HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Gazette, 1894-04-19, Page 6..;
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APPIMDORE F
CHAPTER III.—(ConnenueD)
About a mile distant, half -way between
the farm and the church, she passed by a
gabled cottage with its front so covered by
a close -growing cotoneaster that its quaint
half-timbering was hardly apparent. Ruth
sighed as she looked up at the cobwebbed
latt'.ces,and then at a forlorn, weed -grown
strip ogarden behind the broken fence.
teettendett-e-e.
• that, teraibleas it Welildiee for both, Mr.
• Bevington ought, to •give he up. She
should not think -it right to persist in any-
thing of which her father disapproved, and
she.oughtmot to encourage her lover in
disobedienca; and thenshe felt that it was
too hard, too bitter; she could not give up
her lover. •-She could set him free, but
until he cared for some one else she must
always love him.
" I could not leave off loving him even
then," she said mournfully ; " there is no
one ike him—no one."
The valley made a sudden turn, and as
Ruth looked back the mill was hidden from
her sight by the long flank of the hill
which stretehed across the path, showing
over its shoulder the varied peeks of three
other hills ; while from the right, as
she stood looking toward it, another lofty
sunlit hill sloped down to the valley,
its base crossed by the projecting flank
from the left. The wind had risen, and, as
it sweptover the brake on the hillside, the
backs of the fronds showed a blue -gray
against their bronzed surfaces. But to -day
Ruth did not linger, though she dearly
loved to sit and gaze at the scenery of the
lovely valley. She knew she had still some
way togo before she could reach the trysting-
place named in the letter. She had to cross
more than one plank bridge as the brook
wandered at its own sweet will, now on this
side the path, now on that, so close to the
rocky upland that there was no passage be-
tween. On the right the rocks became even
steeper, but' on the left the up-and-down
pathway was bordered by slielvea, of rock
behind which the hills receded farther and
farther away.
Ruth felt that she had grown old since
she was last here. Then she had searched
the rocky ledge for fairy nooks, and had
found circles of fairy cups and fairy rings of
seats. Ruth blushed with shame at her
own childishness. It seemed to her that
Mr. Bevington would think such fancies
silly. She was now close to the end of the
valley. Her path was mounting rapidly,
and the brook lay some way below it. The
water sparkled like diamonds in the sun.
shine, as it fell over a succession of stones
which barred and at the same time hurried
its course. A dark ridge, purple with ling,
rose steeply in front, and seemed to end the
valley and bar further passage. A few
steps beyond a steep track appeared on the
right, leading up to she source of the brook,
which came plunging and foasning down
the purple ravine. Here the brook parted
into two streams : one rushed on down the
valley; the other followed a path on the
left, which, instead of mounting, turned
suddenly and wound round the base of the
hill.
Ruth took this path, and was quickly
out of sight of the valley. Before her, at
some distance, was a stretch of open coun-
try ; but she soon took a path that led her
once more between the hills. A rushing
sound guided her onward ; it was the noise
of the waterfall behind which she was to
meet her lover.
She saw-. Mr. Bevington lying on the
grass waiting for her. The noise drowned
the sound of her footsteps. She went for-
ward shyly, though tier heart was full of
joy. All at once he started up as if some
instinct warned him of her presence.
"My darling !" he said, as he clasped her
in his arms, "how -sweet and good of you
to come !"
She smiled up at him. She looked so
beautiful, her eyes were so full of love, that
his passion every moment grew stronger.
In his stately conventional hone he had
been asking himself the meaning of the
glamour which had surrounded Ruth and
had made her seem so different from other
women. He had told himself that the at-
traction he had felt had been only a fancy,
a fancy created by her fresh innocence and
loveliness, and heightened by daily associa-
tion. He knew better now. He thought
her more beautiful tean ever as he pushed
her blushing face gently away, and then
kissed it again and again.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Ruth kissed him again, and then lifted
him down the steps. - -- •
" But how do you come to be -here all by
yourself, Georgie darling? Where's
grannie ?"
