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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, February 28, 1869, Image 2

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“Yet you expect me to like him, and live
with him all my life. Is this fatherly ?
“ 0, you’re a child, and you’ll be very fond of
him by-and-bye, and very proud of your title
when you get it. And you shall get it, I give
you my word.” L , T ~
“And I give you my word, father, I wont
have it I He will return, he says, within two
months, when all is arranged ; and jf you insist
on the contract, he will then fulfill it.’
“ Upon my word, a model lover 1 So he only
rates you at—”
“ The value you yourself have put upon me I
I am to be an appendage of a great fortune,
which fortune (not me) he needs vastly—that’s
“ Well; I’ll put all in train for the bridal, and
it shall take place directly he returns ; so pre
pare quickly, Eunice. Study your millinery,
and look out for orange blossoms; and ask
Julia, next door, to be your bridesmaid.”
And the preparations went on.
The coming marriage between Sir Felix. Har
court and the only daughter of Isaac Stone,
jewel merchant, was announced in the papers ;
for Isaac was anxious to let all the city world
know that his daughter was going to be Lady
Harcourt. And every day it became more and
more difficult, not to say impossible, for the
match to bo broken off.
It was very singular, but so it fell out, that a
third lover of the heiress of the Close—one
Adolphus Dering—became a traveling com
panion of Sir Felix and Godfrey.
Adolphus had been a giddy, idle student of
St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. He first made the
acquaintance of the Stones in the surgery of
the hospital.
Mrs. Stone, in assisting her husband and
their warehouseman to move some heavy pieces
of carving, injured one of her hands, and went
to the free hospital to have it dressed, accom
panied by her daughter.
Adolphus Dering happened to bo present
bandaging a broken arm m splints, under the
direction of a superior, when the sight of the
heiress of the Close—(whom he had been look
ing after at St. Bartholomew’s church every
Sunday morning for the last three months, and
following from church to her home) —caused
him so much perturbation, that he was pres
ently rebuked by his chief for imperfect hand
ling'of the bandage, which several times made
the sufferer wince.
Aldolphus was a headstrong, lively, bluster
ing fellow, with a comical face, and figure odd
ly put together. He had an irresistible ten
dency to fall in love. He was vehemently en
amored of Miss Stone, because several other of
the medical students were so. These reckless
young fellows were always raving of her mar
velous black eyes, and raven locks, and fabu
lous wealth ; and her health had been drank in
jolly gatherings in neighboring taverns, and
even in the rooms of the visiting doctors (un
der the rose), when in-door patients were safe
ly tucked up, and out-door patients were all
out of doors, and no one present likely to tell
Whatever was Mrs. Stone about to bring the
black-eyed heiress of the Close there ?
Whispers rapidly circulated among the young
students, and nods, and becks, and wreathed
smiles, were to bo seen on all sides, while un
conscious Mrs. Stone had her hand attended
to<; and when Eunice and her mother came
out to the front of the building, there was
quite an avenue of the young fellows to pass
through, and a terrible battery of gallant looks
was directed to Eunice, whose embarrassment
was very great.
I Mrs. Stone was in pain, and observed noth
ing until Adolphus came up, hot and pressing,
to request leave to look m on Mrs. Stone m
the evening, as he was informed the hand was
about to inflame, and there might be danger if
it were not promptly attended to. Mrs. Stone
gave a rash permission, with which Adolphus
r ushed back among his thoughtless compan
ions, elate and full of joy. So he came first to
that house in tho Close, about which there
was so much exciting talk, in the capacity of
jnedical attendant.
Mrs. Stone found the young surgeon’s at
tentions on that and every succeeding evening
for a fortnight, decidedly useful; and what
Was even better, cheap—for they cost her noth
ing. She was very miserly in all her ways.
But Adolphus was delighted; for this ama
teur practice happened to be just the sort he
liked best.. In the great hospital he was con
scious of no mastery in his art. There he was
insignificant and despised; no one thought
anything of him. He was shuffled aside here,
and laughed at there. But private practice
gave him confidence; and, alone in his glory,
he was quite willing to blister and bandage,
administer drugs, apply tho lancet, extract
teeth, and point out the specific for every dis
ease that could bo mentioned—all without a
fee; and he brought medicines in his pocket
free of charge.
Mr. Stone himself, having a little tendency
to rheumatism, became a patient of Adolphus.
He thought the young man decidedly clever
and good company, though a little rackety and
Mrs. Stone’s hand, unfortunately for Adol
phus, healed sooner than his own heart, which
was desperately wounded by the bright rays
Shot from the lustrous eyes of the heiress.
His case was soon understood by Mrs. Stone;
and in a conversation between them he hast
ened to let her know that he was indeed deeply
in love, and that ho was the eldest son of a
country gentleman who possessed extensive
landed estates, and (this was for the merchant
exclusivelyt who had ancestors.
Now, Mrs. Stone and her husband took time
io consider.
Adolphus had received, or rather was sup
posed to have received, a good classical educa
tion. He left school at the age of eighteen;
not with the reputation of a scholar—there was
little of that character about the random youth.
But his doting father, the landed proprietor
down in Essex, would not believe that his son
was the inveterate dunce that his tutors and
some of his companions said ho was. Perhaps
it might be difficult even for alphilosopher or a
phrenologist to say whether there was or was
not anything good yet to come out of the riot
ous brain of Adolphus. However, Mr. Dering,
of Wilding Chase, Essex, was willing to spend
a thousand' pounds or soon the experiment,
and give him a thorough medical training in
the chief hospitals of Europe, only the young
man was made to understand that it was ex
pected of him to turn out a great surgeon or a
great physician at last.
AU this was made apparent to Mr. and Mrs.
Stone in frequent conversations with the stu
“Yes, we see very plainly, Mr. Adolphus,
that you have good prospects, very,” Isaac said
to him one evening, in answer to pressing en
treaties to be permitted to pay addresses to
his daughter. "I see a great deal in your fa
vor ; so much, that when you are the eminent
doctor that you are to be, then come and make
your offer. Until then, we shan’t expect to see
you here any more after to-day.”
Unhappy Adolphus had to retreat.
Strange to say, he did not do so with the gay
and easy grace that might have been expected
of so mercurial a temper. On the contrary, he
brooded over his fate, and was very maliciously
disposed. He thirsted for retaliation, and feU
ill of a fever from the violence of the evil pas
sions that were consuming him. No one of his
companions had looked for such an extraordi
nary change in the thoughtless Adolphus. He
was carefully tended in a private room of the
hospital, and, on his recovery, hastened away
from the perilous neighborhood of the Close to
pay a visit to his father in tho country, and
recover his health, and, if possible, his good
Adolphus buttoned his overcoat, took his
Carpet bag in his hand, and was looking sul
lenly out of a railway carriage over the Essex
marshes, on a warm, breezy evening. Red
lights were picturesquely gleaming out here
and there in the misty distance. The marshes
had an aspect of dreary loneliness that was
akin to sublimity, and a half moon was softly
Shimmering over the still, narrow river Loa,
Which lay like a great silvery serpent on the
Wilding Chase, the residence of
gentleman farmer of Essex, stood amid its
own verdant grazing meadows, not far remote
from Epping Forest.
The first thing that recalled Adolphus to the
great fact that he was returning home was the
lowing of the cattle on his father’s lands.
He found he had reached the home station.
He sprang out; yielded up his ticket to the col
lector with a fierce frown, as if to a robber; and
then strode up the carriage-drive that led
through the plantation to the Chase.
Ah, there was the familiar dovecot, one of
the delights of his boyhood ; but what cared
he? The watch-dog bayed hoarsely, for he
was old and decayed, but a warm-hearted fel
low still, and ho greeted with all his might his
old playmate and companion. Adolphus looked
away from the kennel. He hated everything.
Ho paused under a rustic thatched colonnade,
supported by the light rose-twined pillars.
The. squire—a short, angular, ruddy-faced
Old gentleman—was crossing the entrance-hall,
which was lined with evergreens, when Adolphus
met him, aud in the briefest way answered his
kind inquiries. He then with solemn air re
quested to speak with his father alone, apart
from the family.
The woeful medical student folded his arms
under the moonlight, and leaned against the
roses, while he confided to his wondering
parent, his wish to be permitted to go immedi
ately to the Continent.
“It'is no' matter,” ho said, mysteriously.
what has caused my determination; but I
must live henceforth an exile from my native
land I”.
Squire Dering could hardly believe that this
Was his bright and joyous son, “ whose only
fault, whs his giddy thoughtlessness.”
