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The Huron News-Record, 1891-08-05, Page 3AND THE Hypophosphites of Lime and Soda. No other Emulsion is so easy to take. It does not separate nor spoil. It is always sweet as cream. The most sensitive stomach can retain it. CURES Scrofulous arid Wasting; D seises. Chronic Cough. Loss cf Appetite. Mental and IIervous Pr ostrat_^:?. k`. General Debility, Etc. 4 r rfell imi:_4:10es. Ask for ""., �. t'i L." T' ... ,. _ted rr'::'- 1 o • re--:::: r.�_` ?SR CTr J The Huron News -Record $L50 a Year -$1..:'.i iu Advaoeu 'Wednesday, August 5th, 1891. ANNIE'S LUCKY ERROR. It was but the \luuday previous, at Mrs. Moore's, that George Berk- ley, after dancing with mo twice in sucoessiuu, had asked nig if he might have the pleaauro of escortiLg me to the theatre the next uvou- .ing. `I should be very happy.' But instead of sailing oil' with him in all the glory of my spring attire, 1 was obliged to tell him, when he -called for mo, looking so handsome, too : `I regret it extremely, but papa -wishe3 Ice to wait a year or two yet before I go out with gentlemen ; .he thinks me rather too young.' I dare say my papa's conscience .must have smote him, or else my doleful looks troubled him, for as we were finishing dessert, he said : 'Annie it' you would like to go to the theatre to -night, run upstairs and get ready. I will tell you.' 'After all,' said I, as I mounted the stairs, "I can wear my beautiful bonnet ; and perhaps he ruay be there—who knows?" Ere another hour I was absorbed in the misery of poor Effie Deane. I turned my head to wipe away the starting teal', when lo 1 but a little distance from we, sat George Berk- ley, with that odious Marion Hay - mond ! • My tears remained frozen to ruy .eyelids, and the woes of Jennie and Effie vaniolied in thin air. When the play was over, I rose •with the invincible determination to abjure his acquaintance at once .and tor ever. As for her—detest- Able creature! The tears so:blind- ed ruy eyes, I could scarcely follow .papa through the crowd. He drop- ped my arm a moment to find the carriage, and I stood chilly and -cold in the damp night air, till I heard his impatient tone : `Come, Annie, goick 1' I darted forward, spraug through the open door, which closed rapidly, :and away we whirled. Leaning back among the cushions I let my pride and gsief have full away. There was a suffocating sensation in my throat that caused me to lower the window by my side, when a gruff vsice exglaim- ed: 'Good heavens, Maria ! what- do you want any more cold air in here for ? I am neatly frozen now I' Merciful heavens ? who was that? 'Where was I? Surely that was ,not papa's voice. At thie moment a ray from a passing gaslight shone upon the opposite seat, and to my horror and dismay, instead of the gray hair .and placid brow of papa, was a mass .of very black hair, a heavy mous• tache, a keen black eye, and a most formidable countenance. I was just about essaying one desperate shriek --'Papa! papa 1'— wvhen my amiable visa -vis spoke 'again : 'Maris, what makes you so sulky? I hope, the next time you go to the theatre you'll go with one of your beaux—Elridge for instance. You'd be sweet enough for him, I dare say. Maria, are you asleep ?' I held my breath in agony. Who could he bo? He surely -could not have murdered papa and stolen his carriage. But this blood- thirsty idea was abandoned as soon as formed, when, suddenly, clear as the noonday, it became apparent. I, in my blindness, had sprung into the wrong carriage ! 'And "'Maria!' Could it bo ? Yes ; she :had. AltriittlenFlatifitii ft'itftlfd dd- talent as the vehicle rolled away. The rain by ilia, time wee. fallipg so heavily t.h.at the Idea of exposing myself too its influence was extreme- ly disagreeable -.