The Wingham Times, 1893-05-26, Page 6were, tlaererore, "alma gauss ee rare e,
word with Madame Sicard .occasion
ally?"
"No harm, truly," is the response,
"but what has Susette to dowith it?
She is dead, and if thou coast masse
thyself with someone else it is nothing
to sireas her brother. But how far is
this to go? Tlio gossips in the Rue de
Caen will be talking ere long, Ilion
frere
""'1"here is nothing for thein to say,"
answers Jules, ""but that I am friends
with Sicard and his wife, and what harm.
can they wake of that?"
""Art so sure that it is but as a friend,
simply, that thou rarest for the wife of
Sicard?" inquires the other with some- 1
genes u eetingwitll Maiielelne lire latter
conies in end cordially greets Annette
whoislcnittuighyawixxdow, Slxehard-
1 notices Jules but speaks kindly to
AIoxauclre and then extends au invite-
tion to Anisette to accompany her to
Trouville on the next Monday. Annette
is beginning to say that she will not be
able to go, when Madeleine interposes,
"Why, of course, thou must go, There
is no good reason for staying at lime, I
am surer"
"But yes, Annette," says her husband,
There is no reason for declining, as Mad•
eleino says,• and it will do thee good." i
Annette is sorely puzzled and can see
no way out of the moment's embarrass-' c v e •-- ••- � '^
Tient, Jules, liftening to the converse-
tion sees of course, that
what of a sneer in his tone..Tules hesi-
tates for several moments, during which
f ''r ; "' ' !more of her, thou, but give tliyseI sus brother-in-law watches him narrow-
ly, -,I ize a little because she liar remained so wholly to what thou lovest far more ly ,, Perhfl sit is more than friendship,"
lig unmarried. p
' than thou,. hast over loved Annette—thy
Having come to this conclusion not paints and canvas. Do this and we shall Jules admits at length,
long before the Sicards arrived, her con- see thee the greatest man in Lisieux: I thought as pinch, And madame,
sent to the match becomes a more ques- But I shall give thee no more advice to, what thiiii.s she?
Mon. c:f time and accordingly before the day, form aunt willbe wondering why Ithanksne loves zne much more than
bio il'+ie leave their errand is satisfaoteri- I have not returned to her," and leaving she does Alexandre,"replies Vagnon,
l hint with a cordial adieu, she disappears This grows interesting, observes
ly accomplished. Mother Sicard doss in the gathering twilight. Whether on. the brother of Susette, "`And asset is to
not think proper to confide to Madame . vinced by Madeleine's earnestness or not, come of it 411?" h&queries,��
Jaxaet leer son's former reluctance to it is quite true, as she sags, that Annette " Truly, I do not know." says Jules.
marry Annette, but she enlarges upon is lost to him now, he tells himself, and His companion laughs disagreeably at
various aspects of the case when alone i he resolves to set briskly at work once this, but the entrance just. then of one
with her husband that evening. more and forget that Annette has ever of the canon of Saint Sacque s interrupts
"Was ever anything like it?' she says been more to him than a distant cousin, the coilver'sation.
to him. "First it is Alexandre who will and in this endeavour he finds success "•If I could persuade Jles to run away
not hear of the marriage. We are in , much sooner attained than ho would with the wife of Sicard,"says Vagnon's
despair. He is so firm. Then when one have believed possilale, partner to himself after Jules and the
Two years elapse. Two busy years
filled for Eugene with constant work at
his easel. His labor is already bridging
hirer a good income as well as consider-
able distinction, and the young men who
once thought it a foolish thing for him
to go to Paris to study painting are anx-
ious for his acquaintance now. About
a year after Annette's marriage
the wife of Jules Vagnon died,
leaving no children, and Jules, who has
never felt for her more than a common-
place affection, soon after endeavors to
renew his former attentions to Madeleine.
