The Exeter Times, 1888-6-28, Page 3ITUTTIE FATIEE11,
BY tememacaTaM, Yoncia,
CHAPTER XXXVI.--Nlereda'S KNIGHT.
"'he ni.ght oune on and the bairnies grat,
Their nunnie aneath the mode heard
" LThionunsT, 4th July.—Philip flatten
to Mies Egremorit. Found. Waterloo,
"1 knew he would," said Nuttie, with a
strange quietness, but as tihe teied to read it
to her father her -voice choked, ,and she had
to hand it to Annaple. But for the first
time in her life she went up and voluntarily
kimed her father's forehead. And perhaps
it wao for the first time in his life that the
excleme,tion broke from, him, " Thank God I"
Per.tpri it weir well that the telegram
lead ieliet pOnie earlier in the day, for Mr.
Egreireont was very restless, showing him-
self muck shaken in nerves and epirits be-
fore the time for driving to the etation,
eirlaieh he greatly antedated. Nuttie cQuld
hardly keep him in the carriage, and indeed
had to persuade him to return thither, when
he had once sprueg out on the arrival of
a wrong, train.
And after all, when the train did
come his blue spectacles were directed
to the row of doors at the other
end, and Nuttie yeate anxiously trying
to save him from being jostled, when a voice
maid "Here 1" and close beside them stood
Mr. Dutton, with a Uhl° boy came by his
side who looked up an her face and said
"Sister ! " It was said in a dreamy, almost
puzzled way, not with the ecstatic joy
Nuttie had figured to herself; and there
was something passive in the mode of his
hearing his father's "My boy, my boy 1"
Instinctively all turned to the harbour of
the carriage ;. Mr. Dutton lifted Alwyn in,
and as Nuttie received him, a pang shot
across her, as she felt how lige% how bony
the little frame had become in these three
weeks.
"Come in ! Come back with us 1 Tell
as all!" said Mr, Egremont, as Mr. Dutton
was about to help him in. '
"My dog," mid Mr, Dutton while Alwyn
looked up from nestling in Niettie's lap to
Bay, " Mithter Button mime. And Mothu !"
We have mom for him," mid Mr. Egre-
mont graciously. "Here, poor fellow."
"He has the right," said Mr. .Dutton,
"for he was the real finder."
And Monsieur, curly, and shiny, eccupied
with great dignity the back seat beside his
master, whiletAlveyn, in a silent but dreamy
content, as if he oxily half understood where
he was, rested against his sister's bosom with
e his hands in his father's.
"Come, old chap," said his father theeri.
ly, "tell us all about it."
But Alwyn only shuddered a little, raised
his eyelids slightly, and gave a tiny faint
e
e thmk he is very much afraid, saki Mrs,
nr*datton. Thereewas a good deal to be done
to make him presentable this morning
You must forgive me for sacrificing his
curls, there was nothing else to be done with
them."
" Ah !" and Nuttie looked again. The
boy was in a new. rather coaane, ready -
etude, sailor suit that hung loosely upon
this little limbs, hie hair was short, and he
av'as very pale, the delicate rosy, flush was
quite gone, and with it the round outline of
the soft .cheek; and there were purple
marks under the languid eyes. She bent
• down and kissed him saying, "Was Mr.
Dutton nurse' to youe Wynnie ? "
He smiled again and murmured, "Mr.
Dutton made me boy a min."
After a question and answer or two
• as to main facts of place and time of
the discovery, Mr. Dutton told his stor.y.
• "I did not effect ,much with my inmeirms
• after the circuses. A111 heard of were of too
superior an order for kidnapping practices
However, 1 thought the only way would be
to haunt and races, and look at their
camp.followers. At a place in Hertfordshire
I saw a performance advertised with sever-
. al children as fairies, so I went to see it. I
was soonmatisfied that Alwyn was not there
but it struck me that I had known the face
of the prime hero, a fine handsome supple
fellow, who was called in the programme
• Herr AdaIbert Steinfuggen, or some such
name. Well, it seemed that he knew me,
for as I struggled out after a considerable
interval, I heard myself accosted, 'Mr. Dut-
ton Sir, surely have the honor of speaking
• to Mr. Dutton of Micklethwayte 1' 1 assure
you he was the very pink of politeness. DJ
. you remember, Miss Egremont, Abel Stone?"
"Oh, Abel Stone! He wee a their boy
at Micklethwayte, I remember 1 He was
very handsome, and had a splendid voice;
but he was a real monkey for mischief;
and nobody could manage him but moth.
er. She was always pleading that he
should not be ;teemed out, and at last he ran
away."
" Yes ; he went off with a drone, and
there he found his vocation, rose and throve,
married the primaedonna, and is part owner.