-especially as I re- flected it was near twelve o'clook, and I haLnot tho moat remote idea of where was. Poor papa—what would he think had become of me - Hero a new thought flashed across me—possibly that unknown Maria had taken my carriage as 1 had hers ; if so, papa would bring her back and recover me. As I ar- rived at this comforting conclusion, the carriage stopped. My compan- ion gave me an energetic push, ex- claiming : 'Come, Maria, wake up ! We're home.' Aud jumping out, I mechanically accepted his offered hand, and stepped out in the blinding rain. The carriage quickly rolled away, and I hurried up the steps of what appeared to be a line structure. I found myself in a handsome lofty hall, with frescoed walls and inlaid pavement—made discernible by a dimly burning light, held by a marble nymph that stood in a niche of the staircase. He locked and barred the heavy double doors, and while thus en- gaged, the thuught occurred to we —it was evident wy height and general appearance resembled the abseut Maria ; by keeping my face turned I might avoid notice till he went up -stairs. I would remain iu the hall until daybreak, then hie away home. sis,' said my companion, 'were you dreaming so intently that. you have not awakened yet? I hope for the credit of the family you aro nut a sumuambulist.' 1 yawned sleepily by way of reply, and loiteringly pretended to follow him up the stairs, With three hounds he had vanished. 'Now,' thought I, as I silently re- traced my steps to a large hall - chair, and seated myself with im- mense satisfaction, 'if there are no ghosts or goblins in this enchanted. realm, I shall be very well content to retrain here till morning. Good heavens ! what's that ?' The gas which had been undis- turbed, .now burned brightly, and looking up I saw the retreating figure of my quondam companion, minus coat and boots, and heard his footfall coining down what appear - 'ed to be a back stairway. Ile entered a room at the further extreinity of the hall, and soon re• appeared with a book in his hand. `Doubtless,' thought I, 'he will return the same way ; so I won't get frightened.' But no! his light firm step came steadily along; and in another moment, with gleaming eyes and visage, I stood—or rather sat—be- fore him. He staggered back as though he saw a vision, and glared at me it blank astonishment, faintly ejacu- lating : 'Gracious heaven's, what is that?' I tried to speak, but could only stammer forth : `1, indeed, sir—I—I could not help it. It was a—a mistake 1' and burst iuto a violent flood of tears. 'In the name of Niobe I' said he, advancing' `who are you 1 Don't be so agitated, miss, but please to explain to what I am indebted for this unparalleled honor. But I could not explain, for my soba were bursting forth with re- doubled vigor. `1 entreat you to he composed,' his tone softening considerably ; 'there is no occasion for such dire tress. If you are in trouble, miss, and I can relieve you, I shall be happy to do so.' 'Indeed, air,' said I, striving to regain my self•possesion, 'I ate very sorry, but I mistook your carriage for my father's, and did not per- ceive it till I heard you speak ; and then I was so frightened.' And here I cried again. 'Poor little thing!' ejaculated he in an undertone ; then aloud : 'Don't feel so badly ; it is only a little blunder that can easily be rectified in the morning.' 'Ole,' said I eagerly, 'then you believe me, and don't think me an impostor ?' He threw back his head and laughed, while the white teeth gleamed under his moustache ; then said gravely : 'I don't think you look like an itnpostor ; although—let me ace, are you sure you don't want the spoons ?' 'Sir,' I returned with much digni- ty, 'my fa ther'e name is Morton. We live in—' 'Excuse me, Mise Morton, for my presumption ; and now, if you will allow me to suggest, my sister's room is unoccupied, and I think you had better rent there till morn• ing. If you wish I will call my mother to attend you.' 'No—no ! I beg you will not—I would rather stay here ; and as day dawns, I will return home, for I know papa will be almost crazy about me.' -.Aired.,'..-m d- slier nue rrgly;:.."if-F' wake mother, I suppose she will be alurtast crazy about; /,1141.1a iia ; ,although 1 apprehend she h.s made the seine ritistalre asyourself, for I saw her turn from her friends the moment before you entered the carriage. 1 ant afraid papas and brothers don't make very ,gallant escorts, elee this awkward affair would not have happeued.' • 'Indeed ?' exclaimed I, rather piqued, 'papa left me but an instant to find the carria,ge, and then called me, but I suppose the rain dud darkness bliuded me.' 