Evening Star Newspaper, December 6, 1890, Page 7

~\wrfl EVENING STAR: ‘WASHINGTON, D.C, SATURDAY. HIS OLDEST FRIENDS. HER FIRST LOVE AND HER SECOND HUSBAND. WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY MISS M. E BRADDON. CHAPTER L NM AXIME ST. VALLIER loved the only daughter of one of Napoleon III's gen- erals and modestly offered himself and the pos- sibilities of a journalistic career, which had been full of golden opportunities, all flung to the winds. He enlarged upon the great things he might and would do in literature and poli- ties if hewere but urged by the noblest in- centive to labor, the rexpensibilities of a hus- band who idolized his wife. Gen. Leroux smiled the bland, pitying smile of age that has forgotten the sensations and dreams of youth. “Teannot marry my daughter to possibili- ‘ties, however brilliant,” he said. “I know you have had a brilliant career and you have taken life at break-neck time, as if it were ® waltz at the Mabille. The question of her fature has long been quietly settled be- tween her mother and me on the one part and scouple of old friends of ours on the other Maxime knew Lucie Leronx well enough— her soft, aan nature, her loveof father and mother, her severely religious training at an Ursuline convent—to be very sure that she would obey her parents and marry the suitor they hadchosor for her. It was hopeless to fight against bis fate: the common burgeoise Nemesis called Prudence barred his path to happiness. "He went off to Algiers, and in that original society amid scenes of fairy-like enchant- ment, he tried to live down his love, and at least succeeded in finding life endurable and full of inspiration for his pen. He was still in Africa when he saw the announcement of Lucie’s mar- The bridegroom was Charles Colnet, an iron founder of established position and large wealth. ‘The match was a good one, and Gen. Leroux and his wife were to be congratu- lated upon having done remarkably well for their danghter. Maxime’s business in life was to forget her. He was not able to do that yet awhile, but he was able to fling himself heart and soul into his iterary work—embittered, hardened, but strengthened by the one honorable passion of his life, by having loved nobly and in vain. From being known as one of the cleverest jour- nalists of his day he became famous as the author of a novel which struck a new string upon the seven-stringed lyre of earthy passion and heavenward-looking hope. Then by an unexpected inheritance from an unele St. Vallier found himself a land owner of some importance. and furnished with means Which justified his taking life exactly as fancy dictated. So he settled quietly down in the noble Louis Treize chatean and for the first year of possession de- voted himself to the almost impossible task of improving upon perfection. He might have fallen into a settled melancholy but for anew and most unlooked-for happiness that eame to him three years after his enrich- ment. Charles Colnet went the way of all flesh with an awful suddenness early in the spring of that year, and in the following summer Maxime methis old sweetheart at La Bourboule, ill, nervous and fragile as a pale March primrose— sbaken and seared by the shock of an unloved husband's death, “childless and altogether — T...re could be but one result of such a meet- ing. To ye the pensive and ailing woman was more interesting if less lovely than the girl he once had hoped to win. And then what exquisite delight it was for him to watch the return of the old loveliness, like the grad- ual glow and glory of « summer sunrise, as the widow's heart reawakened to the old love. Yes, she had loved him always, she confessed, when they parted late in September, she to return to Paris to arrange her affairs and prepare for a second wedlock, he to go back to the woods and gardens of St. Vallier, and to elaborate that which he had been elaborating for the last three years. He had to prepare the nts of the new chateau. Everything been Pronounced complete from garret to cellar, mut nothing in existence could be good enough for the new mistress of bis home and the od mistress of his heart. The wedding was solemnized in Paris a year after Charles Colnet’s death. This was the. be- es, of a new existence for Maxime St. Val- lier. All things looked brighter colored in the sunlight of domestic happiness, but youth that is spent. is spent. No man can make himself Young again, least of all the man who has taken rose, manhood letween twenty and forty at a swinging pace. e latter years Of that wan are ike ike ised. hanter'e reemne stableward after a grand run with the hounds, ‘The horse may have done prodigies between noon and sundown, but be has had his day and must creep quietly home to rest. The most famous physician in Paris had told St. Valier to be careful of himself. “You have burnt the lamp of life rather too fiercely,” he said. “There is, however, oil enough left for a good many years to come if You will only husband it.” This was a sage warning, but it is dificult for a man who has won the fruition of his fond- est hopes to remember the shadow on the dial, creeping on with slow, inevitable progress. St. Vallier gave himself up to the gladness of his new life and to the delight of his wife's so- ciety. She was delighted with her surround- ings ‘at the chateau, pleased at the idea of spending the greater part of every year in that tranquil home, far from the excitements and Gissipations of republican Paris. Her hus band’s friends were her friends, and, although there was faint flavor of the ‘Quartier Latin and the Bal Bullier still clinging to those old comrades, they were all of them men of intel- lect and some of them men of mark—literary meu and painters who bad made themselves famous, or, at least, fashionable; advocates whose florid eloquence had but too often made the forger or the parricide appear rather the victim than the ¢riminal and had found exten- ‘wating circumstances in the darkest story of crime. It was in the second sutumn of St. Vallier’s wedded life that a party of these friends ar- rived at the chateau, intent upon enjoying all the sports and pleasures which St. Vallier le Roi afford—hawking, shooting, hunting, yea, even the music of the village Orpheonistes the dances at the village fairs. Maxime's friends were all men. Lucie supplied the female element, and brought around her half ‘adozen of the most elegant women in Paris; widows or wives on furlough, fresh from their seaside holiday or their “cure” in Auvergne oF Savoy, Schwalbach or the Pyrenees. Every one was with the chateau. Pretty women went buzzing up and down the corridors, Peering into the grim seventeenth century turrets, Guttering up and down the corkscrew with much music of light laughter and frou-fron of silk and lace. oe Y were delighted with everything, but perhaps most of all to find that very audacious es of Parisian boudoirs, Tolpache, and t daring analyst of the female heart, Vivien, the novelist, on the premises. “There is something very awful in the idea of living for a fortnight in the same h ith | feo wach men,” said’ Mudame: Eveemoe te i Danker's widor ‘one feels one's principles in If his heaven it isn't,” said St. Vallier, “or ‘M. Vivien would be intolerable. Social analysis jood thing to dream and doze over, adipose creature, who offered to the fashiona. problem Die faiseur the Dest of « jelly fish. “Unhappily, chere dame, there is no ghost.” of how to make the “What' in a chateau built in middle of | the seventeenth century—a chathhe built when men wore long hair and velvet doublets and gannon sleeves and point d’Alencon raffles. ‘That cannot be traditions, hardly respectabi “anid there is no ghost, but I did not say there are no family traditions.” “There are traditions, then?” asked the stout py ee ny “There is one that savorsof the bat se I never yet believed in a kind when I heard it told of another man ily, Iam not is told fam- likely to believe in this legend be- the very word has Evremonde. of my own ancestors.” fascination '* ‘Please let us ghost—not the shadow of a shade—has ever been asserted to walk these corridors or harbor in any room, garret or cellar of this chatean. 