HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1895-7-5, Page 71'7
COMM' THRO' THE RYE.
IrEhlet•I' a mAniERs.
(e0erreeiteEn.)
'
TI e girls they leave behind tand at the
deer told look after them, and, when the
last p ar of log ; has vanished, turn and
look at ono another with somewhat leek -
lustre oyes. Eight women loft to each
other's sooiety for a 'whole day! Well may
W0 look dull. I want to get Alice and
Willy to myself for a bit, but how about
those others? 'Silvie speaks first. No fear
of hor putting up with'a kOrning with
her own sex, She is going to write letters
In ho r room, sho says, if Mrs. Luttrell
•thoes not mind. Mrs. Luttrell does not
mind, and she goes BAWLS% The Listers are
going to spend the morning in the garden,
If Mrs. Luttrell pleases, so they vanish
likewise. Mesdames Fleming and Lister
are still in bed, their morning toil•ts being
affairs of some importance, so we aro free
of all ineumbrances and able th follow our
own devices. Having worshipped the
babies on our knees for a full hour, we
go into Milly's botaloir.
"Only to think," I say, executing a pir-
Ouette on the 'tips 'of my toes, that we
three should be all together again here,
and that there is no ono to send us to bed,
,
or call us mimes, or insist on our talk-
ing!"
"Is he as bad as ever?" asks Milly,
"Ile is worse'!' I say, with conviction.
4' When a person him got into a bad habit
of making himself and everybody round
him miserable, he does not stand still—he
.goos on improving. By the time he is
kSiXtY Inannot imagine what he will be I"
"Marry!" says Alice, encouragingly;
"that is the only thing a spin:ter can do
in self-defense!"
"You have been so lnoky!" I say; but
how do you know I shall be the same? Be-
sides, whore is the husband to come
from" I add, laughing.
"But you have a lover," says Alice,
only you will not tell me anything about
him."
"There cannot be much; to tell yet, I
think," says Milly, with SOTho sisterly re-
buke in her tone. "Why, she has only
known him since the day before yester-
day!"
"Whom are you talking about?" asks
Alice, looking puzzled. Nell's lover is
not hero at all; be is at Silverbridge."
"Is he not?" says Milly, with a queer
smile. "I suppose I was mistaken."
"How refreshing it is to see any one
blush!" says Alice, meditatively. "Now
in London, or good society, yen never see
. the ghost of a blush anywhere."
"But this Silverbridge lover," says
Milly, with interest, "who is he—what is
he—where did he come from?"
"He is a traveling packman," 1 say,
gravely. "I met him in the fields, and
he came from Glasgow. We won't talk
.abont him. Tell me, Milly, do you think
that while I am here you will have a
ball?" ,
"Toll me about this young man first,"
says Melly, "and I Will tell you about the
ball afterward."
This is what I have been dreading—a
long, comfortable, married woman's con-
,' verzation over Day matrimonial prospects,
with a calm and dispassionate balancing
of pros and cons, in which my own heart
will have no concern.
"Alice—Milly, I won't deny it. I have
got a lover, andhis name is Tempest, and
he lives at Silverbridge, and ',don't xnean
to marry him if I can possibly help it;
and I have told him so, and he is very
good-looking, and—and. that's all!" Here
I stop, out of breath.
"Tempest!" says Wily. "I am sure I
heard Fano talking about some Tempests
the other day. Are they not very rich
people?"
"1 bileve so."
"And why on earth don't you marry
him?" asks Alice, warmly. 'You will
see nobody in Silverbridge; and as to liv-
ing at home with papa—By the way,what
does he say to your having a lover?"
"Be does not know it, or at least he
never says anything."
"Although it is all going on under his
very nose!" says
"Well, one of these days he will open
his eyes very wide and be furious, and
you will be sent to bed for a week."
"I expect he will niake a great fuss,"
I say, eheerfully. "I only hope he will
look me up altogether, for then George
Tempest will not be able to got at roe.'
"Nell," says Alice, with a serious dis-
belief in her voice, "have you kept back
anything?"
• 'What, abont Mr. Tempest?"
"Of course. Now, you said he was
good-looking—is he short?"
"He is over six feet."
"And he has not a hump?"
leiegat
"Does he talk throtigh his nose?"
"Or wear large plaid suits?"
nN0a,
"Is he ignorant?"
"No," I say again.