Here was a change 1 At first, the father was
a little alarmed ; but this feeling did not last
long. He had never given Adolphus credit for
much equilibrium of mind or solid judgment;
he guessed “some new love-nonsense had
mazed his brain,” and said so; whereat the in
dignant start and scowl of the voung man were
Very tragic.
“Come, come, you silly boy; get into the
house I Dress for dinner ; you’re in time, just
Th Sharp; and to-morrow we’ll
talk of the Continent.”
“No; to-night, Sirl I wish to be gone as
Boon as possible.” b
\\hat stuff is this? Got in to dinner, or I’ll
Bend you back to Bartholomew’s 1”
“ First, toll me shall I go abroad ?”
“If you wish it; yes. Go and study in the
Paris medical schools, or where you like. Only,
mind, keep your engagements with me, and
I’ll keep mine. You get on with your physic,
and I shan’t grudge anything.. Travel where
you like. Study where" you like. Only I ex
pect you to be a great surgeon at last, you
know. Mind your profession?’ .
“ The furies take the profession 1” was tho in
ternal exclamation of Adolphus ; but he durst
not say so aloud, and for the sake of certain
moneys that he required he was obliged to
promise diligence in study, and compelled to
try to overcome his present strong repugnance
to cheerful society and domestic amenities, as
his father insisted on his attending to his
toilette for dinner at seven.
Godfrey Chests* was sitting alone and in
darkness in his painting room. His feet rest’d
on his locked portmanteau. A box filled with
the needfuls of his art stood on the table by his
side, revealed by dim star-gleamings through
a skylight overhead. His hat was on, even his
gloves, and there was a little white slip of
paper in his hand—his landlady’s receipt for
rent. Yet he lingered sorrowfully, smoking a
cigar in the gloom, and thinking bitterly of
many things. . , L
The red glow of the “ weed ” continued to
wax and wane in the same spot until the last
remnant of the cigar was flung away. With a
heavy, almost fierce sigh, and still another,
Godfrey arose, grasped the handle of his paint
ing box, exclaiming, “It is all over! Adieu,
Eunice 1” and faced the door.
Then it moved slowly, and drapery appeared
within the doorway, although no footstep had
been audible.
The garret was so dark that it was not easy
to recognize the silent lady who entered ; but
Godfrey’s ready consciousness told him that it
must be his landlady’s elegant daughter who
thus stole on his privacy to take leave of him
Godfrey had seen enough of her to be aware
that she looked on him with preference—more,
that she was not troubled with too much deli
cacy of heart or mind to let him know it; more,
that it might be difficult tor him to avoid get
ting into some entanglement with her, now
that she knew he had no chance with Eunice;
more still, that it would be very likely to arouse
dangerous passions in her if she once recog
nized in him the contempt that he really felt
for her.
The position was an awkward one, and he
wished himself far enough away from that spot
just then. However, there she was for certain,
and weeping too, or affecting to be. In spite
of the preoccupation of his feelings he could
not stand that. Ho whispered her name. She
whispered a reply.
“Iwill get a fight,” he said, turning to the
table, and groping on it for the matches.
“ No, don’t, she said. “ I’m only come up
to wish you good-by. I suppose 1 shall never
see you again. Andi wish I was dead! Yes;
that I do I”
“ Nonsense, my dear Miss Hilliard. You have
too many substantial comforts to live for. You
ought not to give way to trifling sorrows.”
“Trifling! You call your going away for
ever a trifling sorrowl”
“ You would think so if a Sir Felix were to
offer you his hand.” Godfrey said this in a
tone of bitterness.
“You are very harsh and ungrateful,” she
“I am,” he said. “ Pray forgive mo. lam
unhappy just now, and am turned brutish, I
At the same time, he knew in his heart per
fectly well that any Sir Felix, or Lord Felix, or
anybody with riches or rank, might marry Miss
Hillard, if he chose, in spite of her grande pas
sion for himself; and therefore he paid no
respect to her.
“Well, good-by,” he said hastily. “I was
going as you entered.”
He gave her his hand.
“ And you have not finished my picture ?”
“I am truly sorry to confess I have not; but
I have had to work hard to accomplish more
necessary tasks.”
“If I ever forgive him for that!” she thought,
grinding her teeth together. She then asked,
m a voice of suppressed rage, if he had finished
Miss Stone’s.
“Yes,” said he, boldly; “ and I have sent it
in as a parting gift to her father. They may
think of me sometimes when they look on it.”
“ You have demeaned yourself there enough,
without that.”
“A nice figure you cut, don’t you, to be cast
off as you are, for Sir Felix I”
Godfrey was lighting a relic of candle in a
lantern. The feeble flame showed him the face
of Miss Hillard, and he was startled by the evil
expression of it.
He saw that Miss Hilliard did not at all un
derstand him, and he was resolved she should.
He told her plainly that she misunderstood
him and his position altogether— that he was
perfectly willing to resign Eunice to Sir Felix.
This ho said in a loud, strong voice, which she
begged him to soften, lest her mother should
hear, who was in the room below. The young
lady was an adept in clandestine interviews.
“ Neither you nor I, Miss Hilliard, have any
reason to mind what your mother hears pass
ing between us. I say again, you altogether
misapprehend my conduct, and my motives.
Let me explain them once for all. lam no dog
in tho manger. I have no envy either. My
love for Miss Stone— your dearest friend—is
free of selfishness. Sir Felix has more to offer
her than I have! What right have Ito com
plain or resist ? Manly honor and dignity for
bid ! He is high-born; I am low-born. He
has splendid estates that tho jewel merchant
will clear of debts and secure for his daugh
ter’s enjoyment; and he is not a great deal
older than I am, and, for aught I know, he is
better to look at.”
“ He is no more to be compared to you than
a street lamp to a star.”
Godfrey colored at the fervent compliment.
He was uneasy, and wished she would say
“good-bye;” but instead of that she dropped
into a chair beside the lantern, whose rays fell
athwart her face, imparting to it an exaggera
ed and distorted effect. Godfrey Went on :
“I wish you to see the case exactly as it is.”
“ I do,” she said; “ only it’s very mean-spir
ited to give way to Sir Felix.”
“My view of what is mean, then, differs very
much from yours. I should call it moan, and
eminently unworthy, if I were to repine and
grumble, and obstruct, because Providence has
barred my way in that direction.”
“ Why, if yob really did love Eunice, you’d
break your heart at leaving her so.”
“If I break my heart, Miss Hilliard, I’ll not
let the world know it.”
“Ah I you never did love her—that’s my be
Godfrey smiled and sighed at the same time,
and kicked over his portmanteau, as much as
to say, “ I want to be off.”
But she had no intention of releasing him as
“ I did think,” she said, in an emotional way,
with many breaksand stammerings, “and so
did mamma think, and others too that
that you cared more for me than for any one
else in the world. lam sure you paid mo very
particular attentions—every evening turning
over my music, when I sang to you at the
piano ; singing to my accompaniment; sketch
ing in my album ; escorting mo to the theatre
and to the Crystal Palace, and to the parks.
Of course I gave you up when I saw you fancied
that Miss Stone would have you. She was a
rich match, and I had to give way to her. But
I do think, now you cannot have the heiress,
you might think a little of me, and not leave
me in this wav I”
This unexpected charge perfectly amazed
Godfrey. He had no idea previously of such a
state of things. Greatly pained, he sent his
thoughts searchingly inward to discover
whether he really had misled her in tho way
she intimated. All he could remember was,
that in the warmth and exuberance of the
social evenings in the parlor, he had shown the
usual attentions—no more ; and he had only
waited on Miss Hilliard out of doors when he
had been SDecialfy requested by her mother or
herself to do so. No ;he was certain he had
never affected a love that he never felt; and if
he had been at any time drawn some way “out
of his shell” by her artful coquetry, he had
quickly withdrawn again into it.
“ Believe me,” he said, with embarrassment
in his whole demeanor, “I regret this very
much. I fear I must have been somehow to
blame; but really 1 can’t tell when,' where, or
how. My own heart is too deeply wounded at
present for me not to be able to sympathize
with you. I ask your pardon most heartily if
I have seemed in any way to deceive you. I
never intended it. I have never had one senti
ment of true love for any one in the world but
Eunice. lam sure you would not accept me
without I had a heart to give you 1”
She fancied by this there was a hope of gain
ing him, so at once said:
“ You must know, Godfrey, that I have loved
you ever since we first met I”
“ Heaven forbid 1”
“I have, and I do still; and I will not have
you go and leave me in this way 1”
“ But what can I say more than I have ?
