HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-5-17, Page 6[NOW' FIRST VUBLISUED.)
LTKE AND
LAU, RIGHTS RESEEVED,]
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By M. E. BR ADDON,
Author of "]Au AlIDLEIr'S SECRET," 4" WYLI4AIOD'S WEIRD,' Eve, Eno,
• CHAPTER XV.-1Vfoneta Winnems.
The mother aelther repulsed nor en.
couraged that embraee. She let the girl's
arms rest tepou her neck for a few minutes,
while she stood with cloided brow, deep in
thought.
"'Whet do you. want?" she asked abrupt-
ly, 6;fter a pause that seemed long.
"Nothing, in this house."
"Why have you come here I"
" Fez- two reasona, first I wanted you, and
next I thought you wanted me,"
"You thought I wanted you," cried Mrs.
Mandeville, with a scornful laugh, that
cynical laugh which hed of late years been
her only laughter. "Don't you think if I
had wanted you I should have gone to fetch
you. 1 knew where you were to be found,'
"You :nigh t want a, claughter'slove, without
knowing your need of her," answered the girl
firmly, unabashed by the disorderly splendor
of the room, or by her mother's mocking
laughter.
She stood before the sinner as calmly as if
she had been her gaudier', angel sent to her
from the Eternal Throne.
I saw that you had been very unhappy
—in. greatmisery and despair," she continu-
ed, "1 read of your unhappiness in a news-
paper, and I lett et was time for me to go to
you. The newspaper told me where you
lived. It was my first chance ot finding
you."
"Poor ! And pray what use did
you think your coming could be to me."
"I might help you to make up your mind."
4' To make up my mind, about what."
44 About leaving this house, mother dear-
est, about leavin; a home in which you have
been so miserable that you would have kill-
ed yourself to escape from it. Indeed, in-
deed, dear mother, there was no need to
take that last desperate step. The world is
wide enough for everyone. Let us go out
into it together. You can never be more
unhappy than you were when you tried to
end your life. You may behappier, guarded
by your daughter's love."
" Guarded by you," exclaimed the other,
mockingly, but with a touch of gentleness.
"Oh, my poor, loveng, forgiving child,
what do you suppose you can do for me—
you. No: it is all over with me, Madge.
You should have kept clear of me—as I have
kept clear of you. I might have come after
you --might have brought you here—might
have shown you London life and its pleas-
ures and finery as I know them, but I was
wiser for you than I have been for myself.
Any kindness I can try to show her will be
poison, I said to 'myself—better let her
starve in the old man's hovel than feast
with me. I kept clear of you for your own
sake, Madge, though I daresay I seemed a
cruel mother. Yes, for your own sake—and
a little perhaps because I am hard by nature
and have never felt the want of a child's
love. No, it is as well to be candid. I
didn't want you in the yews one by and I
doia'e want you now. You have done a very
foolish thing in coming to this house, and
the very best thing you can do is to get out
of it the first thing to -morrow morning, and
go back to Devonshire by an early train—go
back, and never tell the odd father you have
seen, me." •
4' I am not going back. I have come to
London for good. I am going to share my
life with you. I am strong, and I can work
for you—if I can get work to do. If I can't
we con starve together. It will be better
than what you are going to do."
"Oh, don't harp upon it like that, girl.
Don't ram that odious police report down
My throat, or remind me of the devil that
brought me to such a pass. I was desper-
ate, mad! You don't suppose I am always
f the same humour, do you?"
"I think your life must have been very
.nhappy before it came to that."
"Ye, I have been miserable enough by
fits and starts; but it has not been all mis-
ery. I have been the slave of a bad man—
yes, his slave, though before tbe world he
pretended to make me his queen. I have
felt the bond wearing thin on both sides—
his and mine—have felt that the tie must
soon snap; but I have held on, like grim
death, rather than let him, go. I think as
my love has lessened I have grown more de-
termined to bold him, and to prevent his go-
ing after any one else. I have made him
pay pretty dearly for every time he has of-
fended me. It has been pull devil, pull
baker ; but the baker—meaning me—has
aometimes got the upper hand."
She laughed an angry laugh as she turned
away from Madge, seeming almost to forget
her presence, and stood with her elbow on
the velvet -cushioned chininey.piece, looking
moodily down at the expiring fire.
"No, he has not had things all his own
way," she muttered. "1 bave been a match
for him—sometimes."
After an interval of brooding she turned
upon Madge sharply.
"Tell me the truth, child," she said. "I
am a woman ot the world, not easily hum.
bugged. What brought you here ?"
"1 have told you my reasons, mother."
