The Arnewood Mystery
By Maurice H. Hervey.
Author of "Dead Man's Court," "Somerville's Crime," "Dartmoor,” "Maravin's Money," etc.. etc.
PROLOGUE.
About forty miles southwest of Cooktown, in Northern Queensland, but lying well out of the beaten track to the far-famed Palmer gold fields. Is a stony, sandy ravine, known to the few fossickers who have from time to time given it a trial, as “Black Horse Gully." Report had it that gold existed plentifully in that district, though no one, it was said, except one roan, a German, had ever found the precious metal there in any considerable quantity. This fortunate digger visited Cooktown to obtain supplies and to bank his gold, and many unsuccessful attempts had been made to track him back to the source of his wealth. Upon one of these periodical visits he died very suddenly, and the secret as to the whereabouts of his claim was believed to have died with him.
Late one afternoon in July, a man, dressed in the usual red flannel shirt and moleskins affected by the digger class, rode into Cooktown upon a lean, jaded horse, and dismounted at an unpretentious little inn known as the Miners' Arms. Having hitched his horse to a veranda post, he entered the bar, nodded to the landlord and a few chance customers, and curtly demanded a bed for the night.
"All right," replied the landlord, referring to the slate. "There are half a dozen for you to pick from."
"I want a room to myself," said the stranger.
"Right you are, mate," was the reply, "if you care to pay for two beds."
The newcomer shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, placed a pound note upon the counter, and. in the usual Australia^ style, ordered drinks for all those present. He then handed his weary steed over to the care of a stableman and proceeded on foot to the postoffice.
"Any letters for Luke Arnewood?" he inquired, anxionsly.
"I'll see," replied the delivery clerk, proceeding to examine the contents of a pigeon hole. "Where from?" he added, a little suspiciously.
"The old country—London." was the answer. "It's all right. I've had letters addressed here before. See here." So saying, he produced several letters In proof of his assertion, and the clerk's doubts vanished.
"All right," he rejoined. "We have to be a bit careful, you know. Here are three letters for you; one from London, right enough. The two others bear the Dublin postmark."
"Very likely," rejoined the applicant, almost clutching at the letters in his eagerness. He placed them carefully in his bosom and retired, muttering some gruff words of thanks. He then returned to the inn. ordered some dinner, and retired to the bedroom he had secured, in order to peruse his correspondence in peace.
For some moments he sat staring at the addresses upon the letters, as though doubtful which to open first, and finally unsealed the one bearing the London postmark. It ran as. follows:
"136 Essex Street,
Strand. London, W. C.,
June 2nd, 1803.
"Sir—Your favor of April 2th to hand, wherein you inform us that you are the only son of the Mr. George Arnewood (alias Arnott), for whom we Advertised in the 'Queenslander' and other Australian newspapers, and that your father died two years ago. We have forwarded your communication to Messrs. O'Brien and Grudgery, solicitors. Dublin, from whom you will doubtless hear in course of post.
Yours, faithfully.
—Hawkins & Co.,
Per Weston.
Luke Arnewood. Esq..
Postoffice Cooktown, Queensland."
"That tells me nothing," he muttered, opening a second letter; and, though a strong, healthy-looking-man, his hand shook as he did so.
"Re Arnewood's Trust.
18 Harcourt Street.
Dublin, June 4th, 1893.
Dear Sir: Our London, agents, Messrs.
Hawkins & Co., have forwarded us your reply to their advertisement in the 'Queenslander,' informing them that Mr. George Arnewood is dead and that you are his only son. Assuming your statement to be correct and susceptible of satisfactory proof (as is, we make no doubt, the case), we have to Inform you that you are, as your father's heir, entitled in tail-mail, to the extensive and valuable estates owned by your grandfather, the late Mr. Basil Arnewood, D. D., J. P., who died intestate last November.
