THE SORANTON TRIBUNE-FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 18. 1898.
5
JONAS LONG'S SONS.
JONAS LONG'S SONS.
JONAS LONG'S SONS.
JONAS LONG'S SONS.
JONAS LONG'S SONS.
MMMHVMSIMMMMAAAMMMAAAAMMMMMMMMAAAArMAAMMMMMMMWWW
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J
I THE HOOSE
From tho London Telegraph.
it was a pretty littlo house, In very
charming country-ln nn untravelled
corner of Normnndy, nenr the sea; a
country of orchards and colza fields, of
eoft green meadowH where cattle
browsed, and of deep elm-shnded lanes.
One wap rather surprised to wee this
little h'ouse Just here, for all tho other
houses In tho neighborhood were rudo
farm-houses or laborers' cottages; and
. this was a. coquettish littlo chalet,
whlte-walled, with slim French wln-
. dows, nnd balconies of twiBted Iron-
wcrk, and "Ventlan blinds: a pay little
Httlo garden,. a.ipmS rose-bushes and
parterres of geraniums, and smooth
stretches of greensward. Ueyond the
garden, there was an orchard rows
and couples of old gnarled apple-trees,
bending towards one another, like 'fan
tastic figures arrested In the middle of
a dance. Then, turning round, you
ooked over feathery colza llelds and
yellow corn fields, n. mile away, to the
sea, and to a winding perspective of
whtto cllfls, which the sea bathed In
transparent greens and purples, lum
inous shadows of Its own nameless
hues.
A 1)oard attached to the wall con
firmed, In roughly "painted characters,
the Inform!. I had had from an
agent In Dleppt. The house was to let;
and I had driven out a drive of two
long hours to Inspect It. Now I stood
on the door-step, and rang the bell. It
was a big bell, hung in the porch, with
a pendent handle of bionze, wrought in
the semblance of a rope nnd tassel.
It canted, at any rate, as far as a low
thatched lnrm-house, n hundred yards
down the road. Presently a man and a
woman came out of the farm-house,
gazed for an Instant In my direction,
and then moved towards me; nn old
brown man, nn old jirey woman, the
man in corduroys, the woman wearing
a neat white cotton cap and a blue
apron, both moving, with .the burdened
gait of peasants.
"Yod are Monsieur and Madame Lo
roux?" I asked, when we had accom
plished our preliminary good-days; and
I explained that I had come from tha
agent 'in leppe, to look over their
houre. For the rest, they must have
leen expecting me; the agent had said
that he would let th'em know.
But.'to my perplexity, this buslness
llKe announcement seemed somehow to
embarrass them; even, I might have
thought, to agitate, to distress them.
They lifted up their worn old faces,
and eyed me anxiously. They ex
changed anxious glances with each
other. The woman claspeJ her hands,
nervously working her ringers. The
man hesitated and stammered a little,
before he was able to repeat vaguely,
"You have come to look over the house,
Monsieur""
"Surely." T said, "the agent has wt It
ten to you? 1 understood from him
that you would expect m at this hour
to-day"
"Oh, yes," the man admitted "we
w?re expecting you." But he made no
motion to advance matters. He ex
changed another anxious glance with
Ids wife. She gave her head a sort of
helpless nod, and looked down."
"You see, Monsler," the man began.
as If lie were about to elucidate the
situation',- "you pee " But then he
faltered, frowning at the air, as one at
a loss for words.
"The house Is already let, perhaps?"
suggested I.
"No, the house is not let," haid he.
"You h'ad better go and fetch the
key," his wife said at last, In a drtary
way, still looking down.
He trudged heavily back to tho farm-
house. While he was gone, we stood by
the door in silence, the woman always
nervously working the Angers of her
clasped hands. I tried. Indeed, to make
a little conversation; I ventured some
thing about the excellence of the site
tho beauty of the view. She replied
with a murmur of assent, civilly but
wearily; and I did not feel encouraged
to. persia t.
By and by her husband rejoined u,
with the key; nnd they began bllently
to lead me through the house.
