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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1890-5-29, Page 6A meilente to the Old Mon. While mothers. ere in every Mime Otetorteilu TQTBe More tiate to inn°, Wbo Ogle alone with nary a rhylue ? your, fattier, Wno is it pute the Itoy bMelte Beeatith the 3ume just oue vgbb Alia in the imuway Mimeo a isht ? our lateen A id whoa you, emit Me beriesque snow mut want a oeat iu the troet re Wp Who got the Jest an hour kLgo ? Yoer fether, Who goes along out to the Week nail puts up witou far oaoh you look, And with yon cboefily walks beet;? Your ranter. wbo, when the pot is Moe eta fat, Soon lays your self-esteem mit fiat, Mal wins with seven high held pat Your father. And when your head begins M grow, Who is it wares you to go slaw, And tens you lots yeu demo know? Your father, ADOPTED BY THE DEAN A 13TORY OP TWO COUNTRIES "Indeed I I must go and see her when we go back to Worthington ; the exodus is is already beginning; the first instalment of nurses and children went off this morn. ing, and I only raeaut now need to mane in and wish you good-bye, but as neual I have been betreyed into goesiping ? " Lady Worthiegton was quite an old family friend of the Megnays, and Mime they had been left orphane, she had taken them specially tinder her protection. Claude owed a groat deal to her; she was undonbtedly very fond of him, and after his sisters had gone to India, and he had been left to himself, she had spared no pains in helping him, constantly inviting him to her house, and what wee better, really winning his confidence, and giving him almost a eon's plaoe in her affections. Claude was by no insane her only protege; she was genuinely warm-hearted, and really wore herself out for other people when she liked them. She had, however, strong dislikes, as well, and when any one was not in her good books, she allowed it to appear in her manner quite as much as good -breeding would permit. This, added to her carelessness of appearances, was no , doubt the reason why she was often not so much appreoiated as she ought to have been. Claude knew that the Collinsons were not particular favoritiee of hare. Worth- ington Hall, Sir Henry's country house, was only two miles from Rilohester, and the families were of course acquainted • he was, however, not sure how far 1stly Worthington oared for the intercourse, and began rather hesitatingly to ask what had long been in his mind. " Have you time and inclination to add one other to your long list of proteges ? Because, is so, little Mademoiselle de is the person of all others, who is in need. She mama quite miserable at the deanery." " Poor child!" said Lady Worthington, compassionately. " It must indeed be a dreary house ; tell me about her." "Perhaps this will tell you better then words," said Claude, bringing forward his picture. Aocidentially her brother caught sight of that when he was here and I wish yea could have seen his face Of grief and dismay I He' says she used to be the brightest olaild imaginable." " And that is molly her likeness ? Buell a young face, and so utterly miserable! You have been exaggerating, Claude." " I am afraid not," said Claude, smiling. But that you will see when you are at Rilchester. You do not think it a bad way you think 1 on be of any use to your eider ? One might gall tor yam et the deetiery, and never leave really to know a Derma." Madera() is very pod. I think all that Espermice wente le to be loved. She niiMPO the home petting which she bas elwevs been need to." "Poor olaild 1 A.nd that motherless horteehold is the yeey wont ehe could helve gone to. I will try to get at her, hedeed. You mast want her here sadly," and Lady Worthington glowed round the Imre, com- fortless room, with its iirelees grate, Sliming gas -burner, and unourtained window. A. shadow °reseed Gesperd'a Moe, end he paused a minute before anewering. "1 am glad she shoutd be living in a comfortable house'at lessen The separation is of course hard to bear, but I shall feel happier tdreaut her now that I Mum she will have your Madness, madame " Lady Worthington Was tot:L(311mi by his unaffeoted way of speaking. She would gladly have seen more of him, but it was already so late that this was impossible. She rose reluctantly. " This is a very elaort and unceremonious visit," she Said, holding, out her hand to Gaspard, " but I hope when we are in town again, in the spring, we shall learn to know you well; and, meantime, I can at least tell your sister I have seen you." Gaspard could only reiterate his thanks; and Lady Worthington, getting into her carriage, drove quickly home, trying to think of any means by which she might help the poor, proud, and apperently half- starved Frenchmen. CHAPTER XVII. It was quite six o'clook before her lady- ship's tired horses readied Kensington. She herself was cold and weary, but in spite of it there was an alertnese in her step as she ascended the broad staircase, whittle bespoke her indomitable euergy. She opeued the drawing -room door, and.gave relieved exclamation to find within only