Permit me to reason with you, as if you were
my sister.”
He took her hand in his, and spoke with em
phasis :
“ You dignify with the name of love a mere
passing preference, which you will soon find
fade into nothingness when some richer suitor
offers. I know you better than you know your
self. Do not turn from me so angrily I Bear
with me while I speak to you from my heart
and eoul. I never could love you sufficiently
to make you my wife. This is painful, but it is
true. I never will knowingly assume a passion
where I have it not. That’s the first point.
Now for the second. You arc ambitious. And
don’t you see that I shall have to struggle with
difficulties ? For many a year to come I shall
have to work hard to maintain my orphan
brothers, and I must deny myself everything
in the shape of ease and luxury. lam now go
ing to Italy with my successful rival—purely
as a matter of duty. Why ? Because I cannot
afford to lose a single opportunity of advancing
in my art, which henceforth must be to me
everything in life; subsistence, independence,
fame, wife, children, home, all must be com
prised in one word—art, To that I devote my
self henceforward. Nothing shall tempt me
from it. Out of it I am, I have, nothing but
sorrow. In it I have comforts, peace, and
often joy.”
Ho spoke with an enthusiasm that was really
splendid, and walked with proud step and lofty
bearing to and fro the apartment.
Julia could appreciate nothing of all he said,
but one thing, and that, unfortunately, she
had long been aware of—that he had great
talent, and was likely to rise rapidly to fame.
This was just the food that her love fed on.
“Well, but, Godfrey, when you come back
from Italy, you will let me see you sometimes,
will you not?”
“If you wish it, after what I have now told
“ 0 yes ; I must and will see you I It Is so
odd to think of you and Sir Felix traveling to
gether while they are making ready next door
for the wedding. I am sure you must hate him
horribly, and he you.”
“Why keep harping on this?” he said, with
some Indignation. “No such feelings as you
suggest cah ever come between mo and Sir Fe
lix. You laugh satirically. Is there treachery
in me toward my friend ?”
“ O dour, no ; I never said such a thing.”
“But you seem to suggest something of the
“ Not at all.”
“You know, Miss Hilliard, all the circum
stances that have led to this journey, therefore
it is cruel of you to taunt me about it. The ar
rangements have long been settled, and I had
been working toward it before I guessed at all
that Sir Felix was a suitor to Eunice. I had
been actually a debtor to Sir Felix—had drawn
on account of the set of Italian sketches I have
to make for him, and the money has been
handed over to my brothers’ tutor. I cannot
see how to repay that if I draw back from this
journey. Beside, I want to study the great
works of art in Borne and Florence, and see
foreign studies, and enlarge my artistic con
nections, and obtain new engagements ; and
all this, and more, I can do while I am serving
Sir Felix. I have no other way open—no
other 1 We trust each other, and I shall never
harbor spite or guile in my breast. Never I
Never 1”
He struck his breast as he spoke, and his
eyes flashed.
He looked then, in that mean garret, as one
born to be a king of men.
A noble fellow he was, indeed, and meant
truly every word he said. But Julia did not
think so. She was herself so essentially false
and vindictive in nature, and so intensely envi
ous, that she could not understand at all the
motives which influenced Godfrey.
“ Your mother is calling,” he said. “ Let us
part good friends, and wish each other well.
And let me just say this—l hope you will be as
sound a friend to Eunice as 1 shall be to Sir
He said this with a look of anxiety and doubt,
before which her eyes shifted from side to
“ 0, Eunice understands me very well."
“ I think not,” said he, gravely. “ She is full
of faith, and truth, and tenderness.”
“ That’s as much as to say I am not,”
Her tone was mocking and defiant.
“You are not,” ho said. “Miss Hilliard,
you have done me the honor to profess a par
ticular regard for me ; therefore 1 shall always
feel it to be my duty to care for you —in the best
sense; and I shall advisejyou for your good
whenever you will give me the opportunity,
and I shall take the privilege, as your friend,
to speak to you my real thoughts. I do so
now, when I say that Eunice is all simplicity
and truth to you, and believes in you as she
believes in Heaven. But you are very different
to her, and there is reason for me to beg of
you to be in future a sincere and kind friend to
her. Who knows how much she may yet need
on el Good bye, once more. I will finish your
picture when I return I”
He was gone. She listened with rage and
mortification as he walked slowly down stairs
and went into the dining-room to speak a few
parting words with her mother. Her face was
distorted with passion, as she exclaimed :
“ Go ; and perish, for aught I care 1”
After a few seconds she came down the stairs,
and hearing Godfrey leave tho house, ejacu
“l hope he’ll murder Sir Felix, and be hung
for it!” A thought darted into her brain—
“l’ll frighten my darling friend, see if I don’t!’’
And so that idea—which was to work like
poison in the brain—was first imparted to Eu
nice from her false friend’s heart, swollen with
envy, and raging with disappointment.
The girls had been together to Bartholomew’s
church, where they had read the Sunday morn
ing’s service from the same book—Julia’s vel
vet-bound, gold-edged church service. Their
knees had bent on tho big hassocks side by
side; their voices mingled in the responses,
and in the slow, solemn tunes that harmonized
so well with that out-of-the-world place. And
when the sermon was over, that was so long
and tedious to Julia, they came out of the ven
erable church hand-in-hand, Eunice ill-dressed,
looking downcast and broken-hearted, her eye
lids heavy; Julia radiant, clad in brilliant
white and blue, casting sly looks about her,
and tossing up her head in affected indifference
or disdain when she perceived or imagined ad
mirers hovering near.
The friends lingered in that curious, seques
tered graveyard, hemmed in by houses, which
was once the grand nave of the splendid Priory
Church founded by Bahere.
“At that window, Julia,” said Eunice, point
ing up to a third story in the close range of tall
houses on their right; “at that mean-looking
window my mother used to sit, day by day,
week by week, month by month, year by year,
working for bread early and late at her needle
before she came to be my father’s wife. I often
think she might have been happier if she sat
there still; for I know she, like her poor child,
has known what it is to lose one she loved
dearest in all the world, because there came a
richer suitor and took her away.”
“0, then that is the cause of Mrs. Stone’s
strange manner and disagreeable temper. I
always thought there was something, that I
“You know, dear Julia, I tell you everything;
but you will not repeat anything I say, will
you ?”
Eunice had the usual sentimental notion of a
girl’s friendship, that it should consist in the
most entire confidence, so that the two hearts
and souls might be as one—partaking equally
all secrets, all regrets, all hopes.
“I keep nothing from you, dearest; I tell
you all.”
“And Ido the same,” responded Julia. “I
should scorn the name of friend if I kept back
a thought from you, dear. And that brings
me to something that I wanted to say to you.
Oh, Eunice, can it be true that you are really
to marry Sir Felix when he returns fromltaly?”
“ My father says so—and Godfrey too.”
“And Godfrey is going to be Sir Felix’s com
panion on the journey?”
Her tones were carefully studied to excite
and alarm. Her bold brown eyes were fas
tened on Eunice with such a sinister expression
that Eunice shrank back, and ejaculated:
“ Why do you look like that ?”
“I only wish they may both come back safe
“Why, what are you thinking of, Julia?”
“Of what I know— that Godfrey means no
food to Sir Felix; that is, in his heart he hates
is rival, and would not be sorry to see him
come to harm.”
“Julia! Pray eease such wild, unholy talk.
You terrify mel”
“If Godfrey were a lover of mine—which,
thank goodness, he is not—l should go down
on my knees to him to persuade him not to
trust himself on this journey with Sir Felix.
It’s a temptation I If the devil does not put it
into Godfrey’s mind it is a marvel.”
Eunice seized the wicked idea that was thus
presented to her, and locked it up close in her
breast, little knowing what misery it was to
work for herself and he whom she loved.
But she supposed she did her best to throw it
from her, ana peremptorily forbade Julia never
mention again such a shocking fancy. But as
the girls walked home through the Close, end
as Julia sat beside her that day at Mrs. Stone’s
dinner table, where she was a regular Sunday
visitor ; and all through the long, quiet, drowsy
afternoon that followed, when the old merchant
slept on his high-backed heavy sofa, and his
wife sat without moving for hours at her bed
room window, reading and nodding at intervals
over a weather-stained Bible that had been
Jacob Stone’s when a boy ; and during the se
date tea that ended the long afternoon, Eunice
w.;s dwelling on that horrible fancy which Julia
had inspired in her vivid imagination.