There were two pretty drawing-
yrooms, on tho ground floor, a pretty
uinuib mum, ana a aengntiul kitchen,
with a broad hearth of polished red
bricks, a tiled chimney, and shining
copper pots and pans. The drawlng
'ooms and the dining-room were plena
Intly furnished, in a light French fash
Ion, and their windows opened to the
sun and to the fragrance and greenery
of the garden. I expressed a good deal
of admiration; whereupon, little by llt-
' tic, the manner of my conductors
changed. From constrained, depressed,
it became responsive; even, In the end,
effusive. They met my exclamations
with smiles, my Inquiries with voluble
v..... .wiaxcio, uui. ii remained nn
agitated manner, the manner of peo-
jnc wiiu were snaKen by an emotion
Their old hands trembled, as they open
ed the doors for me, or drew up the
blinds; their voices trembled. There
was something painful In their very
smiles, as if these were but momentary
ripples on the surface of a trouble.
"Ah," I said to myself, "they are
hard-pressed for money. Trey have put
their whole capital Into this house, very
likely. They are excited by the pros
pect of securing a tenant."
"Now, if you please, Jlonsleur we
will go upstairs, and see the bed
rooms," tho old man said.
The l"d-rooms were airy, cheerul
rooms, Jly papered, with chintz cur
tains, a 1 tho usual French bed-room
furniture.' One of them exhibited
signs of being actually lived in; there
were things about it, personal things,
a woman's things. It was the last
room we visited, a front room, looking
off to the sea. There were combs and
brushes on the toilet-table; there wero
pens, an Ink-stand, and a portfolio on
the writing-desk; there wero books In
the book-case. Framed photographs
Btood on the mantel-piece. In the clos
et, dresses were suspended, and shoes
and sllppe.rs were primly ranged on the
floor. The bed was covered with a coun
terpane of blue silk; a crucifix hung on
the wall above It; beside It there was a
prle-dleu, with a littlo porcelain holy
water vase.
"Oh," I exclaimed, turning to Mon
sieur and Madame Leroux, "this room
Is occupied?"
Madame Leroux did not appear to
hear me. Her eyes were fixed In a dull
stare before her, her lips were parted
slightly. She looked tired, as If she
would be glad when our tour through
the house was finished. Monsieur Le
roux threw his hand up towards the
celling, In' an odd gesture, and said,
"No, the room Is not occupied at pres
ent." Wevvefifiback downstairs, and con
OF E
cluded nn rtcreemont. I was to take
the house fdr tho summer. Madame
Leroux would cook for me. Monsieur
Leroux would drive Into Dieppe on
Wednesday, to fetch me and my lug
gage out."
On Wednesday we had been dr'lvfnff
for something like half an hour without
speaking, when all at once Leroux said
to me, "That room, Monsieur, the room
you thought was occupied '
"Yes 7" I questioned, as he paused, ,
"I have a proposition to make," said
h'e. He spoke, as It seemed to me, half
shyly, half doggedly, gazing the while
at the ears of his horse.
"What is It?" I asked.
"It you will leave that room ns It Is,
with the things In it, we will make a
reduction In tha rent. It you will let us
keep it as It Is?" he reDeated, with a
curious pleading Intensity. "You are
alone. The house will be big enough'
for you without that room, will It not,
Monsieur?"
Of course, I consented at once. If
they wished to keep the room as it was,
they were to do so. by all means.
"Thank you, thank you very much.
, 14- ...111 I.a nMitnlnl 4r . ' lit,1
.uy WiU Will 1- biumi IU J"
."Bill.
Tor a littlo while longer wo drove on
without speaking. Presently, "You are
our first tenant. We have never let
the house before," h'e volunteered.
"Ah? Have yoit had It long?" I
asked.
"t built It. I built it. five, six, years
ago," said he. Then, after a pause, he
added, "I built It for my daughter."
His voice sank, ns he said this. But
one felt that It was only the beginning
of something he wished to say.
I Invited him to continue by an In
tel es,ted "Oh?"
"You see what we are, my wife and
I," he broke out suddenly. "We are
rough people, we nre peasants. But
my daughter, sir" he put his hand on
my knee, and looked earnestly Into my
face "my daughter was as line as
satin, as fine ns lace."
He turned back to his horse, arid
again drove for a minute or two in sil
ence. At last, always with his eyes on
the horse's ears, "There was not a lady
in this country finer than my daugh
ter," h'e went on, speaking rapidly, In a
thick voice, almost as If to himself.
