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Acuut U. 8. and Canada, Troy, N. Y,
The Irish Bride of an Englishman.
A STORY OF THESE TIMES.
mu tunny i snail not. It would be
very mean, mid 1 wonder nl you to ask
the question," savs Mona, with a great
show of virtuous indignation. "Re
sides," mischievously, "if you know
there is no necessity to tell you any
thing" J J
"Vet answer trie," persists he, very
"1 can't," savs Mona; "it would bo
very unfair; and besides," petulantly,
"it is all tooahsurd. Why, if Mr. Moore
were to ask me to many him ten thou
sand times again, I should never say
anything but no."'
rneonsciously she has betrayed her
self, lie hears the word "again" with
a strange sinking of the heart. Others,
then, are desirous of claiming this wild
flower for their own.
"Oh, Mona, do you mean that ?" ho
says. Hut Mima, who is very justly in
censed, declines to answer biiu with
"1 liegin to think our English cousins
are not 1 anions for their veracity," she
says, with some scorn. "You seem to
doubt every one's word; or is it mine in
particular? Yet I spoke the truth. I
do not want to marry any one."
Here she turns and looks him full in
the fare; and something it maybe in
the melancholy of his expression so
amuses her that (laughter being as nat
ural to her lips as perfume to a flower)
she breaks into a sunny smile, and holds
out her hand in token of amity.
"How could yon be so absurd about
that old Moore?" she says, lightly.-
"Why, be has got nothing to recommend
liitu except bis money; and what
Rood," with a sigh, "does' that do him,
unless to get him murdered!"
"If lie is as fat as vou nay, lie will bo
a Rood mark for a bullet," savs Mr.
Rodney, genially, almost-1 am ashamed
to say hopefully. "I should think they
could easily pot him one of these dark
nights that are coming, liy this time 1
suppose he feels more like a grouse than
a man, ehy-TU die game' should I his
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that,"
says Mona, with a shudder, "lb isn't
at all nice of you; and especially when
you know how miserable I am about my
"It Is a pity anything should be said
against Ireland," savs liodney, clever
ly: "it is such a lovely little npot."
'I)o you really like it?" says she,
plainly delighted. "Ohl yti should see
liantry Ray by moonlight, w ith its light
waves sparkling, beneath the gleam of
the stars, and the moon throwing a path
across it thai tu-eius to go on and on,
until it reaches heaven; it is more satis
fying than a happy dream. Do you see
that hill Ui yonder?" pointing to an ele
vation about a mile distant; "there I
Bonietimes sit when the moon Is full,
and watch the bay below. There is a
lovely view from that snot."
"I wish I could see it!" says Geoffrey,
"Well, so you can." returns she. kind
ly. "Any night when there is a good
luoon come to me and I will co with vou
to Carrickdhuvo that is the name of
the hill-and show you the nay."
bne looks at lnm quite calmly, ns one
might who sees nothing in the fact of
accompanying a voting man to the ton
of a high mountain after nightfall.
Aim in iruin sue noes see Homing in it.
"I wonder when the moon will be
rull," says GndTrev. makintr this nrdi
nary remark in an ip very-day tone that
uura nun ennui, ami speaks well rnr uis
u uuiiess ami oencacy of leeling, as
well as for bis power of discerning
"We must Bee," says Mona, thought
fully. They havfi reached the farm again by
this time, and Geoffrey holds out his
band to bid her good-bye.
"Come in for a little while and rest
Iourself," says Mona, hospitably , "while
get tho brundy arid send It up to poor
"Don t be long," he says, Impulsively,
ft the disappears down a postage.
. "I won't, then. Sure you can live
alone with yourself for one minute,"
returns bIip, in very Due Irish; and, with
a parting smile, sweet as nectar and far
more dangerous, she gocfl. -
When she is gone, ( JcolTrey walks im
patiently up and down tho small ball,
coullicling emotions robbing him of tho
serenity that usually attends tils foot
steps. ' He is happy, yet full of a secret
gnawing uneasiness that weighs upon
li i i li daily, hourly. Near Mona when
in her ' presence a gladness that
amounts almost to perfect happiness is
his; apart from her is unrest. Up and
down the little hall he paces, bis hands
behind bis back, ns is his wont when
deep in day -dreams, and asks himself
many a question hitherto unthoughtof.
