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The Coolidge examiner. [volume] (Coolidge, Ariz.) 1930-current, August 11, 1933, Image 3

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn94050542/1933-08-11/ed-1/seq-3/

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By Frances French
©. l JSi. McClure Newspaper Syndicate.
WNU Service.
IF YOU’VE ever seen Howe Hol
low in the spring, you’ve seen
something. A background of low,
- >!ling hills, covered with soft green.
Through the valley, a winding, clear,
-’■allow brown stream —Howe brook,
it Is called—an occasional rocky
for 1 across Its bubbling surface,
ind willows sweeping their long
branches down ever its waters.
The green and pink of blooming ap
p!e trees on the slopes of the stone
'eared farms. Zigzagging old gray
r*:i fences marking the ancient
boundaries, or straight, wide, 01/i
gray stone walls, sometimes as
wide as the span of a man's arms.
And, cradled in the green trees,
'mall, old white clapboard houses,
with green blinds and faded red
brick chimneys. Not big houses,
f «r Howe Hollow has never support
el a rich population. But comfort
able houses, that have been kept
in good condition by generations of
comfortable jieople.
If you had seen Howe Hollow as
it lay in the soft twilight of an eve
ning in late May, with tne sun
Just leaving the treetops and the
thrushes singing their sweet spring
song in the gathering dusk, you per
haps would not have wondered at the
low Martha Howe bore It. Her fa
ther. and her father's fathers be
fore him —her husband's ancestors,
too. had lived there through the
years. The blood of old Joshua
Howe, who tiad founded tlie settle
ment two centuries before, flowed
thn>i:**h the veins of her son, Wil
liam. And Martha Howe, a widow
a few years after her marriage, had
seen to It that William knew and
venerated Howe Hollow and all that
it stood for.
"Rut, dear me. Anna Pratt," she
said, rising stiffly from her knees
before her Sweet William border,
where she had been ruthlessly root
ing out weeds, “I don't mind be
muse William went to the city. Os
course not. Young people today
aren’t content with the things that
made life complete for us when we
were young.” She spoke slowly and
carefully as she dusted her hands
against each other to free them
from the soft earth of the flower
‘ No, it appears they aren’t" Mrs.
I’ratt spoke acidly. “1 know times
change, Martha, but I've always said
Howe Hollow was good enough for
anyone—leastwise and more spe
cially for a Howe —and I’ll always
stick to it. And what your Wil
liam can And any better down in
New York than we can find right
here I don't know."
Mrs. Howe said only, “Come on
up on the porch and sit down, Anna.
I'll Just run in and wash my hnnds
and get a shawl and then come
back and sit here a while. I love
these spring twilights."
But perhaps if you had seen
Howe Hollow in the soft, sleepy
twilight of that late May evening
you would have wondered how flesh
and blood could endure It. Per
lmps you would have sympathized
with some of the younger Howe
Hollow Inhabitants, who gratefully
shook its dust from their feet, as
lightly as Martha Howe shook the
dust of her Sweet William border
from her fingers. “Howe Hollow!’’
said one young wit, “Yeah! It’s Hol
low, all right. And how p
Martha never blamed William for
•choosing the city instead of his an
cestral home for his work. Wil
liam had developed real talent, as a
boy, in painting. She had con
served the family resources to the
utmost that she might give him a
g>xxl education —including two years’
work In Paris. Now that he was
a successful magazine illustrator
she took it quite for granted that
he should elect to live in New York.
Naturally that was the place for
him. But in spite of her careful re
fusal to discuss the situation with
her old friend Anna Pratt, Martha
was troubled.
Times were bad—everybody knew
that. William had been, graciously
and generously, sending something
to Martha each week to help keep
tip the old house. He had done it
more as a matter of repaying her
for his expensive training than as
a filial duty. He had been care
ful in making Martha feel that. But
even now a successful illustrator
might find himself a bit short of
funds. It was not surprising that
William had less money than he
had had. And William was in love.
He had written his mother of his
engagement to Felice Leeways.