It will, of course, be necessary for yen to establish your claim fully; and to this end, we would direct your attention to the importance of the following: Certificate of your father's marriage; certificate of your birth; certificate of your father's death; any letters or other documents left by him tending to establish, his identity and yours. We would suggest the advisability of your departure for Ireland at as early a date as possible. Should you be In want of funds for the voyage, we shall remit you what you require, upon hearing from you to that effect; and, we would be obliged by your sending us copies, at the same time, of such of the above named certificates as may be in your possession.
Your obedient servants,
O'Brien & Grudgerby,
Luke Arnewood, Esq.,
P. O. Cooktown, N. Queensland."
It was a terse, explicit letter enough, and a look at wild delight came into the digger's eyes as he perused it. "Estates, wealth, position," he muttered, "in return for a hole is the ground; a few ounces of gold dust, hardly earned, and the life of a navvy—not a bad exchange! I wonder whom the other letter is from?"
It proved to be from a gentleman signing himself Richard Blake, and who gave his address as the Kildare Street, Dublin Club. He had. he said, just heard from O'Brien & Grudgery of the discovery in Queensland of the missing heir, and. as a relative, he hastened to send his congratulations. "We shall all be delighted to see a master at the head of the old place once more," he added, except, perhaps, your cousin, Richard, who, barring you, would, of course, succeed to Arnewood, and who may be a trifle sore at first. I suppose you will keep O'Brien & Grudgery informed as to your movements, and I hope you'll find time to drop me a line, as well."
This epistle might have been meant in the friendliest spirit, but it produced no other effect upon its recipient than to provoke an ejaculation of contempt.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, aloud, as though he were addressing the writer in person. "I wonder what sort of a numbskull you' take me for, Mr. Richard Blake?"
Nevertheless, the idea 'that he was thus early being sought out and toadied to. pleased him. in a way; and he went to his dinner in as contented a frame of mind as is possible to a man of naturally morose disposition.
It is a custom, rarely honored in the breach, that when a digger stays over night in a town he shall go the round of certain resorts, chiefly public houses patronized by other gold hunters, and there exchange mining gossip and scraps of news. Our man had proved an exception to this ride, hitherto; and, in all his previous visits to Cooktown, he shunned the society of other diggers—for his own good' reasons. Nevertheless, upon this particular evening he so far relaxed this aloofness as to share in the conversation and numerous drinks indulged in by a number of gold hunters who had found their way to the bar of the Miners' Arms. Apparently either he deemed that the good news from Dublin had rendered his wonted caution unnecessary, or, being almost a stranger in the district, he trusted to pass unquestioned.
So he did, until a man, remarkable alike for his well-nigh dwarfish shortness of stature and almost ludicrous breadth of shoulder, pushed his way, good-humoredly, to the somewhat crowded bar.
"Clear the road for the Dutch giant, lads!" he chuckled, hoarsely.
“Halloa, Dirk! What cheer, old man? chorussed several voices.
"Nigh stony, boys!" replied the newcomer, and with scarcely a trace of foreign accent. "But Dirk Vanstrom's always good for a few drinks, eh, boss? What, you here?" he added, addressing the recipient of the letters.
"Yes," growled the latter. "Can't you see I am? Why shouldn't I be?"
"No reason that I know of, mate," rejoined Dirk, drily, "except that I thought you and your mate were too busy clearing out old Schneider's claim on the 'Black Horse' to waste a night in Cooktown."
It was difficult to define, from the speaker's tone whether he were in joke or in earnest; but, from the chorus of laughter which greeted his words, it was evident that" the bystanders regarded the alleged discovery of the old German's fabled claim as an excellent joke. Not so the object of the dwarfish Dutchman's banter, who, shortly afterward, retired, sulkily, for the night. Dirk gazed reflectively, upon his retreating form, but he made no further allusion to Black Horse Gully.
The lean horse had a good spell of rest, for not until 9 o'clock the next morning was he called upon to bear his owner to the local branch of the National Bank. The manager smiled as his red-shirted visitor removed his broad, many-buckled leathern belt and placed it upon the counter. Banks made a good profit upon the purchase of gold, and but little of the precious metal had found its way to Cooktown lately. One by one. and very carefully, he emptied the pockets, fixed upon the inside of the belt, of the gold dust and “shotty nuggets" which they contained. The delicate bullion scales were then called into requisition, and gave the aggregate weight of the gold as 2lbs, 9oz. 6dwt.
