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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1890-8-28, Page 2illeWletioneenteme 'Die War Ory.. Shall Yankee pirates dare to gout �1nr grand old Union Jack? No ! Sill 1irit<tnniarulos the, waves, And 80011 11'M drive them 1)0o41 Tiet blood 1n torrents freely flow,, Canadians shall bo freo Wheno'or it pleased then. to go And fish ic: Behring sea. Where is the: have, the traitor knave, Whose heart is not aflame To stand anis ight for England's right Against tie Yankees' clams ? Is there a sordid crawling wretch, Unworthy ot his birth, Who'd basely yield the foo the field? \Vhy cumbers he the oarth? All who arc loyal to the flag, All patriotic souls Will treat with scoro the Yankees' brag So long as 00000 rolls ; .Old Plnelaud'e might shall bo supreme, Aud it tho so{zuudr.els dare Just touch another sealing ship, There's music in theairl We'll burn t loirseaboard cities down And rava; t ;all the coast; We'll trail t ,tough mud the stripes and stars And scattoll , 1l their host, A braggart, v„in, bombastic crow, The Yauksi s cannot fight ; Onosingle n `1-eoatregimeut Buts ten et tboirs to flight 1 Ob, no I I'd not enlist inyself— I didn't thunk of that! Well, hardly, ftyr my health is poor, And, then, I'm getting fat. My business urads my presence, too, And it would never pay To go and wade in Yankee gore At fifty °outs per day. , But I'm a thorough patriot As any you will tiud ; My folks were ir. E, Loyalists Of the most ultra kiud, And so, although I cannot fight, I'll do my level best Tr, whoop it up both day and nigh To animate the rest I —TorontoGrip, rip, ADOPTED DY THE DEAN A TALE OF TWO COUNTRIES, CE: YPT-ER %II. By the end of July the family at the deanery were a:i at home again ; the dean seem 1 much ;)eater for his stay in Ger- many, and leis s. Mortlake had recovered her spirits, too ; is was only Cornelia who was permanently altered by that time of grief, and shame, and self-reproach. She never lost the lines of sadness which gathered then around her firm compressed lips, out the expression rather softened her faoe than otherwise. B eriha'e marriage had now of course bee' t,ablished. - Is was generally known in B cheater that she had been married abr., f to her cousin, but that her family did reit approve of the connection, so the subjeu; was avoided with the Collineone, and, with the exception of Claude Magnay, none but the vary nearest relatives ever head the reel story. Claude waited impatiently through those enmmer months for Gaspard's reply to his letter. working bard at his paintings, and altercating between hope and despair. At length one reaming he found the long- expecsed letter on his breakfaet•table; it was all that he could possibly wish; Gas• pard was apperently pleased and gratified by hie proposal, end wrote most affeotion- ately. Clande's happiness was complete— hie long waiting had been rewarded; he would lose no more time. He rang the bell at on _e and ordered the ” angel -page " to call n hanson, then unable to touch hie breakfast, he rushed up to his room, tossed a few clothes into a portmanteau, and in ten "dentes was on his way to the station to o ah an early train to -the north. Tue journey rather quieted him down. By the time the fiat barren plain warned him teat he was near Rilohester, he had bacon, s far less hopeful and confident, and who" the magnificent pile of the cathedral appeared in -the distance, a dark mass against the blas sky, he even began to feel doabsfal as to the wisdom of going to the des etry at all. Should he write to her hasten 1 ? He sent his portmanteau to the Spre s 1 Eagle, and walked slowly away from the station. He walked quickly through the silent court, and across the square, graveled approach to the deanery, and rang the fnneral•sounding bell. He asked boldly for Mlle. de Mabillon. She was at home ; he entered the bine-and- tiled hall where he had seen her `last Ch:ietmas with her holly wreath, and felt his courage. rising. The footman, who, of course, remembered him well, turned just as they were crossing the hall—there were visitors in the drawing-room—he believed ma'mseile was in the dining-room—would Mr. Magnay see her there ? Claude eagerly assented, blessing the thoughtful footman, and registering a mental vow that he would ever after tip. him in gold ; then the heavy door was thrown back, he caught a mom- entary vision of mahogany and crimson rep, and the next moment was only oon- soioue that he was in the same room with Esperanoe, that he held her hand in his. They sat down near the open window, he heard her speaking to him in her clear voice, and was vaguely aware that she Booked cool and beautiful in her white dress, among rho hot, ugly surroundings, and that she wore a deep crimson rose, like the one he had given her at the Priory. She was telling him of their stay at the Bea -side ; then she asked if he had Dome to paint another picture in the oathedral, and Glenda suddenly ronsed himself from his italf•dreamy happiness, and replied earneetly " No, I have not come to paint this time. Yon remember, perhaps, that I