She, however, rebuffs him so decidedly
that he quietly perceives she cares no
more for him now than she did years be-
fore. In the old days Madeleine was the
only girl he cared greatly for, but he
had at the same time a pleasant liking
for Annette and was qnite well aware
of her love for him. He finds himself
speculating one clay- whether she thinks
about him now. It would not be a bad
idea to make that stupid, fat husband
of hers a trifle jealous, he says to him
self. Annette Sicard is not pretty, but
she is amiable. and it may be worth
while to see how much she cares for him
still. The idea once formulated in his
mind, he makes it in his way to pass
quite often through the Rue de Caen,
where the Sicards live and he. has like-
wise time to stop for a moment's talk
if he finds Annette at the shop
door. She is frequently to be found
there now with her knitting, and it is by
no means disagreeable to her to have a
pleasant word every day or two with
this pleasant notary, who still looks
young, though somewhat stouter than
he was six years previous. Jules makes
purchases from time to time at the shop
to afford him a pretext for a little longer
talk with Madame Sicard. And besides
it will not clo to make Alexandre jealous
too soon, he resolves. No, he must re-
main on good terms with. Sicard for the
present. And it is worth a good deal to
see Annette's face when he appears. It
is easy to see that she loves him still, he
tells himself.
And he is right. Annette still loves
him. She married Alexandre because it
seemed the best thing to do, but her
heart was untouched. When she and
Jules were children, playing in the quiet
Rue de la Paix, she was conscious of
feeling towards him in a way that was
not like what she felt towards other
boys that she !mew, and the love that
sprang up then has continued all these
years. It makes her very happy that
Jules should stop so often for a word
with her. She trusts Alexandre will
not be angry, but the young grocer is so
busy that lie doesn't think beyond the
fact that Jules seems to like to purchase
at his shop. Perhaps if Alexandre had
married for love it might have been eaei-
er for Jules to make him jealous.
Several months go by and ,"still Jules
stops at the Sicards on his daily walk
through the Rue de Caen. He has lost
all desire of rousing the jealousy of
Alexandre and now and then comes for
an hang's smoke with him, bringing
his best cigars for their common enjoy-
ment, He has not known till lately how
much there is in Annette. She is far
livelier and pleasanter than was Susette
p,s ,
his wife, he thinks. She is quite thrown
away ou that dull Sicard.
Jules does notask himself what is to
i , her proposed
ro
flight with hila must be postponed and
as elle casts a timid glance teward him
he adds his words to theirs,
"Why not go with Madeleine, Madame
Sicard? The bathing. at Trouville is sure
to be excellent at this season."
Madeleine readily detects his thought
and can hardly repress an indignant re
preach, but seeming not to notice Vag -
non's remark, she says calmly:
"Thou must not refuse an old friend,
Annette," and so Madame Sicard yields
to present circumstances.
"Jules, mon ami," says Eugene cor-
dially to Yagnon on Monday morning,
•'thou must know I am going this after-
noon on a shooting tour to Val -Richer,
to be absent several days, and I want
thy company. Can I have it ?"
Jules is very fond of Eugene, whom
he admires exceedingly, Thereto some-
thing in the artist's nature that strongly
attracts the easy, good-natured lawyer.
He consents readily enough to accom-
pany Eugene, for now that Annette has
gone to Trouville and his plans are ac-
cordingly indefinitely postponed, there
is no reason why he should not go where
it pleases him, and it always pleases
him when he can be with Eugene. In
his acceptance of his friend's invitation
is mingled a certain feeling of relief at
the thought that a little more time is to
elapse before he must leave Lisieux for
ever.
The next morning finds them among
the ruins of some conventual buildings
at. Val -Richer, Eugene sketching busily
while Jules, stretched at full length on
the grass, is alternately watching his
friend and amusing himself with a kit-
ten that is perched on a fragment of a
stone pillar close by him.
"Thou art my best friend,
says Jules suddenly. "If thou
brother I could not care more
than I do now."
This declaration surprises
who has never supposed Jul
for him to be of a more than
nature. His heart goes out to
weak, handsome fellow who i
up to him as he speaks with
of tender regard. He stops his
returns the gaze and just then
through his companion's mind
a moral gulf there is between t
as they aro in reality. What
Eugene would have for him
know all, thinks Jules.
"Thou art a much bettor fellow
I am, Eugene," he says rather
"Few of us are all we were
to be, my brother," says the
derly.
"But thou dost not know w
fellow I am," persists Jules;
haps thou wilt some day," he
"Jules, axon cher ami," says
slowly, as he comes and sits on
beside the young lawyer, "I
is in thy mind." Then, more sl
"And I' know what thou wert
do on Thursday."
