d y

at at 1€

I

; $ 00D, PRB LPM

49 77IN G\ “Ge'

. ew Zoe : a TN" ef = Vic i> ¢ - " &

AS ' ~ VS . >> \ ‘ PA 7! —— SRL DEK PO Gow Yoo? WV) my nanas are wrab to the Wrist,” eaded Villon; ‘‘my feet are dead and full of twinges; MY nose achas with the the cold lies at my heart. I

sharp air wy be dead before morning father, and before God, I will never

once,

Onlv this |

THR DAILY EXAMINER, CHARLOTTETOWN, JANUARY 4, 1898

bors were aoa one WilY was opened broadly, as though no guile or fear of guile were known to thuse within. A tall figure of a man, muscular and spare, but a little bent, confronted Villon. The head was massive in bulk, but fineiy scuiptured; the nose blunt at

Withulawa,

the bottom, but refining upward to where it joined a pair of strong and honest eyebrows; the mouth and eyes

surrounded with delicate markings, and the whole face based upon a thick white beard, boldly and squarely trimmed. Seen as it was by the light of a flickering hand-lamp, it looked perhaps nobler than it had a right to do; but it wasa fine honorable rather than intelligent, strong, simple, and righteous.

‘‘You knock late, sir,’’ said the man in resonant, courteous tones.

Villon cringed, and brought up many servile words cf apology; ata crisis of this sort, the beggar uppermost in

- ace,

old

was

| him, and the man of genius hid his head

| with

ask again re

‘*You should have come eariier,’’ said the ecclesiastic coolly. ‘‘Young men re- euire a lesson now and then."’ He shut |

the wicket and retired deliberately into the interior of the house.

‘‘Wormy old fox!"’ he eried. ‘‘If I had my hand under your twist I would send you flying headlong into the bottomless ' A door shut in the interior, faintly audible to the poet down long passages. He passed his hand over his mouth with an cath. And then the humwer of the situation struck him, and he laughed and looked lightly up to heaven, where the stars seemed to be winking over his d scomfiture.

He passed allfhis chances under review, turning the white between his thumb and forefinger. Unfertunately he was on bad terms with some old friends who would once have taken pity on him in such a plight. He had lampooned them in verses; he had beaten and cheated them; and yet now, when ae was in so close a pinch, he thought there was at least one who might perhaps relent. It was chance. It was worth trying at least, and he would go and see.

On the way two little accidents hap- pened to him which colored his musings in a very different manner. For, first, he fell in with the track of a patrol, and walked in it for some hundred yards, al- though it lay out of his direction. And this spirited him up; at least he had con- fused his trail; for he was still possessed with the idea of people tracking him all about Paris over the snow, and collaring him next morning before he was awake. The other matter affected him quite differently. He passed a street corner, were, not so long before, a woman and her child had been devoured by wolres

This was just the kind of weather, he reflected, when the wolves might taka it into their heads to enter Paris again; and a lone man in these deserted streets would run the chance of something worse than a mere scare. He stopped and look: ed upon the place with an unpleasant interest—it was acenter where several lanes intersected each other; and he looked down them all, one after ancther, and held his breath to listen, lest he should detect some galloping black things on the snow or hear the sound of howling between him and the river. He remembered his mother telling the story and pointing out the spot, while he was yet a child. His mother! If he only knew where she lived, he might make sure at least of shelter. He determined he would inquire upon the morrow: nay, he would go and see her, too, poor old girl! So thinking, he arrived at his destina- tion—his last hope fer the night.

The house was quite dark, like its neighbors; and yet after a few taps he heard a movement overhead, a door open- ing and a cautious voice asking who was there. The poet named himself ina loud whisper and waited, not without some trepidation, the result. Nor had he to wait long. <A window was suddenly opened, and a pailful of slops splashed down upon the doorstep. Villon had not been unprepared for somthing of the sort, and had put himself as much in shelter as the nature of the porch admitted; but for all that, he was drenched below the waist. His hose be- gan to freeze almost at once. Death from

| “and hungry?

|

confusion. ‘*You are cold,’’ Well, step in.”’ ordered him into the house with

enough gesture.

repeated the old man, Ani he

a noble

‘Some great seigneur,’’ thought Villon, as his host, setting down the lamp onthe flagged pavement of the

entry, shot the bolts once more into their places.

