Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 August 1894 — Page 3

UNITED AT LAST

CHAPTER XXI. A RAPID THAW. Sir Cyprian Davenant had ridden to Totteridge several times after his discovery of Mrs. Walsingham’s connection with the village as tenant of that small and unpretending house with the green shutters, glass door and square plot of garden. It was his habit to put up his horse at the inn, and go for a stroll while the animal rested after his midday feed, and in these rambles he had made the acquaintance of the nurse and baby at the green-shuttered house. The nurse was a German girl, fatfaced, good-natured and unintelligent. Sir Cyprian won her heart at the outset by addressing her in her native language, which she had not heard since she came to England, and in the confidence inspired by his kind manners and excellent G*erman she freely imparted her affairs to the stranger. Mrs. Walsingham had hired her in Brussels, and brought her home as nurse to the little girl, whose previous nurse had been dismissed for bad conduct in that city. “Mrs. Walsingham’s little girl?” inquired Sir Cypriau. “No. The darling was an orphan, the daughter of a poor cousin of Mrs. Walsingham who had died in Vienna, and the kind lady had brought the little one home, and was going to bring her up as her own child. Sir Cyprian heard and was doubtful. He had* his own theory about this baby, but a theory which he would not for worlds have imparted to any one. He got on quite familiar terms with the Tittle one by and by. She was a chubby, rosy infant of about fifteen months old, with brown eyes and fair complexion, and hair that made golden-brown rings upon her ivory forehead. She made frantic efforts to talk, but at present only succeeded in being loquacious in a language of her own. She was quite ready to attach herself to the wandeiing stranger, fascinated by his watch-chains and seals. “What is her name?” asked Sir Cyprian. “Clara, but we always call her ‘Baby.’ ”

“Clara? That’s only her Christian name. She has a surname, I suppose?” The nurse maid supposed as much also, but had never heard any surname, nor the profession of the little dear’s father, nor any details of the father and mother. Mrs. Walsingham wa, a lady who talked very little, but she seemed extremely fond of Baby. She came to see her twice a week, and sometimes stayed all day, playing with her, and superintending her dinner, and carrying her about the garden. On the morning after that interview with James Wyatt Sir Cyprian yode over to Totteridge and*put up his horse, as usual, at the inn. The nurse had told him that Mrs. Walsingham was to be at the cottage to-day, and he had spec'al reasons for wishing to see that lady. He might have called upon her in Half-Moon street, of course, but he preferred to see her in Baby s establishment. if possible. It was noon when he walked up and down the pathway before the cottage, waiting for Mrs. Walsingham’s arrival, a bright winter day, with a blue sky and a west wind. He had exchanged greeting with Baby already, that young lady saluting him from the nursery window with vivacious flourishes of her pink arms. The church clock had not long struck twelve when Mrs. Walsingham’s neat b 'oughatn drove up. She opened the door and let herself out, and had scarcely stepped into the pathway when she recognized Sir Cyprian. _ She turned very pale, and made .a little movement, as if she would have gone back to her carriage, but Sir Cyprian advanced, hat in hand, to greet her. “You have not forgotten me I hope, Mrs. Walsingham?” • Sir Cyprian Davenant. I think?" “Yes; I had the pleasure of meeting you more than three years ago at the Star and Garter. ” “I remember per'ectly. You have been in Africa since then. I have read some notices of your adventures there. lam glad to see you s o little the worse for them. And now I must bid you go:d mo.mng. I have to see some people he - e. You can wait at the inn, Holmes. " to the coachman. "Will you give me half an hour —a quarter of an hour’s conversation, Mrs. Walsingham?" asked Sir Cyprian. ’ She looked at him uneasily, evidently puzzled. “Upon what subject?” “Upon a matter of life and death.” “You alarm me. Have you come here on purpose to waylay me? I thought our meeting was accidental.” “Waylay is a disagreeable word; but I certainly came here this morning on purpose to see you. I am going to make an appeal to your heart, Mrs. Walsingham. I want'you to do a noble action. ” “I am afraid you have come to the wrong quarter for that commodity,” she answered, with a bitter smile, but she seemed somewhat reassured by this mode of address. "Shall we walk?” she asked, moving away from the garden gate. The wide high-road lay before them, destitute of any sign of human life, the leafless limes and chestnuts standing up against the winter sky, the far-off hills purple in the clear bright air. They would be as much alone here as within any four walls, and Mrs. Walsingham was evidently disinclined to admit Sir Cyprian into Ivy Cottage, as the house with the green shutters was called. “Have you friends here? Do you come often?” asked Mrs. Walsingham, carelessly. “I take my morning ride here occasionally, and the ether day, while resting my hotse, I made the acquaintance of your German nurse and her charge. Baby is a mo t fascinating little thing, and I take the warmest interest in her.” “What a pity my small niece is not old enough to appreciate the honor:” sneered Mrs. Walsingham. Sir Caprlan ignored the sneer.