" 'Cos wants to climb the big hill, an'
grannie says she's other fish to fry. Pla going
meself, I is," he said sturdily, with a
rebellious look on his red, chubby face.
Ruth stifled a laugh. "Little boys can't
The cottage had been empty ever since. her climb hills, Georgie; it wouldn't be safe,
grandfather died there three years ago. dear, for you to climb up the hill.'
Mr. Stokesay had built himself a study, "I isn't a little boy now. I's got nails in
and had added to the house in so many my boots," the child said; and he held up
ways that when he died the owner raised
the rent, and hitherto had been unable to
find a tenant,
Mr. Stokesay had been strict and silent,
but Ruth had felt a reverent love for him.
Little by little she had gleaned ftagments
of the story of the tall, thoughtful
scholar. Now she involuntarily pictured
him as she had last seen him, pacing up
and down the gardep behind the cottage,
dressed in a long,' loose garment—more
like a dressing -gown than a coat—his broad
thoughtful forehead partly hidden by the
large brim of his brown felt hat. Rath
smiled sadly as she fancied she could still
see him grasp the sides of this brim with
both hands and roll them up when he was
puzzlina, out a difficulty. He had once
been tutor of his college at Oxford. He
was poor but well connected, and it was
expected he would rise in the world; and
then he all at once fell in love witjr a
penniless girl, thepretty,ignorant daughter
of a small farmer. Ruth knew that her
grandmother had died when her mother,
Kitty Stokesay, was a baby; and Sally
Voce, her grandfather's housekeeper, ha&
told her over and over again how the • sor-
rowing man had shut himself up with his
child and his books.
Philip Bryant had often said to his
daughter that her mother had been much
too good to him, but Ruth did not know
that the - marriage Of this idolized child,
whom he had educated to his own level,
had embittered her grandfather's nature
far more than th d desertion of his family
and his friends on account of the improve. care of you up the hill."
dence of his own marriage. d He snickered as if the proposal amused
him. "You take care of me?" he said, "how
can a gal take care of a man?"
He let her, however, take a firm hold of
his wrist and lead him in the direction of
Little Marshfield. "What a drasp you's
got!" he said, looking up in Ruth's face.
"I didn't know you was shut a drasper."
At a turn of the road she spied Mrs. Voce
hurrying along evidently in search of the
truant, and kissing his red, firm cheek Ruth
set him free. •
"Run along to grannie," she said, and
she turned back toward Appledore.
his stumpy little foot so shat she might see
a row of thickly -set nails all round the
sole.
"That is grand," she said, smiling, "but,
Georgie, had not you better go home? It'
will soon be dinner -time."
He pres - roey, pouting lips togeth-
er and eyed e ..r scornfully. He was not at
all afraid of Miss Bryant; she talked to him
as if she were his own age, and the small
mite had a supreme consciousness of the
inferiority of girls. He had been born and
bred in on eof the southern suburbs of Lon-
don, and was quite freerfrom any Grace of
the reverence sometimes still to be found
in country village children.
" I's going up hill afore dinner," be said.
'Ruth felt puzzled. The child's home was
some way off, and she doubted her power
of enforcing obedience.
"I've got to find the way first," the
child said. " I lost it coming along. Do
you know "—he gave her a sly, half -won-
dering look—" do you think you could find
a way to grannie's house?"
" If I tried and you helped me, couldn't
we find it between us ?" she said.
He gave her a broad smile of approval.
"I'll help you,", he said, "when we
mimes down the hill. You've got to go
along with me first."
He looked at her defiantly, as if to see
hole far he might presume on her patienee.
Rffth laughed at him. "Look here, Georgie!"
she said, we'll make a bargain. I want
you to take care of me as far as grannie's
house now, and then some day I'll take
Philip Bryant had been sent to a good
school, but he had• not cared to study ;
and his father's improvidence and ruin
shortened the son's chance of education.
The elder Bryant had been a small land-
holder. He was a favorite with every one,
and when his troubles came his creditors
had purchased the property—that is to say,
Appledore and its belongings—and had
Allowed him to free himself from debt and
to farm part of his own land as their tenant.