1¢ yon good ladies will graciously wait tll after dinner I will tell you the story.of St. Vallier le Roi while we take our coffee.” “It is al then?” t very long, but too long tobe told in this passage while your maids are running about with your luggage, and while my chef is doubtless in a fever of impatience lest the din- ner should be delayed so long as to spoil his best efforts.” His guests took the hint and ran off to their various rooms, Madame St. Vallier and her housckeeper going about with them to show them where they were lodged. Lamps were being lighted in the corridors; many wax can- dles were burning upon toilet tables and man- tle-pieces. Ax the great clock chimed the half hour after 6 all the windows in the chateau gleamed and twinkled through the October twilight. It was still early in the month, the evenings were softand gray and the woods were still green. The dinner was excellent, the guests were fall of vivacity and light, airy tulk. The ing hall, with its dark oak paneling, family por- traits, gobelin tapestry and quaint Henri Deu: pottery, was a picture which delighted the eye of Adolphe Tolpache, the painter—a back- found which he was likely to use in many little pictured tete-a-tete, confidential, risque, suggestive. On the appearance of coffee and liqueurs Madame Evremonde turned to her host, by whose side she was sitting. “Your family tradition,” she said; “the mo- ment has come.” Dlaxime bowed a smiling assent. “We'll get rid of the servants first,” he mur- mured in herear. ““That will do, Robert,” to the major domo; “you and Jaques can put your salvers on the table yonder,” pointing to @ table in a recess. The well-trained servant understood the dis- missal and at_ouce withdrew with his under- lings. As the heavy oak door closed upon them Maxime leant forward with his folded arms on the table cloth. Now then for the ghost story,” he eaid. “It isa ghost story, but, I am happy to say, the ghost has nothing to do with this house.” We have no haunted room from which the too daring guest emerges, after a self-imposed ordeal, with his hair blanched and his brain turned. Onr ghosts are out of door ghosts. The legend of St. Vallier is the legend of the phantom char-a-bancs.” “A phantom char-a-bancs. A new manner of ar Dieu. What does it do, this char-a- a “Very little. It is supposed to be seen driv- ing through the woods in the evening dusk; seen by the owner of the estate. A curious old- world carriage, a carriage belonging toa period in which coaches were 'a novelty and when a court beauty was known to barter her reputa- tion for a gilt coach; a beauty of rank and so- cial status, mark you, who had resisted every other lure.” “We know our de Grammont, merci,” laughed Vivian, “revenez a votre char-a-banes.” “It is seen in the gloaming somewhere along that wooded road th: 0 the home farm; at least, that is the traditional piace. It is seen by the owner of the estate, and in that strange antiquated vehicle he sees a strange set of pas- sengers—the friends he valued most, the friends who have gone before. “Que diable! Your estate is well provided,” exclaimed Tolpache. “Nota single ghost, not the old-established family spectre, but a whole company of apparitions, a crew of phantoms. Apres, mon ami? When’ the lord of the soil seen the spectral char-a-banes, what then?” “He is forewarned of bis approaching death. lieved, no man ever said Tolpach: nival trick of cher St. Vallier’s fast and furious friends. A thing done once, perhaps in the wild days of the regency, and_ exaggerated by rumor into a family custom. Histoire de rire. That is the way ancestral ghosts are made.” “My dear Tolpache, if you are a skeptic, so am I.’ Ino more believe in my family appari- tion than you do; ies wanted the story and Were inclined to believe in the phan- tom char-a-bancs. Madame Belfort insisted upon being told in what direction the road lay by which the char-a-bancs was supposed to travel, in order that she might take her morning con- stitutional on that very road.” “a car- CHAPTER IL. ‘When a man has a beautiful wife and a circle of intimates, however well he may have chosen his friends, and however long he may have known them, there is always a traitor among them; there is always one man who holds no law sacred where a lovely woman's favor is or may be the reward of treachery. There is al- ways one man who disbelieves in woman's chastity and who thinks every man’s wife a pomible prize, if not for other men, at least for imself. There was one such traitor in Maxime de St. Vallier’s circle, and that traitor was Vivien, the novelist, a writer who had painted duchesses from models picked ont of the Parisian gutter, who had dissected and analyzed and poetized and his own idea of woman, evolved out of his own very nasty inner consciousness, and who could not recognize purity when he saw it. Hector Vivien was neither a shooting nor a hunting man, cared for neither fox hounds nor falconry. He would have bored himself to death at St. Vallier le Roi if he had been with- out an object. Every man who lives in the country must hunt something, even if that something be only a moth or a butterfly. Vivien hunted Lucie St. Vallier. The calm, high souled. beautiful woman was the quarry which he had chosen, and he fully believed that he should succeed in the chase. “If not today, tomorrow.” That was his motto where women were concerned. Elated by a succession of facile conquests, he thought conquests easy. Lucie’s matronly dignity was, to his mind, only the mask worn by al! well-bred women. there was alway He pursued his accustomed arts very care- fully, varying his tactics in accordance with his surroundings. He was so subtle that neither husband nor wife suspected his motives. St. Vallier apologized to him for the monotony of life ut the chateau. “You who care neither for hawk nor hound must find it a very dull busi- ness,” he said. “My dear Maxime, you forget that I have to finish my novel and find a title for it before the end of the year. Nothing could suit me better than the repose of this uneventfal life.” “I fear you did not make much progress with Your story