Loading...
HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1888-02-10, Page 6---•- ArTC.701145Prerwritar A GREAT SECRET. OR, SHALL IT BE DONE. CHAPTER. XVIT.—.•(CONTINu D.) 111adame Fournier, good soul, who'came pf an ugly race, and looked upon handsome people as eocentrigities of Nature that should not be judged too harshly, tried to heal the breach by a well-meaning buttaotloss inquiry when Madame de Lancry and M. le General would leave Calais, Not for some time, I think," answered Madeline suavely, "' I have just matte up my mind to ask my husband be take a hones a little way out of the town for a few months ; the p'ace is so cheerful and the so- ciety so charming." Victor,glanced uneasily round to see how his relations took this speech ; but it excit- ed nothing more than surprise in most of them. " 1 don't think you will find it so gay if you settle dawn hero," said Madame Four- nier doubtfully. " And poultry is so dear here !" hazarded a cousin ; addiug hurriedly, with an awk- ward laugh, " but of course that would not effect you„ madame." "No,' said Madame de Lancry, slowly, assherose to go, " it will not effect me much, for while I am here I shall live upon ex• oitement.'. The ladies present came one and all to the conols;afon that Madame de Lanory was mad; hut the gentlemen viewed her eocen• tricities more leniently, " I could never have believed that I should have found a romantio, robber -haunted dis- trict so near • to civilisation," she went on. " I really feel a delicious dread of being at- tacked on my way bank to Calais," And she glanced at Gerald. Before he could offer to escort her back, however, Viotor sprang forward with open jealousy burning in his face. " Let me go with you, madame ; no one knows the road as well as I do." Madame de Lanerylaughed as she laid her hand on Gerald's arm. " What; would your fiancee say?" said she, in a low voice, which, however, Peggy's keen little ears overheard. " 0 you may take him, Madame, I don't mind," she broke in with alacrity, glancing alternately at Gerald and the beautiful lady, with open disapproval of their friendly attitude. " You are not jealous, then," said Mad- ame de Lancry, playfully raising the un- willing little face, and bending to look straight into the elfish eyes. "•" Not of—Victor," answered Peggy, bold- ly, but in so low a whisper that it needed the sidelong look of anger she cast at Ger- ald to make her meaning clear. Madame de Lancry kept the indignant face between her hands for a few moments longer, her interest evidently deepening as she looked. Then she turned very sudden- ly, to try to get the light of the lamp upon the girl's face. But Peggy wriggled herself out of the lady's grasp, and. plunging into the groupof,whichkMadame Fournier formed a member, put her head into the motherly lap and effaced herself. Victor, who had recovered his self-possession, wisely refrain. ed from forming one of the party 'that gathered'in the hall to see Madame de Lan - cry off, but devoted himself to dispelling the momentary consternation caused by his be- heviore to her, with animation still more marked, still less spontaneous than before. No one guessed how he loathed every mem- ber of the dull society he was entertaining, and how madly he envied—for the moment —the gentle English lad Madame de Lancry so unaccountably and openly preferred to him. The little square omnibus which had brought the unexpected visitor to "Les Bouleax" rumbled slowly for some distance on the road back to Calais before either of its occupants broached any subject of parti• cular interest to item. Gerald felt shy of doing so, and Madame de Lancry was not talkative. "" So that little wild girl is the queen of women 1" she said, at last, smiling rather contemptuously, as he thought. " Yes, madame," he answered, feeling hot and not very happy, but resolved to stick to his colors. " Well, I have examined her and thought over the situation, and I think it would be much better for you to give her up." "I know that, madame," said he, sim- ply, " but no fellow worth the- name of a man ever does give up a girl for that rea- son. Besides, you can't give up what you haven't got, and what you never had a chance of getting. Please don't talk about her. It won't make any difference, and I can't explain myself, and it only makes me look like a fool," " Well, what shall we talk about, then?" " Won't you tell me why you came to see Mr. Beresford ? I can't help thinking it was about—about that awful night's work ; and I know you went to see old Moonier about it. You have told me just enough to make me half mad to know more." " What do you want to know?" " The name of the man who killed my father. Only tell me and I will hunt him out and—" "That is unnecessary, for I know where he is." Gerald started violently. " Tell me—for God's sake, tell me 1" said he hoarsely ; " I would give anything for something to do now—like that." And in the dusk she saw on the young man's face the hungry look brought by un- satisfied passion, and she knew that the tool was growing sharper for the work. "I