Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 35, Number 15, Indianapolis, Marion County, 29 May 1889 — Page 6

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL, WEDNESDAY, MAY 29, 1889

ENGLAND'S INNER COURT

OBSERVATIONS UPON IT AS IT IS The Profession of Royalty on Wheels Daily Habits of the Queen now She Lives Dress and Ktlqnette Servants Victoria's Eccentricities. London, May 15. Special. The country cousin making a short stay in London city esteems himself lucky if his visit coincides -with the spring function of a drayin-room. He can stand in Pall Mall or St. James' park and eeo the carriages, freighted vrith "fair women and" a few ''brave men," the fair faces and jeweled necka of the former rising above the clouds of tulle and lace or the billows of brocado which fill the space round them as they pass plowly, with many a halt, toward Buckingham palace, lor one of the most marked chances in theso later days of the Victorian era 13 the reception by her majesty of the nobility and gentry in r.uckinsbam instead of St. James' palace, where the prince of Wales, representing his mother, holds the levees. Granted pood weather (a lare prant, we acknowledge, in our early spring), it is a fine sight, though les elaborately grand than it used to be forty years ago, when the display of large family coaches, with lewijreed coachmen, powdered footmen, voluminous hammer-cloths (as the ornamented cloth covers of the driving seats are called), and richly caparisoned horses, outnumbered the unpretendingbroughams and hired conveyances. Now the num--r of presentees have doubled or probably quadrupled, and the humbler vehicles preponderate. Over these changes the old style of conservative lament?, chiefly because charge of any kind is objectionable in his eyes, hut a!so, no doubt, because of a dim conwionsness that tins continuous enlargement oi the court bounds may be akin to tue Grainaus swelling of that immortal and ambitious frog which was the precursor of Us final "bus: up." However this may he, a certain interest hangs round "f he court," which in England is a kind of inner core --f the national existence, and which at the present time is slowly expanding and varying sympathetically with the cradual mutations of social lifo. For London, it must be admitted, "the court" hss virtually ceased to exist. The hospitalities of Mariboroucrh house, though all the pleaanter for their spontaneity and semi-private character, are not state Junctions, nor do they bear the solemn saiof othcial admission to the sovereign's circle. The separation of real 'Vourt life" from the outer fringe of drawing rooms, levees, state balls and concerts always existed, though in a much Ie.s degree, forty or titty years aco. Thea the right to be presented was mote limited, aud those admitted to the royal presence were possibly more acquainted with the sovereign; now, when great scientists frlve new re pirns to tho kingdom r,l knowledge, great ia v i::t -rs fre.h rower to human activity, when great discoverers bring the unknown within the reach of human ken, great financiers and organ izers increase the sum of human wealth, a r.ew nobility arises, which, if they care to demand it, not only have a right to appear before their sovereign, but honor the circle which admits them. Below these crowd the ranks of swiftly successful mammon-seeker?, who burn to stamp their shoddy with the sacred seal of acceptance at court. For all thee there are few opportunities in London for such patent aggrandizement. The queen lives retired in the semi-scbisioa naturally most aci p ptable to her, .-inco the terrible bereavement which loft her perhaps the loneliest woman in the world. The inner life of the court has in it little to tempt a Sybarite simplicity, dutifulness, conscientious performance of work are it3 characteristics. Vain and giddy pirl, frisky younc matrons aud dangerous pa." ants would lind its atmosphere oppressive and uncongenial. Sobriety and thoughtfulnees are in the air; perhaps a slight degree of monotony or tinge of tris tfjse may make hol ier and lighter spirits sigh for fresh fields and a wider range, but rone can -juarrel with it mental tone or the routine which prevails. At 0 Ler majesty breakfasts alone, unless f-orae of her children, grandchildren or personal friends are staying in the palnce, and she is rareiy without them. In summer, at Osborne, Windsor or Balmoral, this meal is generally served out of !or.rs in some alcove, tent or summer house; after the queen either drives in a small pony carriage accompanied by one r.f the princesses, or she walks attended by a lady-in-waiting or maid-of-honor, with whom she converses with friendly f ase, and followed by two Highland servants and some favorite dogs. Luncheon is served at 2, the conrircs beinz her majesty's family or royal guests. T'ntil this hour, from ber short breakfast exercise, the queen is diligently occupied with official correspondence and business of various kinds. Longtraininz has made her a politician of no men ability and breadth of view, her natur.il common sense forminc an admirable basis for such a superstructure. It assist, too, in enabling her to choose her friends well and wisely, though the court surroundings are not calculated to help royal per.-onages in forming a just judgment of character. Human nature puts on a somewhat too angelic guise, where everything may l won by amiability and nothing by the reverse. In the mornings the maid of honor Ithere are nine in all) in waiting for the time are with the princesses, reading or practicing on the piano, singing or playiuz lawn-tennis with them, as any young ladies, companions together, might. The lady-in-waiting cccompanies the oueen in her afternoon drives and visits, which are most frequently to the poor and to humble workers, oiten to simple gentry or any rne in trouble. Afterward this lady rea ls aloud to her majesty in her private sittingroom. Tho royal dinner is at 8:1k), and that meal is shared by those of the royal family then residing with the queen, by distinguished visitors, and some of the household in rotation viz., lords and ladics-in-waiting, maids-of-honor, equerries and proom-in-waiting this latter otlicial holding a considerably lower position than the equerry, though to the uninstructed it aoands like a distinction w ithout a difference. The queen is a woman of strict business habits and steady application; the amount of correspondence she gets through is enormous. In the private portion of this correspondence her majesty is assisted by her privato secretary, a lad v-in-wai ting, and A maid-of-honor, especially by the I'owager Marchioness of Fly, one of tho lathes who is a valued friend. When the court is at Windsor the members of the household m attendance are: one lady-in-waiting (these ladies are always peercse9), two maids of honor, a lord-in-waiting, two equerries, one proom-in-waiting, also the keeper of the privv purse, the privato secretary, assistants in both departments and the master of the household. The attendance is the same at Osborne and Balmoral, with tho exception of the lord-in-waiting. To attend to her majesty's toilette and wardrobe tlmo are five maids viz. ; three

