I- - - I
TKe Crime of **&?*
the Boulevard
CHAPTER I.
"Where does Bernardet live?"
"At the passage to the right. Yes,
that house which you see with the
grating and the garden behind It.”
The man to whom a passerby had
given this information hurried away
In the direction pointed out. Although
gasping for breath, he tried to run, In
order to more quickly reach the little
house at the end of the passage of the
Elysee des Beaux Arts. This passage, a
sort of due de sac, on either side of
which were black buildings, strange old
houses and dilapidated storehouses,
opened upon a boulevard filled with life
and movement, with people prom
enading, with the noise of tramways,
with gayety and light.
The mun wore the dress and had the
bearing of a workman. He was very
short, very fat, and his bald head was
bared to the warm October rain. He
was a workman. In truth, who worked
In his concierge lodge, making over and
mending garments for his neighbors,
while his wife looked after the house,
swept the staircases and complained of
her lot.
Mme. Monlche found life hard and
disagreeable and regretted that It had
not given her what it promised when,
at 18, and very pretty, she had expect
ed something better than to watch be
side a tailor bent over his work In a
concierge's lodge. Into her life a
tragedy had suddenly precipitated
Itself, and Mme. Monlche found that
day something to brighten up her af
ternoon. Entering a moment before
the apartment ocupled by M. Rovere,
she had round her lodger lying on his
back, his eyes fixed, his arms flung out,
with a gash across his throat.
M. Rovere had lived alone In the
house for many years, receiving a few
mysterious persons. Mme. Monlche
looked after his apartment, entering by
using her own key whenever It was
necessary, and her lodger had given her
permission to come there at any time
to read the dally papers.
Mme. Monlche hurried down the
stairs.
iu. mrvere to ukru; iu. i»ao
been murdered! His throat has been
cut! He has been assassinated!” And
pursuing her husband out of the door
she exclaimed:
"The police—go for the police!”
This word "police” awakened In the
tailor’s mind not the thought of the
neighboring commissary, but the
thought of the man to whom he felt
that he ought to appeal, whom he ought
to consult. This man was the good lit
tle M. Bernardet, who passed for a man
of genius of his kind at the Surete and
for whom Moniche had often repaired
coats and rehemmed trousers.
From the mansion In the Boulevard
de Cllchy, where Moniche lived, to M.
Bernardet's house was but a short dis
tance, and the concierge knew the way
very well, as he had often been there,
but the poor man was so stupefied, so
overwhelmed, by the sudden appear
ance of his wife In his room, by the
brutal revelation which came to him
as the blow of a fist by the horrible
manner of M. Rovere’s death, that he
lost his head. Horrified, breathless, he
asked the first passerby where Ber
nardet lived, and he ran as fast as he
could in the direction pointed out.
Arrived at the grating, the worthy
man, a little confused, stopped short.
He was very strongly moved. It seemed
to him that he had been cast Into the
agony of a horrible nightmare. An as
sassination in the house! A murder in
the Boulevard de Cllchy in broad day
light, just over his head, while he was
quietly repairing a vest!
He stood (ft the house without ring
ing. M. Bernardet was, no doubt,
breakfasting with his family, for It was
Sunday, and the police officer, meeting
Moniche the evening before, had said
to him: "Tomorrow Is my birthday.”
Moniche hesitated a moment. Then
he rang the bell. He was not kept
waiting. The sudden opening of the
grating startled him. He pushed back
the door and entered. He crossed a lit
tle court, at the end of which was a
pavilion. He mounted the three steps
and was met on the threshold by a lit
tle woman, as rosy and fresh as an
apple, who, napkin In hand, gayly sa
luted him.
juii, xu. muiuuue;
It was Mme. Bernardet. a Burgundian
•woman, about 35 years of age, trim
and coquettish, who stepped back so
that the tailor could enter.
"What is the matter, M. Monlehe?”
Poor Monlehe rolled his frightened
eyes around and gasped out, "I must
speak to M. Bernardet."
I "Nothing easier.” said the little
woman. “M. Bernardet Is In the gar
I den. Yes. he Is taking advantage of
' the beautiful day. He Is taking a
group”—
“What group?”
“You know very well photography Is
his passion. Come with me."
