Indianapolis Journal, Volume 51, Number 251, Indianapolis, Marion County, 8 September 1901 — Page 19

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SUNDAY, SEPTE3IBER 8, 1901.

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A MURDER MYSTERY young man of about eight and twenty 5at In an easy chair in hl3 luxuriously furnished chambers In riccadilly, gazingrnooJily at the f.re. It was a dull November afternoon, and the thick fog was settlmg down upon London. The valet entered tho room. "lies pardon, sir." ho said. "I thought perhaps j cu d like the lights on." "No. not yet." replied his master. "I'll rir.C when I want them." Vivian Joyce, the young man who preferred the gloom because he found It mora i:: harmony with his thoughts,' was the f;.l.r son of Sir Vivian Joyce, a famous 5 oliicr who had borne himself brilliantly l:i many a hazardous campaign. Sir Vivian had long since retired from active i. rvice and had settled down In his ancestral home, a beautiful place at Iollis Ili'.l, one of the most picturesque environs of the metropolis. Lady Joyce had been la her day one of the leaders of society, but of lato years had lived a quiet life, throwing herself heart and soul Into the numerous works of charity in which her husband's enormous wealth allowed her to take a prominent part. gir Vivian had ono great trouble. Ilia elder son the young man to whom the reader has been introduced had proved himself to a reckless ependthrift, the associate of gamblers and evil livers, and the young man's wild life had eventually led to a complete estrangement between himself and his father. Lady Joyce, when the rupture came, had sided with her husband. Her affection was entirely concentrated on her younger son, trie, a lad of seventeen, -who. loving and gentle, was a striking contrast to his' elder brother. Vivian Joyce sat lost In thought until the room had become enveloped in intense darkness. II waa depressed, and he had reason to be. Two days previously ht had written to his father asking for a large rum of money, and stating plainly . that unless he received the sum something would happen which would bring public disgrace upon the family name. He had received no answer, and he vras beginning to fear that ha would havsj to pas3 through an exceedingly disagreeable experience. He rose with a groan as he realized what that experience would probably be, and was about to ring for lights when his valet entered, and .announcing "Her Ladyship," ushered Lady Joyce. Into the presence of her scapegrace son. "Mother," exclaimed tfi yonn man. Lady Joyce, a tall, stately and handsome woman of about fifty-five, took no notice of tho greeting until the servant, who had lie the lamp and drawn tho curtains, had left. Then she turned to her son. ( "Two days ago you wrote to your father. He Is away at Cheltenham, I saw the letter was from 70U and I opened it." "You should have sent it on," exclaimed tho young man, "What I wrote la absolutely true unless I have the sum I named by to-morrow, the consequences will be serious." "What will the consequences bo?" The young man hesitated. "Well," he exclaimed, after a moment's pause, "it will have to come out, so you may as well know it now. When my father cut down my allowance- and refused to pay ray debts " ... "He has paid them once already. Tou have had thousands." "Well, I've had bad luck. I thought to get out of the mess, and I got deeper Into it. At any rate, what's done can't be undone, and I must have five thousand pounds to meet a bill or the day after tomorrow it will bo presented." "To whom?" "To the man whose name I have written across It as the accepter." Forgery!" "Yes. I though I should havo the money Ions ago and have been able to take It up. But the horses and the cards hare been against me. and now I've got to make a clean breast of it. Unless I can get the cash to the money-lender who discounted the bill by 12 o'clock to-morrow, 1 shall be arrested, and the elder son of Sir Vivian Joyce will be charged at the Old Bailey with forgery. I thought it better to write to the governor for the money than let that happen. "I was prepared for something of the sort." said Lady Joyce, quietly, "and I have realized some property of my own and I brought you the money." Wlother:' I The young man came across the room to I take hi3 mother's hands. Sho waved him bavk. "Step! You will give mo the name of the man who holds the bill, and I will send the money to him by some ono I can trust." "Of course, if you wish to I'll give you the ad.lres-s." Vivian Joyce wrote a couple of lines on the back of a card, and handed it to his mother. "That's where the bill Is. There'll be no difiiculty in getting.it. So long as he gets his money that chap never makes a fusa or asks awkward questions, lie has an aris tocratic; connection, and " "I quite understand." said her ladyship. "You will consider the bill settled. And row 83 to the future; what do you propose to dor "Oh, now I'm out of thi3 worry I shall get along on what the governor allaws me. "I don't think you will. You'll get into debt again; you'll be reckless and dishonor able as you always have been; and you'll rely upon your father's fear for tho honor of his name to come to your assistance at the last moment." "Well, after all, it's his fault. I'm h!s eldest son and his money will bo mine some day. He's no business just because I've been a little extravagant to cut off the supplies and make me the beggarly allowance he does." "Those are your views. Very well, now listen to mine. You are going to live on 'hat my husband gives you; you are never icing to ask for a shilling again." ' Indeed, and why not?" "Why not? Because if you are allowed to have your own way. rich as he is. you will ruin him; you will impoverish his estate; 3ou will rnh rtr of the money that should one day be his." ' But he's a younger son. lie's your fa vorite, and my father's, and he docs jolly wll. You think a thundering sight more of Eric than you do of me you always did!" "I love my son Eric, returned Lady Joyce, rising and coming towards the young man. who cowered before her indignant felance. "I lovo him :is much as I loath and detest you!" "I've told you what I am going to. do,' replied Lady Joyce, auietly. "I've told you v.hat you are going to do." . "And if I refuse to be dictated to in this manner?" "If you refuse" she glanced at the door involuntary, then facing the young nun. . where he stood sullenly and with his back ; to the fire, she spoke to him in a low voice that was almost a whisper, ? Tive minutes later Lady Joyce quitted . b'r son's chamber, and the .young, man