"Will you draw the value in cash now?" inquired the manager, suavely.
"No; I'd rather leave it with you for the present," was the reply. "I have more gold besides that lot."
“I'm very glad to hear it," replied the manager. We'll buy all you care to bring us. I'll just make out a deposit receipt and take your signature."
Hesitatingly and slowly, as though unused to wielding a pen, the new depositor wrote Luke Arnewood in the signature book, received his deposit form and slouched out of the bank. Dirk Vanston was standing outside the building with, apparently, no more engrossing occupation on hand than to study the anatomy of the lean horse.
"Good-day, mate," was the Dutchman's cordial greeting. "Been putting up some of old Schneider's leavings? He used to bank in the very same crib!'
For all reply, the digger Sprang, swiftly upon his horse's back and drove home his sharp spurs. With a snort of pain, the poor brute lashed out viciously, and came within an ace of dashing out the Dutchman's brains. Horse and rider then disappeared down the street.
Dirk Vanston's eyes flashed fiercely, as he realized the imminence of the peril he had just escaped; but he quickly regained his wonted good humor.
"All right, my sulky friend." he muttered, chuckling softly to himself. "It is your secret I want to get at. not your life. And I reckon I'll make better use of your bromby's hind shoes than you did Just now, anyhow!"
Meanwhile, the subject of these comments betook himself to the general store, and gladdened the heart of the storekeeper by a large order for supplies of all sorts, from flour and tinned meats to tea and tobacco.
"You'll have to send the stuff on to Joe Marshall's shanty at Thirty-Mile Creek," he remarked, as he paid the bill. "My pack horse knocked up there on the way in."
"All right was the reply. To whom shall I consign it?"
The other hesitated a moment. "To Louis Arnott—A-r-r-n-o-t-t," he said, spelling the name for the storekeeper's guidance. He then turned to leave the store, but, as though struck by an afterthought, returned and announced his intention of taking two bottles of brandy with him. These having been carefully packed in the thick digger's blanket that was strapped to the pommel of the saddle, he mounted and set forth, in a southwesterly direction, at the best pace of which the lean horse was capable.
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Some five hours later a man, almost his counterpart in general appearance, and-of about the same age. was seated upon a log outside a ramshackle shelter that was half-tent, half-hut, smoking and applying himself with suspicious frequency to a tin pannakin beside trim.
"Ought to be back by this time," he muttered, "unless he got on a spree last night and slept it out this morning. That's what I'd have done, most likely. Anyhow, I wish he'd turn up."
Within a few minutes, and as though in answer to his wish, a shrill, prolonged whistle resounded through the glen, upon one side of which the hut had been built.
"There he is, by thunder!" exclaimed the watcher, delightedly. And, placing two fingers in his mouth, his reply rang forth as shrilly as the summons. Then he hastened to a sheltered nook hard by, where a large kettle, hung gipsy-fashion over some smouldering embers, seemed to represent the kitchen of this establishment, patched up the half-extinct fire, and awaited his expected mate's arrival.
"Why, where's the tucker?" he inquired, after a brief, but apparently friendly, greeting had been exchanged.
The newcomer explained: The stuff won't reach old Joe's till late to-night," he added, "and we must do the best we can without it until to-morrow."
A sigh that was almost a groan greeted this assurance. "Hang it all! You might have brought me a pint to go on, anyhow!"
A faint sneer curled the newcomer's lip. "I did better than that, mate," he said, quietly. "You'll find two bottles of Martell' stowed away in my swag." "Bravo, Nat!" cried the other, joyously.
"You're a real brick! We've got plenty of grub left for a day or two."
The preparations for supper were as simple as the meal itself. A couple of handfuls of tea thrown into a gallon of boiling water, tin plates and pannikins, salt beef and doughy damper, pickles, and—for cutlery—jack-knives. Just a digger's ordinary fare, minus a few simple luxuries which had run out.