Jules does not ask how
knows his secret, but, giving
of horror, buries his face in
grass. The kitten, puzzled at t
up to him in wonder.
"By the merest accident I
thee, Friday evening, speaks
partner in the gardens," says
"One other person only knows
plan from me, and no one else
know. I cannot believe thy w
was in this scheme of thine.
Jules groans but says nothing.
"Listen to mo," pursues Eu
ing his hand upon Jules'
"`Thou must think no more of
nette will never leave Lisieux
Madeleine will see to that.
must leave home for a time an
back after a few months, all
F least expects it he is all compliance with
' our wishes. Next it is Annette who will
not be persuaded. Nothing will move
t her. Once more we are ha despair when
fon could. ust as wish The youne g people are
not now as they once were. One must
persist in. urging them to do as one wish-
es. I see plainly, but they require time,
they must have time. Is it not all as I
,have been saying?" she concludes, ap-
pealing to her husband.
But that worthy man has long since
fallen asleep and with a little sigh of im-
patience Madame, after her evening de-
votions, composes herself to rest beside
There is much talk in Lisieux when
people hear that Annette and Alexandre
are to marry. All who know them are
Aurprised and no one more so than Ber-
nay. In. his busy Paris life he has in
fact almostforgotten Annette, but now
he recalls how long it is since he began
to hopeehe might some day persuade
her to marry him. He fancies that he
feels very bitterly at the news of her ap-
lroachingmarriage to Alexandre, but as
a matter of fact there does come over
him avague sense of bis disappointment.
Yet if the truth must be told that is all.
He hat so long given out the first place
inhis affections that love has beenpush-
ed. necessarily into the background.
There have been months in his Paris life
when the thought of Annette Jamet has
not entered his mind. Now, however,
since his return, as his thoughts of her
have begun to flow slowly into the old
eb.annel, because she is once more be-
fore> - his eyes, this sudden obstacle
to their free progress is a disagreeable
surprise to him.
A day or two after the engagement has
become known in Lisieux he saunters
,through the public gardens in a listless
ansomewhat discouraged mood, his
head down and his cane swingingidly in
his left'hand. He does not notice any
of the strollers in the garden nor does
he hear one of tb.em say:
"What bascomeover our youngpaint-
er of late? He is not as bright and merry
as when he came from Paris." He hears
nothing of this and rambles on, his cane
still swinging, till suddenly in one of its
careless revolutions, it glances against
the shoulder of a young girl who is pas-
sing him.
"Merci, Eugene! Art thou trying to
kill me with that cane of thine?" she ex-
claims with a little scream of remons-
trance that brings him at once to a
realizing sense of his surroundings. and
he sees that it is Madeleine who is
speaking.
"A thousand pardons, Madeleine," he
stammers. "I hope thou are not hurt
by reason of my carelessness."
'But no, I am not hurt in the least,"
she responds. "The blow was too light
for that. But of what wert thou think-
ing so earnestly as not to see me coming
towards thee?"
"Of many things Madeleine," he ans-
wers, turning about to accompany her,
"and of Anisette's coming marriage in
particular. It was a surprise to me,
for I had not dreamed. of such a thing.
Hadst thou?"
"That I had not," replied the other,
"Annette tells me of nearly all that hap-
pens to her, but till she told me of this
had never mentioned Alexandre to me
except to laugh at him now and these. come of all this, He is not consciously
And besides 'thought Alexandre desired wicked. He means no harm to Annette
to marry me," she continues. blushing a Sicard. That she still loves him al -
little.. "But I could never like him. He though married to another man is fiat -
canon have goneouttogethev, "it would
be a good thing for me, He would never
dare to coine back, of course, and I
should have the whole of the business
instead of half. And it may not be such.
a hard matter to bring this about. A
woman will go anywhere with the man '
she loves, and Jules will only need to
say, after a time, to Madame Sicard:
`Go with me to Paris or where you will,'
and the thing is done. He will find a
business elsewhere, he has wit enough
for that, and meanwhile I remain in !
charge of the business, I am not sure
but that such an affair would help in
time to make me one of the leading men
in Lisieux. 'His sister dead and his sis-
ter's
is ter's husband and his partner disgraced.
how sad for him,' people would say, and
sympathy is worth money sometimes."