yesterday, monsieur,” said Lucie gaily: “you were loitering about the gardens and the farm all the afternoon.” “Dear madame I wus thinking of my title. That is the hardest work of Tt was to be observed that Vivien spent day after day in the same leisurely meandering be- tween garden and farm, park and pleasannee, or in accompanying the ladies of the party to distant rains or rustic village or, indeed, in any direction that Madame de &t. Vallier pre- posed for i 8 not averse riding, wasa light weight and rode fairly well for a literary man; so, having found a mount of St. Vallier’s that saited him to per- fection, he took to accompanying his hostess and Madame Evremonde in their morning rides, and thus familiarized himself with every path and glade in the extensive woods. Lucie showed him the spot where the phan- tom char-a-bancs was said to have wppeared, a point where the footpath branched off from the road and where a giant oak spread his gnarled ithered limbs, alive and flourishing on and dead ‘on the other, fitting land- mark far a haunted spot. Vivien was very jocose about the char-a- banes, but Lucie checked him with a sigh. “If the legend were true,” she said gravely: “if some day Maxime were to tell me he had seen the phantom carriage !" “You would guess, dear madame, that he had supped with the Widow Cliquot over night,” the noveliat answered gaily. He was not going to encourage sentimentality abont @ husband, October wore toward its close. A pack of English fox hounds bad been brought over to a | neighboring quasi-royal chatean by an Irish | nobleman, a man in whose family sport and fine riding were a tradition. The hounds af- forded splendid yport aud the peer was a soc Roi twice in a | suecess—dined at St. Vallier | fortnight and made himself particularly agree- able to the ladies of the party. It was curious that, coming upon the scene as a stranger, he should have been the only visitor who saw threatened mischief in Hector Vivien’s languid | saunterings and close attendance upon Madame de St. Vallier and her friends. “If Iwasa little more intimate with St. Val- lier [should try to open his eyes about that particular friend of his,” said the peer, com- Mmuning with himself as hedrove home after his second dinner at the chateau. “A fellow who is able to sit a horse and yet does not care for riding to hounds in such a splendid country as this must have some darker gume in view. I think I know pretty well what the Parisian Seecmea ea Ree pletely happy during jaxime complet those short autumn days. He had hot been husbanding bis strength, for he had ridden as hard as anybody else, yet he had felt in better health than he enjoyed for the last ten years, full of life and vigor, and with an ap- petite which him think with a pit trifled fret it that he was rapi: many a | ki and several of visitors had left the chateau; but the party seemed only cosier and more lively as the circle grew smaller. “Just the right number ing around the fire and telling 4 Maxime aid, as they drew their chairs ina semi-circle about the wide hearth in the central hall, a hearth whereon burned huge logs of red firs exhaling aromatic —— just it number to appreciate Lucie de’ Vallier's sweet voice aa she sang Heine's ballads or De ‘Museet’s passionate love songs, in the gloam- “"Ninon, "Ninon. que fais tude la vie ‘Toi, ‘qui n'a pas Painour?” “What did she do with her life, this tranquil, dignified chatelaine?” Vivien asked himself, she who seemed to know nothing of love—cer- tainly not of love as he interpreted the pas- sion—a wicked, transient fever, prompting to all, manner of falsehood and treachery; a burning, fiery furnace from which a woman emerges scathed and seared, marked with the inefface- eble brand of infamy. The mect had been more remote than usual and the hounds had gone far in a dircction thatled further and further away from St. Vallier le Roi: so on this particular evening Maxime was riding home alone, having left his friends, Tolpache, the. painter, and the advo- cate, Bartrond, to take their own line. He new that his wife would be full of anxieties and morbid fancies about him should he not return till long after dark, and to stay with the hounds this m would mean a very late home-coming. He had left the hounds at3 o'clock, by which time they had lost their first fox and were drawing a wood fifteen miles from St. Vallier le Roi. In all probability the fox would take them further away from that point and the run might finish thirty miles from ome. ‘Maxime was riding a second horse, which took him homeward at the rate of seven miles an hour, and the sun was just beginning to set as he rode out of a bridle track through = planted fir wood, and came, upon the carriage road which Madame Belfort had christened the phantom’s highway. Nothing was further from his thoughts than the tradi- tion of his family upon that particular evening. He was in excellent health and spirits, aud was thinking how delightful it would ota home in advance of the other men and to enjoy aquiet hour with Lucie, tete-a-tete in that quaint old turret room, which she had made her boudoir. “How sweet it would be to sit be- side the firé in the curious hooded chimney corner, talking confidentially and all in all to cach other, Just for that one quiet hour, before it was time to dress for dinner. He rode slowly along, thinking of the woman he loved so dearly with such n pure and placid affection; alove so strong in its unbounded faith; a love across whose brightness there had never fallen the shadow of a change. As Maxime reached the turn of the road and saw the glade in a slanting line before him, he was startled by the sound of a horn, curiously faint, yet seeming near, and looking straight before’him he saw a carriage approaching, and mechanically pulled his horse out of the nar- row road to make way for it. The carringe was largo and heavy looking, drawn by four horses and neither wheels nor horses’ hoofs sounded on the hard gravel road. It drove slowly past him, filled with men whose faces were turned to him, pallid in the gray faint light; the face of Gerard de Ner- val, who hanged himself in the Rue de la lle Lanterne; the face of Alfred de Musset, who bn, his constitution by drink and dissipa- io faces of men less famous than these two— gone before. One, his oldest, dearest, trust- t friend in the long ago, stood up in the car- riage and, looking at him earnestly, pointed with solemn gesture to the setting sun. The red gold edge of the orb dropped as he pointed, and the day was dead. ‘e cher Horace,” sighed Maxime, as the carriage vanished into the shadows of the wood. “That means a rendezvous. We are to meet soon.” He rode homeward very slowly. He had never believed in this legend of the char-a- banes, and yet the fact of having seen it and the faces of his dead friends gave him no sur- rise. It seemed as if he had known always that e should see these familiar faces and receive this message of appronching death. Yet only a few minutes ago he had been rejoicing in’ the idea of long and happy years lying before him, @ quiet, leisurely journey, hand in hand with his beloved, down the hill of life. ‘The effect of that