"Oh. that's all flummery. I've treated.
you very badly. I was in low water when
I took you book to the hovel where I was
reared, or I don't suppose I should have
done such a thing. And then afterwards—
it was wiser to leave you there. What love
can there be between us then, mother and
'child ! The word's a mere empty sound to
you and me."
"Not to me, mother. I have nothing in
the world to love —but you. You oan have
my whole heart if you will. I will be your
slave if you will leave this house and go out
into the world with me, trusting in Provi-
dean: for the rest."
"Have you any money ?"
A few shillings."
Any home in London ?"
"Not yet. We can look for a lodging to-
gether,"
" The girl is mad."
"Not Madder than you were, mother,
when you tried to poison yourself," maid
Madge, resolutely. "You confessed that
it was not the first time you had tried. And
you meant to die, you said. Theris can be
nothing that you and I may have to fate
together worse than death : and you will at
'east escape from—shame.'
Her voice sank almost to a whisper as she
poke that final word,
" You, talk like a book," said bhe mother,
till Cynical. •
"1 talk to you from the depths of my
teart," aneweincl the girl. "1 had been
hinking and 'wondering about you for a
.nag time before I saw that newspaper. I
had yearned for you in the loneliness of my
life, and. when I saw that, I said to myself
the time has corne. I had more than one
motive. I hated my life down yonder —
hated, myself. I wanted someone to work
for..—some purpose to strive for. 1 come to
you penniless, but not helpless. I am young
Her own iatoneity of feeling, her own
luipeless love, male her sympathetic. She
Ecould pity thia older woman who had sacri-
ficed all for the man from whom she now
e had only ill.mege and neglect for her guer-
and atrong, and know how to work. Mother,
you will trust your life to me, won't you ?
Y o were not afraid of death ; why should
you be afraid of poverty,"
Beba'080 it's a great deal worse than
death. One mono the blowing out of a
light; n puff, and all is over. No more
pain, no more rage and bitterness, No
growing old and ugly, when one has been
au acknowledged beauty. Poverty is the
smouldering of elle candle, burning slowly
down in the socket, guttering, flaring, stink-
ing itself gradually out into darkness.
Poverty for a woman who has lived as I
have lived is worse than a hundred sudden
deaths, if one could die a hundred times
over by pulling a trigger, or tying a noose."
" But, mother, to escape from a bad
life—from all that has ever been evil in
your life—to feel yourself honest and brave
and true. Who would nob eat dry bread
for the sake of that?" Mrs. Mandeville did
not answer immediately. She began' to
pace the room, with her hands clasped
above her head, her blaok hair streaming
over her shoulders, the white round arms
Ibare to the elbows—arms that a girl might
have been proud of, arms whicbli had been
the adtniration of a whole theatre soraetimes,
when this woman sat perdue in her box,
one white arm opanned with diamonds,
lying on the dark velvet cushion.
She peoed the rooni silently for three or
four minutes ; and then, stopped abruptly,
facing her daughter,
"Madge, had you come to 1110 three years
ago with such a proposition, I suppose I
should have laughed in your faoe. I was in
luck then—this house was just furnished.
I had two of the best saddle -horses in Lon-
don and a Victoria that took the shine out
of helf the titled ladies—those strait-laced
ones, I mean, who,hold their heads high be-
came they have not been through the di-
vorce court. I had it all my own way just
then—yes, I was better off chan when I was
your age. But things are changed. We
have gone too fast, both of us. It's all up,
money gone—and love gone with it, girl.
You know what they say—when one comes
in at the door, the other flies out of the
window. We never took to quarrelling
desperately tillhe began to lose his money.
There is very little choice for me, Madge—
death or the workhouse—that's about what
it means--unless—unless--"
" Unlesi what, mother ?"
"Unless there should be a pigeon so well
worth plucking that the crow can feather
his nest again."
"1 don't understand you, mother."
"1 don't want you to understand me.
You ought never to have come here," an-
swered Mrs. Mandeville, impatiently, a
creature of impulse and whim, having hot
fits and cold fits, now all sentiment, anon
vulear almost to brutality, a brilliant un-
educated woman, who had seen the world
in many phases and all of them the worst.
She rang a bell violently, and the maid
who had admitted Madge appeared so much
more quickly than is the manner of her
kind, that it might be guessed she had been
listening on the landing.
"Has Colonel Mandeville come in :0
"No ma'am, and cook says the dinner
won't be fit to throw in a pig trough."
"She had better serve it decently for all
that, if the Colonel does come' in and bring
the two gentlemen I expect."
" I don't think there's much use in expect-
ing anybody now, ma'am. It's past nine
o'clock," the maid answered with an off-
hand
e"They may come any time before mid-
night. Let the dinner be kept back, some-
how, and not burnt to a cinder, as the quails
I were last night. That's all."