'Aud,' returned he, 'Maria stop- ped a moment to speak to some friends, and 1, being a little out of patience, sprang in ahead of ber ;— but I am very negligent Allow me to present you to Mr. Graham Thoruton.' Here he made a low bow. As I bowed in reply, 1 looked keenly at him, and found that lily first impressions were erroneous. He was handsome --very handsome, and possessed that calm ty and quiet manliness that always fit a true gentleman like a garment. Very different, thought I, from the babyish tut wby•pambylaw of that odious George Berkley. He had been scrutinising rue as closely as 1 him, and now said : 'You look rattler pale, Miss Morton, and I infer you don't feel any the better for your night's adventure.' Without waiting a reply he strode down the hall. Presently he returned, bearing a silver waiter, laden with cake and wine. During our repast lie asked niy opinion of his conduct in the car- riage, and said he had been annoy- ed at the theatre..that evening. 1 could not but smile to think how nearly our feelings were al, lied. Scarcely had we finished when through the deadened sound of the rain. I heard a carriage driven at a furious rate. '012, it's father !' said f, springing up. As Mr. Thornton quickly tuns barred the doors, in walked papa, accompanied by a young lady. 'My darling 1' cried he, 'how could you run away from old papa !' Mr. Thornton was hudily engaged questioning his sister as to how and when she discovered her eri or. 'Why, Graham,' said she, 'it was all owiug to your sulkiness. If I bad not known bow cross you were in the the theatre, probably I ahould have gone as quietly home with Mr. Morton as his daughter did with you.' 'Do tell us how it was !' cried e both. 'It isn't worth telling. 1s it, l'1r. Morton ?' Papa laughed till the water stood in his eyes. 'Just as you please, Miss Thorn- ton,' replied he. 'If you don't wish it, torture sha'n't draw it from ore.' Of course, our curiosity was now excited to the highest pitch, and brother insisted on an explanation. 'There is not so touch to tell you need he an anxious to'hear it,' said Miss Thornton. 'When Emma Wilson stopped the on the pave- ment., she told ore she is going to be married next week to Mr. Mon- roe, and, she has only known , hi.tn three weeks ; then she wished me to be bridesmaid, and requested me to invite you to take we with them on their bridal tour. 'All this news so startled me that I had jumped into the carriage and ridden some distance before I fully realized it. "rhen 1 wondered whether or not you .would take one, and the more I thought of it, the more I wished to go. So, knowing you felt rather cross, I thought I would coax you a little ; Papa interposed with a merry twinkle in his eye : `If Miss Thornton will allow ine, 1 will finish, and tell my part of the story. In the theatre, I saw my little.girl was not very happy ; so, when we were returning, I thought silence would be the best cure, and left her to her own reflec- tions. 'We had nearly reached the bridge, wiled she moved nearer to we, and—and she but both arms around my neck and kissed my cheek 1' Amid our laughter, papa con, tinned : 'I drew her to me, and said : 'Well, Annie dear, how do you feel now?' For an answer, I was greet- ed with the most terrific shriek I ever beard, and elle 'made frantic attempts to open the door.' Here our loud and continued laughter wakened the sleeping inmates, and a voice inquired : What is all this fuss about 9' 'Oh, r other l'said Mr. Thornton, do come down ! I have something rich to tell you ; and eall father, too!' Papa interposed and said that we had trespassed on their hospitality already too long. So we withdrew, but not before as nr'cardlrzwersegiretr; -and' proiii'iaets made of fetnre friendship. A4.1 Maria and 1 exchanged to k.is, I noticed that we were nearly the. same height and size, and dressed in almost the same manner. I will be generous and confess elle is a little bit prettier than I One pleasant evening not long since, 1 eat in the ditn moonlight, listening to low -breathed words frou► my lover, Mr. Thornton, when the dim quiet was dieturbed by a violent ring at the bell. We both listened intently, and I heard the tones of George Berkley inquiring of the servant if Miss Morton was at home. My companion drew me still closer to his heart, and pressed a quiet kiss upon ruy lips, as John answered at the doer : 'Yea, sir, Miss A nnie's at home ; hut she is engaged.' THE BOWSERS. M R. BOwSER SPENDS A PLEASANT EVENING AT HOME. 