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WHAT CARE I?
1 v. w. rriH »cA*i». « hat rare I it I tee her txAf It to.fWHifh — 1 hat I (tin gaaa on the nrj spot WUit imimling lira fcuaihie .<qt « la ««MUMdrwuKV * Vhat car* I if »h«K»ow»»otnin* A , , At tuoni and e»e "Wh n she »ulfc» fcwtjh «the flowfri-i lei. In gliiup**« «.It h.T fonut are, ^ y. What >nt* 11f #hh Ifr<ta nok untie » heu 1 <W"H »»art . t'nlv t<> help her a<*raM the stil#, Ac I with rf*ht jeerh aa How f iHifV, What i-ara I if she aeeraa to cuy t * 1«»» her I win ; Kor though »h* .-il!» m« a fvntmh l«»y That «own »ill en»»« «Mit*otter toy! Sfcalh Willi What car» I If »im will not wedf No greater tili.« Could 1* than when, as »he softly *aUl, "I lot® yo«," and lowly tient her head. * 1 ».ola a kiv VTh.it car« I U the w rid go wrong? S<>w -he i.< mine, 1 he I lay « are «w«et an<i the day« are long. All that *v hut an empty song — This, Joy divin*. —Saw Orleans Timce-Deiuocrat. A MODERN PLATO. ' I re«'.It do not know whether we shoald advise for or against his coming. Bride*' The speaker was one of two elderly wom en who were seated in the bow window of r house, a "villa" residence in the Western Highlands. The villa stood quite alons and faced as* extensive loch which spread for many milt« on either side. There was a garden before the house with & lawn that sloped down to a white narrow road made close to the water s edge. Across the loch the view was lovely; it embraced a little hamlet nestling among trees and backed by a rang« of gorgeoui hills covered with heather and bracken all aj;!owcow with Autumn tints: hills that rose up until they seemed to touch the clouds and draw them down to Hit in chtn^eful vapor ous shadows over their rugged sides. Behind the house there were more hills that looked nearer and rose higher, and were scantier of vegetation on their north ern aspect; and below these hills there were a tew cottages scattered here and there, formiog the tiny village of St. Xeots. The two women In the bow window were much too busily occupied by their work and their discu«siou to spare attention to the scenery. TVey knew ita'l by'.heart, and they were not of the type of creature to whom nature s moods appeal. They were tall, spare worn en, with grave, quiet faces, out of which the i >\ le^sntas ot their narrow life hid nuench ed every spark ot animation; faces whose expression was one ot sad content with the muuotony of existence. Tht-y were a little 9tirred just now. There was even a touch of excitement in the tone in which the one called Janet had addressed her si>tt-r. 'l>o you think we should advise him to let him come, Bride ? ' Mi" i».»i ii^r tu erro^ation in a different '» '• ui hn time because bride had nor an h»-r first appeal It seemed too l.rv» quH'ir»» to K» gnoken of without deliberation. Bride had just laid down her work, and turned her faded gray eyes to the window, as it to look there for guidance, when the door opened and the object of their disquiet appeared. A little slim creature in a -ray gown fash ioned after the manner of lier half-sisters, and with that same air of subdued quiet ness clinging about her. Nevertheless she had an eager face, with large dark eyes that bla/.fd and sparkled as if a smouldering tire were hidden in their depths. She glided in so quietly that she heard the last words spoken !>y Janet, and answered them in a breathless tone. "Uh, yes, he must come. Dear Janet, you must let him come." Bride turned and ga/ed at her, thought fully, curiously, half in dismay. "why are you so anxious, Phemie?" The girl gave a little gasp. She was so much excited that she grasped a book she had taken up until the marks of her fin ngtrs w*re stamped on the soft leather bind ing. "Oh, I want to see some one who has lived," she cried, "not only existed, like us." '•Child!" said Janet, "we are very happy here. ' She spoke partly from conviction, partly from habit. It was one of the trials of the elder sisters' lives that there placid routine did not content or suffice for Phemie. She would take lite of rebellion against its stagnation and want of purpose; would cry out that she did not believe in coming into the world merely to be, she wanted to see more of its great human machiner, to do, and, it need be, to suffer like other created beings. ' We live a vegetable life here, ' she would declare passionately. ''We eat and sleep and go to and fro with those everlasting hills closiug us in on every side, and that grvat pitiless sheet of water always before us. Why can't we go out into the world like the peo ple we see coming here on the coaches and steamers? They ao not stay frittering away life in one place with no sufficient occupa tion for mind aad body!" When Phemie spoke hke this Janet and Bride used to hold their breath in disnny. What were they to do with her? how were they to alter thé existing state of things ' "It ia all very well in Summer time," i'hemie would cry, waxing poetic in her tragic youfhfulness, when the sun shines and the loch is like a huge mirror reflecting back the outlines and hues of the hills when the air is so pure that one feels intoxicated with deli» ht, and when one can wander all dav on the moorland and feel the fragrance - - J i ,u „ ot tne neainer anu »vx Ul * I |*Q, »UV« MVW» «uv cries of the birds, breaking the silence; but in Winter She did not finish her description, she only shivered. The vision before her eves was of stormv Autumn and Winter months when this little hamlet among the hills was inexpressibly dreary, when the loch was just a dull gray reflection of the clouds above it, and the great hills were half clothed in a heavy cartain of mist. There was always much rain at St Neots—the tourists who came there in Summer even complained of I hat—and the few city men who had shoot ing boxes in the neighborhood found it a drawback to their enjoyment. Tbey need not have grumbled. They went away with the swallows, as soon as the df lights of the fine weather were over. Wry few people lived at St. N'eots all the vrar round: the doctor and his family were the cnly gentlefolks. He did not feel the drearinets of the place as his three daugh ters did lie was a man who had settled down as parish doctor in th:s widely scatter ed poor district in Scotland; not bec vu« he chose it, (so few of us do choose where our days shall be passed, bu^beeause he had no heart to struggle with fate. His life had been one long experience of disappointment —beginning when as a student befell into the mistake ot fancying that mediocre tal en»s and utter want of perseverance insured a career When that dream of ambition faded, he foil in love, or thought he did, with Jane and Bride's mother,» woman of weak perceptions and narrow sympathies. Then she died and left him free, and he thought be was near to attaining the ideal happiness he had somehow missed in his first marri monial venture. He had paid a profea ioaal visit to Kd in barg, and there he met Paemie'a mother, an English girl, who was a governess ii> a friend s family. This was five years after his first wifa's death, and his two daughter* ware respjo: ively twelve and thirteen. When his shor: eager courtship ended he seat for ths t#] girls to make the acquaintance of their stepmother and after the marriage the whole party traveled to St Neots together.