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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-5-24, Page 6LIKE AND UNLIKE. By M. E. BRADDON, 4UTITOtt o "1.y AuuLwr's Secesia," " Wtvaaartn'e Wkinn," Ei., ET°, CHAPTER XVI.--Tde wen Winnzattniss, This tourney to a strange Pity was not so wild an ant upon Madge'a part as it nighb seem on the surface of thinge. She had thought long and deeply before launching her frail bark upon that tempestuous sea. She was a gild of strong character, a resolute, energetic nature which coald ;scarce go on existing without an object to live for. Life, the mere sluggish, monotonous eating and drinking 9,nd sleeping and waking, the empty mechanism of life, was not enough for her. She must have someone to love, she must have something to do. Rer fellow servants at the Abbey had vondered at the impetus with which this novice in the art of houseoleaniug had set about her work, the vehement industry with which idle had cleaned brasses and polished looking -glasses, and swept and dusted. That strong frame needed move- ment, that tumultuous heart could only be soothed by eonstant occwoittion. She had loved Valentine Belfield with all her znight,. She had been tempted many a tinie to fling herself into his arms, to throw herself in the dust at his feet, to surrender to him as a beaten. foe surrenders, slavishly, knowing not what her future was to be, what the cost of that self -abandonment. But she had battled with that weaker half ef her nature—the woman's passionate heart; and the strong brain, which had some- thing masculine in Ito power, had come to her rescue. She had morn to herself with .clenched hands and set teeth that she would not go that easy, fatal read by which cm many girls have travelled, girls whose stories she knew, ,girls who had been Alining lights in the parish school, model students in the •Soripture classes, white-veiledyoung saints at confirmation. She would not do as they had done, yield to the first tempter. If her mother had gorse wrong, there was so numh the more reason that she should cleave to the right. - She fought that hard fight between love and honour, but the agony of the strife was bitter, and it aged and hardened her. She hardened still more when she me, her lover transfening his liking to another woman. She was keen to note the progress of that treacherous love. Helen had found her the handiest and cleverest of houseemaids, and had preferred her servioes to those of any one else. And while she assisted at Beauty's toilet; Madge had ample leisure and oppor- tunity to note the phases of Beauty's mind, and to diecever the kind of intellect that, worked behind that ohmic forehead, and the quality of the heart that beat under that delicately moulded bust. She found Colonel. Deverill's daughter shallow and fickle and false. She discovered her treason—had seen her. with Valentine just often enough to be sure of their treaohery against Adrian. And by this time she had discovered Adrian's infinite superiority to his brother in all the higher attributes of manhood. She knew this, yet she had not wavered. Her nature was too constancy. She loved with purpose and sincerity, as well as with pasionn. There was no wavering in her affections, yet she admired Adrian with a power of apprecia tion which was far in advance of her educa- tion. Passing to and fro in the corridor yearned after the mere idea of motherly love. She had seen other girls with their mothers, scoldc;c1 and caressed, kissed and slapped by turns, and in spite of the slaps and. hard words, elm had seen that a mother's lave was a good thing— strong, tender and inexhaustible. And then, as she progressed from the knewedge of good to the knowledge of evil, she brooded over the mystery of that lite which she had been told was full of shame, and began to meditate how she was to help and save that erring mother. She had heard her grandmother prophesy evil for her ungrateful daughter, the evil days that were to come with faded beauty and broken health, the natural end of a -Wicked, reckless life. At the Abbey, Madge's knowledge of the world grew daily. Her fellow•servients were older than herself, quick-wittecl, ex- perienced in that seamy side of life which is seen from the butler's pantry and the ser- vants' hall. The old Abbey servants were those who had served in many households before they mune to the Abbey, and these knew the world in many phases. Oae to whom Madge took most kindly was a woman of thirty, who had taken to do. mestio service only five years before, after losing a widowed mother, with whom and for whom she had toiled in a factory from fifteen to five and twenty years. It was a cartridge factory in the Gray's Inn road at which Jane White and her mother had worked, the mother off and on as her health permitted, the daughter &ore year's end to year's end, without rest or respite. Toey had °coupled a couple of attics in a side street not far from the fac- tory; they had their own poor sticks of furniture and had lived in them two little rooms under, the tiles, happy enough till death came