He seems very respectable, and was so
• friendly and affectionate that I ventured to
consult him; when on hearing whom I was
seeking, he became warmly interested, and
gave me just the information I wanted. He
said he lied Ilttle doubt that Funny Frank
was a clown called Brag, with wheal heehad
had words some years back for misusing the
children. He said he did not hold with
headiness to the little °nee in teaching
them to do the feats, wbich certainly were
wonderful. V they were frightened, they
were nervous and met with accidents;
but make much of them, and they 'thought
it all fun, and took a pleasure in their per.
formances. However this Brag, though a
clever fellow, could not be hindered from
bullying, and at last he went off with a girl
of the troupe and set up on their own ac-
• count. Stone'or whatever he pleases to
eel' himself, had met them several times,
but he spoke of them with great contempt
as low," and they did not frequent the
.same places as he does. However, he refer-
r'ered to one of his men, and found they
/had been az Epsom on the Derby 'day4 and
•s"
moreover, that there was a report of them
having lately narrowly eecarted being in a
serape about a child who had been injured.
There .wM no scruple as to advising me
where to look for them, or as to the beat
means of detection. Stone was very indig-
nant, and made me underatand, that all hie
yonng people were either to the manner bort,
or willingly hired out by their parents. I saw
them in private life and they looked happy'
and well fed, but tlitet was to guarantee for
Funny Frank, Well, I followed him up
• without siitmese, trying each place Stone had.
sot down for me, till 1 same last night to
Lyndhuret, a very pretty place in the News'
Vorest, where there is to be n fair to
morrow, beginning this afternoon. Stone
advised me to look about before the affair
opened, while unpaoking and arranging was
goingen, Well, after all, it was 'very
dimple. I stoned out with my dog round
the field where the vans and booths were
getting into order. hero was what
thought a little girl in a faded red pettecoat
sittitig on the step e at the bettone oi a
yellove ttMe with her head an her liana, "'
" The t was Me, " baidAlwyn, lighting up.
"And Mothie Menne and. hided Fan
44 Yee,' Mid Mr. Dattea ; "1 verily be-
lieve we might have missei one another,
but Monsieur ran up to him and, as 1 WM
aCtUally whistling him off, I heard a little
voice say, Mothu Mothu I' and saw
they were—well, embracing one another,
and then came 1Vlithter Button, Mithter ,
Batten, oh, take me home 1' "
Eager careesing hands were held out to
Monsieur, who jumped off the seat to reeeiye
the pato and laudations laaishecl on his
curly round pate, and had to he reduced to
order before Mr. Dutton could answer the
question whether he had any further difa-
culty or danger.
"1 took him up in my arms, and a hand-
some truoulent-looking woman burst (tut on
me, demanding what I was about with her
caild. To which I &lowered that she knew
very well he was AO SUC11 thing. Her man
came swaggering up, declaring impudently
that I had better be off—but I believe he
stew that the people who Caine round would
net take his part, for he gave in much more
easily than I expected. I explained as loud
as I could that this was a gentleman's son
wee° had been stolen from his nurse in the
Park. The man began to protest that they
had found him deserted, and. taken. him with
them out of charity, requesting to be paid
for his keep. So I thought it better to give
them a sovereign at once, so as to have no
further troable, and get him Davey as fast as
I could. The woman came after me, making
further demands but the sight ef police.
man in the distance turned her back. I
went up to him and explained. I found he
knew all about the loss and the reward, and
looked regretfully at my prize. We went
bade to the hotel, where I saw Alwyn to
rights as well as I could, sent out for some
clothes, such as the place would pro-
duce,eeand which at least, as he says,
made a boy of him again I'm afraid the
proems was rather trying from such unac-
customed bands, though he was very good,
and he has been asleep abnost all the way
home, and, his mimes all as in a dream
bound up.
The heavinees—whether weariness or con.
tent, still continued. Alwyn seethed to find
it too much trouble to talk, and only gave
little smiles, more like his mother than him-
self. He clung quite desperately to his sis-
ter when Mark offered to lift him from the
carriage, but nurse was close behind, and it
was good to see the little atm stretched
out, and the head laid on her shoulder, the
hand put up to stroke her cheek, and the
lips whispering " Wyn's own nursie." The
jubilant greeting and triumphant proms.
sion with which he was borne upstairs
seemed ahnost to oppress him. He ap-
peared almost as if he was afraid of
wakening from a happy dreana, and his
lively merriment seemed all gone there
were only beams of recognition and gladness
at " Wyn's own nursery,' " Wyn's own
pretty cup," touching it as if to make sure
it was real, and pleased to see the twisted
crusts, his special treate
But he could not eat much of them, and
soon laid his head down as one weary, with
the exhaustion of eontent; and nurse, who
had allowed that Mr. Dutton had, consider.
ing ell things, done much for the outward
restoration of the daintiness of her reco'v'ered
child, was impatient to give him the hot
bath and night's rest that was to bring back
the bright joyous Alwyn. So Nuttie only
lingered for thooe evening prayers site had
yearned after so sorely. When she held his
mother's picture to him to be kissed, he
raised bis eyes to her and said:
" Will she come to me at night now ?"
