CHAPTER V.—(Contijtoid.)
Nevertheless, the young people had
fco doubts about their coming bliss.
Everything was going smoothly and
pleasantly for them. Carrlston had at
■once spoken to Madeline’s aunt, and
•obtained the old Scotchwoman's ready
consent to their union. I was rather
vexed at hie still keeping to. his ab
surd whim in concealing his true name.
He said he was afraid of alarming the
-sunt by telling her he was passing
under an alias, whilst if he gave Made
■ Hue his true reason for so doing she
■Would be miserable. Moreover,'I found
he had formed the romantic plan of
marrying her without telling her in
what an enviable position ehe would
be placed, so far as worldly gear went.
A kind of Lord of Burletgh surprise no
doubt commended itself to his imagin
ative brain.
The last day of my holiday came.
I bade a long and sad farewell to lake
and mountain, and, accompanied by
Cisrriston, started for home. I did not
see the parting proper between the
young people—that was far too sacred
a thing to be Intruded upon—but even
when that protracted affair was over, I
waited many, many minutes whilst
Carrieton stood hand in hand with
Madeline, comforting himself and her
by reiterating, “Only six weeks—six
short weeks! And then—and then!”
It was the girl who at last tore herself
away, and then Carrlston mounted re
■ luctantly by my side on the rough
vehicle.
From Edinburgh we traveled by the
night train. The greater part of the
way we had the compartment to our
' selves. Carrlston, as a lover will,
talked of nothing but coming bliss and
hie plans for the future. ‘ After a while
a grew quite weary oi ine monotony or
the subject, and at last dozed off, and
for some little -time, slept. The shrill
whistle which told , us a tunnel was at
liahd aropsed me/ companion was
■. si tting opposite "to me, and as I glanced
across at him my attention was arrest
ed by. the same strange, in tense look j
which I had on a previous occasion at
Bettws-y-Coed noticed in his eyes—the -j
same fixed stare—the same oblivious-1
ness to all that was passing. ‘ Iteihem-'
bering his request, I shook him, some
what roughly, ib&ck to his senses. He
regarded me for a moment vacantly,
then said:
“Now I have found out what was j
wanting to make the power I told you
oi complete. I could see her if I i
wished.”
“Of course you can see her—in your
mind's eye. All lovers can do that.”
‘ “If I tried I could see her bodily— !
know exactly what she is doing!” Ho
epoko with an air of complete convic*
tion.
“Then, I hope, for the sake of mod- i
esty, you won't try. It is now nearly
three dclock. She ought to be in bed !
and asleep.”
I spoke lightly thinking it better to
try and laugh him out of his folly.
He took no notice of my sorry joke.
“No,” he said quietly, “I am not go-.
Ing to try. But I knew now what was
wanting. Love—such love as mine
such love as hers—makes the connect
ing link, and enables sight or some
other sense to cross over space, and
pass through every material obstacle.”
"Look here, Carriston,” I said seri
ously, “you are talking as a madman
talks. I don’t want to frighten you,
but I am bound both as a doctor and j
your sincere friend to tell you that un- ;
less you cure yourself of these absurd i
delusions, they will grow upon you, de- j
velop fresh forms, and you will prob- j
ably end your days under restraint
Ask any doctor, he will tell you the
same.”
“Doctors are a clever race,” answered
my strange young friend, “but they
don’t know everything.”
So saying he closed his eyes and ap
peared to sleep.
We parted on reaching London.
Many kind words and wishes passed
between us, and I gave some more well
meant and, I believed, needed warn
ings. He was going down to see his
uncle, the baronet. Then he had some
matters to arrange with his lawyers,
and above all had to select a residence
for himself and his wife. He would no
doubt be in London for a short time.
If possible he would come and see me.
Any way he would write and let me !
know the exact date of his approaching j
marriage. .If I could manage to come
to it, so much the better. If not he
would try, as they passed through
town, to bring his bride to pay me a
Hying and friendly visit.
Some six weeks afterward—late nt
night—while I was deep in a new and
iclevcr treatise on zymotics, a man hag
gard, wild, unshorn, and unkempt,
rushed past my startled servant, and
entered the room in which I sat. Ho
threw himself into a chair, and I was
horrified to recognize in the Intruder
my clever and brilliant friend, Charles
‘Carriston!
oana, then without a word, sunk back
•into his chair and buried his face in |
VL
HE END has come
sooner than I ex
P e c t e d.” These
were the sad words
I muttered to my
self aa, waving my.
frightened servant
away, I closed the
door and stood,
alone with the sup
posed maniac. He
rose and wrung my
be was, as he said, as sane as I was.