"She was beautiful, she had the sweet
est character, she had the best educa
tion. She was educated at the convent,
in Bouen, at the Sacre Coeur. Six
years from twelve to eighteen she
studied at tho convent. She knew
English, sir your language. She took
prizes for history. And the piano! No
body ll'-ing can touch the piano as my
daughter could. Well," he demanded
abruptly, with n kind of fierceness,
"was a rough farm-house good enough
for her?" He answered his own ques
tion, "No, Monsler. you would not soil
fine lace by putting it In a dirty box.
My daughter was finer than lace. Her
hands wero softer than Lyons volvet.
And oh," h'e cried, "tho sweet smell
they had, her hands! It was good to
smell her hands. I used to kiss them
and smell them, as you would smell a
rose." His voice died away at the
reminiscence, and there was another
interval of silence. By and by he be
gan again, "I had plenty of money. I
was the richest farmer of this neigh
borhood. I sent to Houen for the best
architect they have there. Monsieur
Clermont, tho best architect of Kouen,
laureate of the Fine Art Schools of
Paris, he built that house for my
daughter; h'e built it und furnished it,
to make It fit for a countess, so that
when the come homo for trood from the
convent she should have a home Wor
thy of her. Look at this. Monsieur.
Would the grandest palace in the world
be too good for her?"
Ho had drawn a worn red leather
case from his pocket, and taken out
a small photograph, which he handed
to me. It was the portrait of a girl,
a delicate-looking girl, of about seven
teen. Her face was pretty, with the ir
regular prettiness not uncommon in
France, and very sweet and gentle. The
old man almost held his breath while I
was examining the photograph. "Est
elle gentllle? Est-elle belle. Monsieur?"
he besought me, with a very hunger for
sympathy, as I returned It. One ans
wered, of course, what one could, as
best one could. He, with shaking ling
ers, replaced the photograph In Its
case. "Here, Monsieur," he said, ex
tracting from an opposite compartment
a little white card. It was the usual
f rench memorial of mourning; an en
graving of the Cross and Dove, under
which was printed: "Eulalle-Josenhlne-
Marle Leroux. Born the 16th May, 1874.
uieci tne 12m August, 1892. Pray for
her."
"The good God knows what He does.
I built that house for my daughter, and
when it was built the good God took
her away. We were mad with grief, my
wife and I; hut that could not save her.
Perhaps wo are still mad with grief,"
the poor old man said simply. "We
'can think of nothing else. We never
wish to speak of anything else. We
could not live In the house her house,
without her. We never thought to let
It. I built that house for my daughter,
1 furnished It for her, and when It was
ready for her she died. Was It not
hard. Monsieur? How could I let the
house to strangers? But lately I have
had losses. I am compelled to let It, to
pay my debts. I would not let It to
everybody. You are an Englishman.
Well, if I did not like you, I would not
let It to you for a million English
pounds. But I am glad I havo let It
to you. You will respect her memory.
And you will allow us to keep that
room her room. We shall bo able to
keep It us it was, with her things In
it. Yes, that room which you though
was occupied that wus my daughter's
room."
Madame Leroux was waiting or us in
tho garden of the chalet. She looked
anxiously up at her husband as wo ar
rived. He nodded his head, and called
out, "'It Is all right. Monsieur agrees."
The old woman took my hands,
wringing them hysterically almost.
"Ah, Monsieur, you are very good,"
she said. She raised her eyes to mine.
But I could not look Into her eyes.
There was a sorrow in them, an aw
funess, a sacredness of sorrow, which,
I felt, It would be like sacrilege for me
to look at.
We became good friends, the Leroux
and I, during the three monlhs I passed
as their tenant. Madame, Indeed, did
for me and looked after me with a
aeal that was almost maternal. Both
of them.as tho old man had said, loved
above all things to talk of their daugh
ter, and I hope I was never loth to
listen. Their passion, their grief, their
constant thought of her, appealed to
one as very beautiful, as well as-vem
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touching. And somcthlncn4ike a pale
spirit of the girl seemed geji'tiy. sweet
ly, always to bo presenUjn the house,
the house that Love had, built forjhor,
not guessing that Death VwOuld "come,
ns soon as It was finished;-and call her
away. "Oh, but It Is ajoy, Monsler,
that you have left usher room," 'the
old couple were nevor'itlred of repeat
ing. One day Madame took me up Into
the room, and shewed''', tnii Eulalle's
Pretty dresses, her'trltikets, her books,
tho handsomely boUnd hooks that she
had won' ns prizes at the convent. And
on another; day she $ho)Yedf.mo some
of Kulal'le's letters, aiskine:J,me. if she
hadn't a beautiful ha'ri'dwrltlng, if the
letters were not beautlfully'expressed.