'Now for an evening of solid com- fort !' said Mr. Bowser the other evening as he fell into an easy chair and cut the pages of a magazine. 'Mrs.' Bowser, do you ever realize how blessed we tore?'!' 'Yee,, indeed.' 'While others fall by the wayside we are spared.' 'While others quarrel and bicker and seek the divorce courts, we love the stronger every day.' - 'Yes.' He got up and camp over and kissed one, and upon returning to his chair seemed lost in reflection for a moment, then he continued : 'flow curious life is ! Do you re- member the day I first saw you ?' I shall never forget it.' '1 was on horseback,Iyou r.unem- ber, and you stood ou the veranda of your father's house.' `You are a trifle mistaken, dear. The horse had thrown you off iuto a mudhole, and I shall never forget the picture you presented as you approached4-the house. At first I took you for—' '\Vhat ! A horse throw me oft'!' ho interrupted. 'Certainly. 1)un't you remetuber how father—' 'Mrs. Bowser are you crazy ? I was never thrown from a horse in wy life ! 1'd like to see the horse which could throw the off ! You you must be thinking of some one else.' 'Why, dear, you lost your watch in the mud, and fattier fished it out. Don't you remember how our negro Tom scraped the mud off you?' 'Not by a long shot !-No nigger ever scraped me down ! You must be thinking of that yellow -haired dude you used to go with.' We were both silent for a time and I hoped it was the last of it. My experience, although dating back over a few years only, has satisfied me that nothing aggravates a husband more than to bring up the silly things he said and did dur- ing his courtship. It seems to bo a raw spot with the majority of them after the honeymoon is over. But Mr. Bowser was not satisfied. After four or five minutee he be broke out with : `It's curious what a dunce a plan can make of himself with his eyes wide open.' `Y -e -s1' 'The idea that I shoul I ever fall in love with you!' 'Or I with you 1' He glared at me over the top of his book and there was another pain- ful silence, broken at last by his saying : 'Well, I'll adroit that I was in love ; but I flatter myself that I didn't exhibti any schoolboy non- sense.' 'You were just like any other young man in love, Mr. Bowser. They have always been that way, and always will be, and it's no discredit to them.' `1)o you mean to say I 'mooned' around likes calf?' he demanded. '1 don,t know how calves `moon,' as you term it, but you wanted to hold my hind, put your arm around me 'Hold your hand—never !' 'But you did !' 'Never—never 1' 'Mr. Bowser, I have one of my old diaries. Wait until I get it.' 'Not much ! You can't produce no old diaries nor forged documents on me 1 I anticipated an evening of solid comfort and you can see how it has turned out 1 Is it any wonder that so many husbands seek the saloons and gambling- houses of an evening?' At this moment the cook called me out to ask what she should pre- pare for breakfaet, and a quarter of an hour later when I returned to the back parlor Mr. Bowser seemed deeply interested in his reading. I was glad of this, for I felt a bit con- ecienee-etrioken, but I scarcely got seated when he asked : 'Was Emma Davis here to day ?' 'IIow was ehd looking 1' ''V'ery well, li wanted her to stay 4nt11 yQul'Qfl!i?o :borne,, 'hat ehe bath to go at . four o'clock, She anted to be remembered to you.' 'Yes. I hope she has fully for given we.' 'What for, Mr, Bowser?' 'You know.' 'I haven't the least idea.' `Ha ! ha I ha! What diesemblers women -are. It was always a wire spot with you, though you would never admit it. How you do blt'sh —ha ! ba 1 ha 1' '.Mr. Bowser, what do you refer to ?' • 'Why, there's no doubt that the dear girl once fondly expected to be Mrs. Bowser.' 