Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 41, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 April 1877 — Page 6

1}

THE MAIL

A PATER FOR THE PEOPLE.

The Two Orphans.

BY H. ARTHUR OBATTAN.

*":l% fI JOHN'S WJFE.\l\\ 4

BT EXXA BASSETT.

A young wife stood with her hand on her broom, And look*-* around the little room. othlng but toll forever," sbe said,

From early ra« rn till the lignt haa fltd.

If you

only were a merchant now,

We n» ed not live by the sweatof the brow. Pegging away, spoke shoemaker John. We ne'er see well what we're sta oingon.

A lady tood by her hti band's chair. And quietly pass*.'! h« rhand ot-r his natr. You never have tinuj for me now,, sliesald, And a tear drop fell on tlie low bent head. 1 we were only rich, my dear, With nothing to do from year.to year But amuse each oth- r-oh,dear nie. What a happy woman I shoi iu oe Looking up from his ledger, "-poke merchant John, never see well what reslaudingon.

A stately rra in velvet dtessed, A diamond gl- am ng on rlreast, Nothing but toil for fashion, *li said, 'Till I sum' times wish that I were dead, If I might cast this wealth aside, And b. once more the po iimt bride From hi any chair,spokeijeutleinen uhn, •"We ne'er see well what we're standing en.

CHAPTER XVI. UNEASY PEELINGS.

Almost unconscious of what wan bein# dono with her in that moment of despair, Fstella Buffered herself to be led into the drawing room,.now seldom used

Ten minutes, perhaps more, had elapsed before she raised herself up from the sofa on which George bad laid

k'witb innate delicacy, lie had then retreated to the window, but he turned round when she arose and approached him.

All "f the gentle, youthful woman seeincri to have died MII. ol thebtermy fare which then met hi-s and the voice which questioned hi"ii was harsh uud 'jitter. "Whv are you staying here? Tvhy do vou seek to prv into my cret thoughts and feelings? 'What can tbey concern vou?1'

George answered the first question and ignored the others. "I am staying because I have something to tell you. I have just come from a house where there is mucU serious didrMBt'' •Ei^tella mado an impatient move-

'^Ptdiaw! for what are we born but to -auflfaf?" •'To suffer patiently ourselves, and alleviate the troubles of others," was his 'reply "and this is a case in which you anight do so much." "II" she «ried, with increased bitterness "I am not so easily moved to compassion as you suppose. Why should

I permit the woes of others to grieve me? No one would grieve for mine. I am not in the humor to listen to tales of di8-

But George perelsted. You have often noticed the bright,

rosy

children ofthat young widow? Well the eldest boy has been run over. He is seriously injured, and his mother is £o lightened and helpless that she is not

Bt to be left. If you would only go to her Estella!" "I could do her no good. Don't ask me, George!"—and there was a depth of anguish in In voice that touched him closely—"don't ask me! I have no ro»m in my heart for aught but my own misery." lie walked across the room, but soon returned to where she sat. her head resting on her hands. And now the young doctor spoke sternly. "EHtolla, this is selfish! Are we to live for ourselves? For shame—for shame! Shall 1 go back to this poor, helpless, trembling mother, and tell her that I was mistaken in you, that you havo rejected my ontreaties?"

She sprang up, her eyes Hashing angrily. "How dare you rato mo thus? Must I goat your berk and call?" (Joorge picked up his hat, and, with one quiet "Good by!" he made for thy door, but Estella's voice summoned him to return.

She grasped his band. Her own was lev coin. ""You are right this is no place for mc now. Take me away I am afraid of myself! Anywhere—auy where, but here!"

Without appearing to notice her excited looks and gestures, George rang the bell. When a servant appeared, ho asked for

Miss Vaughah's hat and shawl, aud leaving a message for Amy, to the effect that her sister had gono on an errand oi nioroy to a neighbor, and most probably would not return Jor a day or two, he led the unhnppv girl away.

Oik-o out oi the !mn*e, Kstella began to breathe more freely and, by the time they arrivid tin Mrs. Seddon's door, she was able to bid her silent companion good-night with an outward nppearance i*onUxiMH'\

For i\ time, at all events, she should be able to avoid encountering Lionel and the innocent young creature who possessed the heitrt she had ioolishly— oh, how foolishly!—bel eved was all her own.