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GEORGE R. SIMS j&j&jz?

flung himself down In a chair and buried his face In his hands. "My God, It's true; she daren't have invented a lie like that. And if I don't accept her terms she'll do It! She may do It In some mad moment even If I obey her to the letter. She says ehe'g Ueen tempted a hundred times to do it. Some day she will, and then " With a muttered oath Vivian Joyce rose from th9 chair and went to the spirit stand on the sideboard. He poured himself out a glass of brandy and drank it at a CU?p. "Lady Joyce,, the wife of General Fir Vivian .Joyce, .was found, lato last night brutally murdered In a lane within a hundred yards of tho lodge gates-of the family mansion at Dollis Hill." This brief announcement in the morning papers sent a thrill of horror through all classes of society, for the general and his wife were universally beloved and refspecteu. on the evening of the murder. Sir Vivian being from home. Lady Joyc hid diped at 8 o'clock with her younger eon, Mr. Eric Joyce. After dinner Eric, wfco had a bad cold and had been confined to the hou?o for a few days, retired to his own room. Lady Joyce went to the drawing-room, and about 10 o'clock Pent for her maid to bring her a hat and cloak, saying she was going for a stroll in the grounds. Tho woman was rather surprised at such an unusual proceeding, for it was a dark, cold November night, but obeyed her ladyship's orders. That was the last that any member of the establishment saw of Lady Joyce, until two hours later the lodge-keeper was roused by a violent ringing at the bell. and a cottager living in the neighborhood Informed him that her ladyship was lying dead in the lane that ran by a low wall, which Inclosed the grounds of the mansion on the west side. The lodge-keeper summoned help from tho house, and with two of the men serv iuiiunu ma cottager to tna sdo where her ladyship was found. The front of her dress was saturated with blood. A doctor, who had been sent for by the horrl fled servants, announced after a brief ex amination, that the unfortunate lady had been stabbed to the heart. Inquiries made, at the lodge elicited the fact that her ladyship had not quitted the grounds that way, as after nightfall the gates were bolted, and if her ladyship had let herself , out she could not have closed the gates again from outside. When the cottager rang, and tho lodge-keeper went to the gate, he found It bolted Lady Joyce must therefore have passed out of the grounds by the private door in the wall, which opened with a key. On search being mado the key was found in the pocket of her dress. That her ladyship had been murdered tho police, who were soon on the spot, had no doubt. There was no -question of sui cldo, for the most diligent search failed to discover the weapon which, if the wound fcad been self-inflicted, must have been lying close at hand. Tho grief of Eric Joyce, when he learned the news of his mother's fate, was terrible. Mother and son had Idolized each other. and it seemed to the young man impossi ble that the loving, tender-hearted mother, who only an hour or two previously had been showing her tender solicitude for his health, should be now lying dead, killed by an unknown murderer, Tho news of tho tragedy was communi cated to Sir Viyian as gently as possible. Dazed and bewildered, ho hastened home, ana ratner and son in the moment of agonized meeting in the chamber of death fell into each other's arms and weDt To both of them it seemed like a hldoous nightmare. That a foul crime like this should make their name tho talk of the world, their stately English home a show for .the curious and the morbid who flocked to the place to gazo at it, seemed to them something that passed the bounds of posibility. The evidence at tho inquest elicited little. Every , effort of the experienced detectives who took charge of the case to find a clew failed. The expert evidence pointed to the fact that the murder had been committed with a long knife, but nothing that was said by any member of the household threw the slightest light on what was one of tho most mysterious parts of the case, viz., why Lady Joyce should have left the houso after 10 o'clock on a cold November night. and havo let herself out into the lane by the private door. But though nothing was said at tho inquest Lric had made a communication to his father. On the morning of the murder. vvmie -nc was wn bis mother at breakfast, she had opened her letters. One of them seemed to upset her for a moment. Eric noticed that her face grew pule as sho read It, and he said to htr "Anything the matter, mother?" "No, no," she had replied, "it's nothing. It's from a poor woman I knew years ago she's in trouble her letter pained me." Eut the young man noticed that hi3 mother crumpled the letter in her hand, nnd presently flung it In the fire and watched it burn. The story troubled Sir Vivian, and he asked his son to say nothing about it at tho Inquest. .He didn't want the gaping crowd to build their own theories and per haps draw their own vulgar conclusions from that letter. But after the inquest ho sent for tho detective who had charge of the case Inspector Lawrence,, of Scotland Yard and told him what he had learned. "I don't suppose for a moment it has any connection with the crime, but I thought you ought to know It," he said. The detective listened to the story eager ly. "I disagree with you. Sir Vivian," he said. "It is most likely that what was in that letter took her ladyship out into the lane that night. If we could find out who wrote it we should have something to go upon, as it is we can oniy taxe it mat the letter made an appointment for the even ing, and her ladyship went out to keep it. At least that's how I see It." "You are wrong, I'm sure. I should think the letter was what my wife described It to be, a letter from some friend of her childhoodone gets painful letters from old friends very often." ."Yes, Sir Vivian, I dare say. Hut you see up to now we've had absolutely nothing to guide us as to motive. Murders are not committed without a reason, except, of course, by lunatics. A lunatic might murder a person he met in a lonely place late at night, especially a lady. That's not an. uncommon thing, as we've had plenty of reason to know of late yean?, but, you see, sir. her ladyship wasn't passing along a lonely road casually, so to speak. She was out after 10 o'clock by herself a thing you say she never did to your knowledge before and she let herself out by the side gate into this 'lane, where she was afterwards found murdered." ' Then you think ?" "I think whoever wrote the letter said they'd be waiting in the lane at 10 o'clock that night, and that her ladyship went there to k ep the appointment.". Sir Vivian's face 'flushed and his brow darkened, for he knew there could be- only onr thought In th? detective' mind. When a woman Keeps a secret appointment under sucn ways circumstances tne nrst uiea is aitliat there Is. a lover in the case.

