XT -VWrf- - nsr" TVSft s-?". "-arsi 'yW 16 THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH, SUNDAY, AT7GT7ST 31, 189a cam' to spier 'tor, sir, is lying dead in the Glen, Sir James " "Drad?" interrupted Sir James. "Nothing less sir. Mr ta bit laddies vent into the Glen, maybe an hoar since, end they cam running home wi' the news. Then I went mysel', and there he's lying wi' a pistol by his side. I'm feared Sir James, that he sent his ain soul adrilt" "You thii.k he shot himselt?" said Sir Tames in a low tone ot horror. t "I fear sae, sir, the wife said he seemed air down-hearted when he paid his reckon ing, and my opinion is he just went straight to the Glen and put the pistol to his ain head. However, there he is, and I cam over to tell you, I thought maybe ye wad like to see him before he's lifted." Sir James felt unutterably shocked. There Is something in death so solemn that ell our passions seem to dwindle in its pres ence. Sir James stood silent lor a moment or two, and the landlord once more wiped "ais damp brow. "Ye ken't the chiel when alive, did ye not. Sir J-mes?" he presently asked. "I think I have seen him," said Sir James slowly. "They say a lass brought him a letter, sae there'll hae been some petticoat at the bot tom o't, I misdoubt. And he'sweel favored; K. fine handsome lad, eh; it's a sair end, but there'll hac to be an inquiry, and the '.Fiscal Jnust hae notice to-day." "Yes, of course." "Wad ye like to come and hae a loot at him. Sir James? I've left him in charge of the police; but perhaps ye will be able to identify him, and that' aye something." "I will go back to Strathloe with you," taid Sir James. That there had been some ecret about the dead man he now felt con Yinced; lorae secret Miriam knew, and his face flushed darkly as he thought of his Mitt. So he walked almost in silence by the side of the landlord tn Strathloe, There was great excitement evidently going on in the village as they entered it, and various people were hurrying toward the Glen. Bir James also unconsciously hastened his Jootsteps, and the landlord nearly ran for ward, "lhev soon reached the momentarily increasing group standing round the body ol the dead man. But some of those present fell back a little at the sight of Sir James, who was the owner of the soil, and touched their caps to their landlord. There were two policemen keeping guard, and these men also saluted Sir James. He walked on a few steps further, and then came in sight of the body of the sol dier Dare. He knew him again instantly He as lying on his back with his half-open eyes gazing upward at the misty tky, and there was a bullet wound in his left temple, and a small re olver at his side. Sir James stood loosing down at him in silence, but a great throb ot bitter emotion Mas in bis heart ".No wonder she loved him," he was thinking, with his eyes fixed on the pale -ingularly handsome features of the dead soldier. It was a mournful sight; a man in the very prime of his young manhood had died seemingly by his own hand. There were no marks of a life struggle on the rough grass around; noue in the whole atti tcpe and expression ot Dare. , At this moment the village doctor arrived on the scence, and kneeling dowu opened the waistcoat of the recum bent figure and placed bis head on the breast to see if the heart was actually still. Then he looked round and glanced at Sir James, snd shook his head. "Is he quite dead?" asked Sir James in an unsteady voice. "Quite, for many hour'," answered the doctor; "he has prcbably lain here through the ninht" Then ajain he'pushed the waistcoat aside and opened the white woollen vest. As he did this Sir James saw a gold locket was suspended round the soldier's neck. The doctor saw tnis also and raised the locket and touched the spring. It opened, and a little curl of hair, the color of which Sir James knew only too well, lell from it T.ie doctor lilted up the curl, and was placing it again in the locket, when he saw a lew written words were also inclosed in the cold case. "To be buried with me," he read aloud the next moment. "Ah! poor fellow," he continued, "so this has been the end of some unfortunate love affair. Well, we must respect his last wishes," and he refastened the locket again as he spoke, and once more laid it on the dead man's breast Sir James turned away with bitten lips and a knitted brow as he noted this action. The doctor then rose and joined him,. "Some one was saying in the village, Sir James, that you knew this poor fellow. Is it true?" "I think I have seen him," answered Sir Jamec, with so visible an effort that the doctor saw this inquiry was ill-timed. But it the oEcial inquiry as to the cause of the man's death in the Glen of Stratbloe.which was held on the following day at the village by the procurator-fiscal. Sir Janips was again called upon to answer this question. A policeman went over to Kintore to summon Sir James to appear at this in quiry, and this circumstance excited much curiusitv and excitement in the Dowager Ladv MacKennou's mind. "They av a gentleman has been" found dead inthe Glen of Strathloe, James," she taid. "Yes," answered Sir James, gloomily. "Who is it?" asked bis mother, sharply. "A mystery, apparently," said Sir James, turning away, and he spoke to his mother no more on the subject. But at the inquiry before the procurator fiscal he was forced to speak of it He was asked it he hrd known, or could iden tify the dead man, and he snoke the truth. "I saw him and spoke to him once, I am almost sure," he replied to tliese questions. "It was at Newbrough-on-t he-Sea, a place near where mv regiment is stationed, and he was then wearing the uniform of the iu fantry regiment, in which, at that time, he was in the position of a private soldier, and his name was Dare" . "And you know nothing further of him, Bir Jaraes? Nothing of his family historv?" ,"Notliinp, except that he distinguished himself on the occasion of a shipwreck by great bravery. I spoke to him in the hos pital where he was receiving treatment after an accident; I nas with the captain ox tne company at tne time. "Then I think it will be wise to adjourn this inquiry until we communicate with either the Colonel of this regiment, Sir James, or the Captain you mention. You have no doubt a to his identity with this soldier?" taid the procirator-fiscal. "As far as nn recollection carries me, it Is the same man, but I cannot, ol course, be perfectly certain. At all events, his uame was Dare." "Then, Sir James, will you kindly give wc the address ot the Colonel whose regi ment you believe this man to have been in, and the number ot his regiment as well? And perhaps his Captain's name also would be advisable?" Sir James complied with this request, and then returned to Kintore with a gloomy brow. He found there a telegram awaiting him from Tvelord Hall from Miriam. It was very brief: "Joan is dead." He sat down with it in his hand and considered what he ought io da His heart still felt dead within him; still crushed to earth by the knowledge that his wile had never loved him, that she had loved another man, who