As she

8ifJ

shared Mrs. Seddon's watch

by the sick child or sat wit him alone when ho slumbered, :d and bitterly resentful feelings tiwubtied within *ier!

And so all Lionel'**ffection' we manner —the tender speech-s her memory had treasured ana dwelt upon, aud bis confidence in her—his deierence to her judgment—was but tho unreserved freedom a brother uses to an elder and esteemed

into this bubble bad all Estella's visions burst and vanished away and the love she bad been fostering must henceforth be remembered only as a •thing of folly and shame. ,It was now that, stamped on her brain -«s If In letters of tire she was continually haunted by tho dark and evil predictions of Madame le Bas.

Estella secretly pondered over those until hatred of her uneonseigasaister be-

Sis

in to spring up wlthlu her, bat sbe hid anaer a tranquil exterior, although her hollow eyes and palmg cheeks might have revealed much to a cloae observer* "She has been an angel of consolation to me!" exclaimed Mrs. Seddon, when at the expiration of a week, she prepared to return to the Hall. "An artffW /—a demon, rather!" muttered Estella, beneath her breath.

•bout

was

"It

is

time I went. Her meek, uncomBlaininff submission to whatever trials befall hrr Is torture to me, for I can not emulate It."

Amy

delighted to have her. ister

back. "She had so much to tell her, she said, and flushed. Toe blash was followed by tears, and •the artlesa confession of her engagement

ended in the plaintive words, "Bnt I am so very wretched, dearest Estella Leo is going away."

Attributing the start and shudder with which these wt.rds w« r? heard to her sister's deeff sympathy in everything that concerned her" happiness, Amy went folly into the events of the last few days.

Leo: after much persuasion, had consented to owe the foundation of his fortunes to his pretty betrothed.

He had obtained an interview with Mr. Barnard, to whom he had frankly told his engagement and, saying that an old friend of the family had' offered to

{ng

rocure

him a situation in the flourishiWest, Lionel asked him to consent to bis immediate union with Amy, who bad cheerfully agreed to be the companion of bisjourney.

Mr. Barnard's reply was a freezing negative. Hn could not suffer his ward to marry a man who had no better prospects to offer her than a home, or, more likelv, & grave, in a new country. "Then give me a position in my own country," Lionel had replied. "Neither Amy nor I have any ambition to mix in society. A quiet country life will suit us best." "I have other views for my ward," said Mr. Barnard, coldly. "And for me, sir—what have you in view for me?" •'I have no intention of meddling with your affairs, Mr. Aston. But if you ask my advico, I should &ay, no to California, lteside on your property there, and endeavor to improve it."

Lionel laughed bitterly, aur I *1 "You tell me this, when I scarcely know where it is situated! Will you persist in misjudging my dearest mother? I havo heard her repeatedly assure you that she did not know where the deeds were. Dare you doubt her word now?" "It is a rather painful point, Mr. Aston. I would rather not dscuss it. Whatever were Mrs. Barnard's shortcomings as a wife, they are forgiveu now. Have you anything else to say? for I am busy."

It cost Lionel a struggle to speak to this man again—to endeavor convince him of his injustice in thus 'iriviug him forth, p' tm'less, from the home which, if

the

pmperty had been entailed, must hiivt neon his o\\ n. But be made the effort for the sake of Amy, who was waiting, in great trepida tion, to bear the result.

Mr. Barnard was deaf to the appeal. Whatever. Lionel advanced he was met by the same dogged reply. "There is the property in California, of which you have possessed yourself. It is now worth more, much more, than Aston Hall."

So they parted in anger, and Amy, tears streaming from her beautiful eyes, told Estella that her separation from her lover was inevitable. "Leo cannot refuse the situation offered to him, for it may eventually lead to a very lucrative post. But think, dearonly think—the year he must spend there, sadly dreaming of me so far away before circumstances will enable me to join him."

And now she wept more than ever at the picture her imagination had conjured up,

But Estella, while she had listened, hardened her heart against her sister's grief.

Lionel leaving home! At .first the thobght filled tier with regrets which she could not now wholly repress, for she oould not cease to love Mm even nowl

It was in her power to keep him here —to remove all obstacles to his union with the grieving girl whose head rested in her lap, whose low sobs stuote upon her heart.