her younger sister, Frances Neville. " I am home again, at last. 1 wns so afreid you would have a whole roomful of visitors," she exolaimed, drawing off her gloves, and warming her hands by the fire. "You have just esoaped them," said Frances, Broiling. "1 have had six editions, and Colonel and Mrs. Viper have only been gone a few minutes." " The unoonscionable people to stay so late ! Tiring you out, tco, poor child. You look as white as a sheet. Is Henry in ? " "1 fancy I heard his step outside ; but I am not certain. Tell me where you have been, Katharine. You have had a long afternoon." " Yee, vary. I will tell you all when I come down, but I must first speak to Henry if he is at home." And Lady Worthington hastened away. The two sisters were a strange contrast. Frances was many years the younger; she was now about eight -end -twenty, though het complexion of almost iiafantine fairness, and her abundance of pale golden hair made her appear much less. She was evidently very delicate, her feetures were sharpened as if by oonstant suffering, and the mouth, though sweet, was mill more expressive of firm endurance. Her eyes were like Lady Worthington's, clear gray— but while with the elder sister they were full of humorous brightness and good nature, with Frances they expressed patient happiness and a rarely disturbed serenity. Yet her life had been by no meane an easy one. A tiny, sioldy baby, she had lievd and grown almost mire.culously, struggling through illness after illness, and at length gaining some degree of health, though etreogth could never be hers. Whet was denied to her body, however, seemed to be added to her mind. Almost every one w returntfor your kinduess tomo, that I bring hoknew her leaned unconsciously upon her, yon fresh oases.' " for there was in her that steadfast love of Lady Worthington laughed. truth, and that earnest following after good, " It is like the mory of the man who which only can engender reel trust. This, added to a clear perception and ready sympathy, made her earned universally, loved, and gave her greater influence then Lady Worthington, with all her kind deeds, oonld ever obtain. The two sisters, bo ever, worked very well together, each recognizing her own peculiar calling; Lady Worthington describing Frances Neville's as the " ghostly" mission, and her own as the " bodily." All this had not of oonrse been attained withont many struggles, nor was Frances ever entirely free from the difficulties and perplexed questionings which will always attack en active mind, particularly when bodilMactivity is at all restrained ; but she had long ago learned the seoret of a happy life, and though her scrupulous exectness woalci not allow her to think even the most trifling thing immaterial, and ledd down for her the most carefully drawn dis• tinotion between right and wrong, she was kept Mona narrowness—or rather necessarily widened by her high, indwelling motive. Since her mother's death, which was several years before, Frances had lived with her sister—an arrangement which seemed to snit e.11 parties. Lady Worth- ington liked having some one to nurse and tend, and Frances, though not an actual invalid, always needed great care. Her influence, too, in the house was exactly what was required. Her two romping nephews, Harry and Fred, and little " tom- boyish," noisy Kathie, were quiet and gentle when "Aunt Fanny" was in the room, and she seemed to have the power of drawing out all the good in them—the ohivalroue love of the boys and the womanly tenderness in her little niece. When Lady Worthington left the room, something of the brightness faded, how- ever, from Frances' face. She was very tired, and as she lay on the sofa with throbbing head and wearied limbs, the of t. recurring question, which must have sug- gested itself to so many, began to trouble her. What good came of those calls whioh she had received that day 2 Had not her after- noon been wasted? She had intended to do so much—to finish some of her work for the poor, to learn an aocompaniment for Sir Henry, to go to afternoon chorale, and all had been frustrated by a weary succession of °ellen. What good had they done her? what good could she have done them ? she asked hereelf. Had not every one of her visitors probably regarded the call as a tiresome duty, and been only too thankful when their "ten minutes or " quarter of an hour" was over, and they were free tO go? And what had they talked of ? The weather, the retorns to town, the " Tiohborne " case, the West marriages in high life, the music at some of the West End churchee, and the recent publications. Was thig worth all that it had out her • Site had only arrived at the conolnsiot that morning calls were neoeesary and right, but without having discovered any Way for improving them, when her sister returned, follower! by Sir Henry—a tall, handsome men, with irort.gray hair, a very powerful face, and the bearing of one eactietomed to command, tempered by the moat perfect couttesy. Lady Worthington, dietreesed by her sister'e pale, suffering fee°, hastened to arrange her ottehitme, tending her with an amiduity which might leave been tireeome had it not been done With etioh grace and With such loving anxiety. 