BY MISS M E BRADBON

“My interest in that sweet little thing has given vise tea strange idea—a wild one. you will say, rerhaps—when I have explained myself. I told you that I was coming to make an appeal to your heart I come here to ask you to-lend your atd in saving the life and reason of one whom you may have deemed in seme wise your rival. Mrs. Sinclair is dying.” Mrs. Wa singham was silent “You have heard as much from some one eise, perhaps?" “I heaid that she >as seriously ill.” “And mentally afflicted?” “Yes. You do not expect me to be greatly shocked or grieved, £ hope. I never saw the lady, except in her box at the opera.” “And, being a stranger, you cannot pity her. Tnat is not following the example of the gcod Samaritan.” “If I feund her on the roadside I should try to succor her, I dare say,” answered Mrs. Walsingham; “but as her distresses do not come in my pathway, and as I have plenty of nearer demands upon my pity I can hardly be expected to make myself miserable on Mrs. Sinclair's account. No doubt she has plenty of sympathy—a husband who adores her —and the chivalrous devotion of cld admirers like yourself.” “Spare her your sneers, Mrs. Walsingham. At no moment of her married life has she been a woman to be envied. In her p.esent condition to refuse her pity would be less than human. Constance Sinclair is dying of a broken heart. “Very sad," sighed Mrs. Walsingham. “That is what you would say if one of your friends related the untimely death of a favorite lap-dog. Have you ever thought what that pnrase means, Mrs. Walsingham? People use it lightly enough. A broken heart, the slow agony of a grief that kills-a broken heart, not broken by some sudden blow, that shatters joy and life together—happy those whom sorrow slays with such merciful violence—but the slow wearing away, the dull, hope less days, the sleepless nights, th despair that eats into the soul, yet i. slow to kill—these are the agonies which we sum up lightly, irq our conventional phraseology, when we talk about broken hearts.? “Is it the loss of her baby which Mrs. Sinclair ieels so deeply?” asked Mrs. Wai Jngham, who had listened thoughtfully to Sir Cyprian’s appeal. She no longer affectel a callous indifference to her rival's grief. “Yes. That is the grief that is killing her. She has never been really happy with her husband, though she had been a good and d Aiful wile. The child bro ght her happiness. She gave it all her love. She may have erred perhaps, in concentrating her affection upon this biby, but the baby represented her world of love. When that was taken from her- suddenly without a mcment’s warning, she gave herse f up to despair. I have talked to a faith,ul servant who was with her at that bitter time, who knew her measureless love for the child. I have seen her in her grief, seen her the wreck of the joyous girl I knew three years ago. ” Mrs. Walsingham was moved. No softening tear veiled the hard brightness of her dark eyes, but her lower lip worked nervously, and her increasing pallor told of a mind deeply t oubled.

