Loading...
HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1891-8-6, Page 6An Awl'OlL �4e Remo There'e fellow—met felleW Is just the proper name— 'Who just drops in a iniunte, Who hasn't come to stay ; Ann wheu you very feebly I Just whisper, Glad you came,' He grabs t chair and, draws it up, And settles for the clay, • He dabbles with your mucilage, And spoils a pen or two ; He jabs things with your SQ/SSOrS, Ana the point is sure to break ; He asks you what yott're writing, And proceeds to read it through, And point out great improvements , You so easily could made. He tell,s you a the elothes he's got, The clothes he's going to get, Aboet his- tennis suit and ties, And such important things ; He dilates on the races, And "dont you -want to botr From one thing to another goes. But to his c.;hair he clings. He talks abont the ladies, For he's always some affaim ; He reads you several samples Of the letters he receives; He turns round to your typewriter, And critically stares; He's simply irresistible, So he himself believes. And when he's killed $10 worth • Of time as dead as Saul, And given you a headache That will last you for a day, He sweaters out imagining You've revelled in his call, And that it simply breaks your heart To see him go away. —Boston 00141101% TWICE MARRIED. CHAPTER XXL There were two persons in the room beside e the little one : Thorne and the doctor, a grave, elderly man, who bowed to the lady, and, after a whispered word with Thome, withdrew. Ethel sank on her knees beside the low bed end stretched out yearning 11/11IS to the child; the mother -love awakened at last in her heart and showing itself in her face "My baby !" she moaned, " my little one, don't you know your mother? Open your beautiful eyes, my darling, and look at me; it is yonr mother who is calling you 1" Her bonnet had fallen off, the rich wrap and furs were trailing on the carpet where she had fiang them'her a,rins were gathered close around thelittle form, her kisses rain- ing on the pallid face, thegolden hair. The sleet beat on the window panes ; the air of the room stirred as though a dark wing pressed it; the glow of the fire looked angry and fitful; a great, black linnet of coal settled d.owa in the grate and broke; in its sullen heart blue flames leaped and danced weirdly. The woman knelt beside the bed, and the man stood near her. In the room there was silence. The child's eyes -unclosed, a gleam of recognition dawned in them, he 'whispered his mother's name and put his hand itp to her neck. Then his looked turned to his father, his lips moved. Thorne knelt beside the pillow and bent his head to listen; the little voice fluttered and broke, the hand fell away from Ethel's neck, the lids drooped over the beautiful eyes. Thorne raised the tinyforin in hie arm, the golden head rested on his breast, Ethel leaned over and clasped the child's hands in hers. A change passed over the little face—the last change—the breathcame in feeble, fluttering sighs, the pulse grew vreaken weaker still, the heart ceased beating, the end had come. Gently, peacefully, with his head on his &tiler's breasts, his hands in his mother's clasp, the innocent spirit had slipped from its mortal sheath, and the waiting angel had tenderly received it. Thorne laid the child gently down upon the pillows, pressing his hand over the ex- quisite eyes, his lips to the ones that would neer pay back kisses any more; then he rose and stood erect. Ethel had risen also, and confronte& him, terror, grief, and be- wilderment, fighting for mastery in her face —in her heart. Half involuntarily, she stretched out her hands, and made a move- ment as though she would go to him; half involuntarily he extended his arms to re- ceive her; then, with a shuddering sob, her arms fell heavily to her sides, anclaae folded his across his breast. CHAPTER XXIL lira. Smith grew daily stronger, More like herself. Time and care and ceaseless affection had wrought their beneficeritwork, and mind and body were recovering a, healthier tone • her interest revived; and her hold on lfe renewed itself. As the weeks drifted into months her condition became so materially improved that' the anxiety of her family subsided and left room for other thoughts and interests; and finally her health was sufficiently re- established to admit of her husband's leav- ing them in the picturesque French village, while he returned to America. The family would winter abroad and re- turn to America in the spring for the wed- ding, which Blanche had decided should take place in lune. June was a lovely month, she thought, past all the uncer- tainty of spring, and with the glory of sum- mer beyond it. Some weeks after General Smith's return to New York, Nesbit Thorne joined his relatives in the pretty Mediterranean vil- lage. The general had found his nephew so changed, so worn in mind and body, that the kindly old soldier became seriously alarmed, and insisted on trying the remedy uppermost in his mind. He had come, with unswerring faith, to regard the south of