* That was Janet and Bride's one glimpse of the great world. It was twenty years •go, and the kind Httle ex-goverites hi I been lon^ dead, leaving a da'ighfer who was now just the age she had bam when she married. Dr. Maclean's worldy affairs had not pros pered overmuch. He coold afford his daugh ters litterally no advantages in the way ol education. He thonght they were 'as happj m most rirls;" if he could have given theo society be would here done so, bat the bird« of passag* who cane to St Neots, it thay re quired ike doctor's professional attendance were not sufficiently iaprewed in his favor I® At«# their acquaintance to hie family. ' iwniiMl <iis and Phemie *M nineteen, M*d h?» ' Su of temper' and "discontent," intfead of weariog themselves oat, as her titters hoped, teemed to become more Ire I quent Une of them had occurred just the day ! t«t©r«. Aa event had come inte their lire« and set Janet and Bride ducuaaing so seri ously how they were to act. The event came first in the form of a let ter banded to Phemie from the window of ihe tiny Post-Office, which during the visitors' season was sometimes besieged by an eager crowd; carried home by her in a state of eater curioai'y—first, because it was so strange for l>r Maclean to ge: a letter at all, and secondly, beause it bore the post mark of Halifax and had an American I siatcp. It proved to be a letter of introdaction, wiitttn in a simple easy fashion, from au old chum of the doctor's college days, who had long ago settled in the New World, and had been lost sight of by his friends in the Old. I should say rather a letter of recom mediation, for it explained that the writer s son had just come over the "big pond'' to make a tour in Kurope—a reward, the proud father wrote, for diligence and success in j studv—that his plan ol travel would em- i brace the Western lliglands, and that his father wished very much that he should make ! :he acquaintance of his old friend. Dr. j Derrick wrote in the semi romantic strain that is apt to overwhelm a man when he i digs up the memorns of his youthful days. | Time aud distance had softened down much that was essentially comonplace in the at lachmtut between himself and Dr. Maclean. A leeling akin to self Dity stole into the | latter's heart *hen he remembered that he had been utterly content to let this man, who i seemed to cberrish sa warm a sentiment to ward himself, drilt into the unused corner • of his heart that was lull of only lukewarm memories. It stirred him all the more to feel an in I terest in the youth he was asked tc welcome, ] aud there was something ot his youngest j daughter's expression in his face when he communicated the news to the elder ones, j They looked at each other in the timidly i mysterious fashioned in which inexpericnc- | ed women lace the problem of life. "A young—man—to come here," said ! Janet. I Bride finished thetrain of thought. "There i is Phemie," she said Dr Maclean blun- j 1 dered into their meaning manfully. "What of Phemie?" he asked. '"This is only a lad—at least" (referring to the letter) ' he has just completed his twenty-tirst year, l'hemie is a child yet. "Nineteen," said Bride. Of course she and Janet knew nothing, j never uream-a 01 Knowing ui u» • mysterious impulse that makes the world go round. Love was a vague, unimajin- ! able sensation to them, a etory book excite- j ment, altogether beyond their ran^e—but I —there was Phemie; and Phemie was dif- ] ferent. Dr. Maclean found the suggestion awk ward—therefore he chose not to entertaiu it. "We must let the lad come," he said, ' and make him very welcome—this letter gives i me an address to him. I will write at ones | • Or stay"—with a vague recurrence of pv ; rental guardianship—"if, upon thinking it over you two see any great objections ?—I : will leave you to discuss it until Icjme in from mv rounds." And ke hurried off with a fresh vigor in his step, as if this message from the outer world had stirred his pulse pleasantly, and Janet and Bride sat over their work in the j bow window and talked in low, serious tones ur.til Phemie interrupted them. Of course, the doctor wrote and told young Christopher Derrick to come. When he got ' out on the moor, with the fresh wind blow ing in his face, those vague scruples and shadowy misgivings floated away. His little j fîirl (for so he tenderly designated Phemie) j must take care of herself—it would be ' soemething too refreshing to have a strange J and traveled youth at Lis fireside: it would be good for Phemie, too, to see something i bright and young. The doctor smiled as he thought of the disparity between his i children, then he sighed and wished, for the hundredth time, that one of them had been a son. And then he put his pony faster i over the boggy ground, and made haste to finish his work so as to get home and write that welcome to the stranger guest. It was the beginning of Octoher when j Christopher Derrick arrived at St. Neots. He came like a burst of snnshine, or a great whiff of pure air, or anything else suggestive of cheerfulness and light. He was a tall, broad shouldered young man with a rich complexion and very dark eyes, inherited from his 1'rench Canadian mother, aud with a heartiness and freedom of manner that was thoroughly English. Perhaps his American up bringing had en hanced the latter trait, he was so thoroughly sure of himself, and so positive that every ' one else woul£take him at his own valua- ! tion. His self-confidence was entertaining, j and served to put him at one« above the ! level of his hosts, while it entirely lifted from their shoulders anv lesponsibilities as to his feeling hiuiself welcome. • The doctor and Phemie had been out ! when he arrived; as he had left the date un ! curtail, there wa3 eo use in meeting the coaches and they came in late one after- J noon to find Janet and Bride talking to the ; youth in the sitting room overlooking the ! Wh. Or, rather, he was talking to tlem; b^ was standing by the window admiring ! the view which said was "perfect in its way, j but wasn't it a little shut in? Just as he trot so '&r, Phemie entered, and j he turned witù a lormai oow as unur s»iu ' My sister." It changed into a delighted j look of surprise, which he frankly explained afterward to Phemie herself. "I really thought every one was old here, I vou eee." he said, "and I d been reckoning ! ou a dull time. But vou and 1 shall be great friend.«, I'm sure.'' Phemie smiled and blushed. This was ; the day after Mr. Derrick had arrived, and already they seemed like old friends. To her lot it had fallen to show him the imme diater beauties of the vicinity; the doctor could not devote his whole day.to his i»uest, and he had "annexed Phemie with the greatest composure. "I'm sure Miss Phemie will come out wiih me," and the elders seemed to fall at onue into his easy wuv of taking it for grunted that he should ha ve the society of the young girl, who brightened visibly under the new, strange influence. His wonder at Phemie s life was great; the contrast it presented to anything he had , known struck him forcibly. "What do you do all day here'?' ha a«ked; "in Winter, I mean, when the roads must cften be blocked with snow and you I can t get away in this direction if it is j stormy." He waved his hand over the expanse of blue water that lay shimmering in the Au tumn sunlight, then he turned and glanced at the hills behind him. "It is just like a J cage," be said. "That's just what I feel," said Phemie; I "we can't get out." 