. “If her husband had by any act of I his brought her to this condition, I should call him something worse than a murderer.” said Sir Cyprian; “but badly as I think of Gilbert Sinclair. 1 can not blame him here. It is destiny that has been cruel —an inso utable Providence which has chosen to inflict this hopeless misery on the gentlest and most innocent of victims. It is very hard to understand why this should be.” “Mrs. Sinclair is not the first, " said Mrs. Walsingham. struggling against some strong fee ing. “other women have lost children they loved—only children—the idols of their “Other women have had kinder hus; bands, perhaps, to sympathize with and comlort them. Other women have had sources of consolation which Mrs. Sinclair had not. ” “She has her piety, her church, her prayer-book. I should have thougnt so pure and perfect a woman would find consolation from those. Ido not profess to be religious, or to have treasures laid up in heaven, and the loss of what I love most on earth might bring mo to madness. But Mrs. Sinclair s placid perfection should bo above such human passions. ” “She is human enough and weak enough to break her heart for the loss !of her child.” answered Sir Cyrian, I g.owing angry. “But you seem to be ; incapable of pity, and I fear I have been mistaken in appealing to you. | Yet I thought that your love for that child yonder might inspire some feeling of sympathy with an afflicted ; mother.” . “My affection for my poor little orI phan cousin—a waif thrown on my hands by miss rtune—is not a very abI sorting sentiment,” answered Mrs. I Walsingham. with languid scorn. I “So muca the better.” cried Sir Cyprian, eagerly, “for in that case you I will the easier fall in f with my plan for saving Mrs. Sinclair’s life and reason.” “You have a plan for saving her'?” “Yes, a plan recommended by her physicians, and to which her husband and her father have given their consent. In a crisis in which nothing but hope ! could save her she has been told to I hope. It has even been hinted to her that her child is still living.” Mrs. Walsingham started and looked at him wonderingly. “A cruel deception you think, but the case was desperate, i emember. The false hope has already done something. I have heard this morning' that there has been a faint rally—a nicker of returning intelligence. She remembers that she has been told t-o hope—remembers and looks forward to the realization of the promise that has been made. If we fail her now, despair will agsin take possession of her—more bitter because of this ray of light. The p’an formed by these who love her best is to give her a child to love—a child whom she will believe at first to be her own, saved from the German river, but about whiih, in time to come, when reason and st ength have returned, she may be told the truth. She will have given the little one her love by that time, and the adopted child will fill the place of the lost one. ” “A most romantic scheme, assuredly, Sir Cyprian. Aryl pray what part do you expect me to play in this domestic drama? Why choose me for your confidante?” “The little girl you have adopted is about the age of Mrs. Sinclair's baby. 1 You admit that she is not very dear to i you—a charge which you have taken I upon yourself out of charity. Let Gilbert Sinclair adopt that. child. He shall provide handsomely for her future; or, if you prefer trusting me, 1 will settle a sum of momy which you

shall approve in trust for your little 1 cousin, you yourself choosing the trustees. G.ve me that detr child, Mrs. Walsingham, and you will be the means of saving Constance Sinclair’s life.” “That child?” cried Mrs. Walslng- i ham, looking at him with wide-open eyes. “I give you that child to be I Constance Sinclair’s solace and consolation—to win Gilbert’s wife back to life ; and happiness! 1 surrender that child! You must be mad to ask it.” “Did you n<.t tell me just now that ' the child was not especially dear to you?” “She is dear to me," answered Mrs. ; Walsingham, vehemently. “I have | grown to love her. She is all I have \ in the world to love. She reminds me ' of one who once loved me. Why do ! you prate ti me of Mrs. Sinclair s lone- i line-is? She cannot be lonelier than I j am. What is there but emptiness in my heart—yet Ido not complain of a I broken heart. Ido not abandon my? j self to madness or imbecility. I bear my burden. Let he* bear hers. Give you that child, indeed! That is asking too much. ” “Pardon me, Mrs. Walsingham. I 1 thought I was talking to a woman with a noble nature, whose higher instincts I only needed to be appealed to." "It is so long since people have left off appealing to my higher instincts i that they have somewnat lost their use. Do you think, Sir Cyprian Davenant, that I have cause to love or pity or sacrifice myself for Constance Sinclair? You snould know better than that, unless you have lived all these years in this world without know.ng what kind of clay your fellow men and women are made of. I have the very strongest reason to detest Mrs. Sinclair. and Ido detest her frankly. She has done me no wrong, you will say. She has done the greatest wrong—robbed me of the man I lo e, of wealth, status, name, and place in the world. Do you think it matters to me that she was unconscious of that wrong? bhe has don ; it, and I hate her for it, and shall so hate ho? till my dying day.” “Your hatred will not reach her in the grave or follow her beyond it,” I answered Sir Cyprian. “Your pity might save her lite.” “Find some hospital brat to palm upon this distracted mother—some baby-farmer’s protegee. ” “I will find some respectably bo*n child, be sure, Mrs. Walsingham. It was only a fancy, perhaps, which led ma toprepose taking your little kin - woman. 1 counted too much upon the generosity of a disappointed rival.” And with this home thru-t, Sir Cyprian bowed and walked away, leaving the lady to her own reflections. A woman of this kind, a being swayed by passion, is often a mass of inconsistency and contradiction—now hot, now cold. At a late hour that evening Sir Cyprian received a letter, delivered by a man-servant. It was from Mrs. Walsingham. “I am the most wretched of women” —she wrote—“utterly weary of life. Mrs Sinclair may have the child. She would grow up a wretch if she grew up under my influence, for every day makes me mo.’e miserable and more bitter. What rhall I be ai an old woman? Send some trustworthy person to fetch the little girl to-morrow. I give her up to you entirely, but upon condition that Mrs. Sinclair shall never know t > whom she owe; her adopted child. May the adoption prosper! But as I hear that Mr. Sinclair is in a fair way to ruin, Ido not think that you are giving my young kinswoman a very brilliant start in life. Be this as it may, I wash my hands off her. She has not brought me happiness; and perhaps if I were to let her wind herself around my heart, it might prove by and by that I had taught a serpent to coil there. I have not too good an opinion of her blood. Yours truly, Clara Walstngham. “Half-moon street, Wednesday night.” ITO BB CONTINUED. |

