text: WKm£ 5&Jpfc* m- »fw £l §S&< liiwiimiii.n(i'iiiij»i "U I 6S? SB1* phi fe efi tj&gj 4 if' wh •imm :-v »n' i'ii *'r .«s V' -Si j-'_ -r"1 jj£ SSCESES •*-. T^ "i I'Im' 'T •AT.^N-..' 1UI£'^JOT.'P' *WSV JMT CHARGE IN i.' WOMAN'S LIFE vjMrt. Godden Tells How It May be Passed in Safety and Comfort Fremont.0.—"I was, the critical period of life, being forty? •Iz years of age and has all the symptoms incident to that change—heat flashes, nervousness and was in a general run down condition, so it was hard for me to do my work. Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound was recommended to me as the best remedy for my troubles, which it rarely proved to be. I feel better and stronger In every way since taking it, and the annoying symptoms have disappeared." Mrs. H. GODDEN, 926 Napoleon St, Fremont, Ohio. Such annoying symptoms as heat flashes, nervousness, backache, headache, irritability and "the blues," may be speedily overcome and The system restored to normal conditions by this famous root and herb remedy, Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound, if any complications present themselves, write the Pinkham Medicine Co., Lynn, Mass., for suggestions how to overcome them. The result of forty years' experience is at your service and the latter held in strict confidence. RUINED BY THEIR FREEDOM 'Lesson to Be Drawn From the Actions of the Emancipated People of Athens.' It all right, I'll wait.' —Adv. On a memorable occasion, the assembled Athenians declared it monstrous that they should be prevented from doing whatever they chose. No force that existed could restrain them and they resolved that no duty should restrain them, and that they would be bound by no laws that were not of their own making. In this way, the emancipated people of Athens became a tyrant and their government, the people of European freedom, stands condemned with a terrible unanimity by all the wisest of the ancients. They ruled their city by attempting to conduct war by debate in the marketplace. Like the French republic, they put their successful commanders to death. They treated their dependents with such injustice that they lost their maritime empires. They plundered the rich until the rich conspired with the public enemy, and they crowned their guilt by the martyredness of Socrates.—Lord Acton's Essays. "REALLY, NOW— "I can't take that. I must have Red Cross Ball Blue. I have used it for snow white. I simply can do without Red Cross Ball Blue. You will get the Prize Pest. Our Idea of the prize-pest of the universe is the neighbor who buys a new motorcar every spring and then comes and takes you and your wife out riding in it and makes your old one seem like a traction engine.—Brooklyn Eagle, Truth is the simplest of all virtues." If we require neither study nor intuition, would be a thankless world if we got what we deserved. Dr. Nash, M.D., WYOMING BALL and BORSE TONIC! With what object?" "With the object of furnishing proof against, Marie Fauville and getting her condemned. So I asked for the attendance of the deputy and two men. There will be four of us to bear witness to your honesty." They all took up their posts. Two detectives were to sit up in turns. This time, after making a minute search of the little room in which Fauville's son used to sleep, they locked the doors and shutters. At 11 o'clock they switched off the electric chandelier. Don Luis and Weber hardly slept at all. The night passed without incident of any kind. But, at 7 o'clock, when the shutters were opened, they saw that there was a letter on the table. Just as on the last occasion, there was a letter on the table! When the first moment of suspense was over, the deputy chief took the letter. His orders were not to read it and not to let anyone else read it. Here is the letter, published by the newspapers, which also published the declaration of the experts certifying that the handwriting was Hippolyte Fauville's: "I have seen him! You understand, don't you, my dear friend? I have seen him!" him! He was walking along a path in the Bois, with his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled over his ears. I don't think that he saw me. It was almost dark. But I knew him at once. I knew the silver handle of his ebony stick. It was he beyond a doubt, the scoundrel! "So he is in Paris, in spite of his promise. Gaston Sauverand is in Paris! Do you understand the terrible significance of that fact? If he is in Paris, it means that he intends to act. If he is in Paris, it means certain that he shall have suffered at that man's hands! He has already robbed me of my impudence and now he wants my life. I am terrified." So Fauville knew that the man with the ebony walking stick, that Gaston Sauverand, was designing to kill him. Fauville declared it most positively, by evidence written in his own hand and the letter, moreover, corroborating the words that had escaped Gaston Sauverand at his arrest, showed that the two men had at one time had relations with each other, that they were no longer friends, and that Gaston Sauverand had promised never to come to Paris. A little light was therefore being shed on the darkness of the Mornington case. But, on the other hand, how inconceivable was the mystery of that letter found on the table in the workroom. Five men had kept watch, five of the smartest men obtainable and yet, on that night, as on the night of the 15th of April, an unknown hand had delivered the letter in a room with barricaded doors and windows, without their hearing a sound or discovering any signs that the fastenings of the doors or windows had been there. Beef tamper with. The theory of a secret outlet was at once raised, but had to be abandoned