The Idea that anyone should think such a thing of his wife horrified him. "You see. Sir Vivian," tald tho detective, "her ladyship wasn't robbed. Her rings were on her fingers her purse was in her pocket. Tho diamond brooch she wore was still; on her dress. There hadn't been the

slightest attempt at robbery, and no one seems to have heard a cry. She was get out there by someone and without a quar rel, almost without a word, stabbed to the J heart. Shedidn't go out into that lane to enjoy a stroll on a pitch dark November night, so she went to meet somebody, and looking at the fact that the letter she got In the morning upset her, I should say it was some one she didn't want to receive in her house, some one who knew they couldn't be received there, and so that some one said they'd be in the lane that evening at 10 o'clock. What we've got to find out is first who wrote the letter, and then I'm inclined to think we shan't be far off who committed murder. Now, can you help mo at all. sir. I? there anyone you know any one her ladyship has ever spoken to you about?". "No one! no one!" exclaimed Sir Vivian, impetuously.' "I don't . believe that there was a creature in the world who owed my poor wife a grudge, or anyone she knew whom she would want to meet secretly." -"Well, sir, at any rate, she burnt a letter that worried her, and she met somebody who murdered her. Those are the facts I've got to go on, and I hope I shall b able to find a clew to the mystery soon. Good morning, sir; I shall report directly I know anything." In the presence of a large and sympathetic crowd Lady Joyce was laid to rest In the family vault in the little parish church. Sir Vivian and his two sons were principal mourners. Vivian Joyce came at his father's bidding to his mother's funeral. His place was there, and Sir Vivian had determined that if possible with his wife's death his estrangement from his elder son should cease. He had discovered from his solicitor that his wife had paid a large sum of money for Vivian only a few days before her death. He concluded that the young man had confided his embarrassments to his mother, and that she had helped him out of her own private fortune in order to spare her husband the. knowledge that Vivian was still pursuing his evil courses. After tho funeral Sir Vivian invited his elder son to return to the house. He had told Eric that he should do so, and Eric, who was without an atom of selfishness in his composition, had simply said it was right that it should be so that Vivian's place at such a time was at his father's. right hand. The young men, entirely opposed as their natures were, had never been bad friends. No one could be bad friends with Erio Joyce. Tho younger son had grieved over his brother's follies because they, had pained his mother and fa ther, but he had always tried to be the peacemaker, and because he was gentle and retiring himself ho had had a certain boy Ish admiration for his elder brother's reck lassness and dare-devil ways. So when the mourners returned to the houso Eric held out his hand to his brother, and said he was glad to see him back, and he hoped Vivian was going to stay and help his father to bear the trouble that had come upon tho home. In the library that afternoon Sir Vivian saw his eldest son, and offered him his forgiveness, Imploring him, now that this blow had fallen upon him, to give up his evil ways and prepare himself to tako the tltlo and the position that would one day be his. Vivian was ill at ease In his father's presence, but he professed penitence. He said that he would go away only for a short time, and then come homo and settlo down. He should leavo that evening as he had seme affairs to settle in town, but ho would come back again in a week or two. But things wtre to happen differently. It had been noticed at the funeral that Vivian Joyce looked 111 and strange, but that was put down to the natural shock. He got worse during the afternoon, and when even ing came and he wanted to leave he was in a state of high fever. The doctor, who had come in to see Sir Vivian, noticed the voune man's appearance, and after a few words with him insisted that he should re main tho night, and a room was prepared for him. The next morning he was worse. The doc tor saw him, and told Sir Vivian that his son was seriously 111 there was danger of brain fever and the chances were that it would be some weeks before he was able to leave his bed. Day after day while Vivian Joyce lay ill. now unconscious, now wandering, now bab bling strange incoherent things in his de Iirium, letters arrived at the hall for him. They were all In a female handwriting, and Sir Vivian hesitated to open them. He had no desire to pry into his son's affairs. The doctor said that perhaps in a week ho would be able to see hlä correspondence; the letters had batter wait till then. But the patient grew no better, and tho letters continued to come; and Sir Vivian, feeling that perhaps there ought to be some answer sent, opened one It was