France as an unfailing sanitarium, and he took his nephew promptly in hand, and gave him no peace until he consented to go abroad, never leaving him until he had secured his stateroom, and seen him em- barked on his voyage. Truly, Thorne was getting into a very bad way. His was not the nature that emits sweetness when bruised ; it cankered and got black !mots through it. And he knew no physician ta' whom he could go for healing ; no powen greater than his own, to set kis disjointed life straight. Love and faith, alike, stood afar off. The waters of desolation cncornpassed his soul, without a sign of olive branh or dove. .Norma, watching him with the eyes of her heart, as well as those of her under- standing, learned something of all this. Thorne did not tell her, indeed he talked little in the days they spent together, walk- ing or sitting on the warm dry semi of the coast, and of himself not at all. His pain was a prisoner, and his breast its Bastile. But Nerma learned it, all the same, and learned, too, that never while that stormy heart beat m a hying breast would it beat for her. he faded the conclin giOn squarely, accepted it, and took her resolution. Norined was a proud woman, and she never flinched ; the world should know` nothing of her pain, ehould never , gaeara that her life held Might of disappoint - merit. A letter from Blanche to Berkeley, written within the following month, contained the result of Normass resolution, " You will be surprised," Blanche wrote, "to her of Norma's sudden marriage tet Hugh Castleton, which took place three days ago, at the !Muse of the American afieieter here in Paris. We were aznazed—at least mamma and 1Were—when Ilitglz joined Us here, and after a long interview with Norma, informed us it he had cabled father Lor consent and that the ceremony wan to take place &truest immediately. Hugh, as perhaps you know, is a brother of Mrs. Viecent, Nonna's intimate friend, and he has been in love with Norma time out of mind. I de not like the marriage, and feel troubled and sick at heart about it. It has been PO hastily arranged, and Norma isn't one bit in loye with her husband. ckud don't pretend to be. Hugh is patient and de. voted to her, which is my strongest hope for their happiness in the future. It seezna to rne 50 unnatural to make a loveless marriage. I can't understand a Wornan'e doing it. Nesbit is going to Palestine and the East. He is miserably changed; his hair is beginning to streak with gray at the temples already, and the lines about his mouth are getting hard. Think of how that selfish woman wrecked his past, and ask yourself if there is any justice—not meroy—bare justice, in letting her wreck his future, now that the child's death has severed the last link that bound them together. Has anything been spared Nesbit? Has not ht heart been wrung again and again ? Put yourself in kis place, Berkeley, and ecknowledge that after so muck tempest he is entitled to some sun- shine, How can Pocahontas stand it? Could I, if it were you? Could I endure to see you suffer? Do ..you think that if you were in Nesbitrs place I would not come to you, and put my arms around you, and draw your head to my bosom and whisper— ' Dear, love, if to all this bitterness I can bring one single drop of sweet, take it freely, fully from my lips and from my love ' ? " CHAPTER XXIIL Berkeley Mason went on to New York in ample time to meet the incoming Cunarder. His sister accompanied him, and as it was her first visit to the Empire City, Mason arranged to have nearly a week for lion- izingbefore the arrival of the travellers. Percival was allowed to come from Hoboken and join the party, in order that his mother's eyes might be gladdened by the sight of him the instant she should land. At the last moment, General Smith was prevented from joining his family in Paris according to his original intention, and having old-fashioned notions relative to the helplessness of ladies, and no sort of confi- dence in Blanche's ability to distinguis' h herself as her mother's courier and pro- tector, he cabled privately to Nesbit Thorne, requesting hirn to defer his Eastern journey for a month, and escort his aunt and cousin home. Thome changed his plans readily enough. He only con- templated prolonged travel as an expedient to fill the empty days, and if he could be of service to his relatives, held himself quite at their disposal. Pocahontas was ignorant of this change of programme, or it is certain that she would have remained in Virginia. Her feelings toward Thorne had undergone no change, but, after the long struggle, there had come to her a quiescence that was almost peace. So worn and tempest -tossed had been her mind, that she clung to even this semblance of rest, and would hardly yet have risked the re -opening of the battle, which a meeting with Thorne would be sure to inaugurate. She was glad to see her old friend General Smith again, for between the two existed a heartyaffection, and more than glad to see Percival. That young gentle- man's joy at being released