From this time the brother of Susette
sets himself at work to devise schemes ;
for the speedier accomplishment of what
he desires, but several days are suffered
to elapse before he speaks further to his
partner on the subject. Jules, mean-
while, has been pondering over the ques-
tion of his brother-in-law, "what is to
come of it all?" Everyday he finds him-
self thinking more and more of Annette.
Truly, what is one to do? Matters can
not go on thus forever. In which way
shall' he put an end to the affair? By
breaking off his intimacy with the Si-
cards? That can be done, but it will
surely cause remark and various wrong
surmises will be made • concerning it, '
And then in the depth of his conscious
ness Jules knows that he is not strong
enough to do this. What then? Shall
he persuade Annette to go with hien
where no one will ever find. them? The
thought startles him at first but after- ,
wards it seems to him the only way out '
of present difficulties and he does not
trust himself to think farther.
Some little time after this idea had
grown familiar to the mind of Jules he
and his -partner go together for an even-
ing stroll in the public gardens.
"And what of thy little adventure
with Madame Sicard, my brother?"
observes Jules' partner in the course of ,
tween the strokes he can hear the whir
and clatter of a•factory not far off.
"Bon jour, Eugene," says a clear voice.
He turns about quickly. It is Made-
leine who is greeting him. How pretty
she is. He wonders he has never .real- •
ized it Before this morning. !
"I am very glad thou art here, for I
was just looking for thee." .
"Thou wast looking in a strange
place, my friend," she says, with a little
laugh. "Thou wert expecting, it may
.be, to see me come floating past in the
water?"
"Not precisely that," Eugene answers, •
with an echo of her gaiety, and then
his fade sobers as he adds, I have some- ,
thing to say which will grieve then and
which only thou must know."
Madeleine's face becomes grave while
he is speaking and then while they stand
near each other on the bridge he makes
known to her his discovery of the even-
ing previous. The tears gleam in her
eyes as she listens and when he has fin-
ished there is a pause in which they hear
the 16w lapping of the dark water i
against the old stone piers.
"Wirt thou see Annette?" he asks, 1
after a little time. "This need be known
onlybyourselves.
But we must save
our old playmates from themselves, Mad-
eleine."
" 1 sieve k plan," Madeleine responds
slowly. "My aunt has not been well for
is too short and fat, thou must know. tering to his vanity. Why should he along time and wishes me to go with
But if Annette likes him it is well, and not see her as often as he wishes since her to Trouville to try the bathing. We
ani glad for her, Art thou not also she likes to see him and he means no are to go on Monday and I will invite
glad, mon ami?" evil ? May not a man chat at a neigh- Annette to go with us and shall not let
"Annette is a good girl," said Eugene bor's if he litres ? FVhat would roil 2 her refuse. She can have no good rea-
absently, But there is one person who seems_ to son to urge against it since it is a trip
"Alt, I remember," pursues the'other, have detected the real reason for the in- she has often said she would like to take.
ho has by no means forgotten, "thou timacy of Julia with the Sicards, and While we aro away together I can say to
ert in love with her thyself years agothat is Susette's brother, who is Vag- hewhatever is hest to be said. „
thou angry with me for saying it?"non's law partner. "That is an excellent arrangement.
he asks hesitatingly. "Thou art a constant visitor at the says Eugene, and I shallhavean intor-
"By no means," says Eugene. ""It is house of the Sicards, 1 have noticed," view with Jules likewise," and after a
e that I have long loved Annette," he he remarks one day to Jules when they little further talk Madeleine goes on her
oes on, "She has always been first in are sitting together in their office. way and Eugene returns to his studio.