He recognizes the consternation his
marriage to Mona would produce at
home lirst bis mother, and then Nick,
and iif'fer them Violet, who last year
was asked to Rodney Towers (though
she knew it not) for the purpose of lay
ing siege to his heart. Can he shall he
go farther in this matter? Then this
thought presses to the front beyond all
others: ''Does she w ill she ever love
"Now, hurry, Uridgct," says Mona's
low, soft voice, --'that excellent thing
in woman.' "Don't lie any time. Just
give that to Kitty, and say one prayer,
and be back in ten minutes;" and Urid
gct hurries awuy, thankful that sho will
nave an opportunity of seeing tho
"Now come and seo my own room,"
says Mona, going up to liodney, and,
slipping her band into his in a little
trustful fashion that is one of her many
loving ways, she leads him along the
hall to a ifoor opposite the kitchen.
This she opens, and with conscious
pride draws him after her across its
tlireshhold. So holding him, she might
at this moment have drawn him to the
world's end wherever that may be!
It is a very curious little room they
enter yet pretty, withal, and sugges
tive of care and affection. Each object
that meets the view seems replete with
pleasurable memory seems part of its
gentle mistress. 'J here are books, and
some ornaments, and a huge bowl of
sweetly-smelling flowers on the centre
table, and a bracket or two against the
walls. Some loose music is lying on a
"Now I am here, you will sing me
something," says (Jcoffrey, presently.
"I wonder what kind of songs you
like best," says Mona, dreamily, lett ing
her lingers riin noiselessly over the Col
lard. "If yon are like me, you like sad
"Then I am like you," returns he
"Thi n T will sing you a song I was
sent last week," says Mona, and forth
with sings him "ears Ago," mourn
fully, pathetic, and with all her soul, as
it should be sung. Then she wives him
"Ixindon- Bridge," and then "Rose
Marie,".and then she takes her fingers
from tho piano and looks at him with a
fond hope that he will see fit to praise
"You are an artist," says Geoffrey,
with a deep sigh, when she has finished.
"Who taught you, child? 15ut there is
no use in such a question. Nobody
could teach it to you; you must feel it
an you sing. Where do you get your
music?" wondering how ''London
Hridge" has found its way to this iso
"The boys send it to nie. Anything
new that conies out, or anything they
think will suit my voice, they post to me
"The boys!" reoeats ho, mystified.
"Yes, the students, I mean. When
with aunty in Dublin 1 knew ever so
many of them, and they were very fond
"I dare say," says Mr. Rodney, with
"Jack t ester and I errv (J linen write
to me very often," goes on Mona, un
consciouslv. "And indeed thev all do
occasionally, at. Christmas, you know,
mil haster, and Mid-summer, just to
ask me how I am, and to tell me how
they have got through their exams.
Dot it is Jack and Terry, for the most
part, who send nie the music."
It is very kind or them. Ira sure."
says Rodney, unreasonably jealous, as,
oulu lie Dave seen me said ierrys
shock head of red hair, his fears of ri
valry would forever have been laid at
rest, liui Miey rue tavoreu iricmis.
You can take mesents from them, and
yet the other day when I asked you if
vou would like ii little gold chain to
hang to your mother's watch, you an
swered me mat you uui not require ll
in such a tone as actually froze mo and
made nie feel I had said something uu-
"un, no," says Mona, shocked at tins
interpretation of her manner. "I did
not mean all that; only I really did not
require it; nt least"-truthfully "not
nm7i. And, besides, a song is not like
a gold chain; and you are quite diner
cut from them; and besides, again,
growing slightly confused, yet with a
last remnant of 'courage,"tlicieisno rea
son why you should give me anything.
Shall 1 ' hurriedly "sing something
else lor yon?
And then she sings again, some old
woi Id song of love and chivalry that
awakes within one a quick longing for
a worthier life. Her sweet voice rings
through the room, now glad with tri
umph, now sad w ith a "lovely melan
clioly," as the words and music sway
her. Her voice is clear and pure anil
full of palhoH. She seems to follow no
rule; an "f ' here or a "p" there, on the
page )iefore her, she heeds not, butsingn
oniv us her heart dictates.
