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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-5-17, Page 6[NOW' FIRST VUBLISUED.) LTKE AND LAU, RIGHTS RESEEVED,] -..... 7 u 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.