A CITY OF EXTREMES.

The Very Rich and the Very Poor Make Up A Cat That Killed Snakes. “Did you ever iee a snake-killing cat?” asked a Southern gentleman the other day. “I had one once that had a regular passion for killing snakes. I was running a lumber camp in Florida. It was in a very sparsely settled county, plenty of marsh and rotten trees, and altogether an ideal retreat for snakes of all kinis. We never did know where that cat came from. It strolled into camp one day, although there was not a house within ten miles of it. The next day we found it engaged in mortal combat with a rattlesnake. The snake did not last very long. After that the cat would kilj every snake it found. It would begin by patting them softly with its paws, perhaps scratching the skin just a trifle. Its purpose seemed to be to irtate the snake to the striking point. When it rose to strike the cat would jump arcund it, and nip it in the back before the snake could turn its head. It would yank the snake by the, tail, and keep on nipping it until its back was broken in several tlaces. Then .the cat would drag the dead snake to camp with great pride, and would purr and sing in great shape. That cat kept the camp itself clear of snakes. Before that time we were almost airaid to go to sleep for them.”

Where Widows Are Not Loved.

Among the many sad things con-' nected with the lives of women in India nothing is more pitiable than the state of the poor widows. A widow is regarded by all her husband's family as the cause, more or less direct, of his death, and is treated with dislike and often with great harshness and severity. Therefore the death of a young wife before her husband is a cause of great rejoicing among his friends that she has thus escaped lhe trials of widowhood. The prayer of every girl before marriage and of every girl and woman after marriage is that she may never become a widow. The preservation of a husban 1 s health is a matter of the greatest importance, and on a certain day of the year a special religious ceremony is performed with this end in view. Offerings are made at the temples, money is given to the priests, fastings undergone and vows performed for the preservation of a husband’s health and life. When he is ill the wife removes her jewels, puts on coarse clothing and devotes herself to prayer. If he dies her woe at oncu begins.

A Science of Old Shoes.

A French savant has invented a nen science which he terms scarpology, whereby he proposes to diagnosticate mental qualities from the appearance of the ghees worn by the subject. He claims that shoes that have been worn are full of faithful indications as to lack of energy, fickleness, bad temper, or the opposite qualities, as the ca e may be. If the sole and heel of a shoe, after months’ wear, are equally worn, the owner is an energetic business man, an employe feat can be relied on, a good wife or excellent mother. If the outside edge is most worn, the owner is adventurous to rashness and of a bold and persistent turn of mind. Wear of the inside edge indicates irresolution and weakness in man ani> modesty in woman. The meek enjoy almost a perpetual SaWatb i

INDIANA STATE NEWS.