Whether Julia thought any more of that
“ fancy” during the two months that followed,
she knew best. She spoke of it no more ; nor
did Eunice. But the latter often recurred to it
in her grief, when she was laying awake at
nights, shedding silent tears, and following in
imagination her discarded lover, and her hus
band that was to be, from one foreign scene to
Then she had a dream that frightened her.
She saw Sir Felix pushed down a precipice in a
solitary place among mountains, and the hand
that impelled him was Godfrey’s.
Waking from this dream in horror, and in
the dead of the night, Eunice rang the boll;
and as she pulled the tassel that hung at her
bed-head, she called loudly on her grandmother
and Bridget, who slept near.
Both came running in their night attire.
Eunice was sitting up grasping the bell-rope
with both hands, and looking white and scared.
“Lawks-a-me, what is the matter!”
“Grannie dear, stay with me here!—and you
too Bridget!”
“Tobe sure we twill, honey,” said the big
Irishwoman; and she dragged up a great lum
bering old chair, with a coronet carved on tho
top, to the side of the dismal oaken bedstead
with funeral hangings, and flung herself into
“Faith, an’ I’ll stop by ye all tho night,
honey. I’ll wrap this counterpane about me,
and thin I’ll sleep here like any queen. Only
tell us what ails ye ?”
“I am not well, I believe,” Eunice said,
quivering and pale.
Kind old Mrs. Bolt had taken her darling in
her arms, and was “ hushing” her like a little
The round full moon was shining over the
house tops, and sending a stream of pale,
ghastly light through the yellow curtains. The
room was large and shadowy, and filled to over
flowing with curious stores.
Tho very bed, tall and dismal as a hearse,
was a relic brought from a sale in a noble
man’s house. There was a musty stateness in
the atmosphere, which was not likely to prove
beneficial to the nerves of a young girl.
Eunice’s fine oval face was turned upward to
the moonlight, and her large black eyes were
dilated. Her complexion, clear and dark,
was turning ghastly pale to “ grannie’s” eyes,
and she really thought that Eunice was very ill
indeed. So again the bell-rope was lustily
pulled, and “Hannah, and “Stone,” were called
in Mrs. Bolt’s shrillest voice.
“What is it? Are there robbers in the
house ?” bawled Stone.
“No!” answered Bridget; “but poor Miss
Eunice is very bad.”
Up ran Isaac Stone, his flannel nightgown
trailing to his feet, his extinguisher nightcap
set on the top of his apostolic head, his snow
white beard all on the quiver with his agita
“What ails her? Tell me! Speak!" he
asked of Bridget and his mother-in-law.
“Nothing now, my father; it was only a
dream. But such a dream as I never wish to
have again.”
“ Silly child! A dream indeed!” Mrs. Stone
exclaimed. “Do you make all this stir for
such nonsense!”
“Your nonsense is like to drive the poor
child into a lunatic asylum or the grave,’’ ex
claimed Mrs. Bolt, angrily. “Look at her!
See how she trembles there in the moonlight I
Look how ill she is; and tell me, you hard
hearted pair, what good will Sir Felix do you
when you’ve lost your precious child ?”
“What, is all this through fretting after
Godfrey ?” said Isaac.
“To be sure it is,” replied his mother-in-law.
“ What could you expect ? Why did you drive
Godfrey away! Hadn’t you enough for the
young folks without wanting morel Oh, go
along! I’ve no patience with such ways as
yours. Eunice neither eats nor sleeps now; or
if she sleeps, she’s mazed with frightful dreams
about Godfrey and Sir Felix. Why can’t you
ease her mind, and let Sir FeUx go hang in his
own garters, if he likes! A parcel of selfish,
stony-hearted people, I’ve no patience with
you! I’d rather live in my three-pair jbaek,
and stitch braces for bread than act as you are
“ Mother, please to mind your own business,”
said Mrs. Stone, sternly. “ Eunice, what dream
is this that has troubled you ?”
“ I saw Godfrey murder Sir Felix. He pushed
him down the side of a mountain. I saw the
place so plainly, and Godfrey holding by a tree,
looking down after Sir Felix. I feel sure he is
“ Who ?”
“ Sir Felix. Godfrey has killed him."
“ Child! Here, all of you, go away. I will
stay with her, and reason her out of this folly.”
She locked the door on them, camo to the
broken old coroneted chair, and there sat for
some time beside her daughter, sternly taking
her to task for “her silliness and nonsense.”
Eunice hstened for some time quietly; but
at last she started out of bed, and began to
dress rapidly.
“What are you about, Eunice ?”
Eunice threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“Write to Sir Felix, Find out if anything
has happened to him.”
“Ridiculous 1”
“Write, when I beg of you; but not for the
world say I am anxious about him, or Godfrey,
“ Very well.”
Mrs. Stone posted a tetter the first thing in
the morning, asking some questions about the
arrangements for the marriage.
Grandmother Bolt had trained Eunice from
infancy to put faith in dreams and omens.
Her mind was sorely shaken and her nerves
disordered by the loss of Godfrey and the pros
pect of a hateful marriage.
An answer speedily came from Sir Felix to
Mrs. Stone, replying to her that he was quite
well, but should return a little later than he
had intended, as he was going to Ireland. He
also added that his friend Godfrey intended to
open a studio in Rome, and not return to En
Still Eunice was not herself at all. She fre
quently expressed a presentiment of evil to
Isaac, to satisfy her, wrote to Godfrey him
self about some commissions, and received an
answer. Godfrey, too, was alive and well,
Now the preparations were going forward for
Sir Felix’s return; and Eunice saw that she
would have to make the sacrifice that was ex
pected of her, unless some unexpected event
interposed. Her sickness of heart became
hourly more evident. The bright-spirited,
witty girl was listless, dull, feverish, sullen.
A consultation was held about her in the
parlor ; and it was resolved to send her away
for change of air and scene, until Sir Felix re
turned, and all was ready for the “joyful
Mrs. Stone never left business for anything.
Her constitution was one of iron. Once set in
motion, she could go on in one unvarying rou
tine forever, as it seemed.
And Mrs. Stone’s mother, though lively as a
child, was too lame with a touch of the gout to
go. So Miss Hilliard was spoken to, and glad
ly accepted the offer to have all her expenses
paid and be the companion of Eunice at Mar
Isaac saw them off by the morning steamboat
from London bridge, little aware, then, that
his Eunice would see him no more alive.
Many persons looked with curiosity on tho
strange figure of this grand-looking old man in
his miserable dress, as he walked to and fro
beside the sorrowful dark girl and her showy
companion, talking rapidly.
“Now, remember, Eunice,” said he, handing
to her a well-filled purse, “you are to got well
at any price, if you love your father!”
“ At any price 1” she echoed, stealing a side
look at him with her eloquent eyes.
“Well; yes. I don’t say what may happen
if you are a good girl and get quite well, and
don’t spend too much money. Bo careful of
money—only get well I”
Eunice durst not say more about tho wish of
her heart, but she had a little hopo from his
words that her father would yet find some way
to put off the marriage. In tljat hope she re
sponded lovingly to his parting kiss, whisper
ing in his ear; whereat he shook his head at
her, half in anger, half in fondness, and then
stood to watch her into the steamboat, mutter
ing to himself—
“ How it is, I can’t think; but I hate to see
the child go. I feel inclined to fetch her back.
I will. I’ll tell her she shall have Godfrey,
though it cost me all I have! What’s money
to me, compared with my precious Eunice?
I’d give my last jewel to make her happy I But
I have signed—l have signed! How can I help
going on with the business ? There goes the
boat! Bless the darling! I’ll write to Sir
Felix this day, and see what’s to be done. It
will be a terrible loss to me one way and an
other. I shall have to burden myself with his
debts, the same as if he were my son-in-law.
It’s a most vexatious business 1”
Isaac went back to his house very perplexed,
and sent for Sir Felix’s solicitor, and informed
him that his daughter’s health was giving way,
and the marriage could not take place. “ She
is averse to it; and I cannot bear to see her
inclinations forced.”
The match-maker was greatly chagrined;
talked of damages; blustered, argued, and
even entreated. But Isaac had made up his
mind. Moreover, though he did not say so, he
was resolved to have Godfrey back, and in
tended to receive him as a son.
Isaac talked grandly of compensating Sir
Felix for the loss of the bride. But while he
talked, the old man grew very red in the face;
his articulation became indistinct. He reached
his band out for a glass of water that stood
near; but before it could touch his lips, he fell
back in his chair, with eyeballs fixed and open
Mrs. Stone was writing at the table : she was
beside him in a moment.
