St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 30, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 10 February 1894 — Page 2
STB ANGE VALENTINES |
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Lucy and I. Luth Davi , h:d been inseparable frcm childhood, with very j few of the childish quaere’s whL h to . often arise. Neitte • of us had bean biassed with bothers or s'shrs, and loving e ich other as we did, we scarcely missed them. Lucy s ^ath w was a p omine.it judge in the town of N — or perhaps I should say city, which is ou • home, a place of some forty thousand souls. father was a well-to-do merchant: en<> i ’unia,^
L.U e y xv a" * pc feet blonde, with haiv^®l®^^M .corn-silk and e yes H ke biu a dnn *a I fait of a coquette sho was, too, like the , fat rds which p'.ume them-elves and^ing i t to charm the lisUmers. Tj '('^^.Yark-. ivfFji hair 'tst37Hc' Btra’gkt as an Indian's, my < ne cross ' being that I could not coax it to stay : in the ringlets which on Lucy's head ■ were like a maze to entangle unsus-! pecting hearts. My heavy brows vied j with my hair in darkness, shading eyes which were misty and dreamy. But enough of self: just imagine me like ’ hundreds of young women you meet each day. On this day in February set aside to i^ ie St. Valentine, Lucy ha ' come _fasfa>ver early to show me the tokens of Ji^fctlon showered upon her by her more devoted swains. Si^SSH^es _dp not seem to^ave bg-U markedp^Kt o in .vour case/’ 1 resumed satiii rel >' gazing at the pwdrom Ben?” devices. “Which one is A blush crept o. . , , , farow as Lucy answv □ ’ c “^ e,< ana them.” -fa None of 'Probably his will come iu. .. T answered, carelessly. ‘ n ’ 1 No, Luth. A sob trembled on thY (fair lipa, then Lucy burst into a passion of tears. “What has come between von and ißen Ma>d )we ? I queried. troking the jellow hair sympathetically. “His mother.” “His mother!” I exclaimed in suriprise You are surely dreaming, 'Lucy. “No, I’m not. She’s a selfish old thing! I heard that she said that—that I was a flirt, not fit to be the wife of a good man. I hate her! yes, hate her. cried Lucy, springing abruptly to her feet, scattering her valentines over the floor, the tears dried by the ; fi.e of augr burning in her eyes “I I would not marry Ben Marlowe now, |Were he to get down on his knees and impore me to do so; although there is not much danger of his doing that if s his mother can prevent it. ” “You wrong the woman. I ” *1 here, 1 will not listen to your apologies for her. Ben came to me last nigfat and told me that he was going away with his mother for at least a . ■year, and he thought, under present circumstances, his mother's health be- j ing so delicate, ..we- had bust not name I betrothal ring and told him it would be wisest not to name it at all.” “Lucy!” “Yes; I knew you would I e shocked, but I must be first, or not at all.” “You forget, Lucy, that it is his ’ mother for whom he makes the sacri- ; flee.” ! “Indeed Ido not. No mother shall come between me and my lover. I presume, under the circumstances, it is ; well he is going. A man is a fool to i ask a girl to marry him when he is so j willing to give her up for an old worn- I an s fancy. Well, he's not the only ■ man in the wrld, as these baubles bear witnes s. ” As I looked in amazement at the fair , girl, there stood out before me the ! selfishness to which for so many years I had been blind. I saw again the days j of childhood passing in ieview, when dt was always I who had to give up ; toys and pleasures to suit the whims of my pretty playmate, or else she would leave me for companions who would । obe/ her slightest wish; and when we > had grown older, she monopolized ail • the young men with whom we associ- i ated and was very jealous of my friend- | ships with other girls. ! I had always humored her as if she ' were a spoiled child; for she was beau- * tiful. vivacious, and careloss, a veritable butterfly in life’- garden. And Ben Marlowe—the brave young fri nd, who always gave a helping hand to those in need, whether rich or poor, I old or young, it mattered not. I saw again the picture of the sweet-faced invalid mother, and a strange feeling swept over me, thrilling every nerve with its sudden intensity, causing me to tremble and grow pale. Tc think my friend, almost sister, had sp. . ned this man, the gift of the loyal love i which I would give my life to ciaim. I Oh, to be alone to think and fight this J battle with self. “Lucy,” I cried, my voice sharp with : i epressed agony, "you are cruel and heartless.” “Yes, I have one heart less, that's sure, and to be so berqft on St. Valentines day replied with ' laugh, nor angei -»uu loss naif’