When Philip Bryant married Kitty
Stokesay she was only eighteen and she
was as clever as she was bright and beauti-
ful. Mr Stokesay could not help liking _.
CHAPTER 1V.
his handsome, happy -tempered young sou -
in -law, but his pride was mortified. He Mr. Bryant's habit was to go round his
had fondly hoped his Kitty would have fields before breakfast and to return home
married into what he considered to be here at half -past eight, so that the postman bad
rightful position. Philip Bryant came of a always delivered the Appledore letters be -
good old family, but he had had -few ad- • fore the farmer came in. Ruth etarted and
vantages; and Mr. Stokesay feared that blushed as she went forward to kiss her
, he might tiave inherited his father's extra- father ; she was so conscious of the letter
vagant habits. The old man refused to lying hid in herlsbeketea letter from Mr.
live at Appledore, and settled' himself in Bevington.
the cottage. A legacy from a relative had i In the week that had gone by she had be -
enabled him to make it into a pleasant and gun to gat used to the burden of her
suitable home, From the time her mother secret, but it now weighed more heavily
died little Ruth went regularly to school than it did at first. Mr. Bevington asked
with her grandfather. Even when It her in this letter to meet him in the Mill
last illness came upon him he still too Valley, a secluded place not far from her
, pleasure in teaching the -intelligent girl,and home, but still not the sort of place she
although she had occasionally demurred would have chosen for a meeting ; for the
when her studies interfered with the long part of the valley he specified—the Gutter,
walks and rides she loved to take with her as it was called—between two lofty hills,
I father, she had been too sweet -natured to , was singularly lonely. If by chance any
persevere in refusal. I one saw her there alone with Mr. Beving-
Rath to -day walked along to the church- . ton, she knew there would probably be
yard, thinking how different life had been gossip about her, and she felt she should
while he lived. She had learned little deserve it.
since his death. She had read Mr. Cid. I Her father was so silent and preoccupied
ford's books and she had nursed her aunt ; that he scarcely looked at her this morning
and then, as the girl thought over the last and her own silence at breakfast was nano -
three months, she knew she had only be. tient When she was alone again she reread
gun to enjoy lite since she had known Mr. her letter. Her color deepened and her heart
Bevington. She passed the post-offi ce swelled as she went over the ardent words.
apposite the little inn, and then instead of Shepever thought of disobeying Mr. Beving-
following the straggling line of houses , ton's summons. Indeed, after this second
which called itself the village of Church- ' reading she told herself she was a coward
Marshfield, she turned into on uP-hin • and untrusting. He who loved her so very
roadon the right, which led direct to the dearly would not expose her to the slight -
church. At this leafy tires of year only a ! est risk of gossip. He must know the val-
part of the old gray tower could be ley better than she did, for he had spent
seen between the elm trees that rose hours there fishing; and he had probably
above the low stone wall of the church- made himself sure that the further end be.
yard. A little farther a flight of tween the hills was never visited by way -
steps with a turn -stile at the top led into farers. But she could not shake off a cer-
the grassed space, with its irregular and twin shrinking fear when at length the time
lichen -spotted stones. Ruth went on till : he had fixed on, five o'clock, drew near.
she reached the east end. There, just 1 The way to the Mill Valley opened on
underneath the three -sided ancient window 1 the right some way nearer home than her
behind the altar, was a small aeat grave, , grandfather's cottage. A short road bor.
with a headstone on which were the names dered by hedges led to a gate. When she
of her mother and her grandfather. Ruth had crossed the meadow beyond the gate
had been twelve years old when her mother the hills began to rise on either side, and a
died, but she had never ceased to mourn little babbling brook came merrily dashing
her. To -day she longed sorely for her lov- ' Won -lite Shallow, stony bed, as if it were in
ing sympathy, and as she knelt beside the haste to greet her.
grave she unconsciously leaned against the r At first the valley was wide and the brook
- _ headstone. Yes, she was sure that her I ran broadly about half -way between the
mother would have told her whether she hills; these were covered with closely
es daingright in keeping this secret from ; cropped turf and dotted with dwarf bushes
1 of golden gorse, which this afternoon had
trglingieduneltmaele her start. What, the sun on them anti seemed to glow with
. e s _
., 'At . ,.': - - e. e ' te - - -• 1 brightness, varied by the occasional clopd-
W eeoine4rdt eoeldoT4'-dtslolt the- Wm". next ' shadows that fell on thetcrossing hill flanks
hermothees- Itolociid-hiii bieTrai to, •a and added interest to the lovely scene.
