Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 16, 1898, Page 2

ick Kai am eal yolia CHAPTER IV. (Continued.) Several members of the jury deemed it impossible that ‘the injured man should have fired the shot after re- ceiving so terrible a blow, and stood out a verdict of “Death through ndyenture.” But the medical testi- did not bear out this view, in- . rather, to the belief that the ‘ might have been pulled in a ast flicker of consciousness. Winally, and after many proffered verdicts Which the coroner rejected as it was agreed that the s killed by a gunshot at scar Deane, but wheth- igh there was no e to show.” at all events, I can accept * growled the coroner, a nl, who had really been h puzzied as the jury to ray through the ¢ “but lly, to a verdict of manslaughter against Major Deane.” AJl eyes were turred toward Ste- phen, who had been watching the case in the interests of his brother. “Yes,” he assented, “technically, as you say, it amounts to manslaughter, and will, of course, necessitate his com- mittal for trial upon this charge. The next 2s: ill, I am informed, be held in ¢ six weeks hence, The me less be a bility or that t testy i almcst see a clea it amounts, techn erwise of this being by ficiently convalescent to : in court. At present they are, », agreed that to remove him s house would almest certain- tended ky fatal consequences. s his brother and his legal rep- ¥ , therefore, make applica- ‘To this the coroner at first demurred, it to be beyond his power to Eut the doctors refused utterly ion the wounded man’s reinov- it F finally settled that, from the Home of- jor I » was to remain at rshurst ip the nominal custody of a2 sergeant of police. 4 it quest over, but one other disa- remained prior to the un- interment in the family had been instructe > the old baronet’s mind by de- urd had displayed considerable so doing. Master Derek had n accident out shooting, and _-¥ Deane was dly hurt, also, ma accident, peated the old “Tt wonder to me the hoot himself long ago. As Idier-fellow, he ought to krow better, with his experience of fi Let me know how they get d send for Rowan, d’ye hea of course, H had promised 2nd by mezus of successive bul- ¢ than the last, he prepared Sir Derek for nce he realized that his in danger, the old man had made ely a word of comment uy the h and less hopeful reports fabricated by the diplomatic butler, in upon his back, muttering sons life iself and staring half-vacantly at a portrait of Simon Deane, the money loncer of Change Alley, which scowled at him from the wall opposite. He had reyer felt apy real affection for the son born to him in his old age, nor had Jad ever attempted to win his re- that, he: felt a certain cunt of s 1ction in having a di- heir to succeed him, and a keen t in upsetting the confident cal- us ef his brother's widow. And row it appeared probable, from what Hirst had told him, that he about to lose this son-heir and that the wid- ow’s calculations would be verified, af- “Siill, for : der all. Well, I: must take its own cours: but, so far as in him lay, he would that woman—he spoke thought of his sister-in-law as » woman”—to the bitter end. - And nt of the fact that he sooth, childless. was a daring enough way, but his courage when it became inevitable master should know the full fight ne = butler in his ed hir that ! truth, “I can't bring myself to tell him, he told Stephen, “ard that’s the no necessity why y should,” answered the lawyer, drily. “I will tell him myself. You need do bBo more than announce me and lesye ther.” “Very good, s rejoined Hirst; I'd like to remind you that I ain’t a word as to how the bodies was know that,” interrupted Stephen, rply. “It never even oceurred to me you ceuld be such a fool, in the face of my precise instructions.” Hirst pursed his lips somewhat sulk- ily. He was not wont to be dictated to when 1 master was concerned. And yet this masterful London lawyer too now so very close indeed to the Deanshurst succession that he was clearly entitled to take the command din the present condition of affairs. So he led the way in silence to Sir Derek’s room, and, having announced Stephen, wetired as he had been bidden. Sir Derek fixed his eyes intently upon his visitor for some moments. “You have come to tell me that my son is dead?” he said, with scarce a trace of inguiry in his voice. “Unfortunately, that is so, sir,” as- sented Stephen, somewhat staggered ‘by the old man’s calmness. Sir Derek half-turned his head, and “his withered lips moved tremulously. Nature could not wholly be suppressed in the face of death. “Believe me, sir, this terrible calam- ity has caused me a degrzy of vain the Doom of Deanshurst. ore yeal aye (fe secend only to that which you must naturally experience,” pursued Ste- phen, “for, although a comparative stranger to you I cannot forget how close are the ties of blood ,between “Can’t you?” snapped the baronet, with sudden energy. ‘Meaning that you are the nephew of a childless old man, eh? Anything else?’ “Pray, do not misjudge me,” was the quiet rejoinder. “I am, as you say, your nephew, and, if you will allow me, I will endeavor to be a son to you, aswell. You are an invalid, and need a representative to see that the arrange- ments for poor Derek’s interment are properly carried out, etc. This duty should, of course, devolve upon my elder brother, Oscar, were he not at the present moment himself hovering between life and death. Failing him, it seems to me I am doing no more than my plain duty in offering you my services. Do you follow me, sir?’ he added, observing that the old man’s at- tention appeared to have wandered off tangent. es, yes. What’s that? Your broth- er dead, too?’ mumbled Sir Derek, vaguely, as though the interview had no further interest for him. No, not dead,” corrected Stephen, king a mental note of his uncle’s ange manner, “but dying, I fear. I ed you if it is your wish that I should act as your representative.” Sir Derek. broke into a harsh, mock- ing laugh, “Why not? you well you as another. what arrangements you please send me the bill. Don’t let them we ry me, that’s all. And mind that wo- ob doesn’t enter the house, d’ye sear? Callous as he was, Stephen reddened at this insulting referenice to his moth- er; but he kept his temper. “Your wishes shall be respected, Sir Derek,” he answered, coldly. “Have I your permission to withdraw? ee } Go, Tell them to cover up that picture. It irritates me.” Stephen departed, well satisfied wit). the result of the interview. He had You're a lawyer, aren’t Make ing for what might have proved a serious di- lemma, His dread had been lest the old man should ask for detai spect- ing the manner of his son’s death. Chance ard the semi-imbecile condi- tion of the mcerbid old brain had helped him. If now he could secure the blind obedience and thorough adherence of the confidential factotum, Hirst, he felt that he might regard the rest of the s practically in his own hands. if ever there was a man who, akably, had his price, Hirst was that man; and, after a little prelimin- ary, half-sulky hesitation on his part, Stephen had little difficulty in enlisting him on his side. The rogue knew his own value, and his terms were pretty high, both as regarded current ypay- ments and the amount to be paid if, and when, Stephen succeeded to Deanshurst. Moreover, no mere verb- al promise would satisfy him. “Look here, sir,’ he said, decidedly. “As for the twenty-five pounds a month, wages-like, for obeying your orders and backing you up with Sir Derek, V'll take your word right enough about that. But I must have your promise in writing Stephen, reluctantly enough, gave him a conditional post-obit for £1,000 “in consideration of faithful services rendered.” Hirst approved of the com- pact. And so the matter was settled. Nothing could appear more natural in the eyes of all than that. Stephen Deane should take the place of the bed-ridden old baronet. The funeral of the deceased was carried out as qui- edly as v istent with his father’s rank. The members of the shooting party dispersed. Oscar's life still trem- bled in the balance. Sir Derek still muttered maledictions. And Stephen remained master of the situation, CHAPTER V. Blackmail, Sir Derek had insisted that Mrs. Deane was on no account to be re- | ceived at Deanshurst, and Stephen had promised compliance with this mand- late, well knowing that, as soon as a newspaper account of the tragedy should come under her notice, she ‘would at once hasten to Hampshire. Almost his first demand made upon the services of his newly-made allies, the ‘Hirsts, concerned, therefore, the recep- tion of his mother, without the know- ledge of this vindictive baronet. To do her justice, the housekeeper had enough of womanly feeling left in her to realize the cruelty of denying « jmorner access to her, perhaps, dying 'son, and obeyed with unwonted alacri- ity. Hirst, as usual, took his cue from his wife. And when Mrs. Deane ar- rived, all needfui preparations had been made for her reception.~/the hand of time had touched her but lightly. She looked barely ten years older than when she had last visited Deanshurst. “Why was I not sent for at once, when this thing happened?’ was her first angry inquiry. “Because your presence here could : have done no possible good,” answered Stephen, coolly, “and might haye done ,considerable harm, I'll explain later on,” | “Yes, Stephen,” she said, bitterly, | “and L know beforehand that the ex- planation will hinge entirely upon your own individual interests. Is Oscar any better?” } “Yes, in the sense that he shows signs of greater vitality. But the doc- tors aver that, in concussion of the _brain, it is impossible to foretell what ; ance relating to the carried his point with reference to act- | r Derek, and he had escaped | about the | may happen from one hour tn another. They are hopeful, that is all.” “Take me to him.” Stephen obeyed, gazed ewhile upon the almost lifeless form of his brother, who now alone stood between him and the Deanshurst succession, and quietly withdrew, leaving his mother to share the nurse’s vigil. “Rowan says that even if he recov- ers his intellect will never again be sound,” he muttered. “Better, surely, for him io die than live to be a semi- idiot or worse!, Well, what is it, Saunders?” “A boy brought this, to be given to no one but you, yourself, sir,” replied the servant, displaying a soiled, crump- led envelope. “He’s waiting an an- swer, sir.” . Stephen took the proffered missive, which was addressed to ‘Mister Steve Dean,” in very bucolic handwriting, and read the contents. In uncouth, scarcely intelligible terms, which need not here be reproduced, his unknown correspondent earnestly besought him to accompany the messenger. He woula learn something of very great import- young squire’s death. The scrawl was unsigned—a precaution, probably, in case it should be intercepted. “Tell the boy to wait,” he said to the servant. He instantly divined that the information offered to him had some reference to the yokel footmarks dis- covered by Ashcroft, and he half-antic- ipated an attempt to blackmail him. Well, he must first ascertain the exact extent of the peril thus foreshadowed. As for the blackmailing, a very evil gleam shone in Stephen Deane’s eyes as he thought of that; a gleam that boded little of good to the would-be blackinailer. He found the boy awaiting him in the avenue. “Who sent you with this: letter?” he demanded, sternly. “A mon,” replied the urchin, eyeing him furtively. “I know that,” rejoined Stenhen. “What is his name?” “Ain't it wrote down in ”s letter?” was the counter-query. “No, you young blockhead, it is not.” “Then Oi doan’t know, measter.” “Do you know where he lives, then?” “Noa, measter, Oi doan’t know noth- in, ’cept the way to Bramham Woods, whur he be waitin’ for you.” The youthful yokel was clearly not to be drawn. . “Go on in front,” commanded Ste phen, angrily. “Keep just in sight; you understand?” Aye, measter, Oi'm fly,” grinned the rting off at a brisk pace, which equently accommodated to Ste- rhen’s, with commendable judgment. He led the way to a secluded spot in the extensive woods, where a short, thick-set man ,of the ordinary bumpkir type, awaited his return with nervous impatience. “Sarvant, said the latter, ad- vancing, cap towards Ste- phen. “Did you send me this?’ incuired the lawyer, producing the crumpled let- ter. sir,” in hand, ‘o be sure, sir.” “Then what communication have you to make to me? Who and what are you?” “My name be Brann, sir, and 'm a farmband by eallin’,” was the re jerkily given’ “Wot I’ve got to ain’t much, but there be a deal in it, or I’m the more mistook. It’s just Ieike this, sir; Sam Ashcroft has took it into his head that I know summat anent the shootin’ 0’ the young squire, an’ he threatens he'll lag me yet over the business. He’s a rare spiteful one, is m, When he has a down on a chap, an’ he hates me same as rabbits hates weazles, drat “un!” “What have I to do with all this demanded Stephen, impatient “Do you know anything about the cirenm- stances attending my cousin’s death “No, sir, I don’t, so help me Heaven affirmed, Brann, earnestly. “Then,” rem rked Stephen, drawing a deep breath of relief, “you need not trouble yourself about Ashcroft and his suspicions.” “Ah! but that ain’t all!” ve Brann, shaking his head, emphatii “I'll teel ‘ee all about it, if so be z let me do it in my own way.” “Go on,” assented Stephen, seating himself upon a fallen tree and lighting a cigar. “I’m listening.” Thus encouraged, Brann told his story. He had heard the fatal shot fired but at a considerable distance, and it was some time before he. chanced upon the open space where the two bodies lay. Having ‘satisfied himself that both gentlemen were dead, his first impulse was to hasten to Deans- hurst with the ghastly tidings. on “Why didn’t you?” inquired Stephen, fairly puzzled at the man’s drift, and with a revived sense of uneasiness, “Cos I was