Keep him here for her /—no, no! And Estella started up aud disengaged herself from the weeper. "Let him go!" she said to herself this fair, childish Amy, who now believed that her constancy would withstand absence and change, might, after all, soon learn to forget him."

Hers was not the deep rooted, abiding love which Estella vainly strove to subdue. She would fret for while—she would write him affectionate letters— but, by and-by, when the world courted her to enter it, hrr smiles and vivacity would return tim whispers of others would be gratefully heard. Others would woo her, and Lionel would be forgotten.

Then—aye, then—he would come to the faithful, unchanging Patella for consolation, and learn how much he had unknowingly rejected.

And, mentally arguing thus, she Lurned impatiently lroni Amy's com plaints, and avoided the lovers as much as possible.

But although her proud spirit stooped to dream and plot against her sister's happiness, and she sternly withheld the aid she could have bestowed, science, that unfailing monitor, would not let her be at peaco in their presence.

Whilo this struggle went on, time glided swiftly along. Tho day lor Lionel's departure was fixed—it arrived—and Amy, now desperate at the thought that another hour must witness their larev ells, torgot her feard of hef irritable guardian, and ilew to bis sanctum.

But her pleadings had no effect on tho ban1 and wcrMi.v uan :o ho:nshe knelt. "I entiifht prevent you from marry ing the youug man," he observed "but you must remember that, if you do so, I a en bound to respect Mr. Astou's will." "And you know," she retorted indignantly, that we cannot afford to marry unless you give me my portion. Ob, cruel, uufeeling man that you are! Why will you part us?" "I think that yon had better go to your own room, Miss Amy. I can't expect you in your present state of mind to properly understand my position as your guardian. I have a sacred duty to perform, which—"

But his ward, sickening at his hypocrisy, waited to hear no more. rler pale face, her imploring looks, lert an unpleasant sensation, however, which Mr. Barnard vainly endeavored to drown in extra doees of his favorite flotation. "I'll shut up the house," he crossl} said:

4

put her to board with my sister

get rid of Estella, and go to a wateringplace. The worry to which I am subject is preying on my health. I wonder what is Maater Lionel's game? To get possession of the girl's legacy, and then laugh at me, eh If I were not so thoroughly convinced that Sophy gave him thoee 'deeds, why I would advance bim a few hundreds, jost to start him decently."

He glanced toward the banker's book that lay on the table, half extended bis hand, then drew it back, and put It in

f'aco over scrupulous. Pshaw I why should I give bim what, like a voung blockhead, as he is, be would only tqaander? It is better left alone. At my death—if he outlives me, that is to say— 1 will make amends."

And Mr. Barnard shook off his uneasy feelings, and to avoid seeing bis stepson ere he loft Aston, suddenly

am, •eft-*

^v, A"

Jkf

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

discovered that be bad important business some miles distant, and bustled away.

CHAPTER XVII.

1

J: }J

ITE ART BEHIND THE PICTUR*. J'- I

We will not dwell upon the sorrowful adieux of the lovers. They were unwitnessed, for Estella, pleading a severe headache, bad begged to be excused receiving Lionel ere he departed.

With no one to breathe a prayer for his safety and prosperity—no one to say a fond farewell but iis loving Amy— Lionel Aston prepared to quit the bouse he could call by the endearing name of h»in* no longer,

At last he tore himself from her the door closed upon hiin, and George Barnard, who had been patiently wtdting outside, came forward, drew the arm of the dejected young man through his own and led him away. "Cheerup, Leo!" he cried 4tae sun of prosperity will shine upon you yet!' Keep up your spirits, lad! The worst is over now: and, hard as it seems to say it, I can't-regret that you are going from here." "Nor I. In one sense As on has long been a hateful place to me." "Of course and in another clime, among fresh faces and scenes, you will brighten up, Leo, and we shall be hearing wonders of you Cheer up, I say," and George began to talk thick, and look .confused, and put this in your pocket 'tisn't much indeed, I am ashamed to offer it but it's all tbat I have." "Not for the worldl" cried Lionel, striving to refuse it. "But you must, Leo. If I live long enough to carry out my plans, I'll make reparation for all the injustice that has been done you. God fcpeed you, and good by."