"Is there insanity in the family?" asks
"No! no! no!" I sey, jumping up and
going off into immoderatellaughter. "He
Is nioe, charming, d sirable in everyway;
but—is it so very hard to understand? I
can't marry him for I do not love him!"
"Then you are in 1 •ve, too, with some-
body else!" says Alice, scanning with
brad -eyed Candor lily disturbed. face,
4 'though where you can have seen him,I'm
.sure it is difficult to imagine."
"1 am not in love, ", I say, indignantly.;
"I never was in love! I would not do any-
-1 hing so silly, so—ridiculous. If I had
.1,a.d any fancy that way I should have
'made a donkey of myself at Silverbridge
long ago."
"And how long have you been sure that
,you do not care about Mr. Tempest? Since
lthe day before yesterday?" asks Milly,
-saucy persistence in /ler blue eyes.
"I have known it all along," I say,
estoadily. "What ehould the day before
yesterday have to do with it?"
"Nothing," says Milly, with a baffling
glance at Alice. lioNvever, I will not
notice their looks.
"And now for the ball," I say, fanning
enylicateel eountenance with the tail ,of
my pannier. "Aro you redly going to
hoe orto?'' •
"Oe the 171b, Shall I send Mr. Tom -
pest an invitation?"
"Row delightful!" I say, drawing, a
-deep breath. "X have never been to a
deuce in my lite, you know, and.—"
"What are you going to wear?" asks
Alice, and hor 1itea1 question brings me
very stuldeMy down from the rose-colored
elteads on which I am floatieg. My jaw
&Cps, and I stare at her blankly,
"I never thought of. that," I say, slow-
• ; "I was thinking of the (lancing and
the fun, aid*"
• "Have you not a single ball-dreeS?" eitsks
Milly,rather critelly I think,foe she knows
AS roll as 1 do how the gOverrior mulcts
Us in pin -money.
e
"A ball-dresa I" X repeat, derisively.
Indeed, you may thank your stars that.
I have onto in a goven at all, and not a
petticoat body,for there is so nitudi tremble
to got any elothes at Silverbridge that very
S0011 1 believe we Isbell have to do with
none et
" oottree you must have a kireq8,"
Says Milly, calmly ; •"had you not better
write to Howell & James, and order
one?"
Howell & James! When even that re.•
Alga or the destitute, William Whiteley, is
tar beyond me! Clearly Milly has for-
get tea the clays of her youth.
"1 shall not appear," I say, miserably;
"1 wend not dance and enjoy myself with
an turfed bill hanging ON'Or inc all the
evening, and knowing what it would cost
mother, so I shall be ill the night of the
party, unless yoa think a costume a la
squaw, oonsisting of a pearl necklace and
a pair of boots, would Are full . dress
enough."
, "It would be quite full enough," says
Alice), "and extremely well suited to the
weather, only Mrs. Ortunly might objeet."
"If you had only been at Silverbridge
at the last bill row," say, sinking into
still deeper dejection, "you would not feel
inolined to laugh at the prospect of an-
other."
"Tell us about it," says my lovely sis-
ter; "those rows were terrifying things,
but very amusi g to think of after."
. P.The last was amusing,' 'I say, laugh-
ing heartily, in spite of the dismal busi-
ness of getting a gown that unpleasantly
peevades my mind; 'I'you • remember*
Snooks,
the draper?"
4 Raher."
'You know the construotien his modest
handwriting ever caused in our domestio
circle? Well, at midsummer he sent in
his account, and of course pane, instead of
paying it, danced upon it as usual. I fahey
he has a notion that after a,noing a pas
seul over bills they are, in fact, discharged
don't you? Well, times being bad with
Snooks, he plucked up a spirit and wrote a
gentle request for his dues, but when it ar-
rived no one could be found brave enough
to present it to the governor; for two days
It was handed round the house,everybody,
servants and ale repudiated it, and then
with one consent it was decided that
something must be done The Bull of
Basilan proposed that we should lay it on
the Prayer-Book,and receive in a body his
overflowing wrath, but, after some consid-
erition, that plan was rejected. Finally
it was, decided that WO should place it in
that little study at the top of the stairs,by
his bedroom, where he often sits, and the
time for putting it there was fixed at img
mediately after dinner, when he is always
sitting' in the library over his wine. Din-
ner over, Basilan fetched the fatal epistle, ,
and we set off, full speed, for the study
clattering up tho stairs like mad, he first,
1 following. You know how narrew the
staircase is, and that. the door opens
abruptly to the leftaso that until you. are
right on the threshold you cannot see in at
at all; well, Bashan flimg the door open
and stopped short: Alice! briny! over
his face came the most awful, indescrib-
able, wonderful change: he looked as if
he was turned to stone. Nothing short of
the governor could produce that look on
any oe our faces, and. he was down in the
library.
