The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on March 9, 1892 · Page 6
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 6

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, March 9, 1892
Page 6
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THE UKPUBLICAX, ALGONA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 0, 1892, sfon, and we wfflsodn know the truth, frftb- out all this talk." Calton assented, and all having settled themselves to listen, he began to read what the dead mnn had written. "And now," said Calton, looking at him, "do you remember the hansom cab murder, •which caused such a sensation some months agot" "Yes, I do," replied the doctor, rather aa- •tonished. "But what has that to do with the will?' "JSothing to do with the will," answered Calton, grarely, "but tho fact is Mr.Frettlby was implicated in the affair." Dr. Chinston glanced inquiringly at Brian, •but that gentleman shook his head. "It's nothing to do with my arrest," he «aid, sadly. "What do you mean?' ho gasped, pushing back his chair. "How was ho implicated?" "That 1 cannot tell you," answered Calton, "until I read his confession." "Ahl" said Kilsip, becoming very atten- tiva "Yes," said Calton, turning to Kilsip, "your hunt after Uorelnntl is a wild goose chose, for tho murderer of, Oliver Whyte is discovered." "Discovered I" cried Kilsip and the doctor in one breath. "Yes, and his namo is Mark Frettlby." Kilsip shot a glance of disdain out of his bright black eyes and gave a low laugh of disbelief, but the doctor pushed back his 4 hair furiously and arose to his feet. "Thii is monstrous," he cried, In a rage. "I won't sit still and hear this accusation against my dead friend." "Unfortunately, it U too true," said Brian, sadly. "How dart you say so?" said Chinston, turning angrily on him. "And you going to marry his daughter I" "There is only one way to settle the ques tion," said Calton, coldly "Wo must read his confession." "But why the detective?" asked the doctor, ungraciously, as he took his sent reluctantly "Because 1 want him to hear for himself that Mr. FYettlby committed the crime, and that he may keep it quiet. " "Not till I've arrested him," said Kilsip, determinedly. "But he's dead," said Brian. "I'm speaking of Roger filoroland," retorted Kilsip. "For ho and no other murdered Oliver Why to." "That's a much more likely story," Chin Eton snid. ,"1 tell you no," said Calton vehemently. "God knows 1 would like to preserve Mark Frettlby's good name, and it is with this object I have brought you all together. I will read the confession, and when you know the truth i want you all to keep silent about it, as Mark Frettlby is dead and the publication of his crime can do no good to any one." "1 know," resumed Calton, addressing the detective, "that you are fully convinced in your own mind that you are right and L am wrong, but what if 1 tell you that Mar!,- Frettlby died holding those very papers foi the sake of which the crirno was committed <" Kilsip's face lengthened considerably. "What were the papers*"' "The marriage certificate of Mark Frettlby and Rosanna Jloore, the woman who died in the back slum." Kilsip was seldom astonished, but he was this time, while Dr. Chinston fell back in his chair and looked afc the barrister with 11 dazed sort of expression. "And what's more," went on Calton, triumphantly, "do you know that, Morelitnd •went to Frettlby two nights ago and obtained a certain sum for hush money?" "What!" cried Kilsip. "Yes; Moreland, in coming out of the hotel, evidently saw Frettlby, and threatened to expose him unless he paid for his silence." "Very strange," murmured Kilsip to him- seli, with a disappointed look on his face. "But why did Moreland keep still so long?" "1 cannot tell you," replied Calton, "but no doubt the confession will explain all." "Then for heaven's sake read it," broke in Dr. Chinston, impatiently. "I'm quite in the dark, and all your talk is Greek to me." "Onb moment." said Kilsip, dragging a bundle from under his chair, and untying it. "If you are right, what about this?" and he held up a light coat, very much soiled and weather worn. "Whoso is that?" asked Calton, startled. "Not WhyUi's*" "Yes, V/hyt.o's," repeated Kilsip, with great satisfaction. "1 found it in the Fitzroy gardens, near the gate that opens to Gteorge street, Mist Melbourne. It was up in a llr tree." "Then Mr. tYettlby must have got out at Pov.