"Thank heaven you can speak to me
and look at me like this,’’ 1 exclaimed.
"You are satisfied then?” he said.
"On this point, yes. Now tell me
what is wrong?”
Now that he had set my doubts at
rest his agitation and excitement
seemed to return. He grasped my hand
convulsively.
“Madeline!” he whispered. “Made
line—my love—she is gone.”
“Gone!” I repeated. “Gone where?”
“She is gone, I say—stolen from me
by some black-hearted traitor—perhaps
forever. Who can tell?”
“But, Carriston, surely in so short a
time her love can not have been won
by another. If so, all I can say is-”
“What!” he shouted. “You who have
3een her! You in your wildest dreams
to Imagine that Madeline Rowan would
leave me of her own free will! No, sir,
she has been stolen from me—en
trapped—carried away—hidden. But I
his hands. A sort of nervous trembling
seemed to run through his frame.
Deeply distressed, I drew his hands
from his face.
"Now, Carriston,” I said as firmly as
I could, “look up and tell me what all
this means. Look up, I say, and speak
to me.”
He raised his eyes to mine and kept
them there, whilst a ghastly smile—
a phantom of humor—flickered across
his white face. No doubt his native
quickness told him what I suspected,
so he looked me steadily in the face.
“No,” he said, “not as you think.
But let there be no mistake. Question
me. Talk to me. Put me to any tost.
Satisfy yourself, once for all, that I sm
as sane us you ore.”
Ho spoke so rationally, his eyes met
imue so unumcningiy, mat l was re
joiced to kn*w that my fears were as
yet ungrounded. There was grief, ex
citement, want of rest in his appear
ance, but his general manner told me
will find her, or I will kill the black
hearted villain who has done this.”
He rose and paced the room. His
face was distorted with rage. He
1 clinched and unclinched his long slen
der hands. % %
'“My dear fellow,” I said, “you are
talking’ riddles. Sit down and tell me
calmly what has happened. But, first
of all, as you look utterly worn out,
I will ring for my man to get you some
food.”
“No,” he said, “I want nothing.
Weary I am, for I have been to Scot
land and back ao fast as man can
travel. I reached London a short time
ago, and after seeing one man have
come straight to you, my only friend,
for help—it may be for protection. But
I have eaten and I have drunk, know
ing I must keep my health and
strength.”
However, I insisted upon some wine
being brought. He drank a glass, and
then with-a strange enforced calm, told
me what had taken place. His tale was
this:
After we had parted company on our
return from Scotland, Carrlston went
down to the family seat in Oxfordshire,
and informed his uncle of the impend
ing change in his life. The baronet,
an extremely old man, infirm and all
but childish, troubled little about the
matter. Every acre of his large prop
erty was strictly entailed, so his pleas
ure or displeasure could make but little
alteration in his nephew’s prospects.
Still he was the head of the family,
and Carrlston was In duty bound to
njfilte the Important news known to
him. The young man made no secret
of his approaching marriage, so in a
very short time every member of the
family was aware that the heir and
future head was about to ally himself
to a nobody. Knowing nothing of
Madeline Rowan’s rare beauty and
sweet nature, Carriston’s kinsmen and
kinswomen were sparing with their
congratulations. Indeed, Mr. Ralph
Carrlston, the cousin whose name was
coupled with the such abeurd suspic
ions, went so far as to write a bitter,
sarcastic letter, full of ironical felicita
tions. This, and Charles Carriston’s
haughty reply, did not make the affec
tion between the cousins any stronger.
Moreover, shortly afterward the young
er man heard that inquiries were being
made in the neighborhood of Made
line’s home, as to her position and pa/r
entage. Feeling sure that only his
cousin Ralph could have had the curi
osity to institute such inquiries, he’
wrote and thanked him for the keen in
terest he was manifesting in his future
welfare, but begged that hereafter Mr.
Carrlston would apply to him direct
for any information he wanted. The
two men were now no longer on speak
ing terms.