forgotten as she reseated hersed and once more took up her scattered tro- । phies, too deeply engrossed to notice the strange ring in my voice. “The J worst of it is, Ruthie,” she continued, “that all my friends knew we were to , be married soon. You see it is a little \ humiliating to tell them we've agreed to disagree. Ah, me! what is love? u. . . An odd compound of simples mcst sweet. Culled In life’s spring by Fancy, poor mortals to cheat. Oli, see whatanelegant remembrance,” and Lucy held up a long satin ribbon .with some pretty nonsense printed there n. to which was attached to two silver heat; bound together with a diamond-tipped arrow. “Why, Ruth, it’s a brooch,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Who could have sent it? Ah, here’s a tiny note tucked in the loop; of the ribbon. Theo Van Epps! 'Well, he is a valentird worth having. J feel quite flattered, tor I never could
[ make the least impression on his high- । mightiness; he has been quite unapi proacliable.” “Quite idiotic, you mean, and so soft I that an impression hasn’t a chance to j leave an imprint.” "Ruth Davis, I believe you are jealous!” . “You can disabuse your mind of that idea at once. ” I “Let me finish the note. He says: ! ‘lf I may call, wear this gift as you go for your afternoon walk.’ Why of | course he may call; why not? Ruth, J there comes a messenger boy up the I steps, carrying a white box. I verily j believe you are going to receive a yal- । entine. Do hurry and answer the ring. ' I am wild with anxiety." I arose,' still trembling with the 1 storm < f emotion that had swept over j me, and answered the bell. Yes, the ! box was for me; but it could not be a 1 va’entine. Lucy was by my side, as, with hands that would show my nerv-ou-ness despite me, I untied the box. “It must be immense; judging by its size he could not find sufficient room to express his emotions,” laughed Lucy. I Lifting the cover, I removed the J soft paper wrappings, disclosing what bound in
» NEVER received j a valentine in my ; ? life, although I’ve | Iliad my share of sweethearts. ” “How strange, Ruth, although I think the sanding j of the e love-lorn 4- mi- sive-j is becom- , ’ ing obs lets with I the passing years” i >! eplied my visi-| o tor,Lucy Uhiches- | . ter- ....
I book than a valentine,” continued my ! companion, creeping closer to my side. I I lifted the beautiful thing from its i resting-place and opened it. For one rrrmnont life seemed to float away / into darkness. With a strong- effort I । shook off the deadly faintness almost ; overpowering me and looked once i more. On each inn t side of the handsome cover was painted on ivory the pictures . of Ben Marlowe and his dear old mothI er; so life-like they were, it appeared as if their lips were half parted to j speak to me. I forgot Lucy and all else as I gaze I fascinated upon those , two faces. The mother with her crown of snowy hair, her kindly face with the lines of patient sphering. Berp-x^-' , sem bling his faas ive, more grand, because of their masculinity. When I opened the case, a note had fallen to the floor. Lucy had picked it । up, and was now holding it in her hand. As I looked up she gave it to me without a word. I unfolded the paper and read: Dear Old Friend and Comrade: I had : these pictures painted, intenUing to give I them to Lucy on St. Valentine’s day; but as she will not care for them now, owing to ; events s ije lias probably explained to you, 1 ask y ou to accept, them, because I know i you love my dssar old mother. You know j how sue stood over me night and day when I 1 was stricken with fever, sacrificing her own life for me. I A es, Ruth, it is a sad truth which almost ■ breaks my heart; the doctors say that during that time of faithful watching she exhausted her own strength and can never recover. They tels me that at longest she can be spared to me only a year. A year: Oh I would gladly give ten. twenty, aye. forty years of my own life if only she might live. i I think I never understood