"Who, my darling?"
"She, mother dear." -
"Here's her picture, dear boy."
• " Not only the picture- she mime out of
it, when I cried, up on the nasty -smelling
bundle in the van all in the dark."
"She came?"
" Yes, she came, and made it so nice, and
hushed me. I wasn't afraid to go to by -by
when she °erne. And she • sang. Sister,
can't you sing like that ?"
"Not here, I'm afraid, dear, dear boy,"
she whispered, holding him so tight that he
gave a little cry of "It hurts." Then came
the prayers, not a word forgotten, and the
little voice joined in her murmured thanks
giving for bringing him home.
She was much moved and awe-strick-
en at these words of her little brother;
but she had to dress in haste for adin.
ner, listening the while to her maids re-
joinings and vituperations of the wretches
who had maltreated the child.
• When she came down she found no one
in the drawing -room but Mr. Dutton, whom
her father had asked to the happiest meal
that had perhaps ever been eaten in that
house.
She went towards him with winged steps
in her v. lite d:ess " Ohl Mr. Duttonawe
have not said half enough to you, but we
never, never can."
Ile gave a curious, trembling half smile,
as she held out her he.nd to him, and said
"The joy is great in itself," speaking in a
very low voice.
" Oh! I am so glad that you did it,'
cried Ursula, "It would not have been
half ect sweet to owe it to anyone else."
" MissEgremont, do you know what you
are saying ?".he exelaimed.
"Don't call me leliss Egremont 1 You
never used to. Why should you ?" -
"I have not dared —" he began.
" Dared I Don't you know you always
were our own Mr. Dbton---best, wisest
friend of all, and now more than ever."
"Stay," he said," I caainct allow you in
your fervonr to say such things to me,
unaware of the strength of feeling you are
stirring within me." k
" You ! you I Mr. Dutton 1" cried Nuttie,
with a moment's recoil. "You don't mean
that you care for me."
I know it is preposterous --"he began.
"Preposterous 1 Yee, that you should
care one bit for rally, foolish, naughty, self-
willed me. Oh, Mr. Dutton, you can't
mean it 1" '
" Indeed, 1 would have kept silence and
not disturbed you with my presumption,
•
",,Hush 1" the cried. Why,' it makes
me so glad and so proud, I don't know what
to do. I didn't think anybody was good
enough for you --unless, it wait dear, dear
mother—and that it ehould be me."
"It is true," he said gravely, " my
younger days were spent in a vain dream of
that angel, then when all was ended, I
thought such were not for me ; but.the old
feeling has wakened, it Seems to me in
greater fome than ever, though I meant to
have kept it under control—"
011,1 am glad you didn't! It eeems as
if the world swans roundwith happinem "
and she held hie hand ate if to steitcler heritelf,
starbinghowever as Annaple opened, the
door saying, "We've been tending telegreens
with the good news." .
Thole en each light came into her bright
ogee, hut the others were behind her, and
she said no more,
CHAPTER, X rvIr. Fenn]) AND TA.X1111
"The angele of the gateway
Bent eoftly to the child,
And etretched glad hands t take like
To theltingdom undefiled." -.M. ti
Cenee up and see hint," eald Nuttie as
the dining.roorn door was shut. " I mud
feast my eyes on bun.
Annaple replied by throwing an arm
round her and looking into her eyes, laming
her on each cheek, and then, as they reach-
ed the landing in the mummer twilight,
waltzing round and round that narrow :mace
with her.
"You ridiculous person 1" said Nuttie.
"Do you mean that you iiew 1"
4' Of °MIMI did ; FITO seen ever eo----"
"Nonsense 1 Thatai
"Impossible to ovele and bats perhaps,
but to nothing else AO to see that there was
one sole and. !Anglo hero in the world to you,
and that to him there was one single being
in the world; and that being the case ---a
"But, Annaple, you can't guess what he
he always been to nee."
"Oh 1 don't I know ?—a eort of Arch-
bishop :of Canterbury and George Heriot
rolled into one, So much, the more reason,
my dear, 1 den't know when I've been so
glad in my life than that your good times
hould be ooming.'
"They are come in knowing this I It is
only too wonderful," Said Nuttie, as they
stood together among the plants in the lit-
tle conservatory on the way upstairs. I
always thought it insulting to him when
they teased me about him. '
They did, did they ?"
My father, incited by poor Gregorio.
Oh, Annaple! don't let any one guess till
we know how my father will take it. What
is it, Ellen ?" as the nursery -maid appeared
on the Stairs.