And Mme. Bernardet pointed to the
end of the corridor, where an open door
gave a glimpse of the garden at the
rear of the house. M. Bernardet, the
inspector, had posed his three daugh
ters with their mother about a small
table, on which coffee had been served.
"I had Just gone In to get my nap
kin, when I heard you ring,” Mme.
Bernardet said.
Bernardet made a sign to Monlehe
not to advance. He was as plump and
as gay as his wife. His mustache was
red, his double chin smooth shaven and
rosy, his eyes had a sharp, cunning
look, his head was round and closely
cropped.
The three daughters, clothed alike in
Scotch plaid, were posing fn front of a
photographic apparatus which stood on
a tripod. The eldest was about 12 vears
, of use. the youngest a child of 5. They
were all three strangely alike.
M. Barnardet. in honor of his birth
day. was taking a picture of his daugh
j ters. The ferret who from morning
till night tracked robbers and male
factors Into their hiding places was
taking his recreation in his damp gar
den. The sweet Idyl of this hidden life
repaid him for his unceasing Investiga
tions, for his trouble and fatiguing
man hunts through Paris.
"There," he said, clapping the cap
over the lens. "That is all. Go and
play now, my dears. I am at your ser
| vice now. Monlehe."
He shut up his photograph appara
I tus, pulling out the tripod from the
deep soil In which It was imbedded,
while his daughters Joyously ran to
their mother. The young girls stood
gazing at Monlehe with their great
blue eyes, piercing and clear. Bernadet
turned to look at him, and at once di
vined that something had happened.
“You are as white as your handker
chief, Monlehe," he said. "A murder?”
"A murder, yes, M. Bernardet. M.
Rovere—you did not know him?"
"No."
"He was an original, a recluse, and
now he has been assassinated. My
wife went to his room to read, the pa
pers—”
Bernardet Interrupted him brusque
ly:
“When did It happen?"
"Ah. dame, monsieur, I do not know!
All I know is my wife found the body
still warm. She was not afraid. She
touched it.”
"Still warm!”
These words struck Bernardet. He
reflected a m'.ment. Then he said:
"Come, let us go to your house.”
Then, struck with a sudden idea, he
added, “Yes, I will take it.”
He unfastened his camera from the
tripod. "I have three plates left which
I can use,” he said.
Mme. Bernardet, who was standing
at a little distance, with the children
clinging to her skirts, perceived that
the concierge had brought important
news. Bernardet’s smiling face had
suddently changed. The expression
became serious, his glance fixed and
keen.
"Art thou going with him?” Mme.
Bernadet asked as she saw her hus
band buckle on a leather bandolier.
"Yes,” he answered.
“Ah, Mon Dleu! My poor Sunday,
and this evening! Can we not go to
the little theater at Montmarte this
evening?”
"I do not know," he replied.
"You promised. The poor children!
You promised to take them to see CIo
serie des Genets."
“I cannot tell. I do not know. I will
see,” the little man said. “My dear
Moniche, today is my fortieth birthday.
I promised to take them to the theater,
but I must go with you.” Turning to
his wife, he added: “But I will come
back as soon as I can. Come, Moniche,
let us hasten to your M. Rovere.”
He kissed his wife on the forehead
and each little girl on both cheeks, and,
strapping the camera in the bandolier,
he went out, followed by the tailor. As
thfey walked quickly along Moniche
kept repeating, “Still warm—yes M.
Bernardet, still warm.”
CHAPTER II,
Bernardet was quite an original
character. Among the agents, some of
whom were very odd, and among the
Jevoted subalterns this little man, with
his singular mind, with his Insatiable
curiosity, reading anything he could
lay his hands on, passed for a literary
person. His chief sometimes laughing
ly said to him:
"Bernardet. take care. You have
literary ambitions. You will begin to
dream of writing for the papers."
"Oh, no, M. Morel! But what would
you? I am simply amusing myself."
This was true. Bernardet was a born
hunter. With a superior education he
might have become a savant, a fre
quenter of libraries, passing his life in
working on documents and in deciph
ering manuscripts. The son of a
dairyman, brought up in a Lan
castrial school, reading with avidity
nil the dally papers, attracted
by everything . mysterious which
happened In Paris, having accom
plished his military duty, he ap
plied for admission to the police bu
reau, as he would have embarked for
the new world, for Mexico or for Ton
quln, In order to travel in a new coun
try. Then he married, so that he
might have In his checkered existence,
which was dangerous and wearying, a
haven of rest, a fireside of peaceful Joy.