The nights are chilly, even in Northern Queensland, in July (which there, of course, represents mid-winter), and the two adventurers preferred the shelter of the tent-hut to smoking their interminable pipes in the open. One of the bottles of "Martell" was opened, and, beneath the dim light of a very diminutive swinging lamp, they drank and smoked for some time in almost unbroken silence, as tired men are wont to do after a hearty meal. Looking at them as they lay—each on his rough, blanket-covered bunk—they might easily have been taken for brothers. Both were tall, wiry specimens of the ordinary blue-eyed, brown-haired Anglo-Saxon type. There did not seem, to be more than a year or two between them in point of age; they both wore beards, and the resemblance was still further heightened by their similarity in dress.
"How's the water in the shaft?" queried the returned wayfarer, presently. "Gaining?"
"Yes, confound it!" was the reply. "One can get It down by working like a nigger at windlass and bucket for a good long spell, but as soon as ever you knock off, up it rises again. These last rains have put a stopper upon our game, Nat, for the present, at all events."
"Looks like it," assented Nat, gruffly. "What then?"
"Well," replied the other, "I've been thinking all day whether it wouldn't be just as well to chuck up the claim for, say, a couple of months, and start again with the dry weather."
"Pity you didn't think of that before I ordered all that stuff," said Nat. "There's been no more rain since I left."
"No; but. I didn't realize how thoroughly soaked the high ground must be until to-day." explained his comrade. "As for the tucker, most of it I will keep well enough at Jack Marshall's for a month or two."
"See here, Lon Arnot." rejoined Nat, drily. "You're not a bad sort of chap at bottom, and you and I have pulled along well enough so far. But you've an all-fired bad habit of beating around the bush. Why don't you say, straight out, that you've a mind to chuck the claim altogether? That's what it amounts to, because you know very well that this is no one-man show, and that if you go I must take on another mate."
"I suppose so." said the other, half-filling his pannikin by an irritable tilt of the bottle. "That is, if you don't knock off, also; but I don't care a tinker's curse whether you do or not. My share of old Schneider's leavings, added to the bit the poor old dad was able to leave me, will see me through as far as I want to go."
"As far as—Sydney, for instance?" suggested Nat, with a mocking laugh. The man' addressed as Lou Arnott glared fiercely at the speaker. "Well?" he said. "And supposing I do go to Sydney; have you anything to say against it?"
"What! Against your trying your luck again with Ruby Patterson?" cried Nat again, in the same mocking tone. "Not I! Why should I? Do you suppose I'm jealous? I daresay as soon as you show old Patterson the thousand or so you're made out of our claim here, he'll give the girl and a cool million straightaway. You needn't say anything about your recently-acquired taste for P. B., you know."
"Are you looking for a row?" demanded Arnott, savagely.
If looks meant anything, the answer should have been a prompt affirmative. But, by a great effort, the aggressor kept his temper well under control, and quickly changed his tone to one of mild banter.
"Don't be a fool," he said, quietly. "Can't you see I was only chaffing you?"
"I don't like chaff where Ruby is concerned," rejoined Arnott, considerably mollified.
"All right, mate," rejoined Nat, "then I'll drop it. "It Isn't good enough for us to dissolve partnership by a scrapping-match over old Ready-money Patterson's daughter. So shake hands and have another drink to prove we're pals again."
The proposal was entirely to Arnott's taste, and harmony was quickly restored.
"You're quite right, Nat, he replied. "We've neither of us anything to gain by quarreling, and, although we were once rivals—"
"Yes, yes," interrupted his comrade, airily. "We know all about that. She preferred you to me, and I—took a back seat. But suppose the old man should still prove obdurate, what will your next move be?"
"Can't say, exactly," was the reply. "Ruby's not the sort of a girl to make a bolt of it with a fellow, and it's a mean way of winning a wife, anyhow. Yet I knew she's fond of me, and I—well, life don't seem worth living without her, Nat, and. that's the truth."
"Have some brandy, old chap," suggested Nat, with a grave irony wholly lost upon the other. "You're feeling a bit down on your luck in that quarter; that's what the matter."