"'What on earth is the matte?' I said,
poking my grinning countenance round
the corner; 'you look as if you had seen
the dev—.' There, within half a yard of
my nose stood the governor! The old gen-
tleman would have been an agreeable ap-
parition compared with that. Do you
know that the grin absolute)... froze on my
face; for a moment 1. stared, then turned
tail and ran, Bashan after me. Half -way
down the stairs I remembered the bill.
"You must go back and give it him!' I
said in an agony, and I pushed him back.
"Meanwhile papa was capering at the
top of the stairs in a perfect fury, asking
how we dared go to his room, what we
wanted there, Aid we moan to break the
staircase in with our confounded boots,
eto. When Bashan went back with the
letter, be tore it out of his hand, saw what
it was, and, then threw it at him! Bashan
never stopped to pick it up that time, he
ran in good earnest, so did. I! To this day
it is a mystery to us how he got up there,
for we saw him go into the library."
"I know it all so well," says Alice,
drying her eyes, "but we have had more
amusing rows than that."
"Do you remember—" And here we
slide off into a crowd of ludicrous remin-
iscences, that are very real, and true, and
ridiculous to us, but maybe would seem
I al and unlikely enough to other people;
perhaps they would not understand how
we could laugh at all over such things,
but, thank God, we have been able to find
a silver -lining to our clouds, and it is
better to bear our ills with a sniffing
countenance, is it not, than to turn bitter,
and bard, and cynical, and rail against
heaven?
CHAPTER VII.
We are feeding the gold and Silver fish
In the pool before the drawing -room win-
dows, Paul Pusher and I. He is provid-
ing for the silver ones, I for the gold, or
at least am trying to, for the former, if
they have duller backs, have far brighter
wits than their orange -colored brethren,
and get the crumbs oftenest "Do you
know," I say, as I drop my last bit deftly
into the greedy maw for which it was in-
tended, "that we are going to have some-
thing most charming and delightful?" •
"And what is that?' he asks, as we
pace long the terrace side by gide.
"A ball!" I say, clapping my hands;
"a real one, no make -believes •this time!
Will you ever forget that party at Char-
teris?"
As the words leave my lips, he looks
across at Silvia who is for a wonder sit-
ting alone hard by, seemingly wat hing
us -with listless indifference.
"I shall never forget that party," he
says, quietly; "and so you like the pros-
pect of this ball?"
"Yes, indeed. Will you believe that I
have never had a nal partner in my life
but once, and that was when I danced
with you?"
"Have you not? Then for the sake of
that old dance, you Will give 1110 the first,
will you not?"
Yes; but you must not be angry if
bitnele dreadfully; 1 never could dance
veli 1''
• iTn why aro you so pleased at the
prospect of this party?"
• "I shall like the music audthe fun, and
ray partners, and ail that,''
"And I suppose yen are full of delight
at having to choose a newt gown and
Wreath 1"
"Pull of delight!" I stare at him blank-
ly for a moment, then look away; lie
little knows what a grutehing-of-teeth
business having a neve gown in our ram-
ily is. "It is not much of a pleasure)"
say, with an odd singe; "it is far ariore of
iniefortune."
"Yon aro afraid of its not being becton-
ing?" says Paul, looking puzzled, "have
yeti doeided on what it is to be?"
"1 have not, theught muoh•abenet it yet;
anything."
"Weer White," he gays, With a Man's
fixed belief in the perfootibilltr of that
colorless color; black or white, or black
and white, every Man believes a Whonan
to be well dressed- when he is arrayed
from top to toe he either, or 'both. ,
"Tere are eo any. whites," X sa
hmY, cone
sidering—" white silk, • white satire, vvinte
brocade, whith pauslin--the meteritils are
endless."
"And what had you on that day X met
you among the rya?"
• "A white cambrio, ' 1 answer; adding
meutalle, "or a 'clean boiled rag,' as Jeek
Valls it, and which the evasherwornan
knows as well as her own face!"
"If I toll you what to .eveare" says Mr.