after a careful examination of the walls and after an interview with the contractor who had built the house, from Fauville's own plans, some years ago. It is unnecessary once more to recall what may describe as the flurry of public. The deed in the circumstances, assumed the appearance of a sleight-of-hand trick. People felt tempted to look upon it as the recreation of some wonderfully skilled contractor rather than the act of a person employing unknown methods. Nevertheless, Don Luis Pernna's urtelligenee was justified at all points, for the expected incident had given place on the 25th of April, as on the 15th. Would the series be continued on the 5th? No one doubted it, be it said, had said so and everybody felt that Don Luis had not been mistaken. All morning the 5th of April was a crowd on the Broadway Square and mid-night birds of every kind came trooping up to hear the latest news. The pre-war era, Maurice LeBlanc, Alexander Teixeira de Matos, and night birds of every kind came trooping up to hear the latest news. The pre-war era, Maurice LeBlanc, and the night birds of every kind came trooping up to hear the latest news. Effect of police, greatly impressed by the first two miracles, had determined to see the next one for himself, and was present in person on the third night. He came accompanied by several inspectors, whom he left in the garden, in the passage, and in the attic on the upper story. He himself took up his post on the ground floor with Weber, Mazeroux, and Don Luis Perenna. Their expectations were disappointed, and this was M. Desmalion's fault. In spite of the express opinion of Don Luis, who deprecated the experiment as useless, the prefect had decided not to turn off the electric light, so that he might see if the light would prevent the miracle. Under these conditions, no letter could appear, and no letter did appear. The miracle, whether a conjuring trick or a criminal's device, needed the kindly aid of the darkness. There was therefore ten days lost, always presuming that the diabolical postman would dare to repeat his attempt and produce the third mysterious letter. On the 15th of May, the wait was renewed, while the same crowd gathered outside, an anxious, breathless crowd, stirred by the least sound and keeping an impressive silence, with eyes gazing upon Fauvilles' house. This time the light was put out, but the prefect of police kept his hand on the electric switch. Ten times, 20 times, he unexpectedly turned on the light. There was nothing on the table. What had aroused his attention was the creaking of a piece of furniture or a movement made by the men with him. Suddenly they all uttered an a rustling noise, had interrupted the silence. M. Desmalions at once switched on the light. He gave a cry. A letter lay, not on the table, but beside it, on the floor, on the carpet. Mazeroux made the sign of the cross. The inspectors were as pale as death. M. Desmalions looked at Don Luis. Is, who nodded his head without a word. They suspected the condition of the locks and bolts. Nothing had moved. That day again, the contents of the letter made some amends for the really extraordinary manner of its delivery. It completely dispelled all doubts that still enshrouded the double murder on the Boulevard Suchet. Again signed by the engineer, written throughout by himself, the eight of February, with no visible address, it said: No, my dear friend, I will not allow myself to be killed like a sheep led to slaughter. I shall defend myself, I shall fight to the last moment. Things have changed lately. I have proofs now, undeniable proofs. I possess letters that have passed between them. And I know that they still love each other. (otherwise) they did at the start, they want to marry, and that they will let nothing stand in their way. It is written, understand what say, it is written in Marie's own hand: "Have patience, my own Gaston. My courage increases day by day. So much the worse for him who stands between us. He shall disappear." My dear friend, if I succumb in the struggle you will find those letters (and all the evidence which I have collected against the wretched creature) in the safe hidden behind the small glass case: Then revenge me. Au revoir. Perhaps good by. Thus ran the 3rd missive. Hip Polyte Fauville from his grave named and accused his guilty wife. From his grave he supplied the solution to the riddle and explained the reason why the crimes had been committed: Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were lovers. One problem remained to be solved: who was the unknown correspondent to whom Hippolyte Fauville had bequeathed the task of avenging his murder, and who instead of simply handing over the letters to the police, was exercising his ingenuity to deliver them by means of the most mysterious conspirators. It was to his interest also to remain in the background? To all these questions, Marie Fauville replied in the most unexpected manner, though it was one that fully accorded with her threats. A week later, after a long cross-examination, as high as she was pressed for the name of her husband's old friend and at which she maintained the most stubborn silence, together with a sort of inertia, she returned to her cell in the evening and opened the veins in her wrist with a piece of glass which she had managed to hide. Don Luis heard the news from Mazaroux, who came to tell him of it before 8 o'clock the next morning, just as he was getting out of bed. The sergeant had a travelling bag in his hand and was on his way to catch a train. Don Luis was greatly upset. "Is she dead?" he exclaimed. "No. It seems that she has one more let-off. But what's the good?" "How do you mean, what's