dressers and two wardrobe women. Tue senior dresser, who has been manv years with her majesty, is specially charged with the task of conveying orders to different tradespeople jewelers, drapers, dressmakers, etc. ; one dresser and one wardrobe woman are in constant attendance on the queen, taking alternate dava. Dress is a matter in which, even in her young days, her majesty does not appear to have taken much interest. At present her perpetual mourning allows of no crude color combinations. Some of us elders have a pleasant, if vague, recollection of Victoria Regina a good many years ago, say forty or forty-throe, in a very simple and becoming bonnet tied beneath tho chin, a wreath of wild roses under the brim, framing a sweet, kindly young face. Ah me! sorrow and experience have writ their cruel marks on her3 and ours since then.

If admitted to the queen informally, the page-iD-waiung simply announces the Msuors name tnus: "Mr. .your majesty," on which she bows slightly and continues to stand or sit, generally the inrmer; tlien she begins the conversation The initiative in this is alwavs left to her majesty. It is not etiquette to open a subject with her, only to replv to her remarks. The queen terminates the interview by another slight inclination, and usually by a gracious smile. The visitor retires, backing and bowing .till he reaches the door, for no one must turn his or her back on our sovereign'lady. One of the trials to which the court ladies are subject is caused by the passion her majesty has for walking and driving in the coldest weather. Tew of - them are as hardy and as indifferent fro case as their royal mistress, and to bo dragged out for an airing when a bitter nor'-easter is driving a shower of snow across the hills at Balmoral, or to pace the grounds at Osteome under a drenching rainfall, is not the most agreeable mode of taking exercise. To the philosopher or republican tho array of court functionaries, holders of obsolete ollices, may seem somewhat ridiculous, if not pitiable, and not far removed from the dignitaries who wait on the potentates of pantomime or burlesque and even wc, shackled as we are by the irons of time-stiffened routine, can scarce help a smile as we glance at the list of the royal household, and read the titles of some of the appointments. "The bargetcaster" and the "keeper of the swans" possibly may have their uses, but to the uneducated ear the item ' page of the back stairs' has an ugly sound ; one can hardly imagine these youths with clean hands. The master of ceremonies may be a necessity, but when he is apparently topped by a marshal of the ceremonies, the min i fails to take in the magnitude of the office, nor are one's ideas rendered clearer when we lind that the "master" is a general, a baronet, and a K. C. B.. while the "marshal" (which sounds so much bigger) is only an Hon. Mr. . Then conies the "hereditary grand almoner," w ho is a high-class peer ; the "master of the buckhounds ;" the "hereditary grand falconer" (a duke); and, most mysterious of them all. "the groom of the robes!" What are his duties? Is he to "rub down " her majesty's gowns? If so, let us pray he may not lullow suit with the currycomb! The inlluence of the court on Lnglish social life is at present almost nil. But hctoie the prince consort's death, the queen looked sharply into the character and standing of those presented to her, and was successful in keeping the circle around her as irreproachable as mere mortal society can well be. Indeed, few Londoners doubt that had our sovereign lady kept her place at the head of social allairs, we should probably have been spared some of the scandals in high life, reports of which have from time to time rendered the daily papers more curious than edifying. The lair gentle princess of Wales was too young and inexperienced when the retirement of her royal mother-in-law obliged her to take up "the social scepter, to exercise much authority; shfi could only teach bv example, and this she has done weil. In truth the court is much more influenced by the country than the country by the court. The tendency of the royal personages is decidedly in favor of dropping the more mediaeval items of their following, and restricting themselves to the less cumbersome style of the great nobles, There is even a whisper that the time-honored oflice of master of the buckhounds, with his satellite huntsmen and whippers-in, is to be abolished before many months are over. From the court to the nobility is scarce a step, though in no other P'uropean country is the life of the nobles so independent of royalty. They like to show respect to the sovereizn, as does every class of her majesty's subjects, but they do not care for the ceremonials of a court, which can add little or nothing to their inherited or acquired rank of splendor. The question: Is England's nobilit' what it should be, considering its great advantages? naturally suggests itself in connection with this topic. A counterquestion may well be put: Is any rhan or class of men what they should be? Let us waive all special pleading, however, and speak frankly. Of tho reckless, extravagant, dissolute members of the peerage we have heard more than enough ; but how about the quiet, home-staying, conscientious peers, who honestly do their dutv by their tenantry, their families, and that portion of beloved motherearth which it has been their happy lot to possess? "Oh, no; we never mention them their names are never heard I" Yet the majority of the peers are men of this stamp, not disturbed perhaps by the possession of extraordinary mental abilities, but gentlemen of decent lives and honorable natures. Their wives and daughter?, although they enjoy "the season" in tow n, can vet feel with and for their poorer neighbors; their schools and charities are a boon to young and old, and the "great house" is more often than not a small center ot civilization. Without boasting, I think it may be asserted that in no other country is the nobilitv as a class so virile, useful, and abreast of their times, chieily because its ranks are so constantly recruited by new blood from below. All that is best among our legal, military, naval and commercial men pass into the upper house, and invigorate the peers with their fresh intellectual force. Still no one ran look upon and around the present condition of things and doubt that the beginning of the end has come; old institutions, old ideas are passing away; they have done their work, and, however well that work may have been done, they, like most other things, reaeh at last a stage where, ceasing to be useful, they become mischievous. f-i-t us not, therefore, lie ungrateful; let ti3 bury our old benefactors as decently as w e can. Tradition has had its uses, "and almost as many "ages" as man. It has its heipless babyhood, when inarticulate bards hing an imperfect rhyme, giving a scanty account of some, local event, warlike or othrrwine; this is appropriated and developed (if it suits them) by the priests, and so nursed into boyhood; then statesmen find it useful to create some national cry; sentimentalists lake it up, jerhans, to point a moral ; the leadinz warrior, half or whole believing, uses it to incite his followers against the foe; then it becomes the sacred tradition of the race; lir.ally it passes into the lean and slippered pantaloon stage of nominal belief, and dies of old age when new discoveries, new ideas, new needs have breathed its sentence of death. - Mrs. Alexander.