The girl went out, slamming the door be-
hind her.
"Madge," said her mother,"if the man
I expect is not here before midnight, I will
go where you like to -morrow morning."
"Dear mother," cried the girl, trying to
carves her.
"Don't touch me I feel like a tigress.
It is not for love of you I shall go, but for
hatred of him. Oh, the scoundrel, the cruel,
relentless scoundrel, to leave me like this in
my old age. He told me the other night
that I was an old woman, and that was why
nobody cared to come to my supper parties.
He said that, when it was his shameless
villainy that had frightened away all but the
veriest fools; and there were not fools
enough to serve his turn ; and he rounded
on me—his decoy. And he deserts me now,
with an execution in the house, and a man
in possession, and every jewel and every rag
I own striped from me. And yet there are
women who are not half as handsome as I
have been, who have made fortunes and
boughb landed estates. It is an infamous
shame. I will go with you to -morrow
morning if things are not set Straight to-
night. -You shall have some supper, and
there is a room over this where you can
sleep." She was going to ring but Madge
stopped her.
"Don't mother," she said, resolutely, yet
not ungently, "1 can't stop in this house."
"You can't! Why not, pray 1"
"No need to say why. I have to get a
lodging in the north. of London, near the
Gray's Inn Road."
"To -night ! Nearly ten o'clock and you
a :3 !monger in London. You must be mad."
"No, I am not, mother. I know where
to go, and I don't care how far it is. I shall
be here to -morrow morning; if you won't
come with me to-night—at once."
"Go with you to the east end; to hunt
- for a room to shelter us—to spend the night
in a casual ward, perhaps. A tempting in-
vitation."
" We shall not have to hunt. I have the
address of a respectable lodging -house. It
was given me by a housemaid at Lady Bel -
field's, a girl who had been in a factory be-
fore she went into service."
"How do you know that there will be
room for you in your respectable lodging -
house, or that the housemaid told you the
truth about its respectability ?"
"She Was a good, honest girl, and I ean
trust her. Mother, why not come with me
now ?" urged the girl pleadingly.
No wondatt'S Voice had ever addressed
Margaret Mandeville with so tnuch tender.
• *less, never all to -night had a woman's arms
entwined themaelves about her neck. And
this girl was her own flesh and blood, her
only child, looking at her with pleading eyes,
trying to lure her away from the brimstone
path. And of late the brimstone path had
not been a way Of pleasantness.
"No, I must See to -night out," said Mrs.
Mandeville, between her clenched teeth,
"1 must see if he can be villain enough to
abandon me."
" IVIother, were you ever fond of this cruel
Man, who treats you so Edis rnefully ?" asked
Madge earnestly,
don,
"Won1 over fond of him ? Yes," mut
tered Mrs. Mandeville. " Don't I tell yen
that I was his slave? I have had my admirers
by the dozen -1 have had my victims, too,
and hare wasted three or four handsome
fortunes in my time. I was not called Madge
Wildfire for nothing, 13ut this one was the
only man I ever oared for—the only one who
was the Elaine to me in riohea or poverty—
the only one for whom I made sacrifices.
You would think I Was lying perhaps if I
were to tell you the chances I have heal,
aud thrown away for his sake. 17011 think,
perhaps, that such as we don't have our
chances. But we do, girl, and better
chances than the women who are brought
up in cotton -wool, and looked after by at-
fectionate mothers and high-minded fathers.
I might have married a man with half a
million of monee . I might have married a
Man with a handle to his -name, and might
have been called my lady, and your lady-
ship—I, Madge Wildfire. But I thing away
ray• chances, because I loved Jack Mande-
ville—loved him and etuck to him till he got
tired of me, and only valued me as a hand-
some decoy, to sit at the head of his dinner
table, and look sweet at his rich young
dupes when they dropped in for a night's
play. This home has cost Colonel Mande-
ville very little, Madge; but he is tired of
it, and of me. He let me .give a bill of sale
on the furniture to my milliner, and there
is an execution in for nine hundred pounds
odd, and if that's not paid out, every
stick will be sold, and I shall be
turned into the street. I owe my
landlord the quarter's rent, and he's furious
about the bill of sale. There'll be no mercy
from him. even if I could live in e house
without furniture. That's how the land
lies. •That was what drove me to poison
myself. I saw ruin stewing me in the face,
and I saw Mandeville did not care what be-
came of me."
"Why stay here then? Why not come
with me at once? •
"Bemuse he may change his mind—he
may bring me the money to -night. He has
not been here since that buainees with the
poison. But I wrote to him this morning at
his club, a letter that might melt a stone.