'Ihe young man laughed merrily. He thought she was quoting the startlings little ; cry, and the idea amused him. "I suppose tha shooting is about over," he said. ' Oh, yes. their are no pheasants; the sportsmen are jeusraily all £one by the enl of September. Mr. Derrick looked reflect*»». "I should like to know kow it feels, this kind of Efe,'' he said, his American metaphysical vein coming t» the surface; "to a man. now, it would be inbearable." Phemie said nothing. She was stand ing at his side gazing straight across the j loch. J ' I suppose a woman is differ»«!," h» et*' . tinned, "and yet it is a gray existence." He was thinking of Janet and Brida. Their qniet grimness had struck him forcibly. He tared to Phemie again. "You won't live here all your lite* he said. Then he was tired of being serious, and he began to talk in a ouaint, funny strain, tell ing her about hi« life at home He appeared to be an idolized son. and to have "knocked abont." as he expressed it, a great deal. "When I made the grand tour," he said, "and it's one of the benefits of being a natu ralized citizen that the grand tour is con sidered indispensable to a fellow's éducation, and a very good way of edacatiog it is— when I've finished traveling I shall set up as my father's assistant, and marry and all that. ' lie spoke of his fatore confidently, and teemed perfectly contented with it. He was certainly a youth of resources; he found plenty to amuse and interest him foe the iortnight he spent at St. Neotn, in spite of the otter absence of society. "There's nowhere to ga," said Phemie oae day, *unless you take the ooach and go the way you came, or unless you cross the loch, and the Summer ferry has stopped now. If you did get across, perhaps there would be nothing to amuse you at Fiacaile, it is only a little village." Mr. Derrick declared he was sufficiently amused, and that he liked new experiences, and the monotony of St. Neots was very novel to him He used to lie on the ed » o< the loch in the few bright, warm Indian S>. mmerlike days that followed his arrival with a pipe in his month and "moon," as he collcd it It waea rest, he ssid, in the io terval8 of travtl. And he often went long tramps wirh the doctor, who greatly en joy«d his society. With the elder Misses Maclfan he did not get on so well. He per plexed them bv his cheerful manner and aVrt ways, and rhey were always losing tl emsohes in the rnid-t of hi< rapid tali. So it happened nearly alwayii when the doctor was away that Phemie and the "young man," as Bride called him, passed their time together and grew more and more intimate. He took pleasure in draw ing out her thoughts, in seeing her expres sive, delicate little face brighten and change, Phemie had grown quite different since he came. Her father saw the change, so did her sisters, uneasily. She did not trouble her head about her own sensations; she only felt that everything was verv good, and that life was brighter than she had be lieved possible. She lived in the present entirely, because the present was enough for her, and her experience had no clue to the future. Toward the end of Mr. Derrick's viäit she began to consider it. It was forced upon her by a vein of talk opened^between them. He began it: "Do you know, I guessed you and 1 would be friends." he said; "but it s funny what real good chums we are. I like talking to you and telling you things —you're what we call 'sympathetic'—you seem to understand a fellow so well. I never knew but one other person who did understand me like that " '"Your mother '" asked Phemie "No." he said, ' not my mother, a much youcger woman." Then he bent his head over a sketch he was doiner. and did not notice how Phemie's color was changing apd her breath coming quickly with pleasure at his praise. •'I hope." he said presently, "that your life won t be like your sisters. ' "Ob, no!" said Phemie. The words were almost a cry for help, lie seemed to understand them so. "If I can do anything to pevent it, it shail not," he said, in a toue that was quite fiercely decided Then he looked gently at her. "Do you "think I could do anything," he said, "to make you happy ?" There was a small boat rowing &cros3 the loch at that moment—the dip and splash of the oars had been coming steadilv nearer and nearer to them in the stillness ot tue bright afternoon. Now it came in close, and the crew, two ragged boys and a little girl, selected the very spot where they were sitting to land. "Step out and pull her in, Tonald'" cried one shaggy haired urchin to the other: and Tonald obeyed, but as he put his bare foot outside the boat it gave a lurch, which sent him head foremost on the shingle. Mr. Derrick sprang up quickly and lifted him, than gave a hand to the boat, pulling her in with a will, and gaining a glance of admiration and gratitude from the little maiden, whom the boys called "Maggie," and who, with her bleached elf-locks hang ing over her eves, looked '.he impersonation of a voung Highland witch. Derrick was sized with a desire to draw her. Ile soon persuaded her to sit down on a stone beside him, while the boys watched curiously; their opinion of their sister's im portance suddenly elevated many degrees. He seemed to have forgotten all about that unanswered question of his. Before he had finished his sketch the bright sky was over cast, and one of the heavy sudden rains so common at St. Neota began to fall. He sent the child away then and hurried Phemie home with the ready carefulness that was one of his characteristics. When she looked out of her window after taking off her things, the loch was all a sheet of sullen gray, with a tempestuous breeze stirring its surface. "That is like it looks in Winter," she said, shivering, as she hurried down stairs. Mr. Derrick was in the sitting room, discoursing to Bride on the mysterious sympathies between nature and created being. It is to be supposed that something he paw in the landscape before him had awakened bis interest in the topic, but he had a habit of discoursing on the first thing that came into his mind, until you imagined that he had thought long and felt deeply upon it. It was part of his youthfulness. Bride was not a sympathetic listener, so he turaed gladly to Phemie when she ap peared, and talked to her until the elder sister suggested that the blind might as well be drawn and the lamp lighted and the bleak evening shut out. He was just talk ing about the Canadian Winters: describing the glorious snow covered landscapes that would now Surround his home. Phemie waa standing, a little quite, gray, entranced figure, in the dusky light. "I should like you to see my home,"' he said suddenly. "I should like to take you to Canada and show you things you would feel and appreciate 60 much. His voice Bounded tender. Phemie was glad the twilight covered her blushes. Then he said in a louder tone, "My mother would like you; you must come and visit us. I f you did that," eagerly, "th 're would be no tear of your settling down to a life lik this. ' lie glanced toward Bride, who was sitting in the firelight, bent over her work with the usual gently depressed stoop of her thin shoulders. Phemie gave a little sob of pleasure; her excitement was more than she could sup press, and she was thrilling all over with the strange sensation inspired now by the very tone of Christopher derrick's voice. When he drew closer to her she fairly tre:a bled. Bride looked up with a little start, as if the atmosphere were too much charged with emotion for even her serenity to be unmoved. She only saw a picture of Phemie in tie window, h >r little figure de fined against the light, and Christopher Derrick standing before her speaking eager 1Jr" Plenty of such