Sha showed me photographs ofthp
girl at all ages; al'ock' ofher hair; her
baby clothes; the' prlesUs cor tlllcate of
her first communion: the bishop's cer
tificate of her cdflflrmatlon. And she
showed me letters 'from the good sis
ters of the Sacred Hearty Rouen, tell
ing of Eulalle's progress' n- 'her- stu
dies, praising her conduct and her
character. "Oh, to think, that she Is
gone, that she Is gone!" the-ptd woman
walled, In a kind of helpless Incom
prehension, incredulity, of Moss. Then,
in a moment, she murmured, .with
what submisslveness "she' could, ''Le
bon Dleu salt ce' qu'U fait," crossing
herse'f. '' - ' ,
On the 12th of August, the annivers
ary of her death, I went with them to
the parish church; where a mass was
said for the repose of Eulalle's soul.
And the kind old cure afterwards came
round, and pressed their hands, and
spoke words of comfort to them.
In September I left them, returning
to Dieppe. One afternoon 1-ofianced to
meet that same old cure In the high
stieet there. Wo mopped and spoke to
gethernaturally, of the Loreux of
what excellent people they were, of how
they grieved for their daughter. "Their
love was more than love. They ndored
the child, they Idolized her. I have
never witnessed such affection," the
cure told nif. "When she died, I ser
iously teared they would lose their rea
son. They were dazed, they were be
6ldd themselves; for a long while thoy
wero quite as If mad. But Hod is mer
ciful. They have learned to live with
their affliction."
"It is very 'beautiful." said I "the way
they have sanctified her memory, the
way they woishlp it You kno.v, of
course, they keep her room, with her
things in It, exactly as she left It. That
seems to me very beautiful."
"Her room," questioned the cure,
looking vague. "What room?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" I wondered.
' Her bid-room In the chalet. Thev
ltt'op It as she left It, with all h'ei
things about, her books, her dresses."
"I don't think I follow you," the cure
said. "She never had a bed-room in
the chalet"
"Oh, I beg your pardon. One of tho
front rooms on the first floor wus her
room," I Informed him.
But ho 'shook his head. "There la
some mistake. She never lived In the
chalet. She died in tho old house. The
chalet was only Just finished when she
died. The workmen were hardly out
of It."
"No," I said, "It Is you who must
be mistaken; you must forget. I am
quite sure. Tho Leroux have spoken
of It to me times without number."
"But, my dar sir," the cure Insisted,
"I am not merely sure; 'I know. I at
tended the girl In her last agony. She
died in-the farmhouse. They had not
moved Into the chalet. The chalet was
being furnished. The last pleoes of
furnltuie weru taken jn Jhe very day
before her death. The-' chalet was never
lived In. You are the only person who
has ever lived In the chalet. I assure
you of the fact."
"Well.'1 I said, t'that la- very strange,
that is very 'strange Indeed." And .or
a minute I was bewildered, I 'did not
know what to th.lnk. -But only for a
minute. Suddenly I cried out, "Oh, I
see I tee. I understand."
1 saw, I understood. Suddenly I saw
the pious, the beautiful deception that
these poor stricken souls had sought
to practice on themselves; the beauti
ful, tliq fond Illusion they had created
for themselves. They had built the
house for fhelr daughter, and she had
died Just when It was ready for her.
But they could not bear-they could
not bear to think that not for one
little week even, not even for one poor
little day or hour, had she lived In tht
house, enjoyed the house. That was
the uttermost farthing of their sorrow,
which t,hey'could not pay. They could
not acknowledge It to their own strick
en hearts. So, piously, reverently
with closed eyes,'' ns It were, that they
might not know what they wero doing
they had, carried the dead girl's
things to tho room they had meant for
her, they had arranged them there,
they had said, "This was her room;
this was her room." They would not
admit to themticlvQs, they would not
let themselves stop, to. think, that she
had never, even "for one poor night,'
slept In It, enjoye'd It. They told a
beautiful pious falsehood to them
selves. It was a beautiful pious game
of "make-belleVey WhlcH, like children,
they could play together. And the
cure had said It: God Is merciful. In
the end they had been enabled to con
fuse their beautiful falsehood with re
ality, and to find comfort In It; they
had been enabled to forget that their'
"make-believe" was a "make-believe,"
and to m'lstake'rlt for a beautiful coin,
fortlng truth. The uttermost farthing
of their sorrow, which they could not
pay, was not exacted. They were suf
fered to keep It; and It became their
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JONAS
treasure, precious to them as fine gold.