OCCURRENCES DURING THE PAST WEEK. T An Interesting Summary of the More Important Doings of Our Neighbors—Weddings and Deaths—Crime*. Casualties and General Nows Notes of the State. Hoosier Happenings D. M. Turner. New Ross, was thrown from a buggy, and seriously injured Eagletown will hold its twenty- I fourth annual old settlers’ meeting, i August 11. , A Bedford mechanic has invented a machine which makes 100 stone bricks a minute from limestone slabs. A sawmill boiler exploded at Pop- j lar Grove, and William Williams was ■ killed. Two other men were seriously injured. Caleb Linsey, aged 70, was killed while crossing a railroad bridge at Eames, six miles east of Boonville, on the Air Line. < Great Western Pottery Works, Kokomo, employing 300 men. and the Brookside Canning Factory, working fiOO hands, have resumed operations. Earl, tne 15-year-okl son of William Yenkey, a wealthy farmer, living-nine miles east of Lebanon, was kicked by a horse and fatally injured, Walter, the 13-year old son of Thomas Scroggins of Morgantown, while playing in a wheat bin in an elevator was caught in a chute and suffocated. Louis Heibler of the Soldiers’ Home, was run over and killed by a passenger train near the depot at Gas City. He was a member of Company G. Fifty-ninth Indiana Infantry. ; The Bedford Fair and Trotting Association meeting opens Sept. 17. Three thousand dollars will be offered in the speed department. Mr. Frank Owens has succeeded Frank O. Stannard as secretary of the association. I Robert Cunningham and Thomas Slattery, two young men of Crawfordsville, were driving at a high rate of speed along a dark road, when suddenly they collided with a sawlog wagon with terrific force. Slattery’s brains were dashed out, and Cunningham received injuries from which he died. Will Sherry, who recently came to Anderson from Dayton, Ohio, was horribly mangled in the Anderson paper mill. He lost his looting while oiling the engine and was thrown into a big fan that caught h,m on the arms and breast. When rescued his arms, hands, and fa e were hacked almost into mincemeat. At the village of Arlington, on the C , H. <fc I. R. R., eight miles west of Rushville. JamesGeraghty, jr., bought property for the purpose of starting a “quart” saloon. The other night dynamite was placed under the build- ■ ing, which was blown to atoms. No one was hurt, and the Arlington people are breathing easier. Joe Meyer a 14-year-old boy, was run over at Evansville, by hose reel No. 1 and almost instantly killed. He attempted to cross a street just as the reel turned the corner, and was struck by the horse. He fell to the ground, and before the horses could be stoppea the wheels of the reel passed over his Head, mashing it to jelly. AN accident occurred at Point Isabel, a small village a few miles north of Elwood, which resulted in the death of the IC-year-old son of William Compton. The boy, who was a parly tic cripple, had been sent t>y a neighbor to a blacksmith shop with an unruly horse, to get it shod. The animal throw the boy off on the road and struck him a number of times with his fore feet, causing death.