George was half-way down the hill next minute but Lionel pursued and overtook bim. "Well, what now? You'll be late for the train," he said, gruffly.

His hand was warmly grasped. '•George, my faithful friend and brother. let there i'e no mention of reparation between vs. We have b^th a harl struggle before us—you here—I in California and I leave in your chtrue, with perfect confidence in your good feeling toward us both, my Amy—my promised wire. You will watch over her?" "Faithfullv!'' "Thank you. That promise will send me away with a lightened heart. I wish I had seen Estella before I left. S}ie has seemed to avoid me lately. Perhaps she thinks I have done wrong in persuading her sister to engage herself to me, under my present circumstances."

He looked inquiringly at George bnt the latter, again reminding him that he would be late, shook hands heartily, and they parted the one to hurry on a round of visits—all the heaviest part of Mr. Phipos' practice now resting on his shoufders—and the other to hastily secure bis outfit, and get on board the vessel which was to carry bim to his destination.

Amy sobbed herself into a state of exhaustion when she could no longer see the retreating figure of her lover. Then, growing restless in her misery, she went to look for Estella.

They no longer occupied the same chamber, and shared the same couch. Upon her return from Mrs. Seddon's, Estella bad, on some trifling pretext, removed her own belongings to another apartment—the one commonly known as the best bedroom, and shunned by every one, because Mrs. Aston's coffin had stood there until the day of interment.

It was here Amy found her sister. Her hollow eyes and extreme pallor were sufficient testimony that she was suffering and the kind-heartid girlforgetful of herself—bathed her brows, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude, until Estella groaned out, "Oh, don't, prav don't I can't bear

it!"

"I am afraid I am a bad nurse," said V.my, anxiously. "I wish you could tell ne what to do for you." "Nothing, but to leave me to myself."

Amy drew a stool to the side of the couch, and sat there, silent, but with tears rolling down her sad face, until Estella, whose awakened conscience smote her at every fluttering sigh, could bear her presence no longer. ^...,

She raised herself. "I am better now. Go away, darling pray go. This room is cold, and damp, and gloomy. Go, and I will join you in the summer parlor by-and-by." "It is gloomy, indeed," Amy responded, with a shiver, as she cast her eyes around. "And yet dear aunt loved it. "We came hore together, the day before she died, to look for some ornaments she wished to give ms. It was from this room, Estella, that the packet containing some ti le deeds mysteiiousIv disappeared aud this circumstance as, iti a great measure, the cause of her unhappy ma ried life. If that packet could nave been found, she always fancied that Mr. Barnard would have acted differently with regard to poor Leo." "When wasitlost? Estella inquired, with suddenly awakening interest.

I scarcely know but it must have been very soon alte her second marriage. It was a small, square parcel, tied with pink tape and the last time she remembered seeing it, it lay in the front of 1 hit nrnwer

Amy nbiwrcd again as she spoke, '•Come down stairs, Estella, dear. Yon shall lie on tho sofa by tho window, and I will tell you all Lionel said ere be left mo. Do come for I am so wretchedly low spirited."

Almost impatiently the promise was given, and *be went away—the light, dancing steps, which had been wont to echo along the corridor, exchanged for slow, uncertain movements of disappointment and regret.

Estella Listened till the sound died away then, locking the door, she sat down tt think.

Her thought* went traveling back to the day when George Barnard first came to Aston, and bis father brought his bride boine at the conclusion of their wedding trip.

She remembered the advent of the illclad, awkward boy his cool reception— the gradual advance toward civility, made on both sides—and the games in the nursery that followed.

She remembered, also, her proposal tbat tbey should dress themselves for the characters they assumed, and hew Mrs. Barnard's keys were unscrupulously used, to obtain finery for that purpose.

And ivto her mind now rushed one tritling circumstance hitherto dormant in her me ory.

Yes, sh ouid remember, as if it were yesterd ay, how, in looking for something to secure ^Jonel's feathers, she bad pounced upon apaefceC tied with pink tape, and was striving to unfasten it, when the abrupt entrance of nurse put an end to their play.