probably had shot himself for her sake. Yet how could he inflict a fresh blow upon her by telling her tnis, now when her sorrow wonld, he felt, be so bitter and intense. He knew the two sisters had loved each other deeply, and if his mother's words were to be belie ed they had to geiher shared some dark tragedy in their eatly youth. He would spare "Miriam if he could, he thought, with the generosity ot his heart, and yet he reflected she would probably see the inquiry regarding Dare's death in the public papers. Her father would certainly hear ol it, as no doubt Captain Escourt would at once com-rr-jnicate it to Colonel Clyde. Dr. Heed also was sure to speak of the man who had been his patient so long. She was certain to learn it then; certain to hear that the man she had planned to meet in secret had shot himself in less than hour alter their parting. He could not in fact make np hit mind how to act, aud passed a miserable evening of doubt and uncertainty. It was the day on which the Kev. David Young never failed to make his appearance at the dinner hour, of Kintore, and as Sir James sat at the foot of the table, gloomy and silent, the minister, during the meal, proceeded to detail all the minutest particulars of the tragedy at Strathloe. Thev say, Lady MacKennon, that the poor fellow had a locket on his breast, wi' some woman's hair in it," he said, as he spooned his soup into his capacious mouth. "I tear he ha3 been a victim of some sin lnl passion," replied Lady MacKennon, with a glance at her son's overcast lace. 'That's verra likely; and in the locket there was a request that the locket and the woman's hair were to be laid in the grave wi him," answered the minister., "What color was the hair? Did you see it?" asked the dowager with grim curios itv. ""The police ha charge o' the body, and no one is allowed to see It pending the in quiry," said the Key. uavia. "uut x m told it's a fact, and the doctor told me also that you were present, Sir James, when he found and opened the locket" "Good heavens! do talk of something else," cried Sir James, with passion and anger he could not control. "All the day I have spent oyer this miserable subject; surely vou can let it rest now." The Rev. David looked at Sir James in genuine astonishment His spoon contain ing soup remained quite two moments sus pended in the air after this sudden out break before he could collect his (acuities. "The minister meant no harm, James," said Lady MacKennon, gravely. But she her self tne next minute changed the conversa tion; she vras beginning to have a grim suspicion in her mind that the dead man found in the Glen at Strathloe was the lover ot her son's wife. CHAPTER XXVX THE TBTTTH. The next morning's post brought a letter for Sir James which decided his course of action. It was from Miriam, and contained a touching appeal to him not to add to their present misery at Tyeford by appearing on bad terms with her. Dear James, he read In Irregular hand writing, evidently penned by a shaking hand. We are all in the deepest disti ess here. I teleuraphed to tell jon that dear Joan had Iclt us, but her death was so sud den the blow was terrible. I had been with her a short time before and she expressed a wish to sea her husband, lie went to her and only a lew minutes later, it seemed to us, the bell rang violently. Mother and I both hurried to her room, and found dear Joan bad passed nnv, and the General in a state of mind 1 cannot describe. He seemed turned to stone, and li.is scarcely spoken since. My lather and mother are also in tlio greatest gnel, and this last bluw lias nearly broken my Ileal t. Under thee sad circumstances will vou grant mo one lat lavor, n liicli is not to add to the trouble here by allowing others 10 know, at present, 01 our unhappy quuirelT Tou had a rignt to lee! angry, iiui 1 was i.oi as guilty us you think. Joan lias to bo buried thr day after to-inotro, and my father has asked me to writ to you toa-k ou to enme to the uneral. If you do not duso, they will know theie is some strange rei-on for your conduct aud this will naturally inci.use their mlseiy. Do, therefore, not re use my teqiest Joan looks very beau. l.ul lying in her 1 ist calm'sleep, with a strange smile on her lips. You cannot believe she is gons until you touch ber icy bio. 1 cannot write any more, but remain, sincerely youis, Miriam. Sir James read this letter twice and then made up his mind. His mother was watch ing him from the other end of the breaklast table as he did so, and her eyes follow ed him as he rdse and, without speaking, lelt the room. He went to send a telegram to Miriam by the rural postman, who usually united awhile after be had brought tne let.ers to Kintore." He wrote this out and then in trusted it himself to the postman's hands, accompanied by a liberal reward- "I will start to-day and will be with you early to-morrow," he had written, and a'tter he had dispatched his message he returned to the breakfast room. "Mrs. Couray has to be buried to-morrow, mother," he said, briefly, "and I will leave here lor Tyeford to-day so as to be present at the funeral." 'You surely are not going, James?" said Lady MacKennon, with sudden agitation and quivering lips. 'Yes, mother, I am." "James, do not go," and Lady MacKen non rose as she spoke. "That woman does not deserve any consideration from your hands. She has made you miserable enough; let her pass out of your life. Sir James gave a short aud bitter laugh. "It is tasy talking," he sa.d. "What ever she is she will never pass out of my life. But I have made up my mind aud have something to say to her, and I do not choose during their present grief to add to the misery ol her family by letting them know ot our estrangement; but you need not be afraid if you mean that, lor it is final." Lady MacKennon gave a sort of gasp and then once more resumed her scat "James," she asked in a broken voice, "answer me one question; answer your mother. Was that unhappy man who'sent his soul adrift into darkness at Strathloe her lover?" "I cannot tell you," answered Sir James, gloomily, and he turned and left the room, and Lady MacKennon did not see him again until he came to bid her goodby belore he started his journey to Tyelord. She kissed him with icy lips and a heavy heart "I will pray for yon," she said; but her son made no reply. He left Kintore imme diately alterward, and his heart too was heavy as lead as he journeyed on his way. He" reached Tyelord on the following morning the day ot Joan's funeral and was received by Colonel Clyde, who looked sad, aged and worn. He "pressed Sir James' hand and said a few feeling words regarding their great loss. "Miriam seems quite broken down," he added; "but I trust having you with her again will help to rouse ber." What could Sir James say? He mur mured some words and turned away his head, and had Mrs. Clyde been present in stead o! her husband, her acute eyes would instantly have perceived that something was wrong. But the Colonel never noticed this; never even noticed that his son-in-law seemed in no baste to go upstairs to see his wile. But presently