4' If f had only thotight &boat it and oared a lame dog, whin, as soon as it was well, ran away and brought its lame friend. I shall be only to glad, though, to help this little girl if I can ; but the deanery is a terribly unapproachable house. I wish I had known that young Monsieur de Mobil - Ion ; he moat have thought me inconsiderate not to recall his father's name. Where does he live? " " In some wretched TOOTOB at Penton- ville," answered Claude, wondering if Gas. pard, also, were to be adopted. "1 think I will drive round that way and just see him; he may have something to send to his aiseer ; and I feel sure Sir Henry would wieh it. Yes, I will certainly do so ; he must be at home by this time. Then good-bye for the present, Claude ; you will let ue hear from you, will you not? And remember that you must spend Christmas with us at Worthington, if you can, bat don't retuee a better invitation." "Thank you, a thousand times," replied Claude, gratefully. " For me there could be no better." Lady Worthington looked anxiously at her watch as she drove away from St, John's Wood. It was very much out of way to visit Gaspard de Mabillon, and her last day in town was, necessarily, a busy one, but now that the idea had once entered her head she would not give it up. Her coe.chman, therefore, received orders to drive fast to the address which Claude had given, and being accustomed to her lady- ship's freaks did not even grumble, though a bad fog was coming on, and the horses were already far from fresh. Arrived at the baker's shop, and having aseertsined that M. de Mabillon was at home, Lady Worthington hastened in, and was ehown upstairs by the astonished land- lady, who was fairly dazzled by Beech an unexpected advent as a carriage and pair, and a lady in seal -skin and sables. She opened the sitting -room door, and an- nounced the visitor with delighted pomposity. Lady Worthington had just them to see Gaspard standing by the mantle piece, his faoe buried in his hands, before he hurriedly raised his head and came forward, doing the honors of his shabby little room with a grave courtesy which pleased his guest. She began to explain her reagens for corning. " I was so afraid you would think me rude. I did not recall your name just now in Mr. Magnay's studio; neither my hus- band nor I had the least idea you were in London." " We came over in March, madame," said Gaspard. "Ab 1 so long ago as that? 1 wieh I had known before. Both Sir Henry and I knew your mother, as, perhaps, you have heard. I hope you had other friends in town, though, or you tritest have lead a cold welcome to England." " We knew no one at first, madame- bat my Meter went to Rilehester in the summer to live with Dean Collinson, our unole," replied Gaspard. "50 Mr. Magnay was telling me; and I thought pethaps I might come to see you, eo that I might take the lost aocounte of Men to yortr sister. We live only two mike from Rilaheeter, and I must certainly go to eee her." • " A thousand thanke, madame, yon are very god; and Esperance will be very imuch trimmed, I am sure." Lady Worthington was in too great a harry to Waste word% she went etraig,ht to her pellet, "Now Will yott tell me candidly in what come heme sooner Yon Would have been spared all, Oils," she said, With. Qom. punction. " People seem to mute ba011 to town tor womb earlier them they USed to de —I Can't innMine why." o There bee been lese treveling tide year," said Sin Henry ; " that num, per- hapE4, 81,00041A for it, The State ut PranCe bee frightened people." "1i! your Speaking of France reminds moo -whom do you thinle I met tine enter - noon ?—tt eon of VIM Monate= de alebilion who flurried Amy Collinson" Itionslear de Mabilion!" exclaimed Sir Hooey, eneiling; " my emcee time rival, wnoin I have been blousing ever since I—." Now, Homy " interrupted Lady Worthington, coloring and mulling. He answered by etooping to kiss her on the forehead, and, there was a MOITIOTIVB •mlence, while Frances, understanding it all, could not resiet watohing her sister's beautiful and still woudemully youthful feee, softened as it was by love and heppinees. "You MGT Monsieur de Mabillon, did you say ? " asked Sir Henry, half abstractedly, " No, his son," answered Lady Worth- ington. 