can nob toll you. For I have so little proof of what I have told you that, if the murderer wore arrested now, he would be able'to prove that on the night Mr. Shaw died he was where he is now—two hundred miles away." Gerald's face changed. "' It is gruel of you to play with me like this, madame," said he, with bitterness and energymoat unusual in him. "" You led me to believe—" " What I believed myself—that I had a clue between my very fingers. I have found ont to -day that I was mistaken—that the Work before us is not even begun." Well, how am 1 to begin it ? Give me eoxnething to do, some reason for getting away from this place, or I think I shall go Mad. "Ah 1" broke out Madame Lanory, rather bitterly. It is the girl, always the girl, who is in your head. 1f you could have her and be happy with her, you would boon for- get all about clearing your father's name. "You are hard upon me, madame, I have nursed the hope of avenging shim so long and so vainly that it hangs aboutmo like an old dream, and 1 can hardly take in the belief that it will ever be realised." " And the other hope—isn't that a vain one too ?" " Yes, I --I suppose so." " then you have still some idea of en- tering the lists with Victor, and coming off conqueror after all!" Gerald stared et her in wounded astonish- mont. She had always shown the best side of her nature to him before, so that her sneers were disconcerting.. " No, I haven't, madame," ho said at last. " Rut if one were to let all one's hopes go out at once, one wouldn't get on very well, and—I suppose you don't know what it is to—to be quite cracked about one ?'' And he looked, at her with shy admiration, " But can't you understand how the fellows felt who were cranked about you ?" She turned toward him with a sudden gust of kindness, as if he had struck the right note at last. " Yes, Gerald, perhaps I can," she said. ""And ib is true that you can do nothing until I have found out, something for you to do." " Is awfully good of you to take so much interest in this business." " Good ! No, that is not the right word. Disinterested help is weak and capricious. Luckily for you, in helping you I am help- ing myself." Gerald watched her face silently for a few moments, and then said, quietly, "" I think I understand. You have same grudge of your own against the man who killed my father?" " Yes." " And you have been brooding over it all these years, just as I have done?" " No. I had almost forgotten it when chance—or—or perhaps something higher— brought me face to face with you. Then I remembered, having nothing better to do, that I had a promise to keep and an oath to fulfil ; the promise concerned you, Gerald, and the oath concerned your father's mur- derer." The young man said nothing. This wo- man's nature, that could lie calm so long, and then be stirred by strong waves of pas- sionate impulse, was quite a new and inex- plicable thing to him; and her cynical sug. gestion that she had set herself to this bloodhound's task for want of anything better to do excited in him alarm and mis- trust. He glanced at her shyly, and waited for her to explain herself. But as the little omnibus began to rattle through the stone -paved Calais streets, Ma- dame de Lancry shook off her melodramatic mood, and teased the poor lad by talking of nothing but trifles ; and when they reached the door of the Hotel de la Gare he helped her to alight in a rather crestfallen manner. " Good -nicht, madame," said he, hesitat- ingly, as she Was sweeping past him into the hotel. " 0 come in," she said lightly, glancing behind her at him. " But Mr. Beresford will not like me to stay away longer ; I know it will displease him very seriously." " Mr. Beresford's freaks need no longer disturb you. You are not going back to 'Les Bouleaux.' She laid her arm firmly on the arm of the astonished lad, and drew him within the doorway, speaking at the same time in a very quiet and careless voice. " Do you know where Mr. Smith is, Gerald ?" " Mr. Smith ! He is in London." " You know his address ?" " 0 yes ; I write him long letters at Mr. Beresford's dictation very often." "That's all right. Now come upstairs, and we'll see what we can do to equip you for a night journey. ion must cross to England to -night." CHAPTER XVIII. • Gerald Staunton heard Madame de Lan - cry's mandate very calmly, and let her lead him up -stairs into her sitting -room unresist- ingly. But no sooner had she closed the door, and looked well at his face by the light of the candles, which had been burn- ing some time in anticipation of her return, than she saw that she had overrated his do- cility. " I am sorry I can't do what you wish, madame, for you have been very kind to me. But I could not think of going to Eng- land without Mr. Beresford's permission. Good -night." He was at the door before he finished speaking, and would have been cut of the room in another moment if Madame de Lancry had not darted across the room with the lightness of a girl, and caught both his hands in a grip so unexpeotedly savage and muscular that Gerald instinct- ively tried to