•aorteatorrire amlethea'141°8‘ 10 IlF: Here and there, high up on the hillside,
feetshe stalled. e ' - -- h e- were busy nibbling sheep, pale yellow blots
the titahetikie his . .e. mong the tufts of brake that shared the
Close behiad ' -rosy' -a
chubby face -pressed againetitaa: ifettrYing sides of the hills with the gorse. Every
to squeeze between the bars; etvas teeteMelt ' now and then, en the right, a rift showed
boy of about four years old. A pinafore , between the hills leading upward. by tartar-
•'. so entirely coveredhim from head to foot ' row, ever -mounting path, and from each of
that hs looked like &short brown htilland these rifts, or "gutters," as the coantry folk
bolater. He had• been pulling - se vigor- called theta, came brisk little streams, hur-
ouglyeat the brihref his straw hat that he Tying and foaming over the stenetin their
had wrenched the two- outside rows apart course to swell the brook that ran
from the rest, and had almost hidden his down the valley from the mill. The _mill
• tearful blue eyes. Ruth, however, reeog- stood on some level ground nestled among
nixed him At, a, glance as Mrs. Voce's grand- trees on the left side of the narrowing velley.
Thelugh rnillevheeleteod idle, as if it were
taking rest ; and a group of little children
•weie playing in the mill yard. A little way
beyond a single -plank bridge crossed the
child.
"Why, Georgieeporgiee'd sheittid, " is it
al What are you doing here—eh,
.
She reached the tanner& as she ended, little tsaatri, and Rath went over it. Ust
Liver ol Milford Ha.ven Southamptem
45,
- In the Wilderness of Ceylon.
We were in the absolute wilderness of
upland Ceylon, where the virgin beauty and
freshness of nature unspoiled by .man in -
tills a new- sensation into every soul which
vibrates to her mysterious voice., The roll.
ing green patenas are cut off sheer and
straight from the encircling belts of jungle
as though measured off by human hands, a
striking feature of these elevated regionst
which has never beer! satisfactorily ex.
plained. The mountain ranges which in-
close the grassy plains are clothed from base
to summit with primeval forest, heavily
draped with moss, which forms a green
fringe hanging from every bough.
An appalling loneliness broods over the
scene, no song of bird stirs the silence, and
the deathlike hush which reigns over the
gloomy forest is unbrokeneven by the rustle
of a leaf, for noon is the midnight of -the
,tropies, and the black depths Of the jungle
are wrappe .in spellbound sleep. ' At
nightfall the lithe cheetah glides stealthily
through the shadows and crouches for
his prey • among the crowding trees. The
branching antlers of the elk rise above the
tangled undeggrowth and the moose deer'
browses in the shade of the mossy boughs
along which the wildcat creeps, while the
savage boar roots among the fallen leaves.
• When the rising moon -illuminates the
lonely landscape, herds of zild. elephants
emerge:frau the dark jungle and roam over
the vast expanse of desolate country which
still renderstheinterior of Ceylon almost
an unknown land. The elephant grass,
which breaks the uniformity of the undulat.
ing plain with rustling sheet -es of long
green spears, is the forage for vehich the
stragglers of the herd scour the. patellas,.
and many Cipgalese superstitions linger
round this elevated tableland. Mr. Huddart Interviewed in London.
