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YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. ISSUED SEMI-WEEHLT. r? k. okist'8 s053, PabUihen. ( & 4smiIS 3M?IW: ^or thij promotion ajf ttt< ^olitii;aI, gonial, Ssneultur^al and Commtrcial JnterestB of <h< $mjU. ( n,"J;^M0<^J>Mj;T 0"v"ctestablished 1855. YORKVILLE, 8. C.9 TUESDAY, .APRIL 1, 1913 NO. 26. j THE AMER1C. I _ I | By ETTA I CHAPTER XXXVI?Continued Archie Van Dorn, glancing over the newspapers at his club next morning, chanced to see the baronet's name in the list of arrivals?also the name ol the hotel to which he had betaken himself. "Arbuckle! Good heaven! what has brought him across the water?" mused Van Dora. "A goodish sort of fellow. I got on very well with him In Paris. I must look him up. Hall American, too. Wonder if my mother wouldn't like to have him lunch with her today! Oh, by Jove, I know she would! I'll write her a note, and then slip off to his quarters." Mr. Van Dorn acted at once upon this brilliant thought He presented himself at the baronet's hotel, and was greeted by Sir Valentine as a genuine godsend. "The very person that I longed to see," cried the baronet as he wrung the Gothamite's hand. "You know the Countess Stahl? Of course you do! Can you tell me where she is to be found?" Van Dorn looked a little blank. "Countess Stahl! by Jove! I see! That's the attraction that brings you to New York, is it! You heard of the count's demise, eh, and now you're ready to offer her a second title? She's turned governess, and is living somewhere among her friends, I can't say where; have heart, but I am a little hazy in memory. However, I'll make inquiries for you." "You quite mistake, Van Dorn," said Sir Valentine; "I am not in love with the countess?I wish to see her upon a matter 01 pure ousinesu. Van Dora balanced himself upon the edge of his chair, and smiled gloomily at empty space. "Happy fellow! I have been suffer lng the tortures of perdition for the last few weeks. Betwixt you and I, Arbuckle, my life is a burden. I never was so hard hit before in all my days. Of course I've played at spoons dozens of times, but a downright earnest passion Is another thing. Don't I look deucedly hipped?' "Come to observe you closel- " replied Sir Valentine, "you do. u?J so you feared you had a rival in ine, did you? Pshaw, man I take heart. Such an idea never entered my head. You are good looking and well-bred. I shouldn't suppose you would find it a very hard matter to induce her to forget such a detestable scoundrel as the late count." Van Dorn opened his blue eyes, then burst into a melancholy laugh. "Hang it! I'm not talking of the countess. To be sure I was soft upon her once, years ago, but the torch that's once wasted, oh, how can it burn again? No, that's not the person. It's her sister." Sir Valentine put down the pipe that he was smoking. "Has the countess a sister? I always heard that Cullen Sardis had but one child." "There's another?the daughter of a first marriage that nobody know anything about till after the banker's death. The friends of the family don't talk much about It; but all the same, Mabel Is the countess' half Bister. By Jove! She's Incomparable?ten times lovelier than Ethel herself!" "In that case she must be something fitted to distract and confuse the mighty mind of man," said the baronet; "for I call the countess a remarkably handsome woman. Are you ready to receive congratulations?" Van Dorn shook his dismal head. "Good heaven, no! She won't have me. She's music-teacher to my little sisters?has to work for a living. The Sardls lot aje now very poor, you know. I #might give her fortune and luxury, and all that; but she won't take it. And, by Jove! she was so sweet, and kind and gentle in her re# fusal, that I love her ten times more than ever. I'm heart broken!?you needn't grin, old man?I've a good mind to turn Trappist monk and go hide myself in some howling wilderness. away from female kind for the rest of my days." "Help me first to find the countess," aaid Sir Valentine, dryly, "for I am very impatient to see her?my busi 11688 Will noi wait. KJl course iicj 010ter must know her address?she would not object, I suppose, to give It to you." "I should think not," answered Van Dorn, consulting his repeater; "come home and lunch with me. I have written to my mother that I should bring you. If possible. We may meet Miss Sardls there?It's the hour for the girls' lesson. I make it a point to avoid her now whenever I can, but I'll suffer for once In the cause of friendship. Come!" The baronet needed no urging. The two left the hotel, and proceeded straight to the Van Dorn mansion on a highly fashionable street. The Gothamlte conducted his titled guest Into a handsome drawing-room, and seating him comfortably, said: "Excuse me a moment, old fellow, while I go an look up my mother." Then vanished and left Sir Valentine alone. At the further end of the apartment was a doorway hung with impenetrable folds of crimson silk and beyond It voices were audible?children's voices; also the rattling of music-leaves and the tinkling of a piano. Sir Valentine had ears, and he wai obliged to listen