sir James pro posed ' to do this and with slow and heavy footsteps proceeded to the room where Miriam, with a sinking heart, awaited him. Then he entered the room, and when he saw her pale, sorrow-stricken face he asked himselt how it was possible that he could add to her grief by telling her ot the miserable tragedy at Strathloe. "Thank you lor coming," she said, hold ing out her baud. Sir James just touched it, and that was all. Her wrong was rankling in his breast as bitterly as ever, but still he pitied her. She look so white, so worn, in her trailing black gown, and her eyes were heavy with weeping. "It was so sudden," she half whispered a moment later. "Yes, it was very sad for you all," answered Sir James, in a constrained voice. "Poor Joan, poor Joat!" went on Miriam, the tears rushing into her eyes afresh, and streaming down her cheeks." Altogether it was a most painful interview lor both the husband and wife. Could he have taken, her in his arms and let her weep there it would all have been so different Buthis could not be; Sir James was thinking of the dead man lying at Strathloe, and Miriam that her husband's affections had completely passed away from her. And she was too proud to attempt to break through the barrier that he had raised be tween them. She made, indeed, no effort to do so. They both stood atbiost silent, when suddenly those muffled sounds, those whis perings, those strange and heauy footfalls which chill our hearts more bitterly even than death itself were heard outside. They were about to bear away the dead, and when Miriam realized this she gave a de spairing cry, and lell down sobbing by the bed, couering her ears with her hands to shut out the dreadful noise. All this was terrible to Sir James. To see the woman whom he had so passionately loved whom he in his utmost neart loved still lying before him crushed down by her natural and overpowering grief, and yet be ing unable to breathe one word of comfort or help, was absolute torture to his young heart He looked at the prostrate figure of his unhappy young wife and then turned his head away with an absolute groan. He went to the window and stood staring blankly at the drawn blind. Miriam kept sobbing on, and at last he once more ap proached her. "Try to compose yourself," he said hoarsely, and as he spoke she turned round and caught him by the hand. "Oh, James, I am so miserable! so utterly miserable," she cried, railing her tear-stained face, and looking with her dark eyes up to his. But he made no response. He thought she was miserable because she Was parted alike from her sister and the man she loved! But Miriam was not in truth thinking of Hugh Farrars. It was her husband's hardness and seeming indifference that cut so deeply in her heart He dropped her hand from his nerveless grasp; once more he turned away, but as he did so Mrs. Clyde rapped at tne room door and entered it to summon him to follow Joan Couray to the grave. She too was crying bitterly, and Sir James, after saying a lew brief words of condolence, hurried from the presence of the weeping women. Downstairs every thing was equally sad. The gray-haired General with his bent head and stony face, and Colonel Clyde, and Sir James were the only mourners. This was by the especial desire ol General Conray. And thus unos tentatiously Joan was borne away from her husband's house, leaving behind her a broken hearted man. To the extreme surprise of both Colonel and Mrs. Clyde, after the funeral was over Sir James announced his intention of im mediately proceeding to town. He was obliged to go, he said. "But how can vou leave Miriam in such distress?" asked Mrs. Cljde. "I have no choice, I must go," answered Sir James with a reserve in his tone that Mrs. Clvde by no means approved of. He had in fact made up his mind it was impos sible for him to stay. He could not now, alter he had seen Miriam's bitter grief for her sister, inflict any Iresh pang on her heart he decided. He would leave the knowledge ot Dare's suicide reaching her ears by chance. She might, perhaps, never hear it; at all events be could not tell her, and so two hours alter his arrival at Tye ford he went away. He saw Miriam for a few moments to say grodby before he did so, and found her completely broken down by her heavy sor row. "I will write," he said briefly, in great agitation, and after he was gone, with a moan Miriam turned her head upon her pillow, feeling that all his love for her was indeed gone lor ever. "And for poor Hugh's sake I must still keep silence," she thought; "Joan is at rest, but he is living stilL" And the next lew days were more miser able ones alike tor Miriam and Sir James. Mrs. Clyde could not conceal her anxiety from her daughter to learn the cause ol Sir James' smlden departure from Tyeford, and this adled to Miriam's pain on the subject And in the meanwhile, Sir James heard Irom Scotland that the deceased soldier Dare, had been identified by the Captain ot his company Captain Escourt The ad journed inquiry befor the procurator-fiscal had been held, and the details were in the public papers. Would Miriam see them? Would her father tell her of Dare's death, of which he was sure to be now aware, Sir James anxiously asked himself. But the thiid day after he had left Tyeford, these questions were answered, for he receUed an imperative summons from Mrs. Clyde to come to Miriam's sick-bed. "uome at once, tne telegram ran, "Miriam is seriously ill; do not delay." This left Sir James no choice. He must either go to his wife, or announce to her parents that he had parted from her. He meant to exchange into a regiment on ser vice in India, and leave Miriam behind him, and thus with as little pain and scaudal as possible to Colonel aud Mrs. Clyde, he intended to separate from his wife. And he understood the cause ot her illness only too well, he now told himself. She had seen the account of Dare's death in the papers, and the blow had been too heavy for her to bear. But still he went to her; there were many arrangements to make with her be fore he could start for India, regarding her future life aud maintenance, and it nas bet ter that these should be done personally. Perhaps, too, he wished to see her; wished to learn the truth of the early storv that had ended so tragically in the Glen of Strathloe. At all events, he started for Tyeford half an hour after hs hr.d received Mrs. Clyde's telegram, and arrived there during the evening. Mrs. Clyde met him as he entered the hall, and the expression on her lace was very grave. "I telegraphed for you by Miriam's ex press desire," she said. "She has been very ill, and is most anxious to see you the rnomsnt you arrive." "I will" see her," answered Sir James, with agitation, and he at once followed Mrs. Clyde to his wife's room. Miriam was in bed, propped up witn pillows, as be en tered the room, and she put out a wan trembling hand to greet him. "You have been ill? " faltered Sir James, who was shocked at the change in Miriam's face. "Yes," she answered, faintly. "Mother, will you leave us?" she went on. "I wish to see him alone." And as Mrs. Clyde