from the thral- dom of school, coupled with the exhilara- tion of seeing his friends, and the, prospect of a speedy reunion with his mother and Blanche, appeared to well-nigh craze him. It certainly required unusual vents for its exuberance—such as standing on his head in the elevator, promenadingthe halls on his hands, and turning " cart- wheels " down the passages ; accom- plishments acquired with labor and pain from his colored confreres in the South. In a marvelously short time after landing, the party were packed into carriages'and whirled away to their hotel, leaving their hea,vy luggage in the jaws of the custom- house to be rescued later by the general and Berkeley. As they left the wharf, Poca- hontas noticed another steamer forging slowly in, and preparing to occupy the berth next that of the Ounarder. A couple of hours after the arrival of athe European travelers at the St, Andrew's Hotel, a squarely-builtyoung man of medium height, with a handsome, bronzed face, and heavy, brown mustathe, sprung lightly up the steps of the het,e1 and -passed into the,, blerk's office. Here he orderedm and . , a ro delivered his valise and umbrella to a porter, explaining that he should probably remain several days. Then he ' turned' to the book, pushed toward him by the clerk, to register his name. The clerk, in idle curiosity, pulled the register toward him, opened it, and glanced at the name; it was the fourth from the top, just under Nesbit Thorne's—James Dabney Byrd, Mexico. CHAPTER XXIV. No; Blanche was not a clever woman; that could not be claimed for her; but her essential elements were womanly. Pain, grief, distress of any sort woke in her heart a longing to give help and comfort. She talked tic Berkeley in her gentle, per- 811EISiVe way (she had not courage y:et to talk to Pocahontas), and exerted her influ- ence in Thorne's behalf; but she speedily discovered that she made little head- way; that while Berkeley listened, he did not assent; that he put down her efforts, mainly, to personal attachment to her cousin, and was therefore inclined to rule out hertestimony. She needed help; pressure must be brought to bear which had no connection with Thorne; someone from the old life must speak, someone who shared the prejudices, and was big enough and generous enough to set them aside and judge of the affair from an unbiased, imper- sonal standpoint. When this idea presented itself, her mind turned instantly to Jim. Here was a man from the old life, a man reared. as they had been reared, a man in no wayconnected with Thorne.' Jim could help her, if he would, and somehow, Blanche felt assured that he would Jim had discovered their presence in the hotel very speedily and had joined the party, glad, with an earnest gladnems, to see his old friends again, glad also to meet these new friends who had become asso- ciated with4he old ones. Blatiche had been attractedby him, as women, children and dumb animals always were attracted by him ; he wee strong, and yet very' gentle. She determined to speak to him, to make him understand the poeition, and to entreat him to exert hbs influence with 13erkeley, and through Berkeley, with Poca- hontae, to set this =later straight. She did not know that she was about to do a cruel thing; was °boa to streteh a tont on the rack and turn the serews. That flit reserve which enfolded the Masons like a veil pre- cluded gossiping about themselves or their affairs. Blanche had never heard of Jitri as the lover of Pocahontas—or if she had, it had been in an outside intatigible way that heal made no impression on her. Poesesaed by her idea, arid intent on Securing an opportunity for uninterrupted conversation, ithe asked tlbn to take a walk with her. She had some calls to Make, she said, and they weld(' walk %tough theark. At this aeasoii the park Wag mry heart "(lila .7:411d hn should like to show it to bit; New Yorkers were very proud of it. Blanche knew that she was doing an unconven- tionel thing ; bat she had observed, rather wonderingly, the frank helpfulness with with which Southerners would identify themselves with eaeh others' affairs, and she felt euro that in spealthig to Jen she rau little risk Of rebuff. Jim hed known the Masons always, was of their blood ; to put his shoulder to their wheel would seem to him the right and natural thing to do. Therefore 131auche made her request with confidence, and Jim, who had never in his life questioned a woman's right to his tiine and attention, went with her willingly. They sauntered about for a time and Jim admired all the beauties that were pointed out to him, and showed his country train- ing by pointing out in his turn, subtler beauties which eseaped her ; the deli- cate shading of bark and leaf -bud, the blending of the colors of the soil, the way the shadows fell, the thousand and one things an artist, or a man reared in the woods and fields, is quick to see, if he has eyes in his head. He pointed out to her a nest a pair of birds were building, and called her attention. to a tiny squirrel, with a