to part them ; and then Jane White sickened of her loneliness and her independence, and she, who had once sworn that she would never eat the bread of servi- tude, never call any one master or mistress, °hanged ker mind all at once and went into sedvice for company's sake. - She was an energetic, hard-working girl, and made a good servant, soloed that, after einisrating to Devonshire with a middle- class family, whose service she left after a year or so in a huff, the rumour of her good qualities reached Mrs. Manable through the butcher's foreman, and she was engaged as second housemaid at the Abbey. Here Madge took to her, as the kindliest of all her fellow -servants, and from her Madge learned all she knew of London, and the possibility, of an industrious girl main- taining herself by the labour of her hands. Was cartridge making hard to learn, Ilda,dgefasked. No, it was learned by easy stages. There were hands taken on that knew nothing about it before they went there. Jane White gave Madge little pencil note ad- dressed to a man who was an authority in the factory, who engaged the hands and dismissed them at his pleasure. rural and narrow enough ;but there were intense for the possibility of fickleness or in- "We used to walk out together on San - day evening," said Jane, "and I think he'd do a good turn to any friend of mine. He might want to walk out with you, perhaps, if you took his fancy, but it would be for you to settle that. He's a well-conducted young man." neer the library, she had stopped from time IVIadge emiled a smile of exceeding bitter - to tine to listen to the organ or the piano, ness, but was mute. under those sympathetic fingers: Music And now in the mild spring night she was a passion with her, and till this time she tramped from May Fair to Gray's Inn -road, had heard scarcely any music except the inquiring her way very often, and plodding church organ, indifferently played by a resolutely onward with her face to the east, ,feeeble old organist. This music of Adrian's caring nothing for the strangeness of those was a revelation in its infinite variety, its everlasting streets, or the lateness of the lightness, its solemnity, its unspeakable hour. She had such a dogged air, seemed depths of feelina. Once in the winter twilight the heard him playing _Gounod's " Fame," gliding from number to number, improvising in the dark- ness of the old sombre room, where there was no light but the glow of the fire. The amp had not yet been lighted in the cor- ridor ; the other servants were all at their tea ;N edge crouched in the embrasure of the door, and drank in those sounds to her heart's contend When he played the "Dies Irae "he fell on her knees, and had to -wrestle with her- self lest she should burst into sobs. In another of those solitary twilight hours, Helen and Valentine out hunting, he played "Don Giovanni," and again Madge crouched in his doorway and drank in the sweet soundsThe lighter music moved her dif- ferently, yet in this there were airs that thrilled her. There was an awfulness some- times in the midst of the lightness. When the spring came and the afternoons were light she could no longer lurk in the corri- der ; but her attic was in a, gable above the library, and when Sir Adrian's windows were open she could hear every note in the still April air. The sound of that music seemed a kind.of link between them, for apart ae they were in all other things, and over and above her jealcnisy on her Own account, she was angry and jealous for Adrian's sake. She could have wept over him as the victim of a wen man's feebleness, a man's treachery. And now she told herself that she had nothing to love or care for upon this earth. He who had wooed her with such passionate persistence a few months ago had transferred his love to another. She stood alone in the -world.; and in her loneliness her heart yearned for that erring mother, of whose face eh° lad no memory. She tried to penetrate the mists of van- ished years, to grope back to those early infantine years before her grandfather had found her squatting beside his hearth in the autumn twilight. He had told her that he was old enough to talk a little, and to toddle so absorbed in the business she was bent upon, that no one addressed her, or tried to hinder her progress. But last as she walk- ed it was nearly eleven o'clock when she arrived in the dingy, little street at the back of Gray's Inn road, so far behind the road as to be in the rear of the prison, which she passed shudderingly, for the idea of captive criminals was new and thrilling to her. , Jane had told her that the woman with whom she had lodged was a seamstress, and always up at her sewing machine till after midnight; so though the °locks were stile.' ing seven as she passed the prison, Madge had no fear of finding the door shut in her face. The only question was as to whether the landlady would,have an unoccupied room to give her. She found the number. The street was squalid, but the boners looked tidier than its neighbours, and the door- step was clean. There Was a parafin lamp burning