Lucy. Ah. well. I will not repine. God grant that, she | will be hap y with some one more worthy i than I; with some one who has no invalid mother to stand between them. I cannot come to say farewell; we are starting hastily: but I shall boar with me pleasant memories of the unselfish little playmate of my youth and the friend of later daya Sincerely yours, Ben Marlowe. I handed the note to Lucy, watching her furtivel.v as she road it. NVoukl she regret her selfish unkindness? ' No, i' was not '■emor. e that crimsoned he j check. Tossing the letter into my lap she gave vent tn p- ' fl I “i hate her!” said lucv. I terness as I never hope to hear again. Then with a malicious laugh she gathered up her valentines and threw her scarf over her head. “111 Jsave you staring at that precious pair of idiots, Ruth,” she said sneer- ‘ ingly. “I’m sure, whatever I should have done with Ben’s picture, I should have scratched t! e eyes out of the old cat’s face.” “Lucy!” I cried, angered beyond endurance, “you forget that I have always loved Mrs. Marlowe.” i “Her son, too, perhaps,” she retorted. “You a-e cruel and unjust, Lucy. 1 That was a tale of idle gossips which ! reached your ears, whispering that Mrs. Marlowe had spoken unkindly of you. She is too good to speak thus of any one, much less of the girl her son loved. I know it was her wish that he should marry you and bring you to the Llxoiiio she-sb soon must leave for that j other home in the great beyond. But
when the doctor told Ben that change of scene and climate was all that could : prolong her life another year, he ! thought not of his own hap nnoss. ; You were both young and could wait, i and he could devote that one year entirely to his mother. “Woll, I certainly never would have gone to live in her house, to be ordered around by her and cater to her whims,” replied Lucy, as she stood with her hand on the’door. “You will not have an opportunity now, ” I answered coldly. “I haven't time to listen to a sermon, as it is growing late. I must dress for a oromenade and don my new brooch. ******* Two years passed away. Lucy and I were never quite the same after that eventful St. Valentine’s day. There , seemed to be always the shadow of it lying between us. " I was not surprised, when, a few
mouths after BonMarVwo’s departure', ' she showed me a superb diamond ring and told me sho was bo’.rothed to Theo Vaa Epps. The young man was half Imbecile, but immensely wealthy. Th^ glitter of gold blinded her eyes to alt defects, bn the next St. Valentine’s day I received a paper from Europe containing a notice of Mrs. Marlowe’s death and her burial near the English home of her ancestors. On that same day there was a brilliant wedding at Judge Chichester's. 1 was maid of honor, or rather, I took part in the sale of a soul for gold. The third anniversary of St. Valentine's, I called upon Mrs. Van Epp&, who had just returned from abroad. । “I am glad to see you, Ruth. It seems ages since we met,” she remarked, as she sank languidly into an easy chair. “I am rather fatigued after my journey, or I would ask you to remain 'for the day. Can you not favor me with a day before I am once npqjje in the whirl of soc’ely. Theo fa so fond of gayety. This is St. Valent day, isn't it? Have you received tny valentines since the day when 5? n sent you that horrid old woman sJpicture?” ‘ fag “Os whom are you speaking L I asked, hot anger leaping in my j^^Nc^ffcnsi^fatended, B’yV SP®' t 0 have <rgi his mother, so he was< _ enter society. He look<~~^« worn, not half as to be. We heard a bit g, him while in London. Deep ..A were his friends said ho was . j with the daughter of a barrister S’Vf presume he will not return uns brings a bride to the old homeßv,, looks quite shabby, don't you thins S “Almost any place would show Hkw of care when the master had beel® long absent. ” "Too bad he was not married bof(B^ his mother's death.” “Yes. A storm is arising, and I hasten." ■ r J /'J a * “No, thank you, Lucy, I prete? W 9 walk.” * vj “Do not forgot to come for the ■AY soon. I want you and Theo to me^t^^ How 1 reached the street I ne’v I® knew. The storm was now raging fur^H ously: the sleet cut my face like need^H points and blew around mo in blinding! waves. Drawing my furs close arow^H my neck and ears. 1 hastened on best I could through the blizzard® Then all at once I