Falsehood-i-trith?. fay, I think there
are Illusions tndt ara'not falsehoods
that are Truth's own smiles of pity for
us.
1 j '1
THE niUlttlED LADY.
Curious Storv of r. Woman Hermit
Who Lived in n Cnvo.
, Many stories havebeen written about
Sherw.ood forest, and of Itobln Hood,
who was burled beno.ith the old yews
th-it for centuries had withstood the
storms of heaven, and whose gnarled
nnd knotted ti links M-ere not Inapt Il
lustrations of the U10 of him who was
laid beneath their 6hade. But little
has been mentioned i-tout Dorothea
Langton, "tho bearded 'ady."
This extraordinary woman wus dis
covered in a cavern in the forest of
Sherwood, Eng., about the yegr 1618;
and so strange was her aprearance
that no one could Imagine that she was
anything but an old man. When found
she had a long silvery beard which
descended to her. chest. She stated
that she had resided In this curious re
treat for thirty-seven years, being in
duced to take to the life of an ascetic
by having been crossed In love.
Dorothea was the only daughter of a
grocer in London, and was in her
jouth accounted a most handsome wo
man; as, Indeed, her .features even then
corroborated. She said that It was not
till she had been 'n the cavern for
seven vears that her face became dis
figured by the singular phenomenon of
i beard, but Its growih was very rapid,
so that In four more years It had
leached Its full length. During all
thesp years she had remained In her
lonely retreat she had had no com
munication with any human being;
and had never ventured farther than
about half a mile from the cavern, liv
ing chiefly upon wild berries and the
water from a spring. The cavern Was
most curiously conitructed, nnd the
entrance to It was under an Immense
oak tree, nnd was so small that It
seemed scarcely possible that a human
being could crawl through It. The
place she occupied consisted of but
one npartment. which was hardly lofty
enough to allow her to stand upright,
and possessing not a single article of
luinlture. Her bod was formed of
haves, and she had rt few books or a
religious nature.
When Hist discovered It was with
Rieat difficulty that she could bo made
to understand when spoken to. as she
had almost forgotten the use of speech;
but after a time it returned to her,
when she begged earnestly that they
would allow her to die In her mlf-eiable
abode. To these requests, however,
they would not listen, but conveyed
her to London, where, the wonderful
circumstances of her mode of living be
ing made known, she excited universal
ctirioslty. Dorotheas' uncle, a very old
man, who for a number of years past
had retired upon a comfortable for
tune, hearing the name mentioned so
often, resolved to travel to London to
ascertain whether It was his nlere.
Upon arriving there Dorothea quickly
recognized the venerable old man, and
consented to go home with him, but
she had not been at his house for more
than two days when she was attacked
by fever and shortly afterward died.
Her uncle did not long survive her, as
they were both placed together In one
grave on tHo sahie day.
VUTEIIAN AillO.NC IIIUDUES.
Its I'eculiariUe Of Construction
Make It n Curiosity.
Krom Lloyd's Newspaper.
The triangular bridge at Croyland, in
Lincolnshire, Is probably not only tho
most ancient bridge In England, but on
account of Its peculiar construction one
of the greatest curiosities In Europe. It
is built In the middle of the town at
the continence of tho Welland and the
Nene. The plan of tho bridge Is formed
by three squares and an equilateral tri
angle, about which they are placed. It
has three fronts, three thoroughfares
over and three under It, There are tho
s-amenumbero'f abutments at equal dls
tances.from which rise three half arch
es, each composed of three libs meeting
In the center at tho top. Seen from any
point of view a pointed arch appears In
front .