‘*You will pardon me if I goin front,”’ he said, when this was done; and he the poet upstairs into a large apartment, warmed with a pan of char- coal and lighted by a great lamp hang ing from the roof. It wae very bare of furriture; only some gold plate on a side- board, some folios, and a stand ef armor

precedec,

between the windows. Some smart tapestry hung upon the walls, represent- ing the crucifixion of our Lerd in one

| piece, and in another a scene of shepherds

'

deplorably |

cold and exposure stared him in the face; | he remembered he was of phthisical ten-

dency, and began coughing tentatively. But the gravity of the danger steadied his nerves. He stopped a few hundred yards from the door where he had been so rudely used, and reflected with his finger to his nose. He conld only see one way of getting a lodging, and that was to take it. He had noticed a house not far away, which looked as if it might be easily broken into, and thither he betook himself promptly, entertaining himself ou the wuy with the idea of a room still hot, with a table still loaded with the vemnains of suoper, where he might pass the rest of the black hours and whence he should issne, on the morrow, with an rmfal of valuable plate. He even con- éidered on what viands and what wines he should preter; and as he was calling the roll of bis favorite dainties,roast fish presented itse!f to his mind with an odd mixture of amusement and horror.

The house in question looked dark at first sight; but as Villon made a pr:lim- inary inspection in search of the ban‘iest point of attack, a little twinkle of lizht esught his eye from behind a curtain.

“The devil he thought. ‘‘ People awake!t Sume student or some saint, con- found the crew! Can’t they get drunk and lie in bed snoring like their neigh- bors! What's the good of curfew, and poor devils of bellringers jumping at 4 rope’s end im bell-towers? What's the use of day if people sit up all night? The gripes to them!’’ He grinned as he saw where his logic was leading Aim.

‘Every man to his business, after all,’’ added he, ‘aml if they’re awake, by the Lord, I may come by a supper honestly for once, and cheat the devil.’’

He went boldly to the door and knock- ed with an assured hand. On both previous occasions he had knocked timid- ly and with some dread of attracting notice; but now when he had just dis- carded the thought of a burglarious entry, knocking at a door seemed a mighty simple and innocent proceeding. The sound of his blows echoed through the house with thin, phantasmal rever- erations, as though it were quite empby ; but these had scarcely died away before * measuyed tread drew near. 1 couvle of

we

and shepherdesses by a running stream. Over the chimney was a shield ef arms.

‘*Will you seat yourself,’’ said the old man, ‘‘and forgive me if I leave you? | am alone in my house to-night, and if you are toeat I must forage for you myself.’’

No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped from the chair om which he had just seated himself, and pegan examining the room with the stealth and passion of a cat. He weighed the gold flagon in is hand, opened ali the folios, and investigated the arms apon the shield, and the stuff with which the seats were lined. He raised the window cur- tains, and saw that the windows were set with rich stained glass im figures, so far as he could see, of martial import.

‘*Seven pieces of plate,’’ he said. “If there had been ten, I would have risked it. A fine house, and a fine ald master, so help me all the saints!’’

And just then, hearing the old man’s tread returning along the corridor, he stule back to his chair, and bezun hum- bly toasting his wet legs before the char- coal pan.

His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand and a jug of wine in the other. He set down the plate upon the table, motioning Villon te draw in his chair, and going to the sideboard, brought back two goblets, which he filled.

‘*I drink your better fortune,’’ he said, gravely touching Villea’s cup with his ww.

“To our better acquaintance,’’ said the poet, growing bold. A mere man of the people would hate been awed by the courtesy of the old seigmeur, but Villon wus hardened in that matter; he had made mirth for great lords before now, and found them as black rascals as him- elf. And so he aevotea himself to the viands with a ravenous gusto, while the old man, leaning backward, watched himn with steady, curious eyes.

‘*You have biooi om your shoulder, my man,’’ he said.

“It was none of my shedding,’’ he stammered.

“T had not supposed so,’’ returned the host quietly. ‘“*A brawl?’’

‘*Well, somethin; of that sort,’’ Villon admitted with a quaver.

‘*Perhaps a fellow murdered?’’

‘Oh, no, not murdered,’ said the poet, more and more confused. ‘‘It was all fatr play—murdered by accident. I had no hand in it, God strike me dead!’’ he added fervently.

“One rogue the fewer, I dare say,’’ observed the master of the honse.

‘‘You may dare to say that,”’ agreed Villon, infinitely relieved. “‘As biga

rogue as there is between here and Jeru- salem. He turned up his toes like a lamb. But it was a uasty thing to look at. I dare say you’ve seen dead men in your time, my lord?’’ he added, glancing at the armor.

‘*‘Many,’’ said the old man. “I have followed the wars, as you imagine.’’