-iett street, and walked down George strci«c, ami then through the Fitzroy gardens into town, 1 ' said Calton. Kilsip t>:oic no h(.;i.'d of tho remark, but took asr.i:i!l bottlo out of Uie pocket of the coat and hold it up. "1 a!:;o t'onn-1 thi:-, 1 ' he said. "Chloroform," cried every one, guessing at once tin?, it was the missing buttle. CHAPTER XXXIIL THE CONFESSION. "What I am now about to write Is set forth by me so that the true circumstances connected with the 'Hansom Cab Tragedy, 1 Hsip, replucingit. "This 'h contained the poison call him tlw murderer. .'ii.i-t U-iii;; on tho label. 1 u^l out who bought it. think?' with a lock of "Kxnctly," s «-.-.:! t;jt< butt If usuil by-- by -Tho i.;.i!:'.u<Jf t went to hiiu u New, who drt triumph. "Freitlhy," r,:iid O.ium, decidedly. Moreliuiu 1 " burst wut Chinston, iUnL. ri.-LurV.i-d (.lie detective, calmly. <v!io ;m:-i;h:i;>>.-ii this was Olive "No, great lv ir::ci "ICeilher, "The man Wbyu- >r:u: soil, ?.<-.. i.'.,i'-i'i'., vn.v>; ull thu otlii.T3. "Yt-s. i Us-il no ti-ouhk' in lindius outthar, thanks to li;-> 'I'oio'-iri :;i-t.' As 1 tnew no ouo would lv -;o foolUii as to carry chloroform ii bout in li'.-i |«>cl:i-t for any length cf time, 1 ini'ntii;<n:<l liu-iliiy ol' tbo murder as the [)rob:iblc(i:itx' it wu-s boiij.rlit. I'liochemist turned up bi.-> I'U"'.: . nd found lliat \Vhyto ! "Au-J wiiu-t di..l ho it fori" usiicil Chin- , eton. ! "That's more than 1 can tell you," said Kil- i sip, with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's ! down in tho boo'.; as bi-ing bought for medicinal uses, which nwy moan anything." "The law requires a witness," observed Cal ton, cautiously. "\\"uo was the witness?' Again Kilsip KuiiUxl triumphantly "1 think 1 can gusts," said Fitzgerald. "Morekmd'" Kilsip uodduu. "And 1 sup;.os~," remarked Calton, in a slightly sarc-aKtk- tone, "that is another of your proof's against Moreland. He know that Whyto chlorofonu on him, therefore ho .followed him that night and murdered him*" | "Well, 1"--"It's a lot, of nonsense," said tho barrister impatiently. "There's nothing against Morelaud to implicate him. If he killed ^ Whyte, what made him go mid see Frettlby?" "But," said Kilsip, sagely nodding his bead, "'if, as Moreland says, ho had Wbyte's coat in his possession before the murder, how ia it that I should discover it afterwards up a fir U-eo in the Fitzroy gardens, with an «mpty chloroform bottle in the pocket!" "He may have been an accomplice," suggested Calton. . "What's the good of all tub con jectunngr eaid CWaBton impatiently, now thoroughly which took place In Melbourne In 18—, may be known. I owe a confession, particularly to Brian Fitzgerald, seeing that he was accused of tbecrima Although 1 know he was rightfully acquitted of the charge, yet I wish him to know all about the'icase, though 1 am convinced, from his altered demeanor towards me, that be is better acquainted with it than he chooses to confess. In order to account fcr the murder of Oliver Whyte, 1 must go back to the beginning of my life in this colony, and show how the series of events began which culminated in the commital of the crime. "Should it be necessary to make this con fession public, in the interests of justice, 1 can say nothing against such a. course being taken; but 1 would be grateful If it could be suppressed, both on account of my good name and of my dear daughter Margaret, whose love and affection has so soothed and brightened ray life. "If, however, she should be Informed of the contents of these pages, 1 usk her to deal leniently with the memory of one who was sorely tried and tempted. "1 came to the colony of Victoria, or rather, as it was called then. New South Wales. In the rear IS—. I bod bwsn in a merchant's olllce In London, but not «eeiug much opportunity for advancement. 1 looked about to sec if I could better myself. I board of this now land acros^ the ocean, and though it was not then the El Dorado whicd it afterward? turner! ont. and, truth to tell, had rather a shady name, owing to the transpor- tuition of convicts, yet I longed to go there and stnrt a new Ufa Unhappily however, I had not the means to KO, and saw nothing better before me than the dreary life of a London clerk, as it was impossible that 1 could save out of the small salary 1 got. Just nt this time, however, an old maiden aunt of mine diod and left a few hundred pounds to me, so, with this, I came out to Australia, determined to become a rich rnaa 1 stayed some time in Sydney, and then came over to Port Phillip, now so widely known ns Marvelous Melbourne, where 1 intended to pitch my tent. I saw that it wa? a young and rising colony, though of course, coming as 1 did. before tho days of the gold diggings, 1 never dreamt it v.-nnld spring up, as it had done since, tr >t n-jr.inti I was careful and saving in tliost-- day. und indeed, 1 think it was the happiest time of my life. "1 bought land whenever 1 could scrape the monej to^othi-r. und, nt the Cime of the gold rush, was considered well to do. When, however, the cry that gold had been discov erod was raised, und tbu eyes of all the nations were turned to Australia, with her glittering trc-asurus, men poured in from all parts of the world, und the 'Irolden Age' commenced. 1 began to get rich rapidly, and was soon pointed out as the wealthiest man in the colonies. I bought a station, and leaving tbo riotous, teverisb Melbourne life, went to live on it. I enjoyed myself there, for the wild, open ah* life had great charms for ma, and there was n sensi of freedom to which [had hitherto been ^stranger. But man is a gregarious animal, and 1, growing weary of solitude and communings with Mother Nature, came down on a visit to Melbourne, where, with companions as gay as myself. 1 spent my money fruely, and, as the phrase goes, saw life. After confessing that I loved the pure life of the country, it sounds strange to say that 1 enjoyed the wild life of the town, but I did. I was neither a Joseph nor a St. Anthony, and 1 was delighted with Bohemia, with its good fellowship and charming suppers, which tool: place In the small hours of the morning, when wit and humor reigned supreme. It was at one of these suppers that 1 first met llosanna Mooro, tho woman who was destined to curse my existence. She was a burlesque actress, and all the young follows in those days were madly in love with her. She was not exactly what was called beautiful, but there was a brilliancy and fascination about her which few could resist. Or first seeing her I did not admire her much, but laughed at companions as they raved about her. On becoming personally acquainted with her, however, 1 found that her powers of fascina tion had not been overrated, and ended by falling desperately in love witL her. 1 made inquiries about her private life, and found that it was irreproachable, as she was guarded by a veritable dragon of a mother, who would let no one approach her daughter. I need not tell about my courtship, as these phases of a man's life are generally the same, but it will be sufficient to prove the depth of my passion for her v?hen I nt length deter mined to muUe her my wife. It was on con dition, however, -that tho marriage should be kept secret until such time as 1 should choose to revfitil it.. My reason for such a course was tliii: my hither was still alivo, and he, being n ri;;ic'. Presbyterian, would never have foi'^ivt'ii me for having married n woman cf thu stage, so, as he was old and feeble, 1 did not wish him to learn that | I had done so, louring that the shocfe i would bo too much for him in his then pros\ ".nt stale of health I told I would ; marry hor, but wanted her to leave her mother, whr wus u perfect fury, and not an • agreeable person to live with. As I was i rich, youm! and tiot bad looking, Rosanna i-onsiTifBil. riM'l. diirin 1 ; -in Hiigagt.Mwnt she had in Syi:;i'Y I wfiit ovi-r there and mar i riod her She never told her mother she had I man-it* 1 mo. why, 1 do not know, as I never i laid any restriction on her doing so. The | mother made a great noiso over the matter. j but i gave llosaiina n large sum of money for her, and this tho old harridan accepted and leCl for New Kculund. went with mo to my station, where we lived as man and wife, though, in Mei- bonrne, she was supposed to be ray mistress. At last, feeling degraded in ray own eyes as to the way 1 was living to the world, J wanted to reveal our secret, but this Rosanna would not consent to. 1 was astonished at this und could never discover the reason, but In many ways Rosanna was uu enigma to nu;. She then grew weary of the- quiet country life, and longed to return to the glitter and glare ot the footlights. This 1 refused to let her do, and from that moment she took a dislike to me. A child was born, und lor u time she was engrossed with it, but soon wearied of the new play thing, and again pressed me to allow her to return to the stage. 1 again refused, and wi- Ijecr.nii' i-s!ranged from one another I grew gloomy and irritable, and wus accus tomed to tuko long rides by myself, fre quently being away for days There was a great friend of mum who owned the next station, a fine, naudsome young fellow called Frank Kelly with a gay, sunny disposition, and a wonderful Bow of buuior. When he found I was so mucti away, thinking Rosanna was only my mistress, he began to console her, and succeeded so well that one day, on my return from a ride, 1 found she had fled with him, and bad taken tho child with her. She left a letter saying that she had never really cared for ae,..?at..wy ajai«y~ she' would keep our marriage Secret, and was going to return to the rtaga. 1 followed my false friend and falaa wife down to Melbourne, but arrived too late, as they had just left for England Disgusted with the manner In which 1 had been treated, 1 plunged Into a whirl of dissipation, trying to drown the memory of my married Ufa My friends, of course, thought that my loss amounted to no more than that of a mistress, and 1 soon began to doubt that I had ever been married, so far away and visionary did my life of the year previous seem. I continued my fast life for about six months, when suddenly 1 was arrested upon the brink of destruction by—an angeL I say this advisedly, for it ever there was an angel upon earth, It was she who afterwards became my wifa She was the daughter of a doctor, and it was her influence, which drew me back from the dreary path of profligacy and dissipation, which 1 was then leading. 1 paid her great attention, and we were, in fact, looked upon as good as engaged, but I knew that 1 was still linked to that accursed woman, and could not ask her to bo my wifa At this second crisis of my life Fate again intervened, for I received a letter from England, which informed me that Uosannn Moore had been run over In the streets of London, and had died in an hospital The writer was a young doctor, who had attended her, and I wrote home to him, begging him to send out a certificate of her death, so that 1 might be stu'o she was no more. He did so, and also enclosed an account of the accident, which had appeared in a newspaper. Then, indeed, 1 felt that 1 was free, and closing, as 1 thought forever, the darkest page of my life's history. 1 began to look forward to the future 1 married again, and my domestic life was a singularly happy one. As tht- colony grew greater, with every year I be came even more wealthy than 1 had ln»-.\. and was looked up to and respected by my fellow citizens. When my dear daughter Margaret was born, 1 felt that my cup of happiness was full, but suddenly 1 received a disagreeable reminder of tho past. Rossann's mother "made her appearance one day—a disreputable looking creature, smelling of gin, and in whom I could not recognize the respectably dressed woman who used to accompany " Rossana to the theatre. 8he had spent long ago all the money I had given her, and sank lower and lower, until she now lived in u slum of? Little Bourko street. 1 made inquiries after tha child, and she told me it was dead. Rosanm-i had not taken it to England with her, buft had left it in her mother's charge, and, no doubt, neglect and want of proper nourishment was the causa of its death. There now seemed to be no link to bind me to the past with the exception of the old hag, who knew nothing about the marriage. I did not attempt to undeceive, her, but agreed to allow her enough to live on if she promised never to trouble me again, and to keep quiet aboufc everything which had reference to my con^ nection with her daughter. She promised readily enough, and went back to her squalid dwelling in the slums, where, for all i know, she still lives, as money has been paid to her regularly every mouth by my solicitors. 1 heard nothing more about tho matter, and now felt quite satisfied that I had heard the last of Kosanua, As years rolled on things prospered with me, and so fortunate was 1 in all speculations that my luck became proverbial. Then, alas! when all things seemed to smile upon me my -wife died, and the world has never seemed the same to me since. 1, however, had my dear daughter to console me, and in her love and affection 1 became reconciled to the loss of my wife. A young Irish gentleman, called Brian Fitzgerald, came out to Australia, and 1 soon saw that my daughter was in love with him, and that he reciprocated that affection, whereat I was glad, as I have always esteemed him highly. 1 looked forward to their marriage, when suddenly a series of events occurred, which must be fresh to the memory of those who read these pages. Mr. Oliver Whyte, a gentleman from London, called on me and startled me with the news that my first wife, Rosanna Moore, was still living, and that the story of her death had been an ingenious fabrication in order to deceive mo. She had met with an accident, as stated in the newspaper, and had been token to an hospital, where she recovered. The young doctor, who had sent the certificate of her death, had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her, and had told me that she- was dead in order that her past life might bo obliterated. The doctor, however, died before tho marriage, -and llosanna did not trouble herself about undeceiving mo. She was theu acting on the burlesque stage under the name of 'Musette, 1 arid seemed to have gained an unenviable notoriety by her extravagance and infamy. Whyte met her in London, and she became his mistress. lie seemed to have a wonderful influence over her, for she told him all tier past life and about her marriage with mo. Her popularity being on the wane in London, as she was now growing old, and had to make way for younger actresses, Whyto proposed that they should como out to the colonies and extort money from me, and ho had come to me for that purpose. The villain told me ail this in the coolest manner, and 1, knowing he held the secret of my life, was unable to resent it. 1 refused to see Rosanna, but told Whyte I would agree to his terms, which were, first, a large sum of money was to be paid to Rosanna, and secondly, Whyte wanted to marry my daughter. 1, at lirst, absolutely declined to sanction the latter proposal, but as ho threatened to publish the story, and that meant the proclamation to the world of my daughter's illegitimacy, 1 at lust u;;ruod, and ho began to pay his addresses to Madge. Who, however, ro- fused to marry him and told me she was engaged to Fitzgerald, so after a severe struggle with myself 1 told Whyte that I would not allow him to marry Madge, but would give him whatever sum he would like to name. On tho night be was murdered he came to see me, and showed mo the certificate of marriage between myself and Rosanna Moore. He refused to take a sum of money, and said unless 1 consented to his marriage with Madge ho would publish the whole allair. I implored him to give mo time to think, so he said ho would give me two days, but no more, and left the house, taking the marriage certificate with him. I was in despair, and saw that tho only way to save myself was to obtain possession of the marriage certificate and deny everything. With this idea in my miud I followed him up town and saw meet Moreloud, and drink with him. They went into the hotel iu Russell street, and whiiu Whyte came out, at half past 12, lit was- intoxicated. 1 saw him go out along to tho Scotch church, near the Burke and Wills monument, and cling to the lamp post at the corner 1 thought 1 itTbegan to wonder. r&MJw he bad It on him, so came to the conclusion that the murderer, whoever he was, had taken it from the body, and would soonet or latef come to mo to extort money, knowing that 1 data not denounce him. Fitzgerald was arrested, and afterwards acquitted, so i began to think that the certiflcate had been lost, and my troubles were at an end. However, I was always haunted by a dread that the sword was hanging over my head, and would fall sooner or later. I was right, for two nights ago Roger Moreland, who was an intimate friend of Whyte's, called on me and produced the marriage certiflcate, which he offered to sell to me for five thousand pounds. In horror, I accused him of murdering Whyte, which he denied at first, but afterwards acknowledged, stating that 1 dare not betray him for my own sake. 1 was nearly mad with the horror I was placed in, either to denounce my daughter as illegitimate or let a murderer escape the penalty of his crime. At last 1 agreed to keep silent, and handed him a check for £5,000 pounds, receiving in return the marriage certiflcate. I then made Moreland swear to leave the colony, which he readily agreed to do, saying Melbourne was dangerous. When he left 1 reflected upon the awfulness of my position, and had almost detewnined to commit suicide, but, thank God, 1 saved myself from that crime. 1 wrote out this confession in order that after my death the true story of tho murder of Whyte may be known, and that any one who may hereafter bo accused of the murder may not be wrongfully punished. IJhave no hopes of Moreland ever receiving the penalty of his crime, as when this Is open all trace of him will, no doubt, be lost. I will not destroy tho marriage certificate, but place it with these papers, so that tho truth of my story can bo seen. In conclusion, 1 would ask forgiveness of my daughter Margaret for my sins, which have been visited on her, but she can see for herself that circumstances were too strong for me. May she forgive me, as 1 hope God in his infinite mercy will, and may she come sometimes and pray over my grave, nor think too hardly upon her dead father." MfE IN WISCONSIN, AS A FARMER, HE KNOWS WHEREOF HE SPEAKS. A Hotel 'Wticre Oue*t» Sleep nt Night llather Than Under the Dome of Hettv- on Tho Mlcrohe fiunlnoBs und IIow it fl«is Itecn nevolopotl. |Copyright, 1808, by,Edgar W. Nyo.] IJT THE BA.DOEII STATE, ) February. J Wisconsin in many respects is a •wonderful state. From tho frigid borders of Superior, where the cranberry frappe gleams iu the frosty light, to the subtropical growth of Beloit there is a wonderful range of climate nnd vegetation, including immense quantities of tobacco, which for some purposes holds its own with the products of more southern lands. Diversified fanning has superseded tho unnatural ravaging of the soil by a constant repetition of small grains, and to- (To be Continued.! BILL NYE'S HOME. •«<w J \ I Description of the Residence of the Famous Humorist. The new house of Edgar William Nye, the genial humorist, in Buncombe county, N. C., interests many people. The following description is condensed from that i.«i! the architects, tho Wills Bros., of Knoxville, Temi., and Asheville, N. C. Tho residence is a two story frame, in semicolouial style, the first story weather boarded, the second shingled (a style still common in the older sec- HOME OF BILL NYE. tions of Canada) and between them is a heavy band course. At the northwest corner is an octagon tower and there is a fine balcony. The idea evidently is to combine the quaint attractiveness of the old Colonial dwellings with all the conveniences of modern life. The visitor enters, by a porte cochere, the old fashioned English hall in which is a stairway. On one side of the hall is a wide, open fireplace for wood. To the right a sliding door gives access to the drawing room, 15 by 16 feet, which is further enlarged by a pretty alcove on one side and a music room on the other. Out of the drawing room casement windows gives egress to the porch under the tower. Sliding doors also admit one from the hall to the dining room on the AT THE FARM. day the prospects in the state for continued prosperity in the great field of agriculture are most cheering. And to whom do we look with more anxiety for our own weal than the farmer? Is he not the only man who produces food sufficient for himself and others? We cannot eat the wares of Mr. Tiffany, nor yet tho beautiful fabrics of Worth. We must look to tho farmer for our bread and the Farmers' Alliance for our fun. Farmers' Alliances arc not always successful in subverting established political methods, because it is difficult for us to meet often enough to discuss and consider questions of moment to us. 1 am a member of the Ashtield (Mass.) Farmers' club. So is Mr. Curtis. And yet 1 have not been able to attend for over a year. My farm is situated in Buncombe county, N. C. It is an oblique farm, with a fender on the lower edge to keep the potatoes from falling into George Vauderbilt's farm, which is below mine on the French Broad river. After a hard day's work on this upright farm 1 am too worn out to attend a meeting of the Alliance or even of our club. It is so with other farmers. We rise very early, work hard, take only an hour's nooning, and at night we are so worn out that as soon as our chores are done we are glad to leave the country in the hands of those who have nothing else to do. That is why we fall ready victims to the wiles of those who are in the wile business. napkin, aa they do in fiurope, 1 would no more thiflfc new of throwing a ttmt- ton bone under tho table, even on the West Side, ttihrii 1 would at Mts. Dfl Feystor Todd-Morkiris', on West fifty- seventh street, where I mn very oft6n a guest, waiting up tho dinner iri a frothy and debonair manner and having tho privilege of eating what is left over lit that hour. Chicago is no longer making any apologies, however. She doesn't seem to have to. If she can get rid of her smoke she need not worry about tho future much. Within ten years I expect to see some millionaires in this lake village who will make the millionaires of the present look dim and pale. The volume of business done here is hot fully appreciated, I am sure, those who have never crossed the Alleghanies. With the business ability of New York, the enterprise and local pride of San Francisco and the hearty and hospitable welcome peculiar to the south, Chicago has more elements of success than any othei city which 1 know of, aside from the matter of location and surrdundings. I notice with much pleasure that some scientist has again been successful in overtaking and roping a grip microbe by getting up early in the morning to surprise tho microbe while it was out grazing or something. Oh, how comforting it is to know that a great man, with a butterfly net with a handle to it, has deftly gathered in the little Mike as it flitted from lung to lung! Now if he could kerosene it and let it go among the other microbes his idea is that most of them would go away almost at once. Tho microbe, especially the grip microbe, is exceedingly averse to tho odor of kerosene, and I believe the day is not far distant when this plan will have driven away the parent microbes, leaving tho young to die of hunger. Dr. Ames, a young unmarried physician, went out microbing a month ago and got enough for a mess. He kept them, however, for a week or BO, giving them a fresh lung every little while to nibble on. Ho says that the microbe does not show a high order of intelligence, but may be taught to sit up on its hind legs and ask for a new lung when hungry. He says that this bacillus is smaller than the Mouse septiccfemia, which has been heretofore regarded as tho smallest bacillus known tcrthe sportsman. Professor Pfeiffer has made some very careful studies of this little microbe in Europe. He gob tho seeds, he says, from the expectorators of a crowned. head and sowed them in glycerin. He was successful in getting from these a brood of bacillus, or bacilli, rather, which convinced him at once that he could furnish an epidemic to any town on short notice at a small cost. He began to supply European physicians with epidemics on a commission for fees paid both to physicians and undertakers, and now hardly has to do a day's work once a month. He just strolls through his microbe conservatory, looking over the display, and every little while putting a feeble one on its feet again or patting the mother tenderly on the back. All of them know him now, and when they hear his footstep hundreds of them will scamper out from behind their bronchia retreat with a glad cry of welcome. left, in which a stained glass transom over each window gives a softened ef- tect to tho light. From the dining room an arch, closed by a portiere, opens upon a conservatory, and beside this is the "den" of the humorist himself. For dignity's sake it might bo culled a private library. The second floor is given up entirely to bedrooms, bathroom and closets, and to every one, tho closets included, a window admits abundant light. Tho third floor is "in tho roof," as architects say; that is, it takes up the available space, which furnishes very commodious servants' quarters. There is also an elegantly lighted studio in the tower, and from tho balcony ono overlooks a splendid view of hill and dale, the Broad river roaring below, the Biick shoals and tho Blue Ilidgo mountains. Although tho structure is a two story one, tho slop;? of tho ground gives the basement u lino light on one side, and there is a 10 by 19 billiard room. The rest of the basement is taken up by furnace, fuel loom and storeroom. He Hadn't, It Seemed. Dumley—I've been to see Miss Vere at least two dozen times within the last six weeks and have never succeeded in finding her in. Sharpleigh—Well, I should think bj this time you would have succeeded in finding her out.—Detroit Free Press (iii'lii Not Wauled. Mother—Why don't you want to take your little sister coasting- with you? Little Boy—Girls isn't any good a coasting. Every time they strikes th bumper an gem thrown up in the air ai upset an run into they cries.—Gooc News. We visited Eockford, 111., the other day, but when we left we v/ere more so. Rockford is a charming town, and when she gets her new hotel completed the necessity of taking a tent when visiting the place will have been obviated. I have been gladdened the past year by noting, not only privately but even in the press, the fact that American hotels were improving every day. But Rockford has an inn at the present time that would give the cave dwellers rheumatism, paresis and cockroaches. How an old established hotel can drift away into such a 1 state of stale, senile and soapless gloom I do not know. -It is as sad as it is to go and look upon the •wreck of a great man whose digestion has outlived his thinker. What can be sadder than a large hotel in the hands of a receiver and a cockroach? What can cast a bigger gloom than a dark and forbidding hotel with tho bouquet of bygone cabbage in every corridor and a low order of animal life sharing one's room, but refusing to share lie cost? Our IJaby. would then be able to get the certificate from biin, as ho wusdruuk, wbeu 1 saw a gentle- mau in a light coat—I did not kuow it was Fitzgerald—couie up to him and hail a cab for him. 1 saw there was nothing more to bo doue at that time, so, iu despair, went home and waited for the next day, in fear lest he should carry out his determination. Nothing, however, turned up, and 1 was beginning to think that Whyte had abandoned his purpose, when 1 heard that be bad been murdered iu the hansom cab, I was ia great fear lest the umrriag* certiflcate would but "He has his grandmother's eyes and his ifrwidpapa's nose."— Chicago is so well provided with ex- ellent hotels that places like Aurora and Rockford, within a short ride from he city, are apt to sutler. 1 was afraid at one time that Aurora might get the Democratic convention, and I knew that ;ho Bishop House could not accommodate those who would naturally come. We were there this winter. I- had a cupboard there at two dollars per day, and my copartner had the rotunda ;hereof at the same price. We had to step into the hall to brush our hair, but there wus a radiator in my room that would have heated the Auditorium. It was cue of those radiators that seems to have pulmonary difficulty during the day and then to sit up and rivet itself during the night. Wo could not get tea in the dining room because some people i had come from a neighboring town to hear our oratorio, and that filled tlio dining room so that wo could not get in. But Aurora will certainly have a hotel with more room some day. She is too good a business town to suffer that way for very long. Chicago is getting ready for the contention, and I judge will not lie awake iights thinking about where she will put her guests. Excellent hotels have been added to the list in the past few years, and older ones have been refitted and refurnished throughout and ashes placed on the sidewalk in front of each entrance, Refinement is noticeable everywhere. The arm is not inserted m the finger bowl so far now, even on the West Side, as it was five years ago, and it is no unconimoti thing to see a guejjt, WRITING UP THE DINNER. Dr. Pfeiffor has not yet succeeded in finding out how to kill this microbe, but says that the close, confined air and dampness of the grave are very injurious to the health of the grip microbe. Now, if he can arrange it so that the patient and the microbe may occupy separate graves, so that one will not have to wait for the other, Dr. Pfeiffer will have strode a great big scientific stride. What Then? Parson Baxter—I'se mighty sorry to heab. dat you and your wife keeps on a fight-in like cats and dogs. Sam Johnsiiig—I'se mighty sorry myself, but dar'a no help for hit. I has prayed to de Lawd about me and my wife—dat one ob us be tucken away. Parson Baxter—'Sposen de Lawdheahs yer prar and one ob you be taken away —what don? Sam Johnsing—Ef de Lawd heahs my prar and one ob us is tucken away, den I'se gwine ter move to Washington and marry a white woman.—Texas Siftings. Ogves Made, Not Born. "See those boys at their innocent play." said Mr. Oldtime, as he passed the school house and noticed the boys snowballing each other. "See them, how happy they are! Oh, I like boys, j"— and then, as a snowball hit him in the back of the head, he added, "I feel as though I would relish about nine of them on toast, just now!"—Boston News. . Delicate. Wife—Nothing for me? Then you have forgotten that this ia my - - - " Only I

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