wrest himself free as angrily as if she had been a man. " Wait," she said, looking straight into his indignant face with lurid, dilated eyes. " What has Mr. Beresford ever done for you that you haven't overpaid him for ? What clerk in his office has worked so hard as you, or received so little pay for it? What has he ever done to make your life worth living ? Can you doubt now that it would have been better to beg your way back to England, when fropicked you up in Paris six years ago, than to spend the best years of your life in the dull drudgery from which he never means to set you free ? You want to find the man who killed your father—Mr. Beresford wants to keep you off the track. Break away from this man now—it may be your last chance. Follow my instructions, find out your old friends, and there is atill time for you to clear your father's name and to live a happy life in your own country. I giveoyou my solemn word you are not oven safe in this one," Gerald's face grew white and wet as he looked at her and heard the burning words she was hissing into his ear like an enchant- ress, At the end he tried again to free him- self from her grasp, with the manner of a man who is shrinking from some spell. " I cannot go, madame. He is my em ployer at least, if he is not my benefaotorn' She drew back a little way from him sud denly without releasing him, and, as she spoke again, her voice was no longer whir• peringly persuasive, but rang out in sharp clear tones like a bell. " you know," she said, " that it is your presence at ' Les 13otileaux' that is hastening Miss Beresford's marriage with young Fournier 1" The young man's limbs began to twitch and to tremble, and he was: again like wax in her bands, She pressed her advantage inetantiy, " The old man knows of your fanny for hie daughter. He does not care a straw for any pain you may feel, and he will avoid all danger from a possible return of your affec- tion by marrying her before -your eyes,, within a few days, to this man, whodoes notthis Ire her. Are you willing to witness " My going away would not. change Mr. Beresford's plans. You do not know him," said Gerald," hoarsely. " My poor boy, you have no one else to trust. You may as well trust me," said she with a change in tone and manner to oaressing softness, as she again drew nearer. to him, " If you will do as I wish, and cross to England to -night, I will not only get you Mr. Beresford's permission to re- main away, but I will swear to you that his daughter shall marry no one against her own will." Gerald raised his head, breathing heavily, and looked with dull, dazed oyes wistfully into the passionate, hard, yet swiftly -chang- ing face before him. •" f must go—away--from her?" he said brokenly. " You will only be good to her if I do that ? Madame, wny won't you ex- plain ? I am not a child. It is not fair to push me blindly on in the dark. What power is it you have over us all. " Simply the po ver of a wilful woman, my dear boy ; but there is nothing in the world like it," said Madame do Lancry, dropping some of her tragic earnestness, the moment that it had made sufficient.impres- sion. "" And you want me to trust only to that ?" " All, you are not yet bribed heavily ,enough 1" she broke out impatiently. " It is not enough for you that the girl should be svfe ; she must be safe with you. Well, then, follow my instructions for the next week and you ,shall be free to :marry the girl—if you' will." The magnetic influence of this woman's glowing beauty and passionate, capricious earnestness was so strong that a tide of joy rushed up in the young man's heart and swept away all doubt as to her power of fulfilling:her promises. " will go, madame," he said, almost staggering, as at last he felt himself free from her strong grasp. And he turned toward the door, his brain dizzy, his senses quickened, his heart on fire. A. faint sigh of relief, which involun- tarily escaped from the lady's lips, roused his dulled conscience, however, and he turned, not irresolute, but with resolution changed. " 1 will go to " Les Bouleaux,' and ask Mr. Beresford to let me return to England ; if, as you say, he wants to get rid of me, no doubt he will let me go at once, and I will come and receive your orders." "! You are under my orders now," said she imperiously, turning him like a child from the door, and half forcing him into a chair beside the stove. " You will not leave this hotel except to go straight to the boat, and by the time you arrive in London you will find Mr. Beresford's permission to remain there awaiting you." Gerald did not try to resist any longer. He sat as if etupified, answering with an ef- fort the remarks his hostess made on indif- ferent subjects as she opened her writing - case and prepared to write letters. As he furtively watched her movements, Gerald was surprised to see that her manner of set- ting herself to this task was fussily feminine —not at all simple and business -like as he had expected from her strength of will and firmness of purpose. In the midst of her busy play with blotting -paper and pen - wiper, the door opened, and a gentleman, whom Gerald guessed to be M. de Lancry, came in. He glanced from Gerald, who rose, to his wife, who nodded to him, and saying briefly, " Mr. Staunton, a young friend of mine," went on with her occupa- tion. So the old and the young man sat meekly down, and, after the exchange of a few commonplaces, the two seemed to take to each other, and, as the lady left them en- tirely to themselves, they chatted very ami- cably for some time, until the General, who persisted in speaking laborious English in spite of Gerald's efforts to keep him on more familiar ground, asked him what Madame de Lancry was doing for him. " Some trouble with your sweetheart, and my wife made it up," he suggested good-humoredly. " No," said Gerald, growing suddenly shy and husky, " I haven't a sweetheart, monsieur." " 0, tell me not that ; no, no," said the General, laughing ; "if not a sweetheart forever, sill a sweetheart for to -day. " No, Monsieur," said the young fellow, who was scarlet by this time ; '" a sweet- heart forever is not eo easy to get, and a sweetheart for to -day wsuielnoteat'sfy me." " Right, very right," said the General, nodding his head slowly from time to time to eke out his labored senteboes. " Give up lova for pleasure when you are young, and when you are old you get neglect in the .stead of either." Involuntarily Gerald's eyes stole, after this gloomy speech, from the grave old soldier to his still young and handsome wife. She rose abruptly from the table, and rang the bell, saying that Gerald must have supper before his journey, • You travel ts-night?" asked the Gen- eral, surprised. " Yes, monsieur, I am going to London." " Ah, there, among your beautiful countrywomen, you will find the sweet- heart for ever." "No, monsieur," confessed Gerald simply, " I am leaving her behind," And the old and the young man exchang- ed looks of quiet sympathy as their tete-a- tete broke up. From that moment—perhaps guessing the danger that the young man's firmness might fail him if he were allowed time for reflec- tion about this separation from the girl he loved ---Madame de Lancry never left him one moment to himself or to her husband; and, when the time drew near for the de- parture of the boat, she sent for her mantle and herself accompanied him to the quay, leaning on his arm, and enohaining his un- willing and wandering attention by kind questions about himself, his tastes, his pleasures, and his prospects. She was so sweet, se sympathetic, that he blamed him- self for not feeling more grateful, and, aa he shook her hand before stepping on board, he said humbly. '" You must think me a great bear, Madame de Lanny, for not saying more to you about what you have done, and have promiseddo. Butee" :Menke given for promises are always unsubstantial things," she interrupted lau h- ing. '" In a month from now you shall gall at my feet and bless me. Then eke shook both his hands again heartily, and watched him as he made his way among the crowd of passengers burry. ing on .board the float. She had intentional, ly waited for the arrival of the Paris train before bringing him down to the quay, and even now oho followed him carefully with her eyes as he walked about the boat in search of a seat. When the gangway was drawn up she breathed more freely, but it was not until the boat had steamed away,ancl Gerald raised his hat to her, with a safe die- tance of some fikty yards between him and the shore, that her face relaxed and boat its expression of eager anxiety, Then she walked briskly to the end of the pier, and looked out over the dark shifting sea at the boat as it became a speck in the distance. Then she laughed, neither musically nor sweetly, and turned baolt towards the hotel, Poor boy," she paid to herself, with real pity in her voice, " it is not quite fair, per- haps, to triok him ; and he is not the sort of man I should have chosen for his task, if I had been able to choose. But one must use suchtools as come to one's hand, and ho will do as well as another if he will only follow my instructions." These instructions, so far, had been very simple. Gerald had only to go to Mr. Smith's London logings, to pub a letter from Madame, de Lancry into his hand, and then to remain in London uutil he heard from her again, On the following morning Madame de Lanory drove to " Les: Bouleaux," and ar- rived there just as Mr. Beresford Dame down -stairs. In spite of Miss M'Leod's en- treaties, he insisted on reoeiving the visitor himself. " I won't trouble you long, Mr. Beres- ford," said his tormentor, sweetly, as she was ushered into his presence, and advanc- ed toward him with a hand most sympathe- tically outstretched. He gravely raised her fingers to his lips with his left hand, and thanked her for her kindness in visiting a tiresome old invalid so often. " Not at all," said she imperturbably. " We had such a pleasant interview yester- day that it is a pleasure to come again." You have come to tell me that you have brought my boy Gerald safely back, I hope, madame. I should have been nervous about him