If you please, ma'am, Mrs. Poole -would
be glad if you are coming up to the nue.
sery"
They both hastened. up and nurse came
out to meet thein in the day nursery, mak-
ing a sign to Ellen to take her place by the
cot, and withholeing the two ladies. She
made them come as far off as pessible. and
then said that she was not at all satisfied
abottt Master Alwyn. There had been the
same drowsinese and disinclination to speak,
and wlaeu she had undrerised and weshed
him, he had seemed tender all over, and
cried out and moaned as if her touch hurt
him, eapeoially on one side where., she felt
convinced, there was some injury ; but
when she aeked about it his eyes grew
frightened and bewildered, and he only oriecl
in a feeble sort of way, as if sobs gave him_
pain.
She had soothed him, and he had gone
into his own bed with the same gentle lan-
guid gladness, but had presently begun
moaning, and imploring in his sleep, waken.
bee with screams and entreaties, "Oh,
Ill do it! I'll try" and she thought him
very feverish. Would it not be better that
a doctor should see him?
Nurse was always an alarmiot, and Nut -
tie could not help thinking that to wake the
child to see a stranger to -night would only
add to his terror and distress, while Am
naple declared her entire belief that though
no doubt the yoor little fellow had been
cruelly knocked about and bruised, &night's
rest wouldprobably restore his bright self,
and make all that was past only like a bui
dream. There was no judging tcanight, and
sleep was wonderful reparation to thoee lit
ile beings.
Then however the moans andel-nun:tun be-
gan again, and now the awakening cry.
They started forward, and as nettle came to
the coadide the child threw himself into her
bosom with, "Sister 1 Sister! Itis sister l''
but his eves grew round with terror at sight
of Annaple, and clinging tightly to Nuttie,
he gasped, "Send her away! don't let her
touch me Fiela'ae elot here d
To tell him she wasCouein Annaple, Billy's
mamma, °lead no effect; he did not seem able
to understand, and she could only retire—
nurse being thus convinced thab to let him
see another stranger tonight would only do
further harm. Nuttie and name succeeded
in reassuring him that he was safe at home
and with them, and in hushinghim off into
what they hoped would be a quiet wholesome
sleep in spite of the hot sultry night, on
which Annaple laid a good deal of the blame,
of his restlessness and feverishness.
Nuttie only came down for a short time
before the visitors went away ; and then she
wrote a note to Dr. Brownlow, which Mark
promised to leave ail he went to the city
in the morning, Mr. Egremont, in his pre-
sent relief, pooh poohing all fears, and
backing up Annaple's belief in the powers of
"tired nature's soft restorer"; but Mr. Dut-
ton looked grave and said that he had re
marked the extreme tenderness, but had
hoped that much was due to his own inex
penance in handling little children. The
parting clasp of the hand had a world of
meaning in it, and Nuttie openly said that
she hoped to tell him after matins at St.
Michael's how the boy was. But she could
tot be there. When she went upstairs at
night the half -delirious terrors had returned,
and there yeas another difficult soothing and
comfortingbefore the child, slept again.
Nurse fancied the unwonted presence might
disturb him, and insisted on her going to her
own room.
(TO BE CONTD.TITED.)
Race Prejudice.
griuda de org' and I plays de fid'
And I sella de ripea hawed ; .
No steala, no rob, I never did
But 1 work like de honestaanan.
buy me de monk wid de leeta red hat
And 1 tie 'em a string by de neck,
grabs de org' and 1 t'inks me diet
I maka de mon' by de peek.
I play de tune from" 11 Trova,tore "
And "Toni by His Mader He Stick,"
And de monk' he climb up de seconda. story,
Where de leeta gal gib am de nick, '
I works, t'ree day and .1 maka four dol,
And I feel me so rich like de king,
When--sagra diavlo, estrito ohrystal 1
De Irish kid outfit, de string.
Like—what you call 'em? Ala yes, de blue
streak,
De monk' break away and was hid.
I find dm no mo', and I go busted dat week,
Dat's why I hates de Trisha, kid.
Easily Discouraged.
"Yes," said a base ball man, "I'm dis•
couraged, and have given up the business
forever, Why, the very fiest game they got
onto me in the second inning, and pounded
Inc all over the field."
"That ought not to discourage you.
Many a pitcher has had similar luck."
"Yes, bat I wasn't the pitcher; 1 Was the
umpire," ---
Red, whit, and blue is the favorite color
coix bination fox lawn tenais suits.
Madame Patti, according to her owie state
mend received $10,5o0 as her ohare of the
receipts ef .her first concert in Buenos Ayres
in April last. The services of Theodore
Thomas and his orchestra of sixty Musicians
can be secured for a single mended for $3,000.