Vasher, "will yon promise to have it?" • •
"So as yea, do not put me in pink
ory
"Then you shall • wear White of emelt)
glistening light febrileand on one side you
must here great btino'hes of 'gold wheat
and. scarlet poppies, with e little bunch of
the same against your loft shoulder, wide
wreath in your hair."
"Not in nay hair, please- Mr. Vasher! It
was not so very long ago that it was al-
most red, and—"
"I don't think you need to be afraid of
the poppies," int says, looking at my un-
tidy raffled locks; "they looked well
enough the other day." .
"I only wore that wreath across the
field out of. sheer bravado," I say, laugh -
Ing, '''becatise I had been told not to."
"Who told you not to?" he asks, quick-
ly; "who had the right to?" • •
"No one!" I say, turning my head
away; "at least no one in particular:"
"I have made up my mind," I say, brisk-
ly,' "my gown shall be made- of white
gauze. It ought to be beautiful, ought it
He is s n'ot looking at me, but straight
before hint, and there is a thwarted vexed
look on his face.
•
" "Are you cross?" a ask. "Are you
thinking how Ovolous and senseless I am,'
thinking so much ahem thy first ball?"
"No childl 1 was wondering if it.wore
possible for one to meet with a girl who
had nover—"
"Never what?"
"Nothing."
A silence falls between us as we lime
along the gravel -walks, the coolness ofebe
late afternoon all about us, the greenness
of the earth at our feet, Go l's azure carpet
hanging royally over our heads; only the
faint pure Enroll of an occasional wild
flower comes ta us on the air, for we are
high up on the cliff now, and the gay gar-
den flowers are too proud or too lazy to
climb so high.
"And how soon will you be going back
• to Silverbridge?" asks Paul, his voice dis-
turbing me in the midst of an agonizing
oaloulation of how many yards of stuff an
orthodox amp.o -ball-dress requires.
"Not until the end of the enonth."
(Thirty, I should think. I wonder what
gauze is a yard?)
"I suppose you are in a great hurry to
get back?" •
. "Not at all! why should I be? Jack
Is in town, Dolly at school; it is very dull
at borne just now. And I have not been
here ten days yet.'.'
"But you have other friends at Silver -
bridge; there are some residents,age there
not?"
"One or two." (I must have a pair of:
-white satin shoes at Marshall's and long
gloves with a great many buttons—I shall •
not stick at a button or two.) •
"Tell mo their names, for they will be
xay neighbors too very shortly?"
"We have neighbors, len; do not visit
them, nor they us. Papa does not like
them. . We know only one fan:My, and
their name is—Tempest," I say, turning
aside to pluck a modest spray of eaphra,sy,
and looking down on its purple -streaked
petals. ••
"A large family?" ,
"No; only a father and son."
"And I suppose it was because you had
seen so few people that ou recognized me
when NVO met in the field of rye?"
"Perhaps. I had never known but two
men in ell my life—young men I mean --
until I carne here, so I could not very well '
forget, could I?"
"And I am very glad of it," he says,
heartily.
"Aro you? I am not! I don't think one
is able to judge whether a man is admir-
able or the reverse until one has seen a
great many."
"Women ought not to see too many
men," he .says, "it is bad for them."
"That is very hard upon us," 'say. "Is
it not the author of'' Guy Livingstone'
who says that 'a man must see and ad-
mire many roses before he plucks the fair-
est of them all, his Provence rose, to lay
in his breast?' •
"Is she always bound to take theflxst?"
he asks, looking at me very keenly.
"Almost always," I say, with a heavy
sigh. "Must it not be hard when Some
day, and all too late, a woman who has
given away her life like that, ignorantly,
meets with some other who would have
suited her? Ah 1 what ugly words those
are, 'too late!' They always make me
think of Balza° and the dream that ran
through his toiling, barren life; of the
tender woman's hands that should one day
smooth tho hair back from his weary brow
and say: 'Poor soul, thou host suffer-
ed!' They came to him at last, too late."
• "Do you know," says Paul, "that you
have the saddest face sometimes, child,
that I ever saw?"
"Do I look like a girl who is going to
have a miserable story?" I ask, stopping
short • "do I look like a girl who is going
to die young?"
He takes my two hands in his, and looks
down. with infinite goodness on my pale,
scared face.
"God forbid!" he says, gently.
"Do not th nk me a very great coward;
do not despise 111e," I say, shivering; "but
I so fear death. I have such bodily horror
and shrinking away from it, not for what -
it brings, but because 1 so dread to go
away, to be caught one of this warm,
beautiful moth that X know, • and away
from all the people and things I love. X
enjoy my life so keenly that I timid not
bear to lot it go. Do you think I Ethan be
punished? Is it impious to feerlike this?"