4, He, poor man, was killed during the siege of Paris. Murtously enough, when I went to say good-bye to Claude Mammy this afternoon, I found young Gas• pard de nlabillon at his studio, and half recognized him. Afterward Claude told me who he was, and I Went to see him my- self at his rooms. It seems that he and his Meter left Franoe in the spring ; she is now with the Collinsons, at Rilchater, and be trying for work here, but quite unsuo- mesfully." " And you, of course, adopted him at once, and said that I would find einploy• ment," said Sir Henry, smiline. "No, not quite ; I really was very prudent ; my precipitetion in the case of that young architect, the ober day, has taught me wiedom. I made no rash promises; but seriously, Henry, I do wish you could help the poor fellow in someway " "1 will beer him in mind then, but you remember that I hem two of your protegee oommended to my special attentIon ever since June." "Julius Wright, you mean, and that young Mr. Frankland, I wish we mold get thane disposed of. Certainly edl the pro- fessions are very much overstocked." " Why does not Dean Collinson help him ?" asked Sir Henry. " He has done so in a manner by taking the little girl to live with Mao but I fency from what the poor boy said this afternoon, that it went sorely against the grain to take help from that quarter. And that reminds me, Frances, we must really take the deanery by storm as soon as we go home, and rescue little Mademoiselle Mitbillon, who, from Claude's account, is very unhappy there." " A rescue during a morning call I" said Frances, laughing. " I will go with you, if it is only for the pleasure of seeing your tactics, though I am afraid you will never baffle Mrs. Mortlake." "We shall see;" mid Lady Worthington, with a smile of anticipated succees. mo be continued.) Bow to Dress Children. The maternal pride that prompts all mothers to dress their children as well as possible under adverse circumstances, says a sensible writer in the Ladies' Home Jour- nal, also induces them so Emend many an hour over their clothes without; begrudging either the labor or time. Fortunately, the most appropriately dressed girls are the plainest clothed, just at present; bat, by being plain in style, it does not follow that the little frock is not to be of a dainty materiel, tastefully made and in a bottom- ing manner. Do not put too sombre a color upou a sed.faced child; neither have all around sashes on a stout little figure, which requires tapering effects. A little thought will soon settle this part of the task, whioh is the simplest. Blouse suits of the cottons imitating flannel ; lawn -tennis flannel, which is part (rotten ; and all -wool blamandoethite flannel and serge are the most comfortable of play dresses, and for little ones at the seaside nothing can replace them. If trimmed in any manner let it be with cotton or woolen braid, according to the material of the dress, Sew the gathered skirt, which is amply full and hemmed, to a silesie under - waist, and have a sailor blouse, with the regular sailor collar and coat or shirt sleeves with a round neck or tiny band as preferred. Misses wear the blouse suits made in a similar etyle, and their half - worn skirts may be entirely worn out with two or three odd blouses made in this fash- ion, or as belted waists of wash amnia or striped tennis flannel. Nainsook for guimpes may be had ready tucked, or the white embroidery can be used. Separate guimpes are advocated, as they are easier to wash. White frocks are of plain nainsook or embroidered flouncing, 27 inches wide. Those of last season may be remodeled by adding a waist.belt of in. sertion, vest of the same and revers of edg. ing over a tucked gaimpe. It the skirt is too short lengthen it with a row of ineertion let in. Field and striped gingham are always neat with accessories of embroidery, and small figured ateens are frequently made over for little °nee and worn with the inevitable gaimpe, which is called an " American idea," though it originated in Franca. Any dregs to be made over for a young girl can have new sleeves, yoke and skirt border of tartan plaid woolen goods, oat bias. This may be used for any plain, dark woolen goods, and if the renovated deem is of striped material the extra portions added are of plain cashmere. Their sleeves are full, collars high, or pleated and turned over, and the skirts are usually fall and gathered. Round waists, jecket bodices and pointed Jemmies having full fronts are worn by young girls, with f all vests, girdles, half.belts and ouffs similar to those worn by older girls. The only silk addition made to their toilette') is of surah or India silk in small figures. Death Ends a Fifty-Yearscourtship. Clements Bingham, a shoemaker, who died recently at Lurgan in the North of Ireland, will be remembered as a party to one of the longest drawn.out love episodes on record. At the time of his death he was in his 65th year and had been engaged to be married for nearly fifty years. Although, as chronicled in an English contemporary, the course of trete love ran perfectly smooth, the protracted courtship never culminated in matrimony. Every Sunday evening the lovers epent in each other company. Deceased's household aftaire were carefully supervised by hie fiancee, whilst he returned the favor by acting as her financial adviser, and othetwise menet. ingher in business mattere. Both lead for years possessed and carefully treasneed their intended wedding garments. Mudie's great library in London has pat into circulation eines its foundation nearly 4,0004000 books. An annual...ticket costs a guinea, and for this sum a diligent reader can peruse book e that it would cost hire about $1,000 to buy, e-15 trace/Jerry featinala at Whible the game Of leant the dewberry ie the