“ Stone, are you ill?”
He was dead! There was no mistaking the
His disappointment in having failed to bring
about his daughter’s alliance with a man of
title; the mortification he experienced at hav
ing advanced so far, and now obliged to draw
back; his perplexities in consequence of hav
ing taken up all Sir Felix’s embarrassments ;
his fears that his good name might be damaged
in the affair; his secret reluctance to part with
money for nothing, which he must do very
magnificently in order to back out of the con
tract; his excitement in facing the disappoint
ed match-maker, and meeting his reproaches ;
and the humiliation of having, after all, to take
Godfrey into his family, and his doubts whether
Godfrey’s pride would not now rise in arms,
and reject Eunice—all these disturbances, min
gled with overwhelming anxiety for his darling
girl’s health, were too much for tho jewel mer
chant’s sixty years, aud brought on sudden
What a misfortune was that for Eunice! Just
as he was undertaking her cause, arming him
self against himself, and opposing a firm front
to the difficulties that interposed between her
and the man she loved, he received the sum
mons of the Angel of Death, and was no more!
Under that heavy blow Mrs. Stone was as col
lected and firm as ever. She had never had
the least love for Isaac. Indeed, feelings she
never showed at all, from the first day of their
meeting to the last of their parting. Her mar
riage had been purely for money; but she was
a first-rate woman for business, and she had
won his entire respect by her devotion to his
interests—and her own, She hadno reverence
in her nature, but she was aware that in many
ways the loss of Isaac might prove a heavy one.
Yet, had she not, in her secret mind, really had
this hour in view for years—this hour, when all
Isaac Stone’s money was her own ? /
The first thing she did—even while the body
was being removed to a chamber—was to search
Isaac’s most private boxes for his will. She
found two: one she burned, the other she
locked away again.
Eunice and her bosom friend had been en
joying a fine sea breeze on the Margate pier,
diying their beautiful hair, that floated free
beneath their brown hats.
“Look here, Julia!” cried Eunice, showing
two letters in mourning envelopes, sealed with
conspicuous black wax. “ I went on just now,
while you were in the bath-room, to the post
office, to see if any letters had come for me ;
and here are two. Look! What can this
mean ? One is mother’s writing (surely noth
ing has happened to poor dear grannie); and
the other—look, dear, you know the hand 1”
The bold business handwriting of Mrs. Stone,
on a large bine envelope, was surrounded by a
broad black border and Godfrey’s careless
characteristic flourishes were similarly en
“ What can be the meaning of this ?” Eunice
repeated, turning the two letters over and over.
“ Here, Jnlia, you may open that,” handing
Godfrey’s to her with assumed indifference.
Julia quickly tfoke tlw seal, and as her eye
ran over the contents of the letter, she uttered
an exclamation of unmitigated astonishment.
“ Well, really I Is not this very singular!
Your dream —Eunice ”
“My dream! What can Godfrey’s letter
have to do with my dream?”
“Much indeed, Oh, Eunice, you will be
“ Why, what is it ?’’ Do speak 1 Why do you
not speak ?”
She would have taken the letter into her own
hand again, but Julia started forward with it
to the extreme end of the pier, and there sat
down. There was very little company about
just now, it being near upon dinner-time, and
they had all that part of the pier to themselves.
“ Julia, toll me directly what you mean by
referring to my dream 1 You look dismayed !”
“I am frightened. It has fairly taken my
breath. What do you think? Your bride
groom that was to be is . There, read for
yourself. I can hardly credit it.”
Eunice turned cold as she read :
•' Dear Eunice—l have very—very strange and sad
news for you. Sir Felix has destroyed himself—at
least I can in no other way account for his disappear
ance. It is a total mystery to me. lam all in the
dark about it, and half at my wit’s end. You will see
that this is written from Ireland. Sir Felix wished
to have a run over there, for me to sketch a few
choice spots. He has appeared to me wild and rest
less—unaccountably so—ever since we set out. I be
lieve myself that I know the cause; but I will explain
more fully when I see you. We had been wandering
about along the Uulster coast, until we were tired—at
least I was, and I went early forest in the evening. I
have since found that Sir Felix, after he and I parted,
went out, and he has not returned since—that was a
week ago. He was last seen by a party of fishermen
who happened to be on the beach. They observed
him walking quite close to the water, when the tide
was far out and the moon was shining. The shore at
that part is considered dangerous, from the numerous
deep pits aud hollows among the rocks, and there is
some doubt whether Sir Felix went purposely to that
spot with the intention of self-destruction, or whether
he has perished accidentally. But he is clearly gone,
and left no trace. He intended—or wished it to ap
pear so—to enjoy a bath at moonlight, as the night
was oppressively hot, and he was fatigued. His
clothes were found all together, on a dry spot under
a cliff ”
“ Oh, {Julia! Let us go home I This has
shaken me terriblyl”
Eunice looked aghast.
“Just see what is in your mother’s letter ?"
“Oh, I dread to open it!”
Half a minute after Eunice knew that she
was fatherless 1
For a fortnight Eunice lay ill in lodgings at
Margate, so that she was not able to see any
more the face of her eccentric, but most dear
father, or to be present at bis funeral. Her
mother did not come down to her, but wrote to
her in a brief, strong way, intimating that
there was nothing Eunice could do for her
father more; that her mother had no need of
her help ; that we must all die, so there was no
occasion to grieve. Isaac Stone had filled the
measure of his days, and had left his affairs in
good hands ; for his widow would see all bis
creditors paid and the business kept up.
Eunice wondered at her mother; and her
B heart instinctively revolted against such
ess. To see that dear face once more she
would have gone barefoot, had it been a thou
sand miles, it God had given her strength to
bear the journey; but her own life hung by a
thread for many days, during which time Julia
was attentive and affectionate. Envy was
asleep for a time, and the gentle sympathies of
their ago prevailed. Eunice’s grandmother
wrote daily; her poor, loving, artless scrawl
full of more fresh and interesting matter than
fifty fine ladles’ letters.
She gave every particular from day to day of
all that was passing in the Close ; and to read
her letters was almost like being present, they
were so graphic and truthful. The old lady
was unable to leave the house to come to
Eunice, so as soon as she was able to bear the
journey she came back to London with Julia :
and Godfrey was her companion and protector
now, by her dead tether’s consent, as he had
left in writing on his table. He had partly
written a letter to Godfrey when the fatal fit
seized him. It ran thus :
My dear Godfrey—l find I can’t get through with
Ibis business. It sticks by the way; and the wheels
won’t move, do what I may. Eunice is ill, and I’ve
sent her out of town. Sir Felix seemed as averse as
she. So let it be. You come back, and I’ll see what
I can do for you and Eunice. It will cost me dear to
back out of the contract, and the thing vexes me
sorely; bnt what can I do against a perverse girl ?
Let it go. I’ll have no more of it. It has troubled
us all, and shan’t proceed. Eunice is my only child.
What good will it do me to see her wedded against
her will ? Fou are the son-in-law for me 1 Come
back directly, and we’ll talk it all over. Eunice loves
you, and you love her; and I’ll set you up in lite, give
you a good start, and then leave you both to shift for
yourselves. I think you’ll do well, and I believe
you’ll make my girl happy. So come and take her.
It goes against the grain with me, mind ; I’m balked
In my wishes, but ’’
And that was Isaac’s last writing; there he
made an end of all.
In consequence of this letter which was for
warded to Godfrey, the painter hurried back to
attend his old friend’s funeral. Isaac Stone
was buried in Bartholomew churchyard, which,
though closed for general interments, had been
opened to the wealthy trader of the Close as to
one who had a special right of admittance. For
Isaac had been mindful of his latter end, and
had purchased his father’s grave in perpetuity.
So there, on the site of that old nave of the
Priory church, in that small, close, singular
looking court of graves, hemmed in by tall and
shabby houses and factories, where hardly the
fresh air can find entrance-wthere, mingling
with the dust of priests and monks; there, on
the spot around which lay all the associations
of his sixty-four years of toiling and moiling
for gold, Isaac Stone finished his course, and
was interred in his father’s grave.
When the coflin was lowered, Godfrey Chester
stood by ; and opposite to him was that tall,
fine woman, who was left in possossioh of
Isaac’s jewels.
Her handsome dark face retained through
out the solemn service a stern, and thoughtful,
and perfectly composed expression. No tear,
no sigh, was perceptible to the bystanders, who
were only too ready to make their comments.