v r>iind." "`But yes," stiles answers lightly. What she has learned this morning is a
"Thou art mistaken, Eugene, Made- "Sicard is a good fellow, thou must great shock to Madeleine. tjnlike Eu•
eine replies decidedly. "Arthas always know. and he and I are friends." gine she has no pity for Jules For she
cion first with thee. That I know from ,Y does not realise as he does the probable
The other raises his eyebrows slightly
hat I have seen since thy return and and taps his foot on the floor. He is not steps which have led Jules to where he
what Monsieur Cauchon has said in all respocts a pleasant looking man, now rs. Her sympathies are all for An-
hee. Thy feeling now is momentary this brother-in-law of V'agnon's. His vette whom she believes to be willfully
ppointment, not sorrow for the loss features ate dark and heavy and there is deceived by Vagnon, , Eugene's clearer
what is dearest to thee." a crafty .gloam in his eyes, discernment assures him that on neither
Eugene shakes his head. "Thou hast right," he rejoins. "Sic-: aide has there' Ueen a wilful departure
"Ah, but I gin sure of it," insists the arcs is a good fellow and madame Sicard
from the right, He can better under-
. r. "Listen to nee. We have known is agood fellow, too,no doubt." stand that a strong astion coming
other all our lives,and I am " e cis by slow degrees has found these old !
threeI have known; "i since ri were cliff- friends of his too weak to withstand
is the elder, so that it is quite right drew," says Jules l ""it:is but natural that
me to give thee advice, she Con- I should like to sex her now and then... against it.
uss laughingly. "Annette isr lost to It is over a year since Susette died, and ,Ars Jules is talking with, Alexnndro in
now that as certain. Think no i,. @hap lis, he afte�ihsoujo110 ying' l u -
Eugene,"
wert my
for thee
the artist,
Jules' regard
ordinary
ward this
s looking
a face full
work and
it flashes
how great
hem, near
horror
could he
than
sadly.
intended
artist ten -
hat a bad
"but per -
adds.
the other
the grass
know what
slowly still,
going to
Ids friend
a low cry
the long
his creeps
overheard
ng to thy
Barney.
ws of the
need ever
hose heart
Eugene, lay -
shoulder.
this. An -
with thee.
But thou
d, coming
this will
seem only like a memory of an unpleas-
ant dream."
He ceases speaking, but Jules is silent
for a long time after, and there are no
sounds save the whirr of insects and the
rattle of wheels on a distant roadway.
When Jules, at last raises himself from
out the grass, his eyes are full of tears,
Eugene looks '
o s thempityinglyamoment,
g
and then Jules, unable to control him-
self, puts his arm about the neck of his
friend and lays his head on his shoulder.
"Thou wilt do as I said?" queries Eu-
gene after a time.
"But yes, my brother," is the answer,
and again there is a long silence.
Itis a fortnight later when they leave
Val -Richer for home. They have had
many talks about the future,:and not
only has Jules ceased to desire to carry
out his former plan, but he has come to
regard it with the deepest aversion. His
close companionship -with the artist has
served to intensify his already high re-
gard for him, and Eugene, for his part,
has grown very fond of this friend of his
that ho has so tenderly+ drawn back from
ruin.
Returning to Lisieux. they find not
only that Madeleine and Annette are
still at Trouville, but that the brother
of Susette has died the day before from
the effects•of a fall which he received at
the foto at Orbec. The injury seeming
a slight ono at first, Jules was not'sent
for, and the end came stxddenly, they
are told, There are not many, grieve
for him. .Toles, remembering that this
man was more than willing to aid
him in wrong -doing,. cannot mourn deep-
ly for him, though the shock of his
death is a severe one, and there are few
others who over oared for hirn. Still
there' is one person whet griever+. It is
IT IS iliangrEfNE Wkie IS MEETING IUM.
little lame Babette in the Rue des Bouch
cries, to whom he has been kind, for the
brother of Susette was not without some
pleasant traits, Ile will never more give
her bonbons or stop to say a kind word,
and so Babette weeps and will not be
consoled. When the funeral is over,
Jules arranges his affairs so that he can
leave Lisieux for a time, and a day or
two after his departure Madeleine and
her aunt rot from Trouville with An-
nette. Mui Sicard is so much quieter
and soberer than is her wont that Alex-
andre thinks it is plain that the air and
bathing at Trouville cannot have agreed
with her and that after all she would
have been better off at home. Bit the
journey has done more for his wife than
he can possibly know. In place of the
little airs of matronly superiority which
Annette used to assure, to the secret
amusement of Madeleine, has come s
very tender, loving trust of her friend.'