last night, if he had not been in such good hands." " It is very kind of you to say se. He is now in good hands, better even than nine ; for I have sent him back to his friends in England. Ah, I knew you would be grate- ful, ' she broke out suddenly, in a different tone, as Mr. Beresford gave a slight but perceptible start. " There is no doubt he would have proved a serious obstacle to your daughter's marriage—girls are quick to find out who loges them best—and you have borne the generous burden of the boy's maintenance too long." " You have taken a most—" " Unwarrantable liberty ? Yes, I have. But you will forgive me, won't you ? And now that the boy is once away, you will write him permission to stay away, will you not? He is at Charing Cross Ho- tel. See how perfectly treads I am with you : I have given you his address, so that you can recall him if you like ; but still—I would advise you to let him remain in England," The autocrat was cowed. He took up a pencil in his trembling left hand ; and play- edwith it and with a •sheet of paper ner- vously. " And what if I recall him ?" he said at last, very quietly. " Then, as I have taken a fancy into my head to befriend thelad, 1 must do it in some other manner. He raised his head, and his eyes, from under the green shade, peered at her penetratingly. Then he scrawled a few lines slowly with the pencil on the sheet of paper, which he handed to her. She read it aloud : " Dear Gerald—lf you want a holiday, you are welcome to it. Let me hear from you.—Yours affectionately, MARTIN BERESFORD." Very kind of you," murmured Madame de Lanory softly. " May I,send this to the boy ?" If you please, madame,"said the paraly- tic indifferently. And with profuse apologies for disturbing him so eariy, Madame de Lancry left him. In the hall she met the autorat's little drag- on guardian, to whom she bowed moat grac- iously. " How is Miss Beresford, after the excite- ment of yesterday? These betrothal dinners are trying ordeals." "I cannot imform you, madame," said the housekeeper stiffly. " Mise Beresford ran out of the house this morning before breakfast, in fit of petulance, and has not returned." And, with a sweeping curtsy, Miss M'Leod retreated into the salon with- out another word. (To BE CONTEVED. Electricity is about to be put to a new use. The emptying of the sewage of Louden i Ito the Thames has necessarily polluted that river; and, in searching for some means of preventing this pollution, it has been dis- covered that electricity transmitted into the sewage produces the equivalent of chemical change. The electric current seta the particles of mottos in is circulatory mo- tion, and the result is that the organio mat- ter collects at the top in a semi-solid form, so that it can easily be separated from the transparent fluid beneath. The (steed ments have so far boon conducted on a limit- ed scale, but if the plan should prove to be Cheap and practicable it would, go far to. ward solving a problem that agitates every large city. Natural history tells us that every beast or plant, in fact every living thing, has its parasite, What is true of animated life ie true of still life. There is no obiect, animate or inaminato, that is not subject to some canker, some destroying in- fluence. Banks and financial institutions are no exception to the rule, and this should be the idea Uppermost in the mind of every director, every cashier and every officer. All men would be glad to dip into their coffers if they could but do so with impunity. Knowing this, it hithe ono great duty of the board and its subordinators to sit on the lid and only to hoist it'when there is as near as possible a certainty that doing no finally means putting more in, The Large Deer Estates of t cetland, It ie alleged that a stag has lately been shot in the Duke of Portland's forest at Langwell, in Caithx;oseshire, under peouliar oireumetances, says the London Telegraph, Inside the "" muokle beast" were discovered, when the stomach was opened, no fewer than eleven oases of cartridges, which must have found their way into it when the stag was alive. It is to be presumed that the cartridges, after being discharged from a rifle, fell upon the ground and were licked by the stag, which, like all animals of the bovine, ovine and cervine species, was doubtless very fond of salt. The saltpeter, which is one of the chief ingredients ib gun- powder, was apparently so grateful to the stag's palate that it swallowed the paper oases containing it, There aro indeed few things which the digestion of wild animals is not capable of assimilating, although it was said by Dr. Johnson that the stomachs of man and of the pig, which boar a close resemblance to each other, are stronger than those of any other creature, whether tame ox wild, A man in the highest condition, who has passed day after day for some weeks is deer stalking, is probably able to parry and digest almost as much food as the staghe hunts. The season for deer stalking is now upcn us, and it is under- stood that the Prince of Wales will soon pay a visit to Mar Lodge