attraction ere now in order nee tug teletAnoOlt wirst Leesun is Mottutat Coottdenee. The °rely pueeible morete betweeti two married people ehould be those whioh ewe confided to either one of tbeui by ettheee. While mute people who cell themeelvee worldly wise will lough at the idea of mob, perfect (madame as this implies, others still, especially the newly enerried who have had email worldly experieuce, will be shocked that I should suggest the keeping of any hied ot 'secret by either wife or leusband from the other. I ion not pre- pared to my that these Mat are not the wiser of the two, Only in that case, when any confidence is proffered to either hum band or wife'the reuipient of it should ineke" hie or her nee olearly underetood, says a en iter in Coe " Domestic Monthly." No personal secret can fitly belong to one only of the two people of whom love and law have made one flesh. The very ideal of marriage had been realized by that old judge wbo had knelt for BO [teeny years to say a last prayer at night beside his wife, that when at last she had left him hie lips were dumb and without her he could not even open his heart to God. One frequent cause of trouble in married life is a want of openness in business mat- ters. A husband marries is pretty, thought• lees girl who has been used to taking no more thought as to how ehe should be clothed than the lilies of the filbld. He be- gins by not liking to refuse any of her requests. He will not hint, as long as he ctem help it, at oars in trifling expenses ; he does not like to associate himself in her mind with disappointments and' self denials. And he, who would have been willing enough in the sweet eagerness to please of leer girlish love, to give up any whines or fancies of her own whatever, fells into habits of careless extravagance and feels herself injured when at last a remonstrance coome How motile wiser would have been perfect opennea in the beginning! There are thousands of little courtesies elect that should not be lost sight of in the creel candor of marriage The saret of a great social stemma is to wound no one'e selt love. The SAME) moret will go far toward ineking marriage happy. Mny a woman who would ounsider It an unpar- donable redeems not to listen with an air of interest to what a more acquaintena is saying, will have not the least scruple in showing her husband that his talk weariee her. Of course the best thing ie when talk does not weary • when two people are so unified in taste that whatever interests one is of equal intereat to the other ; but this menet always be the oaee even in a happy marriage; and is it not better worth while to take the small trouble of paying courteous attention to the one who depends on you for his daily happiness than even TO beetow this courtesy on the acquaint- ances whom it is a transient pleasure to please ? Ideality is a good housemate. That love lasts longer, as well as reaches higher, which idealizes its object; yet there in one dangerous direction which ideality may take. If it deceive us into the belief that we are wedding perfection, then the revel- ation of human infirmities, which is an in- evitable consequence of all marriage oomee upon us with a shock which is sometimes perilous to contentment. The best anti- dote for this rude shock would be a little wholesome self-examiaation. The vainest of us can scarcely cherish a secret belief in our own perfection. We realize in our- selves, when we kook within, the very faults of which we are most intolerant in others. Above mil things, let those who would find in earthly marriage heavenly delight and lifelong sweetness, learn that to love, which includes all good things, includes 1 orgive- ea of sine and gentleness of judgment. Mr. Gladstone on the First ol Genesis. In Good Words for April adr. Gladstone continents at length on the creation story as given in the first chapter of Genesis. He does not think that the days of creation were either days of twenty-four holm or geological periods. " It seems to me," he says, " that the days of the Moseelet are more properly to be described as Chapters in the History of the Creation. That is to say, the purpose of the writer in speaking of the days was the some as the purpose of the historian is when he divides his work into chapters. Hie objeot is to give clear and sound instruction. So that he can do this, and in order that he may do it, the periods of time assigned to each chapters are longer or shorter ac- cording as the one or the other may miuieter to better comprehension of his subject by his readers. Further, in point of chronology, his chapters often overlap. He finds it needful, always keeping his end in view, to pureue some narrative to its close, and then, stepping backwards, to take no some other series of facts, although their exordium dated at a period of time which he has already travereed. The resources of the literary art, aided for the last four centuries by printing, enable the modern writer to confront more madly them diffieultioe of arrangement, and so to present the material to his reader's eye, in text