You sweet little soul l'' he says, in his
strong, tender voice, "you bo punished
for aught in your fair young life? X wen-
d& what God would voserve for sinners
such as 1, them?"
"Yon aro not a sinner," X say, stoutly,
looking into his noble face—a feco that
gives so much more promise of grand
thinge than ho lobe ever worked in his life.
yet. "You are good."
loose my hands freln his, and we walk
on again side by side.
"Do you know, 1 say, laughing. (why
dime laughter often follow so quickly on
the heels of sighs?),"that if X know you
long, I WWI become the meet egotistical,
matendoting little peeson In Cheisteridoint
`iron jtist listen to nay ooniplainings; at
borne no one ever (Meet Who was it said
that thole Wore teva people in the world
one sheald never trust One's self to talk
abOtit-.one's self and One's enenlel"
4' A foolish man, whoever lie Was," "says
Paul, "who knew nothing of 'human na-
ture; for are not those two naturally the
most interesting peeple under the sun?"
"I do not think I have au eneneXt”
say', ponsidering; "live you?"
• "NO particular one diet I know •of/
though there are plenty Of people who dis-
like me, no doubt. When yea. are back at
Silyerbridge, Noll, I shall See you very.
eften, Shall net?" . •, •• •
. "If papa does not hike a dislike to you."
"I shall be glad to be back' there," he
Says, with a hearty content In his voice.
"After
is bit, I senpose, I shall settle doWn
and grow fat 1"
"1 don't think so," I said, glancing at
his elean length of limb. "A man need
never do that unless he pleases.; he has tea
many active exeroises by which he can
wiled off stoutness.
'4 Theo some day I may expect to see
you of very comely proportions?"
"No, lean and •haggard and ill-favored
very likely, but stont never. • I• bother
myself too much over everything • for.
that"
"Your husband will take better care of
you," he says; then, bending his head to
look into my eyes with those splendid
dark Ones, that send so sharp and quiek a
pain through my heart, 'has it never oc-
curred to you, child, that same day you
will marry?"
"All people -marry at some time or an-
other, do they not? It is a solid, heavy
puddi g of which all taste in turn!"
''Except the old 111211dS?'
• "1 had forgotten thorn; but they have
probably had lovers in their brae; and
after all, the oourting must be so much
pleasanter than the bard and fast wed
lc"3"
iti
"think your experience of married
people cannot have boon very fortunate,"
says Paul, lopking arnesed. 'Why should
not people love each other after thoy are
married as well as before?"
"They ought, but very often they do
not! They begin very hot and end very
cold; and I was wondering only yesterday
Whether, if ono married somebody one did
not are about, one weeild gradually get
warmer toward him?"
"It would be rather a dangerous ex-
periment," says Paul; "were you think-
ing of trying it?"
• I do not answer, and, as at this rao-
nieit NVO fd,11 in with Fano and Milly, he
has no opporunity of repeating his ques-
tion.
CHAPTER VIII.
. Ibis high noon, and we are "six pre-
cious souls, and all agog," dashing along,
the dusty, hot turnpike road toward
Beechtun Wood. The sun, knowing that
his true is shorten& that he will ere long
sink from the prend overbearing tyrant
into the mild, benevolent dull old. lumin-
ary, is boating hard down upon us with
broad level strokes, -cleaving our ,parasols
and tickling our faces, making us in short
' very uncoutfortalile, cress and. miser „ble.
It is the sort of day when one longs- in-
stinctively for an open unoccupied space
no living being near to touch one and
nothing to , do eave to imbibe • cooling
drinks; therefore pity us 0 reader! in
that I am shut up with three ot er fe-
males in Milly's landau. Behind us fol-
lows it carriage sineil erly filled and we are
en route for the vernal shades of Beecham
and the society of the sportsmen with
whom we are going far the first time to
eake luncheon. They have several times
asked - humbly enough for our society but
with the fitst lust of slaughter upon them
Milly judged wisely that they were best
left to their own and the birds' company.
, They are SOMohwat sated by now, though,
for to -day is the lath of the month.
(TO mno catirlUBD.)
Story of a Diamond. .