whether he wished It or not "Oh, dear Miss Sardls, you promised to sing us something you know, when our lesson was done. Madge likes Robin Adair and Auld Robin Gray?1 like the hymns. Oh, do give us one little, tiny hymn." "Alice is a saint," laughed Madge, "mamma says so. Everything that Miss Sardls sings Is beautiful. If 1 had her voice, I'd be a prima donna." A third person spoke, but in so low a tone that Sir Valentine did not catch the words; then a practiced hand struck the piano; then through the crimson silk curtain a voice floated Into the silent drawing-room?a glorious soprano of wonderful compass a sweetness. It thrilled through Sir "Valentine like an electric shock, drove the blood from his cheek to his madlybeating heart: "Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee Leave, ah, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my hope on Thee is staid, All my trust from Thee I bring; Cover my defenseless head With the shadow of Thy wing." That old. familiar hymn! Merciful God! was he awake or dreaming? H? leaped to his feet. Could there be twc voices like that in all the length and breadth of the world? The same, ye! not the same, for cultivation had developed and strengthened it; yet how could he mistake it? Never knowing what he was about, the baronet strode straight across the drawing-room dashed back the crimson silk curtain and, in its shining shadow, stood and looked into the music-room whert Madge and Alice Van Dorn had jusl completed their morning lesson. Over the piano the two chlldrer hung in breathless delight. At the instrument sat a young girl, dressed ir sombre black. Her face was turned toward him?a sad, flawless, colorless face, carved as if from pearl, anc crowned with a great twist of golder hair. She looked up as the curtair was swept back, and saw the towering figure in the opening. Her fingers fed; away from the keys; she started up from the piano betwixt the two staring and amazed children. AN COUNTESS $ ? ! W. PIERCE. | I "Mercv!M With a great cry he called her name; ' and she, looking in his blanched, yet > unchanged face, after years of separi atlon, answered, like one In a dream: "Val!" The next instant he was at her feet, holding to her black dress, crying out, wildly and incoherently: "In God's name, what does this mean? How came you here? Where | Is your husband? Mercy, oh, my darling! my one, only love, I never thought ' to see you again on this side of the i grave!" 1 "My husband! I have none." "Discordo?" "Then you believed his letter?" "I did?oh, fool that I was?I did!" "You were very willing to be de1 ceived," she said bitterly?"very will1 lng to think ill of me. He told me it would be so?he was sure his vile plot would succeed; but I?I hoped other' wise, for I trusted you. I was sure > you would trust me." His face whitened slowly with con1 viction, pain or remorse. "Then it was aull a miserable lie?" "It was all a miserable lie; but it cannot matter now. Rise Sir Valentine; we are not alone." "You did not love him?you did not marry him? Mercil'ul heaven! how I have wronged you, then?how I have wronged myself! Explain this mystery, or I shall go mad!" At tnis juncture xne van uorn cnndren fled from the music-room, and ran to tell mother and brother that a strange, red-haired gentleman was down on his knees before Miss Sardis, kissing her dress, and calling her "Mercy" and "darling." This piece of news, added to the fact that the English baronet had vanished from the apartment where he had been left, induced the Van Dorns to seat themselves in the drawing-room to await the appearance of the parties, and an explanation of their extraordinary conduct Sir Valentine Art uckle drew Mercy's unresisting hands into his own. "Tell me everything," he said, firmly, "and God is my witness that whatever you say I w.ll, with heart and soul believe. If I have wronged you shamefully I have also loved you boundlessly. I have never ceased to think of you?never since we parted, on our appointed wedding-day, in Seedy Court Heap your reproaches upon me?I deserve them. Tou cannot condemn me half as much as I condemn myself." So, with those slight hands locked in his, she stood and made her explana- ' tions, and heard others In return. The ( humble lovers, of Seedy Court?Valentine Black, the banker's clerk, and Mercy DiH. the sewing girl, were no J more, not even their names remained. , But this man and woman, so unlike that obscure pair, looked once in each . other's eyes, and forgot in a moment ] all change, all doubt, all wrong?yes, ] mAttfV) a on 1 thn VAQ ro that hfl H 1 passed since their last meeting:. , "Do you forgive me, Mercy?" he ask- , ed, humbly. i "I forgive you," she answered. "Do you love me still, darling?" "I love you still. Bven if we had never met, if I hac' never heard of you , again, I should have loved you till my , dying day." He had already told her of the errand which had brought him across ; the sea. Now he drew out the old \ ring, the tiny agent of their reunion, ( and placed it for the second time upon 1 her hand. , "But"?she faltered, "you are rich , and titled now, and I am but a poor ] music teacher. Are you sure"? , He