or margin, as to place the texture of his chronology in harmony with the texture of the action he has to relate. The Mosaist, in his endeavor to expound the orderly development of the visible world, had no such resources. Hie expedient was to lay hold on that which to the mind of his time was the best example of com- plete and orderly division. This ores the day, an idea at once simple, definite and familiar. As one day is divided from &nether not by any change vieible to the eye at a given moment, yet effeetually by the broad chasm of intervening night, so were the stages of the creative work several and distinct, even it, like the lapse of time, they were without breech of continuity. Each had it work, each had the beginning and the completion of that work, even as the day is began by its morning and cora. plated and concluded by its evening:" Mr. Gladstone expounds thie ingenious theory at considerably length and in an interest. ing way. There are other readable contri- butions in the number. Deeply Wronged. First Tramp—I'd never go to that house again, Bill. I was insulted there. Bill—How wae it 7 First Tramp—The woman took me for a book agent. Circumstantial Evidence. Landlady—Yon haven't eaten your soup, Mr. Roberts. Is there anything in it ? Boatder — I don't think there is ; I couldn't taste anything. Di the Navv. Captain—How is that fellow I mit down? Dootor—Dead, sir. Captain—Well, don't bury him until he has apologized. "By Order of the Goer" is the title of a new novel by Joseph Hatton. It is written in the style so popular at the 'meant time in treating of Russian and Siberian themes and will be widely read. —A minic le a man who it disdppointed becattee the world wag all made when he got here. eiooM PLOW) ELQVIrA leart Inseam 'Proton, Medical Egaukiner's Standpoint, The health of te person nepentle go emelt upon the soundnea of the oiroulatory emparetus that it is an invariente rule of every (mammy to amept so epedioeteS lox iumireum who is defeats° io tins respect, and espeoially if there is any dimes° of the beam. Let us toereiore run over very rapidly some of these oonditions : In health the blood oiroulates freely throe& every portion of the body by mehno of the action of the great (motion musoular organ called the heart. The heart forces tne blood out of itself through the arteries, whence it peewee through the veseele of small size called the capillaries to every structure of the body and beck again to the heart through the veins. I3etween the various compartments of the heart and et the jcuroture of the arteries with the heart, and in most of the veins are certain valves whittle premed a backward current of the blood. If them Val.VeS Of the heart become affected by disease, ae by rheumatism or gout, they may be con- tracted so as to prevent a free passage of the blood, or they may not be able to close properly, when the blood will by the con- tractioa of the hears be forced backward through the valve as well as forward as it should be. Under these circumstances there would be heard nounds not heard in health. Them sounds are called " mur- murs." If the blood is obstructed in its free passage as above the resulting sound is called an obstructive murmur ; if the blood is forced backward through the partially closed valves, the resulting sound is called a regurgitant murmur. The per - Molnar kind of a mnrmur tekes he name from the valves affected, as for exemple a mitral regurgitant or mitral obstruction murmur indicates thatthe valves of the left side of the heart permits the blood to pees backward through this valve or it does not palm through freely for some reason, generally contraction of the mile of the valve. The various velvet' of the heart may be diseased and ba the seat of mur- murs. The aortic valve for instance, situated at the junction of the large bloon vessel with the heart (the aorta), may pre- sent an obetraction or regurgitant mur- mur. Some valves are more subject to these conditions than others. Tbe come - qualities of valvular obstructions, or a lack of ability to atom properly (regurgitation) are very damaging not only to the heart itself, but to the system at large. The heart being obliged to make great efforte to overcome these conditions will become enlarged like any other muscle, as for in- stance the arm of an athlete or of a black- smith. This enlargement is known as compensatory enlargement. After a while, however, this kind of enlargement will have reached its limit. The pressure still being great to get rid of the blood in the heart,' the muscle still enlarges this time by dilation—the walls become thin and weak and are lees and less able to perform the work required. If there is a weak- ness of the walls structurally, as by fatty degeneration it may happen that the walla will burst, and if this should occur during a paroxysm of grief the indi- vidual would be said to "die of a broken heart," literally true, but the explanation takes away the sentiment. Now these mechanical het affections in their results work backward tie a general thing. Teke for instance mitral