'Nonsense 1' 'What?' `Nonsense 1' 'You say that simply fur revenge, but I know better. We were as good as engaged when I met you.' 'Trash, sir 1 She was engaged to Jack Smith loug before you ever saw her, and they are to be married as soon as his time is out in the navy. Dou't flatter yourself that she has any thing laid up against you.' 'Mrs.,Boweer,' he began, as he got up and crossed his hauda under his coattails, 'do you know who you are talking to!' 'I do.' 'You are talking to a man who could have been Emma Davis' hue - band two years ago,' '1'11 prove to the contrary.' 'Howl' 'By one of my old diaries.' 'Diaries again ! Always holding something over one. Now produce ! I want to see one of those diaries you talk about.' I ran upstairs and got them out of one of Mr. Bowser's old boots, iu which 1 keep them for safety. There were two of'them, each for a separate year, and as 1 came down with them he look puzzled and stammered : 'W—why, I—I—thought I—' 'Yes, you thought you Lad burn• ed them, but you wore mistaken. .t he books you gut hold of the other Suuday when I was at church were two old receipt books of no -particular value. 1 found every thing turned topsy-turvy and 1 knew what you had been up to.' 'Mrs. Bowser, 'Wait! Let us look up the Emma Davis matter. Here it is. Under date of the 10th of July I wrote : 'Dear Emma was over over to -day to congratulate me on my engage- ment, though she added that if Bowser was the last man on earth she would not have married him. She says his hair reminds her of pumpkins and that his legs seem to be badly warped. The dear girl also—' 'Stop!' shouted Mr. Bowser, his face as white as death. 'Yes, dear, but you rnadeacertain assertion. 1 want to disprove it. 1—' 'Mrs. Bowser, I Prune an evening of solid comfort. ou have made it an evening of torture and regret. if I never spend another evening at home you alone will be to blame for it.' 'But you—' 'Stop right here. This is the limit. The worm has turned. To- morrow morning I go!. But he is with me yet, and I have no fear but what we shall live out our lives together. A WOMAN SLOWLY OSSIFY - IN G. firs. Mollie Hughes, a highly re• spatted widow lady living near Cam- ernville' Idaho, is afflicted with a 'unique and most distressing disease, says the St. Louis Republic. Little by little the flesh of her entire body is turning to solid bone, or, in other words, eheis becoming ossified. The disease was first noticed in 1886, when Aire. Hughes was Mies Duy.. chink, of Canon Rapids. At that time only a single finger was affect- ed. Within a month after the time when Miss Duychink first noticed the numbness and stiffness of the finger it had been accidently broken off while she was asle p. The acct dent gave the girl no pain, there be- ing neither blood, nerves nor flesh left in the diseased members, but it excited the alarm of the family, who called in a physician. The broken stump of the linger was amputated back to where the living flesh set on, and' everything was thought to be all right. Soon the flesh, muscles, arteries, veins and nerves on her kande, fin- gers and arms became as hard and feelinglees as the finger had been be- fore it was broken off. Next the awful malady extended to the elbow, the forearms becoming as white and as clear as' ala- baster. Within the year the toes and end of the nose and ear tips showed a like color and rigidness. The process of ossification has now been going on nearly five years, and the attending physicians say that it is only a matter of time when the entire body of the poor victim will be a solid bone. It is a rare disease, and •the-puthulogy of it iw--little=• under- stood. FORETELLING ,A, GrI,E .TF, )tz. PTE. New York Tri(nirae ; The drought au'% consequent famine recently 1'0 - ported trout Iudie, receive more than usuaf Internet from the fact that the situation had been predicted by the Government Weather Bureau iu that country. In 1817 two well-known weteorologiets, S. A. Hill and Doug- lass Arohibold, called attention to the fact that the failure of the rain bearing monsoon in that sum- mer followed an exceptionally heavy snowstorm and severe cold in the Himalayas and Northern India, and suggested