brightly in the little parlor next the door, and the lean elderly female who answered the door had an air of decent pov- erty. She looked at Madge suspiciously, bu a on hearing Jane White's name, she sof- tened, and at once became friendly, and acknowledged that she had room for a [ed. ger. "It's the'bedroom where Jane and her mother used to sleep," she said. " I fur- nished it after they left. Its a clean, airy room, with a nice look out towards Kingts Cross. It'll be half-a-crown a week, and you'll have to pay for the linen, and beyond boiling your kettle for you it summer time, you mustn't expect any attendance from me. I'M too busy to wait upon lodgers, and I only charge the bare rent of the room. "1 That will suit me very well," answered Madge. "It will be for my mother and "Oh," said the woman, "you've got a mother, have you? What does she do for a living ?" Madge reddened at the question. "Nothing, just at present,' she said; "she's out of health." about at his heels. Surely she ought to be "But I suppose you are working at some - a east -off purse of Mrs. ltherrehlee, which 1 that vocal soul had 'bestowed upon her oue morning with o Lher unconsidered trifles that had been eliminated in tho process of tidy- ing a bureau. She gave Mrs. Midgery one of her last half-crowns, a week's reut in advance; and at this unasked-for•payment she rose cousiderably in the good Midgery'e estimation, "I believe We Shall got on very well to gether," she said. " I hope your mother is like you." Madge was eilent, lookinground the little room in a reverie, comparing it with the luxurious litter, the velvet and lace curtains and hea.pechup cushions, and easy chairs of the room at Mayfair. Could she hope that any woman with her mother's experience would endure lice in such a 'garret as this. But if there were only the choice between the garret and suicide, and if the garret ineaue rescue from a scoundrel's alternate tyranny and neglect? _eh EfAPTER XVI[.—BREAKING THE SPELL. For Valentine f. nd Helen the summer and autumn of that eventful year drifted away unawares in one long honeymoon. They lived for each other, in a fond and foolish dream of love that was to be immortal, con- tentment that was to know no change. They scarcely knew the days of the week, never i the days of the month n that blissful dream time. They wrote no letters'they scarcely looked at a newspaper, they held no inter- course with the outside world. For a time love was enough, love and luxurious idleness of the lake or the mountainside, the languid bliss of the long moonlight evening in the balcony or verandah, or on terraced walks, looking down upon a lake. The mountains and lakes were with them everywhere, a beautiful and everlasting background to the mutability of honeymoon lovers. They were happy in being at least six weeks in advance of the common herd. They had the great, white hotels almost to themselves. There was a reposeful silence in the:empty corridors and broad Staircases. They could lounge in gardens and summer houses without fear of interruption from cockney or colonial, Yankee misses, or Ger- man professors. In this happy summer time, Valentine gave full scope to the counter- balanaing4tharaoteristic of his nature. He, who as admortsraan or an athlete was inde- fatigable—a creature of inexhaustible energies and perpetual motion—now show- ed a fine capacity for laziness. No languid cesthete, fanning himself -with a penny palm leaf, and sniffing at a sunflower, ever sprawl- ed and dawdled with more entire self -aband- onment than this thrower of hammers and jumper of long jurnps. He would lie on his back in the sun and let Helen read to him from breakfast to luncheon. He would lie in the stern of a boat all the afternoon. He would Bad it too great a burden to dress for dinner,* and would take the meal tete-a tete in an arbour, sprawling in a velvet shooting jacket. Ile would allow his honeymoon bride to run uptake for his handkerchief, his cigar case, his favorite pipe, or tobacco pouch, a dozen times a day. "1 like running your errands, love," the fair young slave declared. "It does me good." "1 really think it does, sweet, for you always look prettier after one of those scampers. But you needn't rush all the way, pet. I am not in such a desperate hurry,' added the Sultan, graciously." I" Eut I arn, Vele e want to be back with you. I count every moment wasted that 'parts us." „ , They stayed at Interlaken till the first I week in July, and then went up to 'Marren for a week. It seemed further away from ' the herd, which was beginning to pour into Switzerland. And then they wandered on I to the Riffel, and anon into Italy, and dawdled away another month or six weeks I beside the Italian lakes, always in the same , utter idleness, reading only the very whipped cream of tke book world, the lightest sylla- b d the shape f literature; knowing no more of the progress of the great , busy buatling world than they could learn :from Punch or the lociety papers, Helen reading the sporting articles aloud to her Sultan, and pouring over the fashion articles for