A MURDER occurred at Mt. Vernon recently. George Powell went home drunk and abused his wife, and in the quarrel that ensued seized her and attempted to cut her throat. She broke loose from him and grabbed a club, striking her husband over the torehead, inflicting injuries which caused his death in two hours. The woman was arrested. She says she acted in self-defense, and appears unconcerned. Gov. Matthews announces that the claims of the members of the militia who served in the field during the various strikes will be paid between the loth aud 20th of August. There is no fund available among the resources of the State without a special appropriation, but the Governor intends to become a borrower on the credit of the State at the bank for the amount needed. The total amount required for the payment will be nearly $40,000. Fire broke out in John Eckclberger’s barn, in Somerset, twelve miles south of Wabash, and spread rapidly to other buildings, destroying eighteen before the blazes were extinguished. Among those burned were five small business buildings end a two-story frame residence. The town has no fire protection. The loss will foot un between $3,000 and $4,000. N. Haas, dry-goods and notions merchant, had an insurance of SSOO on his stock. Some of the Test of the property was insured. Thomas Bird, who lives two miles south of West Baden, while harvesting a few days ago, picked up a silver ‘ medal, about three inches in diameter, which shows Dy the inscription, which is scarcely discernable, that it was given by tne United States Government to General William Henry Harrison for his bravery and gallantry in the Indian wars. What is known as the Northwestern Indian war', began Sept. 11, 1811, and was terminated in November of the same year. During one of the Indian wars General Harrison marched with his army through that part of the State, and probably passed over the farm on which Mr. Bird now resides. They spent the winter in camp in a ravine about six miles west of that place. Many relics of the march have been found, but this is the j only cne that is really Jvaluable. I . O. P. Hay, of the Chicago University. ! in his report to State Geologist Gorby on the fishes of Indiana, t finds tha't there are 150 varieties of fish in the State. The report of Mr. Hay on Indiana fish is exhaustive, and will be inI eluded ’n the annual report of the ; Geologist. A FORTY-ACRE field of wheat on the Pettit farm, two miles west of Wabash, caught fire from a spark from a locomotive on the Wabash road. All the wheat, estimated at 1,000 bushels, was destroyed. A fine orchard adjoining the field was also destroyed. Loss about $1,500. Chief Godfroy, an historic figure of Fort Wayne, and the last chief of I the cnce powerful and warlike Miamis, died on h's reservation near Fort [ Wayne, aged 84 years. | Several weeks ago George Heron opened a quart shop at Greensburg, and the citizens decidedly objected. The other night about mid night a crowd of masked men went io his house, took i him from his bed, tied him to a teleI phone pole and gave him fifty lashes I on the bare back with beech switches Heron shows the marks of severe pun- | ishment. He claims to have the names 1 of six of his assailants, all prominent citizens of the county, and proposes to I make things warm for them.

BY THE CROOK OF A FINGER.

How Groit Deal* Are Made o<i ’Chinr* When Voice* Cannot Be Heard. Thousands of visitors who yearly ko to the Chicago Board of Trade and watch the traders on the exchange floor from the public gallery express surprise at the rapid manner in which business is transacted. As a rule the wheat pit attracts them and they do not understand how commodities change hands with such

lightning rapidity, and how hundreds of thousands and millions of bushels are bought and sold in an incredibly short space of time is to the novice a profound mystery. They do not know that the brokers do a great deal of . their work by Anger signs, seldom understood by the outsider. It requires only a fraction of a second to buy and sell 50,000 bushels of wheat “I’ll sell fifty ‘Sep’ at an eighth," cries one of the brokers, and he has

hardly finished speaking before another on the opposite side yells “sold. ” The trade is put down on the trading card and the transaction which Involves over $30,000 has been completed. liMr The number of bushels offered for sale Is indicated by holding up one fir ger for each 5,000 bushels. So In

selling 50,000 bushels the broker simply holds up both hands and waves them from him, which explains Itself as wanting to dispose of the lot. In addition to this, brokers have a complete finger code by which the condition of the market Is com*

The signs generally used are as follows:

The first finger held up stands for i of one cent, as the traders all know the main price. If, for instance, the first sale of wheat after the market opened was made at 60 cents and the next at 60j cents, the trader simply

holds up one Anger for the advance of |of one cent. The upward position of the Anger is to show the upward course of the market. Should the market be bearish and the price decline to 59i cents, the signal for this would be a closed hand with the thumb pointing downward. This shows the price i of a cent and the status of the market downward. The accompanying cuts show how the signaling is carried on.

DR. STOFLOFF.

Chosen President of the Minis* ry it Unlgarla. IS- !i j Dr. Stoi’off. the J’respd&at ,of the new ministry of Bulgaria, is,a native of Phillppopolls, and the son of a

prominent merchant of that city. He was born in the early ’so’s / and was educated at Robert College, in Constantinople, and Heidelberg University. He resided several years in Paris, but in 1877, at the beginning of the Ruso-Turkish war, returned to

DU. STOILOFF. ’

Bulgaria and has since been identited with Bulgarian politics, being a faithful supporter of Prince Alexander to the time the latter left Bulgaria in 1886. He is a lawyer by profession.