So he lived a double life, tracking
malefactors like a bloodhound and cul
tivating his little garden. There he
devoured old books, for which he had,
paid a few sous at some book stall. He
read and pasted In old odd leaves, re
bound them himself and cut clippings
from papers. He filled his round, bald
head with a mass of facts which he in
vestigated, classified, put into their
proper place, to be brought forth as
occasion demanded.
He was an Inquisitive person—a very
Inquisitive person indeed. Curiosity
filled his life. He performed with pleas
ure the most fatiguing and repulsive
tasks that fall to a police officer’s lot.
They satisfied the original need of his
nature and permitted him to see every
thing, to hear everything, to penetrate
into the most curious mysteries—today,
In a dress suit with white tie, care
lessly glancing over the crowds at the
opera to discover the thieves who took
opera glasses, which they sent to ac
complices In Germany to be sold; to
morrow going in a ragged clothes to
arrest a murderer in some cutthroat
den in the Glaciere.
ivi. Diuiiurutt nau lasen possession
of the office of the most powerful
bankers, seized their books and made
them go away with him In a cab. He
had followed, by order, the Intrigues
of more than one fine lady, who owed
to him her salvation. .'What if M. Ber
nardet had thought fit to speak? But
he never spoke, and reporters came out
worsted from any attempt at an inter
view with him. "An Interview is silver,
but silence is gold,” he was wont to
say, for he was not a fool.
He had assisted at spiritual seances
and attended secret meetings of an
archists. He had occupied himself with
occult matters, consulting the magi
cians of chance, and he had at his
tongue’s end the list of conspirators.
He knew the true names of the famous
Greeks who shuffled cards as one scouts
about under an assumed name. The
gambling hells were all familiar to
him. He knew the churches in whose
dark corners associates assembled to
talk of affairs, who did not wish to be
seen in beer shops or spied upon in
cabarets.
Of the millions In Paris he knew the
secrets of this whirlpool of humanity.
Oh, if he had ever become prefect of
police, he would have studied his
Paris, not at a distance, looking up
statistics in books, or from the win
dows of a police bureau, but in the
streets, in wretched lodgings, in hovels,
in the asylums of misery and of crime.
But Bernardet was not ambitious. Life
suited him very well as he found It.
His good wife had brought to him a
small dower, and Bernardet, content
with this poor little fortune, found that
he had ull the power he wanted—the
power, when occasion demanded, of
putting his hand on the shoulder of a
former minister and of taking a mur
derer by the throat.
One day a financier, threatened with
imprisonment in Mazas, pleased him
very much. Bernardet entered his office
to arrest him. He did not wish to have
a row in the bank. The police officer
and banker found themselves alone,
face to face, in a very small room, a
private- office with heavy curtains and
a thick carpet, which stifled all noise.
“Fifty thousand francs if you will let
me escape," said the banker.
"M. le Comte jests."
"A hundred thousand:"
“The pleasantry is very great, but it
is a pleasantry.”
Then the count, very pale, said, "And
what If I crack your head?"
' "My brother officers are waiting for
. me,” Bernardet simply replied. "They
know that our interview does not
promise to be a long one, and this last
1 proposition, which I wish to forget like
r the others, would only aggravate, I be
. IIeve, if it became known. M. le Comte's
case."
Two minutes afterward the banker
went out, preceding Bernardet, who
followed him with bared head. The
banker said to his employes, In an easy
tone: “Goodby for the moment, mes
sieurs. I will return soon."
It was also Bernardet who. visiting
the Bank Hauts-Plateaux, said to his
chief, “M. Morel, something very seri
ous is taking place there."
“What is it, Bernardet?”
“I do not know, but there is a meet
ing of the bank directors, and today I
saw two servants carry a man in there
in an invalid's chair. It was the Baron
de Cheylard.”
“Well?”
"Baron Cheylard. in his quality of
ex-senator of the second empire, of ex
president of the council, an ex-com
missioner of industrial expositions, is
grand cross of the Legion of Honor.