gathered her into his arms. "I am sure, infinitely sure, that you ] are the one woman in all the world for ^ me! Take me, darling, and make of ] me what you will, for I am your slave , for evermore. ( Time had not changed his passion, , grandeur and ease had not altered it. , Hearts like his are slow to receive im- , 1 pressions, tenacious to hold them. , Truly, for him the wide world held ] i only this one fair woman. The two lovers went back to the , drawing-room, into the presence of the amazed Van Doras, where sundry ex- j planations were made, and many congratulations offered, even by the gloomy ana ratner maignaiu son ui the house, and then Mercy hastened home to tell the marvelous news to Bee , and to introduce to that amazed little , lady, and to Brie Saxe, her stalwart, | titled lover. "Oh, day of days, never to be for- ( gotten! Ethel was sent for in great , haste, and she came, full of rejoicing, { 1 and gave both hands to Sir Valentine, and thanked him anew for the service , he had rendered her in the past, and laughed with delight at her own share In bringing him across the sea. "Sir Valentine," she said, "do you know anything of Finette? I have thought of her so often and so grate> fully, the good, true creature! Can you tell me if she is well and happy?" "Yes," he answered; "she is living at Verrieres, with her brother Gustave. I Fidelity like hers is rare, and needs encouragement. I took the liberty to settle upon her a trifling pension. She is well, she is happy, and she will lack I for nothing as long as she lives." Bee drew Mercy aside. "Oh, you sly puss!' she whispered, in mock indignation; "to think you i never told me a word about all this? Who would have dreamed that you had such a romance in your life? AnI other title In the famQy! Well, thank i heaven, this one is worn by a good, i true man, and it will confer upon you ' not only distinction, but genuine hapi pines8. I know you will be happy, dear, because you love him and be i !oves you?and when one has said that ; one has said all." A fortnight la er?for the impatient lover would have no unnecessary delays?Mercy became the wife of Sir i Valentine Arbuckle. The wedding was I solemnized in Bee's quiet home, with s only Miss Vanr: ana a rew miimaie > friends for guests. i To Ethel, this parting with the sis. ter whom she had learned to love so dearly was a strange mixture of joy > and sorrow. "Oh, darling, come with us to England, and let cur home be yours," Mercy pleaded. "Sir Valentine wishes , It and I?oh, I cannot leave you drudging here. It spells all my own happiness to think of you." , "Not yet. Some time, perhaps, when I am sick or old, or tired of governessIng, I may seek refuge with you; but not while I am young and strong, and 1 able to work for myself. I am too f proud, you know, to be dependent, even > upon you. whom I love better than any I one else in the world. Sir Valentine t is noble and good and generous, and I thank him heartily; but I must battle r with the world single-handed a little ; longer, and you must not think of me ! at all, dear, but only of him, and of , your own great happiness." "Surelv. Ethel, you will accept some I aid? Hie 19 going to settle an allow > ance upon you?he told me so hlmt self." "Not a penny, dear. I could not i think of doing such a thing?or. at lea9t, not ttll I am superannuated, as I i said before. But I will come some time 1 to Deepmoor Hall, and spend Christi mas with you." I No further persuasions could shake i her resolution. She would take nothi lng but love and kind thoughts from : Mercy and her husband. So the two I went their happy way across the sea. > and Ethel returned to the schoolroom ; at Mrs. Seveme's mansion, and took up the drudgery of life again, a loneli er but a happier woman. 1 ? The last scene In this long drama t occurred one spring day not many r weeks after Mercy's marriage. On the hearth-rug of Mrs. Jack Se- t verne's boudoir, Lawrence Harding 1 stood, looking down upon that small, e brunette lady, who occupied a low chair by his side, and was pulling her a lap-dog^ ears with an air of ill-hu- f mor. "I can't think why you neglect us so," she pouted. "You actually have I not entered these doors, Lawrence, a t half-dozen times since Ethel Sardls e came here as governess. Alice Brad- ? ford thinks it most extraordinary; so e do I. Can it be that you are afraid of r meeting Ethel ?" t "My dear Evelyn," answered Law- d rence, carelessly, "remember that I am not a man of leisure. I have no time 1: to make visits. And, as for meeting Miss Sardls, that's a little absurd, is it not? You treat her so entirely like a h menial, that I should never expect to ff mWygaSK sncounter her outside the servants* ri quarters. It would be to your credit, t< Evelyn, and to Miss Bradford's, if you a two would show EtheQ Sardis a little h more consideration." "Ethel is a servant now, and has the 1c rood sense to know her place and to ci ceep it I think she is satisfied with e< :he treatment she receives here?at wl east, she never complains. Really, it's u ,-ery funny, Lawrence, to hear you s< :alk in that way. Whatever may be ci said of Alice and I, you do