an Indian. Their bodies, to gether with that of the bear, were found within a few feet of each other. The Indian had apparently taken a shot at the bear from his muzzle load ing rifle, and wounded the animal. The jml infuriated beast bad run towards him J I nnd mauled him to death. The white A [' man then came to the rescue and drove 4lf a long knife into the bear's breast, the [H; point penetrating his heart. Then the bear turned and killed the white man. By this time the grizzly was dying from bis wounds, and fell over dead a few feet away. WOITCZ Follow a Woman. A St. Cloud (Minn.) correspondent writes to the St. Paul Dispatch: It would seem that a country thickly populuted enough to huvo free rural de livery ought not to be Infested with dangerous wild anlmalc, but such Iff seems not to be the case along Itural Delivery Route No. 1, which runs out of St. Cloud into Sherburne County, for the carrier, Mrs. C. S. Allen, re ports being followed by two large V ||f wolves for a distance of four miles, r II Friday, the wolves crossing and re crossing the road in front of the team repeatedly, but making no attempt to attack. The Hawaiian Islands resemble Ire land in their freedom from snakes. I One species only is known, and that la not common.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers