The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on June 3, 1896 · Page 7
Get access to this page with a Free Trial

The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, June 3, 1896
Page 7
Start Free Trial

"At the house of Mirepoix, the glover," I answered, coldly, "in the Hue Platrierc. Do you know him? You do. Well, she was kept there a prisoner, until we helped her to escape ati hour or so ago." He did not seem to comprehend even then. I could see little of his face, but there was doubt and wonder in his tone when he spoke. "Mirepoix, the glover," he murmured. "He is an honest man enough, though a Catholic. She wr.a kept there! Who kept her there?" "The abbess of the Ursulines seems to have been at the bottom of it," I explained, fretting with impatience. This wonder was misplaced, I thought; and time was passing. "Mme. d'O found out where she was," I continued, "and took her home, and then sent me to fetch you, hearing you had crossed the river. That is the story in brief." "That woman sent you to fetch me?" be repeated again. "Yes," I answered, anf,»Hy. "Shedid, M. de Pavannes." "Then," he said, slowly, and with an air of solemn conviction which could not but impress me, "there is a trap laid for me! She is the worst, the most wicked, the vilest of women!" If she sent you, this is a trap! And my wife has fallen into it already I Heaven help her—and me—if it be so!" CHAPTER VIII. THE PARISIAN MATINS. There arc some statements for which it is impossible to be prepared; statements so strong and so startling that it is impossible to .answer them except by action—by a blow. And this of M. de Pavannes was one of these. If there had been anyone present, I think I should have given him the lie and drawn upon him. But alone with him at midnight in the shadow near the bottom of the Eue des Fosses, with no witnesses, with every reason to feel friendly towards him, what was I to do? As a fact, I did nothing. I stood, silent and stupefied, waiting to hear more. He did not keep rne long. "She is my wife's sister," he continued, grimly. "But I have no reason to shield her on that account! Shield her? Had you lived at.court only a month I might shield her all I could, M. de Caylus, it would avail nothing. Not Mme. de Sauves is better known. And I ^would no£,if I could! I know well, though iny wife will not believe it, that there is nothing s^ near Mme. d'O's heart as to get rid of her sister and me—of both of us—that she may succeed to Madeleine's inheritance! Oh, yes, I had good grounds for being nerv- oiis yesterday, when my -wife did not return," he added, excitedly. "But there at least you wrong Mme. d'O!" I cried, shocked and horrified by an accusation which seemed to me much more dreadful in the silence and gloom—and withal so much less preposterous-than it might have seemed in the daylight. "There you certainly wrong her! For shame! M. de Pavan- nes." \ He came a step nearer, and laying a hand on my sleeve peered into my face. "Did you see a priest with her?", he asked, slowly. "A man called the coadjutor—a down-looking dog?" I said—with a shiver of dread, a sudden revulsion of feeling, born of his manner—that I had. And I explained the part the priest had taken. "Then," Pavannes rejoined, "I am right. There is a trap laid for me. The abbess of the Ursulines! She ab-. duct my wife ? Why. she is her dearest friend, believe me. It is impossible She would be more likely to save her from danger than to—Humph! wait a minute." I did; I waited, dreading what he might discover, until he muttered, checking himself; "Can that be it? Can it be that the abbess did know of some danger threatening us, and would have put Madeline in a safe retreat? I wonder!" And I wondered; and then —well, thoughts are like gunpowder. The least spark will fire a train. His words were few, but they formed spark enough to raise such a flare in my brain as for a moment blinded me and shook me so that I trembled, The shock over, I was left face to face with a.,pos' sibility of wickedness such as I could never have suspected of myself. 1 remembered Mirepoix' distress and the priest's eagerness, I recalled the gruff warning Bezers—even Bezers, and there was something very odd in Bezers giving a warning!—had given Mme, de Pavannes when bo told her that she would be better where she was, I thought of the wakefulness which, ? bad marked in the streets, the signs ip! coming strife, and contrasted these with the quietude and seeming safety of Mirepoix' house; and J " - 1 "" asked Pavannes at what time he had been arrested. "About an hour before midnight," be cnswered. . "Then you know nothing of what is happening?" I replied quickly. "Why, even while we are loitering here—but listen!" . . . And with all speed, stammering min my haste and anxiety, I told w< Jwhat I had noticed in the streets, and the hints I had beard, and I showed - badges with, wbicfe His manner when he bad heard me out frightened me still more. He drew me on in a kind of fury to a house in the windows of which some lighted candles bad appeared riot a minute before. "The ring!" he cried, "let me see tlw ring! Whose is it?" He held up my hand to this chance light and we looked at the ring. It was a heavy gold signet, with one curious characteristic: it had two faces. On one of these was engraved the letter "H," a.nd above it a crown. On the. other was an eagle with outstretched wings. Pavannes let my hand drop and leaned against the wall in sudden despair. "It is the duke of Guise's," he muttered. "It is the eagle of Lorraine." "Ha!" said 1 softly, seeing light. The cluke was the idol then, as later, of the I'arisian populace, and I understood now why the citizen soldiers hod shown nie such respect. They had taken me tor the duke's envoy and confidant. But I saw no further. Pavsnnes did, uud murmured bitterly: " We may say our prayers, we Huguenots. That is our death warrant. To-morrow night there will not be one left in Paris, lad. Guise has his father's death to avenge, i>nd these cursed Parisians will do bis bidding like the wolves they are! The Baron de Eosny warned us of this, word for word. I would to Heaven we had taken his ad vice I" "Stay!" I cried—he was going too fast for me—"stay!" His monstrous conception, though it marched some •way with my own suspicions, outran them far! I saw no sufficient grounds for it. "The king—the king would not permit such a thing, M, de Pavannes," argued. "Boy, you are blind!" he rejoined, impatiently, for'he now saw all and I nothing. "Yonder was the duke of Anjou's captain -T- monsieur's officer, the follower of France's brother, mark you! And he—he obeyed the duke's g! The duke has a free ha.nd tonight, and he hates us. And the river. Why are we not to cross the river? The king indeed! The Icing has undone us. He has sold us to his brother and the Guises. Va chasser 1* Idole"—for the second time I heard the quaint phrase, which I lea.rned afterwards was an an- ngram of the king's name, Charles de Valois, used by Protestants as a password—"Va chasser 1' Idole has betrayed us! I remember the very •words- he used to the admiral: 'Now we'have got you here we shall not let you go so easily!' Oh, the traitor! Thewretehed traitor!" He leaned against the wall, overcome by the horror of the conviction which had burst upon him, and unnerved by the imminence of the peril. At all times he was an unready man, I fancy, more fit, courage apart, for the college than the field; and now he gave way to despair. Perhaps the thought of his wife unmanned him. Perhaps the excitement through which he had already gone tended to stupefy him, or the suddenness of the discovery. At any rate I wasHhe first to gather my wits together, and my earliest impulse was to tear into two parts a white handkerchief I had in my pouch, and fasten one to his sleeve, the other in his hat, in rough imitation of the badges I wore myself. It will appear from this that I no longer trusted Mme. d'O. I was not convinced, it is true, of her conscious guilt, still I did not trust her entirely. "Do not wear them on your return," she had said and that Avas odd; although I could not yet believe that she was such a siren as Father Pierre had warned us of, telling tales from old poets. Yet I doubted, shuddering as J did so. Her companionship with that vile priest, the strange eagerness to secure Pavannes' return, her mysterious direction^ to me, her anxiety to take her sister home—home, where she would be exposed to danger, as being in a known Huguenot's house—these things pointed to but one conclusion; still that one was so horrible that I would not, even while I doubted and distrusted her, I would not, I could not accept it, I put it from me, and refused to believe it, although during the rest of that night it kept coming to me and knock* ing for admission at my brain. All this flashed through my mind while I was fixing on Pavannes' badges, Not that I lost time about it, for from the moment I grasped the position as he conceived it, every minute we bad wasted on explanation seemed to me an hour. I reproached myself for having forgotten even for an instant that wbieb had brought ns to town—the rescue of Kit's lover, We had small chance now of reaching him in time, misled as we bad been by this miserable mistake in identity. If wy compan? ion's fears were well founded, Lbnis would fall in the general massacre o| the Huguenots, probably before wo could reach him. If Unfounded, still we had small reason to hope. Bezers 1 vengeance would not wait. I knew him too well to think it. A Guise might spare bis foe, but the Yidame—the Vidaroe never! He had warned Mme, de Pa/vannes, it was true; bnt that abnormal exercise of benevolence could only, I cynically thought, have*the more exasperated the; devil within hi** 1 * which now would be ravening like a dog disappointed of its victual?. between the tall helves, and la! tfoe dawn was coming 1 . It Wanted scarcely half im hou? Of daylight, (hough down in the dark streets about us the night, still reigned. Yes, the morning was comingj bright and hopeful, and the city was quiet. There were no signs, no sounds of riot or disorder. SureljN I thought, surely Pavannes must bo mistaken. Either the plot had never existed, that was most likely, or it hail been abandoned, or perhaps—Crack! A pistol shot! Short, sharp, ominous,it rang out on the instant,a solitary sound in the night! It was somewhere near us, and I stopped. I had been speaking to aiy companion at the moment. "Where was it?" T dried, looking behind me. "Close to us. Near the Louv.-e," he answered, listening intently. "See! See! Ah,.'heavens!" he continued in o, voice of despair, "it was a signal!" It was. One, two, three! Before J could count so far, lights sprang into brightness in the windows of nine out of ten houses in the short, street where we stood, as if lighted by a single hand. Before too I could count as many more or ask him what this meant, before, indeed, we could speak or stir from the spot, or think what, we should do, with a hurried clang and clash, as if brought into motion by furious, frenzied hands, a great bell just above our heads bepra.n to boom and whirr! It "Wo are doomed." hurled its notes into space. It suddenly filled all the silence. It dashed its harsh sounds down upon the trexnbling city, till the air heaved and the houses about us rocked. It made in an instant a pandemonium of -foe quiet night. We turned and hurried instinctively from the place, crouching and amazed, looking upwards with bent shoulders and scared faces. "What is it? What is it?" I cried, half in resentment, half in terror. It deafened me. "The bAl of St.Germainl'Auxerrois!" he shouted in answer. "The Church of the Louvre. It is as I said. We are doomed!" . "Doomed? No! " I replied fiercely, for my courage seemed to rise again on the wave of sound and excitement as if rebounding from the momentary shock. -"Never! We wear the devil's livery, and he will look after his own. Draw, man, and let him that stops us look to himself. You know the way. Lead on!" I cri'ed, savagely. lie caught the infection and drew his sword. . So we started boldly, and the result justified my confidence. We looked, no doubt, as like murderers as any who were abroad that night. Moving in this desperate guise we hastened up that street and into another — still pursued by the din and clangor of the bell—and then a short distance along a third. We were not stopped or addressed by anyone, though numbers, increasing each moment as door after door opened, and we drew nearer to the heart of the commotion, were hurrying in the same direction, side by side with us; and though in front, where now and again lights gleamed on a mass of weapons, or on white eager faces, filling some alley from wall to wall, we heard the roar of voices rising and falling like the murmur of an angry sea. All was blurr, hurry, confusion, tumult. Yet I remember, as we pressed onwards with the stream and part of it, certain sharp outlines. I caught here and there a glimpse of a pale scared face at a window, a half-clad form at a door, of the big, wondering eyes of n child held up to see us pass, of a Christ at a corner ruddy in the smoky glare of & link, of a woman armed, and in man's clothes, who walked some distance side by side with us, and led off a ribald song. I retain a memory of these things; of brief bursts of light and long intervals of darkness, and always, as we tramped forwards, my band on Pavannes' sleeve, of an ever-growing tumult in front— an ever-rising flood of noise. At last we came to a standstill where a side street ran out of ours, Into this the hurrying throng tried ' to wheel, and, unable to do BO, halted, and pressed about the head of the street, which was already full to overflowing; and so fought with hungry eyes for places whence they might look down it. Pavannes and I struggled only to get through the crowd^- to get onj but the efforts of those Behind partly aid' ing and partly thwarting « ur PWB» presently forced us to ft position whence we could not avoid seeing what was afoot. street— this side Street-' was with light. From, end to end every gable, every hatchment was glowing, every window was flickering in the glare of torches, ft was paved, too, with faces — human faces, yet scarcely human— all looking one way, all looking upward; and the noise, as from time to time this immense crowd groaned or 'howled in unison, like a wild beast in its fury, was so ap- since. For there Is n6lh!»g 1ft Ifee world so dreadful as that bfnie tifett'Bl- we cal) the canaille, when the fehain is off and its cowardly soul is {•bused. Near our end of the street a group of horsemen, rising island-like from the seft of heads, sat motionless in their saddles about a gateway. They were silent, taking 1 no notice of the rioting flenda shouting at their girths, but watching in grim quiet what was passing within the gates. They were handsomely dressed, although some wore corselets over their satin coats 6r lace above buff jerkins. 1 could even at that distance see the jewels gleam in the bonnet of one ivho seemed to be their leader. • He was in the center of the band, a very young man. perhaps 20 or SI, of most splendid presence, sitting his horse superbly. He Wore a gray riding coat, and was a head taller than" any of his companions. Theic was pride in the very air with which his horse bore him. I did not need to ask Pa.vannes who he wasi I knew that he was the D.uVe of Guise, and that the house before Which he stood was Coligny's. I knew \vhnt was being done there. And in the same moment I sickened with horror and rage. 1 had a vision of gray hairs and. blood and fury scarcely human. And T. rebelled. I bottled with the rabble about me. 1 forced my way through them tooth and nail after 'Pavannes, intent only on escaping, only on getting away, from there. And so we neither halted nor looked back until we were clear of the crowd and had leffc the blaze of light and the work doing by it. way behind IIS. We found ourselves then in the mouth oE an obscure alley which my companion whispered would bring ur; to his house; and there we paused to ta.ko breath and look back. The sky \vas red behind us, the air full of the clash and din of the tocsin, and the flood of sounds which poured from every tower and steeple. From the eastward came the rattle of drums and random shots, and shrieks of "A bas •C'oligny!" "A Lias les Huguenots!" Meanwhile tfie city was rising as one man, pale ar, this dread awakening. From every window men and women, frightened by the uproar, were craning their necks, asking or answering questions or hurriedly calling for and kindling- tapers. But as yet the general populace seemed to be taking no active part in the disorder. Pavannes raised his hat an instant as we stood in the shadow of the houses. "The noblest man in France is dead," he said, softly and reverently. "God rest his soul! 'They have had their way with him and killed him like a dog-. He was an old man, and they did not spare him! A noble, and they have called in the canaille to tear him. But be sure, my friend"—and as the speaker's tone changed and grew full and proud, his form seemed to swell with it --"be sure the eruel shall not live out half their days! No. He that takes the knife shall perish by the knife! And go to bis own place! I shall not see it, but you will!" His words made no great impression on me then. My hardihood was returning. I v.-as throbbing with fierce excitement, and tingling for the fight. But years afterwards, when the two who stood highest in the group about Coligny's threshold died, the one at 38 ajid the other at 35—when Henry of Guise and Henry of Valois died within six months &f one another by the assassin's knife—I remembered Pavannes' augury. And remembering it, I read the ways of Providence, and saw that the very audacity of which Guise took advantage to entrap Coligny led him in his turn to trip smiling and bowing a comfit box in his hand and the kisses oC his mistress clamp on his lips, into a king's closet—a king's closet at Blois! Led him to lift the curtain—ah! to lift the curtain—what Frenchman does not know the tale?—behind wthich stood the admiral! To return to our own fortunes; after brothers efater, Were they still in the house? Were they safe? I had been nway an hour at least. Anxious as 1 was about them I looked around me very keenly us we flitted across the road and knocked gently at the door. I thought it so likely that fNE What Ho oftd% tot tlw fnffftft* III* If farmed would make a study ttf' natural history and Its bearings their property — tho relation of u hurried glance we pursued our way, nrid sped through the alley, holding a brief consultation os we went. Pavan- nes' first hasty instinct to seek shelter at borne began 10 lose its force, and he to consider whether his return would not endanger his wife. The mob might be expected to spare her, he argued, Her death would not benefit any private foes if he escaped. He was for keeping away, therefore. But I would not agree to this, The priest's crew of desperadoes—assuming Pavan- nes' suspicions co be correct—would wait some time, no doubt, to give the master of the house a chance to return, but would certainly attack sooner or later out of greed, if for no other motive. Then the ladv's fate would at the best be uncertain. I was anxious uiy- {.elf to rejoin my brothers, and take oil future chances, whether of saving our Louis, or escaping ourselves, with them, United we should be four good swords, and might ut least protect Mme, de Pavannes to a place of safety, if no opportunity of succoring Louis would present itself. We bad too, the duke's ring, and this might be of service at a pinch. "No," I urged, "Jet us get together. We two will slip in at the front gate and bolt and bar it, and then we will all escape in a body at the ba,cl?, whlie they are forcing the gateway," "There is no door at the back," h« answered, shaking his bead, "Tbere are windows." "They aye too strongly barred. We could nlot break out in time," be exr plained with a groan. I paused ft t that, crestfallen, danger quickened my wits. In a palling, that I clutched, Pav§ nnes' on4 clung to hiin i» momentary terror | do. ujot wonder now that I quailed sometimes | have heard, ment j bad another plan, not so hopeful ami niore dangerous, yet worth, trying, J thought, I told Him of it, and he agreed to it, As he nodded^ assent we merged into a street, an4 j saw—for the gray light pf morning- waf beginning to penetrate between tiEe kQuse$*-that we were only a- few pr4« ftps* tb$ gatewf y ( a»4 tfee spall 40,04? by which, I bad seen we should be fallen upon here, that t stood on my guard while we waited but we were not molested. The street, being at some distance from the center if the commotion, was still and empty, with no signs of life apparent, except the rows of heads poked through the windows—all possessing eyes which watched us heed fully and in per feet silence. Yes, the street was quite empty; except, ah! except, for that lurking figure, which, even as I spied it, shot around a distant angle of the wall and was lost to sight! "There!" I cried, reckless now who might hear me. "knock! knock louder! never mind the noise. The alarm is given. A score of people are watching us, and yonder spy has gone off to summon his friends." The truth was my anger was rising. 1 could bear no longer the silent regards of all those eyes at the windows. 1 writhed under them—crul, pitiless eyes they were. I read in them n morbid curiosity, a patient antici; sit.ion that drove me wild. Those men and women gazing on us so stonily knew my companion's rank and faith. They had watched him riding in and out daily, one of the sights of their street, gay and gallant; and now with the same eyes they were watching greedily for the butchers to come. The very children took a fresh interest in him, as one doomed and dying; and waited panting for tha show to begin. So I read them. "Knock!" 1 repeated, angri : ; , losing all patience. Had I been ioolish in bringing him back to this part of the town where every soul knew him? "Knock; we must get in, whether or no. They cannot all have left the house!" I kicked the door desperately, and my relief was great when it opened. A servant with a pale face stood before me, his knees visibly shaking. And behind him was Croisette. 1 think we fell straightway into one another's arms. "And Marie," 1 cried. "Marie?" "Marie is within, and madame," he answered, joyfully: "we are together again and nothing matters. But oh, Anne, where have you been ? And what is the matter? Is it a great fire? Or is the king dead ? Or what is it?" I told him. I hastily poured out some of the things which had happened to me, and some which I feared were in store for others. Naturally he was surprised and shocked by the latter, though his fears had already been aroused. But his joy and relief, when he heard the mystery of Louis de Pa- vannes' marriage explained, were so great that they swallowed up all other feelings. He could not say enough about it. He pictured Louis again and again as Kit's lover, as our old friend, our companion; as true, stanch, brave, without- fear, without reproach; and it was long before his eyes ceased to sparkle, his tongue to run merrily, the color to mantle in his cheeks—long that is as time is counted by minutes. But presently the remembrance of Louis' danger and our own position returned more vividly. Our plan for rescuing him had failed—failed! "No! no!" cried Croisette, stoutly. He would not hear of it. He would not have it at any price. "Xo, we will not give up hope! We will go shoulder to shoulder and find him. Louis is as brave as a lion and as quick as a weasel. We will find him in time yet. We will go when—I mean as soon as—" He faltered and paused. His sudden silence, as he looked around the empty forecourt in which we stood was eloquent. The cold light, faint and uncertain yet, was stealing in the court, disclosing a row of stables on either side, and a tiny porter's butch by the gates, and fronting us a noble house of four stories, tall, gray, grim-look-. 'ng. 1 assented, gloomily,however. "Yes," 1 said, "we will go when—'* And I too stopped. The same thought was in my mind. How could we leave these people? How could we leave madame in her danger and distress? How could we return her kindness by desertion? We could not. No, not for Kit's sake. Because, after all, L'ouis, our Louis, was a man, and must take his chance. He must take his chance. But 1 groaned. So that was settled, I bad already explained our plans to Croisette; and now ns we waited he began to tell me a story, a long, confused etory about Mme. d'O. I thought he was talking for the sake of talking—to keep up our spirits—and I did sot attend much to him, so that he had not reached the gtst of it, or at least I had not grasped ft, when a noise without stayed bis tongue. It was the tramping of footsteps, apparently of a large party in Ihe street. It forced him to break off, and promptly drove us all to our posts. 3ut before we separated a slight figure, hardly noticeable in the dim, uncertain light, passed me quickly, 1*7* ing for an instant a soft band in mine as I stood waiting at the gates. I hare said I scHrceJy saw the figure, though I did eee the kind, timid eyes, and the pale cheeks under the hood; but I bent over the band and kissed it, and ?elt, truth to tell, no more regret nor doubt where our duty Jay, But stood waiting patiently. (Continued next week.) R. H. Woodward Company, Baltimore. Md., announce a new book, 'Story of Spain and puba." This book is written by Mr. Nathan C. Green, the well-known author and former resident of Cuba. It is beautifully illustrated with nearly 100 engravings and is sold by subscription. to their hen coops, fur would be better paying crops. The Year Book of the department 01 agriculture tells about cow block* birds and what they eat. About of their stomachs have been ( and of these 2,258 contained food. birds were killed in 20 states. Fofty^ eight per cent, of the food wa« animal,. 