Grand cross—that is to say, that he
cannot be pursued only after a deci
sion of the council of the order. And
then, you understand—if the Bank of
Hauts-Plateaux demands the presence
of its vice president, the Baron of
Cheylard, paralyzed, half dead-"
"It means that it has need of a
thunderbolt?”
“The grand cross, monsieur. They
would hesitate to deliver up to us the
grand cross.”
"You are right, Bernardet. The band
must be in a bad fix, and you are a
very keen observer—the mind of a
literary man, Bernardet.”
"Oh, rather a photographic eye, M. ,
Morel—the habit of using a kodak!”
Thus Bernardet passed his life in
Paris. Capable of amassing a fortune
in some Trlcoche agency if he had
wished to exploit, for his own beneilt,
his keen observing powers, he thought
only of doing his duty, bringing up his
little girls and loving his wife. Mme.
bernardet was amazed at the astonish
ing stories which her husband often
related to her and very proud that he
was such an able man.
M. Barnardet hurried toward M. Ro
vere's lodgings, and Moniche trotted
along beside him. As they neared the
house they saw that a crowd had be- j
gun to collect. I
"It is known already,” Moniche
said. "Since I left they have begun ■
‘‘If I enter there.” Interrupted the 1
officer, “it is all right. You have a
right to call any one you choose to
your aid, but I am not a magistrate.
You must go for a commissary of
police.”
“Oh, M. Bernardet!” Moniche ex
claimed. “You are worth more than
all the commissary put together.”
“That does not make it so. A com
missary is a commissary. Go and hunt
for one.”
"But since you are here—”
"But I am nothing. We must have
a magistrate.”
“You are not a magistrate, then?”
"I am simply a police spy.”
Then he crossed the street.
The neighbors had gathered about
the door like a swarm of flies around
a honeycomb. A rumor had spread
about which brought together a crowd
animated by the morbid curiosity
which is aroused in some minds at
the hint of a mystery and attracted
by that strange magnetism which that
sinister thing, “a crime," arouses. The
women talked in shrill tones, invent
ing strange stories and incredible
theories. Some of the common peo
ple hurried up to learn the news.
At the moment Bernardet came up,
followed by the concierge, a coupe
stopped at the door and a tall man
got out, asking:
"Where is M. Morel? I wish to see
M. Morel."
The chief had not yet been advised,
and he was not there. But the tall
young man suddenly recognized Ber
nardet and laid hold of him, pulling
him after him through the half open
door, which Moniche hastened to shut
against the crowd.
"We must call some officers,” Ber
nardet said to the concierge, "or the
crowd will push in.”
Mme. Moniche was standing at the
foot of the staircase, surrounded by
the lodgers, men and women, to whom
she was recounting for the 20th time
the story of how she had found M.
Rovere with his throat cut.
"I was going in to read the paper
—the story—it is very interesting,
that story. The moment had come
when the baron had insulted the
American colonel. M. Rovere said to
me only yesterday, poor man, ‘I am
anxious to find out which one will be
killed—the colonel or the baron.” He
will never know. And it is he-”
“Mme. Moniche," Interrupted Ber
nardet, "have you any one whom you
can send for a commissary?’'
“Any one?”
“Yes,” added Moniche. “M. Ber
nardet needs a magistrate. It is not
difficult to understand.”
“A commissary,” repeated Mme.
Moniche. “That is so. A commissary,
and what if I go for the commissary
myself, M. Bernardet?"
“All right, provided you do not let
the crowd take the house by assault
when you open the door.”
“Fear nothing," the woman said,
happy in haying something important
to do, in relating the horrible news
to the commissary how, when she was
about to enter the room for the pur
pose of reading, the
(Continued Next Week.)
Stimulating the Stogy Output.
Elizabeth P. Butler In the July Charities
and the Commons.
Where hours are irregular In the
Pittsburg stogy manufactories, the
time element enters, with natural dif
ferences of speed and with differences
in quality of stock, to affect the
amount earned. Perhaps here better
than elsewhere mention may be made
of some of the methods of stimulating
output In the larger factories. There
are eight factories which employ 100
hands or more. In each of them as
well as In some of the smaller plants
which approach them in size, there are
speed requirements. One factory, for
instance, pays only 9 cents a hundred
In case a roller turns out less than
6,000 stogies a week, although there is
not a sweatshop which falls below the
11 cent rate. In other cases, emphasis
Is placed on close cutting as well as on
speed. The following regulation is
posted on a workroom door.