afeared to,” was the re- ply. “If you wasn’t a stranger down in these parts, you know as how I’m better known as ‘Luke the Poacher’ than as Luke Brann, and that I got in- to trouble years ago anent the shcotin’ of a keeper in this very wood. 1 hadn’t nothin’ to do with it, and had four wit- nesses to prove the alibi, but I got five years hard, for all that. Who'd have believed my story if I’d gone and told as how I'd found they two gents a-lyin’ dead, an’ knowed no more about it? Loike as not, I'd ha’ swung for it my- self!” A poacher and a convict. Exactly the sort of ruffian upon whom suspi- cion would most naturally fall, and whom a jury wou'd most readily con- viet. Supposing bis story to be true, his unwillingness ‘o come forward as a witness was easily understood. “Quite possible you would,” assented Stephen, deliberately. “Indeed, if this gamekeeper enemy of yours can prove as much against ou as you have just admitted to me, I think you stand a very fair chance of being hanged as it is—given your character and anteced- ents. You must have some strong. mo- tive for confiding this to me. What is att “You're right, sir, I have,” replied Brann, ‘“‘and a very good ’un, too. I wants to get clean away afore Ash- croft’s suspectings drives ’un to set the police on me. I can’t git far, not *jthout money, an’ I shan’t feel safe until t’ sea rolls "tween me an’ Deans- hurst. Arfd I wants you, sir, to give me enough to take me to ’Meriky, wi’ a bit to start upon out there.” Stephen stared at the man for a few moments, and then burst into a harsh, mocking laugh. “Upon my word, my. poaching friend, you are very moderate in your re- quests, he vemarked, with polite irony, “You have, however, entirely omitted to state why you apply to me to help you in evading the possible action of the law.” “That's soon told,” answered the poacher, dogged]. “All the gents has left Deanshurst ’ceptin’ you.” “Well?” “Some one of you gentlefolks saw t’ young squire’s body afore I did—if he saw ho worse!” retorted Brann, with almost savage energy. “Why ain’t he come forward to say so?” “You must be mad or dreaming!” ex- claimed Stephen, staring into the man’s eyes as though he would read his very soul. How dare you make such an assertion?” “Cos it’s true!” “Your proofs?” “My own two eyes, measter! By main chance, as I hurried away from t’ spot where lay t’ bodies, I seed some fresh-made tracks and follered ’em, thinkin’ I might, p’rhaps, o’ertake t’ chap as made ’em. I Jost ’em any times, but. keepin’ towards t’ Manor- house (I guessed somehow they’d trend that way)’ I allus picked ’em up again. And I came in sight o’ him I was fol- lerin’, makin’ straight for t’ gate- lodge.” “Did you recognize him?’ aueried Stephen, almost breathlessly, despite his self-control. The poacher saw his chance, and was not slow to profit by it. “If I said I saw him as plainly as I See you now, measter,” he made an- swer, “I'd be lyin’. What’s more, I'd rather say nothin’ as to how much or how little I seed o’ t’ gentleman, ’cos I don’t want t’ get no one into no trou- ble, ’ithout I’m druv to it. But rou may take this much as Gospel trrth. If I was put on oath—” “No one would believe you,” inter- rupted Stephen, with professional ab- ruptness. He was satisfied that Brann had so far spoken the truth, and was now about to lie that he had, as he said, obtained a distant view of a gen- tleman entering the avenue, but had failed to identify him. The question now was: Would it pay to do what the rascal wanted, and get him out of the way? “See here, Brann.” he added, less shly, “I have listened to your sto- and, disreputable as you admit your past to have been, I believe you have told me what you actually saw and did. Were I not thoroughly con- vinced that you had no hand or part in the death of my cousin, and the club- bing of my brother, I would at once hand you over to the police. As it is, I quite see that a very strong case might be made against you, and that, in your desperation, you see no better Ioop-hole for escape than to attempt to drag one of Sir Derek’s recent cuests into the wretched affair. This conld avail you nothing, but it might cause a great deal of scandal and unplea ness, which, as Sir Derek’s revres ative, I am anxious to avoid. I am, therefore, upon consideration, dis- posed to assist you in your Americar plan, provided you answer two ques- tions to my satisfaction.” “And what be they, measter?” asked Brann, eagerly. “The first is: What Ashcroft against you?” “My left foot be all out 0” shane, as you can see, sir,” explained the poach- er, “and it ain’t hard to spot my track in soft ground. Perhaps, too, he has heard I was in the wood. Y’ see, with all the keepers away in the fields along with you gents, I thought I’d stand a chance o” baggin’ a few rabbits in the timber.” “By snaring?” “No, sir by shootin’ no snares set.” “T rather fancy the fact that you haa a gun in your possession would seal your fate in a court of justice,” Ste- phen remarked, grimly “and it an- swers my second question.” “Wilt helpyme, measter?’ There was almost an agony of appeal in voice and eyes. ““Yes.” was the reply, “I will, be- cause, whatever your misdeeds, I be- lieve you innocent in this matter. and your only chance lies in flight. There! spare m eyour thanks.” Sooth to say, the poacher’s jerky ex- pressions of gratitude were as obvious- ly insineere as was Stephen's philan- thropy. The lawyer had given in sole- ly for his own good reasons, and they both of them knew it. There remained only the question of departure. “There may be a German boat from Southampton on Wednesday, as’d do me fine, measter,” suggested Brann, who had clearly made inquiries before- hand. “Quite elose an’ handy, too.” “A great deal too close, should your disappearance lead to inquiry as to your whereabouts,” retorted Stephen. “You must sail from Liverpool, whence there are steamers almost every day for one or other of the American ports. Are you prepared to start at “once?” “Sooner the better, measter,” was the prompt reply. “But wot "bout the brass?” “You mean money? Well, I shail give you twenty-five pounds, so that, after paying your passage, you will land in America with twenty pounds in your pocket—a sum more than suffi- cient to give you a fair start, if you réally mean to turn over a new leaf.” “Twenty pounds ain’t much,” pro- tested Brann, with all the greedy in- evidence has roy em. I hadn't stinct of his race. “Make it forty, measter.” But Stephen was inexorable, and, in the end, the poacher accepted the prof- fered terms. Stephen, for obvious rea- sons, could not safely give him bank- notes, and, not having sufficient gold, made an appointment to meet him that night near the cathedral, in Winchest- er, when he was to receive the money, together with final instructions for a circuitous journey to Liverpool. “I understand, measter,” grinned the poacher. “I’m to wind, an’ double, an’ dodge, ’zactly as though the hounds of the law was already on my track. I’m fly. I ain’t done time for nothin’, an’ a gocd start couns for summat. From this day forth there ain’t no such chap as Luke Brann—he’s just dead to t’ wo world. And as for Sam Ash- eroft—” “I have no wish to hear you any fur- ther,” said Stephen, coldly. “Do not fail to be in Winchester to-night, and, for your own sake, be very careful your movements are not watched. You must send that boy back with me —I am not sure I remember the way.” (Yo Be Continued.) In the East the rose of Jericho is said to blossom at Christmas, close for Good Friday and oper again on’East: | ev morn. UNHEEDED PROTEST. A LETTER AGAINST THE RE- CENT BOND ISSUE. Some New Points That Are Often Over- looked by Students of the Great Financial Issue—Whose Money Do the Bankers Buy Bonds with? Here is one of the unheeded protests to the recent bond issue. It was ad- dressed to the president by Mr. Charles E. Jones, of Chicago. A copy was also sent to each representative in congress. It is as follows: “In the Chicago Tribune of May 18 is an article which states that the con- troller of the currency, Charles G. Dawes, was sent by the president to meet the bankers and reassure them than ‘an issue of $200,000,000 of 3 per cent bonds would take place regardless of the opposition of the Democrats and Populists, and that, as a result of this reassurance, large orders for plates were placed with the controller, and that the bureau of printing and engraving are working night and day to get the plates ready, that the circulation which will be required on the $200,000,000 bonds will be forthcoming at the proper time.’ Do you fully realize what this bond issue means to the American peo- ple? When I say American people, I mean the masses. I ask again, do you fully understand what the result of this bond issue will mean to the masses of the citizens and voters whose votes placed you in the position you occupy? If you can fully realize the result, you are committing an unpardonable crime against the people if you permit these bonds to be issued and then issue cir- culation on these bonds to the extent of 90 per cent of the represented value of the bonds. As I understand it this bond issue is to be for $200,000,000, the circulation would be $180,000,000. Now, if the bankers bring $200,000,000 and get $200,000,000 bonds and $180,000,000 