her own gratification. I She would clap her hands in a entpture aver one of these enthralling eseays. `Isn't , this too lovely, Val.? Madge says that there is to be nothing but olive green worn next . winter, and 1 nave three olive-green gowns in my trousseau." What a pity," said Valentine. "I like I you in nothing so well as in white, like that gown you have on to day, for example, soft white muslin rippling over with lace." I "But—one can't walk about in white muslin in January, Val. I think you'll manage to like me a little in my olive-green tailor gown, with Astrachan collar and cuffs." I've no doubt you look adorable in it— but my taste inclines me to all that is most , feminine in woman's dress. The stern sim- plicity of a tailor gown always suggests a strong minded young woman with stand- offish manners; the kind of person who talks politics and puts down young men Iwith a masterful superiority I" "You need not be afraid of my taiking politics," said Helen, proud of her ignor- 1 "No, love, that pretty little head has no rooni in f " The longest honeymoon must come to an end at last. Long as it was, Valentine knew no sense of satiety in that solitude of two, that unbroken duologue in which the sub- ject was always the same, love's young 'dream, Helen was pretty enough and ;meet 'enough in her boundless fondness and sub- jection to keep this self-willed and selfish nature in a paradise of content. Still, the dream -life among lakes and mountains must Icome to an end somehow. Valentine gave up otter hunting without a sigh, he let the twelfth slip by, though he had an invitation for Scotland, and another for Yorkshire— ! moors that were th cost Ms friends three or "Yes, dear, we had better go back about the twendeth, I take it," " And thie ie the fourth ! So soon ! And then our honeymoon will be over," stud Hel- en, sorrovsfully, " Shall we ever be as hap- py again as we have been among the moats - tains and by the lakes?' " Why not? We shall be just as happy next aummer, I hope—somewhere else. We would not come here agile', of course." " Oh, Val, does that mean you are tired of Maggori—tired of our honeymoon?" " No, love, but I thiak we have had quite enough of Switzerland. and the Italian lakes —at leo,st for the next ten years," " Oh, Val, there is a tone in your voice as if you had been bored." Ho yawned before he answered. "1 have been intensely happy, child— but, well, I think we have been idle long enough, don't you?" "No, no, no; rot half long enough. I should likethis meet life to go orr for ever." " And you are not longing to see your sister, and the shops ?" "Not a bit." "Well, I confess to a hankering after my tailor, and an inclination for my favorite club." ' "Oh, Val, do you belong to a club?". she exolaimed, ruefully "Not being a naked savage I certainly do belong to more than one dub, my pet; or rather I have three or four clubs belonging to me by right of election." "And your favorite club, which is that ?" "It is rather a—well—a rapid club. It is a temple whose name is rarely spoken in the broad light ef day. 11 only beeins to have any positive existence toward midnight, ancl its pulse beats strongest on the brink of dawn.:I` sit one of those dreadful clubs where they play cards ?" "Yes, it shares that privilege in oommon with a good many other clubs, from the Carl- ton downwards." "'Bat now you are merried, Val, ,you will give up most of your clubs, I hope." , "My dearest child, that shows how little you know of the London world. London to a man in my position means club -land. It is nothing else. A man lives in London be- cause his clubs are there'not because Ms house is there. The olubin modern life is the Forum, the Agora, the rendcZVOUR of all that is best and wisest and brightest in the town." "But a olub that only begins to exist at nig'11t 1 Is—the" necessary finish to a man's day. I shall not go there so often, of course, now I am married; but you will have your eve- ning engagements, and while you are listen- ing to classical musio, which I abhor'or dancing, whioh I was always a duffer at, I can slip round to the Pentheus for an hour or so, and be back isa time to hand you into your carriage." "The Pentheue. Is that the wane of your favorite club ?" " Yes ; that is the name." Helen had an unhappy feeling from the moment the date of their return Was fixed. She had delighted with a, childish joy in her honeymoon. She had been proud of its length. "So long, and we are not the least title bit tired of each other, are we, Val ?" she had said twenty times, in her enthusi- asm, and had been assured with kisses that there was no shadow of weariness on her adoring husband's part. "Leo declared we should be sick of each other before the end of Jane," she said, "and we shall have been away three months. But I can't help feeling somehow as if going back to England will be like the breaking of a spell." Her prophecy seemed to her to realise it. self rather painfully on the honaeward jour- ney. It was a longish journey, and Valen- tine was in a hurry to be in London. They travelled by long stages, and