not owe her nnnh pnriHlrtaratlrin Sho never wasted Sll kindness upon you in times past." ni "Pardon; that is not the point that fc we are discussing," he answered, with al in imperturbable smile. "I am surprised that you have so little heart, M Evelyn. Good heaven! the airs that gi you allow Miss Bradford to assume toward that girl are simply abominable, a Can't, you manage to make her position in your house Just bearable? I si may as well confess that Jack tells me i good many things which happen hi here, and I swear I cannot see how she pi itands It!" bi "I wish you would not swear," cried tn Mrs. Severnt. fretfully, "and I wish 01 lack would hold his tongue, I feed and Qi shelter Miss Sardis, and pay her a ai very fair salary, and that Is all I can y< lo. And now I have a grievance to ai mention, Larry?one that cornea very near my heart, too. In the name of ct ill that's tiresome and exasperating, si when do you mean to marry Alice Bradford?" A "Evelyn, you must be, as the Scotch ol say, 'clean daft,'" he answered, dryly, ki "Lawrence have you not been dangling about her for two entire years?" ni "Dangling? I deny it emphatically!" "You are laughing at me. Lawrence, Alice Bradford loves you." m "My poor, deceived child, she Is totally incapable of loving anything In fe the world but her own fair, comforta- ft ble self." 11 "And have you no serious Intentions w toward her, after all? I have taker} a] pains to tell everybody that you are as ei sood as engaged." ei "Intentions! None whatever," he answered. I am sure that you are the tl - ? I W - - ' ji I only person In existence who ever Is thought of such a thing." ir She changed the subject, dejectedly. Would he go to ride in the park with z] her? Miss Bradford would accompany tl them. He excused himself on the plea ? of an engagement, and made a hasty g exit. n Mrs. Severne retired to her chamber, h and placed herself in the hands of her t< maid. Half an hour after, in gorgeous ft array, she departed upon her drive, a taking Miss Bradford and her little o niece. Ethel was thus left alone in h the schoolroom. She busied herself for awhile with h the dog-eared books and then went to jj a window, and with a weary sigh, sat d there and looked out on the declining a afternoon. tl It was all very dreary. Utter silence n reigned in the big house; and beyond the pane nothing was to be seen save a a patch of pale sky and a Jumble of ei chimney-pots. Where was Mercy this day? Plucking primroses and hare- o l./vlln I *-\ U a*? rrro r?/1 T Irionlnohlrii *\n rlr II U(?1IS 111 JJCI 5(auu uiiiuuiuoiiuc Jjairv, n with all her past sorrows forgotten? fi Very likely. Already Lady Arbuckle lc had written to her sister, describing o the splendors of her new home, and ri stating that Miss Affry Black, after B iBtenlng to her story, had melted sud- of lenly, remorsefully, toward Sir Valen- ] tne's bride, and welcomed her to Deep- bul noor with wide-open arms. mu "How tired I feel!" sighed Ethel to or lerself; "how dreary and monotonous pes s life! And I am so young still?the an< nd seems so far away." She laid her beautiful brown head igalnst the window and let the tears all slowly down upon her white, fold- W d hands. The afternoon light grew paler and p^r laler on the floor, on the waJl, on the >ooks and globes of the table. Presently, a knock sounded at the door. 1 5he did not hear It. Somebody enter-J act d, uninvited, looked around the school by oom, and advanced hastily toward son he motionless black figure In the win- wa low. ; fou "Miss Sardls," said Lawrence Hard* pol ng. ' her She started and looked up. i ma "I rapped, but you did not hear me," Wi ie muttered. one "Mrs. Severne is out," said Ethel, she 1 sing, in some confusion, with the to i >ars 8till clinging to her long lashes, T nd a perceptible quivering all about ele< er lovely mouth. wit "I know it," he answered, trying to an ok away from her to the dull wall. "1 bes ime back to the house because I hop- As 1 to find you here alone?because I glvl ished to speak with you a few mln- the: tes undisturbed. Of late I have not mis ?en much of you. Good God! are you rying, Ethel? This is unbearable!" by "No, no!" she answered, bravely Kar xuggling for self-possession. "I am perl ot crying?why should I do such a the lolish thing? My head aches?that is the II!" , as "You are very happy, I suppose, in the [rs. Severne's household?" he queried, tem rimly. app "I am well content," she answered in Ti Jow voice. twe: "I have no words to tell how the The ght of you, lonely and friendless here men jes to my heart Ethel! you have to r urt me a good many times in the Ave ist?perhaps you will hurt me again; Fe i ut a fresh pang, more or less, cannot rail] tatter much; so I have come to sue San ice more?to ask you the old, old Stai Liestion. Can you, will you let me be coui nything to you; will you let me take Mrs au into the shelter of my heart and agei rms?will you marry me, Ethel?" roac "Don't mock me, Lawrence! How key in you, Alice Bradford's lover, say agei ach things to me?" so t "I am not, and never have been, ousl lice Bradford's lover; nor the lover thre f any woman save yourself. You the! now