And now Estella arose, and, with one of

walla. She bad not forgotten bow, aware that she was transgressing in meddling with such thing*, and unable to replace it

wlthoot being seen and soolded, she had in the buny of the moment thrust the packet behind the picture, and, from then till now, had thought of it no more.

Could it be there now? It was scarcely possible. And yet it might be so, for the room bad undergone no alteration since tbat time, and was rarely entered, except lor the purpose of sweeping and dusting.

Estella lifted the picture, which rested on the molding of the oaken wainscoting, with which the walls were lined hall way up.

No there was nothing there except dust but, as her fingers moved alone the ledge, she discovered that the wood bad warped, and that there was a space quite sufficient to permit of so small a packet slipping down behind it.

Determined to ascertain at once whether this was the case, she ran down stairs, and secured the assistance of the old man-servant.

With a chisel, the panels were raised, and the packet—the long-lost packet— was in ber possession.

Dismissing the man with a gratuity so liberal that be,- who dreamed not of the value of the prize, was &$tonished and delighted, Estella sat down to examine it.

It was precisely as she anticipated. In these, she beheld the coveted deeds for which Mr. Barnard had sought far and wide.

Uutof what use were the papers, now that she had obtained them? Was she willing to reward the greed of this man by yielding them to him*

Or if she forwarded the packet to Lionel, to whom it justly belonged, would he be contented to hold property to vhieh be had no legal right of possession?

He might risk all—dare all—for the sake of wedding Amy. Thissupposition determined Estella. "I will reveal the discovery to no one," she said, sternly. "I will Wait. When this foolish boy-and-girl fancy lias died out, and Lionel is no longer the slave of passion, I will not tell bim what I have. We can then make terms with Mr. Barnard."

Estella opened herdesk, and laid the packet along with the heterogeneous papers she bad received from Madame le Bas.

As she did so, a letter fell out, written in a

fair

delicatecaligraphy, so closely

resembling her sister Amy's,\that she opened it with some curiosity. It was from her mother, the Inez of Madame le Bas' story, and written in the fullness of a rejoicing wife's happiness. "Again you have disappointed us, unkind Antonia! Why will you not come and see my darlings? "You can no longer make tho excuse that they are mere babies—too young, too unmeaning to be interesting. "Already they are sensible, intelligent, affectionate to me, to their doting father, and to each other. You know not how sweet a picture they present, these rosy twins, as they sport together on the sward, or struggle to be the first tj receive my caresses. "Already, too, the elder sister is displayed in Estella. Stronger, more active, and more fearless than Amy, she protects her with amusing gravity from any danger that threatens, while the little one as if conscious of her own weakness, creeps into the arms extended to enfold her. "Come, dear Antonia, guide and friend of my youth! come and teach me how to foster the sweet dispositions of my children, so that their love may grow with their growth, and, whenever the Almighty sees fit to deprive them of their parents' care, they may cling to each other, and thus find consolation and support in all the chances and changes of their young lives."

The letter fell from the hands of the oonscignce stricken Estella. If that loving young mother, who had hoped so much from the affectiod of her children, looked down upon them now!

She sank upon her knees, and bowed her bead, self-condemned, Whither were the bad passions she cherished leading her?

Whithei, alas! had they led the wretched Antonia, to whom this simple, loving letter was addressed

Esteia »o longer dwelt upon the evil .that bad been predicted by her, and said, querulously. "It is my fate to be deceived, disappointed and unhappy as

But, wringing her handz, she cried, remorsefully, "My sister—my twin-sis ter, for whom this record of a mother's love seems to invoke all my tenderness —can it be that I am poisoning her life by my cruel and heartless treatment?"

She sprang up. "I have been mad—mad all these long, weary days, and now it is too late! Lionel has gone, and mouths must elapse ere I can restore him to her! Merciful heaven! if she could pine away in lior sorrow and die On, heaven let me not have the death of my sister to answer for! Forgive me, and spare me this!"

3

Flying across the chamber and unfastening the door, she was hurrying away to seek Amy—to kneel at her feet, and, in the abasement of repentance, confess that she bad been cold, unkind,, and then to alleviate her dejection with the tidings that she was rich, that she had enough for all, and that tbey would recall Lionel to make the happiness of his betrothed complete.

Hut re*olJcc ing he/ disordered Icoksj. she laved ber burning cheeks and swollen eyes, and/taking from Madame le Bas' packet the diamond bracelet, descended with it in her band.