When she has finished, Geoffrey says
"luank you," in a low tone, no is
thinking ot the last tune when some
one else sang to him, and of how dif
ferent, from this the whole scene was,
It was at the Towers, and the hour.
with its dying daylight, rises before
him. The subdued light of the Hummer
eve. the open window, the perfume of
the drowsy flowers, the girl at the piano
with her small drooping head and her
perfectly trained and very pretty voice
the room, (lie soft silence, his mother
leaning back in her crimson velvet
chair. In'iiling time to the music with
her long jeweled tingers-all is remem
bered. I low pretty Mona would look
in a yrav and crimson room! how
"What are you thinking of?" asks
Mona, softly, breaking in upon his sola
the hist time I heard any one
sing," returns he, slowly. "I was com
paring that singer very unfavorably with
you. i our voicu is so unlike what one
usually heais in drawing-rooms."
He means highest praise. She accepts
ins words as a kind relume.
"Is that a c.otunliinent?" wistfully
"Is it well to be unlike all the world?
Yet what vou sav is true, no doubt.
suppose I am different from from all
the people you know."
"i ou are indeed." in a tone so grate
ful that it ought to have betrayed to her
his meaning. Jtut grief and disappoint
ment have seized upon her.
"Yes, of course." dejectedly. A cloud
seems to have fallen upon her happy
hour. "When did you near that tliat
last singer?" sho asks, in a subdued
"At home." He is gazing out of the
window, with his hands clasped behind
his hack, and does not pay so much at
tention to her words as is his wont.
"Is your home very beautiful?" asks
she, timidly, looking at him the more
earnestly hi that he seems rapt in con
templation of the valley that spreads it
self before him.
"Yes, very beautiful," thinking of
the stately oaks and aged elms and
branching beeches that go so far to
make up the glory of the ivied Towers.
"How paltry this country must ap
pear in comparison with your ownl"
goes on the girl. "How glad you will
be to get back to your own bornel"
"Yes, very clad," returns he, hardly
knowing what he says. He lias gone
back again to bis lirst thoughts his
mother's boudoir, with its old china,
and its choice water-colors that line tho
walls, and its delicate Indian statuettes.
In his own home which is situated
about fourteen miles from the Towers,
and which is rather out of repair
through years of disuse thero are
many rooms. Ho is busy now trying to
remember them, and to decide w hich of
them would look best decked out in
crimson and gray, or blue and silver; ho
hardly knows which would suit her
best. Perhaps, al ter all
"How strange it is!" says Mona's
voice, that has now a faint shade of
sadness in it. "How people come and
go in one's lives, like the waves of the
restless sea I mean lunv strangely peo
ple fall into one's lives and then out
agnin!" She hesitates. Perhaps some
thing in his face warns her, perhaps it
is the weariness of her own voice that
frightens her. hut at this moment her
whole expression changes and a laugh,
forced but apparently full of gayety.
comes from her lips. It is very well
done indeed, yet to any one bill a jeal
ous lover her eyes would betray her.
The usual softness is gone from them,
and only a well suppressed grief and a
pride that cannot be suppressed takes
"Why should they fall nut again?"
savs Rodney, a little angrily, hearing
only her careless laugh, and man-like
ignoring stupidly the pain in her love
ly eyes. Unless people choose to for
get."" "One may choose to forget, but one
may not be able to accomplish it. To
forget or to remember is not in one's
"That is what fickle people say. Hut
what one feels one remembers."
"That is true, for a time, with some.
Fur mr with others."
"Are you one of the others?"
She makes him no answer.
"Are ;ok" she says at length, after a
"I think so, Mona. There is one
thing 1 shall never forget."
"Many things, I dare say," she says,
nervously, turning from him.
"Why do you speak of people dro
pintr out of your life?"
"Ilecause, of course, yon will, you
must. Your world is not mine."
"You could make it vours."
"I do riot understand," she says, very
proudly, throwing up her head with a
charming gesture. "And, talking of
forgetfnlness, do you know what liour
"You evidently want to get rid of
me." says Rodney, discoiuaged, taking
up bis liat. He takes tin her hand. too.
and holds it warmly, and looks long and
earnestly into her face.
"15y the bye," be says, once more re
stored to something like hope "by the
bye, you told me you bad a miniature of
you r mother in your desk, and ymi
promised to show it to me."