stopped confuses® Tne streets were deserted; alrea^® great dri ts were piled knee deep the corn©-s. Wa; 1 lost, and home mH close, ai.d Ben oh, well, what matv|L tered it? Why should I think of himH wh. in I ha<l loved so 1 mg in vain? I I murmured, as 1 stood hopelessly in the ■ dristing snow. I wo ild go to sleep here ’ in this soft, downy bed, and he would never know how i worshiped him next to my God. He is married now. Mar- $ ried, and I cannot think of him and ’ love him any more without sin, for he i is another’s. Ben, Ben. my soul roaches I out through tho da. kness, pleading J that just once more, ere the night oi ! death, 1 may see thy face. “Ruth!” “Heaven! at last I hear his voice, feel tho strong arms around me.” \\ ith a sigh ot perfect joy 1 sank into unconsciousness. Long hours afterward I opened Hv.eyes and looked around mo in suru. Fi .n i «„i.. i.„ o ;
1 Had I omy been di enminy 1 I Mother and fat ier > < I; my father, as he s r rokcd my heaTie fondly. r “Better!” I exclaimed in astonish-F ment. "Why, what has been the mat-1 ter? I was just taking a nap after my 1 tiresome walk through the snow. I 1 never saw such a bewildering storm.” j “It has been very severs, my dar- ' ling.” mother replied a- sho took my hand in hers, “and had it not been for ' Ben Marlowe, you would have frozen • to death. ” “Ben Marlowe,” I exclaimed, inter- * rupting her hastily at I raise I myself • on my elbow. i "Yes, Ruth,” answered father, “he i Ctai? soon after you left. He said he thought he would bring himself home ! for a valenti e, and see if you would be ; pleased. When the st; rm increased । in fury and you did not return, wo be- ' came greatly alarmed, fearing Lucy in : her selfish thoughtlessness had allowed j you to walk home instead of sending i you in the carriage. We became sq | anxious that Ben could not remain in j the house, so he started out to meet j you. Thank God that he did, for he । found you lying unc mscious in a drift. Lifting you in his arms he brought you home. You were cnly a block away, but I suppose you became bewildered.” “And his wife, where is she?” I asked choking t^ick a sob. “His wife!” exclaimed mother, looking at me anxiously. “You had better lie down now, dearie, and keep quiet; I fear the shock of your exposure has been too much for you.” “But Lucy said he was bringing a bride to the old home,” I answered, confusedly. “Lucy was right for once,” replied a : rich, strong voice from the shadows ' back of me; “that is, if my little valeil ! tine whom I rescued from the snoii drift will give me as favorable an answer as her pa’ ents have done, and gt with me to make sunshine in the® long darkened home. ” T Father and mother remember® some unanswered letters awaiting then, in the library, which required theA* immediate attention, so only ItS heard my answer. The fifth St. Valentine’s anniversary finds me happy in the home whereto, nearly two years, Ben and I have Hveu for each other and the good we could do to those less blessed. Lucy’s valentine to-day was a bill of divorce from her husband, granting her half his fortune; mine was a blueeyed baby boy, a miniature counterpart of his father, and wo have named him Valentine Marlowe.—Yankee Blade. ________ The Average Parent. “For a good many years I have had rather poor notions of those people who attend amateur entertainments because their children take part. The other , day my daughter took part in a show , and I bought a ticket and occupied a front seat. I thought my daughter’s r number excellent, but when other peo- ; pie’s children came on I was somewhat - bored.”—Farson Twine, in Atchison i Globe. t Goal, is dearest in Africa; cheapest ? to China.
FIRED ON TlfE REBELS. | 1 I THE UNITED STATES ASSERTS ITSELF AT RIO. ' ( '! Cruiser Detroit Turns Iler Cannon I.oose ■ s and Brings the Insurgent* to Their | Knees—Admiral Benham's Course Ap- ; proved—England May Follow Suit. Lesson in the Shot. . Un lo Sam's guns have spoken in the bay of Rio Janeiro. By a timely shot fired on an insurgent ie<sel Rear Ad-
mlral Benham, of the United States navy, brought Admiral da Gama and the Brazilian rebels to realize that they cannot ! with impunity fire on j American merchant .vessels. The insurgent leader came near resigning and seeking an asylum on board the ilmerican fleet, but the younger offi-
f’ ADMIRAL BENHAM.