strange vision upon him was like the effect of a blow that produces brief unconsciousness. The man who m stunned awakens with aconfused sense of time; feels as if years had gone by in those few minutes of total oblivion. Not for s moment did he try to reason away the vision, to think it a delusion of a mind pre- possessed ' by that particular image. To him the thing was a truth, a positive indisputable fulfillment of the family legend. He was doomed shortly todie. In the midst of his calm delight in life the fateful summons had come, and he must obey. He could not mis- understand that look in his dead friend’s face, the hand pointing to the sinking sun. For him, too, the stin of life was going down. He had fancied himself so much improved in health, 80 much stronger than of old.” A fallacy born of & contented mind, perhaps, That decay which he had once di ‘wus’ gag on within the citadel of life; heart or lungé, somewhere there must be hidden mischief,and the finger of death had marked him. “I'll see what scienée says of me,” he thought, “and if the doctor's verdict coincides with the spectral warning’I shall know that my | race is run. There is always some comfort in certainty. I will go to Paris by the Rapide to- morrow and let Bianehon overhaul me." ving come to this decision, he put his horse at a trot and rode rapidly home, arriving in time for a cup of tea, which Lucie called “le 5 o'clock,” in the turret boudoir and for that long cozy talk with his wife, which he had an- ticipated. She praised him for his devotion in leaving the hounds and coming home alone, lest she should spend uneasy hours after dark. She was guy, caressing, ebarming, and it was exquisite happiness to’ snatch this hour alone with her. Not by one word or sigh did Maxime reveal the mental shock he had experienced; yet, in the midst of their light talk and laughter ie ‘was thinking of a day near at hand when she would be sitting lonely and widowed in that room, and he was recalling the Ogg of the will which he had made directly after his marriage—a will which left his wife every- ing. Before going to her boudoir he had dis- patched a mounted messenger with a telegram, asking Dr. Bianchon to expect him ata certain hour on the following day. | He would take the omnibus train from St. Vallier le Roi to Dijon that night in time to start from Dijon by the Rapide. After much happy talk he told Luci that he had to go to Paris on particular busi ness and that he meant to travel at night, both in going and returning, so that he might be bsent for the shortest time possible. “But you will fatigue yourself dreadfully by two night Journeys," sald Lucie, growing sad at the prospect of even this brief separation. “Notat all. I shall take a wagon-lit each the | will enable you to become a centenarian,” con- e_ gotten afterward as the butterities of last sum- mer. cluded Biarichon Iai S A consulting p! nan 00 oftan eecnsion Vivien his adieux with a cordial round phd = ween an ae ee His host was for e - “T have come to ask you to make a th almost the last to whom ho cate with sinister examination and to find out if there is any smile and outstretched hand. den mischief in my constitution.” ¢ straight and stern in front of “Do you suspect anything?” asked thé doc- | him. not take hand. tor, with his keen look, a look which suggested | _ “You know the old sa; » monsienr, ‘Speed eee ee the parting eel ea "a have coat and waistcoat incl war ‘utmost pleasure in depar- case through ‘which he sew the inner ma | fare, which I belie re waa hastened by the par- chinery. req! my fe." “No; I never felt better in my life.” A quiver of surprise shook Vivien for s “And you deliver yourself over of own | moment, but in the next he collected himeelf accord to the stethoscope and the sphygmome- | and accepted the situation with all its conse- ter! Prudent man. Kindly take off your coat | quences. and waistcoat.” Dr. Bianchon made s most studious examina- tion 0” his patient, sounded, rapped and lis- tened, and then, with a smile, gave him a clean bill of health. “Your pulse is capital, so we won't trouble the sphygmometer, which I find very useful with my alcholic patients,” said the doctor. “I told you when you were here last that there was nothing organically wrong. I can tell you now, in all good faith, that you are as sound within 8 vou are well loking without—no whited se- pulchre here, mon, ami,” with a friendly tap on itient’s chest. snd there ig no fear of my dying suddenly, within the next three or four days: “Not unless you get yourself under the wheels of an omnibus, or by the side of some clever friend who will scramble through a hedge with the muzzle of his gun pointed at your ribs. Death by internal disense you have no need to fear—heart and and lungs are as sound as a bell.” 2 “Thank God!” exclaimed Maxime fervently. “What put thete fears intp your head for you must have felt nervous about yourself or you would hardly have come all the way from Your country place to see me?” “A foolish fancy. I am’ too happy in m; surroundings not to fear. Good-by; come an seo me at St. Vallier if ever you can find ae : “That is just the thing I never can find, but I should like to spend # couple of days at your chateau when all Paris is out of town. Unfor- tunately when all Paris is away therg are gen erally some very interesting caseq at the hos- pitals and I take that opportunity to go on with my education.” Maxime and his wife sed a house in the Rue de Varennes. tt had been Lucie’s house during her widowhood, and here acouple of old servants kept all things in order while their master and mistress were in the country. Maxime had sent his servant on before him and found a comfortable breakfast neatly set out in the well-furnished library, which his wife had given him as his own den. Small as the house was, and although all things in it were in perfect order, the rooms hadan aspect which weighed upon Maxime's spirits. There was an atmosphere of emptiness and desolation. He was glad to put on his hat and go out artd wander aimlessly about Paris, finding his way to the Champ Elysees and the Bois, counting the hours till the Rapide would im southward. take hit He had engaged places in the sleeping car for himself and his valet. He was at the terminus half an hour before the train started, tired out with his rambles about Paris and With the wakeful night in the express: so he took off coat and boots and laid himself down under a fur rug, which his servant ar- ranged for him, and was soon asleep. He must have slept some hours, for it was the voice of the porters shouting Tonnerre that awoke him, and most of the travelers were getting out for supper. He did not care to eat or drink—felt weary in limbs and hend,and composed himself tosleep again, but this time sleep did not answer his call.’ ‘Two men in berths near his were goxsiping in a subdued murmur, which was more exasperating to St, Vallier's nerves than the loudest talking might have been “Know him?” said one of the speakers, “I should think I did know him—much better than he knows the women he pretends to ana- lyze in those sickly novels of his. Itell you he is a lump of vanities—thinks himself irresisti- ble—thinks that where he is concerned there is no such thing as virtue or honor in woman. A woman may have resisted every other tempter, but when he comes, he comes like Cmear to see and to conquer. “I don't believe he will succeed with Madame de St. Vallier, irresistible as he may consider himself,” said the other man, “Do you know the lady?” “I knew her when she was Madame Charles Colnet and knew her to be a perfect wife, and yet I believe she was married to Colnet by her rents when she was very young. He was Bardly the kind of man = beacaful girl would have chosen for herself—a rough dinmond, ce cher Colnet—but she never allowed society to see tha? he was not the first man in the uni- verse for her, and if this fellow Vivien brags of her favors he must be an artant scoundrel.” “He does not actually claim to be favored, but he declares that he will be. You know his boastful device: ‘If not today, tomorrow.’ I sawa letter he wrote toJulot of the Sancho Panza, in which he talked as if tomorrow were near at kan.” They talked of other things, and by-and-by the murmuring censed, but St. Vallier lay broad awake till the train steamed into Dijon, and he counted every minuté that must pass before the tardy morning train would take him back, sopping. ‘at three village stations on the way to Bt. Vallier le Roi. His wife was at the station to meet him with & {coupe and pair, more fur rugs and a bouil- tte. She was there to mect him, radiant, loving; yet his soul sickened at the thought that her fondness might be a disguise to hide a heart that was already faithless. Yet no, he would not doubt her purity, even though the tainted breath of the seducer had passed across it. “Is Vivien still at the chateau?” he aske® carelessly, as they drove away from the station. He had lost so much time on the way with that accursed omnibus train that it wapalready daylight, and he could see his wife's face darken suddenly at the sound of the novelist’s ndme, and = felt the arm within his own tremble n iy. ‘es; but he leaves this evening by the dame train by which you traveled.” “That is rather sudden, isn't it? He talked of staying as long as we would have him in order that he might finish his novel in the quiet of the country.” “He may have found that his novel made very little progress, and that the air of St. Val- lier was not conducive to literary work.” “Lucie! I believe that man has been guilty of some impertinence to you.” “Not the least in the world,” his wife an- swered, With a little laugh which was meant to be reassuring: “only he has somewhat out- stayed his welcome. Laure and Tare of the same opinion in being tired of his company, and we ventured to let him perceive our senti- ments—of course in the politest way—durin ‘our absence. Literary men are sensitive, an ‘Be sure you do. And you will be back" “The day after tomorrow, much too carly for breakjast.” “I will have breakfast ready for you, however early the carriage. “I beg that you will do no such thing. A long drive on a cold, wintry morning might give you a dangerous chill.” “Tam too hardy a plant for that, Maxime. The life Tlead in these delicious woods has made me a8 strong asa lioness.” “My lioness!” he cried, smothering the fair bright face with kiwes, “queen of my forests and of my heart!" ‘The gong sounded lond in_ the vaulted hall, signal to dress for dinner. Maxime hurried off to change his clothes and to give orders about his departure. A carriage was to be ready at ten to take him to the station. The omnibus train left St. Vallier le Roi at 11:20, reached m in time for the Rapide, and he would be ris in the early morning with two or three hours to waste before he could hope to be ad- mitted to the great Bianchon’s consulting room. He was full of talk and laughter at the dinner table that evening, in the «mall, snug circle of seven, with the exaggerated vivacity of « man who wants to hide a canker in his heart. Vivien, too, was unusually gay; told his best stories, flashed his brightest repartees, a shade more recklessly than usual. and it may be that if Maxime de St. Vallier had not been preoccupied with his own gloomy thoughts he might have taken objection to some of the novelist’s sallies, As it was, he talked and rattled on, scarce hear- certainly not heeding what was said by others and hardly knowing what he said him- in this feverish state he sat over the coffee d liquors till the butler announced the car- riage that was to take him to the station. His servant and his valise were ready. ‘He took a hasty farewell of wile and friends and was gone. CHAPTER IIL Dr. Bianchon received M. de St. Vallier be- ciety and received him as a friend. “My dear 8t. Vallier, I have to congratulate you may be. Ishall be at the station with | Ka \e was quick to understand the situation; and devise a wudden necessity to be in Paris.” “God bless you, my dearest!” cried Maxime, clasping his wife to hisheart. “If Eve had beer like you the serpent would have crawled out of Eden baffled and humiliated.” r Maxime, I really don't know what vou are thinking about,” his wife said, gaily. “The whole business was as simple as bon jour, and Thope you will be especially polite to M. Vi- vien on the last day of his visit.” ) the slightest doubt that Hee- to: n had taken advantage of the hus- band’s absence to declare himself to the wife, and that he had been repulsedavith the fearless scorn of unassailable purity. He took an oj portunity to question Laure Evremonde in the course of the day, and though she would tell him very little, her admissions and even her reticence confirmed him in his belief. ‘Vivien and his host did not meet {ill dinner jistwas in his room all day, sheer stupidity. Yes, he had wooed his friend's wife—he iad found his opportunity in ‘the afternoon tude of the pleasaunce screened from tho windows of the chateau by ten-foot. hedges cypress und yew, as secure from observation sain a forest labyrinth. He bad brought to in & ‘bear all those arteand Yascinations wi had always found irresistible with duchesses it with his his eyes a Keener ‘on the evening irritation. i oF F H “Tam leaving hurriedly, I admit,” he ‘although {am in somao baste t leave this other side aball spend tonight at the inn in your village and shall be st your service at whatever hour may suit your convenience and roles fend prepared for this. . ie, you lor Loisin, Tknow can rely Gn jou" said. Max: ime, turning to his two most intimate friends. “For my own part Ihave only one desire to express. Let our meeting be at sunset tomor- Tow; weapons as you please. That delay will give me time to arrange my affairs. He turned on his heel and went to the music room, leaving Vivien to choose his onds and sctile details. He felt in his choice of the sunset hour that he was obeying an old friend's summons and Tie eit tay veassaice peaceful di e next day passed like ream. Maxime and his wife were alone together for the greater part of their time, Lucie having excused herself from an excursion to a vile race course in order to be her husband's companion. No cloud upon his brow fore- warned her of approaching doom. He wanted that day to be cloudless—that day which he told himself would be his last of love and of life. He parted with her at half-past three o'clock, straining her to his breast’ with one Jong prasionate kiss as he bade her good-bye, ere was despair in that embrace and for the first time since his return she was startled from her happy security. “Why good-bye?” she asked. “How pale you aro, Maxime. Ys there anything wrong “Wrong? No, dearest. I am only going as far as tho village to settie some busi- ness with my bailiff.” “You @ill be back to dinner?” “hope so.” eh ee Paes When the sun dipped at. the bottom of that wooded hollow where Maxime had seen it sink three days before, the augury of the earnest face and the pointing hand had been (The End—Copyrighted.