"It is here," says Mona. rather pleased
nt his remembering this promise of
hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to
open a secret drawer, in which lies the
picture in question.
It is a handsome picture, and Geof
frey duly admires it, then it is returned
to its place, and Mona, opening the
drawer next to it, shows him some ex
quisite ferns dried and gummed on
''What a clever child you are!" says
Geoffrey, with genuine admiration.
And what is nerer' laying ins nana ou
the third drawer.
"Oh, do not open that do not!" says
Mona, hastily, in an agony of fear, to
judge by her eyes, laying a deterring
hand upon his arm.
"And why not this or any other
drawer?" says Rodney, growing pale.
Again jealousy, which is a demon, rises
in his breast, and thrusts out all gentler
feelings. Her allusion to Mr. Moore,
most innocently spoken, and later on
her reference to the students, have
served to heighten within him angry
"Do not!" says Mona, again, as
though fresh words are impossible to
her, drawing her breath quickly. Her
evident agitation incenses him to the
last degree. Opening the drawer im
pulsively, he gazes at its contents.
Only a little withered bunch of heath
er, tied by a blade of grass! Nothing
" Yes." she says, with cheeks colored
to a rich carmine, and flashing eves.
and lips that quiver innpite of all her
effort s at self control, "that is the bit of
neainer you gave me, and that is the
grass that tied it. I kept it because it
reminded me of a day when 1 was hap
py. Now," bitterly. "I no longer care
for it; for the future it can only bring
back to me an hour when I was grieved
Taking up the hapless heather, she
throws it on the ground, and, in a tit ot
childish spleen, lays her foot upon it
and tramples it out of all recognition.
"Go!" she says, In a choked voice, and
with a little passionate sob. pointing to
the door. "You have done mischief
enough." Her gesture Is at once im
perious and tlimiilied. Then in a softer
voice, that tells of sorrow, and with a
deep sign, "at least," she says, "1 Ik
lieved in your honor."
The reproach is terrible, and cuts him
to the heart, lie picks up the poor lit
tle unused nowcr, ami holds it tenderly
in his hand.
"How can I ki." he savs, without
daring to look at her. "unti . at lenst. I
a.sA- forgiveness? Mona, love makes one
cruel; l ask you to remember that, he
cause it is my only excuse," he savs,
warmly. "Don't condemn nie altogeth
er, nut lorgive me once more."
"I am always forgiving you, it seems
to me," says Mona, coldly, turning from
him with a frown. "And as for that
heather," facing hmi again, with eves
shamed but wrathful. "I lust kent It.
ilecause- bccausph, localise I didn't
like lo inrow it away. That was all."
"You niusu't think I su noosed vmi
kept it for any other purpose," he says,
solemnly, and In such a depressed tone
that Mona almost feels sorry for him.
Ho has so -far recovered ids courage
that he has taken her hnnd, and is now
holding it In a dose grasp: and Mot.
though a little frown still lingers on her
low, broad forehead, lets her hand so
lie without a censure.
"Mona, do be friends with me," he
nays, at last, desperately, driven to aim.,
plicity of language through his very
misery. There is a humility in his
sieech that pleases her.
SUNDAV MOUKINU, JUNE
"It is really hardly worth talking
about." she says, grandly. "I was fool
ish to'lay ho great a stress on such it
trilling matter. It doesn't signify, not
in the least. Rut-but." the blood
mounting to her brow, "if ever you
speak of it;igain-if you even mvii'oh
the word "heat her--I shall hale ,ioi"
"That word shall never pass iny lips
again in yuurcoinpimy- never, 1 swear!"
says he, "uutiLyoii give me leave. My
dailiug."in uow tone, "if you could
only know how vexed I am about tho
whole affair, and mv unpardonable con
duct! Yet . Mona. t will not hide from
vou that this little bit of senseless
heather has inailo me happier than I
have ever been before."
Mimping. he presses his lips to her
ha ids for the lirst time. The caress is
long and fervent.
"Sav I am quite forgiven," 1m deads,
earnestly, hi.- ees on hers.
" iVs. l forgivi j ou," she says, al
most in a whisper, with a seriousness
that amounts ( solemnity.