pict ures are to be seen in the world. They had not been common in Bride's meagre experience, bat the con viction darted at once through her mind that little Phemie was drifting away from her into a land full, perhaps, of strange new pleasant things, but full also of shoals and quicksands which might bruise the delicate teet. Poor Bride! motherly and tender-heart ed according to her limited capacity; she remembered afterwards with a thrill how she felt, and how the next moment she had shivered and drawn closer to ths fire, as a vague, terrible forboding of evil came upon her. A dat or two U»er Christopher Derrick was bidding tbera all good bye, but only for a won. He wanted to return to St. Neots after he bad done his Scottish tour; fai^% lew days He even talked of •pendis» Ckrôtm«is with them, because, as be ft*nk!v said, "rhej w.?ro the only people who were in the least like home friends; and since h« irai i« banish Tient it would be pleasant to «afMBg* greetings " ' I *.hall hwirtiosTs of letters, of coir«?," he said, and I shall want awfully to be with them all in Halifki, espacially this Christmas." Then he wrung the doctor's hand and turned to Phemie. "And I want to see yon again." he said. "You won't forget what friends we are." There seemed to be something impelling , him to linger out his farewells. The d'K- , tor, touched by this vague hesitation. an4 i proportionately unwilling to part with the bright lad, offered to go with him down to the coach. ''Thank yon," he nil, with a relieved air. ' The fact il, I wanted to mj something to you." Dr. Maclean Teh hi« ears grow hot. Was the impetuous fellow soin# to confide in bim an attachmeui lor Pbeune, and a»k his leave to persue it? Of coarse, the doctor, having little eke to intereft him, had taken notes of progress of this "friendship." The two walked away side by side, slow ly, and at laat the younger man spoke eagerly. "I wanted to see tou about— about Phetnie," he said. "Sne s'-enn to me so young, and it is such a dull life here for her. Of course, it would not be quite conventional for me to ask you to let her go back to Halifax with me now, but some day soon I do. hope you will let her visit us." The docter did not reply; he was a little pnzzltd. Young Derrick cleared his throat nerv ously- "But I am going to be carried s-oon," he said, "and I hope you will let her coœe atd visit—us." There was a nervous intonation in his voice; it actually trembled when he said •us." If Dr. Maclean htd looked up at him he would have seen that the young fel low's face was quite radiant. Bat the doc tor did not look up; he was too much occu pied in trjing to conceal the pallor and choking sensation thai suddenly overcame bim. He conld not have told why, but at that moment he felt as if the greatest misfortune bis life had yet held had come upon him. He seemed to live through a whole lifetime of emotions before he had broken that strange silence. When he did speak it was in a harsh, strained voice. "Why didn't you tell us this before?' His companion looked at him in surprise —in unfeigned surprise; the contrast be tween his face, in which there was a soft tenderness of expression that made it look graver and handsomer than usual, and the doctor's own worn gray couLteuance, struck the latter sharply. He felt that he knew how he was looking. He could hardly believe that the meaning of his look could fail to strike the young man; but it did. He answered quite tirnply : "J dont talk about it much, because she —because I—am so awfully happy about :t. It did not occur to me that you would oe interested, tbocgh I always meant to tell JGU." Dr. Maclean shook himself out of his dis tressed feeling with a vigorous effort. ' Of course not," he said "I mean, at least, that of course we should be interest . d, and somehow 1 never thought of your iiesng in love." "No?" said the young man, incredulously. 1 have felt awfully inclined to tell you all -ince I knew you better. I tried to tell Phe nie once, but then 1 fancied she did not » are to interest herselfso much in mvaffaira !>ut I want her aud Kose to be friends. I .-hould like all my lriends to be my wife's too." He said the words my wife" with a proud • Ii IU Lia U ULI , lucu ut W»v»v« »... 'kce away. ' I wish 3 ou knew her,' he said. But before the doc.or had time to respond o this wish the coach came rattling down to •s usual starting point, andjjthere was only ime for Mr. Derrick to scramble into a seat, .i'ttr squeezing his host's hand fiercely and -ajing hopefully, "Then I shall see you at Christmns. Good bye; I shall look forward to Christmas. When the doctor Lad seen the coach out . 1 sight he walked very slowly home, his i hi^on his breast, his mind full of troubled reflections. "'Who'd have thought it?" he eeid; "who would ever have thought it? And this is one of his 'friendships, I sup pose." He found opportunity to disclose the news to his daughters that same day. It lay like a nightmare upon him, and he wanted to re lieve himself of the terrible fear that hia uneasiness bad warranted. Young people like Phemie might understand things differ «•mly. The girl had been going about all day singing, with a light in her eyes and a beautiful flush of color in her cheeks. "Mr. Derrick is going to write and give me his impressions of the'Trossachs in Winter,'" she told Bride. She was as gleeful as pos sible, and late in the afternoon she had been out on a long rumble, and brought back a great load of tinted bracken aud brilliant Autumn leaves. She was arranging these in a vase when her father came in and sat down by the fire. Janet and Bride were seated there sewing. Their lamp was on a email table near, and the larger table, by which Phemie stood with her treasures, was lighted only by the faint dajlight and the glow of the fire. Dr. Maclean cast a wi?tful glance at the alert little tigure. l'hemi^was trilling a little song to herself in a low pretty vaice. She seemed to have developed this faculty lately, along with other bright characteristics of youth. "Well, girls," began the father, seating himsel "how do we feel without our guest ?' "We miss him," said Janet, softly; and Bride added, "The house feels quiet without him." "Yes," said the doctor, "he'd plenty of life and spirit, lie told me some news about himself to-dav." He saw Phemie turn toward him; he knew she was listening breathlessly. "lie says he's going to be married," said 'he doctor, trying to impart a jocular tone •0 his voice. •'To be married?" said Bride. She let h<rwcrk fall in her lap. lier father went on hurredly, looking straight into the tire. ' Yes, 1 was rather surprised he hadn't told ur btfore. I had no idea of the depth of re serve he was capable of until he spoke to me this morning "1 suppose (with a faint lai«nL\ /ii/1 «ist* ^ûa! qo lia If noir 11a wall enough to entrust us with his secreta." ' Then why did he tell you now? ' asked Bride. She and her father were both subduing their voices to an unemotional pitch. They both knew by the dead silence, the utter absence of stir or rustle, that Phemie wafl listening intently. "Because he had a kind of a plan in his head for Phemie. said her lather. Taen he turned with a laugh to his youngest hauih ter. "He seemR to have made great friends with you, eh'.' lie thought that when he was married perhaps 1 would allow her to pay him and his wife a visit." There was silence again—that uttîr awk ward silence that is so dreadful betwe :n peo ple near and dear; then Phemie's voice i broke it. "It