“Sne doesn’t trouble much I” remarked one
of a group of pale, thin workwomen, who stood
apart. The speaker drew close about her flesh
less form an old, ragged shawl, ihat hung
straight over her scanty skirt.
“Who would ever have thought to see
Hannah Bolt come to be that rich old miser’s
widow, eh I Some folks have luck, and some
folks have none 1”
The poor half-famished creature drew aside
from the narrow walk, to make room for Han
nah Stone’s commanding figure to pass on her
return home. The widow had paused but an
instant to look down in the open grave on
Isaac’s coffin, then turned quietly, gathered up
her new black crape-bound skirt well over her
thick leather boots, and left the secluded city
graveyard with an unfaltering step, and so
back to the gloomy old fortress in the Close,
that was now more sombre than ever.
The widow came back with Godfrey Chester.
The young man shuddered as he entered the
door, and she closed it after him.
“ I have hardly spoken to you since you ar
rived this morning 1” she said, in her ordinary
level tones. “ Come in 1 Come down stairs,
mother will like to see you.”
In the large kitchen old Mrs. Bolt sat moan
ing by the fire. With her arms on her knees,
and her body bent forward, she was rooking
from side to side. She was ever and anon ejac
ulating, “Eh, dear!”
The false front of foxy-brown curls that she
wore under a mourning cap was displaced
through grief of mind, and nearly fell on one
eyebrow, below which the tears were welling
freely over the amiable, wrinkled face. Her
new black stuff gown was turned over her knees,
and her feet wore on the fender.
“Eh, dear I” she groaned, looking up at her
daughter and Godfrey, and pushing the front
up over her brow.
Godfrey came to her very kindly, and asked
her how she did.
“Eh, dear!” graned the old lady ; and then,
a' ruptly, “Where’s Sir Felix?”
Godfrey answered, with marked gravity—
“He is, Mrs. Bolt, where he will never trou
ble Eunice more, I believe 1”
“I hope not I”
“Mother,” said Mrs. Stone, “I have not
mentioned it to you, because you are grieving
enough with it; but I could have told you
hours ago, Sir Felix is dead—mysteriously!”
The old lady sat upright, and looked terri
“How’s that, Mr, Chester? Has he died
sudden too ?”
“Very sudden; and by his own act, if not by
“Sit down, Mr. Chester,” said Mrs. Stone,
“ and let us hear all about it.”
Godfrey told all he knew. He believed the
cause of the act of suicide was Sir Felix’s dis
turbance of mind in consequence of his having
deserted a lady to whom he was deeply attach
ed ; and this preyed on his mind, while he knew
himself engaged to Miss Stone.
Godfrey was much affected as he spoke of his
friend and patron, calling him a generous fel
low, one whom he should always profoundly
“It was the strangest thing he should van
ish so. The last I saw of him was when I
bade him ‘ good night’ in the fishing village ;
and he laughed and talked gaily of the mor
row, when we were to have Visited a certain
noted stream where he meant to fish. Never
had I seen him in better spirits, though, at the
same time, something struck me that he was
more excited than usual, and his laughter did
not seem real.”
“And have you been to his friends m Eng
land ?”
“ I yesterday went to bear the sad news to
some who love him well—l allude to tae lauy
whom Sir Felix deceived, and to her father, his
old tutor ; but unfortunately they were absent
from home. To-morrow I go down to Kent.
Sir Felix’s valet is with me ; I have left him at
the Britannia. It was he who found the clothes
of his master under the rocks. The man has
been in a state of extreme trepidation ever
since the disappearance. He suffers exceed
ingly, and I have kept him with me to soothe
him a little ; and I believe I shall retain him in
my service, if I can at all afford the expense.
“Afford, Godfrey 1 You will be able to hbord
what you please, now,”, said Mrs. Stone. It
is my intention to carry out Stone’s last wishes,
and you shall marry Eunice, on condition that
you take up the diamond trade and leave paint
ing to penniless men. I want no picture-mak
ing here I You must live in this house, and
take the business in Isaac’s place; and I will
assist you as I have assisted eta, Only there
must be no half and half work.”
Oodljey was ready to fight a hard battle with
the widow on behalf of his picture-making; but
the old lady by the fireside kept making signs
for silence to him while her daughter’s eyes
were turned another way.
He thanked Mrs. Stone warmly for her good
intentions toward him, and said that he should
like to ascertain the wishes of Eunice as to her
future home, if she would really now accept his
hand in marriage.”
[To be continued.]
My Wants.
I want to show a crazy fool,
And what he said and done,
"Who used a razor as the tool
To measure round the sun.
He beat a furnace very hot,
Did then with water fill.
To make some ioe upon the spot,
He worked with all his will.
One day he found his house on fire,
He ran for turpentine,
He poured it on, it flamed the higher,
To quench was his design.
This man for children had no lack.
Insane was every son,
And by the way his daughters act
All crazy every one.
When burnt they run for turpentine.
With camphor added too,
Mix it with cayenne pepper fine.
And nothing else will do.
If costiveness their bowels bake,
They swallow pills more dry;
Y ea, powders too they gladly take,
Of common sense are shy.
When raging fever racks their frame;
Like mad dogs they will run
Away from water into flame.
Big blisters rise for fun.
A dose they drink for pain in head,
A dose they drink for feet.
Nor know they medicate instead
Well parts with sick complete.
If inflammation be the cause.
And something hotter still.
Irritations are the laws
Of fools and their self-will.
How mad! how foolish and how blind
The reader will declare;
And yet how many folks we find
To this old man an heir.
Pain Paint will cure them, every one,
If they will only dare
To call at Hundred Eighty-one—
’Tis/ree on Chatham square.
We will convince our reader too.
Who read the FIRESIDE,
Irritation will not do,
’Tis ignorance and pride.
A dose we never, never give
That bruteg themselves deride;
We teach you better how to live
Don’t buy high-priced Hair Preparations, for 10
cents will buy the Beauty, at No. 181 Chatham square,
which is far better at one-fifth the price.
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Srivate nature. No exposure, no trouble, no change of
iet! Let those who despair of getting cured elsewhere,
or who have been gorged with Balsam Copaiva or Mer
cury. consult the doctor at once, and they will be aston
ished at the speedy cures which he makes. Consult him
and satisfy yourself. Remember the number—s4s Broad
way, N. Y. Charges moderate.
1H street, near West Broadway, can be consulted daily
from 9 A. M. to 8 P. M., and on Sundays from 10 A. M. to
12 M. ,
WEST with a call, will meet with honorable and
scientific treatment. Office, No. 4 Thompson street.
with or without medicine. Regulating Pills, $5,
sure and safe. Address or call on Dr. MANURES, No.
651 Broadway.
vate Treatise, &c., No. 7 Beach street. Those who
apply in the early stage of disease will be surprised at the
ease and rapidity of the cure.
ble remedy to restore you, call at once on Dr.
WEST, No. 4 Thompson st., one door from Canal street.
Belief certain: failure impossible.
LARS for any case of the follow- bright*
ing diseases which the medical facul- c°>- —
ty have pronounced incurable that
DIES will not radically cure- Dr. Ri- / \
chaus’ Golden Balsam No. 1 will cure / \
Syphilis in its Primary and Secondary I
stages, such as old Ulcers and Ulcer- \ I
ated Sore Throat, Sore Eyes, Skin \ /
Eruptions, Soreness of the Scalp, and \ y
all stages of the disease, eradicating
disease and mercury thoroughly.
Price. ssperbotttle, or two bottles $9. 4i>b ***
Dr. Bichaus’ Golden Balsam No. 2 will cure the third
stages or Tertiary Syphilis, where Syphilitic and Mercu
rial Rheumatism are connected with the Primary and
Secondary. I have hundreds of certificates where mi
raculous cures have been effected by these remedies.
Patients eat and drink what they like, and require no
outward applications. Hundreds suffer from Syphilitic
and Mercurial Rheumatism who are not aware of it,
and I defy such to obtain a radical cure without the
use of this medicine. Its beneficial effects are felt at
once. It has raised men from hospital-beds in one week,
who have lain there for years under the best practitioners
in the city, and is the only radical cure for the worst dis
ease known—Syphilis. Price. $5 per bottle, or two bottles
for $9. It saves yourself—it eaves your offspring from
the taint of this scourge. . „ ,
Dr. Riohaus’ Golden Antidote, a safe, speedy, pleasant,
and radical cure for Gonorrhoea, Gleet. Irritation, Gravel,
and all urinary derangements, accompanied with full di
rections. Warranted to cure. Price, $3 per bottle.