The months go by and another sum-
mer comes. Jules has long since re-
turned to Lisieux and is working hard
at his profession, his principal relaxation
being a couple of hours now and then
with his friend Eugene in the latter's
studio. But,the artist is not as busy as
usual, His canvasses stay longer on the
easel than they used to do and old Cau-
chon says playfully that Eugene is get-
ting lazy. But the fact is that art 1s
not just now first and foremost with
Eugene. Something has intervened, and,
after all, it is the fault of Theophile.
"Eugene, mon fils," he says to him
one day, "thou wilt be getting married
one of these times, I trust."
"Not I, for there is no one who would
have me," is the response.
"Almost any girl in Lisieux would be
glad of then for a husband," says the old
man enthusiastically.
"But no, thou art much mistaken,"
says the painter with a laugh, as he
pauses to survey the effect of the last
stroke of his brush.
"I know the very person for thee," per-
sists the other.
"So thou used to tell me years ago
when I was in Paris. I should like to
know the name of this person," responds
the young fellow carelessly.
"`Her name is Madeleine Sanchon," is
the answer, given quite slowly and im-
pressively. - '
Eugene in his surprise lets his brush
fall to the floor.
""Madeleine will never marry, I think,"
he remarks as he stoops to pick up the
brush; "" and besides she thinks of me
only as a friend she has known all her
life. No more."
"That is for thee to find out," observes
Monsieur Cauchon sagely, and says no
more. •
It is a new thought that has thus been
put int the painter's mind, and not an
unpleasant one when he allows himself
to think that Madeleine may possibly
love him. He turns it over and over in
the course of his long walks in the
neighborhood of Lisieux. Perhaps it is
because of this new thought that on these
walks he .finds so little material just now
for his work. And the more he walks
and thinks the clearer it becomes to him
that he loves Madeleine far more than
,he ever loved. Annette. His absorption
does not escape the notice of Theophile
and after some time the old man con-
cludes to speak again.
"I saw the aunt of Madeleine Sanchen
to -day," he remarks in the course of a
casual conversation. Eugene listens,
but says nothing, and the other con-
tinues: "Yes, and I said to her that it
would bee most excellent thing if her
niece and Eugeuo Berney were to marry.
She was quite of my mind, thou must
know, so I said to her father that if such
a wedding took place I would give thee
100,000 francs. Thereupon she said she
would give Madeleine 50,000 francs. So
far then, =one fils, the way is clear for
thee, thou seest,"
Tears of gratitude came into Eugene's
eyes.
"Thou art always good to me, but—"
gratitude, h state to o and
He hesitates, forv
1
hope are so commingled in his mind
that he cannot find worda to express
himself clearly.
"But what?" queries the other, pur-
posely misunderstanding. "Thou dost
not wish me to see Madeleine for thee,
I think!"
Eugene laughs and recovers himself.
"There will be no need of that," he an-
swers, with decision.
!The summer comes to an end arid Oc-
tober follows. The vino that trail in
the waters of thi Orbiquet and the
Tongues are turning a deep red, Tho
'vines in the Rue dela pain are reddening
also, and two people passing down that
quiet street stop to gather some of the
brilliant sprays, One of thorn, a reran,
is partly y ion shadow arrow as ono soca them
from the Rub aux p'ovres, but the sun•
shine lights up the white gown and gorge-
ous I,ieuvin cap of his companion.Who aro they?. asks a tourist of a
matron who, like him, is gazing down
the Bas de la Nix,
It is Annette Sicard to whom ho
speaks,
"'Only a stranger cord ask that," She
replies: "It is our great artist,
liugene
Bernal',With his bride, Thoawore
marribitt this morning, Mdeleine
is her name and she ie my friend," Au,
tsetto adds, its the. tourist passes on.
as
one. 1,
° Ilofeotrita epUiar]i;tluosatiRra,
President Eliot's article in the De„
comber Forum on ""Defects in Popular
Education" is attracting the wide con-
sideration it deserves. The Nation Bays'
it contains, more meat than any other
paper on the subject that has appeared -
ed a long time, It will do good especi-
ally by provoking discussion and by
presenting old methods in a new light.
and thus tending to break up the rou-
tine and the formulas that are so apt to
petrify in educational methods, Ho
pleads especially for a better training of
the reasoning powers in the child or
yeuth and for the more systematic In-
struction in writing good English.