Antlquai ie often-fanciful writers
have suggested that tho piece of ma
sonry was built as an emblem of the
holy Trinity; for, though the bridge
possesses 'three arches, It yet properly
has but one grolne'd arch. More matter-of-fact
archaelogical authors hold the
structure to have been designed as, a,
starting place for measuring ecclesias
tical boundaries, with the additional
utility of forming a support for a mar
ket cross. -
An exceptionally Interesting feature;
,of tho ,hrIdffo Is a much weather-worni
effigy, truftftjfina.lly said to bo a repre
sentation of-KlngHEthelbald. The rude
ness of the deslgn.Wthe uncouthness of
the headdress and drapery, lead to the
conclusion of the cfllgy being a 'gen-i
ulne Saxon sculpture. Placed In a alt
ting posture at trie end of the south
west wall, tho figure Is embellished
with a crown. In one of Eldred's char
ters the triangular bridge at Croyland
was mentioned, but that now existing
Is supposed to bo., from Its style of
architecture, of the time of Edward I.
The statue mUHLbttpf much greater an
tiquity. Croyland, ten miles south of
Spalding and elsht and a half north of
Peterborough, should greatly Interest
artljtsiaud'lovera of antique associa
tions. "' ' ' '
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LONG'S SONS
CURIOUS HISTORY
OF PANAMA CANAL
Tbe Big Project First Proposed Nearly
400 Years Ago.
AND PHILIP OF SPAIN OBJECTED
Active Operations Uogun in 1881.
About 900,000,000 Already Ex
ponded, nnd 9100,000,000 illoro
Will lie Needed Ilotoro the Giant
Task Ih Complctod-JJ'he Itailroad.
Josiah 15. Bowdltch, in the Providence
Journal.
The Idea of connecting the waters of
the Atlantic and Pacifio by a canal
across the Isth'mus of Darlen or Pana
ma Is not a new one. Darlen wns one
of the earliest Spanish settlements on
the main land. In 1513 the conquista
dor Balboa, governor of Darlen, crossed
the isthmus with 290 men, and on the
2;th of September first caught sight of
thu vas: Pacific sea. As the two oceans
were less than DO miles apart at the
narrowest part of the Isthmus, the
Idea of cutting a canal across was
natural. As early a 1S20 the pro
ject was dlbcussed by Angel Saa
vedra. A half century later two
Flemish er.glneeis M-veyed a route for
a canil, but Philip II , for political rea
sons, forbade discussion of the subject
on pain of death. After a time It came
to be believed that the height of the
Andes made such an Ontet prise Impos
sible. In 1826, however, a line for such a
canal was traced between Panama on
the Pacific und Portobollo on the At
lantic, In 1S23 Messrs. Lioyd and Fal
mark, two English civil engineers, con
ducted a series of levelllngs for the Co
lombian government, and afccertnlned
that a break of several miles In the
great mountain chain made the canal
j-rojoct a feasible one. Afterward", be
tween 1813 and 1871, repeated surveys
were made by French. English and
American engineers.
The discovery of gold In California
huii led up m.tUeri-. The tide of tiavel
across the Isthmus could not wait for
the realUjtlon of the canal project, and
the Panama railroad was built In 1S53.
with Ameiican money, while this coun
try entered Into an agreement with tho
Colombian government to protect the
line from external or Internal interfer
ence. DE LESSEPS.
In 1879 nn Interoceanlc Caral con
gress met In Paris, under the auspices
of Ferdinand de Lesseps, the famous
builder of the Suez canal, and ap
proved of a route nearly parallel to the
Panama railroad. A French company
was formed by De Lessens In 1S80, and
having obtained a favorable franchise
fiom Colombia, commenced operations
In 1SS1. The Idea of this American
canal being controlled by France was
decidedly distasteful to tho American
people. Mr. Blaine, then secretury of
stated, dusted off the Monroe doctrine,
and proceeded to defy all creation. In
cluding Chile, but subsided when the
latter threatened to send a war vessel
or two to attack San Francisco. The
Panama company meanwhile looked
after Its Interests In this country, and,
by the liberal subsidization (as has
been charged) of certain influential
American journals notably in New
York succeeded In manufacturing an
Interest, of limited dimensions, favor
able to this French enterprise.
As long as the money lasted digging
proceeded vigorously. Up to Juno 30,
1886, 772,515,412 francs, or nearly $150,
000,000, had been expended, and the
funds were practically exhausted. It
was found, after a careful examination
by expert engineers, that nearly as
much more would be required to com
plete the canal, and that even then the
locks would not be at the sea level. An
attempt to raise a new loan of 600,000,
000 francs In 1888 failed, and the com
pany went Into liquidation. Operations
were suspended after March 15, 1889.