asked yon for your brother's address, when I was staying here before. Can you guess at all why I wrote to him 2 " He had spoken hesitantingly, his color bpd risen, and he began to wish most heartily that he had written to her. How was ehe to guess from hie floundering soh that he loved her 2 Why had he nn with each an unanswerable question? I peranoe looked np at him with her gravelysweet eyes, her heart was beating fast, but she saw hie embarrassment, and said, gently, " Tell me." Those two words, and the sweet, truthful, upward glance gave him fresh strength; he Stood np and drew nearer to her, leaning against the window -frame. " I wrote to your brother," he began, in a 'few voice, " because I had a favor to ask him. I wrote to ask him if I might come to see you ; and this morning I heard from him—he said Y might.' There was a pause Esperance's eyes were oast down now, her cheeks were glowing ; a little tabby kitten stole in through the French window and played about at her feet, but she did not notice it. " Do you remember," (Mande began again—" do yon remember that snowy Chrietmae eve when you were in the hall decorating ? You thought I did not recog. nine yon then, bat it was at that moment, really, that I first saw--' Ho broke off abruptly. Why did that wretched little kitten distract her attention knit then by springing on to her knee? She took it in her arms, rose from her chair and Dame to the window. Made aiiroked the little intruder in silence, then Esperance looked up, and somehow their eyes met ; he knew that she understood him then, and spoke with sudden oonii' denos. N Eeperanoe l I have no words with me, but I love you with my whole heart and soul 1 Tell mo, darling, could you love nee too, some day ? " He had taken her !candela his, and could feel them trembling ; her color came and went, but she did not keep him long in sus- pense ; us•pence; he knew his answer by the rapturous light that dawned in her eyes ; and it wait with hie arrne round her that ehe sobbed out, " Oh, Claude, now—always —with all the love I Dave i " The lovers were left undisturbed for at least an hour, Hien the oathedral bells began to ring for afternoon service, and Claude rose to go, promising to call and see the dean afterward. Esporauee went up to her room, feeling as it it were all a wouderfal dream, and glad to have some- thing tangible in the shape of Gaspard's letter of congratulation to enure her that this great, awe inepiring joy was real and lasting. She was glad to be alone for a few minutes; then, hearing Cornelia pass along the gallery, she opened her door and palled timidly. Cornelia Dame with inquiry in her eyes, but onoe glsuoe at Esperanoe told her all. " So Ctide Magnay has been here," she said, Teeny. " Ye-, he has been here a long time," said E earauoe, looking down. " And— and I i,,.ve something ,o tell you, dear— he has asked me to be t,ie wife." She had half hid her face on her cousin's shoulder as ehe said this ; then, reassured by Cornelia's embraoe, she wont on more eagerly : " And he loves mo, Cornelia ; he has loved me, he says, ever since Christmas. It seems so strange, so wonderful! Ho says I shall sit with him in hie studio while he paints, and we shall have a dear little oozy honse—think of having a house of one's very own 1 And you must come and stay with ua, Cornelia, and then you will be able to hear all the great people preach, and go to all the lectures. Dear Cornelia he is so good ! so wonderful 1 It seems almost too much joy 1" Cornelia kissed her repeatedly, but could not speak ; then suddenly she turned away, hurriedly took off her spectacles and wiped them. " Will yon like to come to the service or not ? " she asked, in an odd, choked voice. Esperance said she would go, and the cousins went down stairs hand in hand. Claude joined them as they went out, and Cornelia spoke a few words of congratu- lation to him—kind, true words, with no effasion. He looked so radiantly happy that she half trembled to think of hie inter. view with the dean ; bat it paesed off better than might have been expected. The dean had a great regard for Claude ; he was flattered that he had thought of his niece, and there was nothing to be said against the marriage. " Dear uncle," she said, eagerly, " I feel that we owe everything to you. If it had not been for your kindnees to me I should never have seen Claude ; there is only one more thing I want, and that is your bleu- hag." dean was touched. He put his hands on the two young heads, and his words were usually fervent, then for a few minutes they all talked natnrally, and before long Claude had begged for the keys of the oathedral, and had wandered away with Eaperance for an hour's uninterrupted peace before dinner. It was while they were standing in the south aisle, beside the crusader's tomb, that he drew out a ring and plaoed it on Eeperance'e finger. " Do you remember," he said, smiling, " that walk which we had onoe together, when you told me your motto was ' Jl'sperez toujours ?' I thought we would keep it still. If you had said ' No' this afternoon I should have kept the ring and the motto