cash, how much have the bonds cost the bankers? I ean see but $20,000,000 invested by the bankers and liabilities created to the extent of $200,000,000, and also that the people to get the use of the $180,000,000 will be compelled to pay the bankers interest at such rates as they shall be able to contract for when the people may need any part of this $180,000,000 to transact business with; adding this $180,000,000 to the $200,000,000 the people will be compelled to pay interest on $380,000,000 for only $20,000,000 received. If such a trans- action is mot legalized robbery, then I would like you to define to me what le- galized robbery is. I would like to scarry out the problem a little further fg your information. Now, let the wAole amount of bonds as recommend- ed by the popular branch of comgress be issued, in say three lots, two lots of $200,000,0006. What would be the result of the transaction? As I have demon- strated above, the first transaction will give to the bankers $380,000,000 of in- terest-bearing paper, $200,000,000 bonds and $180,000,000 national bank notes for which they actually paid $20,000,000. Now, take a second transaction of $200,000,000 and see the result. By the time the government shall apparently need the cash that would justify a bond issue, a great part of the money received in the first transaction will be in the hands of the bankers; and now issue the bonds, the bankers can come again and take the $200,000,600 bonds, pay the $200,000,000 cash and take the bonds and $180,000,000 in cash, making the aetual cost of the bonds to the banker but $20,000,000, but the people are again put under obligations to the bankers to the extent of $380,000,000, $200,000,000 bonded obligations and $180,000,000 om which they must pay in- terest to the bankers to get the privi- lege of using the money which the peo- ple, through their representatives, gave the bankers. Add this transaction to the first and you have the stupendous sum of $760,000,000, which cost the bankers apparently $40,000,000. Now, take the $100,000,000 of bonds that remain to complete the amount recommended by the popular branch of congress, and treat them in the same way and the result is that the banker will hold bonds against the people to the amount of $500,000,000 and loanable and most desirable paper to the amount of $450,- 000,000; this added to the $500,000,000 of bonds amounts to the neat little sum of $950,000,000, costing the banker apparently the small sum of $50,000,000, What do you think of such a villainous transaction as this appears to be? To compel the people to pay 3 per cent an $500,000,000 bonds and then to compel them to pay to the bankers the rate of interest they may demand for the privi- lege of using the $450,000,000 that the people themselves, through their rep- resentatives, gave to the bankers! The people are ignorant of these facts, but can you say the same of the representa- tives? If the representative is igno- rant of these facts he has no right to attempt to represent the people; if he is not ignorant of these facts then he must be a villainous, designing traitor to the people and to the free institu- tions of America. Nor is this all there is to these financial transactions. This money that is printed at the bureau of engraving and printing is paper, and is given to the bankers to circulate amongst the people to be used as a representative of values and is repre- sented to the people as gold value money. Noy, if this is gold value money when it is in the possession of the banker and given to the banker by the government (the people’s representa- tive), how is it that it would be fiat money if it were printed in the same puilding with the same plates by the same men and paid out by the same government (the people’s representa- tive) to meet the expenses of the gov- ernment, which ts the people? It is, ap- parent that the ‘only, thing that essary to take away the flat value and i establish the gold value is to issue bonds to the banker who has some of. the same kind of money in his posses- sion to exchange for the bonds and then, issue to him the notes, and the fact of! these notes receiving the magic touch of the gilded fingers of the banker trans- mits the gold value to the notes. “There is something further to ex- plain in regard to this financial confi- dence game. Whose money will the banker put up for the bonds? Will it be his individual cash? Or will it be the cash of depositors? You realize as well as I do that it will be the We- Positors’ cash that the banker will use to buy the bonds that the people, through their representatives, will sell to the’banker. This being the