On Amy'swristshe would clasp this. It should be the fir. token of her regret for the past her resolve that, for the uture, her own selfish wishes bhould be wholly conquered and forgotten.

But Amy was not in the summer parlor. Her handkerchief, still wet with tears, lay upon the floor and Estella picked it up, with another pang of remorse for the anguish she had inflicted.

Doubtless the poor girl had gone to her chamber, sick at heart, and troubled at her indifference

Thither sbe sped, and softly dretf aside the curtains or the ced, on wbicb she expected to find her reclining.

Not there! Where, then, could sbe be? Hurrying down stairs again, Estella went from one apartment to another, even invading Mr. Barnard's empty study, and disturbing his sister from her nap in the housekeeper** room, where she usually sat to keep a closer watch on the servants.

A vagus dread of something amiss began to creep over ber. Sbe went back to her sister's chamber, and opened her wardrobe. The hat and mantle she wore in her walks were not there.

Perhaps, tired of sitting alone, and brooding over Lionel's departure, she wss in the garden, wandering down his favorite walks. Estella told herself this, still trying to sbske off ber alarm.

But Amy Vaugban was not in the garden, the servants had not seen ber, and it was equally certain that she was not in any part of the house. "What is

is the matter?

"Miss Amy, sir," interposed the cook, b9fore Estella could steaay her voice to speak with composure, "Miss Amy is missing. She sat in the summer parlor, taking on terribly, till dusk, and now she's not to be found anywhere!"

Mr. Barnard's florid face assumed a sickly hue. 'Good heavens the foolish girl has never gone and drowned herself!"

The women answered with shrieks and exclamations of terror. Only Estella tried to silencs them—to say it was not likely.

But her tongue refused to fulfil its office, her sight seemed to fail, and, with a gasping wail of "Amy—oh, Amy!" sbe became unconscious. [CONCLUSION NKXT WKKK.]

BOYS' WORK.

4,I

wish, John, you would drive a lew naila for me in the woodhou^e," said Maggie to her brother. "I have been wanting them for a long time, but always forget to ask you." "Why not drive them yourself, Maggie asked her father. "Why I don't know how, father. I don't believe I could do boys' work," sbe said, doubtfully. "Come, my girl, I will show you in a minute how it is done. Go on mending your harness, John we will attend to the nails."

Maggie drove in all the nails successfully, and so pleased was she with the success, that she would have set a double row around the shed, I think, had not ber father concluded that tbtse would answer for the present. "There, that little lesson helps to make you indepepdent, my girl. Nsw I will teach you some day to catch and harness a horse. You havo already learned to drive a gentle one Learn to sharpen a knife, and whittle, too, without cutting your fingers. Don't let the doors creak for want of an oiled feather, or the little children's boots get hard in the winter for the want of a littie grease."

You, too, boys, might learn to advantage how to make your beds and sweep a room, and. sew up a bag on a sewing machine. Don't ask any one to sew on a button for you, when there hangs a cushion with needles in it, and mother's thread-basket is so handy.

A little cooking will never hurt you. Many a beefsteak and fresh fish have I cooked in my day, and mother says I can beat my girl making a pot of coffee. I don't often get a chance, nowadays, but I have seen the time when my knowledge of the business came just in play. No telling where you will be cast away some time during your life. The most helpless people I ever met are those who can do only onn sort of work. Lfarn to do something very well, indeed, and make that your dependence for a living, and add to it just as much skill and knowledge as you can. It costs nothing to carry knowledge.

THE MOTHER'S BEDROOM AV THE OLDEN TIME. What pleasant places our mothers' bedrooms used to be! In the old time American formal and pretentious way of living, with the dining-room in the basement aud on the principal floor the grave yard parlor, in which none of the ornaments could be touched, nor the chairs or sofas sat upon, it'was good tbat there was one room in the house where domestic feeling was allowed a chance to rest itself at ease where the sun had leave to enter and stretch itself on the carpet where the seats were comfortable, and lolling with a book delightful—a room where the soft-blooming, fragrant flowers of the homely motherwort took the place of the testy touch me not" thai grew so

Eelow.