April 4, 1893, the liquidator of the
company secured a prolongation of the
canal concessions from the Colombian
government for 10 years on condition
that the now company to be formed
shojihl resume work before Nov. 1, 1891,
and should pay over to the government
17,000,000 francs In money or stocks. The
new French company was Incorporated
In October, 1894, and work was resumed
"pro forma."
PRESENT STATUS.
The new company has a capital of 65,
000,000 francs (nearly J13.000.000), flvo
millions of which have been given to
tho Colombian government, while twen
ty millions U to be paid to the liquida
tion (old company )for the acquisition
of the Panama railroad In case tho
completion of tho canal Is found im
practicable. As soon as half of the capital, 32,
500,000 francs, has been expended, a
commission of engineers, chosen half
by the new company and half by tho
liquidation, will examine the work done
and decide upon the practicability of
the completion of the canal. The situa
tion is, therefore, this: After an ex
penditure of nearly $200,000,000 by the
old company, funds failed, and the
company went Into .liquidation. The
new company 'has raised $13!000,o00 for
experimental purposes. If tho report of
the commission is unfavorable.,45,000,000
nearly all that Is then left for 'the origi
200 Beautifully Decorated
China Lamps Bowl Shape
With Embossed Glass Globes :
worth 75c, at 22c
10-Quart Agate Chamber
Pails; worth 75c, at 25c
Heavy Tin Wash Boilers,
worth 50c, at .' 22c
Large Size Market Baskets,
at 4c
Heavy Tin Tea and Coffee
Pots; worth fully 20c, at.... 9c
nal $13,000,000, will be paid the old com
pany for full ownership of the Panama
railroad, and the canal project will be
abandoned by the company.
The liquidation has made a free
transfer to the new company, of all
rights nnd concessions, all work done,
all machinery and material on hand,
nnd 68,500 shares of the 'Panama rail
road. This is done In consideration
that, upon the completion of the canal,
the two companies shall share half nnd
half In tho profits, nfter the payment
of 5 per cent. Interest upon tho capital
expended In completing the work.
The wages of employes and laborers
having been reduced, they begun a
strike in January, 1895. Threats were
made to destroy Colin (Asplnwnll) und
destroy the tallroad property unless
living wages were paid. The outbreak
of a revolution about this time in
creased lawlessness, and weakened the
ability of the government to protect
canal and railroad property. Three at
tempts were made to burn Colon. The
strike on the railroad and canal con
tinued and the mechanics also went out
many of them leaving the country in
April.
WORK RESUMED.
By July the strikers began to weaken
and many laborers resumed work at
the old wages, and In August the com
pany prepared to resume operations In
earnest. Artisans were hired and a
guard of Columbia soldiery was distri
buted along the line at a cost to the
company of $10,000 a month.
Work was begun by the new com
pany In November, 1894, on the summit
of the Culebra, on the line of water
sher between the two oceans. At the
latest reports, a cut of about four miles
In length, three-fourths of which Is on
the Atlantic, and one-fourth on the
Pacific slope, had been made. The ex
cavation has an average depth of about
50 feet, and It Is about 50 feet wide at
the bottom. Some 1,700,000 cubic feet
of earth has thup far been removed at
this point. The work is Ijelng prose
cuted with laborers Imported from the
West Indies and West Africa.
Competent engineers estimate that
$100,000,000 will be needed to complete
the project. At the- beginning of the
present year dredging wns In progress
to deepen the harbor at Colon, so that
ship of the largest size could reach
tho wharves and unload cargoes di
rectly Into the cars Instend of unload
ing by lighters, ns Is necessary at the
present time. This Importnnt Improve
ment will. It Is expected, be completed
by the end of the present year. Some
what similar work is now being done
at the port of La Buca, the Pacific
terminus of the proposed canal. A
great metajllc pier, which is being
built, will allow tho transfer of goods
from ship to ship.
The Panama railroad was sold to the
Canal company early In the eighties,
although the United States Is still
bound to guard It from all harm. A
traffic of nearly $100,000,000 a year goes
over this 46-mlle road, and its stock
has always been quoted above par. The
roads Income will doubtless fall off
somewhat when the canal Is completed
but holders of the road's stock do not
as yet see cause for worrlment.