.''till holding her hand, us though loath
to quit it, be iiioes towards the door;
but before leaching it she slips away
from him, and says "good-bye" rather
'When am I to see you again?" says
"Oh, not for ever so long," returns
she, with much and heartless uncon
cern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Cer
tainly not until Friday," she goes on,
carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his
spirits once more rise into the seventh
heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or
perhaps some day next week, "she says,
"If ou Friday night there is a good
moon," says Kodney, boldly, "will you
take me, as you promised, to see the
"Yes. if it is line," says Mona, after a
Then she accompanies him to the
door, but gravely, and not with her ac
ci'stonied gayety. Standing on the
door step he looks at her, and, as though
impelled to ask the question because of
her eNtreme stillness, he says, "Of what
are you thinking?"
"I am thinking that the man we saw
before going into Kitty's cabin is the
murderer!" she savs, with a shudder.
"I thought so all along," says Geof
Geoffrey coming to the fann on Fri
day somewhat early in the evening,
Mona takes him round to the yard,
where two dogs, hitherto unseen by
Geoffrey, lie. chained. They are two
splendid bloodhounds, that, as she ap
proaches, rise to their feet, and, lifting
their massive heads, throw out into the
night-air, a deep hollow bay that be
"What lowly creatures!" says Geof
frey, who has 'a passion for animals;
they seem to acknowledge him as a
friend. As Mona looses them from their
d ii. they go to him, and, shifting round
him. at last open their great jaws into a
salisiied yawn, and, raising themselves,
rest their paws upon bis breast, and
rub tle-ir faces contentedly against his.
"Nmv you are their friend forever,"
says Mona, in a pleased tone. "Once
they do that , they mean to tell vou that
they h ive adopted you. And they like
vi ry few people; so it is a compli
ment." "1 feel itkeeiily,"says Rodney. caress
ing the handsome creatures, as thev
ci ouch at bis feet. "Where did you get
"From Mr. Moore." A mischievous
light comes into her face as she says this,
and she laughs aloud. "Rut, I assure
you, not us a love-token. He gave them
to mu whe n they were quito bubies,
and I reared them myself. Are they
not love v? I can them 'Since' and
'Allspice, iiecause one has a quicker
leiuiHT than the other." j
Jh" names are original, at all
events." says Geoffrey, "which is a
gieat charm. One gets fired of 'Rags
and Tatters.' 'I leer and Skittlcs,"Pakcs
and Ale, and so forth, where pairs are
in question, whether they be dogs or
"Shall we set out now?" says Mona;
and she calls "Mickey, Mickey," at the
too of her strong young lungs.
The man who' manages the farm gen
erallyand is a plague and a blessing at
the fame time to bis master appears
round a corner, and declares, respect
fully, that be will be ready in a "jiffy"
to accompany Miss Mona, if sho will
jest give him time to "clane himself up
And in truth the "claning" occupies
a very short period or else Mona and
Geoffrey heed not the parting moments.
"Time, im lie pshpu-j iia, hnc n rlovn'a wlnir,
I'lisoilc I i ml nwifl, Mild of u Milken noiiud."
'I'm ready now, miss, if yon ore,"
says Mickey from the background, with
the utmost htmliHmir, and in a tono that
implies he is quite w illing not to be
ready, if it so pleases her, for another
live ininntes or so. or even, if necessary,
to efface himself altogether. Ho is'a
stalwart young Hibernian, with rough
hair and an honest face, and gray eyes,
merry and cunning, and ho many
lieckles that he looks like a turkey-egg.
"Oh. es. I am quite ready." says
Mona. stalling somewhat guill'ilv. And
then they puss out through the big
yanl gate, wilh the two dogs at their
heels, and their attendant squire, who
brings up the rear with a soft whistle
that rings through the cool night-air,
and tells the listening stars that the
"girl he loves is his dear," and his
"own, his artless Nora Creana."
Geoffrey and Mona go up the road,
oveMiiany fields, until at length they
reach the mountain's summit and gaze
down upon the hcautcniiB scene below.
Mona is sitting upon the side of the,
hill, with her hands clasped about her
knees, a thoughtful expression on her
lovtdy face. At each side of her, silting
bolt upright on their huge haunches,
are the dogs, ns though bent on guard
ing her against nil evil. She reminds
Geoffrey in somewise of Una and the
lion, though the idea Is rather far
fetched, ami he hardly dares speak to
her lest he shall break the spell that
seems to ue upon ner.