cers would not yield. The principle has been firmly established that AmerL lean vessels.aiampt to bo tired on. >■ AQffllr^l 1 Rinimirr. finding that Admiral da Gama persisted in teckless firing that endangered the safely of American mei chant vessels, entered a protest. Da Gama paid no heed to this. Furthermore, he notified Admiral Benham that if the throe American merchantmen, the Amy, Good News and Julia Rollins, went to the Sandre Tiers, as they had proposed, ho would fire on them. Admiral Beu ham _ai ogep r»the i । want s! to ai d that he i P^dd send ‘the Detroit to protect I ^them. If the Detroit cou'd not fur- i nish suffici mt protection every vessel of th ' American squadron would bo employed in tho work < f protection, and Benham sought to warn the insurgent Admiral by c earing his decks for acI j THE WARSHIP DETROIT ®4on. I'a Gama refused to take this Hhint. A musket was fir. d from the Biuanabara, Da Gama s flagship, at the ® lood News. S Tho Detroit at one» fired a six-pound ^^ot across the bows of the ( dianabara, fpihereupon tho latter vessel replied Lilith what is supposed to have been a ®®tnk cartridge. Tho Detroit them ^^Hned one of her guns upon the Luanand sent a small shot into her ' n p st, and wa-- on the point of de^^Kring a broadside at the in-urgent gML when theGuanabara signaled that would stop firing. Da Gnma Would Surrender. aS the meantim ' an American citiM. Rollins. wh>» acted as the of Admiral da Gama in the arbin gotiations, lai visited, all of the American moi clip, itmen ■Jew- l ave t? -x tha
I—a* c i -at of nux. the 'ai’ l V^7V enUdo. lb- Th’* 3 \ .Tla^iHr’uroken. \ fleet of upen^too late-fa'i and give my swob^ifi to this ican^Admiral.” Later in-. I will miral da Gama calk d a coiih^merofticers, expecting that all b^dwould seek an asylum on boa dfa American licet, but the younger ol
cers would not v ield. It was stated at J the council that Admiral Bonham had offered Admiral da Gama and his officers a ylum on boaid of the American war ships. The situation was extremely delicate when the Detroit was beside the Good ' their guns 1 aded and aimed on all the Rew .The Guanabara and Tia ano had ' Amer cin vessels, while two heavy inI su gent tugs were leady to ram the Dei troit. The Guanabara and Trajano toi gether have eight spl udid rifles, but i — ~ . I 23^ 4L I ME GUANABARA. when the Detroit fired a six-pound shell into the Guanabara and Captain Brownson gave warning that if a gun was fired, even by accident, he would sink them and advised that they take । the men from the guns, they weakened. Admiral Benham hal the Nc wi ark ready to aid the Detroit, while ; the New’York, Charleston and San I Francisco were alert to receive the I Aquidaban and Tamandare, which j were under steam. md Wii I Follow Example. | It is thought England will follow the example set by the United States. The j London Standard says; । “The blockade of Rio de Janeiro has i been broken up so far as American ; trading vessels are concerned, and we । do not suppose that the American ex« ' ample will be lost noon merchants and j naval officers i epresenting other nai tions in the port. If the blockade is • thus forcibly raised the insurgent . hope of reducing President Peixoto to * submission by sta-vlng out the capital । is ended. This is the insurgents’ mainstay. Mortally Wounded Mayor Miller. William Miller, Mayor of Harrogate, i a suburb of Middlesboro, Ky., was shot ' । and mortally wounded by Bob Newbee, | ex-Marshal of the place. Newbee had ' i been dismissed for malfeasance and ' blamed Miller for it. The other nighx ■ he went to Miller's home and began 1 shooting at him. firing five shots, three of which took effect. Miller will die. ' Newbee fled to the mountains. The giant tower on the Chicago Board of Trade Building is to be torn ’ down, being too heavy for the foundations