Pump Handles (Cigars.)
All rollers getting an average of be
low' 275 a pound will receive 12 cents
a 100.
All rollers getting an average of 275
or better will receive 13 cents a 100.
All rollers getting an average of over
325 will receive 25 cents additional to
their week's pay.
Little Havana Specials.
All rollers getting an average of be
low 325 a pound will receive 12 cents
a 100.
All rollers getting an average of 325
or better will receive 13 cents a 100.
All rollers getting an average of over
375 will receive 25 cents additional to
their week’s pay. _
The Dangerous House Fly.
Michael Williams In “Success Magazine.”
Flies cause, in New York city alone,
about 650 deaths from typhoid fever
and about 7,000 deaths yearly from oth
er diseases. Last year a fly Was cap
tured on South street, in New York
(not far from one of the city’s biggest
meat and fish markets), that was found
to be carrying In his mouth and on hts
legs more than 100,000 disease bacteria.
Flies walk over decaying and fetid mat
ter, for which they have a natural affin
ity, and then, entering meat markets
and homes, travel over the food, explore
the milk pitcher, and also light directly
on the skin of the householders.
HENRY WATTERSON
ON “BLIND TOM”
i
As His “Oldest Living Friend,”
the Great Editoi* Pays
Touching Tribute.
Henry Watterson, In the Louisville Cour
ier-Journal.
Tidings of the death of “Blind Tom” at
Hoboken, “where he had been living In
retirement," the wires tell us, "and sub- i
sleting on charity,” reach at least, one i
heart that loved and pitied him, and sum- j
mon from the land of shades and dreams
many a ghost of days and dear ones long
since departed. I must be his oldest living
friend. It Is not true, as X have some
times seen it stated, that I taught him
what little he knew of music; but I was
In at the outset of hia strange career and
am familiar with all its beginnings.
I first heard of him through Robert
Heller—William Henry Palmer — best
known In his day as a popular magician,
but a most accomplished pianist, it was
at Washington and In the autumn of
I860. Palmer had Just come up with
“Blind Tom” in Ixiulsvllle, I think, and
had been, of course, and at once per
plexed and amazed by his extraordinary
characteristics. His crude, often gro
tesque, attempts to Imitate whatever fell
upon his ear, either vocally, or on the
keyboard, were startling. He had heard
Judge Douglas speak and graphically re
produce a few sentences. He had heard
a reigning prlma donna sing and repeated
her soprano in a few bars. The Bethuna
girls, daughters of General Bethune of
Columbus, Go., his old master, had taught
him a few Jingles, which he rattled oft
upon the piano. He knew nothing very
complicated, or very well. But he was
blind and clearly an idiot; in short, he
was a prodigy.
Palmer gave him several “lessons”—
that is, he played over and over for him
such pieces as Thalberg's “Home, Sweet
Home,” Mendelssohn's “Spring Song” and
the salient passages out of some of Liszt's
transcriptions. Excepting a few additional
"lessons” of this kind had later along
from Eugene Baylor, who taught him his
famous “Margrave Danse,” Tom made
little further progress and learned nothing
new.
He would spin about the piano, like a
baboon, mumbling to himself whilst Pal
mer or Baylor played, and if they stopped
he would rush headlong to the instrum
ment and try to follow after them pre
cisely as they had phrased. Two or three
of such “lessons” sufficed, and though he
learned nothing accurately, nor played
with any other expression than they had
rendered, what he did was surprising,
even to those who knew the process and
the limitation.
The notion that the Bethunes had a gold
mine in his performances was not true.
They made at the height of his popularity
hardly much more than a living, and I
suppose that eventually this failed them.
They must be all of them dead now. How
Tom came to live In want at Hoboken,
just how he was separated from his old
friends, and how he dropped out of public
notice I cannot say. His mother was
alive as late as the early '80s, but I doubt
Is she or any of the Bethune family sur
•vive.