was—very kind—o" him,' she said. No one looked at her. The thin little figure against the table with a white fice turned to the firelight, and hands still un consciously busy with a frond of bncken, was not a sight that any of tùe threî pe> pie who loved her cared to conte opiate then. When the turned and with a swift light step glided from the room, no one spoke again—until a kitten, that was lying oa the rug, having been busy all this time e wang ling itself in Bride's woo', forced its antics upon her attention. She bent over it an! tried to laugh: "Little silly thing! she (■aid, "we shall have to cut the wool to re lpa«eit." Thejdoctor got up and shook himsel". "We can't release all the silly little things in that fashion," he said; the knots have to be un tied somehow." lifter that they all watched for a change in Phemie—but it did not come so s > m as they feared. Perhaps because she fj't she was watched she made such a gallant äght to ap[t*r as usual. Several letter« ca ne to her from Christopher Derrick, am uiag letter*, signed alwavs, "Your affecti »nate friend." ' Does he write to other girls like tha% Phemie?" Bride asked; and Phemiî an swered. in that feverish little tone she had adopted, that "she fancied ao;" he had rery likely a number of girl" friends." But she did not answer the letters. Once or twice Bride found her in her room with some torn sheets of paper before her, jand a terribly weary look in her eyes. Thé pretty bright color had begun to fade and thieve» to lose their laughing happiness; she took long walks, coming in faded and spiritless; sh> had been to places where shs ha i walked with bias, but somehow the beiuties of the scenery had lost their interest. One afternoon Bride came opoo h»r sit ting at her wiadow with a hungry, eagor look on tier white face. It was a thoroughly gr»y November day, rain was falling at intervals, the wind was "soughing" arouni the house, the loch looked l«adea and gloomy, and (bote great hills close in nearer in the hear/ M m Of phere. bride shirred as »ho looked oat, and drew Phemie away. ' Why do yon sit here, dear?" she said with an attempt at cheerful Dt£S ''I'm not cold," said Phemie. "Bride, did it ever strike you that wu are just like birds caged here? we can't get out." Bride was distressed to see these signs of the girl's old restlescnea returning, ana tried to reason it away. "You «»re only feeling the gloom of Winter, dear," she said: "every "one does at this time of rear." "Yes," said Phemie; "and there is noth ing to help one to forget." Poor Bride! sheonly half understood, and the hhd no cure to apply. She thought Phe mie would "get over it," aad settle into placid content as she bad done, So the girl dreamed away her days and ate her heart out in silence. Th^dfcjs grew on to Christmas, and still young Christopher Derrick wrote those bril liant cheerlnl letters; sometimes to the doc tor, sometimes to Phemie. The doctor an swered bin, and Phemie sent messages, such quaintly worded messages that made her tatber smile. He though she was pale and quiet, but be hoped his tears had been un oucded, as she said nothing. He took her out with bitn often, and she would tramp by his side with a tierce activity that sur prised him. She was often exhausted after these walks, but never "tired, ' and always appearing anxious to go. Ii be did not lake her she went alone. About a week before Christmas a letter came to her from Christopher Derrick, tixing the day of his arrival. She gave the letter to her sisters to read and went away •o 1er rooms, and sat there at the window, looking on to the loch, with those other let ters of his in her lap. She was looking out vacantly at some children playing on the road; she seemed to find some relief even in their appearance of life, among this silent, desolate nature. The gray desolation that had fallen over all the landscape had con tinued through these wintry days. Bride came soon to call her, and made a comment on the letter, she could think of to little to say to Phemie now. She half dreaded the meeting between her and Mr. Derrick, but she could not give vent to her fears. "I m afraid she wishes he was net com ing," she said to her father. Even he was struck by her utter quietness this evening. It was a very brilliant moonlight night. RrîHp'a hurl nffpn întpr rupted by Phemie's habit of talking m her .-leep. Sometimes she had awoke to see a white figure pac ing the room or sitting by the window. At ruth times, in answer to her vigorous scold ing, Phemie would say meekly: "I can't sleep, dear Bride; let me stay here, it is bet- 1 ter than disturbing you in my restlessness." But the elder sister had no patience with i such vagaiies, and Pheiuie was forced to | subside into her couch. Lately the rambling ! incoherent talk had grown more fre.juent. | Phemie had one haunting idea. "Those I everlasting hills were closing her in; that ! dreary sheet of water prevented all chance | of en-ape." "To get away somewhere,"' that was her j une idea. In walking hours they heard I nothing of it, it was only in the feverish night-time that the clue could be got to her state of mind; and Bride, loving as she v a°, had no comprehension what it all meant. At lust there came a night, one bright tnoonlight night a few days before Christ map, when Bride, walking from her slum bers with a half startled fear,missed Phemie from her8ide. That was not so unusual a thing as to cause her intense alarm. She raised herself and looked about the room— and there was no Phemie to be seen. Bride sprang from her couch in alarm; perhaps Phefhie had gone to Janet s room. No; Janet was sleeping alone and serenely until roused by her sister s eager clutch. "Phemie not in her room? Perhaps she had gone down stairs for a book, or—or—" but Junet, too, sprung up instinctively with , a dread of something. They went down stairs together—the front ! door stood open, and a broad stream of moonlight flooded the passage. The two women's faces grew white, ana Bride stole swiftly up stairs again and roused her father. "Phemie gone out? Nonsense, the door must have been left open last night." Nevertheless he hurried down, too late to spare Janet the terrible discovery. Impelled by that vague fear, she had hur ried forward following the track of small i footprints in the soft sand of the garden I walk. Through the gate, down to the waters edge, l>r. Maclean and Bridge fol lowed, in time to save her falling forward to grasp at something white that could be dis tinguished a little way off—the bird had "got out" of its cage. ****** Christopher Derrick arrived on Christmas Eve, to be plunged into dire distress at the calamity that had overtaken his friends. He had an interview with the doctor, who iooked grayer and more meagre than ever. The young fellow almost cried in this dis tress and pity. When his own implied shire in the traçedy burst upon him he buried his J face in nis hands and sat crushed. He only once made an effort to defend himself, j I didn't know—I never thought," he cried | brokf rlj "One makes friends with so iranv girls—I wanted to he h»r friend.'1 I "That was the mistake," said the doctor ] i.uietly; she didn't understand. I' was her i tciffortuDP—poor child—not tobe on a levai I »irh this Platonic age. 1 doD t blamo you; I ut in my dajs young men were different— > hey s iid lt ss and meant more. If you d known how young and how ignorant she | wns, and how sh*'d never played af lore— ! fo it was a terrible reality vet—you'd per heps have gone away sooner.' "I would have done anything to sav lnr," raid the voting fellow, with a watery look in i « • "u:r i'J 1.. 