The recent spoor of an elephant marks
A London special says :—In an interview
our track and ceases at a deep p001 known
tee -wild to -day Mr. James E. Huddart, the pro -
to be a favorite drinking place of
moter gif the proposed new Canadian Pacific
animals which haunt the jungle. A deaf
mail route to Australia, expressed himself
elephant frequently perambulates the Elk
as most hopeful of obtaining all the advent -
P loins. He is supposed to be sacred to
Buddha, and, therefore, invulnerable no oafgehsisanvditicot hnceemssions which were the objects
sportsman having hitherto eneceeded in
piercing his hide—a fact probably due to Sir Charles Tupper, Canadian High Com-
missioner, said that during the last week he
Com -
the great age of the animal. -
had been approached by representatives of
HORSEDIANSMT VIE PARLOR.
The Horse Isn't alive, but He Can Canter
and Gallop.
A remarkable invention to enable people
to get a good imitation of horseback riding
in their own hornets is displayed in London,
according to the Westminster Budget. It
is called the "Hercules horse -action saddle."
It consists of a series of four platforms, one
above the other.. Each hese several helical
springs, which are adjusted according to
their positions for best taking up the strain
they will respectively have to sustain from
the changing movements of the rider. On
the top of all is a saddle secured to a steel
apiadle. The ends of the spindle are
carried through two vertical slots,_in which
they are free to move up and down.
. - -
All the mechanical apparatus is inclosed
within a mahogany frame which looks like
a small dinner wagon 'about thirty inches
in length and breadth, and about four feet
high. On each side of the frame is a foot-
board and in front is an iron handle, some-
thing like that of a cycle, but fixed. The
"horse" may be mounted by placing one
foot ou the footboard and throwing the
other over the saddle: The action of the
legs as in rising in the stirups releases the
pressure on the springs, and the saddle
moves up and down as on a living horse.
By gripping the knees tightly to the saddle
or by the motioneof the arms on the handle
the action of a horse from a gentle canter
to a hard gallop can be imitated.
MIGRATORY EUROPEAN STATESMEN
Notable Men Prominent in Lands Other
• Than Those of Their Birth.
There is hardly a country in Europe that
is governed exclusively by men of that na-
tionality. This peculiar state of affairs arises
from international marriages, the accidents
of war and voluntary changes of residence
hymen who are "down on their luck." M.
Waddington, who though flnglish by birth,
rose to be premier of France, is a notable
example. Another French statesman,
Eugene Spuller, bears a German name and
was born of Badanese parents, Gambetta
the greatest public man France has had for
years, was of Italian parentage, while it
will be remembered that Napoleon himself
was a Corsican. France has in turn given
Italy several men of ability and prominence,
among them Comte de Lannay, the famous
diplomat, who hated his own land of France
with an undying hatred. England has con-
tributed the two admirals named Acton to
the Italian cabinet list. On the other hand
among the men with Italian blood serving
elsewhere there may be mentioned Caprivi,
the chancellor of the German empire.
Austria is especially rich in powerful
aliens. Its prime minister, Count Taafe,
is an Irishman and a member of the British
peerage. Frenchmen, Italians and English-
men are also plentiful in the Austrian pub-
lic service. Irishmen are very prominent
in Spanish affairs, which accounts for the
prevalence of Irish names in the Spanish-
American republics of South A.merica.
Queen Christina's secretary is the Conde di
Morphi, which bet thinly disguises "the
good old high name of Murphy." In Eng-
land many men of German descent are pro-
minent among them Mr. Goschen, Baron
Henry Worms, and Sir Henry Drumniond-
Wolff. Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett is the
only American who figures in the list. It
is for their wives alone that Europeans
come to this country, not for their states-
men. De (eters, the man who guides Rue-
sia's destinies, is a- German, and Grote,
secretary of state, is a Swede. General
Melikoff was of Armenian parentage. Al-
most all nationalities of Europe and quite
a few of Asia are represented in the Rus-
sian public service. Many foreigners are
also serving Sweden.