the latest. He read it, and at first scarcely under stood. "You won't answer me. You think now you are all right, you can throw me over and treat me worse than a dog. I suppose But I'm not going to be made a fool of like that. If I don't get an answer to-morrow, to say what you mean to do, I am coming straight to your father, and I'm going to tell him the whole truth. I'm going to tell him that It was me that wrote the letter pretending to be from a woman your mother had reason to fear, that in an old woman's hand I wrote and told her I knew all about a certain affair that happened eight and twenty years ago, and if she didn't meet me and come to terms I'd go to the police. I shall tell your father I told her I'd be In the lane outside the wall a . 10 o'clock, and she'd better come and see me. I wrote to her, and your mother came out that night, and what happened you know. and we don't want to talk about it. But as true as heaven. If you don't write to me by to-morrow, I'll come and tell your father all this. You promised you'd marry me if I'd do it, and hold my tongue, and now you're selling me. But I m not going to be sold. Yours, Cora." Sir Vivian read the letter to the end with a white face, then he let it fall to the ground. The letter luring his wife out into the lane where she had met her death had been written at his son's dictation. Tere was not the slightest doubt In his mind, now The horror of the thing stupefiedthim for a moment, then he saw that somethin must be done at once. He went up to the patient's room, and the nurse informed him that Mr. Vivian was unable to rec agnize anyone. He had grown rapidly worse during the day. He telegraphed to the address in the let ter In Vivian's name "Come at once. But the news of Vivian Joyce's illness, following his mother's funeral., had just got into the papers. The woman read It and understood. When she had received the .telegram she felt sure that her letter had fallen Into some one else's hands, and she feared that she was being entrapped She packed up her valuables at once and made her escape to the continent. Sir Vivian was beside himself with horror and grlf. To communicate with the police was to give his own son no, that was too horrible! 4 inspector Lawrence was still In search of 1

the clow at any moment ho might get an inkling of the truth, and then All night Sir Vivian Joyce rmalned awake tortured almost beyond endurance by this new horror that had come upon him. In the morning his solicitor called upon him and asked for an interview with re

gard to Lady Joyce's affairs. In going over a deed box containing property and papr of Lady Joyce's he had found a sealed packet "To bo opened after my death by my solicitor." Inside this he had found a letter addressed to Sir Vivian and Inscribed: 'Ter my husband. To be given to him when I am dead." The solicitor explained that the letter having got accidentally in the folds of a deed had been missed in the first search. Sir Vivian took the letter with a trem bling hand. The stress of the last few days had almost broken him down. The solicitor having performed his mis sion, retired, and the stricken man opened tho letter from the dead and the volca from the grave spoke to him. "My IIu3band I have kept my guilty secret all my life. I cannot let It be burled in my grave. If I have never had the courage to tell you while I lived, you must learn the truth now. In the first years of our married life we were childless. You longed for a son, because If you had none the title and the estates would pass at your death to a cousin whom you detested. When you left for India with your regiment I had the joy of telling you that I hoped soon to be a mother. We prayed that It might be a boy. Alas! my hopes of a child were not realized. And I had reason to believe that I should never know the) Joys of motherhood. You were far away fighting with your regiment, and I did not write and tell you. I didn't want to give you pain. But at the time my child should have been born a poor girl who had been in service with my mother and had married a man who deserted her came to me in great distress. She had given birth to a child and she was starv lng. She believed she was slowly dying of an incurable disease and implored me to be a friend to her little one. "Then a wicked idea entered my head. The child was a boy. I have not the cour age now to tell you the miserable fraud, the endless deceit I practiced in order to carry out my wicked design. But three days liter I wrote you that my baby had been born while I was traveling, on my way to friends in Scotland, and that we had a son. 'That son, Vivian, was the child of this poor girl. The only person who knew that I had taken the girl's child away was her mother, a drunken, dissipated wretch, who was only too glad to be rid of the burden, It wes a stipulation that if I took it .aha would never attempt to communicate with me, or to claim It again. 'You came home from India and you took the child to your heart as yours. Year by