1 •> • tncjrn, h » u vu.; .. .w.. u. ***** The people of the hamlet d*eh with pi- ! ihetic interest on the sad story of .Misa | Phemie'fl nervous illneoS, and tragic acci- ) cental death. The poor dear had wandered cut in her sleep and stepped into the bch. — [Uelgravia. MOSAICS. Art httiM« on «ami ; the work«of j>rii|e Ainl Iiuiiijii |u«i<in I hair."ami lull ; lîiil that whlrh *hi*ri*> th> lliVof (><»l With him "iirvin ih nil. —W>>i'<l>w >;-.h. Love is the mo«t dunder-headed of all the 'a&fions: it never will ligten to reason. The \fry rudiments of logic ate unknown to it. ' lx>ve has no wherefore," says one of the l atin poets.—Bulwer Lvtton. "Tw hf".rt» tint t ata««ne" Nfran.-'v H it Ii I» autv in liramatir «|>ee<-h. "T»'i»iul> v itti t.ul .1 -iiiuh- Ihuiiiilii" MaLi-< naît h.'f ;i thought f.ir ea.-h ' — I'iiila h'lphia N-wi. However rich or powerful a man may be, ir is the hight of folly to make personal < nemies: for unguarded movement (aid who could support the horrorg of « never ceas- ' ing vigilance?) may yield yon to the revenge I of the most despicable of mankind.—I.yt- ! tleton. Through Itiehaivti not«.-* of o-ir -lay A low, -wiri pn liidc tiiiil* its wajr; Through rlou.l- of J »«hl, an J ^iv-vU of /ear, A lishi is breaking, ra'.iii and de-ir. —Whitti«r. If the heman intellect hath once taken a liking to any doctrine * * * it 1 ('raws everything else into h%rmony with 1 that doctrine, and to its support —Lord j Bacon. A wMiiw'usajfrkiinw withawfnl fiïht. When yon a re in the wrung, »he in th.- ri*hu Eut, oh! wùal lu.ii»iiuitf«'Jeaiiier wralh prolong When you ar> in the right, «be in the wron^! Friends, let us hold by our hopes. * * ) All lhing6 here pas«; jet say not they are lut hopes It is because they are no; the thiag toped for that they are precious—the ver/ | opals of the sonl. ' By our hopes are we saved.—George Macdonaid. That thou hevail'irt ihr IM with »neh a bitter i-rj, Mu*t hare a higher ►a» of worihiueM than I. K*r N roiid vir <ie*erU ha»e be-a the bl.-nia;» aeat, 1 And I Uxiuid hr a»haraed, if I »ere oot ronteat. iaduta of the Brahmin. > Read new books, welcome new thoughts, take op new studies, thus only will /oar mind retain.it* fresh vigor, thas only will it attain to a breadth and depth to which it has not yet attained —^nnday School Times. The lilly is white as snow, The rose is as the crimson red ; Bat neither can snrpar :n glow, Tbf color or the hrif htr em. \ed, By the sweet Hps and teeth allied ThatSOBODOXT has purified A NEW CRIME IN PARIS. Adventures of Rich Ladies With a Photographing Dentist. How a Poar Parisian Picked Up a Spark' ling Brooch from the Gatter—The Suggesting of a Rascally Old Jeweler. Monsieur Cberoy vu a poor dentiat of the Rae de Chaiellea, Paris. He waa a wid ower with a large family, and resided in the Hue Legendr«. He had been struggling for a livelihood for many years, for, although an expert dentist and a fine-looking man of fcocd address, fate seem to have denied him fcuccess. As it was, he was barely able to make a subéUtence for himself and family, and, to tell the truth, added a little to his doubtful professional income by acting nightly as marker in a billiard hall in the Hue des Capucius. On the afternoon of November 7, 1S8S, Cheroy was standing not far from the billi ard hall, when he saw a veiled lady quit a large millinery establishment near by and approach a carriage in waiting for her. The day was windy and raw and the early part bad been wet. As the lady stepped into her carriage her veil blew on one side and she caught it and drew it to her. At the mo ment Cheroy »aw something flach. The lady had entered the carriage and it was driven off. Ttie Lo»l Brooch. Cheroy watched the vehicle depart, and as he was turning away his eye was attract ed by a glitter in the gutter, in which there was mud and water. Looking more care tully he was satisfied that the brilliancy came from nothing less than a diamond. As he drew ner the edge cf the sidewalk he dia tinctly saw that a splendid piece of jewelry lay among the mud. For a moment he hesitated. Paris ia not a city where a per son other than a chiffonier can pick any thing from a gutter without being observed nnd probably surrounded. Cheroy knew this well, and had recourse, therefore, to a ruse. Taking his purse from his pocket, he appeared to be searching for something in side, and then accidently, as it were, dropped it in the gutter. In picking it up he gath ered up the supposed jewel.wiih it, and then placed both in his handkerchief. Having wiped the pocketbook, caretully concealing ihe jewel, he put both into his pocket and went toward the billiard hall. On examining his find he was satisfied j that it was most valuable. A lartie Druu- i ant, surrounded by sixteen smaller stones, | nil set in a magnificent piece of filigree, was disclosed to him. Carefully patting it away, lie attended to Lis duties that night. Mnnxleur GreuM. Next morning he visited the Rue de Vau girard, where an old jeweler whom he knew had his business. This man. named Greuze, bought gold and silver, and supplied a good many of the smller dentists with what they required. Ile was a shrewed dealer and a skilfuly lapidary. When t'heroy showed bim the jewelry he examined it slowly and without enthusiasm, and at last, having scrutinized it through several powerful lenses, he laid it on the counter with a smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, what do you think about it, mon fjeur?" asked Cheroy. ' Paste," was the almost contemptuous reply. "There you are wrong," said Choroy; "no false gams ever shone like those stones, and besides the setting shows that the thing is valuable." Greuze took the jewel once more and ex amined it. At length he said: "I may be mistaken, monsieur, and if you will leave it with me for a few days I will take means to settle beyond a doubt the question of the genuineness of these stones." "Many thanks, ' was the answer; "but I return it to the owner this evening." "The Marchioness du i'onthieu," Greuze said, with a half sneer. "I don't understand you," Cheroy said. "You don't," Greuze replied; "read that." The Kewarri. And he drew a morning newspaper from Lis side pocket, folded so as to show only a small space, and handed it to Cheroy, at the same time placing his finger on an adver tisement. Cheroy took the newspaper and fad as follows: Oxk Thoi'sam) Francs Rkwari».