He may help me after all. He may be here
to -night."
"Very well, mother. I will come again
to -morrow mornmg,' said Madge, kissing
her mother's burning forehead, and then
moving towards the door
"Yon had better stay upon the premises
if you want to save me from myself."
"Anything but that. No, mother, I
must go. But I promise to be kere early."
" Bat toenorrow I don't promise to see
you," answered Mrs. Mandeville, angrily.
"You are a proud,. cold-hearted, insolent
slut. I never want to see your face again."
"I shall be here to-nnorrow morning,"
said Madge, unmoved by this burst of tem-
per, and she was gone.
(TO BE CO1TIN17ED,)
The Result of a Woman's Ingenuity.
The "Woman Question" in England to-
day is not so much whether they are to have
the suffrage but whether they are going to
have daily bread -and the wherewithal to be
clothed. fn the fierce struggle for life among
the lower classes a common solution is emi-
gration, and with them the women can emi-
grate as easily as the men, but when the
same difficulty is lifted to a higher social
plane the woman has no such refuge. The
men can and do emigrate. They go to
Australia and own sheep farms, or come to
the United States and invest in ranches or
marry American heiresses; but for the ever
increasing supply of the fair foie there is no
such outlet, and it has been an open secret
for some years that there is really a great
deal of suffering among English women of
the upper classes. It haa driven many of
them to revolt at last, and to take the aston- I
ishing step of going into trade rather than I
suffer any longer the miseries of genteel ,
poverty. • Dressmaking and millinery have
been their favourite methods of getting a
support, and they set up regular establish- I
ments under paeudonymes which are not
even meant to deceive the public, but ,
are used to salve the wounded pride of ,
their relatives. For these ladies are
very well e: aware of the commercial ,
value of their rank and know that the
the rich bourgeoise cannot resist the de-
lightful and novel sensation of having their
gowns made for them by "the daughter of
a hundred earls." Mrs. Charles Gurney
was the first to take the step. She was
clever, pretty and admired, and belonged to
an ancient and honorable family, but was
horribly poor. She had always been
obliged to make her own clothes, with the I
help of her maid, because she couldn't afford
to have them done out, and had eminent sue- ,
oess therewith. She sketches nicely in
water colors and was in the habit of pictur-
ing her gowns in this way before making
them up. But she kept growing poorer and
poorer, and even the materials were hard to
come by. It was during a period of great
depression on this subject that a wealthy
friend dropped in and happetted to get sight
of these costume sketches. She was en.
chanted. "My dear," she said, "1 know
you need money. Now, if you will just de- ,
sign my costume for me in this way so that
my dressmaker can copy the pictures I'll
pay you handsomely for it." Mrs. Gurney
seized 02 the chance with avidity, and be-
fore the season was over every one was re-
marking Mrs. Orman charming costumes.
Her friends began asking who designed
them, and in consequence Mrs. Gamey had
more than she could do. Finally it dawned
upon her that she would double her
earnings if she made up her own designs
instead of furniahing them to the dress-
makers. There was a great outcry at
first, but before long there was is new
dressmaker in the ranka, a certain Mme.
Valentini, and the other costumers got no
more of Mrs. Gurney's designs. Mme. Val-
entini makes dresses for the Princess of
Wales, Princesses Louise and Beatrice and
the Duohees Paul, and Min winslow, Mies
Grant and Mies Chamberlain, as well
as Mrs. Vanderbilt are among her fre-
quent ciistomers. In coneequence Mrs.
Gurney Inc grown rich. She keeps
a beautiful carriage, instead of her
makeshift gowns dreoses as well as her rich
customers, and at: she keeps Mme. Valentini
and Mre. Gurney quite separate is as great
a favorite in society as even Lady Gordon,
who had a genius for manufaeturing her own
bounces, observed and pondered over this
example and the result Was the founding of
a bonnet shop, Mrs. Pocklington followed
up the dressmaking line, and the latest ad-
dition to the list of titled tradertpeople ia
Lady Mackerzie, who oils herself .Mme. de
Conroy, and who has just set Up amp."
The result is the formation of a "London
Society of Lady Dressmakers," formed as a
gat of titled dressmakers' trot to prevent
tho lowering of prices by too much compet.
ition. Any one wishing to enter Must furn-
ish testimonial of social position as well as
of character,
Health in the Spring.