The last time I saw Blind Tom was in
London, away back in 1866. General Pink
ney Howard and one of the Bethune boys
had brought him over. It had been then
nearly three years since I had been with 1
.him in Atlanta. From the beginning of |
our intimacy Tom had been greatly im
pressed that, with a maimed hand, I could
still strike a few cords and run an octave
on the keyboard.^ To his poor, half-hit
mind it seemed a miracle. Upon a Sunday
.afternoon I came into the little hall on or
near Leicester square, where Tom was to
appear. He wa,s back of the scenes spin
ning as usual hand over heel, and mum
bling to himself. As we came upon the
•stage General Howard said, “let us see
whether he knows you.” I called him.
He slowly uncoiled himself and listened.
I called him again. He stood irresolute,
then ran across the boards, seized my
hand, assured himself of the withered
stump and joyously called my name.
What was It? Memory? Yes, it was
memory without doubt; but what else?
Whence the hand power that enabled him
to manipulate the keys, the vocal power
that enabled him to imitate the voice?
When he was a tot of 4 or 6 years old
he strayed from the negro cabin Into
the parlor of the mansion and hid himself
Whilst the children were having a concert.
When they had gone, leaving the room,
as they supposed, quite empty, they heard
the piano tinkle. They ran back, and
there, to their amazement, eat the chubby
little black monkey on the stool, banging
away for dear life, yet not without se
quence and rhythm, trying to repeat what
they had just been singing and playing.
From that time onward he was the pet
of the family.
I cannot trust myself to write of him
as I feel. It Is as if some trusty, well
loved mastiff—mute but affectionate—
closely associated with the dead and gone
—had been suddenly recalled to be as
suddenly taken away. The wires that flash
his death lighten a picture gallery for
me of the old, familiar faces. What was
he? Whence came he? Was he the prince
of the fairy tale held by the wicked en
chantress; nor any beauty—not even the
heaven born maid or melody—to release
him? Blind, deformed, and black—as
black even as Erehus—Idiocy, the idiocy
of a mysterious, perpetual frenzy, the sole
companion of his waking visions and his
dreams—whence came he, and was he, and
wherefore? That there was a soul there,
be sure, Imprisoned, chained, In that little
black bosom, released at last; gone to the
angels, not to imitate the seraph songs
of heaven, but to join the choir invisible
forever and forever.
A Good Time.
I’ve had a good time.
Lifo came with rosy cheeks and tender
song
| Across the morning fields to play with
me,
And, oh, how glad we were, and romped
I along
And laughed and kissed each other by
the sea.
I (
I’ve had a good time.
Love came and met me half-way down
i the road;
| ; Love went away, but there remained
1 with me
(A little dream to help me bear my load
A something more to watch for by the
;, sea~
• I've had a good time.
Death came and took a rosebud from my
yard;
But after that, I think there walked
with me,
To prove me how the thing was not so
hard,
An angel here of evenings by the jea.
I’ve had a good time.
A good, good time.
Nobody knows how good a time but m»
! With nights and days of revel and of
rhyme,
, And tears and love and longing by the
1 Bea.
—Mounce Byrd, in Harper’s Magazine fot
i August.
^ Poor Business.
“You say he has gone broke?’’
K "Yes. he put In a big stock of baby
cabs In that section of the city Inhabited
by the smart set."
Insight,
The mind reader has no remarkable
brain,
He's not gifted with wisdom galore;
He merely believes things will happen
again.
Because they have happened before.
Against Their Ethics.
Hix—Wonder what would happen If
politicians told the truth?
Dlx—They wouldn’t be politicians.
Hard Luck.
Grace—I lent Mr. Boro an umbrella
last night 'cause It was raining, witb
disastrous results.
Edith—Did he break It?
Grace—No; but he made the return
ing of the umbrella an dXcnse to call
this afternoon.
DRAGS YOU DOWN.
Backache and Kidney Trouble Slow
ly Wear One Ont.
Mrs. R. Crouse, Fayette St., Manches
ter, Iowa, says: “For two years my
back was weak and rheumatic. Pains
ran through my back,
hips and limbs. I
could hardly get
about and lost much
sleep. The action of
the kidneys was
much disordered. I
began using Doan’s
Kidney Pills and tbs
result was remarka
ble. The kidney ao
uun uecaiue uuruiai, iut* uatnaaic cmo
ed and my health is now unusually
good.”