One of the earliest doubts harbored by
the youthful intelligence of the wisdom of
its instructors is when it learns that
neither black swans nor black pearls are
especially rare. Had proverbial philosophy
given its mind to the blue diamonds it
would have alighted on something really
rich and raro, since, although diamonds
find their way into market, diamonds of
an ;unmistakable blue are exceedingly
scarce. The "Hope blue dianiond," of
which London has heard. so much recently,
in the course of tho action brought by
young Mr. Taskor against a 'firm of Bond
street jewelers, is probably tho finest gem
of its kind known to exist. The blue is so
,deep as to be almost indigo—a tint unap-
preached evon by the sapphire. The his-
tory of the stone is curious. It appears
indeed, to be only a portion of a larger
stone with a pedigree that goes back some
250 years, or more. Tavernier, the fa-
mous French traveller, who 116 left sable
entertaining memoirs of his journeys to
the East in search of ,precious stones,
bought it in India in 1611. In the rough
it weighed 11234 carets; and in 18e8 it
was sold to Louis Quatorze, whoia.ppears
t� havehad it cut. • When, in 1715, the
then almost moribund Rio Soleil received
the Persian anthaesador, he wore his
diamond uporga ribbon around his nook.
From this date until the revolution noth-
ing more was heard of the gem. Then,
among the French regalia deposited in the
Garde Meuble, there was found a blue
diamond weighing 671-8 carats, which, it
is believed, would be a likely weight for
Tavernier's stone after cutting. In Sep-
tember, 1792, the diamond was stolen and
was for seine years lost sight of. In 1880)
however,e: similar stone, differently, turn-
ed up. There is a good deal of mystery
about its -pedigree; but the experts seene
to be satisfied that it was either a portion
of tho Tavernier diamond, or the identical •
stone reduced to 44te carats by reculting.
Fr0111 the.hands of the dealer who possess-
ed it some years ago it passea to the late
Mr.11ope, from whom it obtained its pres-
ent name. He gave :818,000 for it, evitich
was considered rather a low price. Now it
appears to bo "in chancery," and possibly
before long it renty have a now possessor.
In a Dreadful Fix.
"neater," said a distressed wife to the
family physician, as ho was coining down
stairs :from his patient's room, ": an you
give me no hopo of my dearest leusabndP
Can nothing be done?' /
"Madame," said the delighted, doctor,
robbing his hands, " allow 1110 to oongratu-
late you. Om patient has taken it turn for
the bettor, and now We may hope to have
him about again in a fow weeks."
"01;, doctor!" exclaimed the horrified
woman, throwing tip her hands;
told. mo he Weld not poesibly get better,
and nave sold all hie clothes 1"
victims of Injustice.
Nurse --Sure mn 'man the twins have
boon making a fuss all deg) nia'ant.
ATM Olive Branch—What abottt?
Nuese—It's because they (ain't heves a
birthday a piece, like the SMith children
neoct door; They think they have been
cheated.
141
e
•<,.$
Castoria Is Dr.. Samuel Piteher's PreSCriptlon for Infants
and Children; It contains.neither Opium, Morphine nor
• other Narcotic substartee. L1.4 •a harmless substitute
' for Paregoric, Drops, Soothing Syrups, and Castor Oil.
is ,Plessant. Its guarantee Clirty years' use by
Mil/ions of Mothers. .Castoria, destroys Worms and al/flys
feVerislmess. Castoria prevents vomiting Sour Curd,
Cliff.% Diarrhoea and Wind Colic. Castoria relieves
teethinr, troubles, Cures constipatiou and flatulency.
• Castoria assimilates' .the food, regulates the stomach
and bowels, giving , healthy and natural sleep. Cass
toria is the Children's Panacea—the Mother's Frien.d.
C4Opria_. • Castorin.
"Oastorla is an excellent medicine for ehil, " Castorle. is Sewell aer rite)/ to child ren t,has•
tree. ietothers have repeatedly told. me 01: iia 1. recommend it sasupertur Loamy prescription
wood offeet neon their children:, ,
•to me."
G, C. Oscroon, heaven
E. .a. AUCTIEN M. D,
• Lowell, Mass. 11180. Otkrord St., Brooklyn, R. Nee
Castoria is the bp't remedy for children "Our physicians itt the childrea's depart,.