quitted the room Miriam once more put out her trembling hand. "James," she said, "is it true true what I read in the papers here," and she drew a newspaper from beneath her pillows as she spoke, "that Hugh Ferrers Hugh Ferrars, w honi yon knew as Dare was lound dead in the Glen of Strathloe after I lelt Scot land? " "Yes," answered Sir James, hoarsely, "it is true." "And you knew this when you came to Joan's funeral? He was dead then 1" "Yes." "I hen, now you shall know the truth," continued Miriam, excitedly, raising her self up in bed, and fixing her sunken eyes on her husband's face, "the truth of the dark and bitter secret of my life." Sir James did not speak. "There is no need for silence now, at least to you," said Miriam, with increasing excitement "They both are dead Joan and Hugh Ferrars the truth cannot hart them now.'" "But what was this man to your sister?" asked Sir James, sternly, for he thought Miriam was trying to deceive him. "Alter what I saw with my own ejes " "Hugh Ferrars was. nothing to Joan," interrupted Miriam, eagerly; "nothing he was my lover, as you know; the lover of my youug girlhood, from whom I was parted liv a terrible act" 'What was it?" "I will tell you, I must go back to the time when I was a young girl of 17 just irum scnooi, wncn a. went to pay my nrst visit to Joan after her marriage to General Conray. She was two years older, and we were extremely alike in our appearance, as you know." " "Yes." "I arrived here full of delight to be with her, and I lound Joan looking happy and excited. I wondered how she could seem so happy with her old husband, but, girl as I was, I soon saw the cause. Kobert Con ray, the General's nephew, and who was on his stan, was constantly at the house, and and it is a sad story but Joa.i loved him and he loved Joan, with such passionate af fection that it blinded them to all else be sides. They used to meet in secret, meet in the grounds, and gradually I learned this; learned to screen Joan, as I think the Gen eral rather wished that Kobert should ask me to be his wile." "But what has this to do with the man Dare, or Hugu Ferrars, or whatever his name is?" "You shall hear; Hugh Ferrars was in the same regiment with Robert Couray, but he was a poor man, the son ot a clergyman, and the General did not like his attentions to me. He iuterfered too late, already I was engaged to Hugh Ferrars when the General turbade him to be received at the house. Tnen we too used to meet in secret I will ;ell the truth we planned to elope together, and to aid this, and lull all the General's suspicions, Hugh Ferrars asked for and ob tained leave. We agreed that he had to re turn to Tyelord in secret on a certain night, and that I was to fly with him James, that dreadlul night will haunt me till I die!" "I do not understand." "I dare not tell Joan that I meant to run away with Hugh Ferrars, and be and I ar ranged by letter to meet in thegrounds here at.night, and go together to London aud be married there, I went out that night afraid and trembling as you may think at the ap pointed hour, and just as I entered the grounds I thought I heard a shot I was lrightened, but still I went on to the spot beneath the trees where Hugh and 1 met before. It was a windy, moonlight night, and sometimes the moon was overcast. But it was shining as I entered the grove where I expected to find Hugh waiting for me Oil I my God: that awful scene rises before me now. neard groans, and as J. ap proached, the moon shone out and showed me everything distinctly. I saw Hugh Ferrars standing with an awful look on his face; I saw Joan kneeling on the ground, Robert Conray lying on it. with his head pillowed on her breast! Hugh Ferrars had shot him; he had mistaken Joan for me: had seen the girl he loved, the girl who was about to fly with him, in the arms of another man, and in a moment of mad ness, of jealous rage, he had shot his iriend!" "It is a terrible story," said Sir James, with a darkening brow. "There had been some murder in the train at that time, and so Hugh Ferrars had carried a small loaded revolver with him when he came to Tyeford, or this terri ble mistake would not have happened. As it was, Robert Conray died on Joan's breast his lileblooJ stained her white gown, and there was nothing left to Hngh Ferrars but to disappear. Had he been ar rested for Robert Conray's murder, Joan's reputation would have been lost, for one of the orderlies stated at the inquest that he had seen a lady whom he thought was the Gen eral's wile with Captain Conray in the grounds on the night df the murder. Then I came forward; I said I had been with Robert Conray iu the grounds, but that I had left him well and uninjured. I stated also that I was engaged to him. I did it to save Joan, and I persuaded Hugh Ferrars to go quietly away. Yet somehow suspicion fell on him. He hail disappeared irom his rooms in town on the very day of the murder, and finally a warrant was issued for his arrest But" he was never found aud two years passed away and I saw him again. Saw him lying wounded on the shore at Newbrough-on-the-Sea, and and I knew him once more. James, the soldier Dare was no other than Hugh Ferrars, and when you saw us meet by thejoch near Strathloe I had sent for him toarn him. Poor Joan in her lever had babbled out the dreadful secret, and General Conray came to Kintore to induce me to confirm it I de nied everything, and I sent for Hugh Fer rars to give him moneyto leave England forever; to fly, in fact, lor his lile. He re fused the money, and perhaps you can bet ter understand now what you saw I was parting with my old lover for ever parting with a hunted, miserable man." Sobs here choked Miriam's further utter ance, and she lell back exhausted on tbe pillow, and for a moment or two Sir James spoke no word. Then he bent forward and took one ot her cold, trembling hands. "My poor gir'," he said, "you have suffered tcrribW lor others." "I I loved Joan so much," wept Miriam, "and I was so sorry tor poor Hugh " "But you loved him?" asked Sir James in a low, broken voice. "Idid when I was a girl; but James I never w ronged you nevereven in thought" There was silence in the room a'ter this a silence broken only by Miriam's muffled sobs. But suddenly Sir James tell down on his knees by the bedside and bowed his head over Miriam's hand, which he still held. "It broke my heart, Miriam," he mur mured; "it broke my heart" She did not speak, but she faintly pressed the hand in her's. And a.ter awhile; after a brief struggle in his mind, Sir James raised his head and looked in her lace. "Yon have told me the truth," he said, "and I want you to answer me truthfully one question more? I hae made up my mind to leave England, to exchange into a regiment in Iudia, and before I go I wished to see you to make arrangement lor your maintenance " "To leave England!" interrupted Miriam in a startled voice. "Yes; but alter I have heard your story will you tell me what you really feel? Will the memory ot the dead soldier always come between your heart and mine?" He aked this question gravely, solemnly, with his eyes