year as it grew up you loved It. more and marked, being covered broadly by an allmore, and I had not the heart to tell you tired-out expression, and receive consola-

of the cruel fraud practiced on you. But my punishment was to come. Years afterward God gave me a son of my own my little Eric. Then I thought I should have gene mad. I had robbed my own child of his inheritance. Again and asraln I mad up my mind to tell you, but the fraud had gone on so long I had not the courage. The scandal would have to be made public in order to oust the Impostor. I could not bring this shame upon you, so I bore my sorrow silently lor years. "Then came the horror of Vivian's evil conduct. I had to see hfm bringing dis grace upon your name, wasting your money in riotous living, and still I dared not speak. "But now I have discovered that he. Is not only a reckless spendthrift, but a crimi nal. He has committed forgery, and writ ten to you for money to save him from the law. I have paid him money, but I have told him the truth. I have threatened that if he brings misery or shame to you I will speak the truth, and let you know that he is no son of yours, but the child of a servant maid that I have fostered on you. But he shall not rob my son Eric of his rights. If you die before me, Vivian, I shall tell the world the truth. If I die before you, you will find It written here. I shall bo dead before these lines lie before your eyes. Pity and forgive me. My sin was begotten of my lovo for you my fear that If I were childless your love would not be always mine." Sir Vivian Joyce read his wife's confes sion and his brain reeled. What was he to do? what was he to say? The truth must be known. Suddenly an idea came to him and sealed Itself upon his brain. His wlfa had threatened Vivian to tell tho truth. Vivian had found a woman who had writ ten a letter asking Lady Joyeo to come to a lonely lana late at night. That letter was supposed to be from an old woman, who knew a secret of Lady Joyce. Sir Vivian saw the whole horrible plot at once. It was Vivian who had met Lady Joyce the wom an who, at a word, could make him an outcast and a beggar and it was Vivian who had silenced her with the assassin's knife. With a cry of rage Sir Vivian dashed from the room and ran tip the stairs to the chamber where his supposed heir was ly lng. Now he could give the murderer to jus tice, for no drop of his blood ran in the guilty wretch's veins. Ho turned the handle of the door and entered the room. The nurse came to him and raised her hand. 'Hush!" she said. "I thought he was asleep. Sir Vivian, I am grieved to tell you that your son is dead." Sir Vivian turned from the room and went to his own chamber and flung him self upon his knees. All the shame and the scandal to his dead wife's memory was .spared him now. Eric Joyce was his only son, the heir to tho title and estate. ' The mystery of tho murder of Lady Joyce, wife of (Jcneral Sir Vivian Joyce, still remains unfathomed by the police. Two Sonnet. I do remember well when first we met How with unchanging eyes I looked on thee. Whose o.n for one short moment turned to me; Then parted wc: the time, sweet, was not yet. I wonder, dear. If e'er thereafter thou Didst dream of me in that long year apart; DiJ I of thee? Thou questionest my heart; O listen while heart Jcth answer now. From the bediming of my conscious life Tho J wert the angel striving for my good; Thy fancied voue could still all youthful strife. And etir th? dreamer from his blackest mood; It was the hoi e of thee some day for w if That brought me pure to where to-night we stood. What marvel ai It that'we knew not each The other when we f.rtt were face to face That whimful Fte thus strangely could eras Tha golden lessons all our year3 did teach? YVhere-ty, dear low, from this fast-slipping tpan A year was lost we never may regain. To lengthen out what many years remain. Yet, softly; if to God we yield the plan. llayhap wa shall behold there Hia own hanl. And find Just reason wherefore It was so; Since then new-raised, In our two hearts may stand Guide-pusta of lleav'n that point th way to go; And. haply, soon &uch ord'rir.g shall command Our thanks that lie did not toa soon bestow. -J. T. Quutrniu. Far not th menace of the Hy-and-ty; To-c'ay Is our, to-mono w l ate must Rive; Stretch ou your hands and eat. although ye CU i:tter to dls than never once to live. Richard Ilovey, in September Dookmaif.