Arnott's application to the bottle had already been so frequent that, though his tempter drank but very sparingly, it soo became necessary to open the door; and as often happens, the morehe drank the more loquacious and sentimental he became. Apparently quite oblivious to the fact that the man he was talking to had been hi® bitter rival with respect to the girl, he poured forth his hopes and fears as into the ears of a sympathizing elder brother. Had he but seen the look of savaeg, jealous hate that at times almost distorted his listener's face, he would surely have paused in his egotistical love-chatter. But he did not. Brandy and his semimaudlin passion for Ruby Patterson had blinded him very effectually.
"You asked me, just now, Nat," he went on, confidentially, "what I'd do If my Sydney mission fails, and I said I didn't know. But I'll tell you what I think I'll do. Rather than lose Ruby, I believe I'd go back upon my half-promise to my poor old dad."
"What do you mean?" queried Nat, with well-feigned indifference.
"Why, you know I promised him, just before he died, that I would, if possible, steer clear of all his people; and, so far as I am personally concerned, I don't wish to have anything to do with them. But it the occurred to me that old Patterson would take a different view of my suit if I could patch up some sort of a truce with my grandfather. After all, there is a wide difference between Louis Arnott, the adventurer, and Luke Arnewood of Arnewood Hall."
"Yes." assented the other, through his set teeth. "A wide difference, as you say."
"Of course, it is on the cards that old Basil Arnewood would have no truck with me at all," continued Arnott, whose utterance was now thick and husky; "but, on the other hand, he might bury the hatchet in my father's grave. It's just a toss-up, I imagine, what a spiteful old man like him will do and he can't have any personal dislike to me, considering he has never seen me. Of course, if he does the decent thing and receives me properly, I could return to Sydney and have Ruby for the asking. If not, I shall be no worse off than before, bar the expense of the voyage to Ireland, and that won't break me."
Nat puffed hard at his pipe, in silence and with knitted brows, for a full minute. Then, apparently remembering the part he had to play, he once more shook off his ill-humor and affected to regard his companion's plans as more visionary than real.
"I'll be hanged if I can tell whether you are joking or in earnest, Loo," he remarked, "when you're a bit gone in liquor. Come, now, own up! Is not this all brandy-talk? You don't really mean to go to Ireland, do you?"
'Oh, but I do, though!" asserted Arnott, nodding his head' with tipsy emphasis. "If Ruby's father still refuses me (as he probably will), it's ten to one I shall book a passage by the first homeward-bound mall steamer."
'Is it?" echoed Nat. And there was such a ring of mingled' sneer and menace in his tone that even the drunken man noticed it.
"Yes," he repeated, defiantly, "It Is. What d'ye mean by your 'is it?' I suppose I'm free to go where I please without your permission, Nat Rainsforth?"
"Yes, I suppose you are," was the reply. "Only you see, this new scheme of yours Is so totally at variance with your hitherto avowed determination to stick by this claim until you had made your pile, that it takes one aback a bit. Please yourself, of course, but—"
"There's no 'but'. In the matter," broke in Arnott, "and I mean to please myself. I'll go to Ireland, make my peace with old Basil Arnewood, marry Ruby, and—ha, ha—you shall come and dance at our wedding, Nat!"
"Ha, ha!" echoed Nat Rainsforth, grimly. "You seem' to have the programme mapped out clearly enough; at all events—Drink up, man!"
As he spoke, he filled up his companion's glass and, for the first time, helped himself freely, also. Hitherto he had shirked the brandy while pretending to take his fair share. The time for such caution had now, seemingly, gone by.
Arnott was already so far gone that it needed but little more of the potent spirit to overcome him completely. Yet, even after he had fallen back upon his bunk, hopelessly intoxicated, Nat Rainsforth held up his bead and poured brandy down his throat so long as he retained even an unconscious power of swallowing it. Then, for the second time, be mixed himself a stiff mugful, wilt his pipe and sat down and begun to think out his plan of action.
(To be Continued.)