She herself destroys It presently.
"This spot always brings to my mind
the thoiudits of other people,'1 says
Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poet
ry; are you?"
"Very," returns be, surprised. He
has not thought of her as one versed In
lore of auy kind. "What poets do you
"I have rend ho few," hIio Hays, wist
fully, and with hesitation. Then, shy
ly, "J have so few to read. I have a
Longfellow, and a Shakspcarc, and a
Jtyron; that is all."
"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like
Mm the best, and then Iongfellow.
Why do you tweak in that tone? Don't
you like him?''
"I think I like no poet half so well.
You mistake me." replies he, ashamed
of his own surprise at her preference
for his lordship beneath the calm purity
of her eyes. ;'lut-only-it seemed to
me Longfellow would be more auitod to
"Well, ho I do love him. And Just
then I w is thinking of l,ii i; when I
looked up to the sky bis words came
back fo me. You remcmbir what ho
says about the inoori lis.m.f 'over the
pallid sea and the silvery mist of the
meadows,' and how
"'tSllontly, mm hy mi'.', In the Inlhilto inuadow
of lien t en,
IlloBHoined tin) Invnlv at lira, tho forgot-mo-nntaof
"That is so sweet, I think."
"I remember it, and I remember, ton,
who watched nil that; do you?'' he asks,
his eyes llxed upon hers,
"es; Gabriel-poor Gabriel and
Evangeline," returns she, too wrapt up
in recollections of that, sad and touch
ing talu to take to heart his meaning:
"Meanwhile, upnr!, in tho twlhgUl ffloom of a
Bat the lovers, and wblspored together."'
That is the part you mean, is it not? I
know all that poem VQry nearly ly
He is a little disappointed by the
calmness of her answer.
"Yes; it was of them I thought," ho
says, turning his head away, "of (he
lovers. I wonder if tluir evening was
as lovely as okm"
Mona makes no reply.
"Have you ever read Shelley?" he
asks, presently, puzzled by the extreme
serenity of her manner.
She shakes her head.
"Some of his ideas are lovely. You
would like his poetry, 1 think."
"What does lie say about the moon?"
asks Mona, still with her knees in her
embrace, and without lifting her eyes
from the quiet waters down below.
"About the moon? ( )h, many things.
I was not thinking of the moon," with
faint impatience; "yet, as you ask me,
I can uiiiember one thing he says about
"Then tell it to me.?' says Mona.
So at her bidding he repeats the lines
slowly, and in his best manner, which
is very good:
"The cold, chif'tp moon, tho queen of heaven'
Who makeanll beautiful on which ahenmllea;
Thut wandering lirln of aoft yet ley flame,
Whichever it OMnl'ornie'l.yel'ailll Uinnnme,
And warniH.lmt not Ilium met.' "
He finishes; but. to his amazement,
and a good deal to his chagrin, on look
ing at Mona he finds she is wreathed in
smiles-nay, is in fact, convulsed in
"What is amusing you?" asks he, a
trifle stiflly. To give wav to recita
tion, and then lind your listener in ago
nies of suppressed mirth, is not exactly
a situation one would hanker after.
"It was the last line." says Mona. in
explanation, clearly ashamed of herself,
yet unable wholly to subdue her merri
ment. "It reminded me so much of
that speech about tea, that thev always
use at temperance meetings; they call
it the beverage 'that cheers but not in
ebriates.' You said 'that warms but
not illumines,' and it sounded exactly
like it . Don't you see?"
Do doesn't see.
"You aren't angry, are you?" savs
Mona, now really contrite. f'I couldn't
help it, and it v like it, you know."
"Angry? no!" he says, recovering him
self, as he notices the penitence on the
face upraised to his.
"And do say it is like it," says Mona,
"It is, the imace of it." returns he,
prepared to swear to anything she may
propose. And then lie laughs too,
which pleases her, as it proves he no
longer pears in mind her evil deed; after
which, feeling she still owes him some
thing, she suddenly intimates to him
that be may sit down on the grass close
beside her. He seems to find no diffi
culty in swiftly following up this hint,
and is soon seated as close to her as
circumstances will allow.