.tich 1 ani acquainted. 1 hope the day ia not merit have spoken highly of their expert
.ar distant when mothers will consider tho real mice in their cartside practice with Castoria,
interest of farir children, and use Caetoria in- and although we only have among our
stead of the veriousgiaok nostrems welch are medical supplies what is knywn as regular
dostroyingtheir loved ones, by forcing opium, products, yet we are free to confess that the
morphine, soothing syrup and Other hurt Cal rnerita of CaStorta has won Us tobookwith.
emmts down -their throats, thereby sending • fever UPealt."
titian to pietas/ire raeves," UNIT= UDSPIT.A.la AND DISPd.5utIr;
, D1L. J. F. Tenecereos, - • • Buston, Masse
Conway, • are A,Liont O. amen,
The Centaur Contemner, '7'7 Metetera7 Streser ork Cite,
TheligaTeMtMEX47—`" ega,13•''''eelenhrreeM=Z17.==iliagEiZZIEMir
STORIES OF MONTE CARLO.
Some of Thelitt True, Malay False, But Au
Islay In terestl rig.
But whaShould this be, sipping some;
iced vermouth at the marble tablec'but an 1
old friend whom I will call Mr. •Specta-
tor? He lives at Monte Carlo; he has
passed a score of seasons here; • he has
plenty of money; he goes to the Casino
every day and every evening, and he
never pays a cent. 11 is bis occupation
in life to be an observer of things and to
mark the ways ot man and womankind
In the sumnieh im willinarei them at
Aix-les-Bains, at Lausanne, or at Trou-
ville. Ile, knows everething about what
Is going on just now at "Monty;" what
Russian,princess pawned lea diamonds
last week, and what Cuban -sugar planter
did not die of apoplexy at the Hotel
Carmbole but poisoned himself with prus-
sic acid. "He Was a fool, sir," 'quail.
Mr. Spectator, "Why • didn't he go to the
Administration? Why didn't he make
his declaration? They knew well enough
that he had lost 200,000 francs an the
course of ten slays. They would, have
paid his traveling and hotel expenses back
to Paris, or back to Brazil for the matter
of that. He was a fool, sir!"
Mr. Spectator went on to explain that
when a oloaned-out player made a candid
admission. of his inmeauniosity the
administration gave hith ' a sum of
money sufficient to defray his journey by
railway to tho place whence he came and
his incidental ,expenses en route.. •He
mentioned one ease in evinch it whole
family of five persons were allowed
fifteen lords apiece to take them front
Monte Carlo to London, •the sole condi-
tion attached to the largesse being that
the recipient sbould not re-enter the ',cas-
ino unless he or she recouped the Admin-
istration for their outlay. In the case,
Which he cited, one of the party, a lady,
Who had not gone farther than Nice, re-
ceived Senle 'weeks afterwards' a handsome
remittance from, England. She went
back blithely to •"Monty," repaid the
fifteen louis, re-entered .the Casino, and
backing the theme .dernier, not forgetting
zoro, won 400. "You are not to be-
lieve," added Mr. Sreetater, "a tithe of
the sensational stories printed &rant ruin-
ed gamesters hanging thetasolves to trees
in the gardens, or blowing out : thole
brains in the reading -room. ',' The major-
ety of those canards are set on foot by ob-
scure Frenoh newspapers which have not
been subvontioned or bribed by the Ad-
ministration to puff Monte Carlo.
One of tho pleasantest characteristic's
of ray friend Mr. Spectator is that every
time you meet him he has a from atery to
tell you about an infallible • system for
winning at roulette, and this time he 're-
galed me with, a succinct narrative .of
what I may call the "Wellington boot sys-
• tem." Capt. Backum had played for
Many years a large /mother of, systems,
• and by the time he was live•and-forty had
played away a baudsome fortune. .A
happy thought occurred tee hint. He al-
ways woro Wellington boots. His capital,
was just five louts This ho changed
into five-frano pieces, and he rever staked
Moth than one piece at a time, and if he
won he withdrew his Stakes after the
third coup. His winnings he carefully
placed in it side pooket, and 'svhenever
he had won four pieces he changed them
into a louts and slipped the coin into one
of his boots He played for seven conse-
cutive hours before his stock capital was,
eilmustod. Thou lie returned to Nice,
sornevvhat heavy of stop, and, Atawing
off his boots, found that he had Won is
•hundred louts. "This was two years
ago," continued Me. Spectator, "and
only last week I .found- Baokurn at a
third Ass hotel at Nico. He was in a
dressing gown and Slippers, and looking
by no moans ohoovral. "How about the
Welliegtou boot Nei -stem?" I asked.
"titter Collapse," be minket "Confound.
cal run of bad inele." "And the boots?"