} Som idee) NEW PUBLICATIONS. SOME AMERICAN PAINTERS IN WATER COLORS: Fac-similes of New Works by William ‘T. Smedicy, Rosina Emmet Sherwood, Walter L, Palmer,’ Leon Moran, J. Pauline’ Sunter, James M. Barnsley, J.L: Gerome Ferris and ‘Maud Humphrey. With portraits of the Artists, and representations of their work in black-and- White. Text by RipLey Hitcucock. Ne York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. Washington: Brentano's. THE YOUNG FOLKS CYCLOPADIA OF GAMES AND SPORTS. By Joun D. CHAMPLIN, JE. late Associate Editor of “The American Cyclo- pedia,” and Axraur E. Bostwick. With humerous Iilustrations. ‘New York: Henry Holt & Co. Washington: Brentano's. ALOYAL LITTLE RED-COAT: A Story of Child Life in “New York a Hundred Yeats Aj iy Roti Oanes, author of “His Royal Highness.’ With over sixty original illustrations by H. A. Ogden. New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. ‘ashington: Brentano's. THE PRINCESS, and Other Poems. By ALFRED Lonp Tmrxveon, Poet Laureate. Vignette Edition, with 100 New Illustrations, by Charles Howard Johnson. New York: ick A. Stokes Co. Washington: Brentano's. KING TOM AND THE RUNAWAYS. The Story of What Befell Two Boys ina La Swamp. By Louis PEXDLETON, author of “in ‘the Wire-Grass,” etc. New York: D. Appleton Co. Washington: Robert Beall. HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN IN EUROPE. By i Lange, Berlin. Translated and ac- companied by ‘Comparative Statistics, by L. R. Krew, Pa.D. New York: D. Appleton & Co. ‘Washington: Robert Beall. HISTORY OF MY PETS. By Grack Greexwoop, author of “Stories of My Childhood,” etc. New Edition, Revised and Enlarged bythe anthor. With new Ilustrations. New York: United States Book Co. STORIES OF MY CHILDHOOD, and Other Tales. By GRACE GREENWOOD, author _of “History of ly Pets,” etc. Ealtion, Revised by ‘the Author. Illustrated. New York: United States Book Go. DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS, and Other Verses. By RUDYARD KiPLixa, ‘author of “Plain Tales from the Hillis,” ete., ete. New York: United States Book 0. : Good and Bad, at Home and in .. By the author of “Social Etiquette of New York," etc. ete. New York: A. Stokes Go. Washington: FLOWER-FOLE. New $n. Colors and ‘Monotimt. By Latha ¢. Hilas. "New Verses by ANNa'M. Pratt. New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. Washington: Brentano's. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE. A Novel. By FLORENCE MARYATT, author of “Love's Con- let,” etc. Authorized Edition. New Yori (ed States Book Co. THE McVICKAR CALENDAR, FOR 1891. With fac-similes of Water Color Desi 'y H. W. MeVickan. New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. ‘Washington: J. J. Decker. MY UNCLE BENJAMIN. A Humorous, Satirical and Philosophical Novel. By CLAUDE TILLIER. ‘Translated from the French by Benj. 8. Tucker. Boston: Benj. R. Tucker. THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST. | An Autoblography. By JCLax BuETON. — ‘Translated by Mary 3. Serrano. “New York: D. Appleton & Co. Wash- ington: Robert Beall, A LAGGARD IN LOVE. B, BEerraxy, author of “The ete. Authorized Kal ites Book Co. JEANIE GWYNNE louse of Rimmon,” ‘New York: United WIDOW GUTHRIE. A Novel. By Ricnanp Mat- CoLM JousToN. Illustrated by E. W. Kemble. New York: D. Appleton & Co. Washington: Robert Beall. CROWDED OUT 0° CROFTELD; or, Tax Bor WHO MADE Wis Way. By WILLIAM O. STODDARD. New York: D. Appleton & Co. Washington: Robert Beall. BASIL AND ANNETTE. author of “The Mystei Authorized Edition. Book Co. By B. L. Farsnow, of M, Felix," ete, ete. jew York: United States HEALTH GUYED. By Franx P. W. BELLEW. Profusely Mlustratea with Cuts. New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. Wi : Sd. Decker. A VERY YOUNG COUPLE. By B. L. Farsnon, wuthor of “Blade-o'-Grans,” etc., etc. Author- ized Edition. New York: United States Book THE DEMONIAC. By Waprer Besant, author of “The Lament of Dives,” etc., etc. Authorized Faltion. New York: United States Book Co. LE BEAU SABREUR. | By Axwie of “Dennis Donne,” etc., ete tion. New York: United States Book Co. UCATIONAL REFORMERS, Bi HERREET QUICK. New York: D. Ap- pleton & Co. Washington: Robert Beall. THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. By the Man who ed the Murderer. _ Authorized Edition. ited States Book Co. E MOKEVILLE TENNIS MATCH. By Eoucnp TH Rene, New Yor Wrederck Ar Biokes Ge, Washingtqu: Robert F. Miller. GOOD THINGS OF LIFE. Seventh Series. TH ow Yorks Frederick A-Btokes Cor ‘Washing- ton: Hobert F. Miller. A BRIDE FROM THE BUSH. By a New Writer. "Authorized Ealtion. "New York: United States Book Co. fice An Indian Summer. From Life. ——_—<00——— : “If I were rich for just one little Kingley ‘1 should like to know what good i — ay ER 6, 1890-SIXTEEN PAGES. -Ipiomunen 6 "Teoo-emxreen Paces THE NOBLE RED MAN. Senator Sanders of Montana Talks at Length About Him, WE STARTED WRONG WITH HIM And Have Been Going Wrong Ever Since— He Won't Work, and He Won't Be Civil- {sed—The Reservation and Agency Systems Bad—What Ought to Be Done. 66QHOULD THE GOVERNMENT support fall Indians under all circumstances? Should the Indians be compelled to labor for a portion of their subsistence? What claim has an Indian upon the people of the United States?” These and several other questions of the same character were propounded by a STAR reporter to Senator Wilbur F. Sanders of Montana. Senator Sanders knows the Indian of the northwest. He has been more or less closely associated with the red man for twenty-seven years and he is interested in the problem which is causing a good many Montana people not a little mentel worry and physical discom- fort. ‘WE STARTED WROXG WITH THE INDIAN. “The proposition,” said the Senator, settling back in his easy chair at the Elsmere, “not to require of the Indian any contribution to his own existence, but to saddle him on civilized men and women would i put, the . We question and we have jogged along in the same istaken way ever since. Every consideration has been shown the savages for no other reason than the one that we found them prowling over the superficial area of this continent when we came here. “Where is the Indian's title? Indian was found in ion of the entire country, occupying it according to his views of ropriety, and so far as we know did not volun- rily consent to Spanish or French or Anglo- Saxon intrusion. After the Caucasian had ob- tained a foothold he was adroit enough