Felice had made a good beginning
toward real success as a motion pic
ture actress, when a fall had lamed
her —slightly, hut permanently, in
such away that she could not hope
for a future as a screen star. Wil
liam and Felice were to be married
—tomorrow. Then in a few days
they were coming to visit Martha.
And Martha knew, from William’s
letters, that he would ask her to
give up her old home among the
New Kngland hills and go back
with him to New York. At her age
he had said, he worried about her.
She would be safer, far more coni
fortabie, boarding a block or so
away from him and Felice, where
be could keep his eye on her.
Martha knew the necessity t<> save
money. And of course —she would
give in. It was only right that Wil
liam should have a chance for his
own life. And If it cost too much
to keep the old place in the Hollow
for her, the old place would have
to go. It could be sold for a small
price. The Hollow was developing
as a summer place, and the old
houses were being remodeled and
modernize<] for summer homes. The
Howe bouse was one of the best.
There would be little difficulty about
selling it.
liut Martha’s heart was heavy.
Her ancestors —her husband's ances
tors —seemed to be putting out re
straining hands to hold her, to keep
her, where she belonged.
Anua Pratt arrived at ttie back
door of the Howe house while Mar
tha was getting breakfast the morn
ing after William and Felice reached
the Hollow. Martha asked her in.
"Well, you seem to be killing the
fatted calf, all right," Anna said, cu
riously surveying the skillet of ba
con waiting to be cooked, the hot,
steaming muffins under a cloth, the
pitcher of thick cream, the big blue
bowl of stewed rhubarb, and Mar
tini's grandmother's silver coffee
service waiting for the fragrant cof
fee bubbling over the lire. “I saw
her, last night, down in the village
buying some cold cream at the
store. Funny how these modern
girls paint their lips.”
Martha saw, in her mind’s eye,
the pale thin face of Felice, with
its smooth childishly rounded
cheeks, untouched by rouge, and
its clearly outlined red lips.
“We used to wear crimpers, didn't
we?’’ Martha auswered hack in
spirit. "I do yet. It’s the only
way I can keep my hair decent. And
we ruined our ears having them
punctured, and laced our waists —”
“Well, I didn't say anything
against her, only, you might as well
know what everybody’s saying.
Everybody’s saying William and she
will take you away from Howe Hol
low. Back to the city.”
Martha turned quickly to the
stove. Coffee most boiled over,” she
said. “And I hate to have it do
that. Seems so careless."
‘‘Well —’’ Anna Pratt walked to
the dining room door. *‘l s'pose I’d
better run along. Violets and ap
ple blossoms! I must say they
look pretty with your blue willow
ware.” And she went her way.
There was a light sound behind
the half-open dining room door, and
Felice came, with her slight limp,
into the kitchen. Felice in a blue
linen dress—not, as Martha had ex
pected her, In silk pajamas—her
lips as carefully red as they were
the night before, a light of affection
and understanding in her bright
She put a timid arm around Mar
tha's shoulder, and nestled soft yel
low hair against soft, gray hair.
“Your hair looks lovely, Mother
Howe,” she said. Then she laughed.
‘‘l adore crimpers.”
Martha blushed. “Well,” she said.
“Anna Pratt Is an old friend—l sup
pose you heard what she said. But
she never did have sense enough to
mind her own business. I’m sorry
you've been bothered by our small
gossip. Just you forget It. And
I'll get your breakfast right on the
Felice picked up the bowl of rhu
barb. ‘Til help,” she said. “No—
wait.” She laid the bowl hack on
the table. •‘William was going to
tell you when he comes down. But
I can't wait. Mother Howe —I love
It here. We’ve decided—if you want
us —we'll stay here. It will cost a
lot less. And William can do a
lot of painting. Apple trees in bloom
with an old stone wall behind
“And you in a blue linen dress,
with violets in your hands —” Mar
tha Howe put her arms about Fe
“Yes —and William, here, where
he really belongs. Mother Howe,
may we stay? We thought we’d ask
you to go back to the city with us.
But when we got here—something
seemed to hold us."
"Yes." nodded Martha, "yes—you
may stay.”