48 per cent, vegetable and four per cent. was mineral. The blackbird has a. variety of things it cats. "The nnimal food," says the report., "consisted of insects, spiders, myrin- pods (thousand legs), crawfish, cartlti worms, Bowbugs, hair snakes, snails., fishes, tree toads, salamanders (newts)*, lizards, snakes, birds' eggs ami mice."' To tihese might have been added yotiiijf birds, fish cast up by the tide, minnows, caught while swimming in shallow water, and probably meat and carrion of various kinds. Most of the animal lood is, of course, insects. These constitute 40 per cent, of the total, the other two per cent, being the larger things, like mice. The a.nimal food is- taken mostly in the summer. In whiter the food is mostly vegetable matter.. The insects the bird kills more than, make up the damage lie does/pspecially as his nest robbing appears 1o be only an accidental habit not often indulged; in. A large flock of the birds would or course destroy a lot of grain. Some 1 50,000 would eat about 3,000 pounds jl day, but they would consume as many insects, which would more than destroy the amount the birds do. FIVE MAMMALS. "Wild Animals That Inhabited England In. Former Times. The beaver is one of the five main-- malian animals that have inhabited: England in former times, and have become o::tinct within historic record,nc- cording to Notes and Queries. They are the true brown bear, (Ursns. arctos), the beaver, (Castor liber), the' reindeer, (Tarandus rangifer), the wild:, boar, (Sus scrofa), and the wolf, (Corns-, lupus). The bear was ubtmdont in the- north of England and in Scotland when- this country was in the hands of the* Romans, and many Caledonian bears= were imported into Eotne. They disappeared altogether in about 750. The beaver was numerous in some' localities in the north of Wales in «4O' and again in 1188. There are records of them much later in Scotland. Reindeer were abundant in Scotland!,, and were hunted in Caithness in the- year 1159. Wild boars were numerous when* large tracts of wood gav% them harbor. They were hunted by the Tudors. They certainly existed in the year 1617, and.' probably much later. The wolf in England disappeared 1 about 1490. In Scotland wolves were numerous in 1577. According to Pennant, they ber- came extinct in 1CSO. STILL USING FLINTLOCKS. Sewing machines and cheap at; J. P- Winkers. organs veyy 32-85 We h$ye what you want •M. A Now Brunswick Storekeeper Says Hia< Patrons Musft Have Them. Some regions aire rather slow to adapt- themselves to modern game-killing' implements. A Forest and Stream correspondent got a letter from New Brunswick the other day which uaiiL that flintlock guns were still in use -ui>< in that eouiitry. The letter was from: a store keeper, who said that the store- had carried a supply of gun flints ever since it. had been started by his grandfather, away back i» 1830. Probably he would lose trade if he did nothavo- them, in stock. It is not improbable' that Indians in the North Woods of Canada still use flintlock guns, but to- use them so near New York as is New Brunswick is curious. A fllintloek gun, beside a modern! hammerless gun, makes a contrast apt to be remembered. It has been proposed more than onoe that sportsmen, instead of using such deadly weapons, as modern guns, take up the old bow and arrow, or some other primitive weapon.. The sportsmen -that had killed a modern deer with that ancient weapon could say that he was as good a hunter a»: anybody. There are few or none that: can boast of such a kill. Fiji Islanders All Get Married. An unmarried man or woman of marriageable age is something that is rarely seen in the Fiji islands. The reason of this is not far to seek. The natives; believe that if a person dies while in an unmarried state his or her soul is- doomed to wander about through endless ages of eternity in an intermediate region between Heaven and hades, At the end of each moon they are allowed) to look into Heaven, but are never permitted to en/ter. Kingly Monarch, The only European monarch who pos*- sesses the ideal kingly dignity is jftag" Oscar. He is a very tall and very band*some man, with a graceful and easjr carriage and faultless bearing, Adc| to this a felicitous memory fox and faces, a fluent command of six la»-r guages, a striking courtliness of injgiv ner, and the secret of his popularity ?* revealed. 1,'rpua Sister, It is always pleasant to see a radiantly happy over her brother's cess. An exchange reports on insta^^; May—Just think, Bob is playto^ CKB» the Yale football team! Clarii—That's jolly. Whirt is he, back or quarter-back? May—Neither. He's @ Charley Prnyenne says he's eet drawback the team eve? fead> An enterprising proposes tst esta cojnpany" there, to, this company will be,

What members have found on this page

Get access to

  • The largest online newspaper archive
  • 11,200+ newspapers from the 1700s–2000s
  • Millions of additional pages added every month

Try it free