plume -like tail, jumping about among the branches overhead. He told her stories of the tropics, too, said of the strange pictur- cunt lit in the land of the Montezumas, and made himself pleasant in a cheery, companionable way that was very winning. He was pleased with Blanche, and thought that his old friend had done well for himself in securing the love of the sweet-faced maiden at his side. He liked talking to her, and walking beside her in the sunshine -, he decided that "Berke was a deuced lucky fellow, and had fallen on his feet," and he was glad of that. After awhile they turned into an un- frequented walk, and Blanche seized her opportunity. She made Jim sit down on a bench under the old elm tree and seated herself beside him. Then, insensibly and deftly, she turned the talk to Virginia, She spoke of his old home, and praised its beauty, and told bit how a love for it had grown up in her heart, although she was a stranger; she spoke of the cordial, friendly people, and of the kindness they bad extended to her family; of Warner, his illness, death and burial beside poor Temple Mason. Then she glided on to Pocahontas, and spoke of her friend with enthusiasm, almost with rever- ence; then, seeing that 12is hiterest was aroused, she told as simply and con- cisely as she could the story of her cousin's love for Pocahontas, and the osition in which the affair now stood. Jim never moved; he sat like a man carved out of stone and listened. He knew that Pocahontas had never loved him, as he had wanted her to love him ; but the knowledge that her love was given to another man, was bitter. He said sao word, only listened with a jealous hatred of the man who had supplanted him grow- ing in his breast. Blanche looked at him with tearful eye, and quiveling lips; his gaze was on the ground; his face wore, to her, all absent, almost apathetic look. She was dis- appointed. She had expected, she did not know exactly what, but certainly more sympathy, more response. She thought that his heart must be less noble than his face, and she regretted having given him her confidence and solicited his aid. When they got back to the avenue, she re- leased him, from further attendance a trifle coldly. She would make her calls alone, she saki, it might be irksome to him, prob- ably he had other engagements. He had been very good to sacrifice so muck of his time to her; she wouti not detain him longer. Jim went down to the path and sat down again, not noticing her change of manner, and only conscious of the relief of being free from the necessity of talking commonplace, of being left to think this matter out alone. He thought vaguely that she was a kind, considerate woman and then she passed out of his mind. The first feeling with which he grappled was wonder; a strange thing had happened. A few short months ago these people had been unknown to him; were, as far as his life had been concerned, non-existent. And now ! Land, home, friends, love, all things that had. been his, were theirs! His place knew him no more; these strangers filled it. It was a strange thing, a cruel thing. Pocahontas had been glad. to see nim again, but in her pleasure thcre had been preoccupation ; he had felt it ; it. was ex - lined now. , He knew that she lied never loved him, but the possibility of her loving another man had never come henne fel him' before. Ile tried to steady himself and realize it ; it ate into his' heart like corrod- ing acid. Perhaps it was not true; there might be some mistake ; then his heart told him that it was true ; that there was no mistake. She loved this man,this strangers of whose existence she had been ignorant that evening when she had said farewell to him under the old willows beside the river. She had been tendera,ndpitiful then ; shehad laid her soft lips against his hand, had given him a flower from her breast. He moved his hand, and, with the fingers of the other hand, touched the epot which her lips had pressed • the flower, faded and scentless, lay, folded with a girlish note or two she had written him, in the inside pocket of his vest. The shadows shifted as the wind swayed the branches; the sound of women's voices came from behind a clump of evergreens ; they were raised in surprise or excitement, and sounded shrill and jarring. In the distance a nurse pushed a basket -carriage carelessly; she was talking to a workman who slouched beside her, and the child was crying. Two sparrows near at hand quarrelled and fought over a bit of string. His anger burned against Thorne. He could see no good in his rival; no tragedy, no pathos, in the situation. Had his life gone wrong? Doubtless the fault had been his. Did he suffer ? Jim felt a brute joy in the knowledge of his pain. A little girl came down the walk, trund- ling, it hoop ; it stuck aaainit Jim's foot and fell oven The helpful instinct that was in him made him stoop and lift it for her ; the child, a tiny thing, pushed back her curls and looked up at him with grave, wide- open eyes; suddenly her face dimpled ; a sinile like