fixed on her lace, but Miriam's answer was not given in words. She bent lorward and kissed him, and Sir James asked no more. But an hour afterward," when Mrs. Clyde entered the room, she found the husband seated by the wife's bedside with her hands last clasped in his. the end. LONDON'S NOTED POISONER. Sketch of ina 51 nn W ho Gave Deadly Po tions ag a Means to Blackmail. Herewith is presented a sketch of a man who is among the world's famous criminals. It is ot the man who poisoned girls in Lon don and used their mysterious deaths Tliomat Ifeill Cream. as a means of levyinc blackmail. He was born in Glasgow in 1850, and was shortly afterwards taken by his parents to America There he developed a taste for medicine, and entered the Guild College at Montreal, where, in 1S6, he took a degree. He sub sequently took two degrees at Edinburgh, anil was consequently a fully qualified med icnl man. He practiced in Chicago up to 1881 and ten years later that is to say, in the autumn of 1891 he left America and came to Enzland. The sketch u by an artist of Pa.l Mall Budget Orchestra In a Prison. One of the largest orchestras in the world is at a prison in Pennsylvania. Here a nightly concert is given by what is probably the strangest orchestra ever known, consisting ot about 309 performers who never see one another. This prison is, perhaps, the only one in the world where the inmates are al lowed tovcnItivate the art of music, and the privilege is deeply appreciated by them. The mudc begins precisely at 6 o'clopb every evening, and ends at the stroke of 7. A WOMAN'S WEAPON. Detroit Times. "What is a woman's weapon," I a-(ted a cliurmlmr Rirl. She dropped herlashes shyly And i-troked n v.mrant curl; Then consciously she murmured This rosebud newlv cut: "I have a strong suspicion Her weapon is a pout." "What Is a woman's weapon," I asked a lover true; He turned htm to a maiden With eyes of heavenly blu. Her violet lips wie parted, All Innocent of guile. And eagerly he answered, "Her weapon Is a smile." "What is a woman's weapon," I asfced a poet then; With sudden inspiration , Ha seized ui on bis pen. , "On, I could name a thousand," He cried. tn accents clear) "But woman's surest weapon, Z grant you, is a Maxf ' yilSiP PAINTERS BER SIZE. A Good ABnty of Pennsylvania's Wilderness Tells of Her Prowess. TWO BIG BEASTS IN A FIGHT Threaten to Tear Up Ber .Flower ledi and She Drew a Bead. A riEff THAT D0E8 THE BEX PEOUD COBBMrONDEJI-CI OP this DISPATCH. EOUEETTE, PA,, Aug. 2a HEN Abel Fuller and his son Joe sat down of an evening at their home on Bailey Run and let themselves loose on life in the back woods, if the bones of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett don't turn and rattle in their graves, it is only because they must long have ceased to be bones and resolved them selves into dust with no rattle in it Once while I was a trout fishing guest of Abel's his good wife Mandy suddenly made np her mind that Abel and Joe were putting them selves and their exploits a little too much in the foreground, and proceeded to have a lew words to say herself. "Abel here," she said, "sets great store by the wolves he says he nsety kill w'en he was young, an' that boy Joe o mine'll set up all night an' tell ye 'bout the b'ar he's busy removin' oil the face o' the 'arth, right along, ev'ry day; bnt hain't it kind o' fnnny that neither one on 'em dou't hey nuthin' to say 'bout w'at I done in the way o' painters, w'en I was nuthjn' but a slip of a gal at that? A Hostelry in the Forent "W'en I were 10 year old an' that hain't ez many year ago ez some folks mowt think me an' my pap an' mammy lived so fur back in the woods th'til Gabr'el had blowed Saved Her IToicer JJeds. I don't b'lieve we k'd ha' heerd him. My pap warn't a strugglin' back in them woods trying' to make the wildernest blossom by the sweat of his brow, an' he warn't a wtiackin' down big trees an' hewin 'em inter logs an' snakin' em to the water, an' raftin' of 'em ter market, so ez to make a fer civilization to come an' set down on. He was keepin' a bar'l of cider in one corner o' the cabin, an' a bar'l o' pork in another corner, an' he were dishin' of 'em to hunt ers and fishermen th't strnng along through our neck o' woods, from June to Janiwary, thicker'n sogers on a march. I mowt stretch a p'int an' say th't pop were run nin' a hotel, but we didn't call it that in them days, an' I guess I won't put on airs now. "Pap had cleared enough ground around the cabin to hey a garden spot enough to raise all tbe corn an' 'taters ind other gar den sass we wanted, an' rite an' mam had spaded up, an made a counle of flower beds in front o' the cabin. We had maryeol's, an' larkspurs, an' pinies. an' lots o' posies in them bed", an' I thought more o 'em th'n anythin' that was around the clearin'. Came Kear Loiln; Hnr Heart. "The fall I was 10 years old mammy had to go to see a sick sister o' her'n on another clearin' ten mile- away, an' I had to stav an' look arter pap an' the cabin. One night, not long arter me an' pap had gone to bed, sumpin' lifted the on'arthliest yell from outen the woods off to the right o' the cabin that was ever lilted since Noah druv the animals outen the ark. My hair riz up like the brtistles on a ma I buck's neck, an' my heart flew up so fur in my mouth th't I hail to stun it back with my hand to keep it Irom lallin' out rap sprung outen nis bunk till the cabin all shook. " 'That's a painter!' says he, 'an' pooty durn clus by, tool' says lie. "He hadn't hardly spoke w'en from the d'rection o' the creek, on the left o' the cabin, come another yell, lilted wuss an' more skecrin' th'n the lust one. " Two on 'cm, by gum!' says pap. 'JIandv,' says he, 'unless I hain't up to snuff on the painter question thu a-gointer be one o tne pootiest painter ngnts rignt in our clearin',' says he, 'th't this herehowlin' wildernest ever got up!" " ls that so?' says L Then I'll git np an' take a squint at it,' says L Getlinc Brady for a Finn Fcrnp. "So I got up an' went to the little winder in the front side o' the cabin an' looked out Pap he opened the door on a crack an' peeked out The night was starlight, an' the clearin' in Iront o' the cabin was jest light enough so we could see anything th't come inter it or crossed it But around the edges o' the woods it were darker th'n the inside of a holler log. "Fust one o' them painters 'd screech an then t'other un 'd take it up an' outsereech the fust one, both on 'em drawin' nigher aud nigher. My heart beat so loud th't it sounded iust Iie a woodpecker neckin' on a tree. Pooty soon at one side o' the clear in' sumpin' dark come a creepin' out inter the light, like the shadder of a little cloud, an' then at t'other side crep' another jest setcli a snaaoer. .civerytumg was stiller than death. Two yells th't give me ant of fever and a?ur fer a minute riz from them two shudders an' busted tbe stillness like a blast busts a rock. Then I kuow'd th't the painters had arriv', an' 1 know'd ez well ez 1 know'd anything that the light were goin' ter come off right thar. A, Flcht Fit for History. "Wen the two painters got