Charles Carrlston, In his present
frame of mind, cared little whether his
relatives wished to bless or forbid the
banns. He was passionately in love,
and at once set abcut making arrange
ments for a speedy marriage. Althot gh
Madeline was still ignorant of the ex
alted position held by her lover—al
though she came to him absolutely pen
niless—he was resolved in the matter
of money to treat her as generously
as ho would have treated the most
eligible damsel in the country. Tl.ere
were several legal questions to be set
at rest concerning certain property he
wished to settle upon her. These of
course caused delay. As coon as they
were adjusted to his own, or, rather to
his lawyer’s satisfaction, he purposed
going to Scotland and carrying away
his beautiful bride. In the meantime
he cast about for a residence.
-Somewhat Bohemian in his nature
Carrlston had no Intention of settling
down Just yet to live the life ofan
ordinary moneyed Englishman, tils
Intention was to take Madeline abroad
for some months. He had fixed upon
Cannes as a desirable place at which to
winter, but having grown somewhat
tired of hotel life wished to rent a
furnished house. He had received from
an agent to whom he had been ad
vised to apply the refusal of a house
which, from the glowing description
given, seemed the one above all others
he wanted. As an early decision was
insisted upon, my impulsive young
friend thought nothing of crossing the
Channel and running down to the south
of PYance to see, with his own eyes,
that the much-lauded place was worthy
of the fair being who was to be its
temporary mistress.
He wrote to Madeline, and told her
he was going from home for a few
days. Ho said he should be traveling
the greater part of the time, so it
would be no use for her writing to him
until his return. He did not reveal the
object of his journey. Were Madeline
to know it was to choose a winter resi
dence at Cannes, she would be filled
with amazement, and the innocent de
ception ho was still keeping up would
not be carried through to the romantic
end which he pictured to himself.
VII. - :?
4 nis uai oeiore ne
started for France
Madeline wrote
'that her aunt was
' vory unwell, but
a eald nothing as to
-] her malady causing
/ any alarm. Per
. haps Carriston
thought less about
the old Scotch wid
ow than her rela
tionship and kindness to Miss Rowan
merited. He started on his travels
without any forebodings of evil.
His joumoy to Cannes and back was
hurried—he wasted no time on the road,
but was delayed for two days at the
place itself before he could make Anal
arrangements with the owner and the
present occupier of the house. Think
ing he was going to start every moment
he did not write to Madeline—at the
rate at which he meant to return a
letter posted in England would reach
her almost as quickly as it posted at
Cannes.
He reached his home, which for the
last few weeks had been Oxford, and
found two letters waiting for him.- The
first, dated on the day he left England,
was from Madeline. It told him that
her aunty’s Illness had suddenly taken
a fatal turn—that ahe had died that
day, almost without warning. The sec
ond letter was anonymous.
It was written apparently by a wom
an, and advised Mr. Carr to look sharp
ly after his lady-love or he would find
himself left in the lurch. The writor
would not be surprised to hear'hofbo
fine day that she had eloped with a cer
tain gentleman who should b«r name
less. This precious epistle, probably
an emanation of feminine spite, Car
riston treated as it deserved—he tore
it up and threw the pieces to the wind.’
But the thought of Madeline being
alone at that lonely house troubled him
greatly. The dead woman had no sons
or daughters—all the anxiety and re
sponsibility connected with her affairs
would fall on the poor girl. The next
day he threw himself into the Scotch
Express, and started for her far-away
home.
On arriving there he found it occu
pied only “by the rough farm servants.
They seemed in a state of wonderment,
and volubly questioned Carriston as to
the whereabouts of Madeline. The
question sent a chill of fear to his
heart. He answered their questions
by others, and soon learnt dll they had
to communicate.
Little enough it was On the morn-,
lng after the old woman’s funeral Mad
eline had gone to Callendar, to ask the
advice of an old friend of her aunt’s,
as to what steps should now be taken.
She had neither been to his friend,
nor had she returned home. She had,
however, sent a message that she must
go to London at once, and would write
from there. That was the last heard
of her—all that was known about her.
Upon hearing this news Carriston be
came a prey to the acutest terror—an
emotion which was quite inexplicable
to the honest people, hi 3 Informants.
The girl had gone, but she had sent
word whither she had gone. True,
they did not know the reason for liet
departure, so sudden and without lug
gage of any description—true, she had
net written as promised, but no doubt
they would hear from her tomorrow.