Villon laid down his knife and fork, which he had just taken up again.

‘‘Were any of them bald?’’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes; and with hair as white as mine.’’

“TI don’t think I should mind the white so much,”’ said Villon. ‘*His was red.’’ And he bad a return of his shud- dering and tendency to Jaughter, which he drowned with a great dranght of wine. ‘‘I’m a little put out when I think of it,’’ he went on. ‘1 knew him—dama him! And then the cold gives a mam fancies—or the fancies give a man cold, I don’t know which.”’

‘‘Have you any money?’ asked the old man.

“J have one white,’’ returned the poet, laughing. ‘“‘i got it out of a dead jade’s stocking in a porch. She was as

| dead as Caesar, poor wench, and as cold

as a church, with bits of ribbon sticking in her hair. This is a hard world in win- ter for wolves and wenches and poor rogues like me.”’

“I,” said the old man, ‘‘am Enguer- rand de la Feuillee, seigneur de Brise- tout, bailly du Patatrac. Who and what mar you be?’’

Villon rose and made a suitable rever- ence. ‘‘I am called Francis Villon,’’ he said, ‘‘a poor Master of Arts of this uni-

versity. I know some Latin and a deal of vice. 1 can make chansons, ballades, lais, virelais, and roundels, and [ am

very fond of wine. I was born in a gar- ret, and I shall not improbably die upon the gallows. I may add, my lord, that from this night forward I am your lord- ship’s very obsequious servant to com- mand,”’

~No servant of reine '' caid the knioht

‘““My guést for this and no more.’’

‘‘A very grateful guest,’’ said Villon politely, and he drank in dumb show to his entertainer.

“You are shrewd,’’ began the old man, tapping his forehead, ‘‘very shrewd;

evening,

you have learning; you are a clerk; and yet you take a small piece of money off a dead woman in the street. Is it nota

kind cf theft?’’ ‘It is a kind of theft in the wars, my lord,’’ ‘The wars are the returned the old man proudly.

much practiced

tield of honor,’’ ‘*There a

man plays his life upon the cast; he fights in the name of his lord the king,

his Lord God, ard all their lordships the holy saints and «ngels.’’

‘‘Put it,’? said Villon, ‘‘that I were really a thief, should I not play my life also, and against heavier odds?’’ .

‘For gain, but net for honor.”’

‘*Gain?’’ repeated Villon with a shrug.

“Gain! The poor fellow wants supper, and takes it. So does the soldier in a campaign. Why, what are all these

requisitions we hear so much about? If they are not gain to those who take them, they are loss enough to the others. The men-at-arms drink by a good fire, while the burgher bites his nails to buy them wine and wood, I have seen a good many plowmen swinging on trees about the country; ay, I have seen thirty on one elm, and a very poor figure they made; and when I asked some one how all these came to be hanged, I was told it was because they could not scrape to- gether enough crowns to satisfy the men- at-arms.”’

‘‘These things are a necessity of war, which the low-born must endure with constancy. It is true that some captains drive overhard; there are spirits in every rank not easily moved by pity; and in- deed many follow arms who are no bet- ter than brigands.”’

‘*You see,’’ said the poet, ‘you can not separate the soldier from the brigand; and what is a thief but an isolated bri- gand with circumspect manners? I steal a couple of mutton chops, withouf so much as disturbing people’s sleep; the farmer grumbles a bit,but sups none the less wholesomely on what remains, You come up blowing gloriously on a trum- pet, take away the whole sheep, and beat the farmer pitifully into the bar- gain. I have no trumpet; I am only Tom, Dick, or Harry; I am a rogue and a dog, and hanging’s too good for me— with all my heart; but just ask the farmer which of us he prefers, just find out which of us he lies awake to curse on cold nights.’’

‘‘Look at us two,’’ said his lordship. ‘“‘T am old, strong, and honored. If I were turned from my house to-morrow, hundreds would be proud to shelter me. Poor people would go out and pass the night in the streets with their children, if 1 merely hinted that I wished to be alone. And I find you up, wandering, homeless, and picking farthings off dead woren by the wayside! I[ fear no man and nothing; I have seen you tremble and lose countenance at a word. I wait God’s summons contentedly in my own house, or, if it please the king to call me

out again, upon the field of battle. You look for the gallows; a rough, swift death, without hope or honor. Is there

no difference between these two?’’