their eyes on one another they bounded inter theopenin' an' stood facln. An' wa'n't they jest ol' sock dolagers! They wa'n't more'n 25 foot from the cabin, an' I conld see tbelr eyes glarin' like coals. They didn't waste no time sizin' one another tip, but both scrooched down, an' onloadin a" couple more o' them or'ful shrieks they sprang together. "I only wished ye could ha' seen that fight! An' w'at does my pap do but run to the woodpile, git a big, fat pine knot, light it an' step right np to wbar them two paint ers was rippin' and tearin' one another, an' hold the blazin' torch sa's its llght'd fall on 'em an' he could get a better sight o' the scrimmage. Sometimes the painters'd tumble oS inter the edge o' the woods an' then work their way back agin, bnt all the time folltred by pap, fcoldln' the torch for wmF If fit Bh- 'em to fight by, an' sickin' of em on ez if they wuz only a couple o'toon dogs bavin of it out with one another. Great man, that maternal eran'pap o' your wuz, Joe! I did hope th't yon'd show a leetle ot him in yer makeup, but ye turn arter the Fullers. This world is lull o' dissyp'intments, sonny! A Vry Pleasing Evening. "Them painters screeched, an' tore each other with their claws an' a b'ar's claw is like a wooden toothpick longside of a painter's claw an' sunk their fangs inter each other's throats. They didn't seem to keer fer pap nor his torch", but jist throw'd one another about in our front yard ez if they had be'n ten miled out in their own Her Pap Enjoyed It Hugely. wildernest "W'at with the painters yellin' and snarlin', an' our ol' chainrd-up lioun' Jake a howlin' 'cause he couldn't hev a hand in the rumpus.an' pap a-hollerin' at the top o' his lungs for one painter to keep it up, an' fer t'other nn to sck it to him, it were ez about ez pleasin' an evenin' fer a 10-year-old sal to spend ez ye could well imagine. Bimeby the painterj, rasseled right up to the cabin" door, an' it it had ben open thev'd ha' come right in, I guess, an' had the figh inide. 'Then they got to workin' over to'ards the winder where I stood, an' all of a snd dent I see snmpin' th't made me turn pale. I hadn't thort o' the chances pap was run nin' o' bein' chawed up by one or t'other o' them painters 'fore that fight uas over.an I wan't wnrryin a bit 'bout that But here was them two big tuntelin' painters a tum blin' right to'ards my flower beds, an' a threatenin' to tear 'em np ez if a steam plon had run through 'em. "'Papl' I hollered. 'Kill 'em! Kill eml' A JShot to cnv ner Treasnr-. "But pap only kep' a follerin' the paint ers withthe torch, an' a sickin' of 'em on. Every tumble was takin' 'em nigher an' nigher to my poy patch, an' I was wild. Suddentlv an idee hit me. I run to the corner where pa. kep' his rifle. I grabbed it an' trotted back with it It was almost all I could carry, but I trot to tbe winder with it an' shoved tbe bar'! through. The painters was jest on the edge o' my pet flower bed. One more tumble an' they'd be a piowin' an' harrowin' of it up. " 'I s'pose " pap '11 be madder'n a hit snake,' says I, 'but my provocation is agin allnatur'l "Pap was holdia' the torch so the painters stood out agin the black line o' woods like shinin' brass. I slung my eye along the gun bar'l, an' whaugl she went There was jest one all-pervadin' yel, a mixtur o' painter, dog an' pap. Then that clearin' was stiller th'n a Quaxer meetin'. I bad killed both painters deader 'n a stone. Soon ez pap got over hein' astonished, he turned an' see me an' the gun at the winder, an' knowed to wunst w'at had happened. Ihe Old Gentlemn Made Kemnrks. 'Then things quit bein' quiet Pap lifted up his voice in the wildernest an' he lifted it up loud. I won't tell ye his iuier duct'ry remarks fer pap was' a positive man. But tbe winin' up ot it was: " 'Durn it, Mandy, you've sp'iled the fight.' " 'Can't help it, pap,' says L I wouldn't ha' done it, but w'en it's painter fight a.'in marygol' beds, I'm with the marygols every time,' says I. "W'en pap come to think it over, though, the size o' me an' the size o' the painter?, an' the way I plunged 'em both at one shot, he patted me on the head an' says: " 'Mandv,' says he, 'you're a good un. A stroke o' lightnin'.' savs he, 'couldn't ha' did that job ez quick an' lastin',' says he. 'An' mind what I say,' says he. 'You're a good un, an when you grow up an" marry you'll git the best man fer a husband that is in the hull county.' " Aunt 'Mandy paused, looked at Abel quizzically for a moment and then said: "My pap was a good hunter an' a good man, but as a propnet lie wa n t wutn shucks." Ed Moit. A TET2 F3IEND OF FOE. Tbe Woman Hs Iiived Cost Defended His Chiractr ratlhtai'y. 'The name of Sarah Helen Whitman will be forever associated with the name of Edgar A. Poe, as that of the woman he most passionately loved during life, and who most jealously guarded aud defended his memory when he was dead," says Eu gene L. Didier in the Ckaulauquan. 'Their names will be linked together like the names of Surrey and the Fair Geraldine, Byron and Mary Chaworth, Burns and Hiziiland Mary, it is well known thataiter the death of his chiid-wile, Virginia Clemm, Poe, seeking 'surcease ol sorrow lor his lost Lenore,' became engaged to Mrs. Whit man. "But it was not to be the engagement, for some mysterious rea-oa that has never been clearly explained, was broken oil. That Poe was blameless in the matter is proved by Mrs. Whitman's affection lor his memory and delense ot his character. Scarcely was the dead poet in his long neg lected grave, when slander and obloquy were heaped upon his memory. Mrs. W Un man was one of the first to come to tbe de fense, and, as has been beautifully said, 'she walked backward, and threw over his memory the shining mantle of her love.' ane appeared as nis cnaiupion wnenever ne was attacked, whether it was by some penny-a-liner seeking to puff himself into brief notice by abusing Poe, or some silly woman trying to skip into lame on Poe's name." A Niwpiip rMns-nm. At Aix la Chapelle there is a newspaper museum, founded by 0car yon Forcken beck, which contains files of specimens of more than 17,000 different newspapers in the world, and it is daily receiving copies ot the remainder from all quarters ot the globe. The great curiosity of the collection is No. 4G ot the Texas Democrat, published at Hous ton on March 11, 18G4, when the exigencies ot war time made it necessary to print it on wall paper. 1hn liuzz of tli Bso. The bee has three-fold voice organs, which are: The vibrating wings, the vibrating rings of the ab domen and a true vocal ap paratus in the bieathing aperture or sniracle. The buzz is produced by the first two and tbe hum, which may be "surly, cheerful or colloquially significant," by the vocal mem brane. Some Profl'nbla Hnnta. Some notable specimens of game have been killed in Maine quite recently. Ralph Lord, of Westbrook, shot a golden eagle which measured 6 leet Irom tip to tip of wings, with talons 24 inches long. At Surry a wildcat was killed that measured 4 feet in length, 20 inches in height and weighed 62 pound. GUARDIANS OF PARIS. The Unnniformed Police Service and Its Variety of Duties. MAKING ARRESTS WITH A NOOSE.