In Spring, if sato would be well, we 00.12
hardly take too -much exercise, especially
long willies, and We ought to dress lightly
but warmly, The clogging, cumbersome
top -coat, the india-rubber mantle, the heavy
medlar, and deedlygoloshes should all be loft
indoors when we go out to walk, G levee
hould be worn, warm thick etockings and
easy softshoos; alight silk scarf may be taken
—and put on if requirod—and also an um-
brella ; but these are the arms which one
should carry againat the weather if he or she
values health.
prevention is better than cure,
But if we cuddle ourselves up indoors in
badly -ventilated, overheated rooms, and take
our exercises abroad, laden to the earth
with extra, clothing, we can not be well
either in body or in mind. We shall be
peevish all day, destitute of spirits and am-
bition;we all have wretched appetites,
sluggish shlivers, and restless nights.
I will here mention one or two ailments
incidental to Spring which, pray mark this,
are preventible by means hinted at above.
Here is one troublesome complaint of the
season—relaxed sore throat. There may be
more or less huskinees with it, and is nasty,
hacking cough. There is relaxation of the
uvula and a swelling of the tonsils; and the
worst of it is that it hangs about one for
weeks, threatening many kinds of mischief,
and making the sufferer frightened and un -
y.
Now we must not imagine that we are
going to cure this trouble by medioine or
local applications alone. Though there be
no disturbance of the general health attach-
ed to it, it is constitutional nevertheless. The
real cure for it is nob to be found in bed nor
at the fireside. Change of air or climate
would do good, but everyone can not get it.
Emaciate much be taken, and good, easily -
digested food. Iron in some form should
also be taken if the gums and faoe be pale.
The dialyzed iron of the shops, or simply
the tincture of iron, his excellent:- The let-
ter is apt to bind, so some Cascara extraot
should be taken now and then. Wine is re-
commended by some, but I take leave to
doubt its effiesny. Milk is invaluable, and
change in diet should be constant.
The best local applications are a mixture
of glycerine and tincture of iron, two parts
of the former to one of the latter, painted
quite all over the inside of the throat and
elongated uvula thrice a day by means of a
camel's hear brush; or tannate of glyoerme
used the same way and the last thing at
night.
If the oough is verybad, something more
serious might be brewing, therefore you had
better conault a physician.
I mention neuralgia only to remind the
reader that this is also as often as not a con-
stitutional complaint. It is easily brought
on—face ache I mean—in those whose teeth
are bad, and it is a pity that so little care
is taken to conserve the teeth in this
country. I do not refer entirely to the
dentist's art in conservation; this is very
good, but those persons whose teeth are
constitutionally prone to decay, should be
more than ordinarily careful to live by rule.
Beware of the existing causes of neuralgia
—such as exposure to high winds, sitting in
draughts, and cold or damp feet. Take
time by the forelock as regards hollowing
teeth. I say " hollowing ' advisedly, for
moat people wait till the tooth is a positive
shell before thinking of is visit to the den-
tist. Remember you can not lose a better
friend than a tooth. Without good, sound
teeth, good, sound digestion is an impossi.
bility.
Biliousness is a very common Spring com-
plaint: leis brought about as often as not
by overentting and insufficient action of the
skin. It may be soared away for a time by
taking a blue pill at night and a dose of
Frederickshall water in the morning, but it
is sure to return. You see it is like this:
if the skin, which is by far and away the
moat important emunctory connected with
our "forms divine," does not act well, ex'na
work is thrown on liver and kidneys, and
the former at all events is sure to become
inactive or engorged. Plenty of exercise
is the wisest remedy, but the digestion
must be men to. Are we to take bitters
to give us an appetite? Certainly not;
better lower the diet, or go without for a
day. The flesh -brush or a rough towel
after a cold or tepid bath is an excellent
preventative of liver troubles, and creates
almost an immunity from colds. Exer-
cise is only good when kept up regularly
for weeks. a
No Sugar on Oatmeal.
"Be careful how you eat oatmeal," said a
doctor recently. "Oatmeal is avery healthy
food if taken properly. No food, is healthy
if improperly used."
"How should it be eaten ?"
oatmeal is eaten in excess of the
needs of the body for proper nutrition it
overloads and taxes the system. It mast not
be eaten partially -cooked. Flour, cornmeal,
rioe and other approved at:tides of whole -
Some diet are not healthy it half cooked.
If an excess of sugar or other sweets ie used
it will disagree with many people, causing
indigestion. If eaten with an excess of
cream it will not be healthy for some per-
sons ewhose stomachs are too delicate to
stand a rich food. Oatmeal, is a healthy
food when not used for overfeeding, when
suffi 3ient1y cooked and when not used with
an excess of cream or sweetie Oatmeal
should be eaten without any sweets, using a
little milk or cream, a little butter, and
seasoned with salt as the.Scotch do."
Inplantation of Teeth.