this?you must know it!" hooi "Lawrence!" she shivered; "I am thei ot worthy!" coui "Let me decide that question, Ethel." dolr "You told me once that you despised oatl ie," T "I te)l you now that I love you. Your afte iuitfj are dearer to me than the per- told (ctions of other women, Oh, my dar- maj ng! you have indeed expiated the the rong done to me and to yourself a la like. Have we not been parted long ask' nough? Have we not both suffered Mr? nough? Come, now to me." Buit He opened his arms. She fled to pen lem as to some ark of safety, and how lid her pale, weary lips upon his lov- saw \g and forgiving- heart. tacl AdolnhA Sassard. alias Baron Stroz- wlt I, met his death at an obscure inn in P?i' tie Tyrol, at the hands of an Italian mm rtth whom he was wrangling: over a cou a. ie of cards. Miss Vann, who so t?r* an jwly escaped a marriage with day im, will never again turn her thoughts cou > matrimony. She is the devoted ord( iend of Eric Saxe and his family, nd has openly declared her intention hy f making Bee's golden-haired boy her A eir. telli Ethel Is now Lawrence Harding's j? ' appy wife, and her past seems to be * ke some hideous dream. A little, ark-eyed daughter climbs her knee, q nd many things which entered into jn t ie early education of the beautiful lother her child's ear3 will never hear. ter "Heaven help me to train her to be can good woman!" is Ethel's dally prayr. Across the sea, in the grand shadow t3f f Deepmoor Park, Lady Arbuckle thir ves?the admiration of the country boo imllifs, who declare her to be the >vellest woman that ever graced the Id Hall?the idol of two rollicking, 'W ed-haired boys, the : joy of Miss fool Hack's declining years, and the light one her husband's eyes. Po her, as to Ethel, the past Is now t a shadow and a name. Through ich tribulation she has come to honand Joy, through darkness and temit to the calm beauty of a cloudless J perfect day. (The End.) OMAN MAYOR TRIUMPHANT s. Ells Wilson of Hunnewsll, Kansas, Has Won Har Way. 'he little city of Hunnewell, Kan., ileved fame not quite two years ago electing a woman, Mrs. Ella Wilt, as mayor. Soon after, the report b mischievously spread that having nd herself unable to cope with the Iticlans she was ready to throw up ' hands and quit. So much was da of/this In the east that Mrs. Ison was finally forced to write to > or more eastern newspapers that was still on her job and proposed ? . , y ~ y i ? s; jjBhk |F. .x'-^v': * ",' ^;?_\ . itlck. he five councilmen who were ] ited in April, 1911, to run the city i h Mrs. Wilson objected to having < oman as their chief, and did their ] t to make her give up in disgust i described in the Kansas City Star, i ng the later history of the case, i 7 started in by trying to make life c erable for the mayor, and the last c them have now Inglorlously ended 1 being ousted from office by the isas supreme court for failure to 'orm their duties. By the order of court Mrs. Wilson may appoint councilmen needed, men or women she chooses, to run the town for remaining month of her two-years' n. It was reported that she would olnt three women and two men. he Hunnewell farce, after a run of nty-three months, Is thus ended, plan adopted by the five counclli at the outset was that of refusing neet with the mayor. One of the was the local agent of the Santa railroad. With more Judgment than, roads have sometimes shown, the ta Fe, to quite the Kansas City *, "after the second spasm of the icllmen In refusing to meet" with Wilson, served notice on the nt that he could either "quit rallilng or quit trying to make a monout of the woman mayor." The nt resigned from the council, and lid another of the five, Just after an :er suit had been filed. But the . >e remaining officials stuck to r comic role and had the hardl- , A, when the ouster suit against n was brought; into the supreme rt, to try to prove that they were ig their duty according to their is. he court thought differently, and r giving the three a dressing down c them to go back and act with the ror according to law and conduct cjty decently instead of making it lugbjng stock. The three men then ed the court to compel the city and i. Wilson to pay the costs of the , but the court apparently suaded Judgment on this while seeing ' its orders were observed. It soon r, for the three continued their old tics, refusing: as before to meet h the mayor or to confirm her apitments. Thereupon Mrs. Wilson le a further showing' before the rt. which promptly ordered the atley general to investigate. On the tin wiiiuii ma icpui i was uieu, uic rt not only issued a premonitory ' er of ouster to the councilmen, but 1 sred them to settle for their fun 8 paying costs of about 1400 each. c s an argument for the superior In- 8 Igence of man the Hunnewell case lot a shining success.?Springfield r ubllcan. 8 , , s t f Course.?"There Is much warmth a hat singer's voice." c Then It must come from the regis- li In her voice."