‘*As fur as to the moon,’’ Villon ac- guiesced. ‘‘But if I had been born lord of brisetout, and you had been the poor scholar Francis, would the difference have been any the less? Should not I have been warming my knees at this charcoal pan, and would not you have been groping for farthings in the snow? Should not I have been the soldier, and you the thief?’’

(To be Continued.)

sk LOVE acs & . LIFE. Without love this world

would be a good place to emi- - grate from. With- out it, even money would be a worthless commodity, and all the jewels in the world as valueless as a clod of earth. With- out it the human race would die—anad < ne be glad of it. Too few young women understand the basic princi- ple implanted in nature by the Creator, that underlies love. Love is but the light in the east that leads to maternity. Love of hus- band is the stepping-stone to love of child.

A childless woman is a sun that gives no light or warmth, a cloud that never showers the thirsty earth, a flower, beautiful, per- chance, but without perfume. There are thousands of women who lived well into middle-life without knowing the bliss of a first-born’s caress, but who are happy mothers to-day and heap blessings on Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription. Over 00,000 women have testified to the merits of this marvelous remedy, and many of them have permitted their experiences and _ photo- ztaphs to be printed in Dr. Pierce’s Com- mon Sense Medical Adviser. The “ Favor- ite Prescription’ quickens the life-giving organism of women. It makes a woman strong and healthy where she most needs vigor and vitality. It cures all weakness and disease of the feminine organs. It elimi- nates the discomforts on the way to matern- ity and makes baby’s coming easy and nearly painless. Found at ali medicine stores.

‘*In four vears,"’ writes Mrs. Minnie Smith, P. M., at Lowell, Lane Co., Ore., ‘‘I had miscarried twice. I took two bottles of Dr. Pierce's Favorite Frescription and now have a healthy baby. I am stronger than in twelve years.”’

Free. Send 3: one-cent stamps to cover customs and mailing only, for a paper- covered copy of Dr. Pierce’s Common Sense Medical Adviser; cloth binding, 50 stamps. Address Dr. R. V. Pieree, Buffalo, N.Y. The ‘‘ Adviser” contains 1008 large pages and over 300 illustrations. It is a veritable medical library in one volume.

Printings in all its branches at the Exawm- INER Office, one cf the best equip-

ped Job Printing Establishment, on P. E. Island,

—_—--

Into the ground floor office of a maga zine noted for the red tapery of its methods rushed a woman. In looks, bearing anc clothes she was the typical literary cran& and walking up tothe rail especially de signed to head off such as she she said, *'] want to know whether your magazine wil print thisfor me right away.’’ ‘This was a bundle of manuscript which, how ever it may have locked in those days when the women first began hawkin it about. was now tattered and grimy. I was rolled. **We dcn’t—er—we don’t con sider manuscripts down here,’’ said th yourig man behind the rail. ‘*You’il hay to tuKe it up stairs.’’ **U ed the womnan

four fli} ts,

aro

stairs, repeat I I **How far up?’’ **Oh, on) ' said the man. ‘‘No, there i I’m sorry, tuadam, but eve our editor in chief uses the stairs.”’

The woman glanced at the stairs. ‘* Four

no clevator

flights counting this one?’’ she asked “Counting this one,’ said the man.

‘*That’s too much,’’ said the woman. ‘1 don’t care if all the editors in creation climb them, I shan’t.’’ And she turned to go when something caught her eye and back she.came. ‘*Look here,’’ she ‘isn’t that a speaking tube over in the corner?” The man admitted that it was. “Why can’t you call up through it and ask them if they will print’ my mann- script?’ The man explained that the manuscript would have to be read first. ‘*Well,”’ went on the woman, ‘‘why can’t you read it to them through the tube. ‘Then they can tell right off and it’ll save me climbing those stairs.’’ The man ex- plained *‘some more,’’ but, although he did his best, it was in vain. Before he was half through the woman, manuscript in hand, had flounced out of the door with, ‘‘And some folks wonder why literature is degenerating.’’—New York Sun.

said.

Two Failures,

Fuddy—Tandem has been married be- fore, hasn't he?

Duddy—Yes. He was young and inex- perienced when he married the first time.

Fuddy—But how about this second mar- riage?

Duddy—Oh, he is old enough to be childish now.—Boston Transcript.

Then He Sleeps.

**Williams has a new cure for insomnia.”’

‘What is it?’’

‘*He takes a pitcher up stairs with him and goes to bed under the impression that he has to be upin time to catch a milk- inan.’’—Chicago Record.

The Arabs use camel’s milk in place ot that of the cow, and in all parts of the east sheep's milk is estensively used as a substitute for cow's milk, while in Spain the goat is the domestic subscitute for the cow, that country having 4,530,000 goats.