ADDENBROOKE. Bolgravia. I'll nerer do you wrong for your own sake. AlC Well That Etvis HV.Y. 1. Lydia could not help wondering why on earth Addenbrooke should be eo anxious to marry her. She was standing at tho window, her eyes mechanically following the familiar, insignificant figure of the professor, as he plodded down the gravel walk to the gate, and when he had passed from view she sat down in the nearest chair and continued her reflections. It was very

strange. he had no love to give him, and had told him so quite frankly; he must know, as every one knew, of that miserable affair with Lawrence Fleming. Was he not Fleming's intimate friend, the last person who had seen him before ho went to Africa? Moreover, her glass had taken to reflecting a woman who was sad and pale and old before her time; surely not the woman witli w hom a man would be expected to wish to begin his life. When we have become to ourselves a daily burden it is so hard to realize that our presence can be desired of others. And yet she had been aware of Addenbrooke's devotion from tho days of the good but obstinate little boy, with a taste for chemical experiments, to those of the modest young man, who lurked unobtrusively in doorways for the purpose of saying good-night to her, and was always at hand to fill up vacancies. She had been aware of it, but had given it little heed; now, in her loneliness, her sorrow, the thought of that devotion moved her strangely. She had seen herself drifting on to middle age, haggard, loveless, unloved; the sorriest of spectacles, the emotional woman whose emotions have wrecked her. Addenbrooke and Addenbrooke's love interposed themselves like a shield between her and her fate. She had given him no answer, but she knew bv now what her answer would be. The Joor opened, and Mrs. Grey, her mother, came into the room. She sat down in silence, a chill, comfortless presence and regarded her daughter from the distance. These two women lived together without profit or pier sure to either. Mrs. Grey w as capable of making sacrifices, but she lacked the priceless gilt of homemaking; while Lydia, on her part, chafed beneath the restrictions of a relationship in which neither affinity nor affection bore a part. "So it was to be Johnny Addenbrooke, after all," reflected Mrs. (J rev: "a Gowerst. professor of no particular distinction. Well, Lydia was getting on ; and if a girl means to marry 6he had better manage to do so before 6he is five and twenty. And there has been nothing, it seemed, in that affair with young Fleming." Mrs. Grey was disappointed. It is true that Fleming's father kept a glove shop in Iiegentst., whereas tho Addenbrookes had been gentlefolks for generations; but nobody minded that sort of thing in these days. Lawrence Fleming went everywhere, did everything; his new book from Africa had made him more of a lion than ever; hence he was more to be desired as a husband than poor Johnny, who went nowhere to speak of and did nothing but his work. Lydia rose slowly, and went over to the writing-table. As she took up her pen the whimsical thought struck her that when the ether children had carried their pence to the sweet-shop Johnny had always preferred to invest his capital in mysterious compounds at the chemist's. A faint smile hovered about her lips as she wrote. When the letter was finished sho laid her head a moment on the desk and shut her eyes. The old dream, from which she was turning forever, had rushed with cruel vividness into her consciousness: P-ehnt dich Oott, rs war zu sehon gewesen ; Lhtit dich Gott, es hat nicht sollen win. She rose, 6tiff and cold, and went over to her mother. Lvdia was a craceful creature, tall, slight. faintly colored. Some people thought her beautiful ; others could see no beauty in her w hatever. "Mamma," 6he said, in her strange, pa thetic voice, "Frof. Addenbrooke has asked me to marrv him, and I have written to say 'yes. II. Addenbrooke was spending the evening as usual with Lydia at St. John's Wood. They were alone together, Mrs. Grey having discreetly retired to her own room, and the talk between them flowed with the ease of intimacy and affection. It was now three weeks since their engagement, and already something of Addenbrooke's calm happiness was beginning to be reflected in Lydia's face. She appreciated, what only women can appreciate, the consciousness of making another's happiness by the mere fact of her presence. That is, I think, a pleasure too subtle for the. masculine palate. Now, as she laid her hand lightly on bis, she enjoyed, as it were, a reflection of the delight w hich she knew herself to bo conferring by the act. "Johnny," she said, "will you let me tell you to-night what I have always meant to tell vou ? about myself and that other person' She finished her phrase thus vaguely, not doubting but that Addenbrooke had mentally rounded it off with greater accuracy; somehow her lips refused to utter tho name of Lawrence Fleming. "My dear," he answered gently, "tell me nothing which distresses you. I don't want to know. I know you have been very unhappy, but one day, I assure you, you are going to be happier than ever." She smiled half sadly. "Johnny, let me tell you. I think I ought. Perhaps, when you have heard, you will want to go away from me from a woman who has been so cruelly humiliated." lie laughed, drawing closer to her in the firelight. "Since that's it, Lvdia. perhaps vou'd better tell me." lie paw that sha would never rest till she had disburdened her mind of the old, unhappy things, about which, personally, lie had email desire to learn. They were so infinitely touching, these poor women and their love stories; their anxious interpretation of looks and words and smiles; their pathetic, careful gathering up of crumbs so carlessly scattered. So Lydia, with half-averted face, began her story in the strange, uncertain voice which, from his boyhood upward, had had power to thrill John Addenbrooke to the inmost depths of his being. "It is nearly a year ago," she began, "at the Meades' place in Warwickshire. I arrived on March and stayed a week. It began from the beginning. When I walked into the drawing-room, where he was standing by the tea table, it seemed that I had walked into a new and strange and wonderful world. 1 lived in that world for a week, and it was liko a lifetime, looking back, it astonishes me how everyone else at once accepted the situation." Theu, I no more questioned it than 1 questioned the rising of the sun. The day came when I was to go, and he had said nothing definite to me. I, living in my fool's paradise, was neither surprised nor afraid. At last, an hour before I left, he took me in his arms, yes, Johnny, yea he took me in his arms and kissed