—Lost yesterday (afternoon, in or near the milli nery establishment of Mine. Jolivet, Boule vard des Capucins, a brooch set with one large central brilliant and sixteen smaller ones. The finder will receive tha reward named above in returning the brooch to the Marchioness du Ponthi««, Boulevard Haus mann. "This is the article, evidently," Cheroy said, ' and with a knowledge ot this adver tisement snd reward I cannot understand how you can suppose for a moment that the jewels are spurious." "If they had been genuin«,' was the re ply, "don t you suppose the reward would have been larger?" Greuze asked. "A thousand francs is a good deal of money," Cheroy replied. "To you it may be, was the answer, "but let me tell you that if these jewels ars genu ine they are worth af least thirty thousand Irancs. "Thirty thousand franc«' exclaimed Cheroy. "Every sou of it," said Greuze. "Let me see it again." Cheroy handed him the brooch and he once more scrutinized ii closely. "They may be genuine," he said; "look here." Til« Tempter. He opened a casket and exhibited what appeared to be a magnificent necklace of diamonds. "Will you believe," he said, "when I tell jou that every stone here is spurious—that it is all paste? Jt is true nevertheless. Now, jou are a poor man, and the Marchionesj is rich. Suppose these stones are reaL You j take them to her and she hands you in re turn a paltry 1,000 francs. Nay, you don't know that she may not have a detective in her ante-room to arrest vou as a thief. Now, I will talk business with you—shall 1 ? Then here is my proposal. Thuse stones are genu ine—no doubt of it. If you will leave 'he brooch with me for (our and twenty hours I will take out these stones and put paste in their places and give you ten thousand francs for them. Then you can take the brooch to Madame de Ponthieu and get your thousand Irancs.'1 "But ehe will discover the cheat, will she not?" "if she doe*. ' was toe answer, "lay the blame on me. I will take the ruk." Cheroy was poor and his children were miserably clad and winter was coming on, and he yielded to the tempter. Toe n»xt evening, when Greuie handed him the brooch with paste substituted for the real gems, he was astounded. For the life of kim he could not tell the difference. Money and TkAlki. lie returned the brooch to the Marchion ess and received the reward, but he in vented a story as to how he came by it. "I am an humble dentist," he said, 'aid my small place is on the Bae de Chazeli«*. On the evening of the day before yesterday, when I was about to quu my place, a roagh looking man entered, and, removing a ker chief why h was around his throat and chin, he asked me to examine his front teeth. I found that two of them were broken off and the jaw was swollen. I removed the stampi and applied a soothing lotion to him. He said that some ruff aas had alieapted to roï a lady on the corner of the Boulevard des Capucins and the Rae de Seze, and that in driving them off with some other passen ger, he received a blow across the moath. He was on his way by the Boulevard Males berbea to the Bue Jouffray, when the paia grew ao severe that he sought a dentist After he was gone I was preparing te de part, when I saw something lying in the seat which the stranger had occapie 1 I raised it and found it was a handkerchief tied in several knots. On opening the* I found the brooch inside. I immediately •stared for bon«, and didn't m fiÄr adver tisement until thia morning." 'fin*. Kb«1«w IkriTM. The Marchioneaa de Poathieu waa very grateful to Cheroy, and next day drove to hia office in Um line de Chaxelle with a friend and had Cheroj examine her teeth She made an appointment with hia the next day, by which time he had changed the ier> nit are of the apartment and rented and fitted op an adjoining room. The Mar chioneaa ei preset d her satisfaction and her intention of patronizing him and recom mending him to her mend*. The reealt wee that every day the carriage of tome wealthy lady stopped at the door, and hia circumstances improved rapidly. He ceaeed to be a billiard marker and occupied him self with his prolearion. By and by he let i; be known that he used an anxstheticof a new and improved kind, and to performed dtfficult extractions without pain. Thia waa a cause of increased income. Greuie soon earned ol his prosperity and queationed him as to the character of his patienta. Soon af>er this Cheroy added another room to bis offices, and spent much time there j with Greuze, practicing with a camera until ihf v became expert at taking instantaneous photographs. A Victim. Among his patients waa a Madanr Kmeri an, a wealthy woman, who wore splendid diamonds. Cheroy was removing her teeth one or two at a time, and she suffered much. At length he prevailed upon her to take the anaesthetic. As soon as she became insen sible be removed a splendid bracelet of large and snperb diamonds, and passed it in to Greuze in the adjoining room, who in a minute had taken three or four instantane ous photographs oli t. Meanwhile Cheroy operated a? his patient, and had the anti thetic ready to renew ita eplication if necea eary. Greuze handed back the bracelet, and Cheroy clasped on the lady'a wrist. Then Grenze departed. The next day butfone, Mme. Emerian again submitted herself to the dentist, and again wore the splendid bracelet. Noaooner was she under the influence than Cheroy un clasped the bracelet and handed it to Greu/.e, who appeared from the adjoining room. Greuze compared it with another bracelet, which he then handed with a triumphant look to Cheroy, who clasped it on the lady'a wri«t. This scheme was performed, perhapa, on various customers a score of times without detection, and Cheroy and Greuze were growing wealthy on the spoils. At length a circumstance occurred which led to the detection and punishment of this pair of scoundrels. A (ioud Dog. Ono nfVnrnnnn & Mm« Matlhert. whom thev h ad selected as a victim, came to Che roy's accompanied b? a magnificent mastiff ( herov suggested its being left in charge of the coachman, as it might be troublesome, but Mme. Maubert assured him that he would be perfectly still where she directed him until she gave him permission to more. The pa s was administered, tireu/.e came trom his room holding the spurious gem which »us to be substitute J for the lady's brooch, and Cheroy was in the act of re moving the jewelry trom the lady's neck wten the maslifl'birang upon him and »ei/.ed him by the arm. The wxt moment Cheroy fell, and the dog changed his grip to the throat. The man tlruggled and Greuze tried in vain to drag I tbc stivsge l>ea»t away. Cheroy s cries for ; help were heard on the street, and tiro of- j licers were soon on the spot. lier brooch | was firm in the grasp of Cheroy, who was lacerated and bleeding. Tha moment the lady recognized her jewelry the ollicers' sus picions were aroused, and they would not allow Greuze to depart À search was sub sequently made and a brooch—the vary counterpart, in every respect, of Mm«. Mau bert's, but with spurous gems—as found in | Greuze's possession. The plates disclosed ■ to the eye of a sharp detective the fact that msny beautiful pieces of jewelry had been Lhotographed, and no doubt remained of the business which Cheroy and his accomplices had carricd on. Greuze's place in the Rue de Yaugirard was searched and ralunble gems were fonnd. Cheroy made a conies f-ion, and many precious stones were re covered and restored to their owners. There was no doubt tha! the scheme was of Greuze'« concocting, and that Cheroy was too weak minded to resist temptation. Greuze was sentenced to twenty years and Cheroy to fifteen at hard labor. A Financier of Iii« Futaie. T'<*> Si/lingi. John I iz/leton, of Gal veston, is going to be the \ anderbilt of Texas when he grows up. lie is not very industrious at school, but he has got a wonderful head for busi ness. Ilaring obtained a private interview with his teacher, Johnny asked: "Ami going to get a certificate that I have been an indus'rioos boy during the past week?' ''No, Johnny, 1 am afraid not. You do not deserve any." "Come let us re* son about this matter. My father has promised me $5 if I bring home a good cer tificate. Now don't you see that there is money in that for both of as. llon't you see that our interests are mutual. You give me the certificate and you will fondle ♦ 1 right elf. i ll give jou 2<) per cent, or one htih ot what I get." Th« teacher, who like n est te chers, was a poor half starred nretch yielded to the temptation to amass