Opera Glasses.

A novel and ingenious attachment for opera glasses has been patented by a gentleman residing near Sydney, New South Wales, that will enable the user to see behind as well as be- . fore. The patent takes the form of I a removable frame carrying the adjusting mechanism for a pair Of re- | Hectors, which are intended to be i placed in front of the object glasses of* the opera glasses. Any desired inclination can be given to these reflectors. The invention Is also apj plicable to telescopes.

AN UNLUCKY NUMBER.

AMAZING RECURRENCE OF •• 13 ” IN PRENDERGAST'S CASE. From the Moment ths Crime W»i Committed Until the Nooae Tightened About the Aeea**ln'a Neck the Fetal Number Wa» Ever Conspicuous. A Few Coincidences. Inasmuch as there is no longer any superstition in the world, says the Chicago Record, there can be no harm in calling attention to certain coincidences which might have, at one time, been taken as serious omens. Men and women no longer worry over spilling salt or seeing the moon over the left shoulder, because these “bad-luck” signs are out of date. To be sure, they would rather not spill the salt, and if the new moon is to be seen at all it might as well be seen over the right shoulder, just as a precaution in case there should be anything in these old-wom-en tales. Patrick Eugene Prendergast, hanged for the murder of Mayor Carter Harrison, died because there was positive proof that he fired the fatal shots, and a jury became convinced that he was responsible for the murderous act. The number thirteen had nothing to do with it whatever. If it recurred with amazing regularity through the whole story of the crime, from the moment of the killing to the last moment of the execution, the only conclusion ti be drawn is that the recurrences were accidental. Yet they make an interesting study. In the first place the name of the assassin contained just thirteen letters: 1 2 3 4 fl 0 7 8 9101112 13 P. E. PRENDERGAST It was also a strange linking of the fates that the name of his distinguished victim was under the unlucky influence: 1 2.3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 MAYO RH A R Rl.B 0 N H 0 N. C. H. H A R R I $ 0 N It will bo remembered that after Prendergast had done the shooting at the Harrison homo on the evening of Oct. 28, 1893, he went at once to the Desplalnes street station and gave himself up. In a few minutes he was driven to the central station and was there questioned for the first time ngarding his reasons for killing the Mayor. Thia investigation was conducted by Inspector Shea. 1 2 3 4 5 0 7 8 9 10 H"l2 13 INSPECTOR SHEA The next morning—Sunday morning—he was taken to the Harrison mansion on Ashland boulevard to testify before the coroner, who was conducting an inquest. When he appeared before the jury he declined to say anything until he had consulted an attorney. He was identified as the assassin and held to the grand jury without bail, the mittimus being signed by Coroner McHale. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 CORONER McHALE That day he was taken to the jail, where he remained continuously to the time of his death, except when he was taken out under custody to attend the sessions of court. The clerk of the jail who took the mittimus and assigned the prisoner to his cell was that well-known official, Benjamin Price. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 910 11 12 13 BENJAMIN PRICE During all the time that the prisoner was in the jail he was In charge of the jailer, William Morris. It became the duty of Mr. Morris to make all the arrangements for the hanging, and he really had charge of this disagreeable function, although the sheriff was present at the execution and, under the law, became at least the nominal director. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 WILLI A,M MORRIS The only cell to which Prendergast could well be assigned was that im-

THE CELL,

mediately facing the door from the office. It was thought best to keep a rather close watch on him, as he was in a sullen mood and given to violent outbreaks at times. Afterward he had several encounters with his cellmates. He was put in the cell in which Louis Lingg, convicted as an anarchist conspirator, committed suicide. The number was 13. The trial of P. E. Prendergast for the murder of Mayor Harrison began in earnest on Dec. 13, 1893. On that day the last juror was accepted, and Prosecutor Todd made the opening speech for the State. . Judge Brentano sat as the judge In the case. It was he who overruled the sub-equent motion for a new trial and sentenced the prisoner to death:* 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 JUDGE BRE NTA N 0 The Arst trial, and the only one dealing directly with the issue of the crime in the case, came to an end on Dec. 20, when the jury rendered its verdict. As the trial began on the 13th, this made seventeen days, inclusive, from the start to the Anish. There were two Sundays In these seventeen days. an 4 the court had no session tn the Monday and Tuesday of the last week, as the attorney*