?Baltimore Ameri- t v , m , c c ' The average girl of 16 always f iks she is competent to write a v k called "Advice' to Parents." ' There are many different kinds of \ 8. but don't try to be all of them at c e. f Reading. ALLEN8 PAY THE PENALTY Notorious Virginia Outlaws Exsouti last Friday. Richmond, Va, March 28.?Mue bllng a prayer and crying half aud bly that he waa ready to go, Flo: Allen, whose refusal to accept short pHson term for a minor offen led to the wholesale court murd In Hlllsvllle one year ago, limped tViA Haath pholr In thA ntAta nAnltft tlary today, 11 minutes ahead Claud Swanson Allen, his son. The sentence of the court, held t for six hours while desperate ai dramatic efforts were being made save the condemned men by eleven! hour appeals to the lieutenant gove nor, was speedily ordered to proce< when Oovernor Mann hastened ba< to Virginia soil to take charge of situation which was sensational ai exciting to a degree. The prison s perintendent, acting entirely with the law, agreed at 2 o'clock to pot pone the execution, giving Attorn General Williams an opportunity pass upon the constitutional right Lieutenant Governor Ellyson to inte fere. Governor Hastens Back. But the young son of Govern Mann reached his father in Phlladc phla by telephone less than an hoi after the delay had been ordered ai by 8 o'clock today the governor w again on Virginia soil. Incensed, i it afterward developed, by the une pected effort to take advantage of h temporary absence when he had r peatedly refused clemency, the go1 ernor boarded an early morning trai arriving in Richmond at 11.30 o'cloc On the way he telegraphed the se retary of the commonwealth that 1 would be in Virginia by 8 o'clock, th nformation suddenly checked the pU }f Allen sympathisers in further uri !ng the lieutenant governor to inte fere. While every proceeding naa nuue< sending the governor's arrival, woi eaehed police headquarters that :rowd had assembled at the statloi mtrolrnen, detectives and plalnclothi nen being hurried there to prevei my demonstration. When the govei lor stepped on the platform he wi lulckly surrounded by officers wfc .'scorted him to a taxlcab which too him quickly to ther capltol. In his office at the state prisoi k \ / S ' v<$- ' > t.-' luperlntendpnt Wood wm pacing th lppr nervously as he awaited deve >pmepts, The situation there had be :pme more tense. Precisely i toon the superintendent was called t he telephone. "The governor of Virginia is t lis desk?' was the message he r< :eived from the capltol and instant! preparations were made to obey th mandate of the court. The witness. >vho had assembled at 7 o'clock, th tour announced for the execution, ha left the prison with instructions t eturn at 1 o'clock. Just after sunrise the Aliens pra* lically collapsed when informed thi i half-day respite had been grante w n combination of leaal and teel ileal circumstances as strange as ar :hat had ever been presented to :ourt of justice. Claude Allen, Wh lad retained his nerve throughout th :rying ordeal in his behalf, gaspe ind trembled, but he regained h ;omposure as he noted the hopele: ind dejected appearance of his age lather in the cell across the corrldo \s the morning hours passed the iat with their spiritual advisers, bi ;hey nerved themselves again for th md when they heard that Governc Vlann had returned to Virginia. Me prominent in official circles of th itate, who waited in the capitol ft l final plea to the governor, wei urned away, as his secretary hande >ut his statement from the executlv< Mann's Final Ordsr. "Hearing at G minutes to 3 o'cloc his morning of the action taken 1 he Allen case after I left the cit; l considered it my duty to hurry bacl [ simply desire to repeat that aftc he most careful examination of th svidence in this case, I have not th illghtest doubt of the guilt of Floy md Claude Allen, and I will not lr erfere. The law must take 11 jourse." What brought forth the greatei ndignatlon from the governor wa he reported fact that the plan to ap >eal to the lieutenant governor wa igreed upon a weea ago. wnne mci vas no Intimation from Lieutenar iovernor Ellyson that he would ir erfere, his willingness last night t iwalt a written opinion from the al orney general, who had already rule verbally that he was without authoi ty, was accepted outside to mean ths he life of Claude Allen might b pared. Governor Mann, howevei ut through the maze of uncertalnt ind doubt by hastening home. The Jury which, under the law, I equired to witness all executions, as embled outside the penitentiary gate hortly before 1 o'clock, minglln here with the crowds. The prograr s originally announced was carrie >ut without change. While two mln stere, who have been unfaltering 1 heir loyalty to the condemned mer vere telling them good bye, the pris in superintendent stepped Into th orrldor which separated the cells c ather and son, and read the deat varrant. Farewells Said. Floyd Allen, still limping from th vounds he received In the Hillsvill ourt battle, said the last tearfi arewell to his boy and went with th \ 'If JT prison guards to the death chamber A groan escaped him as he sat ir the chair while the straps and elec? trodes were being fastened aboul him. The current was turned cn al 1.22 o'clock and in four minutes the surgeon motioned to the superintendsd ent that he was dead. The body wa* speedily