for my comfort." Esperanoe looked at the beautiful little ring and saw what he meant. Is was from his own design ; a wide band of gold with the motto in gaaiutly carved letters around it. Nothing could have delighted her more. There was no reason for a prolonged engagement, and before he left Rilohester it was arranged that the marriage should take place at the beginning of the next year. On the whole that autmn passed happily; Mrs. Mortlake was quite in her element at such a time, and was much more kind than Esperance had expected ; indeed, after she had heard that Bella was to be a bride - maid, she was never tired of discussing the wedding•day. Cornelia was, however, the real sympathizer, and it was she who first asked Esperance if there was no one she would like invited to the wedding. The Worthingtone and Frances Neville were, of oonrse, to be present, and Esper- ance remembered Mme. Lemercier, and wondered if Mr. Henderson would allow Maggie to come to. These, with an uncle of Claude's, a cousin, who acted as best man, and Mr. White, the minor canon made np the small wedding•party, for both Claude and Eeperanoe were singularly destitute of relations. Mrs. Mortlake was quite sorry that the procession of guests would not be more imposing ; she tried hard to find a few friends for the occasion —sent a pressing invitation to Mr. Hender- son to accompany his girl, and persuaded old Mrs. Pasemore to risk coming out in winter. Then Esperance had to choose who should marry them, and, having con- sidered the various cathedral dignitaries for some time, she finally selected the good- natured percentor as the most kind-hearted among them, and a friend of Clande's as well. When this was arranged Mrs. Mort. lake suggested that the precentor's eldest little girl would look charming as a bride. maid, and was exactly Bella's height, whereas Katie was shorter, and would, no doubt, pair much better with Maggie Hen. dereon. Esperance, of coarse, agreed to this, and was a good deal relieved that Christabel should take such an interest in the preparations, being quite well aware if this had not been the case the autumn would have been a time of great discom- fort. CHAPTER XXXIII. Lady Worthington was delighted to hear of Clande's intones, and felt much settle - faction in remembering the share she had had in bringing the two together. She and Frances saw a great deal of Esperance, and were very anxious that she should spend Christmas at the Hall; but she was obliged to decline the invitation, as she felt sure that Cornelia, at least, would be grieved to lose her at all before the 'wedding day. This had been fixed for the 6th of Jannary, and the time was drawing very near. Ciaude came down for a few days at Christmas, but he was obliged to go back to town again to make the lanai arrange - meats ; as ,;hey intended to be abroad for some menthe ho had a good deal to do, and at the last was so much hindered that he did not reach Rilohester till the latest train on the eventing of the fifth. That was a strange day to Esperance— and rather a dreary one. Frances Neville came to see her in the morning, and in the afternoon ehe ehe drove to the Priory to no Mrs. Passmore, hurrying back with the expectation of Claude's arrival. Instead of thee, however, there was a telegram to say that he meet come by the later train instead, and, although the meeting was only postponed for a few hous,she couldd net helpfeeling disappointed and de resectd.While ehe was sitting rather drearily with the telegram in her hand, Mrs, MOS - lake came In with a dietarbed faoe. " Where have you been ?" ehe asked, in a reproachful tone. " So many oallers have been here wishing to nee you and the presents—you really ought to have stayed in this afternoon." am very sorry ; I went to the Priory to see Mrs. Pasemore." " Oh 1 that is why the carriage i3 out 1 Yon really are very inconeiderate, Eeper. ance. i snppose you kept the horses etand. ing qt the door for ever so long in that pouring rain I Yon ought to .bemora thoaghtfut. I think it's the least yon can do when you live in other people's houses." " I am very sorry," repeated poor Eeper. anoe, " but Cornelia told me to drive." Mrs. Mortlake muttered something about the mistake of having two mistresses, and left the room, while Eeperanoe orouohed down beside the fire and had a good cry. She was tired and disappointed, and the gloomy twilight of the dining -room made her feel still more dreary and forlorn. And to -morrow was to be her wedding -day 1 She tried hard to realize it, and felt a little sad as she remembered how far away Gaspard was, and wondered it other people felt as lonely es she did on the eve of marriage. And then that bitter reproach which Mrs. Mortlake was so fond of using about "othe people's houses " stung her afresh, and she felt that it was hard and oruel to have made it on this last day. Her dismal thoughts were not put to flight till Cornelia returned from the cathedral, and Doming into the room was surprised to find her alone, curled up on the hearth rug. " Claude does not come till half past ten,' she said, mournfully. " Oh ! I am sorry for that," said Cor• nelia, kindly, Then stirring the fire into a blaze, and glancing again at Esperanoe, Wby, you have been crying; how is that, dear ? " " It was lonely, and Christabel was vexed with me, and I think she will be glad when I'm gone, and somehow I felt so wretched," replied Esperanoe, nestling np to Cornelia in the way which she had ouly lately dared to do. Christabel will really miss you a great deal," said Cornelia, deoidely, " whether she says so or not. I am sure she will, for you have done a great deal for her ; and you know, Esperance, how mach I shall miss you." Cornelia could not say more ; she could not tell Esperanoe of the wonderful change which nad been wrought in her lite during the last year and a half, of the oold, hard, sale -contained nature, which had first been softened by the sight of her love for Gas- pard, of the long -dormant womanly tender. nese which had been awakened at the time of her illness. Reserved she must always be, but no longer with the cold snspicione• nese of former times. Eeperanoe quits understood those few words, and answered them with snoh gratitude for the love which she herself had stimulated, and such lavish endear. ments, that Cornelia, could not help feeling deeply touched. Atter that they talked for a good half hoar about Claude, by which time Eeperanco was quite herself again, and ready to take the greatest possible interest in the arrival of the Hendersons and Mme. Lemercier. The 0th of January dawned gloomily enough ; it was one of those still, cold winter days, when not a ray of sunlight seems able to pierce the gray, cloudy atmosphere. The Rilohester people looked euepioionsly at the sky, and quoted the proverb abont the bride whom therein fella on, and even the family at the deanery felt depressed, exoept indeed the little bride herself. Nothing could affect her happy serenity fleet day. Frances and Mme. Lemeroier helped to dreas her in the Indian muslin which Gas- pard had sent home, relieved by its pretty trimming of airy -light ewan's•down, and tiny sprays of myrtle and orange -blossom. It was a little too simple to please Mme. Lemercier, " too much like a dress for a premiere communion, oherie," she explained. "I don't think it need be any better than that, dear madame," said Esperanoe, simply. Mme. Lemercier hardly understood the remark, but she expressed complete satin• faction when the tiny wreath and veil of tulle were added, and declared that the tout ensemble was perfect when Clande's bouquet of Christmas roses and maiden• hair was brought upstairs—he bad arranged it himself, and would not admit any other flower. For a few minutes she was left alone ; then, when the last party of guests had etarted for the oathedral, she went quietly down -stairs to the drawing•room, expeoting to find her uncle there. The room was empty, however ; she waited till the carriage was annoaneed, then feeling jest a little forlorn, ehe oroseed the hall and knocked at the library door. The dean was bending over a great dusty volume. " Oh 1 i it time, my dear ? " he said, looking np. " I'll just finish this page, and perhaps you would see to that." He held up a white glove which had lost a button, and she took it obediently, and ran to look for herjwork•box. In spite of the hindrance of trembling fingers, the glove was ready for the dean long before be was ready for it ; however, at last he did get up, carefully placed a marker in his book, adjusted hie white tie, put on the gloves, and turned to his niece with a little bow. " Now, my dear, I am at your eervioe." For a moment she felt an unutterable longing for her father, but she would not allow herself to be really chilled by the dean's frigid manner, knowing that he intended to be kind. She lifted np her fade to be kissed, and then allowed herself to be led in silence to the carriage. The dean was very absent that morning; he muttered to himeelf about somebody's comet whioh was expected, and made numerous little calculations during the drive. Esperance said nothing, but held her Christmas roses tightly, and wondered whether Gaspard was thinking of her. Then they reached the west door ° of the oathedral, and the dean suddenly roaeing himself gave her hie a -m, and led her into the nave. The gloom was intense, and the darkness and awe of the building would have chilled Esperance, had it not been for Wagner's beautiful march which' pealed forth from the organ as she entered. Claude joined them within the choir gate, and they passed on through the crowd of eager, curious faces, to the altar. Cornelia, from her place at the east end, watched anxiously, but she could not feel otherwise than thankful and happy when the little bride name into eight, a bright form in the surrounding gloom. It could not be oalled an imposing procession. Mrs. Mortlake, indeed, was vexed by its extreme simplicity, and longed for morebrides•maide and more elaborate dresses, but nevertheless there was something very striking about it. The dean, more ereot than usual, looked quite patriarchal, with hie eiivery hair and flow. ing white beard ; Claude was eager -eyed