the heat of the railway carriage was intolerable, such heat and such dust as Helen had never experi- enced before. The stuffiness of the carriage, the slowness of the train, the frequent stop- pages, the crowded buffets, the selfish crowd, were all trying to a man of difficult and inn- perious temper. Valentine's temper, after the first three hours of that ordeal, became absolutely diabolical. He ignored Helen; he thought of nothing but his own discom- fort. He angrily rejected all her little at- tentions, her fannings and dabbings of eau de cologne, her offers of grapes and peaches, her careful adjustment of blind or window. "1 wish you'd stop that d—d worry- ing," he * xclaimed. "The heat is bad. enough without your abominable fidgetting to make it worse." Yea, the spell was broken. The honey- moon was over. They stopped in Paris for a couple of nights, at :the Hotel du Louvre, and here life was pleasant again, and Helen was happy with her Sultan, sitting about under the great glass roof, reading the news papers and sipping cool drinks. But on the second evening of their stay, Valentine went off directly after dinner to hunt up a bache- lor friend in the Faubourge St. Honore, promising to be beets early. .He kept his word in one sense for it was early in the morning when he returned. Helen had been lying awake in the spacious second -fl or chamber, with its windows fee- ing the Rue de Rivoli. The night was very warm, and both windows were open. She had heard every stroke of the bells of Notre Deme, and she knew that it was nearly three o'clock whea her huabancl came in. "Oh, Val," she exclaimed, reproachfully. " You promised to be home early. It has been such a long dismal night." "Why the deuoe couldn't you go to sleep and make it shorter," retorted Mr. Belfield, in accents that were somewhat thicker than his ordinary speech. " I couldn't get baok , any sooner. De Mauprat had a supper party n, and 1 waen't master of my own time. (TO BE CONTINUED.) A Burglar Canght. thing," asked tile woman, waxing suste. four hundred pounds for the 'Beason, and n enterprising burglar, who was try ug cious," You're not liven' g on your fortune ; which were well worth shooting over. He to bone property in a doctor's surgery the Yes, she had a kind of memory, so faint and dim, that she could scaredy distinguish with a sneer, !game up the beginning Of the partridge sea- ether night, was caught by a skeleton. It liti d lff • • I xi nd die ointed a articular chum seems that the orackeman, while Tankful eking Able to remember. - A rea es from reams inthatlong-ago e. Yes, Ate remembered movement, constant movement, rolling wheels, summer boughe, summer dust, clouds of dust, white dust that choked her ae she lay asleep in that rollizig home, amiclat odours of hay and straws She remembered rain endless days of rain and grayness, dull, 'dreary days, ,vlien she squatted on the loose straw at the sottom of a gypsy's van, staring out at the ull, dim world. Tom was a dog, which she was fond of. seneation of a dog's warm, friendly ongue licking her face, always recalled hoed long, slow houra of dim, gray rain or sunlit dust; that strange vague time in which the days rolled into the nights, with- out differtinee or distinction, and in which facet( mixed thetheelvcs eornohow, no one face being more distinct than another. There was no memory of a mother's face, bending over her in daytime and night- time, nearer and more familiar than all the rest. Despite this Void in her memory, she had d e ex la ned her views about the " a ham °min ge factory, and, reassured by this, Mro. Midgery took her up the steep, linear peted stairs to the attic, with its one dormer window, looking over a forest of ehiinney pots towards the glories of king's Cross and its triple stations. There was nothing to be seen from the window to -night but the dis- tant whiteness of the electric light, shining between the smoke and the clouds, * I It was a small, shabby room, with an an. ' cient iron becletead, two rush -bottomed chairs, ricketty chest of drawers, and is still more ricketty table. Everything in the room was one-sided and uneven,beginning with the floor, which was obviously downhill from the door towards the window. Ho waver, the room looked clean, and had a whole- ; smite odour of yellow soap, as of boar& that had been lately scrubbed. "It's an old house," said Mrs. Miagery, With deprecating air, "and aft old heese never ',aye anybody for their work, but there's no one can say I don't slave over it," Madge took out her shabby little purso- whoae estatelk wai famous for 't partridges. But he told Helen one day 'that he must be back at the Abbey in time for she pheasants. I "We can be in London for the last week 'in September," he said, "and we ean in- spect this flit which my mother has furnish -1 led for us in the wilds of South Keneington. I should have preferred Mayfair or S. James's, but I am told, our income would not stretch to Mayfair." "Our income," sighed Helen. "How good of you to say ours,' when f did not ' "What did Helen bring to Paris? Not 1, bring you