my lips, and told me that he would follow me the next day." "That's enough," said Addenbrooke, in alow voice; "he was a brute. Let us hear no more about him." "There is nothing more to hear" she answered with bitterness, "that iz tho end of mv storv. A week later I heard

he had gone abroad." Addenbrooke put his arm about Lydia, and drawing her head to his shoulder, stroked her head backward and forward with a kind hand. I ler recital had pa'.ned him. He knew the perfidy of his sex, but this particular offender had gone beyond all recognized limits; limits which, in his own person, Johnny had always refused to recognize. The thought of the misery inflicted on his proud, sensitive, passionate. Lydia made him sick with anger and speechless with sympathy. lie rose, at last, and buttoning up his coat, tried to speak in tones of reassuring cheerfulness. "By the bye, Lydia, Fleming has come back." You remember Lawrence Fleming? They are making quite a lion ot him on account of his new book. He's just the sort of a man to enjov being lionized." Lydia looked at him, speechless, and he went on: 'T expect that ho will be turning tip at my rooms in the course of a day or two. He left a portmanteau with my landlady before he sailed, (iood night, my own dear girl. And he held out both his hands. Lydia looked at him sharply and with rising vexation. She had found out long ago that subtle hints were quite thrown away upon Johnny but surely, surely he must know the truth. Either he was the most consummate actor or tho densest person living. It was impossible to entertain seriously the idea of Addenbrooke as a consummate actor. III. Addenbrooke had rooms in Gower-st. ; a sitting-room and a bed-room, divided by folding doors. The whole apartment had begun life as what house agents call a spacious double drawing-room, and bore yet the marks of its former state of existence. The mantelpiece, which now supported a host of bottles, variously shaped and filled, was of white marble, heavily carved summoned up to the imaginative mind visions of gilt clocks and candlesticks under glass shades. The walls hung with white watered paper, were divided into panels by strips of gold beading; and from the ceiling a shrouded chandelier depended from a twelfth-cake-like decoration in white and gold plaster. Addenbrooke had drawn his writingtable, with the lamp on it, close to the lire, and had settled down to a long night's work. . It was the evening following Lydia's confession, and he was too busy to tret up to St. John's Wood. He sighed at the thought of this, then plunged into the pile of papers, which not only covered the table, but overflowed into several neighboring chairs. He had not been long at work when the door was Hung open, and a man entered the room. "Still in these gilded halls, Johnny !" said a voice, which was not quite so drawling nor so full of quiet humor as the speaker seemed to intend. "Fleming, by all that's wonderful!" i cried Addenbrooke, rising with extended hand. The new-comer was a large, heavilybuilt young man, with dark hair, and a complexion, originally florid, burnt crimson by the African sun. lie was distinctly handsome, though the lower part of his face was a tritle heavy, and there was a lack of finish about the ears and nostrils. "Sit down," said Addenbrooke, clearing a chair and resuming his ow n seat. "Kxaminations. ugh !"' Fleming flicked with his large finger at the papers ou the desk. "If it's not your own exams., it's other people's, poor old Johnny!" Fleming had the greatest contempt for examinations, in which, indeed, he had conspicuously failed to distinguish himself; the less brilliant Addenbrooke having a commonplace knack of getting into the first class, which is often the way with your dull, plodding fellows. These two men had been friends, after a fashion, since their first term at tho university. In those days Fleming had been a raw, unhappy, self-conscious young man, subject to miserable, hideous fits of shyness, and secretly ashamed of the paternal glove-shop. Now, perhaps, he was too fond of talking about the glove-shop; of drawing jocose comparisons between himself and a wellknown glover's son of Stratford-on-Avon ; and the only remaining mark of shyness was a certain emphasis of self-confidence. Addenbrooke's affection for him was rather a survival from earlier days than any thing else, though Johnny, it roust be owned, imposed a far less severe standard of Conducton his friends. "Where do you hang out?" asked Addenbrooke, gathering together the despised examination papers. "I have been down at Twickenham with my people. Can't stand much of that, you know. I am looking out for chambers somewhere Bond-st. way, and Mrs. Baxter is going to put me up here for a night or two." "Oh, good. You know Mrs. Baxter has that portmanteau of yours?" "Yea ; shea fetching it now, I believe, from the lumber-room. There are 6ome papers in it I want to look at to-night." Fleming leaaed back in his chair, his eyelids drooping moodily, as they had a trick of doing; then he said, discontentedly : "Haven't you got anything to tell a fellow? You "London people are all the same. One goes away and lives what seems a lifetime--it's so cram-full of experience and when one gets back, not a soul remembers if it was last week or last year they met you at the Jenkinsons' dinner party." "From what I hear, you've no cause to complain, Fleming." "Oh, of course, one's pestered with invitations from a lot of silly women one never heard of !" grumbled the new lion ; "but isn't tiiere anything in the shape of news?" "Well." said Addenbrooke, slowly; "there is one piece of news, but I don't know that it's interesting. I am thinking of getting married." Addenbrooke had never been a shy man; he was only very modest, and ho had not accustomed his friends to take an interest in his all'airs. Fleming opened his eyes full and stared his friend in the face. There was always something startling in his appearance under these circumstances; perhaps because his eyes were so rarely shown perhaps because of some quality in the eyes themselves. They wero curiously bright and very brown not a black manque, but a beautiful, usual brown. Looking at them, it was easier to realize the power, such as it was, which Lawrence Fleming possessed over his fellowcreatures. "Addenbrooke," he said, leaning forward and speaking with sudden intensity, "as you value your piece of mind, have nothing to do with women !" He flnnghimself back, laughing a little, and letting fall his eyelids. In a few minutes he bnrst into a fierce tirade against the whole female sex, taking Addenbrooke's announcement merely as a text Even Johnny waa disappointed at his lack of interest on the part of his friend;