MEN AS VAIN AS WOMAN. Watch Them as They Pass a Mirror and See for Yourself. The vanity of womm is an acknowledged fact that has been the subject of much ridicule on the part of the sterner sex, who appear to forget when ( they arc throwing stones of this character that they themselves are not altogether without Haws. In fact, though little is said about it, a man is quite as vain as a woman, and shows it in as open a manner, and this can be proved if people but stop to watch the maneuver of some well , dressed masculine as he walks down the street or takes his ride abroad, either in cars or on boats. The mirror in a shop window is as irresistibly attractive to a man as to a I woman, and it is not always the I youngest and best dressed men, either, that seem to extract considerable en oyment in regarding their own reflection. Shabbily dressed old men will loiter before a mirror and i examine their image with as much I anxiety as does the young beau starting out to his first dance. Where-e-ver a mirror is to be seen there will be, if you will but notice it, men who cannot resist gazing into it, and though it may sound like a sweeping assertion, there arc far more pocket mirrors carried by men than by women, and these are brought into play whenever a man has a lew minutes’ time to spare. These statements are not made to ■ run down the character of the men, * uutTo show that vanity lives alike in ! both sexes. Perhaps? after all, it is j not vanity that prompts men and I women to scan their images so careI fully whenever the opportunity is offered for so doing, but it may Le the innate desire to detect faults if there are any, and rectify them as speedily when they are discovered. They are frequently actions that are attributed to vanity, bit which arc only the outcome of a desire to look as well as possible in what one wears, and certainly this spirit is to be commended instead of cried down. It is our duty to look as well as we can, and if, after a study of our own refection, we can make an improvement on what we see there can be nothing hurtful in such a proceeding. Therefore, when the preacher d dares that “all is vanity” it might, perhaps, Le translated into meaning only an overcareful attention to the i details of one’s dress a d personal i adornment without any undue self- ; love as a natural ad unct. — Kansas i City Times. — Sometbin*; for Nothing. “Tiie darkest hour in any young man’s life,” says Horace Greeley, “is when he sits down io plan how to get money withinit earning it.” There are more ways than one of making this fatal mi-take o f trvin’ to uet something for nothing. The criminal way is the worst morally, luit not, the most common. Almost as denioruDflim^YYd^ljj
the ^xpen-e w**' — — Not, lomi. o 's ot ^d 3 ’ NW r-k Yan^r in reporting . Ugo - fly"' ’ 1 ,U Hu i robbeo - - yi'Ji,,'« ! money taken, .-fyy tAwfaand k —was the “trsmw weeW v remit-1
I a third wav of getting some- , sine^tw noth ing is to hunt for a j lyn, cleb^he new Mayor of Brook- . municipal x a strong platform of from a shortSm, returning home tion, found thr&iust after his eiec ; from applicants nhels of letters : them, it is safe to^face —most ot I young men who wan^fi’om lazy . place.” V “easy. This incident has led to uk tion o President Lincoln's aj^e ta ‘ ing: “If eer this free people faJ" ' Government —is utterly demoralized
it will come from this human strug-? gle for office—a way to live without ' work.” j Value for value is the only rule in i business, politics and morals.--1 Youth’s Companion. I Priceless Egyptian Antiquities. j In accordance with a promise an-; nounced some time ago some exceed- ■ ingly valuable selections of antiqui I ties, recently d scovered, have been presented to the British Government ; by the Government of Egypt. By a consignment just received the magnificent mummy collection in the British Museum has been greatly en-, riched by the addition of seven coffins. four of which inclose mummies of the fourth dynasty period, of 3633 ; B. C. The gift comprises also a num- ; ber of I’nkabti figures, as the “an-' swer. rs” to the bidding of the de- ', ceas; d are called, and they are of great archa ological importance. Those figures were laid in the tombs to execute the nether-world field , labors as decreed by Osiris, the god of the under w?rld and judge of the dead. —Scottish American. An EI eel ri c Clock. ' A new clock recently placed in the building of the Waterbury Clock Co., in the thriving Connecticut city of the same name, is not more than one-fourth the weight of a tower clock of the ordinary type, having ; dials of e ;ual diameter.and the whole ' machinery is operated by electric [ motors supplied with current from ; a salammoniac battery of ten cells, - which vvill run for a year or two withi : out renewal. The great saving in > i actual power required to propel Hiq ■ clock largely results from the fact that the electric force is applied dit rectly to the point where n-eded, l without the intervention of the com- . plex mechanism essential in weight 1 clocks of the ordinary type.