LT |

By Medicated Vapor inhalation—A miracle of success 10 Day: Trial Free send 15¢. for express on ontfit Dr. Ray's Successful Remedy Co., 24 Manning Arcade Dr.Ray’s Anti-Constipation Pills always cure. TYURONTO London, Ene. Melbourne. Aus. Toronto, Can

MORTGAGE SALE.

To »e sold by Public Auction, at the Court House,in Summerside, on Saturday, the 220d day of January,A 0,i8%8, at the hour of twelve o'clock, noon, under a power of sale contain- edina mortgage datedthe twenty-first day of eptember, A. J. 1896,and made between (yrus Meqneault and Peter Meqneault and Charlotte Meqneault, wife of ssid Peter Me- qnreauit, of ine one part, and J. Edward W vatt. of the other part,

Alland singular that tract of land situate on Lot 15, Prince County, Prince Edware Is- land. bounded as follows:—Commencing on the shore of Bedeque Bay,in the south-esst angle of land of ‘thaddey Arsenault; thence along the same northeasterly seventy-two chaps and fifty links, or to the southern boundary of land tormerlvy owned by Daniel Arsenault, and land owned by Paul Perr: ; thence eastetly along the same seven chains aad one link, to lana of Louis Perry; thence southwest riy along the same seventy two enains and fifty linksto the shore, thence following tne same we *tly to the place of commencement, conta ning fifty acres of land. more or less

For further particulars apply at the office of J Edward Wyatt, Summersid-.

Lated this 3:aday of December, A D, 1897.

J.EDWARD WYATT, Mortgagee

decé —d4i—1

‘atch

Makes a very acceptable and use- in] Ximas present.

We are showing a nice assortment cf reliable tume-keepers at

VERY LOW PRICES

We will he pleased to have you eall and examine our Warcnes be forepurcbasing,a8 we may save you $$$

We Guarantee Every Watch.

W. N. TANTON

JEWELER Gt. Geo. St.

Operative and Prosthetic

DENTISTRY

DR J. p. MURRAY

145 Queen &t.

-RUBBERS & OVERSHOES RIGHT UP TO DATE

in style, quality, fit and popularity are the well

7 . snow goods of

THE CANADIAN RUBBER CO.

»..OF MONTREAL...

Standard Never Lowered.

: —ALL DEALERS KEEP TVEM.

REARS AAAAAARAARAA AP AAA

ur Nori Wi

Will be seen some beautiful vases, and fancy chinaware,

er

suitable for christmas presents. We have also a couple of splendid China Dinner Sets left,

wnich we wil selt regardless of cost. Fancy goods sold at

reductions for two wecks at

B2G26R448SSS®

T J. MORRIS

Corner of Queen and Kent Sts.

EREFSP ESERIES BEETS

Syuveyy EEEFSS SEES FSS

at, , 7 mt, we, aE, a at, a 7, x, -, wt, 7 xz 7 e, z, st, * “te

|

iN a i cb ewes vee dadew aun

CAPS

No 1 Natural Otter Caps. No 1 Mink Caps

No | Beaver Caps

No 1 Persian Lamb Caps South Sea Seal Caps

Cloth and Knitted Caps

COLLARS

Persian Lamb Collar. Beaver Collar, Astrakan Collar, Nuria Collar

We have also an Underwear

Our all vool $8.00 Frieze U]ster.our own make,is a beauty

We don’t sell the abone goods for less than they cost us, but you would bs surprized were \ou to know how near thay

ee D. A. BRUCE

TT

The Wotnal ile iasural

OF Naw YORE

attractive line of Neckwear and woolen

a

RICHARD A. McCURDY, ao 8 - .

(THE WORLD'S GREATEST COMPANY),

Presiden

Has more insurance in foree, a greater annual income and more assets

anany ther company in the world. [t is the oldest active American Co Total Assets, : . . $234,744,148.42 Invested in Canada, - . - . 4,257,520 75 Total Surplus, nearly - - - 30,000,000.00 nsurance in force, . - - - 918,698,358.00

Income in 1896, $19,702,695:27, being TWELVE MILLONS

more than the total Revenue of the Dominion of Canada,

Issues the most liberal policies and pays larger dividends, on all policies han any other company and is beyond donbt,, the wealthiest and greates. company ir the world, } All policies payable in go'd. Agents wanted

in unrepresented districts, JOHN MACBACHERN,

Agert for P.E. Islan