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"THE OLDER PEASANTS WOULD STAND OPEN-MOUTHED BEFORE THE SIGN-BOARDS"

That representative of one of the best Norman families, elegantly attired in evening clothes, and wearing a camellia in his buttonhole, stepped to the front.

"Gentlemen and dear fellow-citizens," he began in a well-poised voice.

"La calotte! Hou! hou!" ("Down with the church!") shrieked half the assembly, while the other half burst forth into applause. It was plainly evident that they had no intention of letting him speak; yet he bravely continued, and above the uproar one could now and again catch such words as "France," "duty," "country."

Finally realizing the uselessness of trying to combat such an explosion, the count wisely curtailed his address and, after a polite bow, retired.

Still the tumult continued. It seemed as if the fight for supremacy depended upon the strength of the assembly's vocal organs. When one side would begin to howl "La Carmagnole," the Revolutionary song, the other would instantly try to drown it by

"Sauvez Rome et la France,

Au nom du Sacré Cœur."

In the meantime the valiant doctor had taken his place, and literally foaming at the mouth, his eyes popping from their sockets, he stood there wasting his energy on an uproarious assembly, which seemed to ignore his existence. He was no luckier than the count. "France," "democracy," "liberty" were the only parts of his discourse which reached my ears.

He was instantly replaced by Professor Leputois. No sooner had he opened his mouth than a huge cabbage, aimed by a master hand, closed it most forcibly, and sent the unfortunate advocate of statistics sprawling beneath the table.

That was the last straw. All bonds were now loosened, and the three rival parties began to demonstrate their rights. to existence in a most strenuous manner. They were no respecters of persons, and in one corner I saw two sturdy brutes wildly shaking a helpless old gentleman, whose cane was waving above his head.

Behind me I could hear Mme. Frémont expostulating indignantly.

"To think of getting into such a state over politics! The best man of the whole lot is not wise enough to cut down our taxrate, is he?" And as a conclusion to her argument, she turned off the gas-meter.

Finding themselves in total darkness, the crowd suddenly quieted down, and presently a ripple of laughter spread over the entire assembly, and the exit was accomplished amid general good humor and without further incident.

Scarcely a fortnight before election the news circulated that a fourth candidate had appeared to compete with our already famous trio. True enough, a few modest pasters announced "Lechaptois, Cattledealer, Republican."

This created a sensation, and all the old busybodies from the inn to the smithies stood on their door-steps and openly discussed his haughty pretensions.

"Who 'd have ever thought it? Lechaptois! Big, fat Lechaptois, a man who began life empty-handed!"

Truth to tell, the fourth aspirant was anything but interesting-looking. A broadshouldered, heavily built Norman peasant, Lechaptois, like men of his class, wore a long, blue blouse, with a woolen cap pulled down over his eyes. He evidently had no intention of letting his political career interfere with his business, and could be seen driving about in a rickety

farm-wagon, carrying a load of bleating calves. He had the reputation for driving hard bargains and making close business deals. He was at the same time the joy and the terror of all the county fairs and weekly markets, and woe unto the man who tried to deceive him!

"I hear you 're out for deputy, Lechaptois," ventured a more intimate acquain

tance.

"Why not I as well as any one else? A man who 's got the coin goes where he pleases, my boy, and I'll bet you anything I'll pan out as handsome as that creampuff of a doctor when I get on my frockcoat and stovepipe."

"But what 'll you have to say if you do get into the chamber?"

"Nothing. Take it from me, the fellow who knows how to keep his mouth shut is worth all the chatterers on earth. And to think it is I who should teach you that! Well! well!"

That was the extent of Lechaptois's electoral campaign.

The eventful day finally arrived. The polls opened at sunrise in the school-house, and the counting began as soon as night. fell.

The count received five votes, the doctor three, the professor one, and Lechaptois forty-seven.

He was elected representative from our district by a crushing majority of four thousand.

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"HE PROPPED UP THE FALLEN ONE AT THE FOOT OF THE GALLOWS"

FROM THE PAINTING BY ARTHUR E. BECHER

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE1

(BEING A NIGHT WITH MASTER FRANÇOIS VILLON, POET)

BY GEORGE BRONSON-HOWARD

Author of "Shadows," etc.

WITH PICTURES BY ARTHUR E. BECHER

I

PARIS, the sixty-first year of the cen

tury, the sixth month of the new reign, the seventh day. Moonlight on Montfaucon; a man on Marigny's tall gibbet,-what had been a man,-his shadow contracted in the pale light, and flat upon the St.-Denis Road a little black jumping-jack suspended by a string. The rope of Hangman Henriot seemed no more than that to the gnomes of Shadowland. And as the wind rattled the brittle bushes of the hedge, and the man above jigged gently upon nothing, the silly little clown down below cut side-splitting ca

pers.

Master Francis Villon, observing this while resting on his long journey and warming himself beside the fire he had built, was moved by the discovery that comedy is but the dwarf of tragedy.

"They weep when men die in the mysteries, but they laugh when marionettes are murdered. Witness Polichinelle, who kills his wife and child." The thought of Master Punch and his comic murders set Master Francis laughing, and proved his point. Mirth on Montfaucon! Had he no other claim to fame, this was enough.

tle. Or a black dwarf that coach wheels have flattened out like a cooky, his house along with him. Most precious like a dwarf's doorway that gallows in shade. Hola!" he smiled again,-"revenge, Friend Colin. Be glad of your comicality. Justice is made comic, too. The gibbet is also a joke. Justice! As if any one can be just save the Sieur God!"

And mightily pleased with this thought, he forgot Master Colin, and searched in his scrip for a scrap of parchment, lest the idea escape him. Six years had made a different Villon of the affrighted youngster who had begged he should not be planted upright in the St.-Denis Road. That had been early in his career as a scape-gallows, and before the poet had turned philosopher. That earlier Villon would never dare build a fire in the shadow of a tree of such ill fruit. Poor as were its neighbors of St.-Lazare, Pre St.-Martin, the temple, and the marsh, cold as was the winter of 1461, none sought fire-wood here.

So busily did his new poem employ the poet that the rattle of oncoming hoofs, the jingle of harness, went unheard. Even when a cavalier reined in with a cruel grip that ached his mare's jaws and sent to join the dark foam on her gleaming bit blood darker still, Villon scribbled on, head bent nearer the waning fire, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

But immediately his thoughts were sober again. "Colin, Colin, my friend,”and he lifted his eyes from the shadow to the man,-"what use to 'scape Montpippeau, only to fall foul of Montfaucon? The game hardly seems worth while to be played. And assuredly the saints should have spared you this last hind kick of Fate. From death the lowliest should at least salvage dignity. But death is no kinder to you than life. It turns a Prince of Picklocks into a Jack Pudding His voice, increasing in volume as he kicking out comic legs like a capsized tur- spoke, roused the poet. Annoyed, he 1 Published in collaboration with the Universal Film Manufacturing Company.

"Body of a cock!" quoth the ignored new-comer, scowling. "God give you a bad year, vagabond! By St. Julian of Brittany! it must be an ill dog who seeks the gallows before they seek him. Or have you repented cheating the hangman, rogue?"

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