But the most curious fact is that numer-
ous members of reigning families are lin-
able to speak the language of the countries
over which they rule without a marked for-
eign accent. King Christian of Denmark
and the queen are of German birth and edu-
cation, and their son, King George of
Greece, is also a German by birth. There
is a faint trace of French in the speech of
Sweden's King Oscar, descendant of Mar-
shal Bernadotte. Theafathefr of Leopold of
Belgium was a. German. Even Emperor
William, who does not love English habits
or the English people, betraysin his speech
the English origin of his mother. It is also
true that the _Queen of England was wont
tie talk in German with Prince Albert., and
even uses that tongue to -day in her family.
The German origin of the English royal
family is very plain to be observed, and
shows the persistence of the Teutonic type.
CANADA -AUSTRALIA LINE.
and beadii.,4WA,:sh•-pat her -aritt r welly she Jumped the little stream, orewhen
--'the and-..-khiehtat him..-- - recentrainehadgreatlyincreaseciitsbreadth
At, thisfe- :firatescreve eittarteertst into shewiaald. spring acroas from one stone to
other! As Ruth- another.. batAceday and pre.
-• lifCh• T"
....eette,itene lrOameit., meaning ;f.ttera66---11,-;04 De was t4°ught
r, ne caugnu, this face inita
uew
ttcr
pent • -nher hithleteietteents*---ria-they;
elleeetW4testlaented.:7her ;;. they
in t.heir'hite etotaloPlo-
-. .terrorandhic
ta.
ACCOMMOClatinge _
a Do you care, dear," enquired, Mrs.
Levelly, "if I marry again whentyou are
delt‘clnoaf eelegut°Ell_ ?n '
not," reepent
aninftirue 1 -can (Or
ca.a
3 ,
Your little child- is jae
1 dthought crat.
Po ,
Swatisea; Bristol, Plymouth'and Cork, who
pointed out the advantages of their respect-
ive towns as ports of call for the new
line. Sir Charles said no selection of an
English port of -call had been made as yet,
and -inane would be, pending .the definite
aeceptance o ihe agreement by the Cana-
algeareaaovetuntente
r.
hideterethe masters of masters.
- _
1010100sthtss_
KILLED AND CREMATED ilER.
The Most Shocking Crime In the
Annals of Canada.
How Christopher Ward Stabbed His Wife
With a Hatcher Keene, Carved` Her
fp and Burned the Fragments in the
Kitchen s tove.
In view of the recent trial of Walter
MaeWherrell at Brampton, the last con-
viction on circumstantial evidence for mur.
der in Peel county is recalled with much
interest.
The crime was a peculiarly horrible one,
and was remarkable for the crushing,
weight of circumstantial evidence that as
adduced against the perpetrator.
Christopher Ward was a member of a
well-to-do family living in Caledon town-
ship. Early in the spring of 1875 he made
a pleasure trip to England. On the way
back he became acquaintecl with a pretty
young*dressmaker on her way to Toronto.
Mary, for that was her name, was coming
to the home of her unele, a gardeeer at
Government house.
The acquaintance ripened fast and soon
after her arrival in Canada Mary became
Mrs. Ward. A house was furnished and
the young couple went to live on the hus•
band's farm in Caledon Township. Ellen
Morrison, the daughter of a neighbor, as-
sisted in the housework.
PLOTTING THE MURDER.
Marriage was somewhat of a failure so
far as Mr. and Mrs. Ward were concerned,
and quarrels were of frequent occurrence.
On April 5, 1876, Mrs. Ward prepared to
visit her aunt in Toronto. Her husband
interposed ng objection and drove her to
the railroad station at Caledon, but, when he
got there he told his wife that she had bet-
ter wait for a week and he would then ac-
company her. He was strangely persistent
and at last his wife yielded and went back
to the house. Then he requested her to
send the Morrison girl away.
The night was a stormy one and the wind
howled dismally about the house. What
happened there, according to the theory of
Government Detective Murray,who worke I
up the case, backed by the opinions of many
experts, is that Ward, while his wife was
sleeping, secured a butcher knife and stab -
bad her to death. Then with the skill of a
practised butcher he carved the bleeding
form into numberless pieces. The bones
were disjointed much in the same manner as
the head of the house carves a Christmas
turkey.