a sixpence." inueli, I fancy, deerest, and yet even the old fogies of Troy though she was worth fighting for. You brought inc beauty end youth and love. What more could Ildesire 2" He kissed the fair face bending over him, ae he lay -en a sofa by an open window, with the moths droning in att out from the dewy garden, and with the Mists of night rising slowly between lawn and lake. a chipboard, passed hie h and between the skeleton's jaws, which were arranged to shut by means of is strong spring. As he did so, the teeth suddenly closed on his digits with a sharp map. His dries of terror, mixed with florid idioms and graced with forcible expletives, roused the medico, who appeared on the scene armed with a few surgical knives, which he flourished about with the dexterity of is noble savage. The cracksinan is now being treated for hysteria, and fed upon beef tea and jelly. Very Heavy, Considering, An Pogliehmen travelling in the Western States of Americo, stopped at a wayside inn, There &tine a thunderstorm, and. the „tog. Hallman, surprised that a new country Ahould have reached such perfection in atmospheric productions of the kind, said to is byatend- or, "Why, you have very heavy thunder here 1" "Well, yes," replied the man, "Wo do, considering the number of inhabitente," HEALTH. - Poul Cellars. It may be well to have regard to the clean- liness et the "spare room" and the parlor, rooms occupied but a very little compared with the ordinary kitchen o,nd cellar' but it is not too much •to suppose thatthere is much more importance connected with tho purity and cleanliness of these apartments, since the family are so intimate- ly conneeted as ith the kitchen, many child- ren spending most of their time, wher awake, in this room, while a very large pert of the food 'used by the family is kept in the cellar to la; affected by the condition of this part of the dwelling. As a general princi- ple this apartment is the most subjected to contaminating influencee of any conueoted with the home, while the facilities and the efforts for its purification are particularly defective. During the cold Beason when there is little attention to the ventilation of the dwelling, and when fires are almost con- stantly burning, with a corresponding sup- ply of lights, the cellar must be made a OM - dad receptacle of foul gases, the carbonic acid gas, let it be remembered that an adult, On the average, throws off 4,M percent of this deadly gas at each expiration, while 5 66 percentia dangerousto health =Me. While true that an ordinary candle will produce as much of this deadly gas as an adult throws off by breathing, it is eetimitted.that such an adult produces, in twenty-four hours, 10,7 outdo feet or enough to render is SteMy man- sion unfit for occupancy, aside from its es- cape and its diffusion, while an ordinary fire will produce as much as several men. Hence, if we would breath, even respectable air, there is a necessity for more than the usual care in the matter of the change of the air of our dwellings and public buildiogs, particle. laxly our cellars. It should be remembered that this gas, with others 'equally foul, will readily find its way into the cellar eventually BO to dif- fuse themselves as to reach every room in the house, to that extent rendering the air unfit for breathing. But still more, water is a good absorbent of such gases, by which large portions of such impurities will be readily absorbed and fixed temporarily; it must be remembered also that milk, so gen. orally kept in the cellar, with various ar- ticles of moist food, will be subjected to the same contamination, mob milk, butter, etc., HOOD becoming unfit for use. it is more than probable that many of the diseases like typhoid fevers, croup, diphtheria, all malig- nant diseases, are more or less produced by these filthy cellars, reeking with the germs of pizid,diseases. Now is the time for attention to the cellar cleaning. In the average cellar will be found a vast amount of old boots, shoes, garments, bones, bits of rancid meat, par- tially decayed wood, etc., all ot which should be immediately removed, burned or buried at some distance from the well, the burning being preferable, "purifying as by fire." This should be as thoroughly cleaned as if t was to be the seat of an exhibition, for the health of the family is of more impor- tance than the eyes of the neighbors I The scrapings from the bottom of the cellar will be of great service in nthe garden, while a good coatieg of whitewash will be of great service in sweetening the whole premises. I will add that there has rarely been a season when there was as great an occanion for cleansing the cellar as at present, in conse- quence of the extensive disease and decay of the potatoes last fall, many of these hav- ing been put in the °dial.; a large percent of el hich will now be fewid. in a condition to contaminate the air of the home. The sooner they are removed th a respectable distance and covered by the soil, the safer for the family. In addition, it is necessary to pat two opposite windows in the cellar on