and wistfully grave ; while between them was Esperanoe, with her radiant brown eyes fall of tender awe, and her sweet tranquil faoelooking almost as ohlld-like se those of her little bridea.maide. The service proceeded, end the darkness grew more and more oppreaeive, while the vows were interohanged between"Claude" and Esperance Bien.Aimee "; ,the voioee of the choir sounded far away in the gloom as they ohanted the psalms, and the pre - center could hardly sec to road the prayers. It was not till the very end of the service, when IYiendelseohn's hymn " Now thank we all our God " was being sang, that the light became suddenly brighter, and as Claude led hie wife from the altar, a gleam of sunshine penetrated the olear•story windows, and the dreary, oppressive obscurity was at once changed to golden, mellowed brightness. But the transformation Boone that awaited them without was still more won• derful.. As the great west doors were thrown open, and the pealing belle overpowered the distant notes of the organ, a brightness more dazzling than the winter sunlight greeted them. The heavy, ominous clouds had discharged themselves, and during the service there bad been a brief hut heavy spoor-storin ; now the ground was oovered with a veil of the purest white, the heavy eky had changed to clear, frosty bine, and tho day seemed turned from mournful doom to rejoicing. Mrs. Mortlake would have been greatly disturbed, had she known that the bride and bridegroom wore actually obliged to wait while the vergers swept the snow from the carpeted path, but happily they themselves did not the least mind. " How beautiful it all looks," said Eeper- anca, as they drove through the oilent, snowy streets, " and I am so glad the sun has some out to welcome us." " " replied Claude, " this accounts for the darkness just now ; it ought to be a good omen for our life, darling—brightness and light after gloom." " Yes," said Esperanoe, smiling quietly, " and a reason and purpose in the gloom all the time." CHAPTER XXXIV. Esperanoe had never traveled mnoh before, and her freshness and naivete, com- bined with a very real appreoietion of the beautiful, made her a perfect traveling aompanion ; while the freedom from ail formality and restraint, and the constant sense of love and protection, made that year of wandering one of the happiest of her life. Of the actual idleness of a honey. moon they had none. Claude worked assiduously from the very first, but the work took him to all the moat beautiful planes, and was nevor allowed to interfere with her comfort or enjoyment. They spent the winter in Italy, wandering on from place to plaoe as they pleased, with no fixed limit to their stay. It was while they ware spending a few days et a little village near Revenue, that Eeperanoe first learned Claudine strong predilection for waifs and strays. A certain black -haired, large -eyed boy in tattered garments, had watched him for some time when he was sketching one morning ; this was no novelty, as he not unfregaently had a small crowd of children to watch him ; but this particular boy appeared day after day, at first looking on intently and in silence, but afterward venturing on intelli- gent questions. The third day he brought a rough attempt of his own to show, and Claude, struck by its merits, believed he had discovered a seoond Giotto ; the boy undoubtedly had great talent, and Claude at once offered to help him. Esperanoe was amnsed and pleased at this novel addition to their party. Beppo was a sharp boy, and was useful besides in fetching and carrying ; he also cleaned Claude's palette and washed his brnehes, and seemed to bo making real progress in his studies. But unfortunately onemorningClaude found his paintbox ransacked, and all hie most val- uable brushes missing—Beppo bad myster• lowly disappeared in the night, and was never again heard of ! One day Claude came in with an open letter in hie hand, and his face brimming over with delight and triumph. " Cherie," he said, brightly, " what do you say to epending the winter in Auvergne 2 " She gave a little cry of joy. They had always talked of going home through France, but to spend the winter there had never occurred to her. " Yon would really like it, then ? " said Clande, with satisfaction. " I have been thinking of it for weeks, but the tiresome proprietor of the ohatean was so long in writing, and I did not want you to be dis- appointed." " What 1 we shall really be at the dear old chateau 2 " exclaimed Esperance, joyously. " Yes, the present proprietor is away from home, and he has agreed to let it to me for four months. Now at last I shall be able to make good that promise I gave you so long ago—to paint your dear mountains of Auvergne." And so it happened that on a lovely October evening Esperance found herself once more in her old home. The return might have been painful to her in other circumstances, but with her hand in Claude's she could look with happy recognition, and tender but not regretful memories of the peat, at all around her, from the beantifni Mont d'Or itself to the dear old gray chateau, with its ruinous