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TOMAHAWK OF TECUMSEH.
Famous Indian Carried In Battle of the Thames in 1812.
Sarah L. Russell, who lives with her daughter, Mrs. E. H. Bettis, at 1413 East Sixteenth street, Kansas City, has the tomahawk carried by Tecumseh, when he was killed at the battle of the Thames in October, 1812. Col. William Russell, the founder of Russellville, Ky., who commanded the Kentucky contingent of that famous battle, was permitted by Gen. Harrison to remove the tomahawk from the dead body of Tecumseh and retain it, and it has been in the possession of the Russell family ever since. It was made in England, and presented to Tecumseh be the British commander at Detroit. Several hundred towahawks were made in England and sent to the British commanders at Detroit for use among the Indians whom the British endeavored to induce to drive out the white settlers of Kentucky, Indiana and Michigan. With few exceptions these tomahawks were made rather rudely of iron, with the handles bound with bands of the same metal, but the one owned by Tecumseh was made of highly polished steel, with silver bands encircling the handle. It can also be used as a pipe for smoking, the blunt end of the blade being made like the bowl of a pipe and the handle answering the purpose of a stem. The British commander had several of them made after the pattern, which he presented to Tecumseh, the prophet (a brother of Tecumseh), Ketopah and Topanabee, celebrated Indian warrior chiefs, who bore a conspicuous part in the battles of Tippecanoe, the siege of Port Harrison, the battle of the Raisin, and other noted battles which took place in Indiana and Michigan and along Lake Michigan while the British held possession of Detroit and were using the Indians as their allies in the endeavor to hold the west and northwest country. The Tecumseh tomahawk is the only one known to have been preserved. Mrs. Russell has had many offers to part with it, but the relic will probably remain with her descendants for many years to come. Mrs. Egbert Russell, soon after it came into the possession of her husband, showed it to Blue Jacket, a well-known Shawnee chief, who was then over 80 years old. The old chief went into ecstasies when told that the relic was taken from the dead body of Tecumseh. He kissed it and pressed it to his bosom and told Mrs. Russell he was too young to follow his grand chief, Tecumseh, in the warpath, but he well remembered how proud Tecumseh was with that tomahawk belted about his waist.—Kansas City Star.
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PROVISIONS AGAINST FIRE.
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The Restrictions to Be Enforced at the Paris Exposition.
Intending exhibitors and visitors from the United States to the Paris exposition in 1900 will be interested in knowing what arrangements and regulations will be made by the French authorities against fire. The Paris exposition administration has taken all the measures possible to afford security to exhibitors and visitors against fire at the exposition. The regulations are rather voluminous, containing thirty-six articles distributed in six chapters. These regulations take up the openings and exits and the stairways and doors of all palaces and buildings. They regulate the width of doors and steps. All exterior doors will open in and out. Doors opening only inward must remain open constantly. Emergency doors will bear an inscription stating their purpose, and in all hallways and corridors painted arrows will indicate the direction of the exit. An emergency lighting system for night use will consist of lamps of one-candle power, bearing the distinctive red color. All wood of the framework in the buildings will be covered with an insulating coat of noninflammable material. All stairways will be of fireproof material. The floors of all buildings, palaces, theater halls, cafes, concert rooms, exhibition places and all railings and balustrades will also be of fireproof material and before accepted will be thoroughly tested at the expense of the contractors. All decorative canvas, awnings and canvas coverings must be fireproof. All electric installation of cables, lamps, wires and conductors in the interior of the buildings must be put up under the supervision of the director of exploitation. All motive power will be admitted only under rigid conditions. The use of celluloid in lamps, globes, balloons and other fancy apparatus for lighting decoration will be forbidden. The regulations for heating and lighting provide that it can only be done by gas and electricity. The use of hydrocarbures, oils and petroleum, acetylene gas and other gases than coal gas is positively forbidden, either for heating, lighting or motive power. The construction of meeting halls, cafes, concert halls and theaters must be of fireproof material, and the theater curtains must be of iron or asbestos cloth. The lighting of such places will be exclusively by electricity. A fire service as nearly perfect as possible will be established, with a water piping and pressure sufficient for firemen's service. The administration assume’s the right to enforce any measures that may be deemed necessary to assure safety.—Iron Age.