sunshine broke over it, and she raised her sweet lilt to his, to kiss her thanks. What had happened? A child's look, a child's bit; it wag a strange thing. He raised his head and glanced around, paissitig his hand over his brow like a man aronsed from a delirium of dreams. Forces foreign to his nature had been at work. He could not understand it—or himself. Words came back to him out of the past ovan words—" it man must hold up Ins own weight," and other words, "a man must help with his strength a woman's weakness." He thought �t his love with pity, with retnorse. He had never failed her, never pat himself first, till now. What was this thing he had thought of doing? Jim steed erectand pulled himself together, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders as s man does who is about to. face an issue fairly. CHAPTER XXV. Poceliontas wit alone. The party had dispersed, ono here, one there, about their own taineerns, filled witlitheirownintereste. They lied invited her to accompany them, even urged it • but she would not ; she was tired, she said, and would rest ; but there was no rest for her, If only the scruple would. die ! If only the old influences would lose their hold ; if only she could see this thing as the world saw it. Was she made different from others, that her life should be moulded on other lines than their lives ? God, above ! Why should she suffer, and make Thorne sutreex;! limother, Berkeley, the dead brother whom she had exalted into it hero, the memory of the brave men and noble women from whom she had sprung, the old tra- ditions, the old associations rose, in her ex- cited fancy, and arrayed themselves on 011e Side. Against theill ill serried 'auks came emnpaesion, all the impulse's of true woman- hood toward self-sacrifice and love. The lonelinees of the crowded hotel op- pressed her ; the consciousness of the life that environecl but did not touch her, gave birth to a yearning to get away from it all —out into the sunshine and the sweet air, and the warmth and comfort of nature. If she could get away into some still, leafy place, she could think. Hastily arraying herself, she left her chamber and descended the broad stairway. She passed through the hall and out into the sunshine of the busy street; and Jim, who, unseen by her, was standing in the clerk's office, turned and looked after hen A troubled expression, like the shadow of a cloud, passed over his face, and he followed her silently. A quiet street branched off from the crowded thoroughfare. Pocahontas turned into it and. walked on. The roar of traffic deadened as she left it farther and farther behind; the passers became fewer. It was the forenoon and the people were at work ; the houses rose tall on either hand; the street was still and almost deserted. A man passed with a,barrow of &were— reses, geraniums, jasmin • their breath made the air fragrant. In a stately old ehurch near by some one was playing; a solemn, measured movement. Pocahontas turned aside and entered. The place was still and hushed; the light dim and beautifulwith color; on the altar, to,persburned before the mother and child; everywhere there was a faint odor of incense. Pocahontas wandered softly here and there, soothed by the peace, comforted by the music. On one side there was a small chapel, built by piety in memory of death. Pocahontas entered it. Here, too, lights burned. upon the altar, shedding a soft, golden radiance that was caught and re- flected by the silver candlesticks and the gold and crystal of the vases. On the steps of the altar was a great basket of roses; and through a memorial window streamed the sunlight, casting on the tesselatecl pavement a royal wealth of color, blue and gold and crimson; against the dark walls marble tablets gleamed whitely. Near one of them' a tiny shield, a man stood with his headbent and his shoulder resting against a carved oak column —Nesbit Thorne, and the tablet bore the in- scription: "Alien Thorne, obit Jan. 14th, 18— ttat 4 years." Pocahontas drew back, her breath coming in short gasps; the movement of the music quickened, grew stronger, fiercer, with a °doh of chords. Thorne id not move; his head was bent, his profile toward her; about his pose, his whole form, was a, look of desolation. His face was stern, its outlines sharp, its expression that of a man who had had hard measure ineted out to him, and who knew it, and mutinied against the decree. He did not see her, he was not conscious of her presence, and the knowledge that it was so sent a pang through her heart. A wave of pity swept over her; an impulse struggled into life, to go to him, to take his hand in hers, to press close to his side, to fill the void of kis future with her love. What held her back? Was it pride? Why could she not go to him? His unconsciousness of her presence held her aloof—made her afraid with a strange, new fear. Footsteps neared, echoing strangely; the music had sunk to a minor cadence which seemed to beat the measure of theiradvanee. 