the good?" "She'll do it again, of course." She's set her mind upon it. And one day or another, "Did she volunteer no confession, this time either, before making the attempt on her life?" "No, she wrote a few words on a scrap of paper, saying that, on thinking it over, she advised us to ask a certain M. Langernault about the mysterious letters. He was the only friend that she had known her husband to possess, or at any rate the only one whom he would have called, 'My dear friend.' This M. Langernault could do no more than prove her innocent and explain the terrible misunderstanding of which she was a victim." "But," said Don Luis, "if there is anyone to prove her innocent, why does she begin by opening her veins?" "She doesn't care, she says." Her life is done for and what she wants is rest and death." Rest? Rest? There are other ways in which she can find it besides death. If the discovery of the truth is to spell her safety, perhaps the truth is not impossible to discover." "What are you saying, Chief? Have you guessed anything? Are you beginning to understand?" "Yes, very vaguely, but, all the same, the really unnatural accuracy of those letters seems to me a sign of a secret." "Reflected for a moment and continued: Have they reexamined the erased addresses of the three letters?" "Yes, and they managed to make out the name of Langer nault." "Where does this Langernault live?" "According to Mme. Fauville, at the village of Damigni, in the Orme." "Have the deciphered the word Damigni on one of the letters?" "No, but they have the name of the nearest town." What town is that? "Alcenon." "And is that where you're going." "Yes, the prefect of police told me to go straightaway. I shall take the train at the Invalides." "You mean you will come with me in my motor." "Eh?" "What are you talking about, Chief?" "Nothing, I know." "Make of the walk." Half an hour later they were flying along the Versailles road. Perenna himself was driving his open car and driving it in such a way that the Mazeroux, almost stifling, kept blurting out all intervals: " Lord, what a pace! Dash it all, how you're letting it go, Chief! Aren't you afraid of a smash? Remember the other day— "They reached Alencon in time for lunch. When they had done, they went to the chief post office. Nobody knew the name of Langernault there. Besides, Damigni had its own post office, though the presumption was that M. Langernault had his letters addressed poste restante at Alencon. Don Luis and Maeroux went on to the village of Damigni. Here again the postmaster knew no one of the name of Langernault and this in spite of the fact that Damigni contained only about 1,000 inhabitants. "Let's go and call on the mayor," said Perenna. At the mayor's Mazeroux stated who he was and mentioned the object of his visit. The mayor nodded his head. "Old Langernault? I should think so. A decent fellow: used to run a business in the town." "And accustomed, I suppose, to fetch his letters at Alencon post." "That's it, every day, for the sake of the house?" "Is at the end of the village. You passed it as you came along." "Can we see it?" "Well, of course only—" "Perhaps he's not at home?" "Certainly not. The poor, dear man hasn't even set foot in the house since he left it the last time, four years ago!" "How is that?" "Why he's been dead these four years. Don Luis and Maeroux exchanged a glance of amazement. "So he's dead?" said Don Luis. "Yes, a gunshot." "What's that!" cried Perenna. Was he murdered? "No, no. They thought so at first, when they picked him up on the floor of his room but the inquiry proved that it was an accident. He was cleaning his gun, and it went off and sent a load of shot into his stomach. All the same, we thought it very queer in the village. Daddy Langernault, an old hunter before the lord, was not the man to commit an act of carelessness." "Had he money? "Yes and that's just what clinched the matter they couldn't find a penny of it!" Don Luis remained thinking for some time and then asked: "Did he leave any children, any relations of the same name?" "Nobody, not even a cousin. The proof is that his property—it's called the Old Castle, because of the ruins on it—has reverted to the state. The authorities have had the doors of the house sealed up, and locked the gate of the park. They are waiting for the legal period to expire in order to take possession." "And don't sightseers go walking in the park, in spite of the walls?" Not they. In the first place, the walls are very high. And then and then the Old Castle has had a bad reputation in the neighborhood ever since I can remember. There has always been a talk of ghosts a pack of silly tales. But still, Perenna and his companion could not get over their surprise. "This is a funny affair," exclaimed Don Luis, when they had left the mayor's. "Here we have Fauville writing his letters to a dead man—and to a dead man, by the way, who looks to me very much as if he had been murdered." "Someone must have intercepted the letters." "Obviously. But that does not do away with the fact that he wrote them to a dead man and made his confidences to a dead man and told him of his wife's criminal intentions." Mazeroux was silent. He, too, seemed greatly perplexed. They spent part of the afternoon in asking about old Langer nault's habits, hoping to receive some useful clue from the people who had known him. But their efforts led to nothing. At 6 o'clock, as they were about to start, Don Luis found that the car had run out of petrol and sent Mazeroux in a trap to the outskirts of Alencon, to fetch some. He employed the delay in going to look at the Old Castle outside the village. He had to follow a hedged road leading