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Consumption of Champagne.
New York consumption of champagne during the past year was the greatest ever known.
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Denver a- Cycling Town.
Denver, Colo., has more bicycles in proportion than any other city in the country.
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C.C.C. LINE NOW OPEN
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Completed and Opened to the Public.
Greatest Improvement of the Age - Anyone Can Bide Over It to Health and Happiness."'
Chicago.—[Special.]—The new C. C. C. line Is now open to the public, and at once grained an enormous patronage on account of the meritorious. service It performs. The line is built on solid merit, and leads by the straightest and shortest route to Health. Everybody is delighted, and those who thought they would never reach Health and Happiness again have found this an easy and sure way of getting there.
Ninety per cent of the ills of humanity are caused by lazy livers, chronic constipation and their consequences, impure blood and a poisoning of the whole system. What's the use of stumbling along the roadway, sick and weary, when you can quickly ride to health—by taking Cascarets. Buy and try Cascarets Candy Cathartic to-day. You will find that it’s what they do, not what we say they 11 do, that will please you. Sold by druggists generally, 10c, 25c or 60c per box, or by mail for price. Send for booklet and free sample. Address, Sterling Remedy Co., Chicago; Montreal, Can.; New York.
This is the CASCARET tablet. Every tablet of the only genuine Cascarets bears the magic letters "C. C. C." Look at the tablet before you buy, and beware of frauds, imitations and substitutes.
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HANGED FOR. BURNING COAL.
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Strange Lair Which Was In Force
In England In 1500.
There will be an interesting function in London shortly when the coal exchange celebrates its jubilee. The occasion is one for recalling strangle reminiscences; for as lately as the fourteenth century a prohibition was issued against the burning of coal, with severe penalties decreed against any person who warmed his house by a coal fire. In the early days of Lord Mayor Whittington the burning of coal was considered so great a public nuisance that It was made a capital offense, and one man was actually hanged for indulging in a coal fire. As a matter of fact, this ordinance was never repealed; but in "Dick" Whittington's third mayoralty it is evident there was a great trade In coal; and the suggestion has been made that as coal was brought to London In boats known as the "cats," this was the real origin of the story of Dick Whittington and his cat. The coal exchange, however, is a modern institution. It is also one of the most Important of London's marts. Under the shadow of Its domed roof commercial transactions are daily carried through of greater value than in connection with any other mercantile building in the world. Unlike the corn exchange in Mark Lane, it is not a private concern, but is a city market conducted on the same principles as the other markets opened by the city corporation. Opened with much ceremony in October, 1849. by the prince consort, the present building is just about to celebrate Its jubilee. But the market itself is older than the building. Up to 1807 it was in the hands of private Individuals, but in that year It was purchased by the corporation for £25,000.—London Times.
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What Was Killing Him.
Beggar—Will you please give me sixpence, sir? I am on my way home to die.
Gentleman (handing him the money)—I don't object to giving you sixpence for so worthy a purpose at that, but your breath smells horribly of whisky.
Beggar—I know it does, sir; whisky's what's killing me.—London Tropical Times.
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The Exception.
"Women, as a rule," remarked the cynical bachelor, "are given to exaggerations."
"But there are exceptions to all rules, you know," said the spinster.
"True," replied the C. B., "and the exception to this one is when they talk about their own age."—Chicago News.
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Read the Advertisements.
You will enjoy this publication much better if you will get Into the habit of reading the advertisements; they will afford a most amusing study, and will put you in the way of getting some excellent bargains. Our advertisers are reliable; they send what they advertise.
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A Reason for His Views.
"If I were to begin life again," said the philosopher, "I would not want to begin at the beginning."
His opinion was probably influenced by the fact that the baby was just then teething.—Puck.
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If you wish to know how many friend's you have, get into office; if you wish to know how many you haven't, get into trouble.