Village of Ancients
There is a village in Durham
where the old folk proudly boast
that if their ages were totaled to
getlier they would stretch back to
the days when Adam was a lad.
Shotley Bridge is the place where
people live happy and long. It has
only a few hundred inhabitants, but
they include several nonagenarians
and over a score of eighty-year-olds,
while people of sixty and seventy
are looked upon as youngsters.—
Montreal Herald.
Record California Lo*»
The taxable wealth of California
has dropped $1,316,985,641 since
1931, which is the greatest loss in
the history of the state, according
to the state hoard of equalization.
Isnst year the record showed the
wealth was $9,398,909,083. The find
ings of the board, based on current
tax rolls of the counties, show the
state is worth SB,OBI ,!W4,842, which
is a shrinkage of 14.01 per cent a
The only holidays observed na
tionally are New Year’s day, Wash
ington’s birthday. Independence day.;
Labor day. Thanksgiving and Christ
mas. There are no national legal
holidays, all holidays being given a
legal status by states, if nr all
There are numerous legal or pub
lie holidays observed locally in varl
ous parts of the United States,
By T. J. Delohery
‘T'HEBE is an old story about a
*• man wandering the world over
in search of the pot of gold at the
end of a rainbow, who, upon return
ing home tired, weary and discour
iged, found the gold under his door
Tills fable applies in fact to thou
sands of farmers, farm women and
children who have taken far shots
it unseen markets away over the
hills, and upon failing to get profit
ihie prices, discovered even better
markets at their door or w ithin easy
Good roads, the automobile, par
cel post, express, city markets and
the desire of the consumer for fresh,
quality food have not only short
ened tiie route to market for thou
sands of tons of products of the
farm, home and garden, but have
brought millions of extra dollars to
thousands of farms.
Approximately a million farm peo
pie sell $200,000,01)0 worth of pro
duce of the farm, home, garden, for
ests and wild rural districts direct
to the consumer. In some cases this
market provides the entire farm in
come. In others it greatly supple
merits the money brought in by the
major farming activity, even though
in no way related.
There seems to be no end to what
consumers will buy from farmers.
And by the same token there are
very few farms on which something
to sell cannot be raised.
Roadside marketing is the largest
of the direct selling outlets. Stands
located on main traveled highways
do not have to hunt up customers.
Hundreds and thousands pass daily ;
hut it is up to the fanner to make
them stop. It is being done by thou
sands of farm folks in all parts of
the country.
In Michigan on a 16-mile section
of highway, more tiian half the 30
farms on the road sold direct to the
consumer. These producers, accord
ing to a comparison of returns when
produce is sold direct and market
'd through regular channels, got GO
•ents of the consumer's dollar. The
artners who sold on the terminal
outlets received but 19.4 cents. The
difference, despite a higher labor
charge for roadside markets, came
in the elimination of transportation
and other charges for getting food
from the farm to consumer.
Figures show the cost of distribut
ing food at the end of 1932 was 47
per cent higher than before the war
while the farm price of food was
13 per cent lower than the same pe
Surveys of roadside marketing
have been made in many states for
the information of farm folks who
want to murket all or part of their
produce in this way. In Ohio, for
instance, 1,700 odd markets were lo
cated on 2.500 miles of state road.
The average business of each stand
was slightly over $1,700, ranging
from several hundred dollars to
many thousand, depending on prod
ucts handled and length of the sell
ing season.
In addition to roadside markets,
another profitable local outlet is
the town retailers. The consumer
demand for home grow n products is
good, so surveys have Indicated. And
this Is not patriotism entirely. City
l»eople realize that the nearer the
source of supply, the fresher the
Mrs. It. E. Simersou, living several
miles outside of the village of Lin
wood. North Carolina, supplies retail
stores in six cities with fruit, vege
tables. chickens, eggs, milk and but
termilk to the tune of $2..’>00 a year
Ail this food is produced in her gar
den and home without extra help.
When a Waterloo (Iowa) grocer
asked W. S. Brown to bring in more,
of the kind of eggs he had been de
livering. he said they had made a
decided hit with his customers and
that lie could use many more than
Brown was supplying. So Brown
called together 30 of his neighbors
who were working with the extern
sion specialist in poultry, and they
formed an association.