Carriston knew better. Without re
vealing the extent of his fears, he flew
back to Callendar. Inquiries at the
railway station informed him that she
had gone, or had purposed going, to
London, but whether she ever reached
it, sr whether any trace of her- could
be found there, was, at least, a matter
of doubt. No good could be gained by
remaining In Scotland, so he traveled
back at once to town, half distracted,
sleepless, and racking his brains 'bo
know where to look for her.
“She has been decoyed away," Be
said in conclusion. “She is hidden, Im
prisoned somewhere. And I know, as
well as if he told me, who has done this
thing. I can trace Ralph Carriston’s
cursed hand through it all.”
I glanced at him askance. This mor
bid suspicion of his cousin amounted
almost to monomania. He had told
the tale of Madeline's disappearance
clearly and tersely; but when he began
to account for it his theory was a wild
and untenable one. However much he
suspected Ralph Carriston of longiug
to'-'Stand in his shoes, I could see no
object for the crime of which he ac
cused him, that of decoying away Mad
I eline Rowan.
I (TO •> C0XT1SBBD.I
DAIRY AND POULTRY.
| , . FARM.
INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR
| OUR RURAL READERS.
.
How Successful Farmers Operate This
Department of the Farm—A Few
Hints as to the Care of Use Stock
and Poultry.
HE NAME "Poul
try Yard” ia given
to that part ot a
rural estate where
rural estate where
fowls are reared;
frequently it also
contains rabbit hut
ches. The poultry
yard la a valuable
Bier's family, but to derive all tbe pro
fit obtainable, a certain number of
principles must be followed which may
bo epitomized as follows: The first is
to utilize for the fowls the resources
of the locality or farm itself without
going to any great special expense.
Fowls should be fed on the least val
uable substances or aliments which
could not be otherwise utilized. Grain,
etc., being of some commercial value,
should be added in small quantity as
a complement, and particularly for
fattening. The poultry yard should be
dally opened so that the fowls may
wander about in the vicinity in search
of Insects and waste seed; these sub
stances, of no value, should play an
important part in their maintenance.
This principle, however, should be ap
plied, reckoning the neighborhood of
cropB, which fowls might injure. In
poultry yard girl has to be employed,
who should be aupertlied during he*
apprenticeship.—Dlctlonalre dee ' Sci
ence!.
Winter ltalaed Chicks.
Eggs are too valuable In winter to be
used tor hatching purposes unless one
Is confident of securing good hatches
and of raising the chicks, says an ex
change. To use a dosen eggs from
which only six chicks come and then
lose three of them, means an expen
diture of four eggs for one chick, and
no one can afford the cost In that re
spect The heaviest loss of chicks Is
with hens—not with Incubators and
brooders—and this fact should not be
overlooked. It Is admitted that in the
spring and summer, when the hen has
everything In her favor she will be
more serviceable than the brooder, but
In the winter, when cold winds, ice,
snow and rains prevail, the hen has
a difficult undertaking to care tor her
self Instead of attempting to raise a
brood, and as a rule the hens are for
tunate if they raise one-halt of the
chicks, hatched. When a hen becomes
broody and makes her nest In a warm
place, and when she brings off her
brood have a place prepared for her,
under shelter and where the sunlight
can come. Be careful that the chicks
are not exposed or become chilled, and
aim to raise every one of them. In
that case the chicks will pay, because
the expense of the eggs will be reduced
by reason of the larger number of
chicks marketed.
Weaning the Dairy Calf. •
One of the reasons why dairying Is
a failure in some localities Is that the
calf Is desired tor beef making, and to
give him a good start it is allowed to
SINGLE COMB WHITE LEQHORNS. ‘
The illustration of an ideal Single
Comb White leghorn, male, ie by
Sewell, the well-known poultry artlBt.
It is a<n excellent illustration of the
grand carriage and beauty of this
variety. Some writers claim they
are the original variety of the Leghorn
family, and others give that honor to
the Browns. But it matters little
about their history. It is sufficient that
we know they are the most popular of
the Leghorn family, and that comes
from the fact that they are larger and
lay larger eggs than any of their race.