DEATH FOR VAILLANT P A RIS BOMB-THROWER DIES BY THE GUILLOTINE. Aroused from Sleep and Executed Within Twenty Seconds—Great Excitement in the French Capital Over the Execution—He Showed Wonders ul Nerve. His Head in the Basket. With the cry of “Death to the bourgeoisie! Long live anarchy!” Auguste Vaillant, the anarchist who threw the
bomb in the French Chamber of Deputies, i aid the penalty of his crime. He was awakened by the officers at 7 o clock in the morning and told, to prepare for death. He appeared to be surprise 1. and began to reiterate the theories he advanced befoie the /Assize
o KJ P' I I 1 1 ’ I VAILLANT.
court. He declared that though it was ; easy to suppress him,it was impossible to ! suppress anarchistic ideas. “My body j is nothing,” he added, “compared with I the prog; ess of principle . I shall be I revenged.” Vaillant was perfectly I calm and displayed no fear whatever, j As he appeared outside the prison ’ everybody bared their heads and the ! troops presented arms. Vaillant ad- ! vancod steadily. AVhen about eighty I yards cut-ide the prison he sprang for- ■ ward a little to shout: l “Death to the bourgeoisie;” long live 1 anarchy.” j It has been customary for the execui tioner's assistants to push the coni demned criminals against the plank, : but as Vaillant reached it he sprang ! forward and placed him-elf against it. ' The plank dropped and Vaillant’s neck ! slipped under the glistening knife, and the moment he was in position Deibler touched the spring. There was a flash 1 ■j gIW WH® 'I ■ VAILLANT REAI IN HIS ADDRESS TO THE I | JURY. p a- the heavy knife descended, and ani archist Vaillant was dead. ’ | Between the time of A aillant s arri1 val at the guillotine and the dosing^^^ i* tho bucket conlainiiig
has received oc , . fe< l Vallhim with deaAU 'WTS.'J’Vfs ied to re- , lant, and who at to putthe ‘ sign his posttwm iat d pade r ana Within 1 St^ i etery. • qOPE IS PLACED BY A WOMAN. I . in
- r i Mmo-it Succeeds tn WtXIWL. , ltea Frank t Ta u. the " ^.^pad a Mrs. Aker. at i vb.mon, In , na^ narrow esc ~., fr m lv • pO3 . enough to jet a ■ eo’uhu -m ^ht. : ff Troutman ' S-ouHit Hall back to LcW.^n from ln-mo.-r, hearing. As soon as it I dianapohs so a l .- n the ■ becairc him farm 1 s from the > city, a moo il .. ssaa lt was comj vicinity wheie • wcre re .
iWeevtor Dutch mounted the jXJs ami l egged of the mob^n allmv^F iaW t! , take it' coup?. He said thaS^ would vigorously pro-c---cute the ne§K About 1 o'clock Judge Neal ordered riff Troutman to bring the prisoner ftfcqthe vnurt. The Sheriff and p >sse canto-put ti.r, front door of the jail and down the steps to the sidewalk. There Mrs. Akers and her friend, Mrs. Hattie Taylor. met them, and,’ assisted by the now furious mob. Mrs. Taylor placed the ! rope around Hall's neck. Revolver and knives were drawn, but citizens came to the sheriff's rescue and after a twenty minutes' struggle, in which several persons were ! hurt. Hall was dragged into the courtroom. Judge Neal ordered the । sheriff, if necessary, to deputize a i thousand men. Quiet being restored the < prisoner was ordered to stand up and ' plead. In a trembling voice he plead- ! ed guilty and was sentenced to twentyone years in Northern State s prison. : Surrounded by Bn deputies, Sheriff 1 Troutman made a rush with the prisoner for the Big Four depot, and the prisoner was placed aboard the train. Accompanied by twenty of the Sheriff's posse, the uegro then -tartod , ; Michigan City. ' May Order a Big Strike. I Cipher advices from the chiefs of i the Federated Northern Pacific employes at St. Daul indicate that a strike i will be ordered if there is no change in ; the situation soon. Notos of Current Events. I James Jones an l Tom Fry. negroes, were both desperately w unded in a , fight near Danville, Ky. j 11. B. Tillinghast, a Toledo travel- ; ing man, was stricken with paralysis on i the street at Lima. Ohio. i England’s fear of war is dying out, ; and the public is no longer absorbed | with vague rumors of conflict. i Suit was brought against ex-County ! Treasurer Cashman at Greeley Ceni ter, Neb., for $39,000, his al’eged shortage.