1 The eyes of the woman were filled with a strained expectancy. Into the waiting place, framed by the central arch, came the figure of a man—strongly built, of noble air, of familiar presence Eyes brave and true and faithful met hers gravely, a hand was outstretched toward her. I with heavy, muffled' strokes, The counter POcahontas shivered, andler heart' beat influences of her life were drawing to the death etruggle. ,Thorne tured ; his eyes were upon her; he advanced slowly. Jim came straight to where she stood and took her hands inhis ; his face was pale and drawn, as the face of a man who has passed through the white heat of suffering. His hands were cold, and trembled a little as they closed on hers; he tried to speak, but his lips were dryan hes voice inaudible. "Sweetheart,", he said at length, using the tender old word 'unconsciously, and speaking brokenly, "1 asked you once to let the thought of me once—sometimes-- when life should be hard upon you ; to let the influence of my love stir sometimes in your memory. That would be wrong now —worse; it would be selfish and unmanly. A man has no right to cast his shadow on a woman's life when it has passed into the keeping of another man." His voice grew husky, his lips quivered, but he went bravely on. "1 know your story -- Berkeley has told me—the young lady has spoken—I take back the request. I'd rather all thought of me should be banished from you in this world and in the next., than that it should make a breach, even in the out- works of your life, to let in trouble to you." He paused abruptly'through the strong fra,me ran a shudder, like the recoil from pain; but the man's will was firm, his pur- pose steadfast. All of her life he had cared for her, been tender with her; shielding her from trouble, or grief, or blame, as far as in him lay, and, though his heart should break, he would not fail her how. Slowly he spoke again. . "Child," he said gently, "If I've ever said a word that hurts you, forget it, put it frorn you if I did not understand then; I do now—and I'd give my right hand to re- call it What you do has always been right in my eyes—must always be right. I can never—" his voice failed him ; something rose in his throat a,nd choked utterance; he bolt hie head , until his lips touched the hands he held and then turned quietly away. Pocahontas did not move; she scarcely breathed. The spell of Jim's magnanimity held her, made her realize, at last, the grandeur, the immeneity of love, Her soul was awed. Thought followed thought throligh her brain ; love in its sublimity was bared to her gaze ; she tell away—burned as dross in the fire of suffering ; to guide her- self was not enough; she must aid and comfort othera. If hands were outetretched in anguish, she mut clasp them ; if it heart cried to her ni desolation, she had no right te ture Mick. Was she so pure, so claim, so righteous, that contact, with another soul --one that had known 'Ultimo ana sorrows of which she was, of which she mut be, ,ignoritat—should soil her? if so, her rightemuniess wits a poor thine, her clean- ness, that of the outside of the cup and Platter, her purity, that of unguarded ma. ille drew nearer; she raised her head; their eyes net; he extended hie bands with a gesture not to be denied. With a smile of indescribable gracious- ness, a tenderness, a royalty of giving, she made a movement forward and laid her hands in his. CHAPTER XXVI. Thorne did not accompany the party to Virginia'although it was tacitly underetood that he should follow in time for Blanche's wedding, which would take place in June. Pocahontas wished it so arranged, and Thorne, feeling that his love had come to him as through fire, was tendons to order all things according to her wishes. He was very quiet, grave, and self- contained ; his old Imoyancy, his old light- ness had passed away forever. The whirl and lash of it hurricane leave traces which not even time can efface. A man does not come through fire unscathed—he is Marred, or purified ; he is never the same. In 'Thorne, already, faintly stirred nature" grand impulse of growth, of pressing up- ward toward the light. He strove to be patient, tender, considerate, to take his happiness, not as reward for what be was, but as earnest of what he might become. Jim remained in New York also. He would go beck to his work, he said, it would be better so. He had corae north on busi- ness for his company, and when that should be completed he would return to Mexico. Ile would not go to Virginia; he did not want to see strangers in the old home; he would write to his sisters and explain; no one need trouble about him; he would man- age well enough. Poor Jim! He could not as yet dis- associate the old from the new. To him it still seezned as though Berkeley, and, in a measure, he himself were responsible for her life; must take care and thought for her future. Love and habit form bonds that thought does not readily burst asunder. Berkeley was good to his sister—in- fluenced partly by Blanche, partly by Jim, but most of all his strong affection for Pocahontas herself. He