Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1886-11-17

sank pack upon my peu Vi sno"'
tried to sleep, but in vain. All 1could
do was to think. Had l seen Ludwig
Won l., Or his spirit' the real man or
phantom9
At last relief came. I could not be
mistaken. I heard the footsteps OF a
small body of men. They approached
the shed. Yes, but not with the steady
tread of the soldier. Heavensl could it
be the Franctircurs, those bloodthirsty
guerrillas and hycnas of the battlefield!
tried to fortify myself for an attack.
l tried to arouse my physical self. Be-
fore could rise or make n movc the
door Of the shed was rudely opened.
A rough face showed itself. 1t was that
of the leader Of noted guerrilla band.
The Franctircur entered. He ap-
preached, cooked his revolver, and said
with mock poitcness, in broken Ger
man, "Monsieur, prepare 10 die."
Making on effort to reach my own
weapon, at this moment l was
startled by tho words; "Not he, but
your'
Looking up saw the pallid and
frightened face of the Franctireur, and
by his sidc--could it be possible O.
Lieut.. Won l., pointing a pistol at
the heart of the assassin. The excite
mcnt proved too much for my shattered
nerves, and just as heard the explosion
OF pistol lost consciousness.
When revived it was S o'clock in the
morning. BY my side stood Maj. NJ,
commander Of the advanced outposts,
and q detachment of Saxon infantry.
"Ncll done, my lad," said the Major,
and with that he pointed to an object
lying by my side covered with field
blanket.
"What do you mean, Major ~ in
quircd family, not understanding his re-
mark.
"Wcll, I mson that you have dis
patched the worst hound of a guerrilla
who ever disgraccd a country"
Like a flash the mysterious apparltion
presented itself to my mind, and hastily
calling Corporal l badc him extract the
bullet from the dead Franctireur's
wound. Then produced my revolver
and found that not q shot had been fired
from it. l compared the bullets used by
me with that extracted from the wound.
They were Of different weight. The
mystery was unsolvcd. Who had shot
my enemy?
The battle predicted by the staff Off
Ger was not fought on that day, and l
was glad Of it, for the exciting scenes OF
the prcviou, night compelled me to rest
for some time. On the fifth day after
my adventure received letter from
Saxony. Here it is:
"MY DEAR SIR, Our dear son Lud-
wig breathed his last at four this morn
ing. Upon his arrival here the doctors
pronounced his case hopeless. Up to 8
o'clock last evening his recovery seemed
assured. At that hour he suddenly grew
restless, called out your name three or
four times and cxclniming, "Bcwarc Of
the Franctircurs !" fell into deep sum-
bcr or trance. lie remained in this con-
diton until o'clock, when he arose up
with a start, fell back upon the bed un-
conscious and at 4 o'clock died in his
mothers arms.
"With best wishes,
"Your obcdicnt servant,
GEORGE ALEXANDER NoN L."
My story is flushed. need only add
that the ball extracted from the body OF
the Franctircur corrcspondcd in weight
with those in the revolver Of my deceased
friend and this discovery made the mys-
terry still darker.
I Up to this day l cannot explain the
strange trauspirings of that night before
Paris. Can you2--DetriOt Free Press.