Each farmer graded and [lacked
his own eggs in cartons which bore
the association name. On the bot
tom of each box a number was
stamjied as a means of identification
in event of complaints. None were
made because of the good handling
and frequent deliveries of the eggs
which brought a premium of 5 cents
a dozen to the farmers.
Elmer 1,. Rhodes of Abilene. Kan.,
finds selling to retailers permits a
better distribution of labor in the
production of crops he sells over his
roadside market and in growing
other things for sale later in the
year. Early crops, too small for
roadside marketing and ready before
customers start coming to the road
side market, find good prices in
town. Stores pay him twice as much
for early asparagus as he can com
mand when the roadside stand is
open and production is general.
Sweet corn and tomatoes, too. are
sold to stores in large amounts so
as to give Rhodes time to cultivate
other crops whicli need intensive at
tention. Eater, when the roadside
season is open, the same retailers
buy potatoes and horseradish put up
In half-pint bottles.
©. 1933. Western Newspaper Union.
Bill’s Mistake
® by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.
WNU Service
IJILL BRADLEY unstrapped his
D helmet and tiling it into ttie air.
‘‘Heigho!’’ he exclaimed, recaptur
ing it. "one more flight undej in
struction and i’ll be allowed to solo.
Wonder who'll take me tomorrow
—not that it makes much differ
ence,” he added, little knowing just
how much difference it was going to
The next morning when he report
ed at the Middlesex airport, run by
a retired major from Washington.
Bill found a marked absence of ac
tivity. '
“Where is everybody?” he asked.
‘‘Air meet, sir, in Northport. The
boss left word you were to go up
with Miss Wilmott. Said she’d be
waiting at No. 2 hangar.”
Bill did not know Lida Wilmott,
but he had heard of her as an ex
tremely capable, fearless pilot. In
spite of her reputation, however.
Bill wasn't keen about taking his
last tiit of instruction from a woman.
Strolling down to No. 2 hangar,
he found a slim, knickered, hel
metted figure adjusting goggles,
drawing on gloves. There was lit
tle of her face to be seen beyond
a slightly tip-tilted nose and a rath
er fetching, firm little chin.
“I presume you are waiting for
me." said Bill.
"I presume 1 am." remarked the
slim figure, gravely impersonally.
He took off gracefully. So far.
sd good. His able companion he felt
could have done no better.
Little by little. Bill, who was a
born flyer, began—absurdly, of
course—to resent the presence of
one w ho was undoubtedly, so he felt,
criticizing his technique, and that
one a woman. An obsession seized
him to show off before her. Later,
he might recognize this desire as
the primitive urge of the male to
strut before the female and be prop
erly ashamed. But, for the moment,
he allowed himself to be carried
awny by It.
Higher and higher he mounted,
turned and came up into the wind,
dipped earthward and recovered,
pulled a side-slipping stunt his In
structor had showed him yesterday.
Suddenly, he felt a touch on his
shoulder. His companion was hand
ing him a tiny folded note.
“Can you loop the loop?"
. o she was trying him out, was
she? Bill looped the loop for her.
not once, but several times. Ah,
how tie loved it—this flying I The
great earth spread out below in
queer patches that were sometimes
cities, sometimes country, sometime
ocean. The feeling that he was at
one with the birds, the winds, the
stars, with everything not earth
bound. If ever he met a girl who
felt about (lying as he did. . . .
He remembered that another task
was still before him, that of mak
ing a graceful landing. Nothing
more marked the tyro than to come
in on one wheel or trailing a wing.
Spiralling nbove the field, lie saw
several black specks moving about
with an activity similar to that
ascribed to molecules. The specks
resolved themselves Into human be
lugs nnd an automobile very much
like the one belonging to the major
who. Bill fervently trusted, '-ai at
tending the air meet.
The major was a conservative old
cuss, all for safety and uo stunt
Bill’s Joy In a perfect three-point
landing was spoiled by the fact that
the major was not at the air meet
but beside the hangar, unmistakably
waiting for Bill as he taxied to a
Bill read in the major’s face that
he was in for no ordinary repri
mand. What a mistake he had
made, showing off before a woman
he had never seen before.