Dr. Riehaus* Gnld©n Elixir de Amonr, a radical cure
for Spermatorhoea General Debility in old or young,
giving vitality and imparting energy with wonderful
effect to those who have led a life of sensuality or self
abuse. It is invaluble to those who are anxious for
an increase in family. Nothing more certain in its
effects. It is composed of the most powerful in
gredients of the vegetable kingdom Harmless, but
speedy in restoring heath. Price, $5. per bottle, or two
bottles for $9. Trade supplied at a liberal discount.
for Female Irregularities. Price, $lO per bottle* with
On receipt of price, these remedies will be shipped to
any part free from observation; correspondents an
swered confidentially ; hours for consultation, 9 A. M. to
9 P.M.; none genuine without nama of Dr, Richaus’
Golden Remedies. D. B. Richards, Sole Proprietor,
bo.vn in gla-sof bottles. Observe well trade mark on
outside wrapper written signatures on inside label.
Address Dr. D. B. RICHARDS, No. 228 Varick street,
New York city.
Send money by Post office order, express or draft.
Goods sent C. O, D.
Ladies desiring medical ad
vice wil> be cartain to obtain relief by consulting
Dr. WEST, at No. 4 Thompson street, one door from
Canal street.
cured by Dr. MANCHES, No. 651 Broadway. Sem
inal Pills, for nervous debility, $1 per box, or six boxes
$5, by mail or at office. Circulars sent,
jL 1 ty and all other special diseases scientifically and
successfully treated by Dr. LEWIS, No. 7 Beach street.
No case undertaken, or fee accepted, unless a cure can be
guaranteed. Established in 18$0.
Best french protectors, for
gentlemen, at $3, $4, and $5 per dozen, three for
?51, four for sl. Ladies’ Protectors, $3 each. Circulars
ree. Call on or address Dr. MANOHE§>, No. 651 Broad
JL Dr. WEST can be consulted on all Diseases of
Females with unparalleled success, at No. 4 Thompson st.
The most wonderful, reliable and certain remedy, as
well as always healthy, for married or single ladies, in re
moving obstructions and suppressions, from whatever
cause, and restoring the monthly sickness, has proved to
ba the celebrated
Thousands of ladies have used them with infallible cer-
the best physicians testify in respect to
“ A woman applied to be treated for suppression. It
appeared that she had been subject to irregularity, or
stoppage of the monthly turns, and as she appeared to be
free from the usual symptoms attending pregnancy, it
was not supposed that the stoppage arose from that
cause. She commenced using the PORTUGUESE FE
MALE MONTHLY PILLS. .After using them about
five days—from certain indications attending miscarriage
—suspicions began to be entertained that the suppression
might have arisen from pregnancy, which, upon examina
tion, proved to be the case—too late, however, to prevent
the miscarriage. In a short time, it took place, and on
about the third day after she entirely recovered, with but
little comparative inconvenience to her general health ”
He further states that their efficacy and certainty are
such, that they 1 are sometimes administered in cases of
malformation of pelvis, when the female is incompetent
to give birth at maturity.
They cannot fail, in recent cases they succeed m forty
eight hours. Price, $3 per box. In obstinate cases, those
two degrees stronger should be used. Price, $5.
Professor of Diseases of Women,
. Office, No. 129 Liberty street,
Sole Agent ana Proprietor for upward of twenty years.
They are sent by mail, m ordinary letter envelopes, with
full instructions and advice.
Dr. A. M. Mauriceau, for successful prac
titioner at his present office, guarantees a safe, and imme
diate and efficacious cure of all special difficulties, irregu
larities and obstructions, either in person or by mail.
Ladies from all parts of the United States consult him
confidence and certainty of success.
Sunday Edition. Feb 28
Irinin gMnrtimiris.
fl’ ' CI
respectfully offers his services in the application nf hia
xv rupture curative appliances? f
at his office,
Mo. 697 Broadway, corner Fourth Street.
The great experience or Dr. SHERMAN, reeiiltma
irom nis long and constant devotion to the treatment
fifn 9 °< this disease, assures him of his ability to ra
® hou to age of the patient or du-
l he Infirmity, or the difficulties which the®
may have heretofore encountered in seeking relief. Dr.
n?u®^ ri J lcipft Rupture Curative Institute, New
Orleans, for a period of more than fifteen years, had un
der ins care the worst cases in the country, all of which
were effectually relieved, and many, to their great joy.
restored to a sound body. 4
None of the pains and injuries resulting from the usa
of other trusses ace found in Dr. Sherman’s Appliances;
and, with a full knowledge of the assertion, he promisass
greater security and comfort, with a daily improvement
in the disease, than can be obtained of any other person,
or in the inventions of any other person in the United
Prices to suit all classes. It is the only as well as th®
cheapest remedy ever offered the afflicted. Photographies
likenesses of cases before and after treatment furnished
on receipt of two three-cent stamps.
Wrtial torti? ~~
invalid, if you wish regular medical treatment, con
sult Dr. DUBOIS, No. 38 Third avenue, near Tenth
street, New York, and you will be guaranteed safe, cer
taid and immediate relief, or no charge. Advice gratis.
Remedies for female derangements, from $1 to $5.
Monthly Regulators, $5. Confidential advice and medi
cine per mail. Twenty years successful practice; no de
ception or quackery. N. B.—Mme. D. will consult with
ladies who prefer meeting their own sex, or kindly caret
for those desiring home attention during treatment.
A sure and reliable medicine, under all circum
stances, for removing obstructions and suppressions.
Spanish Female Pills, $2 00 per box. French Sugar*
coated (stronger) Pills. $3 00 per box. Periodical Drops*
$2 00 per vial. Womb Guards, $3 00 each. Syringes of
all kinds from $1 00 to $lO 00 each. Ladies, the above
remedies are invaluable. Medicines for gentlemen put
up in $5 and $lO packages. Invigorating Cordial fox
nervous debility and seminal weakness, never fails, $1 53
and $3 00 per bottle. Gentlemen’s genuine A No. 1 con*
veniences, under all circumstances, price, two for $1 Off.
or $5 00 per dozen. I can be consulted at my office on
all diseases of a delicate nature by ladies or
Scientific treatment guaranteed to all. GEORGE R.
BOND, M. D., No. 65 Orchard, cor. Grand street, ovex
Tea store. Entrance on Orchard st. Established in
Ladies about to require nursing, who have not th®
convenience at home, can have pleasant and well-fur
nished rooms, superior board, nursing and medical at-*
tendance previous to and during confinement, fat jth®
residence of Dr. GRINDLE, No. 6 Amity-place, be*
tween Bleecker and Amity streets. Having over eigh-«
teen years’ successful and uninterrupted practice in th®
City, guarantees relief in all female complaints, from
whatever cause produced.
Ladies, with or without medicine, by Madam®
RESTELL, Professor of Midwifery; over 30 years* prac
tice. Her infallible French Female Pills, No. 1, price sl.
or No. 2, specially prepared for married ladies, price
which can never fail, are saie and healthy. Sold only ati
her office, No. 1 East Fifty-second street, first door from
Fifth avenue, and at Druggist’s, No. 152 Greenwich
street, or sent by mail. Caution—All others are coun«
Ladies requiring medical oh
Surgical treatment for the removal of all special
irregularities or obstructions, may with confidence con
sult DR. DURANT. No. 7 Beach street,
near West Broadway, New York.
Infallible accouchment under all circumstances, at
the least terms; also infallible cures of all sexual, private.
cutaneous and rheumatic diseases, etc., etc.
Jl_4 at home, can be provided with superior board, nurs
ing, and medical attendance during confinement, and
their children adopted to_good homes, if desired.
DR. DURANT, No. 7 Beach st., N. Y.
Dispensary, no. 22 mulberry
street, near Chatham. Dr. E. M. BROWNE, a
graduate of the Pennsylvania College of Medicine, 30
years in practice. A professor of the diseases of women*
All diseases of either sex, of whatsoever kind or long
standing, will be treated, and cures guaranteed m cura
ble cases, or no charge. A warranted cure in five days
for chronic gleet, etc., without medicine. Dr. B.’s regu
lating medicines for ladies, and other treatment, it U
well known, can be relied on. Consultation personally ot
by letter.