but remembered having heard that Lawrence had been hard hit before he went to Africa that nothing less, indeed, than a broken heart had sent him forth to those distant shores. Then, before Addenbrooke knew what was happening, Fleming plunged into the very heart of his own particular grievance. "It was last year," he said, "at a country house. It began from the moment she came into the room. I don't pretend that she was the first; but it was different, somehow. I am not even sure that sho was good-looking ; but there was something about her if you cared at all well, you caied ! She stayed a week, and at the end of that time I told her, more or less directh', that I loved her. 1 was to see her the next day in Loudon. The next day, as it happened, I was prevented by my mother's serious illness. I wrote and told her this, begging her to fix a day for my visit She made no replv, and "four days later I called at the house, to be told that ehe was out of town. The next day I accepter! the oiler of The Vi'otrrloo Plu'c Gazette and went out to Africa, I'm sure I don't know why I cared. She wasn't worth it. She had given me every encouragement had even allowed me to kiss her. I suppose there was a richer fellow on hand, or one whose father didn't happen to keep a shop!" Fleming rose, shrugging his shoulders. Addenbrooke remained silent. The voice of Mrs. Baxter, announcing that the portmanteau was in Lawrence's room, cair.o as a relief to both. "By the by," said Johnny, in a low voice, as the other felt for his keys; "all this took place at the Meade-;' in Warwickshire from March 2S onward?" "Oh," answered Lawrence, with some vexation, pausing on his way to the door; "I suppose you know all about it like the rest of the" world !" And he went from the room.