He stepped out and turned to as
sist his companion. The major
grabbed tils arm.
“What in—in Heaven's name do
you mean—”
His words were choked by ttie
startling action of Bill’s recent fly
ing partne: who flung her arms
about the major’s neck. “Don’t scold
him. You promised me —”
“1 promised you I'd send some
body competent to take you up.
not a young whipper snapper with
out any license. What do you mean,
young man, by nearly killing my
“Your niece?" Bill looked blank.
“I didn’t know Miss Wilmott was
your niece!''
The major became, if possible,
more a oplectic in countenance.
•‘Who said Miss Wilmott was my
niece? Who said anything about
Miss Wilmott? My niece comes on
here from Washington crazy to fly.
I bring her -out here and tell her to
wait until 1 get somebody to take
her up. Come back to find her gone
with a young fool trying to break
her neck."
Bill stood abjectly twirling his
helmet. Suddenly, he felt the press
ure of a slender hand on his arm.
“He’ll get over it!" a soft voice
whispered. “And—oh, it was won
derful! Next time —” she smiled
and said no more.
Bill thrilled. She would go again
with him. She loved ft as he did.
And now he saw that besides a
slightly tip-tilted nose and a fetch
ing, firm little chin she had two eyes
r softly blue as the sky itself.
Pays to Keep Flock Healthy
and Free From Lice.
The usual summer decline in egg
production may be overcome to
some extent If flock owners will
take precautions to keep their birds
healthy and comfortable.
This means checking the depreda
tions of mites and lice, providing
adequate shade, giving ample feed,
supplying fresh water, and then
culling the non-producers.
C. F. Parrish, poultry extension
specialist at North Carolina state
college, says mites are night prowl
ers. They hide away in the cracks
and crevices of the house, usually
on the perch poles, in daylight and
come out at night to attack the
hens. If the poles and house are
thoroughly cleaned with a mixture
of old cylinder oil and kerosene in
equal {tarts, the pests may be con
trolled. This treatment should be
given two or three times during the
hot months.
l.ice remain on the birds at all
times and once a flock becomes in
Tested, it is always infested until
the pests are eradicated. The
birds may be dusted or dipped with
some preparation or with sodium
fluoride or the perch poles may be
painted in the late afternoon of a
warm day with nicotine sulphate.
Parrish recommends that the lay
Ing house be kept well ventilated
in summer. There must be fresh
air without direct draft. This
shows a necessity for intakes and
outlets properly arranged.
Shade Is a necessity on any poul
try farm and artificial shelters
must be provided if natural shade
is lacking. Laying hens also con
sume an abundance of water and
a supply that Is fresh and clean
needs to be available at all times.
Variety to Choose From
in Finding Good Layers
The selection of a breed Is often
perplexing to a poultry novice. Usu
ally the poultry enthusiast does well
to select the one that most appeals
to his own fancy. The lightweight
Mediterraneans are primarily adapt
ed to egg-laying. This class In
cludes eleven varieties of Leghorns,
five of Minorcas, Single and Rose
comb Anconas, White-Faced Black
Spanish, Blue Andalusians and But
tercups. The American class con
tains the middleweight breeds.
Those admitted to the American
standard of perfection are seven
kinds of Plymouth Rocks, eight of
Wyandottes, Black and Mottled
Javaa, Single and Rosecomb Rhode
Island Reds. Rosecomb Rhode Is
land Whites (Single Comb Rhode
Island Whites were not admitted to
the standard because of a too close
resemblance to White Plymouth
Rocks), Buckeyes, Chanteclers and
Jersey Black Giants. The Asiatics
appeal to many fanciers on account
of their large size and profuse, soft
feathering. The standard lists three
varieties of Brahmas, four Cochins,
Black and White Langshans. The
English division includes three kinds
of Dorkins. four of Orpingtons, three
Cornish, three Sussex, besides the
Australorps developed from English
Black Orpingtons in Australia.
