AN UNFINISHED RACE

James Burne Worson was a shoemaker who lived in Leamington, Warwickshire, England.  He had a little shop in one of the by-ways leading off the road to Warwick.  In his humble sphere he was esteemed an honest man, although like many of his class in English towns he was somewhat addicted to drink.  When in liquor he would make foolish wagers.  On one of these too frequent occasions he was boasting of his prowess as a pedestrian and athlete, and the outcome was a match against nature.  For a stake of one sovereign he undertook to run all the way to Coventry and back, a distance of something more than forty miles.  This was on the 3d day of September in 1873.  He set out at once, the man with whom he had made the bet—­whose name is not remembered—­accompanied by Barham Wise, a linen draper, and Hamerson Burns, a photographer, I think, following in a light cart or wagon.

For several miles Worson went on very well, at an easy gait, without apparent fatigue, for he had really great powers of endurance and was not sufficiently intoxicated to enfeeble them.  The three men in the wagon kept a short distance in the rear, giving him occasional friendly “chaff” or encouragement, as the spirit moved them.  Suddenly—­in the very middle of the roadway, not a dozen yards from them, and with their eyes full upon him—­the man seemed to stumble, pitched headlong forward, uttered a terrible cry and vanished!  He did not fall to the earth—­he vanished before touching it.  No trace of him was ever discovered.

After remaining at and about the spot for some time, with aimless irresolution, the three men returned to Leamington, told their astonishing story and were afterward taken into custody.  But they were of good standing, had always been considered truthful, were sober at the time of the occurrence, and nothing ever transpired to discredit their sworn account of their extraordinary adventure, concerning the truth of which, nevertheless, public opinion was divided, throughout the United Kingdom.  If they had something to conceal, their choice of means is certainly one of the most amazing ever made by sane human beings.

CHARLES ASHMORE’S TRAIL

The family of Christian Ashmore consisted of his wife, his mother, two grown daughters, and a son of sixteen years.  They lived in Troy, New York, were well-to-do, respectable persons, and had many friends, some of whom, reading these lines, will doubtless learn for the first time the extraordinary fate of the young man.  From Troy the Ashmores moved in 1871 or 1872 to Richmond, Indiana, and a year or two later to the vicinity of Quincy, Illinois, where Mr. Ashmore bought a farm and lived on it.  At some little distance from the farmhouse was a spring with a constant flow of clear, cold water, whence the family derived its supply for domestic use at all seasons.