removed. n. Again the chair was tested while [I. Claude Swanson Allen, namesake of e pd United States senator, was being led a through the corridor to the chambei 8e door. Though a trifle pale, he er marched with measured stride, hk to head held high, his wonderful nerve n- with him to the end. As he took hit of seat he moved his arms to assist the guards who were adjusting the strapi ip and like his father he went sllentJj id and unafraid. When the autopsy had to been performed the bodies were giver h- over to Victor Allen, Floyd's son, bj r. whom they were taken to the mounad tains of southwest Virginia for burial :k Story of the Crime. * The execution of Floyd and Claude ld Allen, who had been the principal 11* xaIam 4m th a ''oh AAtincr nn" the I CWIUIO lit illo DUVVHUQ uy VI Carroll county court at Hlllsvllle, " March 14, 1912, la the closing chappy ter of one of the moat sensational murder tragedies ever enacted In thii OI country. Sometime in February, 1912, two nephews of Floyd Allen were arrested for some minor offense by a deputy or sheriff. While they were being taker >1- to the Jail, Floyd Allen attacked th? ur deputy, knocking him senseless with id the butt of a revolver and rescued as his prisoners. He was arrested and as Indicted and his trial began in the x- early part of March, ils Floyd Allen had openly boasted e- that ha would' never go to prison and v- it Is said that the Aliens had made n, frequent threats against the court and k. everybody connected with it He was c- tried March 18, but the jury did not ie bring in its verdict until the following is day. The prisoner, being a man ot in prominence, his trial attracted a 5- great deal of attention and on the r- morning of March 14, the court room was crowded with spectators, among fl, whom were half a dozen or more of d the members of the Allen family, a The Jury returned a verdict of a, guilty and the court sentenced Floyd ?s Allen to one year imprisonment in it the penitentiary. When the presldr ing judge, Thornton L. Massie, is turned the prisoner over to the sherio iff. Floyd Allen exclaimed that he k would not go to prison, drew a revolv? - ? TVio nthor m?m. >1 U.11U UpilllU III L. | be re of the Allen family, who were jj' ^ " x MM e In the court room, followed his exl ample and. for a few minutes bullets i- flew thick and fast Judge Massle. it State's Attorney Foster, and Sheriff :o Webb were shot down and- killed on the spot and a number of other perit sons who were In the court room at i- the time were Injured. Two oT them, iy Augustus Fowler, a juror, and Nancy le Ayers, a girl of 19, died from their 38 wounds after a few days. ie The Aliens, excepting Floyd Allen, .d who had been shot In the knee, :o mounted their horses and fled Into the mountain wilderness of the Blue Ridge, where they eluded the posse it sent out to capture them. The gov>d ernor offered a reward of $1,000 l- which was later raised to $4,000 for iy the arrest of the gang, a Floyd Allen was arrested on the to following day and two days later a te special grand Jury returned indicted ments against Floyd Allen, Claude Is Swanson Allen and Victor Allen, sons 3s of Floyd; Sldna Allen, a brother of id Floyd; Friel Allen, Wesley Edwards r. and Sldna Edwards, nephews of iy Floyd; Bird Marlon and John F. it Moore. The latter was merely indlctorf for bavin? assisted the Aliens to >r escape. n Victor Allen and Bird Marlon were ie arrested at Pulaski, March 17 and >r taken to Roanoke. Sldna Edwards e was captured near his home March ida 22. Claude Swanson Allen, almost starved by two weeks of hiding in the mountains gave himself up near Hillsvllle, March 28, and on the folk lowing day Frlel Allen followed his n example. Sldna Allen and his nephew V, Wesley Edwards, managed to escape, < but were captured at Des Moines September 14. Floyd Allen and his son, Claude, ie were tried separately for the murd der of State's Attorney Foster and i- found guilty. They were sentenced to ts be executed on November 22 of last year, but obtained several respites, Jt the date being Anally fixed for March is 28. Sldna Allen was given 35 years, ?- Wesley Edwards 27 years, Frlel Allen is 18 years, Sldna Edwards 18 years in e the penitentiary. Victor Allen. Bird it Marlon and John F. Moore were aci quitted. 0 | | ij WILSON AND THE PAPER8 tt President Has Frank Talk With the re Newspaper Men. y (J. C. Hemphill's Washington Letter to the Philadelphia Ledger). 