Yet there is more educational valute in one
eoneert given by Thomas's orchestra than in
a more of concerto at Whith Patti le the stet,
and as is generally the case at her eoncerte,
the only oon•Ipetent artist. The comparison
is an instructive commentary on the utate of
enueloal culture a the Present day,
HEALTII.
Moderation and Regularity.
The means to be adopted for the attain-
ment of robust health are cleanliness, regu.
larity of habits, moderation in diet, exercise,
preferably in the open air, in accordance
with the capacity of the individual and nat.
ure of the contest, and abstinence from
strong drinks and tobacco.
If a man trains simply to bnprove his
health he does BO more or less moderately;
if for a contest, more or less strictly in ac-
cordance with the importance ot the event.
A man oan do either without a trainer if he
has an ordinary amount of common sense
amd will power. The man who simply de -
res to live in a sound, healthy conditien
should follow these rules, modifyiagdhem
according to the age,or physique:
Get up not later than 7 A. M., speinge and
rub yourself with a coarse towel until the
skin is red. It is good exercise. Then dress
and take a fairly long walk before and tate*
breakfast. 'Weak to your place of business.
Attend to work in the usual way, resisting
every inclination you may have to give way
to indolence. Walk home, Never mind
the weather • a little rain will not hurt you
and Summer' heat will not affect you when
you have done it long enough to do you
good. Then have dinner, avoiding, as at
your lunch and breakfast, fat, greasy, sweet,
highly flavored or seasoned food. Water is
the best thing to drink and that is better
drank after finishing your meal. Take
your time over dinner in particular and
other meals in general. If you have not
time to get a meal leiaurely go withoat
it, as it will not injure you quarter as much
as it will to eat it in a hurry. Amuse your-
self in the evening according to your taste,
which as you get healthier will incline to
ective rather than effeminate amusements.
Repeat the sponging and rubbing and go to
bed before 11 P.M.
A gentleman of our acquaintance on the
shady side of 40, who is following this pro-
gramme, stands about six feet and weidles
nearly 200 pounds. He toolmy advice and
has long since clone away s ith his collection
of medicines and embromtions, while since
commencing he has had no occasion for a
&dor. Neither the heat last Summer nor
the cold this Winter troubled him, During
the day business tasks have ceased to be
burdensome,. and at night he sleeps the
sleep of the pm. The little trouble it takes
has become a pleasure, and he is quite sails.
fled that the benefit he has derived is worth
en.ore to him than he could pay for it. He
never has any inclination for and can easily
resist the temptation to partake of luxuries
or belious dishes.
The professional should train more strict.
ly. Nearly all the time he is not sleeping
or eating he should spend out of doors or
in practising thataor some part of that, teat
which he is training for. Neither amateur
nor professional should work too hard at
first, 'but should at all times bear in mind
• that over-exertion is more harmful than in-
sufficient exercise. I advocate the subjuga.
tion but not the extinction of any natural
desire. A requirement of nature should al-
ways afford pleasure, but should never be -
comma 'propensity. If a person desires to
improve deportment, grace and freedom of
motion, and to acquire vigor, he should box
or fence, or both, taking lessons at first that
he may commence with a good system.
A Lesson From a Pugilist.
A- In writingeately'on muscle -forming fool,
eve referred to the ifiterdepentlenee between
the different bodily organs and tissues, so
that the body, to be properly built up, must
be built up as a whole. Even muscular de.
velopment may be carried to such an extent
as to impoverish the brain and reduce the
fat below whatis required as surplus food
• Against emergencies, as a protection against
cold, and to supply those parts. which con-
sist largely of fat—the brain, naves and
marrow.
For, while surplus fat is an incumbrance,
and sometimes a disease, a normal amount
—and this not small—is as essential as mum
(Pular fibre. ,
An illustration of some of these principles
ie given by the experience of Sullivan, the
pugilist, in his recent fight in France, and
it is perhaps the only useful consequence of
thet brutal encounter.
Sullivan had spent six weeks in preparing
for the contest, and is said in that time to
have reduced his weight forty pounds—at
bhe rate of nearly a pound a day ! But
while thus getting rid of fat, he was not at
the same equally building up muscular fibre,
This is a far slower process than "training
down to weight."
Moreover, the loss of fate.eade him over-
sensitive to the chilling rain in the midst
of which the fight was carried on, while the
muscles needed an extra support for their
bang -continued and exhausting work. At
the same time the nerve power was greatly
reduced, for the fat, of which theArain and
nerves so largely consist, is as essential to
their normal action as is any other consti-
tuent. And, indeed, this nerve -power is
the working force of the system as truly as
steam is of the engine.
Says Mr. John Boyle O'Reilly, the well-
known poet and writer, and a good author-
iAy in physical culture: "Sullivan was
over.trained. This is the rule rather than
the exception with B%lish trainers.