BURNED THE BODY.
Then, with the mutilated fragments of
what had been his wife, the fiend calmly
proceeded with his horrible work. From
the cellar he brought up several jars of
tallow and started a roaring fire in the
stove. The heat of the fire was so intense
that the bottom of the stove was burned
out and the blazing tallow spread over the
pine floor. Sommthe whole house was in
fia,mes.
With the cunning of a madman, Ward
seized a burning ember and seared his
breast and neck. Then, when nothing could
save his home, he rushed to his father's
house an spread the alarm. When asked
a'oonte his wife he said he was awakened by
the heat of the fire. He called for his wife,
but received no reply. Then he ran out of
the house, not without being badly burnt(
A TELL-TALE CLUE.
The neighbors suspected that something
was wrong and at once telegraphed the
authorities at ,Toronto. Detective John
Murray was detailed on the case and lie
arrived ali the house while the timbers were
yet on fire. He saw Ward in bed at his
mother's house and questioned him closely.
The detective noticed that, while the man
was rather severely burned about the neck,
his hair was not even singed and he bore
no marks of having fought a battle with
fire.
After the fire had burned itself out the
timbers were pulled away. A piece of the
seventh vertebrae and the fragment of an
ankle bone were all that was left of Mrs.
Ward. In the ruins of the house was found
a piece of bedticking and some feathers
saturated with blood, that apparently had
not been touched by the- fire. A butcher
knife, the point bent as if it had been used
much, was fojind under the spot where the
bed had stood. So fierce had the fire been
that the stove had been burned.
HUMAN BLOOD EXTRACTED FROM THE IRON
Detective Murray then commenced to fix
together a chain of expert testimony on
which Ward was finally convicted of mur-
der. Prof. Croft analyzed the iron of the
hatcher knife and the feathers. His evidence
was that human blood was present in large
quantities. From the position in which
the knife was found it was surmised that
Mrs. Ward had been killed while in bed.
Before Judge Moss the case was tried at
Brampton in the spring of 1876.
John Hitlyard Cameron defended Ward.
The late Judge Kenneth MacKenzie and
D'Arcy Boulton acted for the crown and
were ably assisted by the researches of
Detective Murray. The defence pleaded
insanity and called not less than a dozen
doctors, including Dr. Workman, who said
that Ward was of unsound mind i The
crown, however, had a preponderance of the
medical testimony, and among others Dr.
Dixon, of Rockwood Asylum, testified that
the prisoner was perfectly sane and respons-
ible for his acts.
The trial dragged along tediously and
Ward was found guilty and sentenced to
die on the gallows on the first Friday in
June. Many petitions were sent to the
Government asking for clemency and the
sentence was commuted to imprisonment
for life.
HE DIED A MANIAC.
Six months after his sentence he showed
pronounced signs of insanity and was sent
to the Criminal Asylum at Rockwood. Five
years later he died in the asylum.
The doctors had had many a wordy war
over the question of Ward's sanity, and to
settle it Dr. Macdonald of New York, anex-
pert in brain diseases, and anotherexpertfrom
Ann Arbor College made an examination
of his brain and decided that it was diseas-
ed.
It is an interesting fact that a son of John
Hillyard Cameron, the defender of Ward, _
.-e
est
The
obtain
the br
and in
magni
the at
details
DOW u
his ut
lay th
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winter
Always
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question
ing and
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cover hen
highest ri
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ter flesh
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row she s
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young pig
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be gradual
ten days ol
be put on f
producing
iy.
assisted Mr. E. B. Osler in preparing the _ e
case for the crown against Mac Wherrelt ans ea
andWaikteterti
Itisbe.to merit praise and rewa
without receivinghliern than toliaieditem
-wheflkwe&re not worthy of them; we
should leave our actions -to speak for test
With t
meat., mor
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calculated
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is a year oh
A wether
fully two y'
three. In
maturity,
pass these 1
extent the
start, feed
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will orditted
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