To be Gmtinucd.
Coffee in Typhoid Fevor.
Dr. GuilliKse, of the French navy, in
a recent paper on typhoid fever, says:
"Collee has given us unhoped for satis
faction; after hnving dispensed it, we
lind, to our great surprise, that its hc
tiott is as prompt as it is decisive. No
sooner have our patients taken a few
tablespoonfuls of it than their features
became relaxed and they come to their
senses. The next day the improvement
is such that they arc tempted to look
upon coffee as a specific against typhoid
fever. Under its infliieuco the stupor is
dispelled, and the patient rouses from
tho state of somnolency in which he has
been sinco the invasion of the disease;
all the functions take their natural
course, and he enters upon convales
cence." Dr. Guillnse gives an adult
two or three tablespoonfuls of stronp
black eoll'ee every two hours, alternated
with one or two tablespoonfuls of claret
or llurgundy wine. A little lemonade
or citrate of magnesia should be taken
daily, and after awhile quinine. From
th fact that malaise and cerebral symp
toms nppear first, the doctor regards
typhoid fever as a nervous disease, and
ttm coffco acting on tho nerves is pecu
liarly indicated in the early stages before
locnl complications arise.
A clock once owned by William 1'enn,
and now in the possession of Mr. Geo.
XV. Cliilds, of Philadelphia, whoso
penchant fur quaint and curious time-
I duces is well known, is to bo presented
iy him to the Penn Club of that city,
where it will no doubt be highly prized.
To worry about any Liver, Kidney or Uri
nary Trouble, especially Rright's Disease or
DiibuteH, as Hop HitterHti never fails of a euro
where a cure is poMuhlu. Wo know this.
H. V. McCarthy, druggist, Ottawa, (Int.,
status that he whs Hlllicted with chronic
bronchitis for soinu years, find was com pletely
cured by tho use of Thomas' Kci.kc
A Friend in Need.
Time over and again Thomas' Elkctiuc
Oil has proved a salutary friend to tho dis
tressed. As a reliable curative for croup in
children, soro throat and bronchial sffec
lions, and rh n positive external remedy for
pain, it is a never failing antidote.
A GOOD HAKGAIN
Will bo given aomu cntorprisoing man
in Tun iiuLi.KTiN Ihiibling, which is now
offered for salu on eitHy tonus, long time
and low rato of interest. Tho building
lias routed for the pnBt year for
fifty to sixty-two dollars per month.
Tho property consists of 4 lots, and two
brick buildings -a three story 40x00 snd a
two story 1(1x4.1. Has a frontage of 50
foot on Washington avenue and 150 feet on
12th street. If desired the machinery, en
gine, boiler, &c, in tho 2 story building
will ho sold with it. For particulars ad
dress this offlco, or John II. Oborly, Dloom-
Chills and Fever.
Hliiiinniia Liver Keen-
lalor rotm hreaku me
r 1 1 1 1 1 h and nirrli-a th
fever out ol tilt) c veto in.
It enrea when all other
K ir th relief anil euro
of tlii iliHlniHHliiK ilia,
flute line Sliiuuuua Liv
The Hi gnlutor will ionllivly Hire till terrible
iliHciMK. We arnerl iiiiihatlriilly Hliat wo know to
fliouhl nut he t.'L'iir'U d uh a trilling ailment. N
hire ileiiiainlr the uhiiuhi ret'iilurily of the howula.
I lieri-lii'c u-l iiiiiuri! hy liiklnn SinimiuiH Liver
Ueejiliilnr. It I., liui inh-KH. mild mill i llectual.
One or two tahlcKpoonfiilM will relleva all the
troiihli-K incident to a hlhona xlale, nuch an Nanaea
P'Z.Iiii f h, Ihiiwlni-Hn, ItiKlrem allur cut lut;. a hit
ler hud tuMe in the mouth.
I'ei'cotia may nvolil all alhii kH hy oecuHliinally
takini! a ilun" of Slmmona Liver Ht-Kulator to kuep
the. liver In healthy uctlon.
J IAD J i UK ATI 1!
generally urinini! from a (Unordered Htomarh, ran
he I'orructfd lv I am lit; Minnimia i.iver lU'KUiator.
.1 A UN DICK.