Sold by all dealers. 50 cents a box.
Foster-Milburn Co.. Buffalo, N. Y.
Often the Case.
Fecke—They say his wife drove him
to drink.
Weeks—Perhaps she did, bijt from
what I know of him I think he would
have been awfully disappointed If sho
hadn’t.
Still Running.
From the Delineator.
Edwin, aged 4, owned a picture book ht
which a fierce looking cow was running
after a small boy. He looked at ft a long
time, then carefully closing the book he
laid It away. A few days later he got the
book again, and turned to the picture.
Bringing hfs chubby fist down on the cow,
ho exclaimed In a tone of triumph, "She
ain't caught him yet!”
How’s This?
We offer One Hundred Dollars Reward tot
any case of Catarrh that cannot be cured by;
Hall's Catarrh Cure.
F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O.
We, the undersigned, have known F. J.
Cheney for the last 15 years, and believe
him perfectly honorable In all business trane- 4
actions and financially able to carry ou*
any obligations made by his firm.
WAU>ixo, Kixnan & Marvin,
Wholesale Druggists, Toledo, O.
Hall'a Catarrh Cure Is taken Internally,
acting directly upon the blood and mucoue
surfaces of the system. Testimonials sent
free. Price 75 cents per bottle. Sold by
all Druggists.
Take Hall's Family Pills for constipation.
A Hot One.
Mr. Nagger—A woman’s work la
never done.
Mrs. Nagger—Especially when he*
work consists In trying to reform •
man.
Happy at the Thought.
“Come, the drinks are on me.”
“What’a up?”
“See that fat woman over there with
those six kids?”
"Sure."
“Ten years ago she refused to marry
me.”
BTr*. Winslow'* oooTmws -thui rnr OhlMn*
Caetainff; softens tha eun.8, rfoleft indaTnmauos. at
tars pain oureswWif. —I- . *-tt(a
Poor Man.
Henpoc.lt—I’m a very peaceable man,
but there’s one fellow that I'm Just
watting for an opportunity to lick.
Henderson—Who’s that?
Henpeck—The man who first Intro
duced me to my wife.
Malta la only 17 miles in length and nine
in breadth.
A Sartorial Stab.
From Brooklyn Ufa.
Mr. Jackson, colored, had come to the
home of his fiancee. Miss Jasmine Jones,
to fulfill an afternoon appointment. Not
finding the lady at the customary
try sting place in the front yard, Mr.
Jackson leisurely strolled around the
house, thinking he would probably
come upon her there. The lady was yet
not to be found, but her mother was
dlscovbred on the back porch doing the
family washing. Approaching with Ills
utmost pompous air, the future sonln
law inquired: "Miss' Jones, can you
tell me anything of de wharabouts of
Mis' Jasmine dls fin’ aftahnoon?”
"De wharabouts of Jasmine, did you
say, Mlstah Jackson?” puzzled the old
woman, looking up from the tub.
"yes’m. dat's what I say, de whar
abouts of Mis' Jasmine."
"Wul," muttered the old negress, as
she began hastily to overhaul the con
tents of her tub, "If dey ain't heah, I
reckon she’s done got ’em on.”
i
The worn out and attenuated cab horse,
which has so often been the butt of the
comic writer, will soon be an unknown
quantity lntthe streets of Paris. A society
known as the "Assistance aux Anhnaux''
has Just formed a "horse committee,"
which, working with the proprietors and
drivers* societies, seeks to provide Paris
with cabs drawn only by horses In a per
fect state of fitness, and driven by men
who have given-every proof of their com
petence and Intelligence. A staff of In
spectors will be employed to watch at the
gates of the cab yards every morning and
demand the Immediate return to the
•tables of any animal which seems in an
unfit state.
Great Idea.
Clara—She Is an awfully thoughtful
girl.
Tom—Indeed?
Clara—Yes; she has trimmed her new
theater hat with a pair of opera glasses
for the use of the gentleman who sits
behind her.
W« SELL GUNS AND TRAPS CIUJAP
ft boy Furs & Hides. Write for catalog 105
N. W. Hide ec Fur Co., Minneapolis, Mina.
Biggest Bear of Greenhorn Range.
From the Denver Post.