From a paper on this subject read by D
Abbott, of New York, before the New York
Academy of Medicine, and printed in the
Medical Reeord, we gather the following
facts. Teeth, which had long been out of
the mouth, have been inserted into artificial
sockets made hi the jaw'and have become,
to all appeare.nce, good, healthy and service-
able teeth.
Into the socket from which it decayed
tooth has been extracted is sound tooth, tak-
en from another jaw, has been inefirted, and,
being held in foe a time with ligatures, has
united fully with the tissues of the socket.
This has ocaasionally been clone for two
centuries, and possibly much longer. Am
ibsr6oii:sePare Says in his Work, published in
"1 have heard it represented by a aredi-
ble person that he saw is lady of the prime
nobility who, instead of a rotted tooth she
drew, made a sound tooth—drawn from one
of her waiting -maids at the same time—to
be substituted and inserted ; which tooth,
in procerrs of time, as it were, taking root,
grew so firm as that she could chew upon it
as well as upon any of the rest."
The great Hunter recommends replanting
a tooth when txtraeted by mistake, or
knocked out by accident. A. tooth inserted
by him into the comb of a cock fully grew
to the comb. In more modern times teeth
have been extracted to favor difficult opera.
tions,—as in abscesses,—and ettbsequently
replanted.
Three or four years ago Dr. Younger at.
tempted, for the first time, to insert teeth
into artlficial sockets made for the purpoee
in the jawboae, Since then he has done it
ferty or fifty times, in the majority of caaes
with marked 21100088.
Whether a union takes plaoe between the
perioeteum of the teeth and, the tissue o of
the bone is not certain, those who have
undergone the operation not ban disposed
to have the tooth again extracted to deter -
:Woe the querrtion. A post mortem, of
coulee, would eettle it; but, the implanted,
tooth seems to be at firmly fixed as the
othere.
Dr. Tonna, who had had two teeth lire
pleated six months before, was PrOfient at
the meeting of the medical society when
these facts were recited. The inserted teeth
had. Jena extracted •from the jaws of their
owners eight years before. The teeth Were
seen to be firmly get, and they gave no.la-
convenience.
In answer to an assertion by a French
doctor that such teeth would dissolve in two
years, Dr. Tonner said that he would prefer
to have the operation repeated every two
years to wearing a plate.
Ioe-Oream Poisoning,
For mealy years there have been numerous
oases of poisoning from eating ioe-oream,
both in America and in Europe. Some
of the oases have been single, or confined to
members ole family; others have comprised
a large portion of pome pionio, or other
par tee
During the lest summer there were several
prominent instances,—in New Jersey a large
party; in Charleston, I1L, a party of fifty ;
in Michigan over one hundred and forty. In
1883, in Joliet, Ill, two hundred were thus
poieonecl at a picnic. In all oases the equip.
toms have been essentially the same—burn-
ing, oolioky pains, vomiting, purging, and
great prostration. No instance, we believe,
has had a fatal termination. The symptoms
resemble those from arsenic, but no metallic
poison has been detected by any chemist.
The attention of medical experts has been,
of course, drawn to the !natter. Prof. Bart-
ley, chemist of ' the Brooklyn Board of
_Health, has suggested that the poison may
be due to the use of a poor grade of gelatine,
and its subsequent rapid deoomposition.
Other distinguished experts admit that this
may be the oause.
Dr. Morrow, of New York., is inclined to
regard it as due ±0 the vanilla used in flavor-
ing it. He says that vanilla has long been
recognized in Europe as a prolific source of
icecream poisoning, and quotes authorities
M sustain this view of the matter.
In the Michigan easel in which one hun-
dred and forty were poisoned, some of the
cream was sent for analysis to Prot. Vaug-
han, of the Michigan State University. The
vanilla, also, which remainei in the bottle,
was sent to him.
Now, the quantity of vanilla in the ice-
cream eaten by any one person would be
very minute; but Prof. Vaughan and his
asamiate swallowed each thirty drops of the
vanilla, extract with no harm; after which
the letter took two teaspoonfuls more with
ro bad result. This is sufficient to prove
that, in this case,the vatting, was not the
source of the poison. Nor did the cream
contain any gelatine, or any mineral poison.
He was satisfied that the poison was iden-
tical with one he had previously detected in
bad cheese, and to vehicle he had given the
name of tyrotoxicon. It is a living germ
that developes in milk, and kindred sub -
dances from unsanitary surroundings.. This
germ may be the source of the "ptomains,"
or virulent poisons which are now known to
be generated in the early stage of animal
decomposition.
Since the Occurrence ithasbeen ascertained
that the ice.oream was frozen in a building,
the hygienic condition of which was exceed-
ingly bad.
The Medical Record, referring to Pref.