"They reduce a man's nervous or vital
force to build tip his muscular powers, and
they take out all his fat, so that he gets
chilled when he strips, and cannot heat
again.
"tb ras just the same when Heenan
fought King in England. He lam a marvel
of beauty when he stripped, but before the
fourth round his breath was roaring in hitn
as he said himself. He had to come to a
stop while his muscles were filled with
power, beermee there was no nervous force
to drive the muscles. "
This is admirably put, but it is hardly
proper for Mr. O'Rielly to say, "whsle the
moles were filled with power." There
was only a capacity for the use of power—
the nervous force—which the central nor-
VotlEi system was not then in a condition to
furnish to the degree required.
Sore 11'hroats,
rove ailments are more common than Sore
throats, yet they are largely preventable.
That is, they seldom come to one in vigor-
ous health, except as the result of seine vio-
lation of physical law.
The more simple form of sore throat is
commonly due to exposure to inelement
'weather, brit often indirectly to a disturbed,
stomaoh. In fact, it is not ;Infrequently
due to this cameo alone. The person says he
has taken cold, and vvonders how he could
have done so' while the truth is, he has not
taken cold atall.
The etoinach, resophagus, mouth, nose,
etc., are lined with a mucous membrane
coatinuous throeigh this whole region, and
the irritation begun in the otcanamh la pro-
pagated over the whole random stelae°. In
all ouch cases the seat of the trouble is the
etomach, and accordingly the efforte at cure,
whether by medioine, by diet, or by treat -
moot, Should he directed to that organ,
Follicular tnsi1litia ie a more eerie=
form of sore threat. It is perhaps due to an
infectious elenient, but even this is general-
ly powerless where the physical condition
of the person who Is expooed to it is other-
wise good. In tbie case, too, the stomach
may be the prime offender, More frequent-
ly the disease comes to those whose physical i
condition is depressed by bad bypenic sur-
roundings.
There are feverith symptoms, the tonsils
are inflamed and swollen, and covered more
or less with email white circular spots.
These may iudividually enlarge, so as to
form peaches somewhat resembling the
characteristic patch of diphtheria, width,
however, is a skin like membrane, while the
patches in tonsillitis are merely an exuda-
tion on the surface, which can be wiped off.
The case should, nevertheless, always have
the care of a physician.
Sometimes the tonsils become greatly in-
flamed, with a tendency to abscess. It be -
mines difficult to swallow, and, indeed, to
open the mouth. Behind the lower jaw a
painful swelling is obieerved.
The difficulty may increase for several
days, and then the inflammation may go
down, or, what is quite as likely to happen,
a very painful abscess may be formed, on
the evacuation of which the symptoms sub-
side. This is what is oftea ceded quinsy.
"oda-Water."
The drinking of so. called " oda-Water is
becoming more and more general. Soda
i
fountains are found not only n drug stores,
but in restaurants, bateroonts, confectionery
stores, and retail merchant establishments.
All are familiar with the effervescence
and foam that attend the mixing in water of
carbonate of soda and tartaric acid. As the
terra "node" is applied both to the foun-
tain and to the drink issuing from it, one
naturally, supposes that there is soda in the
foaming fluid he is taking.
It is not so, however. The water is
charged with carbonic: acid, and is flavored
and sweetened with seine of the various
syrups. The carbonic acid gas forced into
water with a pressure of one hundred and
eighty pounds to the square inch, and it is
the escape of this gas, when the faucet is
turned and the water flows into the tumbler,
that causes the foaming.
The gas was formerly obtained from car-
bonate of soda, and hence the present name,
which still clings to it; but it is now obtain-
ed from marble, which ' is a carbonate of
lime. Marble is simply lime and carbonio
acid chemically combined. The union is a
weak one. Sulphuric acid has a much
stronger affinity for the lime than the car-
bonic acid has, and upon being poured on
powdered marble releases the carbonic acid,
which is then absorbed by the water. It
makes no difference with the drink whether
the carbonic acid is obtained from soda or
from marble,' since nothing but the acid
passes into the water.
In, and in the neighborhood of, large
cities, the sellers of soda -water do not charge
their own fountains. It is done for them
at large central establishments.
The question has been put to us if, soda -
water is wholesome. Almost any acidu-
lated drink is pleasant in summer, and it
often meets a real need to the system.
Probably carbonated water is as wholesome
as any. -
• We should advise less of the syrup than is
commonly taken, partly because it is apt
not to be mire, and partly because, even if
pure, it isnot very good for the stomach.
"Plain soda" is better than soda with
syrup, and, after a little time, quite a
pleasant as that. - ° -
We believe that care is taken to have the
water pure, and to keep the apparatus free
from corrosive matter, and When this done,
no harm is likely to resultfrorn a moderate
resort to the fountain.
Precautions Against Sunstroke.