walls and clinging ivy. It was all wonder- fully little altered—the tiny village in the valley ; the convent where she had spent her long afternoons ; the grassy terrane on whioh she had so often walked with her father ; the half -ruined pigeonnier, to the top of whioh Gaspard used to parry her to the imminent peril of both their nooks ; lastly, the great door itself, with its rough- hewn stone steps, and a little crowd of old friends with an eager welcome. Those autumn days were vary restful and happy ; she used to take her needle- work and sit beside him while he painted, wandering about when she pleased among the woods in search of late flowers, or rest- ing when tired in a cleverly contrived hammock whioh Claude used to rig up for her. Then, when the light began to fail, and the ranz des vaches echoed among the mountains from the clear voioee of the village girls, Claude would pack up his easel and hie painting apparatus, and they would go back to the old chateau through the rustling fallen leaves and the golden - brown woods. It was not until the trees were quite bare and leafless that Claude was obliged to go out alone to his work ; and the painting did not prosper half so well then, for somehow there was always a good mouse for a speedy return to the ohatean—either the lights were not favor- able or it was too gold, or he had forgotten some very necessary implement. But per- haps this was not very blameworthy, for in ono of the quaint, rough rooms of the chateau, there awaited him a study of life worth all. the mountains of 'Auvergne pat together On Christmas eve a little son had been born to them, and though Alphonse Noel, as they called him, was heir to nothing bat his father's genius, the villagers were enthnsiastio in their delight, and with M. le Cure's leave pealed the chnroh belle till the mountable rang with the eoboes. The baby grew and thrived, and was pronounced by every one to be just like a De Mabiilon. Claude wondered what Dean Collinson would say but he himself was well content that Noel should have inherited his mother's radiant, ever•varying brown eyes, her soft, dark hair, and southern completion. Their time at the chateau wee now nearly over; ePrly in February they were to return to England, and Esperance began to dread, all the ;farewells ; however, they passed off more happily than she had feared. Claude arranged a village fete in one ot the great disused rooms, and all.Mabillon Dame to pay its respeots to " madame" and her baby. Nor was she to go back to England alone ; Marie Bonnier had pleaded hard to be allowed to act as bonne to little Noel ; and Esperanoe, who knew well enough how faithful and devoted were Frontal ooantry servants, gladly accepted her. Claude was guilty of one other extravagance whioh perhaps pleased Ealieranoe more than any- thing -he ineieted on conferring a peneion on Pierre, Javotte'e son, in memory of his mother's self-denying devotion. And Pierre was not too proud to reoeive the eubstautial souvenir, bat gratefully kissed madame's hand, purohaeecl a cow with part of his newly acquired riolies,and began to save np for his little girl's dot. The return to London was not without its pleasures, Eeperanco looked forward to arranging her now home, and she was anxione to see Lady Worthington and Frances again. Bertha and George, too, had left their German home, and were now living at Bayswater, and the two cousins made many plane for meeting. Dean Collinson still refused to see his daughter ; and though Cornelia had written, she had not been np to town since their return, so that Bertha welcomed Esperance doubly, longuig to see a home face once more. In spite of that, however, the meeting was a very trying one ; Bertha was strangely eubdued and changed, and Esperance was dismayed at her pale, worn face, and hollow eyes ; the old nonchalant expression had oertainlygnite vetnished,'but it was replaced by a look of sorrowful, harassed anxiety, whioh made Esperanoe's heart ache. (To be continued), CARD PLAYERS' SUPERSTITIONS. Strange Notions cf Hen who Indulge iu the Seductive Game. While I am aware that the number of superstitions is lesion, says a writer in American Notes and Queries, I send you a few curious ones pertaining to playing cards whioh may be interesting. Most of these superstitions I have geth• ered from persons I have niet, and, while some of them " did not believe in foolieb enperotitions," they would; nevertheless, at times when fortune was against them, try some little superstitions aot " jaat to see it it would make any difference in their luck." One of the moat common superstitions is that where a card player who is no having good luck gets up and solemnly walks around hie chair three times in order to propitiate fortune, or the player will call for a new pack of Dards. The partners in a game of cards who have the grain of the table running between them are also supposed to be helped thereby. This, I am told, is an Irish superstition. If you are a card player, and not having a table in your room, start to play cards on the bed, then beware, for this is an act sure to bring miefortnnes