II VING BY THE METER

Old Practitioner Again Discusses the Importance f Fresh Air. Certain results inevitably follow the breathing of all vitiated air. At first these are. slight and transitory headache, nausea, vertigo and other premonitory symp toms of asphyxiation. Long-continued. deprivation of pure air. leads to anemia, bodily languor and inability to work, pal lor, chronlo loss . of appetite and other symptoms of impoverished blood and injured health. The heart is affected, palpi tation ensues, tho blood rushes to the head and other symptoms of a disturbance of circulation are manifested. Digestion is also influenced by the lack of fresh air. Diseases of the stomach, of the heart, tho lunsrs and other organs ensue and em phasize tha fact that a daily bath of fresh air is more essential than a bath of fresh water. Naturally, ono goes to the country for fresh air, but as the countryman In the city Is Injuriously influenced by city air. so the city man In the country must be come accustomed to tho country air; he has breathed impure air so long that pure air Is too rich for his blood. Ho becomes In toxicated, as it were, upon it, and in ad dition is likely to have colds In the head. bronchitis, pleurisy, rheumatism and other liko affections. Like the blind fishes in the Mammoth cave, he has become accustomed to his surroundings and adapted to them, poor though they may be, and he does not feel comfortable or happy in other surroundings, even though they may be better hyglenlcally. Thousansd of men and-women sleep In CxD hall bedrooms through the night, work in overcrowded workrooms or In iil-ventl-lated offices through the day, and tako an evening off. In the summer, at the sea shore, where they regale themselves on clams dug from mud flats reeking with filth, and breathe sea air permeated with the odor of sewage which ebbs and flows with the tide. They think they are living, but they are merely existing. They do not know what fresh air smells like, if It has any smell, and they .do not know what an invigorating. tonic fresh air is. Thousands of people arise in the morning unrefreshed by sleep because they have flept in a foul atmosphere, poisoned by their own breath; dragging themselves to work with tired bodies and sluggish minds. longing for .night to come, longing for some tonic to brace them up, but not know ing what to take. Some resort to alcoholic stimulants, only to add more poison to the g"stem and aggravate the condition of a c:irbonic dioxidized brain by uraemic poizoning. Others take narcotic drugs which plunge the body and mind into, the Lethe oblivion, and, while they drown care and sorrow, drown life as well. Some of these Poplo go to a physician, set forth their I many symptoms, none of which is very I tlon and a prescription. If they ask for-a name they may be told that it is malaria I or nervous exhaustion, terms that slip glibly off the tongue and cover a multitude of Ills and ignorance. Many physicians realizo that the city pub lic are slowly .dying from" actual, but. r.dne the less real, long-drawn-out air starvation; that many of the ill-defined diseases of city life are due to air poisoning and insulHcient air scavengering, but they are powerless to counteract It. Some people themselves have realized that they are like the mouse In the bell-glass, and that, like plants In a room deprived of air and sunshine, they are blanching and wilting. Hence those who are wise have their homes In the suburbs, and, thanks to the electric roads which have covered the country liko a gigantic spider's web, it is becoming more and more possible for men of moderate means to en joy the country, which Is becoming the citj-'s bedchamber, giving quiet rest and refreshing sleep. Still, to many men the city is like that gigantic loadstone In 'the desert which drew whole armies within its attrac tion and would not let them escape until they died in their harness. Some of these are business men, drawn by business cares and grasping ambition. They could live In the country if they would, but they say they lose a few minutes in going to and from, and, therefore, cannot afford it. Money is so dear to them that they would put a mortgage on time and hoard even minutes. Others aro poor working men and women to whom time is life, for every min ute lost or wasted means privation and perhaps starvation. To them time lost In going to and fro Is a double loss, an ex pense that they can 111 afford, a loss of wage-earning moments. Sanitarians hava bu3itd themselves with searching Investigations of sewage; have formulated laws to prevent the spread of Infectious and contagious diseases; but fw, If any laws have been passed regulat ing the per capita amount of fresh air. "Free as air", is a common saying, "and everyone is supposed to get enough, al though the quality is not considered. Tall buildings scraping the sky have brought some people higher heavenward, but they have also cut off tho freo supply of fresh air In the stifling streets. Perhaps this will bring about an Innovation. As wind sails are employed to carry pure air into the close and suffocating holds of ships, so perhaps the city of the future will have wind calls or ventilators with their mouths in the upper air, carrying fresh air to the narrow and crowded streets below. Perhaps with the possibilities of liquid air developed a man or woman may be able to get fresh air at the soda fountains, a 1 a. m m MLU inuM nuaii. enougn oxygen at a draught to offset the partial suffocation of city life. Hut until that time does come there is a remedy open to all. Fresh air outings have done much for the children, but tneir good results are limited as to quantity and quality. One day in the country wön't offset 3Ci days Jn the city. Dryden gives advice which the majority of conscientious physicians will indorse, for the true physician Is not happy at the sight of pain and sorrow, but rejoices to see it alleviated even if he does not make money thereby. Dryden says: "Better to hunt in fields for health unbought, man leo tne doctor lor a nauseous draught." You cannot bring the country to the city, but in time there will be an exodus from the city to the country. There the poor man is-an equality with the rich man, as far as fresh air is concerned, and he is independent, as far as wholesome life is I concerned, if not the superior. In fact, j there is much good in the watchword, "Back to the Land." in the cure of disease of the moral and political life as well as social conditions. When you think of it, too, it is a very good country, this land of ours. True, a cyclone or two may sweep over portions of It occasionally, but there Is no mhnral, that violent northeast wind that blows along the Gulf of Lyon., a dry, cold wind that parches the country and blows with sufficient force to take a man off a horse; nor do we have the boar or the tramontana, which sweeps down the Alps with chilly breath: nor the pampero, a cold southeast wind that devastates the pam pas along the River Platte. Neither do we have the sirocco or leveche; the harmattan; the khamsin of Egypt; the fohn of Switzerland, nor the simoon, which culs like a knife through the air and leaves a path as if swept with ilame. True, there are northers, or nortes, and the muchabused efn wind, which the Spanish call