IV. Addenbrooke remained behind, pacing the ridiculous, incongruous apartment, while an unwonted 6torni of emotion raged within him. The parts of the puzzle lay, fitted together, in his hand ; it only remained for hitn to step forward and proclaim the solution of a most commonplace enigma. An inefficient postman, a careless housemaid on some such undignified trifle had the whole complication hung, like many another complication before it. No doubt, sooner or later, the missing clew would come to light, when he himself had made its discovery of no importance whatever. Had he been of a melodramatic turn of mind, Addenbrooke might have laughed aloud at the irony of the situation. His own dream was shattered forever; but of that, for the moment he scarcely thought. What he saw most clearly was this: That by his ow n act he must make Lydia over into the hands of a man unworthy of her unlikely to make her happy; to think of whom in connection with her seemed contamination. But the man whom Lydia loved withal! There was the sting, the shock, that for the moment took away his breath, and made him pause, pale," motionless in his walk. Then, suddenly, before the modest and uncritical mind of Addenbrooke flashed in vivid colors the image of two men of himself and his friend. He saw Lawrence Fleming, with his showy, unreliable cleverness, his moral coarseness; the man stood before him revealed in all his second-rateness. And he saw himself, John Addenbrooke, as he had alwavs been, in the dignity of his irreproachful life of his honest, patient labor. He looked on this picture and on that, and knew each for what it was w orth. Then ensued in the peaceful breast of Addenbrooke a terrible war of thoughts and emotious. Life, which had hitherto been a simple matter enough, a mere case of doing your duty and minding your own business, had assumed a complexion of cruel dillicui-. ties. And yet he knew that the more obvious aspect of the matter was not a complicated one. Lydia no more belonged to him than a dog who had followed him home had been claimed by its master. He was bound, in common honor, to reveal tlr2 facts of which he had accidentally become possessed. Should he go to Lydia and say: "This man, whom vou prefer so infiuitely to myself, is far less worthy of you than I. He had not led a bad life, as men go, but he has not led a good one. '".' Men of the world do not do such things, hut then Addenbrooke was not a man of the world. And if he had no other right over Lydia, had he not that of his own lifelong love and her three weeks' tolerance of it? The door opened to admit Lawrence Fleming. Ho had changed his coat, and bore a bundle of papers and a pipe in his hand. "Any tobacco?" he said, taking tho empty seat at the writing-table. Addenbrook nodded toward a jar on the mantlepiece, continuing his troubled promenade across the room. It was dawning, painfully but surely, on his mind that his hands were indeed tied; that it only remained for Lydia to choose between them. "But it is I who would have made her happy," thought poor, obstinate Johnny. "Any matches?" said Fleming, with his fingers in the tobacco jar. Johnny ma le no answer, and the other fumbled in the pocket of his coat. "By God!" This time Addenbrooke was roused, and came over to the table. "What's up?" he said. Fleming pointed in silence to a stamped and addressed envelope lying at his feet. Johnny picked it up with a dull sense of relief that matters had been more or lesstaken out of his hands. He knew, before he looked at it. that it was addressed to Miss Grey, and that it was Fleming's customary carelessness in the matter of posting his letters which had wrought the mischief. Lawrence was much excited. "It had slipped behind tho lining of the pocket. I have just taken the coat from my portmanteau. O, that poor girl, that poor pirl! what must she have thought of mo all this timo?" Addenbrooke faced him suddenly. "Do you intend," he said, in a low voice, "endeavoring to repair the mischief?" It is possible that he had a low opinion of Fleming's constancy. "I will go to her to-morrow!" cried Lawrence. A sudden pang of personal anguish, an internal sense of bereavement, shot through Adtlenbrooke. He thought: "After all, perhaps, I am nothing but a jealous devil who begrudges my girl her happiness." Aloud he said: There may be difficulties at first. In fact, Miss Grey is engaged to be married." Fleming rose with an exclamation. The two men stood facing one another; Lawrence flushed, excited ; Johnny pale, with intense eyes and nostrils. "Lvdia engaged ! Lydia! The women are all alike. Could she have no patience, no trust, but she must needs throw herself away in a fit of pique on some fellow who is not worthy of" her!" "She is engaged to me!" cried Addenbrooke, with sudden passion. "And, by

heaven, I think it is I who am too good for her!" The passion of such men as Addenbrooke is a terrible thing. Fleming quailed before it He gathered up his papers in silence and went from the room. V. Mrs. (rey swept up to Addenbrooke as he stood with his hand on the knob of the drawing-room door. "Oh, Frof. Addenbrooke, I am so sorry," she cried. "So am I," ho answered curtly. It was two days after the events of the last chapter. Lydia had made her choice, and now, nt her own request, was to take tare well of Addenbrooke. As she came forward, with flushed checks and shining eyes to meet him, it struck him that she resembled the picture of a Bacchante he had seen somewhere. A Bacchante in a tailor-made gown, with the neatest of cuffs and collars poor Johnny! "I wished," she said, when their greeting was over, "to thank vou with all my heart." "And I," he said, "wish to tell you this. Do not think that I merely took advantage of you. I believed that I could make vou happy I believe it still." He smiled sadlv, and Addenbrooke broke into a sort of laugh. "O, Johnny, Johnny !"' she cried. He had no intention of being pitied, even by Lvdia. "Don't distress yourself about me, Lydia," he said, "f have had my chance. Perhaps 1 ought to toil you that I do not think you have chosen the better man." They talked a little, aimlessly, then Addenbrooke held out both his hands in farewell. It was Lydia who, drawing him toward her, kissed his face for the last