rim and profuse in the handsome room

Up to this room that with its open hreand slipshod neatness seemed always sunny even on dull days, ran the children home from school" and stormed the maternal citadel for luncheon. Then, out came the precious tinbox, much dearer to the hungry ohildrdu than any "safe" with its metaphorical tin, and wbose crisp inscription, "cake," had been improved by a youthful adept at acrostici into "Can a kitten eat? and the mildly delicious seed cake it contained having been dealt out in generous hunks (oh, ox pessive vocabulary of childhood the pleasant, do-nothing, noonday hour was slipped along tne rosary of time. No parlor, however free to let its luxuries or simple eleganejs be enjoyed no nursery,*even, made to play in and sensibly kept rid of things that might be hurt no living-room, with its furniture and fittings meant to be used, can take place, I think, of the "mother's bedroom," which still exists, I hope, as of old, in many and many a home. It would be a pity such an "old shoe" of a room should ever be given up, for, in our undomestic American life, unless tho mother consent to make an early Christian of herself, and have, for a fesv hours of the dav at least, "all things in common," she will find herself knowing as little of her children as their father does aud in America it is a very wise child indeed who has more than a speaking acquaintance with his own father.—Scribner's.

living

What are you •. Bar•uuf

all standing gaping at?" aaked Mr

nard, wbo^Lad just return^jd home, and,

according to ffcvorite habit of bis, made bis entrance through the offices.

a,«.

BEDS AND SLEEPLESSNESS. A German phyniolo/i-t states thut the heating of the earth by tho sun causes magnetic currents from tho equator to each pole. Such being the case, persons who suffar from sleeplessness should pay attention to their position at night, and lie in the direction of these currents. Restlessness and want of sleep result from

across tbom. The head to

the north is the best position—to the west the worst. Phyaictana in charge of hospitals attend to the directions in which the beds are plaoed, aud with the best results.

SUPERSTITION.

A panacea, or "cure-all," la one of the myths of the age of superstition. Dr. R. Pierce does not recommend any one or even his whole list of standard remedies as adequate to cure every disease. For severe lingering coughs, bronchial, tbroat, and chronic lung diseases, he believes his Golden Medical Discovery is unsurpassed, but it will not cure'you If your lungs are half wasted by consumption. The Discovery not only exercises a patent influence over pulmonary affections, by reason of its pectoral properties, but possesses slso the most vsluable alterative, or bloodcleansing properties, and is therefore a sovereign remedy in blood and skin affections. But while it will cure scrofulous and other ulcers or sores, blotches, pimples and eruptions, it will not core cancer, nor does its manufacturer claim any such merit for It as is doae by proprietors of other bloodcleansing medicines, who dishonestly' try to deceive the afflicted into the belief tbat their preparations will accomplish Impossibilities. By reason of its own intrinsic merit it has a sale surpassing tbat of any other blood or cough medietas

'oArvry A Week to Agents. 110 outfit

BROWNS

EXPECTORANT,

..

The old reliable remedy for all Throat and

Lung Diseases, is a scientific preparation, compoondrd from the formula of one of the most successful practlcioners in the western country. It has stood the test for the last twenty years, and will effect a euro after all other Cough remedies have failed.

S.

Brown's Expectorant

1

Never falls to cure consumption in the ear ly stages by subduing the irrltrtlon and inflamatlon in the Dronchial tubes, ard even in the last stages it relieves the congh, promotes easy expectoration, scdues pain and induces refreshing sleep. t-it*.

Brown's Expectorant

-..uv-v

Is unrivalled in eases of whooping cough If used early, and continued as the caso

may require, it robs the disease of its disease of its distressing diameter, averts Us common evil const quo ices and shortens its course by week#.

S"

Brown's Expectorant

Instantly and permanently cures the most violent cough, and the flrst close, if taken just before going to bed, wUl Insure a good

night's sleep.

Brown's Expectorant

is warranted to do nil that Is claimed for it. Hundreds of the most prominent citizens of our city have used it foj^years, and give it the highest praise. ,-r

Brown's Expectorant

IS FOR SALE BY A1,L I)RUGG]ST3.

vt

A. KIEFEtt, Prop'r

lXDMVil'OLIS.

Sold nt wholesale in Terre Haute by

WHAT I KNOW ABOUT VEGETINE.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 9,1870.