a possible relation be- tween the two phenomena. For the last eight years long-range foretaste have been made on this basis, but not until 1885 was there a well -de - tined repetition of the sequence just meutioned. The corroboration thus afforded gave increased coufideuce to believers iu the soundness of the theory involved. And when last winter and spring, enormous snow- falls iu the mountains, rains in Northern India and severe cold re- curred, a state of.things similar to that now prevailing in the southern par of the peninsula was naturally auticipated, In detail, the forecaat has not proven altogether accurate, but that in general the principle has held good once more is evidently the belief of that high authority on the climate and weather of India, H. F. Blanford, who discusses the topic in a recent number of "Na- ture." Final judgment can not be rendered yet, to be sure, for August and September sometimes make up for the deficiency of June and July, in Western India; and over ou the southeastern coast, where the prin- ciple drought is at present exporien• ced the summer rains are always light, and the great resource of the agriculturist is the late autumnal precipitation. But as the monsoon has thus far brought only scant showers, and tardy ones at that, in regions where copious raiue should have fallen six weeks ago, the pro• found anxiety betrayed in cable dis- patches fl'oni the afflicted country has much justificatiou already. Whether the failure of the wheat crop iu Russia this season has any rolation to the extraordivary winter of 1890-'91 in Europe is a question which Mr. Illanford raises, but does not enter into,. It will, however, no doubt, be carefully studied by Euro- pean scientiete. ;13AI3Y IN A SERPENT'S 'COILS. A MOTHER'S FIGHT WITII A MONSTER BLACK SNARE FOR ITER CHILD'S LIFE. Ten utiles north of Lawrenceburg, Indiana, Jacob Conrath has a little farm. Last Tuesday his wife, her house work done, put her four months old baby in its carriage and trundled it off down the lace to a half cleared field. A daughter, aged six, went along to mind the baby while the mother could pick berries enough for supper for the men whom they had there for harvesting. The little girl attended to her task only until the mother was out of sight and hearing. Then she 'start- ed to see how many berries she could gather iuto her own apron. She left the baby placidly commun- ing with a rubber tipped nursing bottle. Mrs. Conrath heard a cry from the baby, theu two or three shrieks of terror from the guardian. She hurried back, crying as she ran : "What's the matter? What's the matter?" "A snake" the child yelled in answer. Tearing her hands and garments at every step against the tangled briers, the moth• or pushed on in' agony. Coiled about the chubby arms of the child and lapping with venotnous tongue the milk which oozed from its lips, in the carriage there lay a mons- trous blacksnake. Fright and fear and faintness could not still the mother's cry. She fell to the ground screaming. Farmer Cofi- rath and his men came running from the harvest field. He saw his wife prostrate and thought her dy- ing. He picked her up, but, point- ing to where the carriage stood, she dried : "The baby ! Save the baby 1" But the men were too slow. She saw the eerpent now slowly chok- ing her child to death. The little one's feeble struggles, which had angered the reptile, were growing every instant weaker. The men had pitchforks and harvest hooks, but dared not use them. With a wild scream Conrath's wife broke from her husband's arms, rushed frenzied to the carriage, seized the snake by the neck, and tore its folds from about her child. The long black body writhed and lashed in a mad effort to fasten the fangs in the mother's arms. Site etruggled and struggled, and at last hurled the hated thing from her. Then she fainted dead away. The harvesters killed the snake. Then they carried Mrs. Conrath to the house. She went into violent hy- sterics, which have not yet entirely ceased. It is feared she will go in- sane altogether. The laby was un- harmed. When the farm hands nreaenred 'therurtelce--theT fctrt'trl•'i't , to bo nearly ton feet long.