time. She knew, as he stood there facing her, that he was passing out of her life forever. For the moment he seemed transfigured, no longer insignificant; a tender but inscrutable presence pitying, ironical. Some inarticulate voice in her heart cried out to him not to leave her ; unconsciously she put out her hand, and then he was gone. Not long after Fleming was with her. He had his arm about her waist and was ki.sing her lips as Addenbrooke never had kissed them. EXPERIENCES IN MEXICO. Peculiarities of the Natives Grandeur of tUe Scenery Mexican "Tanglefoot." Sax Antonio Ranch, Mexico, May 20. Special. This point is 100 miles north of Sierra Majoda, and I made it on horseback through deep canons and devious, winding valleys. It was much like going around Pobfn Hood's barn to get in at the front door, but my accident policy had just expired and I was carrying my own insurance, and having no desire to "bust" the company, I left the giddy peaks for the less dangerous lowlands. In traveling one always has to make calculations to reach grass and water, no matter how long tho ride may be. The country is infested with untold species of the prickly pear, in every conceivable shape and form. Every bush and shrub is full of thorns. Leather pants, orleggins, have to be worn, or you are soon journeying in rags. Why this country has been so afilictcd I cannot tell, unless it is to keep out the-Quiugoes (Americans), or to punish a "stifi'-necked and perverse people." We never hear miles or feet used here. It it always leagues, and varas. The natives have no idea of distances. If you inquire how far to a given place they will examine your horse. It a good" one, w ill say "a very little piece ;" if a poor traveler, "it's a long wavs," no odds whether it's five or fiftv miles. o measurements ot even wellbeaten highways have ever been made, and thev simply judge by the time it takes to ride from one place to another. Tho Mexicans J are a nation . of smokers. I do not remember to have ever seen one smoke a pipe, and never a cigar unless given them. They smoke black tobacco made into cigarettes, with corn-husks as w rappers. Everybody indulges. I have often heard gentlemen go into ecstasies over the charming manners of some beautiful senorita in the way 6he manipulated a cirgarette, but I have never felt any tender emotions for the "divine being" wreathed in clouds ot smoke. This is mainly a cattle ranch, situated on the very outskirts of what may be called civilization, and it does not look much like a camp-meeting ground either, as the managers never step from their doors without a brace of revolvers on or a carbine in hand. The buildings are very extensive and the outer walls are all solid and the guard houses at each corner bear the evidence of manv a conflict with "Lo, the poor Indian.'' The location is most picturesque. A deep canon runs back and Indian and robbers' caves are hard by, wherein they painted heads, hands, eagles, sun-gods and implements of war, while the mountains rise up on either side thousands of feet and lean over with threatened destruction. Columns stand out on the face of these mountains hundreds of feet high, as if cut there by human hands, while balancing rocks and peaks fantastic like giants all stand round in solemn, awful silence. I have wandered through the "Garden of the Gods" in Colorado, but I saw there nothing more wonderful or awe-inspiring than here. The early Jesuits were here, and close by a spring a tower with portholes was built up by them. I crawlea the steep rock and into the little round tower and took many a good aim at the incoming red man, but finally retired thankful that I was not there a hundred years ago. From sotol, a species of the cactus, they distil a very bad quality of "tanglefoot." 1 attended' a baili (dance) one night, by special invitation. It was given in a long room, and barrels of whisky occupied one side, and there w as no occasion to "go out and see a friend." An accordion and harp furnished the music. No one called. Every couple "had it down" for themselves. Young men waved their sombreros, and usually carried a bottle in their side pockets. A policeman kept order, but we wore our knives and pistols, all the sam an ounce of prevention, etc. With thousands of cattle on the range, not a drop of milk or particle of butter could be had. The latter article is seldom, if ever, seen. It is claimed there is something in tho climate that prevents making it, but I think some pood Yankee buttermaker would soon overcome all climatic dhliculties. From this point we have journeyed far and near, and much of the mountain scenery was "grand, gloomy, andpeculiar." In our rounds we visited unfrequented localities, scaled many a lofty mountain, stood over yawning chasms, and explored deep dark caverns around which cling stories, frightful lwyond description. We have 6lept on battle-fields, in the dry beds of streams, in the rain, on barren rocks, in deserted cold adobe houses, in deep canons, were scared up by the whoop of the Indians, and the charge of the highwaymen ; heard the lions roar, the panthers growl, held the wild boar at bay, and knew what it was to be weary, hungry, and thirsty, but found in it ail a weird, strange, and delightful fascination. Such is life roughing it on the frontiers in Mexico. Food pleasant enouch for memory to feed upon, but I have little desire to repeat the experience. Asa Hearts. A fair. fTImed "An olJ cross-patcli," tlie neijihbori said, "He's glnuimer than a dromlary. He'll feel at home, wbrn tie is dead. In that old crose patch where they bury."