WE MAKE
A SPECIALTY OF
OYSTERS
Fancy Kockuwnys, East
Rivers, Maurice River
Coves, Mill Ponds, &c, &c.
Lcsive your order for Blue
Points to be delivered on
the half shell In curriers.
I E PIERCE. PENS flVL MIDI
TalSiSlsg&yyi'
Tiriie
Wells Light
laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaH'f
BHPbHbbPBs.Bs??0
Fine Quality Walking Hats
and Sailors; worth 75c to
oi 5 at .................. 10
t ,,1 w
Bet Grade of French Felt
Hats; worth $1.25 at 21 (3
150 Dozen Solid Black Os
trich Plumes, full and Pretty;
worth fully 50c, at 1 6c
100 Bunches of Large 'Eng
lish Violets six dozen in each
bunch and worth 29c, at 1 56
The
Great
' Store.
O
Webster's
; International
IMdiionary
Successor of the " UlMbrtilaed."
The One Great Standard Authority, '
ro wnies jiqn. if. i. urewer,
.1 mtlce 11. S. surrrme Court.
Standard
of tlniU.S.OoT'tlMntlna i
orUir.Uip U.S. hnpreme (
i mill, nil .lie MAie nu
t.rvineroiirti.ati'lnrnear.
1 all tlie bchoolbooks.
Wnrtnly
. CttmiiKMidcd
liy stute SiipprtnterutenU i
dentfl.nwIotiVrl'.uuratori :
loKe rrcBt
Kd uca ion
ami
ilniost ufiliout number.
XnValunblc
In tho household, nnd to
tlio teacher, scholar, pm-
itsstuuai muut mm sen
educator.
J" Specimen pages sent on application to
G&CMcrrlamCo,tXubltHlicrftj
BpriUKfield, MaHM.
CAUTION. Do not be deceived In
1 buvlncr small so-called i
"'Webster' Dictionaries." AH authentic
i annajtmcnia or weDera international Diction-
t nry In the various flics bear our trade-murk on
r. mtj iron i cover as mown in me cuts.
Taking Inventory and decided to sail ull
of our
ODDS and' ENDS
-OK-
SOFT
and
ALPINE
Hats
-I'OIt-
$1.00
Look lii our show cuso; you will And ?2.U(
nud'J.nd Hats amongst them.
CONRAD'S.
A GREAT OFFER
...nv...
aermanla Wine CUars
llammondsport and
Rhelmi.N. Y.
We nra determlnsd t
utrodiica our sooda
among the very boat peo
i o In be country, and
we cun see no better tvuy
of doing tbts than by self.
ins them a ease of our
Kood4, containing eleven
bottle of wine and on.
bottlo of our extra flu.
double distilled drape
Jrandy, at one-bnlr Its no
tuai cost, upon re.
celpt of $5.00 wa
will send to any
render. of this paper
one cane of our
Koodl, all tirnt-clnM
and put up in ele
Kant style, assorted
as follows:
1 qt. hot. Grand Im.
perlal beo Cham.
pugrje.
1 qt. bot. Delaware,
I qt. bot. nteillnj.
1 qt. bot. Tokay.
1 qt. bot. Sweet Ca
Lawba.
1 qt. bot Hherry.
1 qt. bot. Klvlra.
1 qt. bot. Niagara.
I qt. bot. Angelica,
1 qt. bot. Port.
1 qt. bot. Hwoet Is.
abelln,
1 qt. bot. Im. Qrapa
llrundy.
'This offer fs mad
mainly to introduce
our Qrand Imperial
See Champagne and
our flue double-dls.
tilled drape Brandy This case of goods la
BfTered nt about ons-bnlftts Hctual r-vt and
It will plcise us Ifour friends and k Vrons
will take advantage of this and heU ut. intro
duce our goods.
giving a 2,000 candle power light
from kerosene oil.
OVER 10,000 IN USE.
Invaluable for Engineers, Iron Found
ers, Contractors, Builders, Mines,
Collieries, Street Railways, etc
KaV rCtl
HAUL SUPPLY I III CO. t
M. E, KEELEY, Minagir. .
700 West Lackawanna Ave.! Scranton.Pa. '
Telephone 3954. j -... .t
ft