18 President Wilson has taken the ,g newspaper men at Washington into g his confidence. In his charming talk n to them at the White House yesterday ^ afternoon he told them frankly that n they could be of the largest help to i. him In the work before him by in forming the country accurately of the j sentiment of the country touching h public questions and their true relation not to any particular person or political party?persons and parties e are nothing worth?but to the welfare e of the United States, which Is everyil thing. e Declaring with a smile that what he ; ' " .. ; . SSL; . should say would be "among ouri selves," or, as a distinguished Ken tuckian probably would have express: ed It, "among us girls," the president : acknowledged the influence of the > press or rather the influence of the workers who report the happening! of i the day and show in their correspondence the drift of public oplnon. The ) Washington correspondents enjoyed i his Pickwickian reference to the edlI tors when he said, with a smile fairly ' beaming with good humor, that the ) public servant might be able to "live I It /Irtum M tha so mo Kalncr what tKa V UVnU) MIV UV1UQ TV UBV lilV > editor* say. > Upon this point a noted man among > the correspondent*, whose gift of soi i has delighted on many occasions all ' lovers of watermelons, "agreed with I the Boss," the usefulness of the editor i in the journalism of the day, in his ' opinion, having ceased to be a factor in the forming of public sentiment on great public questions. Such is the popular fallacy upon this point; but it is a fallacy, else some conspicuous leaders of public thought in this coun try have been wasting their lives. It has become quite the habit for men engaged in the public service to discredit the editorial page of the newspapers, and the newspapers are largely to blame because they have discounted themselves this most valuable asset of true Journalism. Why should not an editor who holds no office, represents no particular fad, is not a candidate for anything, and who is well informed upon questions of government and political economy and history be as safe a guide for public opinion as the polltlcan who Is seeking place or who has won position, or who represents a view the general adoption of. which would be destructive of the public interests? The president was joking, of course, in his little pleasantry about living down the editors, and it would be "to r laugh" If there were not so many who ' would take him seriously. He knows . better; he has written for the news papers and magasines himself,and always with point and effect What he has written in his books and essays would have been equally true and equally forceful had he written them for the columns of a newspaper of which he was editor. It is in what an editor says and in how he says it whether or not it is better or worse that what the correspondents write for the news column. Of course, what aft editor says ought to be well said and written with accurate knowledge of the facts and principles discussed by him, and it hap pens more often than It should that he is mistaken in his Judgment because he has been misinformed and misled by the information supplied by correspondents. Of course, the Washington correspondents never make mistakes, never misinterpret motives or get their facts wrong; but there are other correspondents who do, through Indifference, through prejudice, through misinformation upon which they have relied, or for a purpose. Moreover, there are many subjects outside "the news" that should be discussed for the information of the people who are interested in the proper settlement of public questions, and these questions can be discussed only and with the best effoct in the editorial columns of the newspapers, which ought to have a larger share in the thinking of the people than the a*~ sembling of the raw material out of which, but for intelligent handling, much shoddy would be manufactured. Acquitting the president of any serious intentions to discredit the editor, the editor should take care not to discredit himself. In the first place he should know what he is writing about, and he should never write anything that he does not believe and has good I reason to believe. He cannot make the news," but he ought to make the best of it, not the most of It He ought to be broad In his rellgon, clean in his politics, straight in his thinking and Just in his Judgments. There is no reason in the world why what he says on public questions should not be as authoritative as what the politician says in his speeches to the people, what the statesman says in his discussion of public measures in the legislative bodies of the country, what the capitalist plans for the increase of his store, what the labor agitator seeks to accomplish, without regard to the rights of others. Possibly if the editors thought more of themselves and did their work better other people would think more of them and their true mission. A newspaper without an editorial page Is like an egg without salt; but the salt should never lose its savor. An Eight-Lagged Fish,?An eightlegged flsh, with a bark like a dog ..rtnrtiio annaMU urna xanrhl auu a tawuvuo wF^vv*feVt ??vw?om> in a net on the lower California coast by Steve Ohio. The strange captive, in an improvised tank, was brought to San Diego, and, with a rope around its neck, was led along the custom house wharf while a hundred curious persons looked on. The creature has teeth like a dog and gills and dorsal flns as well as scales like a fish. It is two feet in length and the feet are without nails and covered with soft fur. It will not eat meat, but eagerly devours raw potatoes whole and seemed fond of seaweed. It ate out of Ohio's hand, but could not remain out of water long. Scientists will attempt to classify the fish.?San Diego, Cal., correspondent New York World.