Vaughan's discovery, says " 1± may
account for much of the intestinal disturb-
ances in children during the warm weather,
notably cholera infant= and kindred con-
ditions."
The Silver Wedding.
In the morningthe Queen, accompanied
by Princess Beatrice and the Duchess of Al-
bany, drove in au open landau, drawn by
four bays, from Buckingham Palace to Marl-
borough House, to offer her congratulations
to the Prince and Princess. Similar visits
were made by several Royal personages,
peers, ambassadors and statesmen. Their
Royal Highnesses were busily engaged dur.
ing most of the dayreceiving presents and
addresses. The Princess, at these receptions
wore a cream- oolored dress, her daughters
being also attired in spring colors mourning
having been laid aside for the 'day. The
Prince and Princess and their children lunch-
ed with the Queen at Buckingham Palace,
the guests including the King of the Belgians
and the Crown Prince and Princess of Den-
mark. In the afternoon the civicIdeputation,
headed by the Lord Mayor, was received by
the Prince and Princess at Marlborough
House, and presented an address and a sil-
ver model of the Imperial Institute. The
presents, mostly in silver, in keeping with
the anniversary, were displayed in the In-
dian Saloon of the Prince's town residence.
The Queen's present was a gigantic silver
flagon, the Prince's gift to his wife consisted
of a travellintelock and a large cross in
rubies and diamonds, and silver models cf
favorite horses were given by "the children"
to their Royal parents. Then came a tiara
in silver and diamonds from Court ladies, a
diamond and sapphire necklace from the
Emperor and Empress of Russia., vases
from the Em eror Frederick and Empress
Viotoria of Germnny, a golden punch. bowl
from the King and Queen of Denmark, and
a silver model of an old man of -war froin
the ex.Empress Eugenie. The Queen's
household presented silver urns, the Prince's
servants and tenants gave silver tankardo
and a post -horn; the Denish residents in
England giving a silver candelabra, a silver
fox coming from the members of the Nor-
folk Hunt. Other presents, including silver
drinking cupo, bowls and lamps, showered
in on the royal pair. The Queen dined with
the Prince and Princess of Wales DA Marl-
borough House in the evening. Her Majes-
ty arrived at half past eight o'clock and the
banquet took place in eh° diningroom,
which was decorated for the occasion with
crimson and gold and brilliantly illuminated
by electric lamp. There vvds a laViah dis-
play of eliver plate, a massive silver centre-
piece being filled with choice exotics, The
Queco left Marlborough House shortly be-
fore eleven o'clock, and drove along Regent
street and Oxford street to View the silver
wedding illuminations, on her way to Pad-
dington station. It was close upon twelve
o'clock when her Majesiy, after it fatiguing
day, arrived at Windsor (Jastle.
• An Easy Joh,
Uncle Mosc—" I say,. Pea Blossom,
w hat's you doing fer xi Wein nowa clays ?"
Pen Blossom—" se employed by de new
doctor what's jess moved ter Austin."
"How does yet like yor new place
"Fust tate, I laas tor ride in de docter's
buggy and hold do hoes, We nebber Ilea
to stop at do houses like de udder doctors,
so 1jess gits all de wants,"
A ROME IN INDIA.
A. Vieet to a IFItutiy of IlIndus—IntellIgenee
of the Native Children.
A mud.paved court, open to the sky—
thatglorions aun.illumed sky of India, that
gives poetry to everything ; but enclosed
wlth walls and surrounded by a sort of
aroado or verandah, Within it three or
four women—wearing the loose trousers of
the Mussulman women, and colored sarees
like the Hindus—and several young girls.
They were not handsome, being rather of
the thick -lipped Nubian typo; but several of
them and eepeoially the elder NVOMAII, who
teaches in the little school,lookedintelligent,
and they received us with courtesy and ap.
parent pleasure. The children from outside
were not present, a circumstance for which
the elder woman apologized ; but she
brought forward her own children to be ex-
amined, and they acquitted themselves with
credit, reading fluently from 1,1t1 Indian
primer, and answering all the questions rny
friend put to them.
a ,
This family, poor as their surroundings
seemed to be, enjoys a moderate prosperity.
Cornier to as we understand it, is unknown in
Indian homes.
Our next eisit was to a Hindu family of
the poorer class. Oar scramble over rubbish
heaps and drains re- commenced, and landed
us at the foot of a break -mole flight of stairs,
Which When we ascended, we came upon the
funniest little oornerof theworld in which
it has ever been my lot to find myself. It
was part of a hottee, but what part it was
one found it difficult to make out. To me
it seemed like a balcony or ledge, hung on
the side of the house. Onone side, guarded
by a high parapet, it was open to the sky,
and looked down on a large, bare aourt ;
while on the other side was a range of un-
tidy -looking cupboards and cells.