I" TT O T1 M 0 V i-L JlL Ü 1iL Ü LiL b&j' (7ßf2 m warn t. ill fe: H

JpLLIONS of Women

assisted by Cuticura Ointment, for preserving, purifying, and beautifying the skin, for cleansing

the scalp of crusts, scales, and dandruff, and the stopping of falling hair, for softening, whitening, and soothing red, rough, and sore hands, for baby rashes, itchings, and chafings, in the form of baths for annoying irritations and inflammations, or too free or offensive perspiration, in the form of washes for ulcerative weaknesses, and many sanative, antiseptic purposes which readily suggest themselves to women and mothers, and for all the purposes of the toilet, bath, and nursery. No amount of persuasion can induce those who have once used these great skin purifiers and bcautifiers to use any others. CUTICURA SOAP combines delicate emollient properties derived from CUTICURA, the great skin cure, with the purest of cleansing ingredients and the most refreshing of flower odours. No other medicated soap ever compounded is to be compared with it for preserving, purifying, and beautifying the skin, scalp, hair, and hands. No other foreign or domestic toilet soap, however expensive, is to be compared with it for all the purposes of the. toilet, bath, and nursery. Thus it combines in ONE SOAP at ONE PRICE, the BEST skin and complexion soap, and the BEST toilet and baby soap in the world. Complete External and Internal Treatment for every humour, s j! Consisting of CCTicrRA Soxr, to clear-se the skin ef crusts and ftPTJ FfySrQ scales and soften tho thickened cuticle; Cuticcra Ointment, to UOäHlikJil 02 D2iantly May itrhinjr. infl.imn.ation, and irritation, and soothe nmi be3ij ani CcTiccr.A IinsoLvrvr, to cool nd clrane the fij?? CP'S" blood. A Single Sp.t is often nnflicieiit to cure tbe mot torturi , . inpr.disfi-urin-r, itching burn irjr. knd scaly skin, scalp, and blood humours, with loss cf hair, when all el fail. Sohl tbroucnout the world HHtun

the solano, and of which they say: "Ask no favors during the solano." Kut In spite of the saying, "When the wind is in the east, 'ti3 neither good for man or beast," the cast wind 13 tho salvation of many people In reasons when they would otherwise die by the score smitten by heat stroke. There is the southwest wind, too, which "though not fatal to human life, is deadly to human temper," which causes a feeling of languor and listlessness and wilts man's energy even if it is laden with general humidity. Still, these winds affect man more severely In the city than In the country, where fresh air and. fresh water are not measurd by the meter, and where nature furnishes health and happiness for the asking. Unfortunately, the physician who advises his patients to go to the country and avail themselves of the fresh air cure cannot take the prescription himself, lie would gladly enforce his precept by example, but circumstances forbid. "Were it otherwise the city would be left without doctors within its bounds. It is safe to say, however, that every city physician looks forward every year to a wtll-earnd vacation In tha woods and hill3, whera there are no night bells; where the iron hore is unknown, and even the common everyday horbe has never set foot, and where, consequently, "black care" cannot ride behind, where balmy breezes assuage pain and lull sorrow to sleep. N., M. D. OUT OF THE ORDINARY. 'wit a Tniii9tian of onlv 210.0" Mani toba equals . in slzo the whole of Great Urltaln and Ireland. stands next to Massachu setts as a cotton goods manufacturing State. Georgia stanas miru. Travelers In eastern Siberia carry soups in iirtic Vhv nr frozen solid as stone and keep Indefinitely. Milk, also, is frozen and sold by tho pound. Last month, on the news of our corn crop troubles, England imported from producing rAiititrif. 42 ner cnt. more f that cereai than in the same month of 1&00. tn ihn rnhlpct r.arts of Siberia a rainbow .1 - . - - - j ... . . mov c.mi-timcs l WffT nil flli V 10M2 In a cloudless sky. It Is supposed to be due to fine particles 01 snow in me air. IfriTl'ian rarhflTl Which is WOrth about $15 per karat, or about four timps the value of ordinary diamonds, is ueu 111 urmius some of the gold mines cf South Africa. a . hin- mrhlnp in. tha Rnnk of Ungland is so sensitive that an ordinary postage stamp. If dropped on the scale, will turn the Index on the dial a distance of six inches. Centerville, the famous villase near the Tnll im hnttlpfif M has eaim-d but two new house3 in forty years. rihe hwtel where General McDowell had his headquarters is cejerteu ana luraunns aown. TViä tclanVinnp Villcir.P rl.itp from thf 1 11C - - -" - Inventions of Hell and Iiray In 1S.. The Beil teleunone lines 10-oay are valuta ai They hnve l.r,.),0 subscribers. The earnings are $,A,0,J,) annually. Probably the oldest timber In the world which has been subjected to the ul of man is that found In an ancient Egyptian temple, in connection with stone work, which is known to be at least 4,t0 years old. The umbrella and parasol were used by the eastern nations many centuries before the Christian ' era. The oldest chinaware shows pictures of ladles and mandarins shaded by parasols of patterns similar to those now in use. German surpeons say that the delicate membrane which covers tho contents of an fars shell will answer as well as bits of kln from a human being to start the healing of opvn wounds. The discovery has already ben successfully tested. Th? "burnlntr. mountain" of Montet. In Aveyron,' France, which is often mistaken