Comb-Dubbing Time
To avoid trouble with frozen
combs on male birds and conse
quent loss of fertility, many poul
try keepers dub, or cut, the combs
of males that are to be saved over
as breeders—especially Leghorns,
Minoreas and other breeds that
have large combs. Summer is the
time for the job, says a writer in
Country Gentleman, and it is best
to do it while males are about half
grown. Ordinary tailor shears may
be used. One cut is made to re
move the points and major portion
of the comb at the base, and an
other cut to take off the larger por
tion of the blade. A third cut re
moves the major portion of the
wattle. One method of stopping
the bleeding is to take a feather
from the bird and lay it along the
cut surface; but the most satisfac
tory method is to apply iron sub
sulphate to the bleeding surface,
making sure that none of it reaches
the mouth of the bird, for death
will result If any is swallowed.
Mark Broody Hens
A broody hen can usually be
broken up in three or four days by
confining the offending bird (on full
feed) in a slat or wire-bottomed
coop. By keeping a string of leg
bands hanging on the broody coop
and by putting one on every bird
put Into the coop, each broody hen
will carry on her leg a record of
her broodiness. In a flock of light
breed chickens or a non-broody
strain of heavy breed fowl, all birds
wearing one band or more might be
marketed as soon as there are
enough of them In the flock to jus
tify the effort of catching them and
taking them to town. In flocks in
which broodiness is more common,
one or two broody spells will per
haps have to be tolerated the first
couple of seasons if any birds are
to be left in the flock for future
breeding work.—Ohio Farmer.
Gtie PeraKe to 1^
Highly Adorned Indian Rqyal Elephant.
Prer>nroi hv N itional
Washington, D. C.—WNU Service.
KANDY. Ceylon, is donning fes
tive attire for its Perahera
processions which have been
held annually in the city for cen
There is a tradition that the Pera
hera processions have been held an
nually since the time when Buddha's
Tooth was brought to Ceylon, hid
den within the coils of the hair of
a Kalingo princess, some eight hun
dred years after the death of the
Hindu sage, about 483 B. C.
Despite the later wanderings and
at times violent history of the Tooth
—ls was carried off to Goa, on the
Indian mainland, In 1;160 by tiie
Portuguese, who maintain that the
present relic Is only a reproduction
—the sacred festival lias changed
but little In barbaric splendor
through the centuries.
Today the Perahera also commem
orates the birth of the god Vishnu,
who first saw light on the day of
the new moon In Esala (July-Au
gust). Another version of the origin
of the processions concerns the ac
tivities of a certain King Gajabahu.
who is credited with having liber
ated 12,000 of his own people from
foreign rule In India; then returned
with them to his own domain, bring
ing in addition 12,000 captives and
a number of sacred objects of which
his kingdom had been despoiled 300
years previously. The celebration of
this victory took the form of a great
parade, which has been observed an
nually up to the present time.
The procession takes place nightly
over a period of ten days, begin
ning with the first evening of the
waxing moon in Esala. Each one
lias a special religious significance,
but for the first five days the gen
eral public takes no active part.
From the sixth evening on, every
body in town participates.
The wild and eerie effect depends
largely upon the glowing torches
and silvery light of a brilliant
moon, for upon the “day” Perahera
(only one procession takes place in
daylight hours) the sunshine gives
a garish touch to the glistening
costumes. Perhaps the actors them
selves feel the lack of spotlights and
footlights which the stage of an
eastern evening so amply provides.
Buddha’s Tooth.
In a cool, dark room, upon a table
of solid silver, is the golden, bell
shaped shrine, studded with Jewels.
Protected from all eyes except the
sons of kings and other high per
sonages to whom occasionally it is
unveiled, the Tooth rests on a gold
lotus-leaf mount. A wall of glass
reaching from the ceiling to the
floor shields the sacred relic and
many other jewels and treasures.
Over the shrine stands a glittering
silver peacock, from whose tail
hangs the scintillating emerald of
Kandy, known the world over for
its size and luster.
Back! Back, everybody! A clear
road for His Highness the Temple
Elephant and for the troupes of
whirling dancers yet to come!