regurgitation. Much of the blood flows backwards through the mitral valve, the auricle, one compartment of the heart becoraes enlarged, the lunge become congested, over -full of blood, the general system feels the overflow, there is general dropsy ; the liver is congested, like- wise the spleen and kidneys. The brain is filled with blood, and the pressure ratty be great enough and the blood -vessels diseased sufficiently to admit berating and apoplexy will result, and the mischief is very great and far reaching. It is easy now to see how there may be hemorrhage of the lung in heart dieease; how the right side of the heart may become enlarged by obstruction to the circulation of blood through the lung; how the kidneys may become chronically congested and nnally structurally diseased; how by blood pressare albumen may appear in the urine, and how a great many things may occur that could not before be understood. Murmurs may appear in the heart due to impoverished blood. These are known as functional murmurs. A purely fanc• %Mimi murmur may not necessarily decline an applicant, but he should of coarse be postponed until the (muse disappears. Mur- murs doe to a diseased condition of theheart are known cos organic murmars, and are indicative of organic changes.—Weekly Statement. Quebec as A Military city. Quebec has always been essentially a military city, and ever since the days when the immortal Wolfe mated its frowning heights, it history and traditions have been intimately connected with those of the British army. It is now twenty years since the last of Her Majesty's regiments marched out of the gates of the impregna. ble citadel, built by the Dake of Wellington, but the Union Jack still waves from the flegetaff of the Qaeen's Bastion, overlook- ing the grandest harbor in the world, the gateway of British America; and the even- ing gun is still fired, and lastpoet sounded by men in the uniform of the Royal Artillery. So with the people. The beat families of the city are descendants of old army officers, many Quebec boys, educated at the Military College of Kingston, are to.day serving the Queen in all quarters of the globe; and in the old Anglioan cathe- dral, in whose chancel the tattered colors of Her Majesty's 69th Regiment still hang, the vestry olerk—himeelf a hero of the Light Brigade of Belakleva, and bearer of thirteen wounds—shows to visitors the monuments erected to the memory of sons of Qaebeo who fell at Seringapetem and at Delhi. The English-speaking settleraents near the city were largely founded by mili- tary men. As an evidences of this the cemetery of the country parish of Valcan- tier, on the line of the Lake St. John Rail- way, contains the graves of nineteen Waterloo veterans How many country parishes in England oan eurpass this record ? Mother Knows. Fangle--Lizzie, what time was it when that young man left last night? Lizzie—about 11, mamtna. Mre. Fangle—Now, Lizzie, it was two hours later than that, for I distinctly heard him say, as you both went to the door. „ Just one, Lizzie." You mill fool your mother. The Wanderer Remonstrates. "Go way, you nasty tramp." 4' Madam, I am no tramp. I am a peri. patetio 1 tom Boston." —Gold panementrie Gaffe are chic on a oloth gown. Watches are worn by mitten more than ever before ; or rather there is mote than the usual supply in the jewelry.box, on the Side table, end among the artiolee einem bountably lost—for women neer weer wetohee except en those ocoarsions when they forget to leave there behindawittdge. Det. Muter -MALMO: (et $ae mime itCow b»e0311114 To Adept Male Attie*. "now aid I bp.ppen to take up the dram reform costume?' onin Dr. Mary Walker the other day; I will tell you. When 1 was a little girl 1 beoame ititerated in 0101 of medioal booke which my hither had in tne hone°. That was at °memo N. Y., fifty )(Jars ago. My fetlaer had once studied meditine, though he never pram Coed- Re was a dress reformer. He be. lieved in hygienic food, in eettitary dress, in meny things whioh the people of the day knew little about, From him and from my familierity with tire laws of health drawn from the needioel books I received the inspiration to take up the dress reform. I never wore a corset, nor did any of my four sietere, while WO were at home. My parents tam - ported me in my determination to show the world that I was in earnest—that had the courage of my convictions—by wearing the reform suite. I will never forget the day I first appeared on the street in one of my own costumes. It was not as mannieh as some suits I have since worn, bat it was in fear and trembling thet I opened the door of our house and started for the sidewalk. I was faint and dizzy, and nothing but the sheer exercise of will power kept nee on my feet or continued my limbs in motion. The next day it was a little easier, but though the world has thought me hardened and brazen, I have never seen the day when it was not a trial to me to ap- pear in pablio in reform dress. Every jeer has out me to the gaiek. Many time% have I gone to my room and wept after being publiely derided. No one knows or will ever know wbat it has coat me to live up to my prinoiples, to be consistent with roy convictions and declarations; but I hteve clone it and I am not sorry for it. For nearly thirtmfive years I have worn some form or other of reform suits. I have experimented with different garments, and have worn everything from blouses and bifarcated trousers to a man's outfit, high hat and all." And here the doctor, who is now lying seriously ill at Washing- ton, mulled rather grimly' at the tall hat hanging on the bureeu, conecious that she may never again have use for it.