DUBOIS, Professor of Midwifery, twenty-five
years’ successful practice, guarantees relief at ona
interview, with or withput.medicine. Her family medi
cines, $5. No. 38 Third avenue, below Tenth street.
Advice per mail. No deception. No quackery.
Reader, this article may not concern you at all. If you
have never suffered from disease of the organs of genera*
tion, such as Spernialorrhoaa, Seminal Losses, Involuntary
emissions, it is not necessary for you to read this. If you
are suffering or have suffered from Involuntary Dis
charges, what effect does it produce upon your general
health? Do you feel weak, debilitated, easily tired?
Does a little extra exertion produce palpitation of th®
heart? Does your liver or urinary organs or your kidneya
frequently get out of order? Is your urine sometimes
thick, milky or flocky, or is it ropy on settling ? Ox
does a thick scum rise to the top ? Or a sediment in
the bottom after it has stood a while ? Do you have spells
of short breathing or dyspepsia ? Are your bowels con
stipated ? Do you have spells of fainting, or rushes ot
blood to the head? Is your memory impaired? Isyouf
mind constantly dwelling upon this subject? Do you
feel listless, moping, tired of company, of life ? Do you
wish to be left alone—to get away from everybody? Does
any little thing make you start or jump? Is your sleep
broken or restless? Do you discharge drops of semen
before or after making water, or during your stool, or atJ
night? Or have you become impotent; lost all feeling
for the opposite sex ? Do you often feel ashamed of
yourself, thinking that everybody that looks at you knows
what is the matter with you? Is the lustre of your eyo
as brilliant ? The bloom on your cheek as bright ? Do
you enjoy yourself in society as well ? Do you pursua
your business with the same energy? Do you feel as
much confidence in yourself ? Are your spirits dull and
flagging, given to fits of melancholy? If so, do not lay
it to your Liver or Dyspepsia. Have you restless nights?
Your back weak, knees weak, and have but little appe
tite, and you attribute this to Dyspepsia or Liver Com
plaint ? Did you ever tell your doctor that you had prac
ticed masturbation, or that you had suffered from badly
cured gonorrhea, Or syphillis, or from venereal excesses ?
Perhaps you never thought of confiding those things to
him; and if you had, it is a question whether his mod
esty would have allowed him to questipn you closely on
the point for fear of offending you; and if he had ex
pected anythind of the kind, being your family physician,
he durst not for the world have hinted at the thing, for
fear of your becoming indignant and insulted.
JNow, reader, self-abuse, venereal diseases badly cured
and sexual excesses, are all capable of producing a weak
ness of the.generative organs. The organs of genera
tion, when xn perfect health, make the man. Did yo®
ever think that those bold, defiant, energetic, persever
ing, successful business men are always those whosa
generative organs are in perfect health ? You never hear
such men complain of being melancholy, of nervousness,
of palpitation of the heart. They are never afraid tney
cannot succeed in business: they don’t become sad and
discouraged; they are always polite and pleasant in tha
company of ladies, and look you and them right in tha
face—none of your down looks or any other meanness
about them. Ido not mean those men who keep these
organs inflamed by running to excess. These will not
only ruin their constitutions, but also those they do busi
ness with or for. . L
How many men from badly-cured private diseases,
from the effects of self-abuse and excesses, have brought
about that state of weakness in these organs, that has
reduced the general system so much as to induce almost
every other disease—idiocy, lunacy, paralysis, spinal affec
tion, suicide, and almost every other form of disease
which humanity is heir to, and the real cause of th®
trouble scarcely ever suspected and have doctored for all
but the right one.
who are destroying their Physical Strength and Mental
Happiness by their uncontroled passions, or who are al*
ready weakened and impotent by the folly of the past,
why do you suffer when you must know the sure result if
you allow the disease to ruin and debase you, mind end
body? If you would avoid this disease, which render®
marriage improbable, or the married life a failure, be
warnea in time, and let no false modesty keep you froni
making known your troubles and receiving a sure and
lasting cure. I have cured Thousands and will you, if
you call in season. A short time under my treatment
will make you a new fixan, and send you forth into the
world an honor to your sex, and, I trust, a blessing ta
mankind. , ALBERT LEWIS, M. D.,
Author of the “Medical Companion and Guide to
Health.’’ can be confidentially consulted at his old estab
lished office. No. 7 BEACH STREET, near West Broad
way, New York.
O Hee nours from 9A.M. to BP. M. Sundays, from 13
A. M. to 12 M. . x
and Midwife, can be consulted at No. 42 St. Mark’s
place, near Second avenue. Having had twenty-five
years’ experience in the treatment of all female com
plaints, she can guarantee cure when all others fail. Hex
remedies are safe and sure, and always give immediate
relief. Pleasant rooms and board for those from a dis
tanoe. Consultations at all hours.
Always sure—a patient
WRITES: “I spent S4O for drugs. All failed.
Electricity relieved me in ten minutes without pain.”
Dr. and Madame DUBOIS, No. 38 Third avenue, below
Tenth street. Exclusive board and attendance. Relief
positive. No deception. No quackery.
V V consult DR. LEWIS; ha guarantees that nona
shall leave his care until cured and restored to sound and
vigorous healtn. His office is at No. 7 Beach street, near
West Broadway, since 1840.
weakness, night emissions, pains in the backhand
general debility, are MANCHES’ CELEBRATED
FILLS. They are warranted to cure any case of this mind
and body destroying disease. No mattor how obstinate.
A CURE IS CERTAIN. Price One Dollar per box, or six
boxes, $5, by mail or at the office. Call or write to Dr.
MANCHES, No. 651 Broadway. New York.
Dr. hunter.s botanic cordial
is the only positive and Specific Remedy for all
personal suffering from general or sexual debility, all de
rangements of the nervous forces, melancholy, sperma*
torrhoea or seminar emissions, all weaknesses arising
from sexual excesses, or youthful indiscretions, loss al
muscular energy, physical prostration, nervousness
weak spine, lowness of spirits, dimness of vision, hys
terics, pains in the back and limbs, impotency, &c. .
No language can convey an adequate idea of the
mediate and almost miraculous change it occasions to
the debilitated and shattered system. In fact, it stands
unrivaled as an unfailing cure of the maladies abova
Suffer no’more, but try one bottle; it will effect a cur®
where all others fail, and although a powerful remedy,
contains nothing hurtful to the most delicate constitu
tion. Price, Five Dollars. No. 3 Division street sine®
1834. Book of 60 pages gratis.
B Twenty-five years successful practice. Always
safe; always sure. Dr. and Madame DUBOIS, No. 38
Third Avenue. Electricity scientifically applied.
Thousands are ruined beyond
REDEMPTION in this life by not calling on Dr.
HUNTER sooner or later. He can cure the worst cases
of secret disease in a snorter time than any other pnysi
cian, or no pay taken. Skeptics and doubters will pleas®
call and read Jots of reliable certificates of cures mad®
within the last thirty years, of almost hqpeless cases.that
had had the benefit of dozens of the most eminent pliysi
cians and surgeons. Dr. Hunter is in constant attend
ance, from 8 in the morning until 9 at night, at ms
office, No. 3 Division street, New York city, since
Charges moderate, and a cure guaranteed. »epar ate
rooms, so that the patient sees no one but tne v
himself. His wonderful medical discovery, J>r.
TER’S RED DROP, cures private diseases, vvhen regu
lar treatment and all other remedies fail; cures w.
dieting or restriction in the habits .of the Patient; cures
without the disgusting and sickening effects of all other
remedies: cures in new casesm Jess tnan six hou s, > cures
without the dreadful consequent effecte of mercury, an®
possesses the peculiarly valuable u mie toab?
the rank and poisonous taint that the blood is sure wao
sorb unless remedy is
tor it and what so well known, that soientiiia
this respect has bo r , raen t °of medical knowledge, begin
toTmnSo U ?o“ a* .weaknesses is S
’ Hruo’cists, chemists, a n d physicians, in re
consulted by dr P? fu i ’ pat j en t, who has exhausted th®
gard tn some 1 f acU | ty and still the disease will ap-
Sar ° What Hinan being, with any pretention to Chris-
will say that tins medicine should not be mad®
InmvnfX and wide? Its popularity 13 so great, that
M iq not a quack doctor in the city that has not at
if and when they find their lies are not so easily
K?vafiowei. they then pretend that they can make it. It
fa®? a vial, and cannot be obtained genuine anywhere
bnt atthe old office, No. 3 Division street. One dollar
uriV secure by return mad his medical work, 3)0 pages*
Tccolored pictures, worth all thaothersput together

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