innumerable. Never throw a pack of Dards at any one, as the aot will bring all kinds of bad look to the person struck. When you have a pack of cards that have seen their best days do notcommit the imprudence of giving them away. It is also bad luck. The proper plan is to burn them, and preferably with pepper and salt. The belief that a large number of people have in the efficacy of fortune-telling by meds ie too well known to dwell upon. These people, when a fortune teller is not convenient will often pink ont their own fortune by means of divers kinds of soli- taries. Then there is the old proverb : " Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.' Mrs. lilclriillan'e Opinion. " Every young woman who desires to be and to appear intelligent, must be well read in the general information of the day," said Mrs. James McMillan, wife of the junior senator from Michigan, who is an old Hamilton (Ont.) boy. " At the same time, I think a great many young ladies devote a great deal too much attention to reading newspapers. This class of publi- cations is now so voluminous, and their contents so largely made up of personal gossip, that one may read and read, and yet gain very little that is of any praotioal ad- vantage, that is worth remembering, or that can be remembered without a severe mental effort, because it is so trifling in charaoter. The great object of a girl's ednoaticn should be, of course, to fit her to perform the duties of home. It is not necessary for the acquirement of this know- ledge that she should scrub floors or go into the kitchen to scour pots.and pans and wash dishes. If a girl is brought up where she has an opportunity to observe her mother's manner of superintending domes. tic affairs, she will readily learn all that is necessary for the mistress of a household to know." For Saving Life at Sea. An act has been passed by the English Parliament under whioh every ship and steamer going to sea must be provided with sufficient boats, or with life saving rafts,to accommodate every person on board, grew or passengers. A London firm has oppor- tunely patented a raft which may be folded np so that it will take no more room upon a ship's deck than does an ordinary life boat, and wbioh may, in fact, be made a chuck for the reception of the life boat, and both boat and raft, by an ingenious, but really simple contrivance, may be put overboard by the same set of davits, and the raft follows the boat so quickly that the two are sent afloat within a couple of minntee of each other.—New Orleans Picayune. John Burns and His Straw [tat. John Barns, the socialist, bas, says the Methodist Times, refused an offer of £20 for his famous straw bat from a publioan, and he says he would have refused £1,000,000, beoanse he knew that it was only wanted to entice his friends into the public house and so increase a demoralizing trade. With men like him leading and inspiring the laboring community there is hope for a giorione future;, in the social life of our lower classes. In the bad old days strikes and labor agitations were concocted over the ale bench, and too ranch of it is still done ; but better times are coming, and the workingman is learning who are hie friende and foes, -London Star. The Pope Orders a Tunnel. In consequence of the agitation aroused by the pope's visit to the Belvedere, hi holiness bee ordered his architect, Conn Veepignani, to put the oonrt•yard of the Belvedere in connection with the Vatican, either by a little tunnel or kind of bridge. It seems likely that the tunnel will bo ohoeen.--•London Daily News. The berries of the magna plant, a small evergreen native of Chili, where it grows along the banke of mountain etreame, are being need to a considerable extent for coloring wines on the Continent. France is by far the largest consumer NO IBURIALS ALIVE A Medical Journal !Jaye Such Stories arae, Unfounded. Very comforting news is brought to Show who stand in deity &tread of being buried alive in the current number ot the 2JIedfcaC and Surgical ,Reporter, which in an editorials says ; " The fear of being buried alive haunts the minds of so many of our fellow -mere that it may hardly be regarded as strange. in some respects, that it was reoently re- ported that a number of physicians in et. city near Philadelphia had banded them- selves together to devise means to prevent• snob a catastrophe in their own case. And, when physicians could: take such measures in view of az supposed danger, it is not remarkable that the community should have a epeoial and: exaggerated horror of being buried alive, But this horror is as without reason as is the timidity of the pbysioiane referred to. There seems to be no good ground whatever for supposing that it is possible in thia enlightened age for any person to be come mitted to the grave while yet living. Stories reporting ouch occurrences are by no means rare ; bat any one who examines them closely will certainly remark that they are wholly lacking in originality, and that there is in fact so strong a resemblance. between them as to excite the euspieiort that one bas been copied from another. In- vestigation