In this curious nest a little flock of wo-
men, young and old, with a few children
were gathered together. They received us
with the utmost, courteey (a grace that
never deserts the Hindu at home),,set for us
the wicker stools that are kept for visitors,
and drawing their sarees about them,
squatted round- us after their fashion. One
and another, in the meantime, were pouring
out little ejaculations of welcome, which my
friend, who is a fluent speaker of Eindusteni,
answered smilingly. Presently there came
out from a small inolosure, which was more
like is bathing machine than anything else
I can think of, a young and very pretty wo-
man, with a small baby in her arms. The
little creature, who appeared to be the lat-
est ar :beat in the crowded nest, was handed
round, kissed, prisised and commented upon,
while the young mother stood by smiling.
tyears of age, and that this was her fourth
ohlieadr.nt upon inquiry, that she was eighteen
The baby havin; received the fitting
amount of atteation, a bright little girl,
will eyes as brilliant as stars, was brought
forward to read her lesson. She was only
seven years old, and her readine,SB, intelli-
gence and -pretty, winsome ma- ,
her one of the oat bewitching little (wee -
4r made
1
m
tures I hare ever beheld, while I must say
thin no English child of her years could
have surpassed her in knowledge. Other
little ones, who were not so brilliant, follow-
ed, and then the women took their turn,
spelling out the Indian primer patiently,
The Delinquent Subscriber.
Worn and weaty, seedy and rad, an editor sat him
• down,
wd rubbish, paper and dust, with many a
wrinkled frown
• He sighed when he thought of his paper bills, his
• rent, and board, and wood,
And groaned whdn the copy fiend yelled out, as he,peki
there in the doorway stood.
"What do people fancy," he said, "an editor live
upon?
Air and water, glory and debt, till his toilsome Iffe is
done 7
ru stop their papery, every one, till their:honest debts
• they pay, •
And mark their names off the malting book for ever
and for aye 1
"Take this oopy, double lead, and mark with a penoi
Mite,
And send to all who are in arrears, from ten years
down to two." A
And then to the oopy hungry boy he headed ape:60111-
edecrawi W hieroglyphics, stra;gling, wild,' all tangled, and
lean and tall.
When SCaT00 a fortnigt t had dragged its length o
tired -out hours away,
There came to the heart of the editor a gladsome joy
• one day :
'Twits only a letter from Gordon's Mill, in a hand both
week and old,
But out of it fell a treasured coin, of solid, beautiful
gold I
The letter claimed his inte'rest then, and so he slowly
read
The scrawled, but simple and honest words, and this
is what they said : •
"Dear editor: I rend the lines you marked and sent
to me,
So 5 Betel this piece of gold and ask if you will agree
To send my paper right along and forget the debt I
owed.
For I've took your paper for twenty year, and so far
I never owed no man is cent till about four year ago,
When my poor wife died, and the crops/as bad, arid
the fever laid me low.
" And times bain't never been the same to little Liz
For we are all that's left behind—and since my ejes
can't see, •
She always reads the paper, and it's been our only
cheer, .•
And brought us all the news and fun we've bad for
man) a year.
"I'm gettin' old and feeble, now, and down with the
rheumatiz
there's the paper left to me : just that and little
Liz.
We couldn't bear to lose it now, it's been with us so
Ion
Till its very name is music, like an old-time happy
song.
"This twentylollar piece of gold will pay for all I
owe,
And what is over and above just keep, and let it go.
Toward paying for the paper till a brighter, better
day;
And send to Liz. she'll need it then, when I am called
away."
kid attler!h:ansk fount the editor Was, at he knew that
Who loved and coal appreciate the work that he had
done.
He fellt1 that life wait not in vain, and snIN through
And thaeriTIn inalling book he wrote : id up
for twenty years."
,
Let Us Work Emmestly.
The true laborer is not only worthy of his
hire, but in one setae, certain of his wages,
the higher wageo which the Great Master
has not placed at the disposal of man, Or in
the control of the capitalists' • the sure and
sweet reward for which allearnest souls
would strive, were there no such a thing as
money returns for toil.
For real singers must sing,'real preachers
preach, true painters paint, and geniuses of
all kinds labor for the subtle satisfaction
that work itself affords. For to them
"No endeavor is in vain,
Its reward is in the doing ;
And the tapture of pursuing
Is WI prize ill* vanquished gain."
Butfor those who work in weariness instead
of rapture, there IS also it great reward, for
the acquired habits of one generation often
become the natural traits of the next, And
thus each noble doed is crowned With itt;
10Orttalty.