fact, it appears to me that the people who have elected you to a position of power are having their cash used to convey to the banker an absolute obligation to Pay a portion of what they, the people, can produce to these financial confi- dence fiends, and that you, occupying the position you do in promoting this financial confidence scheme, are aiding the financial confidence villains in ngb- bing the American citizen and placing him—the American citizen—under per- petual bondage to these more than highwaymen who rob to satisfy their need, while these bankers rob appa- rently for the satisfaction of commit- ting the crime which the American rep- resentatives have legalized. How can you use your influence to pass such @ dastardly measure and then face an in- telligent and confiding, though greatly wronged constituency? This system of legalized robbery is carried on under a very thin covering to any thinking man, and it is with this administration and congress convened whether they will serve the people who have elected them to the positions of power or whether they will sell out the people and the free institutions of this republic and prove yourselves unworthy of the honor, respect and admiration of a con- fiding and intelligent citizenship. Hop- ing that you and congress assembled will do honorably by yourselves and the people, I am, faithfully and patriot. ically yours.” GOLD STANDARD, Between the return to specie pay- ments in I879 and 1888 we had been, on the average, large importers of gold; but the moment England began to call in her loans we were totally un- able to satisfy her demands through the sale of our products, and we had ta pay the difference in money. The subsequent history is only too well known. The exports of bullion went on increasing until, in the spring of 1893, the treasury reserve became depleted and the panic began. A vio- lent: contraction set in, and, im the words of Lord Overstone, “monetary distress” produced a “fall of prices.” As in Australia, agricultural prod- ucts declined alarmingly. The wheat of 1893 brought the farmer only about fifty-four cents; that of 1894 but forty- nine. What the loss of natiomal in- come has beem wpon the cereals and cotton can be estimated by comparing this single wheat crop with that of 1881, whicl was: among the last which sold for generous: prices. In 1881 the harvest gave 383,280,900 bushels and was worth $456,880,000; im 1894 it gave 460,267,000 bushels and was worth $225,900,000. That is te say, for wheat alone we received $230,000,000 less: for the erop of 1894 than for the crop of 1881, thowgh that of 1894 was 77,000,000 bushels larger; a sum, per- haps, equal to the interest we have to pay on our foreigm debt. Nor can this fall in price be attrib- uted to overproduction, for the best estimates which have been made of the world’s erop of wheat between 18380 and 1887 allowed a supply of about four and a half bushels per head, an- nually, for the population of the whezt- eating regions, while between 1888 and? 1894 the swpply has been but four and one-third bushels. It is perfeetly evident that this proc- ess cannot go on without producing the direst misery to the debtor, culminat- ing in certaim bankruptcy. It is only necessary to glance ever so slightly at ithe con@ttion of any debtor nation to comprehend the straits to which they | are already reduced. India is strained beyond endurance to meet her inter- est, and her ministers of finance say openly that she is on the road to ruin. Russia, which is deeply in debt, is in a eondition which cam be described by no other word than frightful. Prices have there been forced so low that the peasant is left with the nar- rowest margin of profit on which to live; so narrow, indeed, that any fail- ure of his crop means starvation, and, accordingly, famine has been chronic within the empire for at least ten years. President MeKinley’s Reasons. Messrs. McKinley and Hanna are is née. | keeping the mints closed against silver because the bond syndicate wants them closed, and for no other reason. In the old days, you remember, before the bond syndicate got a mortgage on him secured by his note to Hanna, Mr. Mc- Kinley was a leading bimetallist, who thought a non-interest-bearing altwere dollar worth at least two hundred cents more to this country than an interest- bearing bond for a hundred cents — Journal of Agriculture. Mark Hanna and John Ball. The Republican party favors a formal alliance with England. At last we have: the Republican party just where we want a. This is Paare ele it has been ing for years, deluded follow. px couldn't see it. removed.—National tae ¢ » oT | j ~ ee ae | 1. 4