were preparing their arguments. Therefore the prisoner was actually on trial just thirteen days, and on the thirteenth day the verdict, “guilI tv of murder in the first degree," was ; banded in by the foreman of the I jury. The defendant’s attorney* made the usual motion for a new trial, and the sentence of death was deferred. If the attorneys representing the prisoner had been at all superstitions they would not have filed their reasons for a rehearing on Feb. 13, 1894. But they did so, and at the end of that week, all arguments being ended, Judge Brentano overruled the motion for a new trial and pronounced the sentence of death, setI ting the day of the execution March 23, 1894. It was not to be, however, ; even though the Supreme Court rei fused a stay of sentence. Tbe law of ■ thirteen had to work out the case to i a logical finish. On March 21, only two days before tbe appointed time for the execution, the attorneys for the condemned man applied to the federal court for a writ of habeas corpus, which was refused. The Governor was appealed to, but declined to grant any reprieve. On March 22 the attorneys applied to Judge Ghetlain, then sitting in the Criminal Court, for a hearing as to tbe prisoner’s sanity. This action was based oh the’statute which permits a special hearing when it is alleged, with a show of probability, that a prisoner has become insane between the time of the sentence and the execution. The court heard some testimony and listened to the arguments of attorneys until late into the night He decided that the case camo within JJie statute and that there should be a special hearing. He postponed the execution to April 4, and later, the hearing being delayed from various causes, to July 2. 12345 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 JUDGE C H EI L A I N The trial was postponed to September by an agreement of counsel. Judge I'ayne was asked to enter an order to that effect, but he refused to do so and set the trial for June 20. This seems to be the link of the case where the mystic 13 is lacking, but as the trial ended on July 3, just thirteen days after it began, any one of superstitious mind may rest assured that the mysterious forces were sthl at work. The prisoner was found to bo neither insane nor a lunatic, and he was taken to jail to be executed Friday, April 13. It is only once or twice in a year that Friday, the hangman's day comes In conjunction with the unlucky 13. Tao lawyers were not yet discouraged. There seemed little chance of executive clemency, but on July 12 they made application to Judge Grosscup. of the federal court, for a writ of habeas corpus. This being denied they asked for an appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States. The appeal was also denied. They might have known that it would be denied. 1 2 -3 4 5 6 7 891011 12 13 JUDGE GROSSCUP This destroyed the last hope and all tbe arrangements for an execution were at once ordered by the sheriff of Cook County, James H. Gilbert. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 891011 12 13 JAMES H GILBERT Early that evening Prendergast was taken from cell 13 and placed in the small room adjoining the office. He was attended by the death watch, Deputies Joseph Krimble and Charles Horton. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 X 2 13 JOSEPHKRIMBLE CHARLEB H 0 R T 0 N They spent the night with him, and at 8 o'clock the next morning were relieved by two other deputies who remained with him until tbe hour of the execution, when they accompanied him to the gallows. .Their names were Charles Taylor and James Hastings. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 CHARLESTAYEOR J A M E SH A 8 T 1 N6B During the early morning hours the prisoner received spiritual comfort from Father Muldoon, of the Holy Name cathedral. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9101112 13 FATHER MULD 00 S He went to the scaffold at 11:40, accompanied by the sheriff, the jailer and the deputies, a group of thirteeners, and took his place on the trap. As soon as the drop fell at 11:48, Dr. Fortner, the county physician, stepped forward and began counting the pulse. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 DOCTOR FORTNER Death came, according to Dr. Fortner’s certificate, at 12:13.

The witnesses to the hanging, aa disclosed by the certlAcate, were: L James H. Gilbert, Sheriff; 2. County Physician Fortner. 3. Willis C. Stone. 4 Ignatz Lange. 5. '1 ho hi as Ryan. G Edward Otto. 1. John Menill 5 George W. Boice. D. Robert L> James. /IQ. John Thoran. 11. a A. Lemke. it William H. Sweet. 13. W. A. RuwwM. . Simply a few coincidence*.