to an open space, planted with lime trees, where a massive wooden gate stood in the vicinity of a wall. The gates were locked. Don Luis walked along the wall, which was, in fact, very high and presented no opening. Nevertheless, he managed to climb over by means of the branches of a tree. The park consisted of unkept lawns, overgrown with large wild flowers, and grass covered avenues leading on the right to distant mound. Thickly dotted with runs, and, on the left, to a small, tumbledown house with ill-fitting shutters. He was turning in this direction, when he was passing through the park, a much-needed opportunity to see the footprints on a border which had been soaked with the recent rain. And he could see that these footprints had been made by a woman's boots, a dainty boots. "Who the devil comes walking here?" he thought. He found more footprints, a little father, on another border which the owner of the boots had crossed, and they led him away from the house, toward a series of clumps of trees where he saw them, tarrying more. Then he lost sight of them for good. How many English Words From the Popular Science Monthly. The English vocabulary has grown to great size, according to Prof. Clark & Northrop, of Cornell University. The number of words found in old English literature does not exceed 50,000 readers have luted. IN WESTERN WESTERN VALUES But Forty and Fifty Bushels of Wheat to the Acre, During the past year there has been greater demand for farm lands in Western Canada than for a number of years past. The demand is for go-off farm lands. Improved or unimproved. And at an increase of from ten to fifteen dollars an acre more than the same lands could be had for a couple of years ago. The rise in the price of every kind of produce grown on these Western lands, in some cases to double and in others to treble the price prevailing before 1914, have attracted and are attracting in ever-increasing proportions the men who are anxious to invest their money, and apply their energies in the production of wheat for which the allied nations are calling with voices which grow louder and more anxious as the months roll on, and the end of the war still seems distant. Beef, and more especially bacon, are required in ever greater quantities, and the price of all these things has soared, until it is not a question of what shall we produce, but how much can we produce. Even should this world calamity be brought to a close in six months from now, it will be years before normal pre-war prices prevail, and meantime self-interest, if not patriotism is turning the minds of thousands back to the land. The inevitable consequence has been the rise in value of land, especially wheat land. The Calgary Herald, commenting on these conditions says: "From inquiries made from leading dealers in farming and ranching properties, and from the information gathered in other ways, it is known that the value of all land—wheat land, mixed farming properties, and even good grazing land—has risen in the last two years 40 percent. Wheat lands in some districts have practically doubled in price. One dealer in farm lands recently sold three sections for $70 an acre, one extra good quarter went as high as $90, and another brought $100. These are, of course, large prices, but that they will be equaled or even surpassed in the near future is beyond question. There is a feature about this rush to the land from which the most solid hope can be drawn for the success of the movement. The proper tillage of land, to produce large crops in a climate like ours, is now understood and practiced as it never was in the early days of the province. It would seem too that with the increase of land under cultivation, the seasons are changing and the rainfall becoming greater and more regular. "Crops are being harvested, especially in Southern Alberta, which would have seemed impossible to the old-time farmer, with his old-fashioned ideas of breaking and seeding. And at the price now set by the government for wheat and which possibly may be increased during the coming season, the return to the practical skilled agriculturist must necessarily be very large." "What matters $10 or even $20 an acre extra on wheat land when a return as high as 50 bushels and even more may be taken from every acre sown? With hogs bringing $20 a hundred pounds beef on the hoof at $12, and mutton $10, while wool under the new government arranged system of handling and sale brings 65 cents a pound (and these values cannot fall to any great extent for some years) the demand for lard will continue and values increase in a corresponding degree. "There has never been in the history of Canada a time so favorable for the farmer as the present self-interest, the inspiration of patriotic feeling, the aid freely extended by the government, who are permitting the import of certain agricultural implements, all these tend to still further raise the price of Alberta land."—Advertisement: The Misplaced "Sir." "John M. Browning, inventor of the Browning machine, adopted by our army and of scores of other world famous "firearms," was, early  taking the hint, called him 'Mister' after that." The Same Length. Virginia goes to school in Irvington, She is one of these observant little parties, always looking for a new thrill. Yesterday she raced home after school and, as she entered the front door, gasped: "Oh, mother, you ought to see the two new little girls at our school. Both twins and both the same length."—Indianapolis Star. Indefinite. "Is the new patient light-headed?" "Do you mean if she is delirious or a blonde!" When a lazy man condescends to work has soon discovers that he is a little too food for his job. 