They are very popular in the Bast on
large egg farms. If given a warm
hoase, with scratching shed combined,
they will prove to be good winter lay
era. But it will not do to confine {Stem
much in the house without the privi
lege of scratching among a lot of loose
Utter. They are very active, and the
only way to make them profitable is to
keep them busy. They greatly resem
ble the Black Minorca In every way
but color of plumage, and lay an egg
very much the sice of that of the Min
orca. It was owing to this fact that
the White Minorca never gained much
favor in this country. “Our folks”
want clean, yellow legs, and as the
White Minorca did not have that, and
as they had no other claims for su
periority, the Leghorns came right to
the front, and are to this day close riv
als of the black variety of Minorcas.
such a case the yard must be closed
at certain times. Tbe extent of the
poultry yard should be In proportion
with the demand available. From this ,
point of view the neighborhood of
large towns is a reason for giving great
importance to the poultry yard, be
cause the sale is abundant and lucra
tive. and rearing is just as cheap as
in strictly rural districts. To feed
fowls cheaply it is good to place dung
heaps within their reach in which
seeds and insects abound. In a poul
try yard are reared hens, turkeys, <
guinea-fowls, pheasants, peacocks, pig
eons, ducks, geese, and swans; some i
for flesh, others for feathers or down.
The establishment expenses of a poul
try yard should always he as small as
possible. It must be separated from
the other part of the farm by a wall,
wire-work or very thick hedge. A few
trees are useful to give shade and at
night shelter to the hens, turkeys and
peacocks which do not always care to
return to the housed There must be
a hen house; one or two pools of wa
ter for the geese and ducks, unless
there Is some pond or Btream in the
neighborhood; tubs of pure water cov
ered for the hens to drink, which pass
their heads through openings in the
lids; a grass plot for grazing and a
heap of cinders or sand for them to
clear themselves of vermin. The farm
eress can attend to the poultry yard,
profitably employing part of her time,
without being disturbed in other work.
She can only succeed by loving the
fowls and making them love her. Every
morning and middle of the afternoon
she must call and feed them, ascertain
ing whether none are lost, if all are
well. If laying and hatching progress
favorably, etc. She must be able to
attend to them In sickness, cure them
and fatten. All this Involves so much
ibor In large poultry yards that a
luck for from three weeltB to three
months, says Rural Life. This will
•poll a cow for the dairy, as a rule, and
it any rate It takes the time out of her
period of buttermaking, which will re
luce the butter yield for the year be
low profit If the calf sucks three
months and Is then weaned the cow
may be expected to go dry In a few
weeks, or half dry at least, and she
will not pay for the feed and the
:rouble. To get a paying mess of milk
t Is absolutely necessary to milk the
sow from the first The "first" means
:o some dairymen when the calf Is first
teen. It Is removed Immediately and
lot allowed to suck even once, but the
milk Is drawn and fed to the calf. By
his practice the cow knows no other
way to have the milk drawn and does
not worry for the calf, so everything
goes smoothly. Other dairymen think
the first time the cow should be milked
is when the milk is first good for use.
rhe first secretion Is not true milk, but
:olostrum, and is designed to physio
the calf. All agree that the calf must
tiave this first milk, but some let him
lielp himself and others do not Many
>f the most advanced dairymen strong
ly advocate never letting the calf suck.
Others, and the greater number, prefer
to let it suck until the milk is good and
this is what the writer recommends.
Alter the milk 1b good for use the cow
it once increases it in quantity, and
good butter fat la too precious for calf
Food. There is no difficulty in taking
jff the calf then without any objections
From the mother, if you use common
sense and good tact. If she is inclined
to worry tie the calf by her side while
rou milk for the first time or two, and
she will be reconciled, but on no ac
:ount permit it to suck after the milk
becomes good for use.
Farm mortgages are Increasing.
ONLY A MINOR CABINET
PUCE, IF ANY.
p V* t- „_. „
WILL GET COLD SHOULDER.
Factional Difference* Put the BapfHk
•tale la u Almost DuunpM
Flight—Platt and Quay Said ta
Ba lchlnli|—The/ Are to
Hold a Conference ta
Florida Xhia Month.