- Division Whose Untj It It to Track of the Anarchists. Keep DOW BTEAXGEE8 ARE EEGISTERID frorTtisrosnKf ex or rax otspatctt.i PAKis.Aug.10. A few weeks ago I wrote to TnE Dispatch of the uniformed police service ot Paris. There is a second division in the active police service of the city. It is the nnuniformed. Like all things that have a flavor of secrecy it is considered par ticularly interesting. You never know an agent of this branch of the police when you see him. He may be the beggar to whom yon give your coin or the handsome lodger in your own house. Anybody, in fact, whom you see in Paris may me a member of the ununiformed" police. Consequently every body is interested in the service and will tell yon more or less stories of the different divisions. There are fonr of these. The first is known as the surety. Its business is to trace wily malefactors and arrest them. The origin of this brigade is peculiar. It was organized in 1817 and the principle fol lowed in selecting the men was simply that it takes a thief to catch a tbiet. The enter taining spectacle is said to have been fre quent in those days of rascals arrested accusing the agents who had entrapped them of deeds quite as grave as their own. All that is changed now and the inspectors are declared to be models of sqnare dealing. Not a tVi.11 Paid Se-rvlc-. The division numbers 300 inspectors, with some 39 superior officer". The former are poorly paid, J233 to ?310 a year, with 550 Loze, the Prefect of the Paris Po'ict. for clothes. They have no regular hours but must go at the call of their superiors. If 24 hours are demanded. 24 honrs it is. Thev are nt armed by the department as the ordinary policemen are. Their usual weapon is called a cabriolet This is not h ins: more than a stout cord, which can be made into a suecies of noose. The noose is slipped over tl e wrist of the victim and he is led or driven into the station. It is said that the inspectors take a f ride in running in their eatne without a scratch and with out iisinz other weanon than this cabriolet In case there is resistance offered they have two or three peculiar little devices to dis able the captive. For instance, they take ofl one of his shoes and compel him to walk like "My son John." He is so hampered usually by this treatment that there is no I urther trouble. Il this is not enough they cut his trousers bnttons and force him to use his free hand tn hold on his carments. The Surety is called upon to perlorm many difficult tasks. Many times it is a question ot the number of hours they can lie out in Ihe rain, sit in the snow, stand in an angle watching a suspected door or win dow, but thev never desert their posts until tney nave secured their prey or proved it not there. MaximeDu Camp says that in their realiness, their address, their ruses, nothing equals them save Fenimore Cooper's Indians. They will trace a criminal's record so minutely as fairly to petrify the unhappy fellow. I witnessed once the trial of a young man for some petty theft The President outlined the youth's life so ex actly that trie accused gasped with astonish ment and confessed without a moment's hesitation. In reading the reports of the French criminal courts one is constantly amazed to see the minuteness and exactitude with which the inspectors have worked up their vic.ims. The second section of the unnniformed police is a division of 81 persons, including its directors. Its business is the sad one ol looking after fallen women. The tasks are difficult and the service is mnch abused by the public Sometimes there are reasons. Only a lew months ago a young girl of good family and pure lile was arrested in Paris and confined for three days through some mistake of these inspectors. One such error in a year makes a noise which a thousand really praiseworthy public services cannot dronn. Prying; Into Privste Affilrs. Another division looks after the registers of apartment hotels and lodging houses cenerallv. When I first rented moms in Paris I wa3 surprised to be conlronted by a biir book in which I was asked to write my name, occupation, residence, aze, former dwelling place and several other things which a self-respecting person prefers to keep to himself when he is among strangers. I complied, because upon consulting the book I found that all my predecessors at No. Eue de So-and-So had. I was just recovering irom the irritation when I saw a bier man with an official air and note book come in and copy what I had written. This seemed to be making rather familiar with lacts I considered private, and I de manded an explanation irom my landlady. She paralyzed me by telling me it was a police ofheer. To be registered with the notice 24 hours a'ter vou arrive in a foreitrn city is no; consoling but I kept quiet and waited. Alter some ten mouths nothing has come ot the registration. This division is really verv useful It is composed all told of 140 men, of whom 130 are inspectors. They collect from day to dar the names of arrivals and departures and prepare for each person a card which is filed with the police. By this means per sons who spend a night in Paris and give their own names can readily be traced. The names of foreigners are not given to persons inquiring for them unless relationship and ag'iod reason for finding them are proved. Tnis division gathers various other facts. It records the number of workingmen in the factories, and in times of strikes keeps lists of these oil work. It gathers statistics in regard to s-ckuess. Its personnel is usually composed ot half worn-out policen.en and of inspectors who are able to do its easy work, but are unfit for the exposure of more vig orous service. Keplnir Up a News Service. There is still another division that of news. It is composed of four sections. The first of these I as the difficult business of at tending to meetings ot revolutionary char acter and to gambling. There are always going on in Paris more or less gatherings of people who want to upset the Govern ment and annihilate everybody more fortu nate and industrious than themselves. The Anarchists, the rabid Republicans, the rioters gather from time to time in places more or less retired and harangue one an other in the interest of lolly and disorder. A gathering of this kind without a repre sentative of the unnniformed police is rare indeed. Ihsy loiter in with the crowd and applaud with the most violent They bear their trade denounced without writhing, and they go home with a fnll and often an almost verbatim report in their heads. Here work with gamblers is what it is the world over, though perhaps there is a little more of it Gamblers thrive like weeds all over Paris, from the aristocratis opera quarters to the walls. They are raided one night and what ot the lot escapes cheerlullv installs itself somewhere else De fore another nightlalL Tbey are the pest of the races, the lairs, the places of amuse ments in the suburbs and sometimes liter ally take possession of outgoing excursion trains. One section of the