1 irm

Use CUTICURA SOAP, '.oFton. P. S. A. Drunkenness & Drug Using 17 1 IIC if vx INDIANAPOLIS OFFICE! Reference to cure fl men?! EhE93 In jour community. Corres- W tUill Ij Del! Tel. 2427. VMit lattitat la l.diaa. PrlT.tt Ilea, ttt UTUt. PLA.'NFICLD. (NO. PAKKOTfei , ViTX Yonn; k'srroU, guaranteed to tAllt, st very low prices. You ng MockJnir a,-. lilrd Canaries, Cngen, Aquaria and THa Globus. Gold Fish, feeed nod 'i--1 Food. 1 be bej at lowest prices. C. F. KLEPPER, 4H &. 433 Mas.achu.at r. lor an active volcano because a pillar cf cloud rises from it by day and a pillar cf tire by night. Is In reality a coal mine which has been burning fof svtral years. One hone pewer, as established unor.f engine n.&kers. Is the capacity to ralr 22,tv) rounds one foot per minute. As th'.t estimate was based upen the Ability of the hua araujht horsea of Lendon. It Is about twice the average power of a horae. Of the 'women who recently took tha competitive examinations at Washington for the civil service over 77 jtr cent, passed, as against Q2 per cent, of the men. About one-third of th plitces In Washington departments are now held by tremen. It Is a curious fact that there are certain kinds of noises which attract snakes. The

whirr of the mowing machine is ent, and lr. six months as many as cobras alone have bcn killed en a grass farm in India by getting In frgnt cf the advancing ma chine. The Hessian fly was breught to this country in straw or hay Imported by tha Hessian troops during the revolutionary war. It nrirt made its appearance la ll'.i on Staten island anJ has traveled front New England west at tho rate cf about twenty miles a year. "Th largest lumber raft ever construtel started from Fortland to San Francisco Au. 12. It is Cw feet long-, draws tuenty lect anl is twelve feet aLeve the water. Some of the "sticks" are 120 feet ler.g an I twenty-two inches la diameUr. .The raft represents T.lXv.w) feet of lumber. Abeut lI.O0 Russian labnrf.rs annuaüy cross the boundary to rk In Gemnn fields during harvest time. The Itusslaa povernrr.ent, having recently threatened to t-top thi3 temporary emigration, the German press retort3 that such a mcasura would hurt Ituss'a more than Germany. The famous lanlr.t; tower ef Ftsa has a rival in the Tempi tower of Bristol, la England. It Is a square tower of early Gothic architef ture. All its rarts still preserve their normal relativ positions without tracks or fissure. The tower, whica is about IT feel high. 1 five fett out of perpendicular at the sumrr.it. The telephone has been a government monopoly in France tirse Ik'j. The development outside of l'aris has ben slight. There are more tclvphene in New York thin in the whole of France. At the tgir.nlnsr of 10 -1 Fails, with a population of 2.5.;oa.'. had if. i.') teh jdjor.t 3, about W per cent, of the number in France. Only four ether c;:Ils had more than l..v0 stations. Gtorgia papers do not tire cf tellln; of the commercial growth cf their States. In eighty-two counties ef tl: State the taxable wealth has increase d over H.O'JO.CVJ within the year, and there are fifty-tlve other counties yet to b? heard from, some of them the largest and wealthiest in the Stat- Th ir returns are expected to sweU th I nc re 15a to J1S..0.(.0. Th" town of Shumway, 111, has no r.ted of ?n extensive excise bureau. It has one Kaloon. which pas a liere of JT'O for the exi!iiive prtvikro of sli;r,:? drinks. This money is u.l m bui d;:r; bric k sidewaUs. The town has no rr,uiir polIemeru but each aldtrman, the major and the t-alooa keeper have j ollco power. Th only s ip.r!ed of Iciai is tho city clerk," who tts JU a jtar. . J