hinges'so that they can be raised, allow- ed freely to swing, admitting the escape of the foul air and a supply of pure, while it will be well to open is side door on some mild and windy day, that the air may -sweep through the cellar, expelling the foul gases. This may be safely done when the 'weather i not freezing cold. Fainting. Fainting is what results -when the heart) fails to send to the brain a sufficient supply of blood. A faint may be partial, or com- plete. In eidlier case there may be a, warn- ing of what is commg, and some persons clan even assume a favorable posture before los- ing oonsciousness. Most adult readers are farniliar with the symptoms of a faint; the face turns pale, the eyes close, consotousness is lost, and. the person falls. Of course,when the heart fads to send blood to the brain, it also fails to send. it to the surfaoe of the body, and hence the &in is pallid, cold, and perhaps clammy. Both the breathing and the pulse may be imperceptible and the person may seem to be really dead. In other cases, the breath may come in occasional sighs, and a feeble action may be detected in the heart. This condition may continue for hours, but it commonly lasts only a few minutes. Fainting is sometimes a. serious affair,— indeed, at times, it ends in immediate death. One cause of this most dangerous fainting is a fatty degeneration of the heart; and another cause is a considerable loss of blood In any case of profuse hemorrhage'of pours° everything must be done to arrest the flow ot blood, but, meanwhile, the lowering of the head and shoulders below the level of the body will greenly facilitate a favorable result. Bk of most oases of fainting is MI in- herited nervous susceptibility. Only small proportion of persons ever faint under any circumstances. A few faint at the olightest canes—fear, joy, grief, unpleasant sights, noisome smells, heated and- impure air, sudden accident, or SOUPS irritation of the stomach, or other internal organs. The exciting cause varies in different persons, and each should guard' himself, at his own poin'i of exposure. In any case of Wallas every obstacle to the freest action of the heart and lungs should be removed by the looming of the clothing.But the &at thing is to get the patientinto a recumbent posture—fiat on the back. We know of one person subject to fainting who had learned always, at the first monition, to take this posture of her own accord, and it speedily terminated the attack. If the person is in a crowded as- sembly elle should at once be taken into heath air, but under no circuinsto,ncos should anything be placed under her head. 'rhe more common form of fainting does not necessarily tend to ehorten hie, ' Xeep the Peet Dry. Whenever the walks are moist, as they almost alvveyo ate at this season of the year, the feet should be protected by rubbera or overshoes whet out-of.doors. This extra foot -covering should, however, be worn only hen out-of-doors If Worn all the tint , the feet are made to perspire, and are more liable to be bola than if not protected et all, Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton has been preeident af the National Woinan Seffrage Association for twenty years. NOTES ON CURRENT TOPICS. --- Fall wheat has suffered in some parts of the province from the night loons which have prevailed since the disappearance of the mow. The top of tho plant has been nipped, while the process of freezing in the night and thawing in the daytime has up- heaved the soil, leavin e the mote expocied. The exports of wheat from Russia in 1887, inoluding overland 9,nol by seta were 78,417- 448 bushels, including 6 633,824 bushels sent overland to Germany and Austria. in 1886 Russian wheat exporte were 49,8$0,000kush. ele and in 1885 88,640 000 bushels. The stock of wheat at Nionlaeff on Dad 31, 1887, was 832,330 bushels, agaiest 56 352 bushels Dec. 31, 1836, ' In thee black earth region of Russia, which is thermost productive part of the country, wheat can be grown at 45 to 60 kopecks t n ‘,,1 pound or at Rd, to 101. for eaoh weight f 36 pounds. This includes all expenses, e en to the ground rent, In India for the -same amount, the oust would be 8' 2d, in Amerioa le. td., ia Hungaria, Italy and R,ouinania a little over is. 4d., in France about 2s., and in England a little lees than the latter sum. The total estimate of he wheat crop in 'Dakota for 1887 is 52,406,000 bushels, val- ued at $27,251,120. The amount coneurned in the territory and for seed is 22 per cent. ; for shipment, estimated at 78 per cent. The total amount disposed of by farmers up to Feb. 25,'SEI,leaving 5 per cent, last years crop in the hands of fanners for shipment. The average price of last year's crop is estim- ated at 52 cents per bushel, but will exoeed that price rather than fall below. In the event of 'au international conference takingplace to decide the question of the exclusive jurisdiction of the United States over the Stmerican section of Behring' Sea, the New York Tribune takes the ground that Russia and the United States should have a preliminary conference in advance