to ex- tort, under various forms of duress, the con- sent of alleged chiefs to the joint or exclusive occupancy of nearly all the continent. Supreme Court of the United States, followin, Precedent early recognized » vague and adowy right of occupancy by the Indian, bu sescrted tile is the United States. This was the invention, however, of the Caucasian out of his own covetousness rather than after con- sulting with his aboriginal neighbor. The right of occupancy has remained in the litera. ture of the law book, but is not a fact in his- tory. Let's see. The ‘WE ARE CIVILIZATION. “Whenever the covetousness of the Anglo- Saxon has come in contact with the desire of the Indian to retain the home of his ancestors processes have been found, more or less ques- tionable, but certainly effectual, to make the Indian suceamb. Without consultation with the Indian and certainly in hostility to his views we ourselves have determined that the conti- nent belongs to civilization as a matter of morals, and we have further determined that we are ‘civilization. Inexorably, therefore, we have driven the Indian upon very limited areas. As to the morality of this process—extending over a period of 270 years—opinions differ, but nobody pro} restitution, nor does any one muggeat s helt. ‘The forward march of civiliza- tion continues and must continue to the end of the tragedy. 2 “Why call ita tragedy? Because it is nothing less. The history of the Indian has in it all tragic elemente—a tragedy because in my view the attempt to civilize the Indian has been a failure and will, I think, remain one.” “Has Congress done all it could to improve the Indians’ condition?” CAN'T CIVILIZE AN INDIAN. “It undoubtedly has,” said the Senator. “Congress has tried and is trying to civilize failed, but upon the whole the trend of pur- pose and action has been toward the unattain- able. When the Indians are cit ed then the millennium will be at hand, and the millen- nium, I take it, is something like Marshall Wilder's fairyland— 2 t deal of well-meaning philanthropy has fe exercised; most of it wasted. ‘The wisest men in attempting to civilize ths Indians bave imitated in a degree, as well as they could, the Divine method as applied to_ other subdivisions of the buman race and have thought that one of the primary steps was to abolish indolence among them ‘and to induce them to labor. ‘The ‘ature of these induce- ments has been two fold. We have endeavored to coax them and obtain of them voluntary action by secing that their Iabor brought re- wards, and we have also relied # little on the scriptural method of requiring th least sqme of their bread by the respective brows. Over all thiscountry, except in the extreme southwest, we aremaking extra- ordinary endeavorato have the copper-hued loafer work for his ‘living upon lands to be given him, and, inasmuch as we know he labors Under difficulties, lacking knowledge of indus- trial methods, we have supplemented, what, he could raise from the ground by supplying him with some of the necessaries of life, in consid eration of his relinquishment of the occupancy of certain lands, and in some instances without any such consideration. INDIANS OUGHT NOT TO BE HUNGRY. “I am somewhat familiar with the Indian tribes who now are reported as ‘breathing threat’nings and slaughter,’ and while not de- nying but that some Indians may be short of food, I nevertheless believe that the govern- ment has given them enough, so that with what by their most slovenly agriculture they could raise every Indian would be supplied with sufficient food. If any Indian is hungry the government is not to blame. “If, however, it be true that Indians are hungry and that this hungor is the cause of the existing excitement and apprehension, ‘the question yet ins—what tened it is perfectly certain that the Indians will per- form no labor; that he will not engage in any industrial pursuit, however rudely or fitfully, and that he will threaten war all the time. do not believe that bunger is the inciting cause of the present distressing aspect of affairs. I donotknow how ently rations are issued to the Sioux, but I do know of other Indians who ved enough to continuously keep them supplied with necessary food, but whose mee ormandizing proper Srboecd of what ‘thoy got in vory short order, and then they went hungry or begged or stole until the next issue day came round.” RESERVATIONS NO USE TO THE RED MAN. “Living, as they havé been, on rese: they cannot be expected to know better. Reser- vations are no longer of any use to an Indian. ‘They never were of any value except as pre- t and now thet the game is all Sestroyed Y belleve a reservation isan absolute | Pee detriment to the Indians who occupy it. The buffalo and other wild game of the northwest is gone and the Indians should now be settled Upon small tracts. of land in families. They Secrets nal grasiara, wines eamuspie sad ad a exam} anc 4 vice and conservative Influence could not fail to have a most Herding them togethe: in large masses around Indian agencies, with nothing but ® constant succes- sion of weeks, is little o ee find it to their individual in- terest to advise this will continue s0 to advise.” i F if tne i l ! I f tf kh Fe .. | invulnerable to the weapons of the white man ‘A | Of @ really alarming condition of affairs. t | son; guilty sities | Armet ** So much haa been acid in the newepapers about the color of my hair, that I deem it but just to say, it is due to your Imperial Regenerator. The reault has been beyond my highest expectation. The color ob- tained is most beautiful, uniform, and, best of all, I find it harmless. I believe there ia nothing wm the world for the hair like é.” Gray hair is <eatored to its natural color or changed to any color or shade desired by the Imperial It is absolutely harmless. No, 1, Black; No. % Dark Brown; No.3, Medium Brown; No, 4, Chestnut; x 6, Gold Blond No. 5, Light Chestnut; No. So. 7, Ash Bionde. Sold at $1.50 and $3.00 per box at all drug> gists’ and ’ or direct. Send Sample of Hair and Test Its Merits Free of Charge. Imperial Chemical Co., 54 West 234 St., N. ¥. 