Hark! The whip-crackers, who in
earlier days cleared the street with
their snapping thongs, herald the
Everyone catches the spirit of in
fectious excitement that prevails
when the crowd tukes up the shout
ing, which swells to a roar as the
I’erahera at last comes into view.
Nearer and nearer draw the ele
phants. They stop, but the halt is
short, and on they come again.
So tense is the excitement when
the head of the column draws near
you almost forget to snap your
cameras. What a sight lies before
you! Thousands upon thousands of
brightly clad Ceylonese from all
over the island with
many foreign visitors armed with
many kinds of cameras, straining
and leaning forward to see the pro
The staccato beat of many drums
reaches the ears and the gorgeous
temple elephant and his two flank-
ing companions come into view. Then
tiie first of the frantic dancers
weaves in and out, with rhythmic
step, to the beat of drums and clash
of the brazen cymbals.
It requires three-quarters of an
hour for the richly caparisoned el
ephants, the glittering groups of
dancers and dignified chiefs In gor
geous robes to pass In front of a
reviewing stand.
Scenes of Wild Excitement.
Every now and then the proces
sion stops. At such times the music
becomes faster and faster. Drum
mers, beating madly, leap Into the
air and pirouet In a frenzy of ex
citement. Trumpeters blow shrilly,
adding to the ear-splitting din. Tire
lessly whirl tiie dancers, stamping
their feet, waving their arms, ad
vancing and retiring, as they spin
to the ever-quickening rhythm. Rare
ly, even in the East, does one see
such utter emotional abandon to the
accompaniment of such clamor.
The partipants in the ceremony
cover many miles in their gyrations
during the course of the Perahera,
and at the end are In a state of com
plete exhaustion. There are no
women daucers.
To convey some conception of the
brilliant colors of this kaleidoscope
of swaying elephants and wild
dancers requires the Services of an
artist rather than a writer. A par
ticularly large and specially be
decked elephant, with gold and sil
ver howdah, not disdaining the use
of science in its decorations, has
a bright electric eye In the center
of his forehead! Another in cloth
of royal blue, heavily embroidered
with silver, carries on bis back a
king’s ransom in jewelry. .
There was a time when the king
of Kandy took part In the an
nual processions. Surrounded by his
chiefs in resplendent costumes, it is
easy to Imagine his procession
through excited throngs of loyal sub
jects. Today the king Is gone, but
the chiefs remain to carry on the
tradition. Perhaps some of the
chiefs would gladly discontinue the
practice of appearing In the proces
sions, but the simple countryman ex
pects to see his lord in all the glory
of Jewels and cloth of gold.
Night Ceremony Is Weird.
But it is at night that the Pera
hera takes on all the glamouf and
weirdness of oriental pageantry.
A beautiful, clear night, with a
full moon and myriads of stars over
head, makes a perfect setting for
the flowing stream of lights and gy
rating human beings. Smoking cen
sers swing from hand to hand and
braziers, in which glow husks of
burning coconuts, are held aloft by
hundreds of torch-bearers to aug
ment the street lamps in casting a
fairylike spell over the scintillating
costumes and shining brown bodies
of the marchers.
The coconut husks burn with a
fitful yellow-red light and emit
acrid fumes, too pungent for occi
dental tastes, but they have illu
minated Perahera parades for cen
turies and still serve that purpose
well. It is an incongruous sight,
amid such pomp and circumstance,
to observe quantities of coconut
husks being rushed along in mod
ern jinrikishas to keep the braziers
supplied with fuel.
At the end of the procession come
the water-carriers bearing palan
quins of sacred water taken the
year before from the Mahawell
Ganga, one of Ceylon’s largest
rivers, which flows through Kandy.
This ceremony of the “water-cut
ting,” when temple priests slash the
surface with their swords and at
tendants scoop up the water in gold
en pitchers, is the closing event of
the Perahera.
Behind the palanquins press
masses of humanity, which stretch
as far as the eye can reach, com
pletely filling the streets. Orderly,
patient and cheerful is this vast
multitude, as it beholds the final

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