The full Meaning of sunstroke is not in.
eluded in that term. Heatstroke or inso-
lation is abetter word, and implies a further
peril besides the downright glare of an un-
clouded sun. The concentrated heat of a
clam workroom, as well as the exposure ind
eland by some careless laborers en the open
field may lead to most sexious consequences.
The exhaustion of work also, particularly if
clothing is heavy, is a predisposed oondition
whichshould notbe lost sight of. Ventilation,
regular nutrition., light clothing, and, as far
as possible, remission of the premiere of
work, are strongly indicated by the weather
conditions under which we are now living,
and we therefore venture to impress their
importance alike on employer and employ-
ed. Beer and other stimulants are hurtful
rather than helpful, and the substitution of
non -intoxicant cooling drinks for those bev-
erages is a truly scientifi - and sanitary ad-
vance in public taste. Protection of the
head is a subject which is now fairly well
understood. It should not be forgotten that
the neck as well as the oranium requiries to
be covered.
A Torah for Insect Nests,
A. late bulletin (No. 10) lamed by the en-
tomologist, Prof. C. V. Riley, of the IL S.
Department of Agriculture, gives the follow-
ing directions for making a torch to be used
in burning the.nest of such insects as the
orchard caterpiller and fall web worm. Take
apiece of soft brick known as salmon-briele,
and trim it to an egg shape; then take two
flexible wires,cross them over the bride,wrap
them around it, and twist the ends together.
There attach it by the wires to a long stick,
and soak the brick in coal oil; light it with
a match, and you are armed for the work.
Asbestos may be used to advantage; and a
little thorough work early enough in the sea-
son, will obviate the necessity of more ex-
pensive remedies, at a later time. The soak-
ing in the oil may be repeated as often
as required to maintain the flame.
,--eneedeampeen-----
MadaMe Patti,
Letters lately reoeived from Buendre Ayre
give details of the debut there of Madame
Patti in "The Barber of Seville." As some
doubt has been expressed about the total of
the receipts, it may be as well to quote from
the offieial returns supplied to the Govern-
ment, whioh state that the amount taken at
the first performance reached the enormoue
sum of $24,400, most of the besb Seats being
sold at a high premium. IvIactarne Patti has
since sung in .Traviata " s,nd " Itigoletto."
It appears, too, that the new arrangement
between Messrs. Giacci, Abbey and Oraut
who ere IVIadatne Pettiei impresariosi is a,
follows :—Madame Patti receiVos $5,000 as
a night certein be English gold, and if the
receipts exceed $10,000 she reeeivee 40 per
cent, of the surplus. She is only obliged to
sing twice a Week) need not attend rehearsals,
and receives Moo alI travelling and hotel ex.
perms for herself, her husband, her eecretary
and three doinesties, Witlesuch an them=
the poor prima donna, at any rate, need not
starve,
"Clara," said the old man at the head of
the Stairs, "say to that young fellow that a
storm is coming up," "All right sir ;
thanks,' responded the young fellow him-
self. "1 hadn't noticed it, I think I'll
Wait and Sec if ft doSen1 blow over.
Tap MISERIES OP M1SEES.i
Am,
Some ittinUrliable tt, at 'Who IttgaTeed
Wealth Above ale Pleadeall Comforts,
Perhape the most famous miser that ever
lived was John Elwes, an Eagliehmar, who
died from neglect because he refused to in.
our the expense of physlcians and nurses,
though worth not less than $4,000,000. In
the cam of John Flame, hiS Sordid ehar-
actor wee not the result of Ignorer ati for
he was a graduate of a Swiss university
and later en life was a member of Parliament.
His greed of gold was an hereditary sire
He was a son of a London brewer, who died
when the boy was only four years old, His
mother eurvived, but to such an extent did
her paesiou for money gain a hold upon her
that, though she had $5(0,000 in her own
right, she actually starved to death. ,Ael
uncle, Sir lVfarvey Elwes, was aleo a miser,
and the example of these two blood rela.
tives exercised such an influence upon John
Elwes that he became the n ost ferreous
miser ef three centuries. After his return
to England from Geneva Elwes moved in
fashionable London soeiety, where his pro-
spective wealth entitled him to recognition.
When he visited his uncle in Suffolk,
where the latter lived in moot abject pen -
bis hopeful nephew would play a double
part. Fie would wear his fashionable gar-
ments as far as a little inn in Chelmsford,
where he exchanged thorn for a pair of patch.
ed trousere, a worn out coat, darned stock-
ings, and clodhopper shoes with iron
backles. In this attire he would call upon,
his uncle. The latter would not permit
fire on cold March days on the score of its
being extravagant, and the two would sit
with a crust of bread and one glass of wine
between them until it was too dark to see
each other's faces, and then they would re-
tire to save the expense of candles. When
this uncle died he left his nephew a fortmee
of '$1,000,000.