WASniKOTOir, Feb. 6.—Gossip eon.
corning the next cabinet and the posat
bility of a division of the Republican
senators into administration and anti
administration groups fill up the legist
latlve gaps here. The most interesting
phase of the situation is that New
York seems likely to get the cold i
shoulder. A cabinet with no repre
sentative from the Empire state will
be an anomaly, and a marked contrast
to the consideration which has beat
shown to the state by President Cleve
land. Even if New York shall be re
membered it can now only receive one
of the minor portfolios. General ■
Stewart L. Woodford's name is men
tioned for the position of attorney '
general, but there is nothing so far to
indicate that he is to be selected. Ib
is said by the friends of Mr. McKinley
here that the factional Ugh tin New
York has been so bitter as to make it
practically impossible for him to select
a Republican from that state.
While Mr. McKinley holds New York
in the balancce, Senator Platt of New
York has gone to Florida to spend m
month, a considerable portion ad
which time will be passed in the com
pany of Senator Quay. The latter’s^
state, Pennsylvania, is also to be
ignored,although New York and Penn
sylvania rolled up the highest Re pub*
lfcan majorities of the last election.
Platt has no love for McKinley and
Qnay is in thorough sympathy with
Platt. The conferences which will be
held in Florida will be of interest, and
their result will be seen in the devel
opments of the Senate during the extra,
session. ; ^2-.,
MILLIONAIRE A CAPTIVE.
; ‘ , , ■ • i .
•te Rlohardioo at Kew Hampshire at tba
Merer at an Unscrupulous Pair.
Montreal, Feb. 6.—Some tlmeagoe
couple who announced themselves aa
Mr. and Mrs. Stanton of Mew York
came here with a slight, dark mate
about 50 years old, who was never al
lowed to leave the fashionable house
where they lived, or to see any one
who by ehanee should call. This man
was said to be a Mr. Richardson, an.
American millionaire from Mew Hamp
shire. It is also said that be was kept
under the influence of a powerful drop
and in this semi-rational condition bin
captors forced him to write checks for
large sums of money.
An agent of the millionaire came
here about two weeks ago to find him.
The police say this agent saw the
Stantons, but they had their victim
hidden, and told the agent they knew
nothing about him. The trio disap
peared a few hours before the detec
tives finally decided to search the.
house.
The detectives are divided in their
opinion as to where the mysterious
trio Rave gone. The police say Stan
ton's real name is Fraser, and that h»
is an ex-Methodist preacher, formerly
known in Mew York conference.
ASKS FOR MERCY.
■eaters Alarmed et Pending LefMe>
Use la Kansas.
Topeka, Kan., Feb. B. F. Ripley,
president of the Santa Fe, made a for
mal appeal to the Legislature yester
day against the railroad bills pending
in both houses. The appeal is in the
form of a carefully prepared pamphlet,
entitled, “Memorial of the Atchison,
Topeka and Santa Fe Railway Com
pany to the Legislature of the State
of Kansas.” In it President Ripley
endeavors to point out the injustice of
the reforms proposed. He asserts that,
none of the Kansas lines are paying
investments, and that existing ratea
are already lower, in comparison, than
those of neighboring and more thickly
settled states. He intimates that the
passage of the proposed bills would be
equivalent to confiscation, and ex
presses the hope that no appeal to the
courts will be necessary in order M»
protect the company’s oorporrte rights.
KENNY NOW A SENATOR.
The Oilmn Hm Dtasmt Taka*
the Oath of OBIca.
Washington, Feb. 8.—Richard B.
Kenny, the silver Democrat from Dela
ware, wss sworn In ss senator in the
Senate to-day. This marked the close
of a contest over the vacant Delaware
seat. .
The committee on electionshad met
prior to the Senate's action and. by e
vote of 6 to 1, decided against Mr. Du
pont's claim on the ground that the
Senate had once finally passed on it
and no new evidence had been dis
covered. '_
British Army to Be Increased.
London, Feb. S.—The Marquis ot
Lansdowne, the secretary of state for
war, replying in the House of Lords to
Viscount de Vesei, announced that the
government proposed to increase the
army by 7,385 men.
A Snowball Causes a falelds.
St. Paul,Minn., Feb. 8.—Yesterday
afternoon a 13-year-old boy threw a
snow ball at a friend in a cutter, but
the missile struck the horse, causing e
runaway, which caused three othera
and considerable damage. Some of
those aggrieved told the boy's father
that he would have to pay andhe shot
himself dead. He was Peter Joseph
Dreis, one of the oldest druggists int
the state and a well known Demount.
John William Ohms, an aged St,
Louis miser, was found dead in hia
room with 810,000 in money and bond%
concealed in an olg iron pot,
-r 3.."