drew her to his breast and reseed his cheek against her heir a moment, and kissed her tenderly, and the brother and sister understood each other without a spoken word. He could not bring himself to be cordial to Thorne all at once, but he loyally tried to do his best, and Thorne was big enough to see and appreciate the effort. There might come a time when the men would be friends. Poor Mrs. Mason ! Her daughter's en- gagement was a shock, almost a blow to her, and she could not reconcile herself to it at first. The foundation seemed to be slipping from under her feet, the supports itt which she trusted, tobe falling away. She was a just as well as a loving woman, and she knew that the presence of a new and powerful love bringsnew responsibilities and a new outlook on life. She faithfully tried to put herself in her daughter's place and to judge of the affair from, Pocahontas' standpoint; but the effort was painful to her, and the result not always what she could wish. She recognized, the love being admitted, that Thorne had claims which must be allowed; but she felt it hard that such claims should exist, and her recog- nition of them was not sufficiently full and generous to make her feel at home with her- self. Old minds adapt themselves to new conditions slowly. However, mother -love is limitless, and, through all, her impulse was to hold to her child, to do nothing, to say nothing which wound or alienate her. And for the rest— there was no need of haste; she could keep these things and "ponder them in her heart." THE END. TBE TREBEL. A Few Th. lags That May Help to Fill it If you wear a fluffy bang you want your alcohol lamp. If you wear laced shoes yon want a dozen pairs of shoestrings. If you varnish or polish your shoes you want a bottle of whatever blacking you may fancy. If you are inclined to sunburn, you want a pot of strawberry cream or some cold cream. If you are fond of reading, you want your favorite books. If you ever use pins, you want a block of black ones and a paper of white ones. If you are a good girl and mend' your clothes, you want some spools of thread, your neeales, your thimble and some but- Ions.—Ladies' Home Journal. ' "Life is an ocean, _ Each one hal; his bark." Some have a bark they would gladly be rid of --a ceaseless, persistent, determined cough! present by day, not absent by night. If you take the wings of the morning and fly to the utternaost parts of the earth, it will go with you! There bs just one thing te do: begin a thorough treatment with Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery, and the problem is solved! You will soon wonder where it is gone, and when it went! The picture is' not overdrawn—colds, lingering and obstinate coughs, and evenConsumption, in its early stages, yield to this potent vegetable compound. Large bottles one dollar, at druggistts, and guarante.;x1 to benefit or cure, in every case, or money re- turned by its makers. The Bair& of Gartsherrie. The Rev. P. Anton, in a Scotch newspa- per, states that the present members of the Baird family own Z2,000,000 worth of land in Scotland, and all acquired in the course of the last two generations. They employ about 10,000 men and boys; they have 42 blast furnaces, capable of producing 750 tons of iron per day ; and their business not only extends throughout the west of Scotland, but they have also extensive mining interests in England, Spain and Sweden. " Inunersed in the affairs of the world," says Mr. Allier), "they have never shut their pre to the calls of religion. In this department their giving has been 'princely." Their ancestors were tenant - farmers in Lanarkshire, who in the national religious struggle took the 'Covenanting side • one of them in 1683, was fined one hundred pounds for refusing to hear the curate of Cathcart, and James Baird, of Strathaven was a sufferer, whose name is recorded by Wodrow. The founder of the Gartsherrie family was William Baird, born in 1765, one of the most enterprising farm- ers in Lanarkshire ; and ie was in 1800 that he began the working of coal on his own account at Dalserf, A Happy Combination of the most potent and and active properties of the whole vegetable kingdom, is that which makes Dr. Pierce's Favorite Preticrip- tion so pre-eminently above every other to - called woman's resterative in the market. Don't stop short of the best Don't cxperb- ment with worthlessirnitatione, whentl WOrld acknowledges no superior to the original, reliable, and may gukrranteed reinedy for the happy restoration of suffering and debilitated Women. Costs nothing if it don't do jiiet ae recommended. See , gnaratitee oil bottle -wrapper. Frequently it costa a mean man it eat deat to he stingy. Children slimerz Enjoy I • SCOTT'S ULSION of pure Cod Liver 011 with Hypo - Phosphites Of Lime and Soda Is almost as palatable as milk. A MARVELLOUS FLESH PRODUCER It is Indeed, and the little lads and lassies who take cold easily, may be fortified against a cough that might prove serious, by taking Scott's tewinter On Emumisinci inr safetaesrtirir