as the guest of Lord Fife, who has also had the honer of re- cently entertaining Prince Albert Victor, the eldest son of the heir apparent. There aro said to be upward of 100 deer forests in Scotland, occupying between them an area of rather less than 2,000,000 acres, Five of these forests exceed 50,000 acres in extent, the largest of teem being that at Mar, which covers not much leas than 100,000 acres of ground. Next in order come respectively the Blank Mount, in Argyllshire, with about 72,000 sores; the Forest of Reay, in Sutherlandehire, With 65,000 acres ; that of Glinstrathfar- rar, in Invernessshire, with 52,000 ; and that of Auohnaabellach, in Ross and Crom- arty, of about the . some extent. It is in the counties of Inverness Ross, and Cromarty, that, according to an authorita- tive adeount published last year, more than three fourths of the Scottish deer forests are to be found. Not to a shallow or scantily filled purse does it fall to own or rent a deer forest.,,. Even a small domain of the kind will command a rent of £600 per annum, and for the immense acreage of whioh an American gentleman, Mr. Winans, is the lessee, an annual rent of more than £12,000 is paid. There has been an outcry raised against Mr, Winans because he includes four or five of the finest forests in Scotland , within his dole ain, and, being naturally unable to live in more than one house at a time, leaves the others unoccupied. Yot it is maintain- ed, on the other hand, by his friends, that the Baltimore millionaire spends more money in Scotland than four or five wealthy Eng- lishmen would collectively disburse under similar circumstances. There appears to be better foundation for complaint against Mr. Winans if it be true that he attempts by absorbing and occupying an enormous area of ground ' to confine the deer to his own hills, or, in other words, to pre- serve whole ranges of mountains as senotu- aries. In the winter of 1884 a body of hill men—or, to give them the right name. poachers—broke one night into Mr. Wi- nans' sanctuary at Kintail ani killed seven- teen of his deer. It was alleged that on the ground so invaded the American lessee had not allowed a shot to be fired for four or five years. The onslaught made upon it by an organized band of trespassers was regarded as a protest against the system, of sanctu- aries in deer forests, which has always been unpopular in the Highlands. Much would it astonish the lairds and clansmen who were "out in the Forty five" —or, in other words, took part in the Jaco- bite Rebellion of 1745—could they bo made aware of the amazing prices now paid for barren hillsides, mosses, heather clad slopes and lonely forests, which in their time could not have been let for 61. a square toile. Sir. John Ramsden, for instance, is said to have expended nearly £200,000 during°his resi- dence in the Highlands. There are many English lessees of. moors and deer forests who spend £5,C00 a year or more for the pleasure of killing moor game and deer, or hooking salmon and grilse in the "Land o' Cakes." Swift express trains, which con- nect Aberdeen, Inverness and Perth with the British metropolis, have added incalcul- ably to the value of 'estates in North Britain which were once abandoned to the scream of the Curlew and the undisturbed reign of the golden eagle. 41. The Central Bank's Victims. As in all cases of bank -wrecking, many instances of suffering caused are reported. If it were cnly the rich and well-to-do thi t were injured by these smash-ups, the reason for regret would not be nearly so apparent, but it is the poor that experience the pangs. In one instance we know of an office boy whose savings and scrapings of three years, representing a hoarding of half a dollar a week, were swept away. In another, we know of a poor woman who had invested her all, with the fond illesinr, that some day her innocent little ohildren would be happy in reaping the benefits of her frugality. In another wo know of the collections of a firm, who were behind with their employees, being lost just when they had scraped tip enough to divide something between their men, and twenty families were given more misery to endure. Instances of poor people having lost money intended to make payments on houses, furniture, pianos, etc., aro i umerous, And while this has been the result, the wreckers, tho causes of all this misery, thanks to the law's delays, have nought safety in flight aad will probably - never be brought to account. If the moral of the thing were to bo heeded and poor people would bo cautioned henceforth not to trtist their money to any but absolutely safe repositories, we could almost cease to re- gret that the calamity happened ; but it will not, and the next bank that goes up will re- veal exactly the same state of things. What, then, is tho good of hoisting the danger sig- nal if people persist in disregarding it Tho Far (teaching. Perfume of a good name heralds the claim that Putnam's Painless Corn Extraotot is a mute, certain, and pintoes remedy for oornr. Fifty imitations prove it to be the best. At druggists.