"We have expected,', lie Hays, "to teach
sound reasoning incidentally and indi-
reedy, just as we have expected to teach
t o g foreign languages.
oung people to write good English ley
ea hip them lan ua es, It is
high time that we taught the young by
direct practice and high examples to
reason justly and effectively,"
Cioar C?rlt.
"Speaking of bravado on the scaffold
reminds me of a one -legged man I saw
turned off in Western Pennsylvania
when I was a boy,"said Boger Brakes.
Bifaces-
lee, a guest of the Southern "He was
knowto have killed five men, He had
lost a leg while trying to add a sixth to
i string, but finals recovered was
ctried and sentenced tohang.The exe-
ution took lace in the court house
yard,and several thousand people gath-
ered to witness it. McCoy, for that was
the criminal's name, ascended the scaf-
fold with no other assistance than that
afforded by his crutch. When asked if
ho had anything to say he replied that
he would like to say good-bye to his
fiddle. It was brought and, standing on
the death-trap, he played a lively air,
handed the violin to the sheriff, and
with the aid of his crutch danced a jig
on the trap. He then announced that
ho was ready. His arms were pinioned,
the black cap drawn over his head, and
the trap sprung: The rope broke, and
after being carried back on the scaffold
more dead than alive ho asked how long
it would take to procure another one.
He was told about ten minutes. 'Well,
give me ney old fiddle while I'm wait-
ing,' he said. Ho was unpinionod, the
cap removed and he made his best bow
to the audience, saying lie had not ex-
pected an encore. Globe -Democrat.
A. Torpedo Detector.
The apparatus is connected by wires
with the indicator at the observing sta-
tion. The vibrator is so sensitive that
it is affected by the passage of a half
dozen men along the road, or by the
vibration caused by a cart being driven
along within a hundred yards of where
it is placed. As soon, as the vibrator
gives any indication of disturbance the
land wires are connected with a tele-
phone, and the noise made by traffic
can then be distinctly heard and the
direction in which the movement is tak-
ing place can be determined.
The cryptophone is equally effective
'for naval purposes. For some time dif-
ficulty was found in keeping the inside
water -tight and in equalizing the in-
ternal and external pressures, so as not
to destroy the 'sensitiveness of the vi-
brating needle or the tension of the
diaphragm. This, however, was at
length successfully accomplished, and
most satisfactory tests have been carried
out in France. The instrument can be
used not only for ordinary signaling
purposes between ono ship and another,
but for announcing the approach of an-
other ship during a fog. In the experi-
ments in Cherbourg Harbor the regular
thud of the screw of a vessel entering or
leaving the harbor, over a Mile away,
was perceptible. It is said that foul
cryptaphones. costing altogether about
$400, placed on board an ironclad would
be sufficient to warn the ship of an ap-
proaching torpedo boat and to indicate
the direction in which it is travelling.—
Electrieity.
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t Fig /
.Mrs. H. D. West
of Cornwallis, Nova Scotia,
$200 Worth
Of Other Medicines Failed
, But 4:Betties ofIrood"s,5arsaparilla
Cured.
"It 18 with pleasure that I tell of; the great
benefit I derived from Hooch's Sarsaparilla.
per c years I have been badly aIIlioted with
Erysipelas
breaking out with running sores during hot
enmmer months. 1 have sometimes not beeli.
able to use my limbs for two months at a tinier
Being induced to try Hood's Sarsaparilla, 1 got
ono bottle last sprin , commenced using it; telt
so nideli better, go two bottles more; took
theta during tiie summer, was able to see my
housework, aiict
Walk Two Miles
Which X had not done for six years,. Think 1
am cured of erysitielas, and recommend arty
person so affileted to use
• Hood's Sarsaparilla
Nur bottles has done more for me than $200
Worth of other medicine. it the bast
blood pnrifter known:' 1,11,11,"q. 0. wnsr,
Church street, Cornwallis, N. S.
Ooo'La Piu_8 euro fiver ins, ebcetipa•
WN, 'biltuivaeu, iiinndbl o, tick bSMlaOhi, 250,