meals during h .73eware of substittgtions and imitations. SCOTT & BOWNE, Belleville. ^1.. -1----- TUB MAIN ISSVE. A Boy, Who, ilt Time, Will iLlitely be it Great judge. A lawyer advertised for a, clerk. Thet next morning his offiee was crowded with. applicants—all bright, and many suitable. He bade them wait until all should arrive, and then ranged themi a a row and said het would tell them a story, note their Com- ments, and judge from that whom he would lh°°se. "Acertain farmer," began the lawyer, "was troubled with a red squirrel that get in through a hole in his barn a,nd stole bus seed corn.' He resolved to kill the squirrel at the first opportunity. Seeing him go be the hole one noon, he took his shot gun and fired away ; the first shot set the barn ma fire." "Did the barza bum ?" said one of the boys. The lawyer, without answer, continued : "And, seeing the barn on fire'the far- mer seized a pail of water and ranto put it out." "Did he put it out 1" asked another. "As he passed inside, the door shut ter and the barn was soon in fiaanes. When the hired girl rushed out with more water "— "Did they all burn up a" said another. boy. The lawyer went on without answer: Then the old lady carne out, and all was noise and confusion, ancl everybody was trying to put out the fire." Did anyone burn up ?" said another. The lawyer said "There, that will do ; you have all shown ,great interest in the story." But, observing one little bright- eyed fellow in deep silence, he said: "Now, my little man, what have you to say ?" The little felknv blushed, grew uneasy and stammered out "1 want to know what became of that; squirrel; that's what I want to know." "You'll do," said the lawyer; "yon are my man; you have not been switched off' by the confusion and the barn burning, and the hired girls and water pails. You have kept your eye on the squirreL" 'Vacation. Advice. Don't go out in the woods to fly a kite— only the birds fly there. If a goose cries at you,do not ery yourself in tuna Only geese do that. Don't try leap -frog over the cows in the pasture. The cows might object. Don't waste your tune in trying to catch two-inch fish with a ten -foot pole. Don't try swimming in creeks where the water is two feet deep and the mud six feet. It is always well to remember the fact that savage cows and fierce dogs can't climb trees. If a strange dog smiles at you, it is policy to smile back, and if be runs at you,thebest thing is to run back. It is adding insult to injury to burn up the farmer's fence in trying to cook the cone that you have helped yourself to. A barn roof is not meant as a toboggan - slide, and shingles are rather hard on. trouser& When youso out for an all -day tramp don't eat up all your lunch' at 10 o'clock.. You will feel starved by 2 if you do so. If you get tired doing nothing it is a goosi thing to sit muter the beau and passthe time in waiting forthe weather -cock to crow. A great many days may be employed itt tki s =MEM You may imagine that you help the hay- makers by jabbing the horses with the pitehtork and getting tangled up in the reins, but you do not, and they will probably tell you so. Do not be angry if the roosters awaken you at daybreak. Remember that if you wentto bed at sunset you wouldbe willing to get up with the chickens, mid roosters don't stop to consider such things. "Give Ws a Liar "Do send down something to help us!" "Those Little Pleasant Pellets, you sent before, wore just what we wante41" " They helped. right where we were weakest 1' "Don't scud anything else 1" Nature, abusesi and neglected, does her best to overcome exhaustion and ward off threatening disease, but sometimes calls for help, and knows just what she's about. The system takes kindly to the mild, wholesome influence of Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Pellets, and often their timely assistance corrects evils which would soon lead to serious results. With the first signal of distress, nature will thank you for remembering her request. Therefore'if languid, easily tixed, bad taste in mouth, bowels irregular or con- stipated, give nature a lift by t,i,king Dr. Pierce's Pellets. Best Liver Pill made. Well Coeated. "And so you're married, Jack'?" "Yes ; I have succumbed, like many another before me. Love match, pure and simple. Come around and see as some- time." " Yes, I will, with pleasure. Where are yoit living .?" "Well, I expect we shall be at her father's for some time to come."--,Tudge. Grateful. "It was very mortifying, said the doc- tor. "1 made a sad error of judgment and the man died." " Whet did the family say ?" "01, they were very gratefel for what had done. He was very rich." Dillon and O'Brien will be restored to a sympathetic world next week, some two or three days before tit expiratioh Of their jeff sentences. Then will begin a struggle be- tween them and Parnell, no doubt, for the release of the funds looked up in a Perla bank. "Long pendant 1 rfi," gays the Phil- adelphia 'ng. into fashion, and, as it const tighnshotddered, dress inn 't go.