will show, too, that this suspi- cion is a well•foundedone ; at least such hate been the experience of the Medical and Sur- gical Reporter, who has for some years fol- lowed up every story of burial alive which came to his notice, and always with the result of learniog that they were false, or of failing to learn anything about their origin. The most recent occurrence of this eork occurred in connection with a story pub- lished in the daily papers on June 101h, 1890, of a man who was said to have died and to have beou buried alive in Chicago. After tracing the story from one point of the newspaper world to another it was forted to have originated in a Chicago. paper, whioh said the man had been sent ae dead from a hospital in that city on February 23rd, and that afterward he had. been buried, that the bariers had heard sounds like knocking on the ooflia lid, but went ahead with the burial, and: that after an interval the grave was opened and the coffin lid removed to disclose that the man bad turned over, torn his hair outs, buried his fingers in his flesh, and so on. At the end of our investigation we received: a letter from the hospital stating that it never had a patient of the name given, that no person died in the hospital on the date given, and treating the story as a hoax. The Aeseciated Press agent in Chicago,. who started the story round the country. on being asked if he thought there was any truth in it, replied to our representative: "I am not supposed to believe everything: these fellows (meaning the reporters) write.' " This is the latest story, and it Ulna- trates the unreliability of all that we know anything about, and the utter lack of. principle which usually lies at the bottom. of them. As physicians we may by pub- liebing the falseness of such stories da something to allay the awful fears which: they excite in the minds of many of our fellow -beings ; and we may hope that those who manage the daily newspapers will some day properly punish reporters who furnish them with such cruel inventions." In the Quiet Country. I had been staying at an Indian farm- house all night and next morning the farmer said he would give me a lift iota town. When he was ready to go he called. to his oldest boy : " Bill, is that shotgun loaded with saib for tramps 2" " Yes." " Got the gates shut so that no mad. dogs can get in ?" "' Yee." " Well, keep a lookout for wind -milli lignthing.rod, organ and sewing machine men. Don'.t have any truck with the ped- dlers or poultry•bnyers. Don't let in any patent gate or wire fence men. Keep clear o' patent bay forks, and don't waste no time on churns, force -pumps, ice-cream freezers, bag-boldere, patent barrels, 1',nit trees, wagon jacks nor owl traps." Nem "And say Bill !" called the old man after we had driven forty or fifty rode, " don't buy no care for the heaves, no fire- proof ireproof paint, no patent gate hinges, pitch- forks, nor encyclopedias." "" New We had driven about three miles where he suddenly palled up with an exclamation. of disgust. " What is it ?" " Hang my hide, if I didn't clean forget to warn Bill agin Bohemian oats, New Zealand clover, and them pesky insurance, agents 1 Well, it's too late now, but I guess I kin git back home afore the mob' over- powers him."—New York Sun. How Some of Them Do It. " John," said the accident agent, " be sure and drop in at old Corn -Judge's as yom pass this morning, and express your sym- pathy over the lose of his brother in the railroad accident yesterday. Express mina. to him also." " But old Curmudge bad no brother ire the accident," said the patient solicitor. Well, what in all that's unholy has that got to do with it?" said the agent cheerily, " all he can do is to tell you ao.' " Bat it might nnneceesarily alarm him, persisted the solicitor. " That's the point ; that's exaotly the: point," returned the aocident agent cheerily, "Alarm him as mach as possible. Hia own policy rens out next month, and it iee one of our duties to remind our patrons!. that in the midst of life we are surrounded! by aooide a s." '" And John," he added, as the patient solicitor departed on his errand, " taloa this banana peel and put it carefully on the front steps. It is by attention tot, details that the symmetry of perfect bad - nese is built up.—The Insurance Herald. Canoe for Sneplelon. " Say, Bobbette, did you ever propose to my wife ? " " Why do you ask?" "Oh 1 because, when I gave her your love, as you told me in your letter,she paid, Chestnuts.' " Her Dilemma. He—Ethel, I'm ashamed of yon 1 I saw that beastly foreigner kiesing yon repeat- edly. Wby didn't yon tell him to stop? She—I couldn't, dear." He—Couldn't I What do yon mean? She -I can't speak his language.—Judy.. The American Furniture Gazette has heard of; the following plumber's bill'. "Mesers.Blank & Co., Dr., to John Smith. For firing pump, 50 cents. For knowing how, M." The bolo flower, discovered by Dr. Sohadenberg growing upon a volcanic; mountain in one of the Phillippine islands. is perhaps the largest flower in existence, being about three feet in diameter and: wenty.two pounds in weight. 1