As he grew older John Elwes developed.
the terrible avarice that marked his life by
a passion for 4:lards. He would at in hie,
threadbare clothes with the Duke of Nor-
thumberland and play with feverish eye
and trembling hand with thousands at stake,
and then after having lost or won as the
ease might be, he would walk to his miserable
lodgings, three miles distant, in a peltering
rain rather than pay for a cab.
Metes owned a magnificent country seat
in Berkshire. When he would leave London
to visit it he would put three hard boiled eggs
in his pockete, then mounting a horse noul&
ride over fields and through lanes, going
mile a out of his way to avoid roads where
he would have to pay a few pennies toll.
A more than faithful biographer says °chine :
" He would eat his provide= inthe last
stage of putrefaction rather than have a
fresh joint from the butcher, and at one
time he wore a wig about a fortnight which
he picked out of a rut in a lane, and which
had apparently been thrown away by a beg
At hiscountry mat he allowed of no
repair a Sive little brown paper and a bit of
bloken glass. During,the harvest he would
amuse himself with going into the fields to
glean the corn on the ground of his own
tenants, and they used.to leave a little more
than common to please the old gentleman,
who was as eager after Was any pauper in
the parish. To save bed coverings, before
his death, he would go to Sleep completely
dressed with boots and hat on. He died
miserable, his mind weakened by worry and
privation. The valise of his fortune, which
went to two sons, was not less than
$4,000,000. -
Another celebrated miser was Ephraim
Lames Pereira, 13tron d' ,Aguilar, formerly
cashier of the Empress Maria Theresa, of
Austria. &range to say, the early years of
his life at the Austrian court were years of
splendor. Then he moved to England, mar-
ried a wealthy lady and settled down. He
lived in sumptuous style; kept several
carriages and twenty servants. He was
married twice, and after his second marriage
he left his family and friends and withdrew
himself from the fashionable world. mge
tamed farmer. At this time he was worth
$1,000,000. After a year in the country his
place began to be known as "Starvation
Farmyard." His cattle and poultry were a
mass of skin and bones, and peasants begin
to hoot at the baron whenever he appeared
for his mean treatment of his animals. He
always insisted on being present when the
stock was being fed, so that he might see
that there was nothing stolen or wasted.
He went about his farm clad in mean and
dirty clothes, and refused to spend money
ta buy new ones. After a life of selfishness
and meanness he died in March, 1802, leav-
ing property estimated at $1,1001 00. His
diamonds alone were worth. $150,000, while
his solid silver plate weighed over 700
pounds.
But exceedine by far the example of John
Elwes is that of Daniel Dancer, whose life
is the most striking example perhaps in
all history of the insatiable thirst for gold.
His father died and left him, together with
a sister, a comfortable fortune, Dancer
a,nd his sister lived in a °mineable hut near
Harrow, in Middlesex, England. Their
fee consisted of a piece of cheap beef and
fourtem hard dumplings boiled on Sunday,
and this lasted them the rest of the week.
The pair dressed in rags, and when the
sister was dying from cold and starvation
her brother refused to summon medical aid
on the ground that he could not spend his
money for medicine, because if the old
girl" was going to die the doctors couldn't
save her anyhow. Dancer was too miserly
to provide soap and towels for himself.
He would wash in a neighboring pool and
lie out in the sun till he was dried. His
clothes, a mass of patches' were held up by
a belt of twisted hay, andhis whole appear..
ance was that of abject misery. Duncan on
his rambles never retuxned empty handed,
He would gather up the bones in the vil-
lage otreets and lanes, bring them home, and
after picking them clean himself would
crack them and feed them to the dog. Once
neighbors complained that his dog woreied
and killed their sheep, and for fear that he
would have to pay for future depredatioae,
he took the dog to a blacksmith's where he
had all the poor dog's teeth broken off to
prevent a further recurrence of the trouble.
He mended his own shoere and wore one hae
continuously for thirteen years.
When he lay on his dying bed his only
garment was an old sack. When remon-
strated with he said that he mine into the
world without a shirt and he would go out
of it that way, Whoa a visitor suggested
that he have a pillow for his head he Order-
ed his only servant, whose weekly wages
was thirty writs, to bring him a wisp of hay,
which he itsed WI a pillow till his death, a
few days later. He left an estate valued at
$25,000 amply ettificient for e hie needi
during hie life.tline, had he so desired
This money, in oda SUMS, was hidden in old
rags, nailed down to the under part of the
manger floor in bis mieerable cow shed, mid
over $10,000 was found hidden in the ree-
inme pile, where it had lain foe years.
A woman at Bridgeport, Conn., has a
good joke on her husban& He hated her
poodle, and in trying to Wok it down stairs
lost his balanee and broke his neck,