1014 F st., Washington. the present system. when we ada the e: which existing con PEACE WOULD RESULT. “Peace would be one of the primary results of my plan, but donot quote me as prophesy- ing any immediate Utopia. I am somewhat familiar with the condition of the Indians who are on reservations in the state of New York. They occupy land as fertileas any in the world, but much of itis grown up to briar bushes, while its owners eke out a miserable existence that is somewhat of an improvement upon that of their ancestors, but which demonstrates yond cavil that’ indolence is a matter of heredity and is ingrained in the Indian char- acter. “An Indian learns but little. He is not receptive of civilizing influences. He lives be neath the open sky and generally dies whe deprived of liberty for any considerable length of time. Schools fail to attract him; his crude ideas do not comprehend christianity or mathematics.” in your judgment would a contlict now re- LOOKING TOWARD PEACE, A Serice of Interviews Begun Between Glad- stone and the Nationalists, In the interview yesterday afternoon between Mr. Gladstone and the representatives of the Trish party Mr. Gladstone objected to any refer- ence being made to the differences between Mr. Parnell and himself. He said he was willing to discuss matters having a definite bearing on the situation apart from any retrospection, but de- sired that no reference be made, directly or directly, to the question of Mr. Parnell’s leadership. He informed the deputation of the Accision of Sir Wm. Vernon Harcourt and Mr. Morley not to take part in the conference and suggested that their names be omitted from the resolution. In conclasion Mr. Gladstone said | that if the Irish party agreed to these sugges — he was willing to enter further into the subject. r Mr. J sult in the extermination of the Sioux?” queried | eno and wher it yee ree tent at the confer the reporter. sultation with Mr. Gladstone. Subsequently SIFT OUT UNOFFENDING INDIANS. he told the reporters that Mr. Gladstone did “TI hope not,” said the Senator. “If we are roe intend ei ove ———. aonting ~ now to have a battle or a war the Indians who | ™¢tivg. lclegates were also reluctant to are assembled ought first to be thoroughly | $v the Particulars of the interview, which . they regarded as strictly confidential. ifted, if possible, to the end that no Indians be |" ‘Messrs. Healy and Sexton, the anti-Parnell destroved who have not fully made up. their Members of the delegation, were satisfied with minds to go upon the war path and accept the | the result of the interview, consequences of that rush act. How far this ix pores possible Ido not know, but Lam satisfied that |, ae. the officers in command will make a supreme | | Upon the conclusion of the conference the effort to see that no Indians not hostile are | delegates returned to the room in the house of punished. We certainly would lose the sympa-j commons where the remainder of the nation= thy of the people of the Ui alist members were assembled. The delegates should proceed to kill :moffending Indians. | explained Mr. Gladstone's proposals, te the Such action is hardly probabl mecting on thelr return, and an amicable die. cussion followed. Mr. Parnell was in the ebair. After several members had spoken Mr. Jobn Ledmond moved to rescind the Clancy resolu- tion. Mr. Sexton seconded the motion, which carried unanimously. Mr. Redmond moved that a resolution be adopt ing Mesers. Leamy, Redmond, Heoly aud Sex- ton to request a conference with Mr. Gladstone for the purpose of re-presenting the views of the Irish party and requesting that an intima Sion be given them resaraing the intentions of Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues with reapect to certain details connected with the land ques tion and the Irish constabulary in the event of home rule being granted. ANOTHER INTERVIEW. Mr. Sexton weconded the motion, which was carried, with only two opposing votes, the flissidents being Messrs. Chance and Barry. ‘The meeting then adjourned and the depute- tion immediately sought Mr. Gladstone’ and imparted to him the new resolution. Mr. Gladstone at once convoked an meeting of all hit coll could communicate in the house of commons. to be found two b Y den. Ruger disposed of one of these Indian messiahs. Sword Bearer, for that was his name, told the Crows that he was and he was taking that tribe on the war path when Gen. Ruger ordered him into camp. Sword Bearer failed to comply with the order and was, in consequence, immediately de- J.’ By this prompt and praiseworthy rought about the collapse THE RELIGIOUS CRAZE EXAGGERATED. “As to the religious infatuation mentioned, while it has a limited existence, I incline to the belief that it is exaggerated. Indians always have among them svothrayera, prophets, pro- fessors of legerdemain and pretenders of one kind and another: products, all the world over, of and idleness. uring my life in the west I have had occa- sion to study the Indian character. I have never believed in the maxim ‘There is no good Indian but the dead Indian,’ but I do not rivate room in “¥ Vilkam Vernon ‘count the gray barbarian better than the | sponded. ' Soon after this conference met Mr. Christian ehila” Gladstone intimated through the party whips eterna that a second interview with the Irish deputa- THE COURTS. tion was unnecessary, their resolution and the Hay ape pe of ie conmitinn baving put worry Covat—Judge Hagner. in full possession of the facts. ester Histon rat Ween ; dismissal of | The house of commons having risen at 6 suit ordered. Lee Lee; divorce granted. | o'clock the Parnelite members decided to Brookagt. Winslow; time to take testimony lim- | postpone a farther me Brook Brooks; The resol ta tio It which ited to xixty-five days. " 3 ‘The resolution relative to Parnell, which was pombe absent defendant ccbered. Barco adopted by the Catholic hierarchy of I agt. Barco; do. Burke agt. Maury; do. Clifton | will be read in all the Catholic churches agt. Clifton; Charles W. Pettit appointed guar-| chapels in Ireland. Cardinal Man R dian ad lit." Swart agt. Waiter; reference to | pleased with the manifesto, which be auditor ordered. way agt. Crouse; sale | Will carry great weight with it both in Ireland finally ratitied and reference to auditor ordered. |and America, He agrees entirely with the Fowler agt. Fowler; Sarah E.Fowler appointed | political and moral views expressed in it, trustee. —-. Williamson; rule on om A QUESTION OF LEADERSHIP, Jainant granted. Ralston Harvey; ae aired ete. lay: | aston Pear eee ht Me tion set for hearing. Peck agt. Peck; H. B. as a Party Davidson, administrator, made party complain-| Whips that a second interview with the Irish ant. Corrigan agt. Corrigan; ‘the | deputation was unnecessary, conveyed also General Term in first instance ordered. Cas- | Opinion that the question at issue was not agt. a, of absent de- &F rome fecting the conditions under which home fendant orde: a be apy p75 = related 3 to the reten' ‘arnell in leadership Cmcurr Covnr—Judge Montgomery. the nationalist party or his disminsal therefvom. Yesterday—Johnson agt. Patterson; juror |The opponents of Mr. Parnell are much dis- withdrawn, Marrion agt. Williams; verdict for | couraged at this turn of events, which leaves laintiff. Washington Gas Light Company agt. than ever in Mr. Pare Hrottingshead, jury reepived. Cunuxat Court—Chief Justice Bingham, Yesterday—Henry Lee, larceny from the August Froe. larceny of govern- son, policy: plea of ni Albert Jolinson and HE" Howard: b renting d larceny; do. H. Howard: housel an 1; William Walker; policy; ch warrant re- turned and defendant committed. United States agt. John Brown; assault to kill; recognizance forfeited. 3 Prosare Court—Judge Hagner. if land in # blaze of glory. head o: the nationalist party he will than ever, because of the proofs he has given of his personal power. If be still Tend the , by virtue of genius and the fact that be controls chest.” PARNELL BIDINO BIS Tore. ‘The Catholic News of New York has the following from ite Dublin | i i E 5 F lay for distribution fixed. Estate of J. Edwin : H. Bradley Davis i iH g F rf tae ia ar i | i é § i i i i F i i 4 | f 7 i t i HH i yd