— Washington Correspondent. Remunerative Songs. " She Wore a Wreath of Roses " was sold by the composer for 22 10s. When the copyright OMB to be sold the auationeer's hemmer fell at 2,500. George Baker allowed the " White Squall" to go for 40 shillings, though atter Meesrs. Cramer had realized thousands by it they sent the composer a check for 2100. Leslie's well known song, "Four Jolly Smiths," was recently sold for 2262 10e, and that beautiful Scottish melody, " Afton Water," by Alexander Hume, for 2160. For " There's a Good Time Coming, Boys," Henry Russell received 22, for " The Maniac," 21, and for " Man the Lifeboat," 10s. Yet all these songs have been a source of immense profit to the music sellers. "Grandfather's Cloak" was for a season one of the naost popular ditties of the nine. teenth century. Thousands of pounds were made by it, yet Mr. E.C. Bertrand got only a few shillings for the copyright. " Cheer, Boys, Cheer," which the regi- mental bands played when the British son diers were starting for the Crimea, and from whioh the publishers have realized many thousands, seoured for Henry Russell only 23. Everyone know e the song "Alice, Where Art Thou?" Mr. Wellington Guernsey, the co mposer, offered it to several publishers for a 25 note, brit they refused the bargain, only to find, to their sore annoyance and dismay, that it eventually attained an im- mense eale. Balfe's song, " Come Into the Garden, Maud," was composed for Mesers. Boosey & Co. and was publiehed an the royalty system. Shortly after it became popular Balfe sold his royalty to the firm for 2100. Mow the copyright, if put into' the open market, would run into four figures. From " God Bless the Prince of Wales" (which may be called the Weide national anthem) the publishers are sapposed to have netted thoasands of pounds ; yet all that Mr. Brinely Rioharde, the composer, received for the oopyright was £20. The publishers did afterward give him 100 guineas as a bonus on its success. For that very pretty and popular song, " Kathleen Mayourneen," the corapoeer, Mr. F. N. Crouoh, receivea just £5. The same 81101 was mead to Milton for " Park- dise Lost." The copyright is now in the hands of a London firm, who paid 2552 for it, and poor Crouch some years ago was looking death in the Moe through starvation glasses. Perhaps the most remunerative song of recent theme, so far as the ootnposer was concerned, was "The Lost Chord," from which alone Sir Arthur Sullivan realizes a handsome income. At first Sir Arthur was glad to part with the copyright of his songs for 5 or 10 guineas, but since his name became famous he has published only on the basis of a royalty on each copy sold. The one of his better•known flange which he sold outright was "Sweethearts," for which the lYfesers. Chappell paid him 2700.—New York Mail and Express. Breathe Only Through Your Nose. &Dutch physician has reoently declared that a close connection exists between the exercise of our mental fact:LIMN and disorders of the nose. The opinion is expressed that if it were generally known bow many oases of chronic headache, of inability to learn or to perform mental work, were due to chronic disease of the nose, many of these oases would be easily oared, and the member of child vic- tims of the somalled over pressure- itt edu. cation would be notably reduced. Accord- ing to the above mentioned authority it would seem that breathing through the nose is abeolately indispensable in order to secure the full value of the mental capacity.—Herald of Health. Ho Could Stand It. Old Gent (testily)—Elorrible 1 Phew 1 Beastly 1 Lawyer—What's the trouble, Mr. Gan- grene Old Gent—There's a dead cat outside your door, and I don't see how yon can stand it. Lawyer (relieved)—Oh 1 Is that alt? I don't mind a little thing like that. I have Att office boy that smokes cigarettes, and I'm used to it. Trot Canadian Paoific Railway directors reported to the shareholders at the annual meeting that the road earned $15,030,660 in 1889, of which earn O9,024,601 was laid out for working expenses and $3,779,132 for fixed chorges, leaving the remainder for divkdende and to be carried forward. In the balance Fleet, the most of the road, not inoluding $35,000,000 worth built by the Government and 14,674,916 sores of land unsold, which is valued at $50,848,584, is put down at 9144,686,1000 and with the ad- dition of other items the total invedment le made up to $187,208,257. Several bontem. plated improvementare apeolfied. The Steele le now quoted at 84.