of any consultation with Canada and Great Britain, in order that joint action may be taken as to the rights of dominion which the United States has acquired by its purchese of Alaska The import of breadstuffs into the United Kingdnm in 1880 was 7,536,000 tons. In 1887, it was 7,805,000 tons, an increase of only si per cent. The official valuatione for 1880, were £62,857,000, for 1887, £47,819,- 000, the falling off being 24 per oent. Hence for equal quantities there was a decline in the cost of breadstuff e amounting to a little more than one quarter. The decrease in the value of meats imported is nearly as great as in the cereals, but the comparison cannot be made so closely on aceount of the vary- ing proportions of the different animals and their meat product. A missionary from the Congo regions in Africa in speaking of the kind of mission- aries wanted in those regions said that "namby-pamby, goody-goody miesionaries ',' ' were of no use there, and he might hay. added no where else. What they wanted. was men who could throw off their coats, tuck up their shirt sleeves and tuck into is good day's work like men. If missionaries are to do any good to people they must come really in among them must be able to sympathize with them and treat them like fellow -men and brothers. And, by the way, e that is the only way to make headway tt among the lapsed masses everywhere. The progress of personal total abstinence is everywhere very manifest and very gratifying. Among students especially the progress is very marked. It was lately not- iced in connection with entertainments giv- en by one of the most distinguished Glasgow Professors to his students, that while wine was offered to all, fully more than six out of every group of eight declined to take any, and many of these were the most distin- guished men of their year. In Canada the progress is even more marked. "Young Canada" as a whole is becoming more and more opposed to even the moderate use of all intoxicating liquors. Under the English Local Government Bill London becomes a counter with a population of nearly 5,000,000, or equal to the entire population of the Dominion of Canada. The Ceunty Council of Lancashire will have the control of half that number. The We31 Ridiner of Yorkshire, when Leeds, Bradford and Sheffield are withdrawn, will only con- tain about a million and a quarter. No other county will approach a million, few will reach the half. But even the govern- ment of half a million of people carries with it a considerable responsibility. It may be added that the Metropolitan Common Poor Fend of London amounts at present to about £1,G00,000 per annum. The additional 4d. per head per diem to be paid by the County )Counoil for indoor paupers will not fall far short of another £500,000. The trouble over the colour question still goes on among the churches and the people of the States. The proposed union between the Northern and Southern Presbyterians is more than likely to be delayed, if not even- tually wrecked, by this burning diffiaulty. The South wants to have negroes and whites eeparated, even in the house of God, and at the Lord's table, and many in the North, either from negro phobia or from zeal for union, too gladly go in with the plan. They would have colored and white Presbyteriee, coveting exactly the same ground and the general assembly to be the ' only court cominon to both. It is be hoped that for the best and highest interests of the community this arrangement will not be car- ried out. Bettee that Union should be given up than that it should be consummated on such disagreeable conditions. There is every likelihood of a large amount of settlement taking place in different parts of Ontario during the current season. There is a large influx of immigrants. The tame offered by the Local Government to actual settlers are very favorable, and though frtrrn- ing is not very prosperous, yet 11 13 being increasingly felt that after all, in such a country as this, farming is the healthiest and most independent kind of occupation ' that any one can adopts It is beginnin also to dawn upon a good many that it many respects a farmer can do as wall in Ontario as in any part of tho continent, if not better, and that it is consequently very foolish and short sighted to go hundreds of miles away in search of eettleinente When " better can almost be had at the very door. Theme who have money can get improved farms in the province on very favorable terms; and them who have not can always I have free lots of good land, which their in - (henry can transform into beautiful fields. Like a Great Many Persons. Mrs. Smith—"I wonder why Your friend Jones tnarriecl that grabbing 'W idowl3rown." Mr. Smith—" She is a woman of ability." 1V1 re. S,--" Fiddlestiolte ! In what doge she ehow • e Mr. L.—" She cen mind is great many people's business besides her own." Chevteul, One or Vie SOi.?fitifio of the oentury, is living gine* in Peale near , the Jardin des Piante& Re it IN years old and although velnite haireel, and dim•eyed he has suffered but little -lots of intellectual vigor,