wealth. Johnny got the first class certifi cate and the pedagogue adhered to the fl To this dsy the teacher is not aware tha' Johnt v (701 $10 instead of $"» from hi s <.,llw.. Mr. Coli«»}'« Mar«*. W'iihingUm, da,. (Jaitltr. A thcrt while since early one morning Mr. H. O. Colley'« mare was turned out of the «table to let her exercise herself io the lot. The morning »an fine and frosty, and the mare wan iriiky and lrolicksome. She went «Tampering over die lot enjoying her freedom, when in pairing the milch cow, «he playfally raided her h^el« and gave a kirk, to knock the Ftopidity out of the cow, and make her join in the fun. It proved a centre «hot, (or the cow was «truck in the bead, and feil over M drad os if «he had been «Lot by & rifle. It in (bought there was no malic* aforethought on the part of the aare. f)et«a*«i Ik* Act*. I kirn! JnirMl. "Too bad I had to go out to «ee that ticket* seller about seats for next week," be re marked to his new wife m he settled him self down after a trip down-stairs between act*: "the affair quite «lipped my mind a* we came in. Were you annoyed, rov dearf "Ob no 1 didn't mind it in the least, thank too I wm quite busy working on a mentaf problem " "And what was that, love?" "W hy they call the front curtain the 4fop" "I »ee. I>id you «acceedT" "Yee. I think I got the correct answer." ' And that waa " "Bee»use so many men £0 out for a drop when it ia down, ay dear." # Kest Mot by SI. John. A mrrinm Rr/urm*r. When Colonel bain introduced (i over nor St. John in Loniaville aa one ' famous for what he bad dooe and wkat he bad not dooe," and aa having won a national reputation daring the late campaign "with iu collateral conaequencea, the Goveriaor neatiy brought down the bouae by aaying: "I believe there waa a good d«al of collateral consequences in (hat campaign, bat the other fellow« got the collateral and I got the conaeqnenoea." hope of The evolutiomist. M»t> uf la tb* count M lb* era»— Kar ta<- 4» 'VU ant «uf '• kaow. But we tbiak we cna7 is it as nw aa A WII»a«o/ »«Mi« or to— Thai aJ) onr loulti.eal Arraaa n ha jrt'be rrawla* ««lallj «44) Will »lovly rn«i u. bwlawH, Ac ! ah* Vr ia caw. sa M et<L Wbea CoiaatM <-rv«t>la umnàmt. W beo tb» Km |/irc of Eer'.«a<llin'i, fVn b»»»lii— UxhI ba va ptmr ia>Jt * bea hai<>im t» tba lore, Wbea athunki^Mtosi hapj'WI Ta mark buw the raaaaaat aaa/ «ut««, Thr Imlnlas *111 anaathar kU aa<aio B« ka«v* that the VU teat iwtti»! Then lYwywn, Wlaaaph a* luajnr, Thea, ruihM. Uva aal «>-■?» ail. Thea «por-l ta Um irr flaei la «t r reç*. Th»n »« ta tke aras lha» la frail 1 Bit. tWjr.i Imty soi JaUiae ba daetn Thaujb Ilidir ai-l Aatrrhf thri»«. Tall Iaas il* takaa Uartiar« la ktek«e?iM> Am m*m, «bail UM t'iU«A aarflf«: >Mn«siaa A QUESTION ABO\ Browns. Bitters AtfSWÈRED. NÉN ta» FM.tauMJ! nLhor om Ätti1 BROWW'S IROH BITTERSter BKOWM-H IKON BI MfcwB—I BIltMMW, W« Pj ■»■■■>% Ktlutei (MPs h4 Fw Tiiwlftrito«.<if»CTal OcUUtTiNa I Bark(«Llata|Hrt4(fkf udNf BROWN'S IRON BITTERS.! Kî!* Jïitïi'b.'^r&TSîsJ MOVfY. WDM IftKMI Df IM ■f"P' bmM b TlxmmImU>—d etääj&:îsr^Sr: Tb« «9«a bagin at oaoa la bncfetaa: Iba aktn •p. baallhy cotar wo to Üw cfcnfci; i a«W»w; fua«Uiw«l darimiaiata ba tar. m J ä a B-jntac iwUwr, al knypti-J (>>r ÜM rfiM Rrm , B:tV»< t* tlx ONIiY In« ■»till thai la I JtirfcHI* l + firtmM»! /»TmffiiU fKMia m Tb« Un,»» ha* Trade Mark aad rtviaaad rad I oo wrapper TAKE NO OTHKK. FOR larKST1, I atonals M. Utk M., [ l.VfllUrkH M., MANHOOD, TOOTHFUL den«, N AoUfllc HHBNin« MU««, I MMt>>»wt. Wkw* >■«■ PIES SI,090 KKW A KB tor or Protnrilaf H Bmu'tTPlla laïaadr Mh bold at Lacan A Ca.1 «n« l "and «« M 4i|iwiti «pM. WtaUi pfi Oraaa Rain Oaiaai a* pali. »liât M onoa. A Tharaiifk •U1 Omr«. Kot m Uqäld. Not m Apply ,n,° »oatrll*. Prlo* NcUll <0 da by vail, rtfUtarM. Sample boiUa aoi ELT HKOTHKW, Dn«Ma Ova««,J 25 years IN US1. Tha Oraataat Mxhral Tr I graph of tfel i SYMPTOMS OP A TORPID LIVER iMttftMflllr, lUwrlirMlIf^hl! Iba kMÎ «lik a 4mII mwtkH ta back »art. Pali ander lb* iktiU klaJf.PillBrM iltrr ruin. «Ilka lurl I nat loa Io r art 11 ■>■ mf k*4r ar «I Irritability oftra^rr, Uintlrlla. m ■ frellng of hiivlag a*f leci»4 4« WftrlifM, tllnlirM, rtallirli|tl 11 ran, !>•(• brfarr Ihr »in. Ilra4a o»»r Iba right ryr. Hral Iraaaraa, m Ik nil Irtaat, Ilia hir ralort>4 Irlaa, CONSTIPATION. TTTT'I PILL« are rajttTlaMy to Bunii <"««<cum doao rfTocU « lianjc of frrlliipna toa»t«»nlali Um l Th. y Inrraaaa Ilia A t»l>«llla,an<J ca ». <tr to Taka on Klrakithu« tba •» noariahad, ai«t r.y lit. ir Tonlr Aril (•hat 11*111 or Wltl«KBI(0 chnni ÜUMir 111.»<'R I»v n aliiKln apolloatl tlil* DTK. It lni|«rta it natural color, lti*tmi(anrotiMly. hol-l liy l>ni| arnt by upri'M on rroalpl Of |l. OlTloo, 44 Murray St., N«w Y< Dr. J. E. SMITI Mo. 140« Chapllaa bmt Foartaantb la tba ooly rwgularly adunaiad pbyalciaa An li.<• following dlanaaaa la Iba 9uU of V ylnla, and lha tMataatdaacaaf bkaklllaad iba u-atiiauny of bla paUaatc. Ka aa ll»i>t • nau»a wtÜM.ulprriaUaloa, tboai a fa* out of many huadrad aartlfaalaa ■iu«. Manjr jmrt alpariaoeala Iba kart _ Uiaribar altb a tborvafb aiadlaai aéuaatlaa unUrltr with lbarap«iUt*aota. a aUm of traiprnaaatlcparallariUaa, aodatilal I.ygtaak i nary ma« it aoabl— blw la Ind « raap dlaraaaa whkcb ara fraqaantlr n«tnM I a Ma. In arary Inalaaaa Ot. Hallb will baa Iba paUaal bk oplonoa. Conan in pt Inn. («pitting HI»W,-llf __ K»f» up all hnpaa oj my rmcartrj. U.Milfl (••dMatoojaanafo. ' "»'»oaj Martin'« Vr Conaninptlon, llirwl« DUrrkat, I • ud I'naalng IIIcmmI I m i«*rUM I* i ton. binnctncoM. I*. Hm Ith eurte Mitt ago. M% < J »Maun, WIWidi W. Catarrh, I'al^M of No««, Lou of Vafl I auffarad for rmrt. I'll j«l< In,» and m Hint m ■ lo hHp wtf. I tboofbl mr 4t ■ Hoiilb rurte ma MM0Utelf loo /«an Ma» M l«ra wtllararalo«». Oia'f»» ' o4 „1.1 a C Wb'O'iinf. wl I murr of Hroaat- Waarot out tMoo I |.bj«Uuua. Lt. hialtb eutad «a «lihout thai To tko UWll IH. Hnltk "»1 m* M ai J_ Inf !» il K »I Uta votab u4 laaala wrnkmtm V curra It lu a «hört tiiaa. Lsdim mm hAt aalfl Frtnalo W«afcar»M-Mi>at accra'ated kit •oa awaiad to anteratand Ua oho a< tar 4m It hMiiib curad bar • jmt afOMd Aaliif Uli rining Mr*. C i. Ntlla.o. Wbaallbf. If F lartila la Arno, Pilo« Maat aontiiat rl>ac oo Mdtanad pwauunate IbMnakla < locb I«r rl(>iU*n oa>'ka. IT Naltb rnrmé Mt oM-k* withouttba kolJa tbroayan aga, aadl better baallk doo U*n r*ar. __ _ J boa <M'In, Ii**, Wbatfl Fila M7 «IIa bad tb#M Inr ymn. (MVS rHM. if.tmmmmwtmm k«fl Km) nCM HriN#lul«na Clear «»a Log lor Tas Dalikwlitwyriy. „ Ma Cotbarta« Pbl Vail«/ Orora, 1 VDr Mm I lb «111 cope* *• «"• My <aaa gf Matter «I bow loag »laadlag, oithoat iM kl vltiMM Um kaaat teag» W m; tlo4. m Loa* of Maahood- I*. llaltklMtailriJ ili;ol tbia wimaa *W«i mft tba ba4MT baaitb Md racdan alanlli m mm J. MÄi ■Mat «111 raatera baallh «ad ateaaglh la a *«Jll It foilth ■ rooma ara an am..j«d that patt«aW_ a to — him te ate mm li watal Vttkafl jMßämm vufc ladt« mé tmttmm toatf "■late Dteordora—TIMM wfcll frmm M at/oyarteUteaMf «aaaaltl*. «Mit* wtlfcpr "iCkart for laU-fcMdMttaMMi te at a 4 toten m m r—tytd WbMN, Md tbaa uni araal—yagaaiMtea<Mrt*a«M Coaaoltatfoa rraa at «Am OCakai I*. ■-teTp.M-tefly.MMff Mte/. téSRiâXSW, LAMES ar CDTTlCMN J a« Um»wratwiwjl n aete by nMU(dWant« a«) ob)*liM) ; #f teWl ply flliM •rkirc*« HMM w|. «Ä. Many a Lady is beautiful, all but her skin and nobody has ever toi her how easy it is to pa beauty on the skin« Beaut on the skin is Magnoli Balm. Men Think therluovallaboot KfsUng Ual fanent Few da Not « know if not to bare.