What is claimed to. be the biggest bear
killed on the Greenhorn range since Old
Mose fell nearly two years ago was
brought back to Denver by J. D. Veach
and S. S. Prentiss, of Kushvllle, 111., who
have lust returned from a ten-day hunt.
An effort had been made to find a big bear
in order that Mr. Prentiss might shoot It
and the trail was taken up on the Jack
Hall mountain. The dogs were ahead and
the other members of the party followed
on horseback, finally being obliged to go
forward on foot. When the dugs finally
caught up with the bear there was a
running, fight that lasted for 300 yards, the
hunters being within 60 feet of the animal
all the thne. It was finally treed on a
steep hillside. The dogs were good fight
ers and the bear was forced to take re
fuge In a tree less than one foot In dia
meter, notwithstanding the great size of
the animal. This was not accomplished
until the bear had bitten a tusk out of
one of the four dogs engaged in the fight.
Once safely treed Mr. Prentiss took a long
shot and brought the bear down.
\ A Polite Dootor.
When the baby came to Mary's home
«he was told that the doctor brought It.
Hhe thought he kept an unlimited supply.
Mary had been taught that politeness was
one of the greatest charms a person could
possess.
One day the doctor called, and said:
'"Mary, we have a new baby at oUr home;
Iwould you like to go with me to see It?"
Mary was delighted. The baby was very
tiny, only weighing three and one-half
pounds. When Mary saw inis frail bit
of humanity sho turned her face up to the
doctor, and said:
■"I think you are very peellte, to take the
-smallest for yourself."
Vary Good Advice.
President of Athletic Club (presenting
loving cup to champion runner)~You have
won this cup by the use of your legs. I
trust you may never lose the use of your
legs by the use ot this cup.
Just ■ Tip.
Evelyn—What a beautiful engagement
ring! I consider It a compliment.
* George—Well, In case of a falling out I
hope you will return the compliment.
The Bandit—Ah! but this Is a come
fown. Boldheart, the boy bandit, to de
scend to holdln' up cissy boys fer a
cent's worth of gum drops.
WANTED TO KNOW
The Truth About Grape-Nuts Food.
It doesn’t matter so much what you
hear about a thing, It’s what you know
that counts. And correct knowledge
la most likely to come from personal
experience.
“About a year ago,” writes a N. T.
man, “I was bothered by indigestion,
especially during the forenoon. I tried
several remedies without any perma
nent Improvement.
“My breakfast usually consisted of
oatmeal, steak or chops, bread, coffee
and some fruit.
'•Hearing so much about Grape-Nuts,
I concluded to give it a trial and find
out If all I bad heard of It was true.
“So I began with Grape-Nuts nnd
cream, 2 soft boiled eggs, toast, a cup o(
Postum and some fruit. Before the end
of the first week I was rid of the acid
ity of the stomach nnd felt much re
lieved.
“By the end of the second week all
trdees of Indigestion had disappeared
and I was In first rate health ouc«
more. Before beginning this course ol
diet, I never had any appetite foi
lunch, but now 1 can enjoy a heart}
meal at noon time.” "There’s a Rea
son.”
Name given by Postum Co.. Battle
Creek, Mich. Read. "The Uoad to Well
vllle,” in pkgs.
Ever read the above letter? A new
one appears from time to time.
They are genuine, true, and full ol
human Interest
A SUDDEN GOLD.
Miss Helen Sauerbier, of 81SMainSt., St, |
Joseph, Mich., writes an Interesting letter
on the subject of catching cold, which'
cannot fall to be of value to all women who
catch cold easily.
It Should be Taken According toDirectioia
on the Bottle, at the First Ap
pearance of the Cold.
St. Joseph, Mich., Sept., 1901.—l>as*
winter I caught a sudden cold which
developed Into an unpleasant ca
tarrh of the head and throat, depriving
me of tny appetite and usuai good spirits.
A friend who had been cured by Peruna
advised me to try it and I sent for a
bottle at once, and I am glad to say that
in three days the phlegm had loosened,
and I felt better, my appetite returned
and within nine days I was in my
usual stood health. „
—Miss Helen Sauerbler.
Peruna is an old and well tried remedy
for colds. No woman should be with
out it.
i" rnTbompaiB's EyeWatu