K. R. STBVBKS, Esq.: Dear Sir—I have had considerable experience with the VEOKTINK. For dyspepsia, general debility, and impure blood, the VEGETISK is superior to anything which I have ever used,

U11IV. ib will nnuiu *11*7 —"J further particulars relative to what I know about this good medicine to any one who will call or address mo nt my residence, 080 Athens street. Very respectfully, /•T s-fs. MONROE PARKER, 380 Athens street. 1

Dy»pep«ls,^. iicuvJ

SYMPTOMS.—Want of appetite, rising o£ food and wind from the stomach, acidity of the stomach, heartburn, dryness and whiteness of the tongue in the morning, sense of distension in the stomach and bowels, sometimes rumbling and pain costiveness, wnlch is occasionally Interrupted by diarrhoea paleness of tlie urine. The mouth is clammy, or lias a sour or bitter taste. Other frequent symptoms are waterbrasli, palpitation of the heart, headache, and disorders of the senses, as seeing double, etc. There Is general debility, languor and aversion to motion dejection of the spirits, disturbed sleep, and frightful dreams.

Gained Fifteen Pounds of Flesfi.

SOUTH BERWICK, Me., Jan. 17, 1872.|

II. R. SniEVKSS, Esq.: Dear tkr—I have had dyspepsia in itj» worst form for' tlie last ten year'sij&iMl' have-taken hundreds of dollars' worth 01 mediciue without obtaining any relief. In September last I commenced taking the VnOETixE, sipce which time aiy health has steadily improved. My food di-

tesli.well,

ests and I have gained fifteen pounds of, ihero are several others in tills place takkig the "VEOKTIN'E, and all h&re obtained relief Yours truly.

TlfOMAS E. MOORE.

Overseer of Card Room, Portsmouth to."sMills.

FEEL MYSELF A NEW WAN. NATICK, Mass., June 1, 1872.' Mr. ir. R. STF.VEXS

Dear Sir Throiij?!! tho advico and earnest

rhave

^rsuasion of tho Itev. M, R, LJcst. ttilt* place, been takiv.- for tlyspepsla, which I have suffered for years. ... 1 In- nn-t\ .oh i• bottles, niul already feel Bysell a new man. Respectfully.

3

praise,

l)u. J. \V. CARTER.,,

GOOD EVIDENCE.

Crxci-S'XATI, Nov. 26,1872.

Mr. H. R. STEVENS: Dear Sir—^The two bottles of VEOETIXE fitr•Aslied me by your agent niy wife has used with great benefit.

For a long time she has been troubled wltn. dizziness and costiveness tliese troubles are •ow entirely removed by tlie use of VEOETIXE.

She wns also troubled with dysponsia and general debility, aud has been crently benefited.

THOMAS iiILMOKE,

1

229*4 Walnut street*

11BLIABLB EVIDENCE. MR. If. R. STEVENS Dear Sir—1 will most cheerfully add my testimony to tlie great number you have already received in favor t.f your great and good medicine. VEOETIXE, for 1 do not think enough can be cam hilts

fori was troubled over thirty vears

with that dreadful disease, Catarrli, and had such bad coughing spells tbat ii would seem as though I could never breathe any more, and VEUKTIXE has cured me and I do feel to thank God all the

time

that there is so good a medicine

as VEOETIXE, and I also think it one of the best medicines for coughs and weak sinking feelings at the stomach, and advise everybody to take the VEOETIXE. for I can assure them it is one oi tne best medicines that ever was.

MRS. L. GORE.

Corner Magazine and Walnut streets, Cambridge, Mass.

APPRECIATION.

CRABLESTOWX, Mass,, March 10,

H'. It.

STEVEXS:

This is to certify that I have used your Blood preparation" (VEOETIXE) in my family for several years, and think that, for Scrofula or Cankerous Humors or Rheumatic affections, it aannot be excelled and as a blood purifier and Spring medicine it is the best thing I have ever used and I have used almost everything. I can cheerfully recommend It to any one in need of such a medicine. Yours respectfully, j? MBS. A. A. DINSMORE, ,i: 19Russell street*

Vegetine is Sold by all Druggists, ,:n

y? r*

I j*

a W