THE ONLY TETJE

R

DOT'S READY RHLSEF. The most certain and fate Tain P.emedy ia the world that instantly steps the lr.ost excruciating pains. It is truly the great CONQUEROR OF PAIN r,d has done more good thaa aay known remedjr. For Snrain. rrnisr Tt-t,-v,o r; v, t-hest or fc-Kles. lleaUache, TooUiache, or anr other External Fain, a few applications rubbed on by the hand act hk magic, causing the pain to instantly stop. For Childs, bronchitis Pneinnoiaa. Coneev tions, Iaflammati..us, Kheiun.-.ti-im, Neuraltria, bumbasro, .Sciatica, Ihic in the rmall of the IJacK, etc., more cstcii.Jfd and repeated applications are neci-:iry t Q ct a cure. All Internal Pain. Tains in the Bowels or Stomach, Cramps, l-jasins. Sour Stomach, Nausea, omitin?, Hearthurn, Nervousness, Meeplessne. rck Uta I x Le, Diarrhea, Colic, Ilatuler.cy, Fainting SUs are relieved instantly and e,uick!y Curel by taking interr ally a half to a tt aspoonful of Keady lixLlEP in hali a turubltr oi water. Malaria in Its Various Forms. FFVL'R AND AGUE. RADWAY'S READY RELIEF ! Not only cures the pat'ect fe'zed with m&laria, can it yt'Oj-ie esposea to it will, every morning on pettir.iT out of bed, drink twenty or thirty droits of the Ready Lluef in a glaas of water, an l eat a piece of cracker or a ernst of bread, they will escape attaoka. With TADY A PILLS there is no better cure tor fever ami aeue. Fifty cents per bottle. Sold by drusxisU. ADVICE TO CONSUMPTIVES. ConsnmptiTi is a Scrofulous disease occasioned by a dpo'it of tubercles in the lunrs the upper portion of t hern eeEerally. As"th tubercles enlarge they be.cia to irritate the hin;r by pressure on the surrounding parü. This creates a hacking cough. At lecgta nature, in her endeavor to tret rid of the annoying tubercles, sets up an indainmation; natter is secreted and the tubercle is softened. It then comes to a head, or suppurates, and th natter is discharged into the neaest air tube. This the patient raises, which, for a time, allays the cough, but as the air cells nil up with tubercular matter, the blood can circulate but imperfectly through the lungs; hence it becomes more impure for the want of air, which lessens the power of nature to throw otf the disease, until at last the disease becomes so general and the cough so great that hectic fever and night sweats intervene, with bleeding of the lungs, uutil the patient finally tinks. NOW mwmf I i -1 . fä Sarsapariilian Resolvent TT3 Is the only Medicine that has ever yet struck at the root of the lieac, acts in this wie: I'irst, by its action on the plards, it purifies th Mood r.nd counteracts the Sorofulous Labit of the bo'Jy, which is the cause of the disease; second, it promotes the action of the absorbents that remove the deposited tubercle, and third, it allays the rough, piving imincdiita eae to the patient. If patients, laboring ender this disease, will follow the directions here laM cown. we will promiscrin every case, that their complaint will be epeedily relieved, if not entirely cured, by the use of this remedy. " DIRECTIONS: Take from a teaspoon to a dessertspoonful of the KKSOLVI'NT, in a little water if more agreeable, three times per day, half an hour after meals. Kat good, nourishing food, such as beefsteak, mutton chop, venison, roast beef, sago, arrow root, tapioca, and the like. Drink as much milk as atrree with ynu. Pay particular attention to frh air, cleanliness, exercise, and as a general thine comfort, as tauch as possible. Lofty and airy sleeping apartments, notexposed to drans; end care to avoid and prepare for sudden changes of temperature; never go out of the house when the atmosphere is moist. TJe careful nut to catch fresh cold, hut cure the one you Lave. Wear flannel underwear according to the season, which 6hould he t-hanged for dry night and morning. Do but this, and the EESOLVF.NT will exceed your most santruine expectations, and fulfill our most confident promises. For pain in the chest, back or limbs, rub with READY r.ELTF.F applied by the palm of the hand, or flannel saturated; and if diarrhea fehould trouble the vatient (s it sometimes does) a dose or two of the RELIEF, that is. half a teaspoonful swallowed in half a tumbler of water, will check it. One of RADWAY'S PILLS should be taken occasionally to induce healthy action of the Uvcr, etc We ooncientionsly recommend our SaRSAPARILLIAN RESOLVENT, READY RELIEF and FILLS for the ease and comfort and probable cure of all entering from Contraption. It is cruel to give way to despondency. The mind exerts a wonderful influence "over all diseasei, and firm in the hope of a cure. Consumption must give way to tho proper treatment. " HEALTH. STRENGTH. Pure Mood makes sound flesh, stron? bone, and a clear skin. If yoa would hare your, flesh firm, your bones s-und, and yonr cro-" rleiicn fair, use RADWAY'S SARSAPARILLIAN rJESOLVENT. THE SKIN, After a few days' use of the PAKSAPAniLU A., becomes clear and beautiful. Pimple Blotches, Rlftck Spot, and Skin Eruptions r moved. Sores and Ulcers soon cured. Persons suf erinjr from Scrofula, Eruptive Diseases of the Eyes Mouth, Ers, Legs, ThroM and Glands that have spread, either from uncured diseases or mercury, miy rely upon a cure if the Sarsapariilian ia taken. Sold by all draX" pists. $1 a bottle. DR. KADWAY'S Regulating, Pills, The Great Liver Remedy. Perfectly tasteless, elegantly coated with weet gum, purije, regulate, purify, cleans. end strengthen. DU. RADWAY'S TILLS. For the cure of all disorders of the Stomach. Liver, Dowels, Kidoeys, Bladder, Nervoui Diseases, Loss of Appetit, Headache, Costiveness.Indigestion, Dyspepsia, Biliousness, Fevar. Inflammation of the Internal Viscera. Purely vegetable, containing no mercury, minerals, or deleterious drugs. Obs?rve the following symptoms resulting from Diseases of the Digestive Organs: Constipation, Inward Piles, Fuilnesg of Blood in the Dead, Acidity of the Stomach, Nausea, Fieartbuni, Disgust of Food, Fullness of Weight in the Stomach Sour Eructations, Sinking or Flutteringof the Heart, Chokingor Sui'ocatinff Sensations when in a lying posture, Diranesa ot Vision, 1Mb or Webs before the Sight, Fever and Dull Pain in the Head, Deficiency of Perppiration. Yellowness of the Skin and Eyes, Pain in the Side, Chest, Limbs, and Sudden Flashes of Heat, Burning in the Flesh. A few doses of RADWAY'S FILLS will free tbe system of all the above-uamed disorders Trice 25 cents per box. Sold by all druggist. To the Public. Be sure to ask for RADWAY'S and aee that the name of "RAD WAY" is on what you buy.