I went on. "Tho boots?" he replied, "I
pawned theM yesterday afternoon,
So this is "Aloe ty" in full eyeing ;
"Monty," with its ups and dewns, its
ceaseless whirl of gayety and dissipation.
There is no rest at Monte Carlo. When
yeti aro tired of play there are detonable
•porformanceS; there aro concerts; thcre is
a pigeon shooting; and it tho Fleeing and
ea/inner there is plenty of yachting, But
all these are only side issues. The Grand
Trunkgine of Monte Chun° loads to the
Temple of Memnon, It is crowded night
and day by people lusting foe nionee,
whitish they hate not earned, and it is the
flora to nein.
• The Work of the Heart.
Oue of , the most remarkable things
about the heart is the amount of work it
does. Considering the organ as a pump,
whose task it is to deliver a known
quantity of blood, against a known
"head," it is easy to show that irt
twenty-four hours a man's heart does
about one hundred and twenty-four foot
tons of 'work. "In other words," says a
contemporary, "if the whole force ex-
pended by the heart in twenty-four hours
were gathered into one huge stroke, suele
a power would lift ane hundred and
twenty-four tons one foot from Vier
ground. A similar celoulation has been
made respecting the amount of work ex-
pended bythe muscles involved in breath-
ing: In twenty-four hours these mus-
cles do about tweny-one foot tons ot
work."
Apropos of Graduating "Essays."
t Lafoadio Hearn relates that there was a
remarkable identity of ideas and expres-
sions in the compositions written by his
Japanese pupils on a single theme. But
it is not necessary to go to Japan to dis-
Dover the like. There is commonly just
• such a similarity, of thought and expres-
sion in most school compositions on the
same subject. It seems merely that im-
mature minds in Japan, as in America,
note the obvious, with the difference,
perhaps, that the training of the Japan-
ese child intensifies his conventionalities
of thought and expression.
1Frig1d and Torrid Temperatures.
Greely, tho Arctic explorer, probably ex-
perienced a wider range of temperature
than any other living man. He recorded.
thirty-six •degrees below zero at Fort Con-
ger, in Lady Franklin Bay. On a,nother
occasion, in the Maxioopa desert of Ari-
zona, his thermometer in the shade ran
up to DA.
MULTUM IN PARVO.
They that govern most make the least
noise.—Selden.
Uncertainly and expectation are joys
of life. —Congreve. •. •
As sight is in the eye, so is the mind
in the soul.—Sophooles. ' ••
There is none so homely but •loves a
• look-glass.—South. • .
• There is a pleasure •in poetic pains
Which only poets know.—Cowper.
Covetous 'men are mean slaves and
drudges to their substance. 7-Bureon.
If fania is to come only after death, t
aux in no hurry for it.
when .Bany waS attni, we. gaye her Castor's.
When sne was it Child, she cried for Castoria. •
When she becanao 311as, she clung to Castoria.
When she had Children, silo gave them Castoria:
een
KENDALI:
_PAYM CURE
TNT
irosr stfoorssmi. REMEDY
FoR MAN OR BEAST.
Certain la Its streets and sever blisters.
• "ocad proofs below
RENDALLISPAVIN CURE
...,.....„,,...thddr..Co.,111.,Veb.24,85.
Dr. 153.
81.11- Pinesq send rite ono of +our Itorse
Mows 'tad oblige, I have used a great- deal of your
mreamhsu'e 'tan,, Ouro 'with geed anecest it it O.
uManierfal medicine. 5 once had a mare that bad.
an (leen it AprivIn and Ave bettlee cured her. 1
1:sepal:Ratio on hand all the tinio..
Your.ttrUlyi, CHAS. Noma,.
ENBALL'S SPOPN CURE.
elesros, Mo.Apr. a, ,01.
Dr. 71.J. xitsant,T, ('o.
bear Sats—I Iln.vt) used word bottles 01 your
"Kendall's Snavin Caro" 'withibuSi, steam. X
think a the be$t Liniment I ever Wed. Itanc.'re.
mbvee out OHO), one Blood and Wiled
two Bono SiorivItts. Have reconuncnded it .to
Several of mW
y ends who aro Mut% Vented With
and keep 11 ReSneeifi 11 ,
Mr> . O. biox
For $aiebg en Druagste, or address
11 Dr. IL IC:V.2MA= 002EL1'A2T.o
eNOODUR411 FALLS, VT,
••••