Simmon Liver Heenlat r noon eradicate thl dl.
cami from the. cHtein, leaving the nkin clear and
free from all laipurllica
Chlldn n snirerli with cnllc anon cxierlenro re
lief when Minmi'ii. I Ivor ki'iiiilalor Ih nlmiiiielcr
ed. Adii'lK iiIh.i itenvo ureal helielll from thll
medl'lue ll ih nut tin pica a nt; it la liarmlvta
and clleiiiv . Purely vejri tuhla.
1 JKA 1)1 )l illct KIDNEYS
Mont nf .he dirciuei ot tho bladder originate from
ttriBc of ih" kiiiie -v. Hi-More the actluii of the
llv.'r fully and holli the kidneya and Madder will
tl""Tke onlv the iv-iiiiliie. which alway ha on
the ripper I he red 7. tride mark and fliiiiuliire of
Korfil'j he all drui;vlt.
Ita frt appircnt effect l to lncree thu appo
tlte. Jl ,.iifU cllniwtlon and catine the food to an
Imula'e properly thti the nyatem i nourished.
It all-1, hy iIk piulc action on the dleMlve oreant,
lnduc ni.'ire copiou and regular evacuation.
Tin-ripulily with which patient take on flefh
while n inter Uiettflueuce of the .Syrup, ol lt"lf In-dii'M'-Mhat
no ether preparation ran he better
adapted to Help and nonrlrh (ha conxlttultoii, tid
h'-iiiK he mure elllracinim in all drpreaMwi of pir
h. MmkiiiK or Irtmhlinu of tho hand or body,
couh. horlnopa of breath, or rumuiuptlvo habit.
Thu nerve and muach' become airuDptlit'iied, and
the blood pailfkd.
The varintu kind of waMu or decay that aSect
the hiiuim h uly, though attended each with wim
vyinploiN not common with the te-t, ai;r-e very
miu-h In ihl. lhal Ihe. bunt In all i nearly the
au,e. It i generally conceded, that the majority
of dmaeea.are accoinpaiilcd hy faulty dlRi'ctlon;
ami fin-.h be! lie the rai!, wo niuat, in order to cure
mrh ilitHa-e. r.auae theoran of digutlion to per
lorm their proper function. No remedy ha be
fore beun die covered which ha o bunuilcial an In
fluence on thce organs u Hollow' Compound
Syrup of II ypnphofphite.
For Sale hv all ltrturKM
Pain Cannot Stnv Whcio
It Is Used.
Khuematlpin Is ctir.d by
THOMAS' ECI.K'JTKIC OIL.
A lftmu hack of elirht year atandlng was positive
ly rured by W cent worth of
Common fore throat la cured with one doao of
CoiikIih and colds are cured by
THOMAS' ECLKCTHIC OIL.
All throat and luniriliseapi.' are cured hy
Aillmia It cured by
Dnrrji and frost bite are relieved at once by
THOMAS' KOLKCTllIC OIL.
Always gives bstisfaction.
. Sold by Medicine Dealers everywhere.
Price IjOc. find $1
FOSTER, M1LHURX & CO., Irop'rs.
Uuffalo. N. Y.
GRAY'S SPECIFIC MEDICINE.
TRADE MARK'. Tho dreul Kn-
1111 remedy, au
uulallinK cure for
potency and all
a a a ci nonce
of uuirahttae; bkaI
I.,.. r mmnnre. -;.vV.ri 1
dtmni'M or vision, premature old atjn, and many
other diseases that load to insaiiliv, consumption
or a premature crava. , ...
CfiTKull particular. In our pamphlot, which we
delri to end free bv mall to evervoue. "Tha
KpeolllcMcdlrlnu I aold hv all drUKidal at l net
paca-aiin, or lx uarkuutia for !, or will he amit frou
bv mullou recuipt of the 'money-. Iv ' f'V'E''.'K'
TUB OHAY MKDICINK CO.,
On account of counterfeit, wo hate adopted tho
Yellow Wrappurj tbo oulv guuulnu, liuurnuluil
ofcurol-aued ,,, ln ,'alro liy p. u. Ku,iun.
Wholesale Agent. Morrlaou, Plumber & Co.,
m W l I k i v k - . m
o G O t
O O d