division of news looks after the- uniformed policemen. It spies on his habits, reports him for taking a sly glass of wine as he tramps up and down the street, for his visits with the conciergies at the hall doors, for nis indifierence to un licensed beggars, for his omissions and commissions. It also investigates all charges made against tbe police. The sec tion is small only about 47 persons. Still another section investigates the clainisof persons seeking admission into the administration, wanting licenses to open concert halls, to run trait or vegetable carts, to play hand organs, to carry on any one of the innumerable small trades which makes the street life of Paris so varied, so picturesque, so human. The personnel is not fixed in this section. Lonklnj; After the Falacx. There remains only a small force of the nnuniformed service. It has the interest ing duty of looking after the palace of the Elysee, where the President ot ihe Repub lic lives. Oddly enough the members of this division receive a daily lee of from 3 to 5 francs to keep themselves fine on, so that they can be distinguished by the initiated Irora the ordinary member of the service, and perhaps, loo", so that they will be in harmony with the elegance ol the palace to wnicn tney are connected, xney use the money well, wearing the shiniest ot tall hats and tne whitest-of linen. It rather takes the pleasure out of one's promenades in the vicinity, however. It one did not know of this guard be would be justified in imagin ing all the elegantly dresed men he met around aud in the gardens ot tbe Elysee to be intimates of the President, but with a knowledge of it there isalwas a suspicion that those who look particularly we'll are simply police officers. It has the same effect on men of lasbion as the habit of arraying waiters in evening dress. You are never quite sure whether you are ad dressing the master or his servant The duties of the guard are numerous. It is they who intercept the cranks who burn to relieve the French Government of its figure bead; who warn oQ tbe relic hunt ers who seek to chip of! bits of tbe marble statuary or carry off flowers to press; who keep an eye on the impertinent; who, in short, prevent tbe Presi lent being reached by common bores, by dangerous characters, by vulgar cheats. In ibis list of duties is one ot special interest investi gating the claims ot those who seek charity. The President of the French Republic and his wile make it one of their cniei duties 'to relieve distress. Naturally the demands are endless and frequently iraudulent Be fore responding to any claim it is tnrned over to the guard to investigate. The i.iea is a good one. It might be adopted by American millionaires ol generous habit who love to give, but hate to be cheated. Ida M. Taebzlx THE HAI OF IH SVS. It Is Much Warmer Cnd rnmttb, Than at th Ixib e Surface. Youth's Companion. I How hot U the sun? That is a question astronomers and physicists have been trying lor years to solve, and they are not yet satisfied that they know the true answer. In lact, it may be raid, they are certain they do not know it, although they are able to report progress, Irom time to time, in the direction of the truth. The most recent trustworthy investigation is that of M. De Chate.ier, who fixes the ef fective temperature ot the sun at 12,500 Fahrenheit It may, he thinks, be either hotter or colder than that figure indi cates, to the extent of 1,800 either way. It will be noticed that the later estimate takes nfi several thousand degrees, but this is a trifle compared with the tailing off from the estimates of tbe temperature of the sun made by some of the earlier investi gators. The celebrated Secchi at one lime maintained that the solar temperature was not less than 18,000.000 Fahrenheit, but he himself afterward found reasons for dropping down to 250,000. If M. De Chatelier's result Is approxi mately correct, then we can perhaps be gin to get something like a comprehension of the heat of the solar furnace, since it ap proaches comparison with temperature that we can produce artificially. The highest artificial temperature has been estimated by Prof". Young at about 4,000 Fahrenheit But it must be remembered that there are certain arbitrary assumptions, which may or may not be correct, involved even in the most careful investigations of this sub ject, and that, at any rate, the sun is un doubtedly much hotter underneath than it is at its glowing and visible surface. VOLCANIC EEUPriONS AX SIA. Strang Specacle of a Great Flih Playing la Troubled Vf atari. Pearson's TVeekly. Last year there was a strange occurrence near the Island of Pantellaria, between Sicily and Tunis, which would have filled the imagination of a Homer or a Virgil with pictures ot the supernatural monsters and poetical fancies about the extravagant do ings of the deities ot the sex A submarine volcanic eruption occurred there, and tbe inhabitants of the island saw what seemed like some great fish disporting; himself in the troubled water, while col umns ot smoke arose round him. Those who ventured near to the scene in boats saw hot volcanic bombs, composed of black scoriacenus material, rising to the top of the water, and there running and darting about in the most singular fashion, under the impulse of the sieani which they discharged. Some bounded more than 60 feet up into the air as the steam exploded. Such outbursts ot heated matter from the bed ot the sea furnish, perhaps, an even more impressive indication than ordinary volcanic eruptions do of the strange condi tions prevailing at no great depth beneath the surface ot the earth. Itnnnlne Boats Under TTater. Submarine navigation may now be con sidered as an accomplished fact, If the re ported trials of the Detroit submarine boat are not nnduly exaggerated. According to the published accounts of a trial recently made on the Detroit river, the boat attained a speed of ten knots nnder water, and steered, rose and sank nnder the most per fect control The motive power used on the surface is steam, bnt nnder the water the boat Is driven by means of a powerful electric storage baitery which iS charged by the steam engine while running the boat on the surface. Tn Name or rvnnsj'vanla. Pennsylvania wai founded by William Penn, and it was the only State named from its founder. The suffix "sylvania" signifies "forest land," and is descriptive of the general character of tbe country. Three counties lying southeast of Pennsylvania were formeVly territories of that State. la 1701 they were granted a charter, and named Delaware, alter Lord De La War, who first explored the bay into which the river empties. Lurc-it F'-e " Record. The largest American da? ever made will float fronTthetopofa very lofty "liberty pole" in front of the Administration build ing at the World's Fair. Upon request the state of Washington will lurnish this big flag-staS as well as two or three others of the largest that are required by the Exposition. i r'lufiE Tis'iiS-ii.. . ( fefc Wi l -mmnM -tf-ftiftiiiiiiilin'iiliiiifi
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers