Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 9, Number 16, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 19 October 1878 — Page 6

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THE MAIL *"A

PAPER

TOR THE

PEOPLE.

is*

THE LlTTUt HANDS.

The little hands. the precious hands. May they be ever blest! As In our gnidanea they confide,

How trastlmjly tneywft. •Tl»e little nerve* liO tranquilly $ ,» A* birds within a nest!

Wonld that oar love oould ever shield 1 he*e lives so pare and brtKlit, 'iSFroni harshness aad corroding care, ,,

And sorrow's bitter blight, So that their bands might ever rest In love's unchanging light.

These little hands are all around That wo each step may guide Belying on oar years and strength,

And in our love confide Fearing no ill while we are near

guardians by their side.

Cherish the little hands, and guide And gaartl them while yon may For they are household angels hands,

And may not stay alway Soon may tbe Uny wings unfold And soar from earth away.

AVc can recall some little hands, That we in ours caressed Can see the buds In tiny hands, vr Laid peacefully to rent

Those ItttJe han«.s hsvefgone for aye, To be forevui blest!

Blest memories of the little hands,"

t'hrtt clung to ours in trust And child-like faith, but now, alas! Those little hands ara dust, N vera«iin to cllug to our*, lu their sweet loving trdbt.

And may no memories ever come^ To us in future years, C,/ Of harshness or unkind neglect, ,r

That catised to flow one tear From little eyes that should al way In jovlng light appear. If IJTBRHB HAU re. Oct. 8,1878. K.W.E.

The Haunted .Hotel

OR,

A Mystery of Modern Venice.

BY WILKIK COLT-INS.

CHAPTER XVIII.

was diverted to himself and hla own sensations by a grotesquely disagreeable oocurrcnce which took him completely by surprise.

He became conscious of a mysteriously offensive odor In the room, entirely new in hla experience of revolting smells. It was composed (it »uoh a thing oould be) of two mingling exhalations, which were separately discoverable ex halations nevertheless. This very strange blending of odors consisted of something faintly and unpleasantly aromatic, mixed with another underlying Bmell, so unutterably sickening that be threw open the window and put his head out into the fresh air, unable to endure the infected atmosphere for a moment longer.

The French proprietor joined his English friend with his cigar already lit. He

started back in dismay at a sight terrible to his countrymen in general—the sight of an open window. 'You English people are perfectly mad on the subject of fresh air!' he exclaimed. "We shall all catch our deaths of cold.'

Francis turned and looked at him in astonishment. 'Are you really not aware of the smell there is in the room?' he asked. 'Smell I' repeated his brother manager. 'I smell my own good cigar. Try one yourself. And for heaven's sake shut the window!'

Francis declined the cigar by a sign. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'I will leave you to close tbe window. I feel faint and giddV—I had better go out.'

He" put his handkerchief over his nose and month and crossed the room to the door.

Tbe Frenchman followed the move ments of.Francis in such a state of bewilderment that he actually forgot to seize the opportunity of shutting out tbe fresh air. •Is it so nasty as that!' he asked, with a broad stare of amazement. 'Horrible!' Francis muttered behind his handkerchief. 'T never smelt anything like it in my life!'

There was a knock at the door. The scene painter appeared. His employer instantly asked him Jt he smelt anything. F) 'I smell your ciga.v Dei'cious! Give me one directly!' •Wait a minute. Besides my cigar, do you swell anything else—vile, abom-

I'The Haunted Hotel," Wllkie Collins's inanle, overpowering, indescribable, last and best story, was commenced in The never-never-never smelt before?' Mail Ansuat 24, 1878-Vol. 9, No. 9. Back The scene painter appeared to be puz

Mail office, or of news agents in this city 8

and neighboring towns.] g-

V. bad- The ^Udre^eSTohU""^

•ft

•The room is as fresh and sweet as a room can be,' he answered. As be spoke he looked back with astonishment at Francis Westwick, standing outside in the corridor and eyeing

Before the end of the week the manager found himself in relations with'the th® interior of nrifa family' one more. A telegram from expression of disgust which was undis

On the next day Francis Westwick arrived, in excellent spirits. He bad signed agreements with the most popular dancer in Italy he had transferred the charge of Mrs. Norbury to bis brother Henry, who had joined him In Milan, and he was now at fall liberty to amuse himself by testing in every possible way tbe extraordinary influence exercised over his relatives by the new hotel. When his brother and Mister tirst told him what tbelr experi once bad been, he Instantly declared that'be would go to Venice In the interest of the theatre. The circumstances related to him contained valuable bints for a ghost drama. The title oocurred to him in tho railway: 'The Haunted Hotel.' Post that in red letters six feet high, on a black ground, all over London, and trust the excitable public to crowd into the theatre.

Received with tbe politest attention by the manager, Francis met wltb a disappointment on entering the hotel. 'Souie mistake, sir. No such room on the first floor as Number Fourteen. The room bearing that number is on tbe second 11 r, and has been occupied by me from the day when tbe hotel opened. Perhaps you mean No. 13 A, on tbe first llodr? It will be at your eerviee to-mor-row—a charming room. Ih tbe mean time we will do the best we can for you to-uight.'

A man who is the successful manager of a theatre is probably the last man in the univerto who is capable of being impressed with favorable opinions of his fellowmeu. Francis privately set tbe manager down as a humbug, and the atory about the nuuiberiug of the rooms as a lie.

On the l.iy of his arrival be dined by himself lit the restaurant, before the hour of tb« table d'hote, for the express purpose of questioning tbe waiter without wing overheard by anybody. The answer led bim to the oonclnaion that '13 A' occupied the situation in the hotel which baH been de&crit*-u ut« brother and sisu aa the aituatiou of *14.' He asked next for the visitors' list, and found that the French gentleman who than occupied 'IS A' was the proprietor or a theatre la Parte, personally well known whim. Was tbe gentleman in the hotel? He had gone out, bnt would ttioat certainly return tor the table i'hote.

When tbe public dinner was over, Francis entered the room, and waa welcomed by his Parisian colleague, literal ly, with op«n arms. 'Come and have a cigar in my room,' •aid tbe friendly Frenchman. 'I want to hear whether you have reallyengaged that woman in Milan or not.'

In this easy way Francis found an opportunity to compare the ii tenor ot tbe room with the description which he bad heard of it at Milan.

Arriving at the door tbe Frenchman bethought himself of hla traveling oompftKXtoa* •My scene painter la here with b» aaid. 'on tbe lookout fr materials. An excellent fellow, who will Uke aa a kindnea* if we ask him to join ua. tell the porter to send him up when ^be eomeeln.r room to

«MI»,

minnte. It's at the end of the corridor slble grace. _I3 A.'

A. E

^5ssrtff5sa4«5i! jftjsrs *»«SEESVi&

the next day, and would be obliged if English colleague, and looked at him Number Fourteen, on the first tior,,

could be reserved for him, in the event *Yo® ®®e

The reJSerld^room hid been last ed to two little English girls, at play in let t^ a Fre^chTent^ It would be the corridor. 'The door of mj- room occupied ion the day of Mr. Francis

Eappened

Ua aUa trwi Kaw ml hK on

grave

and an:pous s«utiny.

my frieQ^'

^ifa hninir u»p#nt at thfl time us, with as good noses as yours, who The manager paused to consider bo- smell nothing. If vouwaiit evidence ho iwmSrt his directions from more noses, look there!' He point

wide open—and

WestwiCK*s arrival, but it would be smell can travel. I*ow listen, while I Jnfntxr n.rain

nn the dav after Would appeal to these innocent noses, in the

rKf w.ti to re£rYe?b?™mtorK la'W of tl»l own di.m.llsl.nd special occupation of Mr. Francis, and when he had passed the night unsuspi ciously and comfortably in 'No. 13 A. to ask him in the presence of witnesses how be liked his bed chamber? In this case, if the reputation of the room happened to be called in question again, tbe answer would vindicate it, on the evidence of a member of the very family which had tirst f,iven Number Fourteen a bad name. After a little reflection the manager decided on trying the experiment, and directed that '13 A' should be reserved accordingly.

^®r®®*®2.ui

you l^ow how fast a

My little loves, do you sniff a nasty smell here—ha?' Tbe children burst out laughing, and answered emphatically, 'No.' 'My good Westwick,' the Frenchman resumed, In his own language, 'the conclusion is purely plain? There is something wrong, very wrong, with your own nose. 1 recommend you to see a medical man.'

Having given that advice, he returned to his room, and shut out tbe "horrid fresh air with aloud exclamation of relief. Francis left the hotel by the lanes that led to the Square of St. Mark. The night breeze soon revived him. He was .able to light a cigar, and to think quietly over wbat had happened.

^CHAPTER XIX^

Avoiding the crowd under tbe colonnades Francis walked slowly up and down tbe beautiful open space of the square, batbed in the Ugbt of the rising moon.

Without being aware of it himself, he was a thorough materlalart. The strange effect produced on him by the room— following ou the other strange effects produced on tbe other relatives of his dead brother—exercised no perplexirfg influence over the mind of this sensible man. 'Perhaps,' he reflected, 'my tempera ment Is more Imaginative than I supposed It to be—and this is a trick played on me by my own fanoj? Or, perhaps, my friend is right something is physically amiss witn me. I don't feel ill, certainly. But that is no safe criterion sometimes. I am not going to sleep in that abominable room to-night—I can well wait till to-morrow to decide as to whether or not I shall speak to a doctor. In the mean time, the hotel doesn't seem likely to supply me with the subject of a piece. A terrible smell from an invisible ghost is a perfectly new Idea. But then it oertainly has one drawback. If I realize it on tbe stage I shall drive tbe audience out of the theatre.'

As his strong common sense arrived at this facetious conclusion he became aware of a lady, dressed entirely iu black, who was observing him with marked attention. •Am I right in supposing you fo be Mr. Francis Westwick?' the lady asked at the moment when he looked toward her. •That is mv name, madaai. May I inquire to whom I have the honor of speaking?' •We have only met once,* she answered, a little evasively, 'when your late brother introduced me to tbe members of his family. I wonder if you have forgotten my big black eyes and my hideous complexion?' She lifted her veil as she spoke, aud turned so that the moonlight rested on ber faoe.

Francis recognized at a glance tbe woman of all others whom he most cordially disliked—tbe widow of his dead brother, the first Lord Montbarry. He frowned as he looited at her. His experience oil tbe stage, gathered at innumerable rehearsals with actresses who had sorely tried his temper, had accustomed him to apeak roughly to women who were distasteful to him. 'I remember you,* he said. 'I thought you were in America!'

Bhe took no notice of bis ungracious tone and manner she simply stopped him when he lifted his hat and turned to leave ber. 'Let me walk with you for a few minutes,' she quietly replied. 'I have something to aay to you/

He showed her hia oig&r. 'I am smokins,' he a«id. •1 dont tcindamoking.'

mrter to seaa otm up wum *»•"», .' He banded tbe key of Ma done (short of downright brutality) bat ,WU..VFF

After that there waa nothing to Be

'I will be back iu a to yield. He did it with the worat pos-

PrancUentJWKi the room alone. There want fme1|* were tbe deoorattona on the walls and 'Ion shall hear directly, Mr. Wastthe ceUina, exaetly aa tbey bad been de- wick. Let me firattell you what my aeribed tonlm! Be had lost time to per- position la. I am alone in the world. To celre this at a glanc*, mthro his attention the loss of my husband has now been

'Well?* he reanmed, 'What do yon

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EV ENI^vi MAIL.

added another bereavement—the loas of my oompanion in America, my brother, Baron Rivar,'

Tbe reputation of. the Baron and the doubt which scandal had thrown on hla assumed relationship to the Countess were well known to Francia, 'Shot in a gambling aaloottT' be asked brutally. 'The question la a perfectly natural one on your part,' she said, with the impenetrably ironical manner wblohsbe oould aasume on certain occasions. 'As a native of horse-racing England you belong to a nation of gamblers. My brother died no extraordinary death, Mr, Westwiek. He sank, with many other unfortunate people, under a fever

revalent in a Western city which we to visit. Tbe calamity of bia lose made the United States unendurable to me. I lett by tbe first steamer that sailed from New York—a French vessel which brought me to Havte. I continued my lonely journey to tbe South of France. Ana then I went on to Venice.' 'What does all this matter to me? Francis thought to himself. She paused, evidently expeotlng to hear him say something. 'So you have come to Yen ice?' he said carelessly. 'Why?' 'Because I couldn't help it,' she answered.

Francis looked at her with cynical curiosity. •That sounds odd,' he remarked. 'Why couldn't you help it?' •Women are accustomed to act ou Impulse,' she exolaimed. 'Suppose we say that an Impulse has directed my jour ney? And yet thib is the last place In the world that I w.ish to And myself in. Associations that I detest are connected with it in my mind. If I bad a will of my own I would never see it again, hate Venice. As you 9ee, however, I am here. When did you meet with such an unreasonable woman before? Never, I am sure!'

She stopped, eyed him for a moment, and suddenly altered ber tone. 'When is Miaa Agnes Lockwood expected to be in Venice?' she asked.

It was not easy to throw Francis off his balance, bnt that extraorninary ques tion did it. 'How the devil did yoa know that Miss Lockwood was coining to Venice?' he exclaimed.

She laughed—a bitter, mocking laugh. •Say, I guessed it.' Something in her tone, or perhaps something in the audacious defiance ot her eyes as they rested on him, roused the quick temper that was in Francis Westwick. 'Lady Montbarry, he began. 'Stop there!' she interposed. 'Your brother Stephen's wife calls herself Lady Montbarry now. I share my title with no woman. Call me by my name before I committed the fatal mistake of marrying your brother. Address me, if you please, as Countess T^arona.' 'Countess Narona,' Francis resumed, •if your object iri claifiiing my acquaintance is to mystify me, you have come to the wrong man. Speak plainly, or permit me to wish you good evening.' •If your object is to keep Miss Lockwood's arrival in Venice a secret,' she retorted, 'speak plainly, Mr. Westwick, on your side, abd say so.'

Her intention was evidently to irritate him and shQ succeeded. 'Nonsense!' he broke out, petulantly. 'My brother's traveling Arrangements are secrets to nobody. He brings Miss Lockwood here, with LadT Montbarry and the children." "As yatt seein so well informed^ perhaps you know why she is coming to Venice?'

The Countess bid Suddenly b&came grave ami thoughtful. She made ho i^e

?*he two strangely associated compan ions, having reached one extremity of the square, were now standing before the church o'f St Mark. The moonlight was bright eti'ough to show the architecture of the grand' cathedral iri its ^Wonderful variety of .detail. Evfin thepig-( eons of St. Mark were plainly visible, in dark,, closely packed rows^roOSti0g in tbe archways of the greit entrance donrs. 'I never savfr the old church look so beautiful by moonlight,' tbe. Countess said quietly, speaking not to Francis, but to herself. 'Good-by, St. Mark's by moonlight! I shall not see you again.'

She turned away from tbe church, and saw Francis listening to ber with won dering looks. 'No,' she resumed, placidly picking up the lost thread of tbe conversation, 'I don't know why Miss Lockwood is ooming here I only know that we are to meet In Venied. 'By previous appointment?' 'By destiny,' she answered, with her head on her breast and ber eyea on the ground. Francis burst out laughing. 'Or, if you like it better,' she instantly resumed 'by what fools sometimes calls chance.' HFrancis answered easily, out of tbe depths of his strong common sense. •Cbance seems to be taking a queer way of bringing the meeting about,' he aaid. 'We have all arranged to meet at the Palace Hotel. How is it that your name is not on the Visitors' List? Destiny ought to have brought you to the Palace Hotel, too.'

She abruptly pulled down her veil. 'Destiny may do that yet I' she said. •The Palace Hotel she repeated, once more speaking to herself. 'The old hell transformed into the new purgatory. The place Itself. Jesus Maria! the plaoe itself!' She paused and laid bet* band on her companion's arm. 'Perhaps Miss Lockwood is not going there with the rest of you?' she burst out with sudden eagerness. 'Are you positively sure she will be at the boual •Positively! Haven't I told you that Miss Look wood travels with Lord and Lady Montbarry? And doa't ytfa know that she is a member of tbe family? You will have to move, Countess to our hotel.'

She was perfectly impenetrable to the bantering tone in which he addreeaed ber. •Yes,' ahe said, faintly, 'I shall have to move to your hotel.'

Her band waa still on hia arm be could feel ber shivering from head to foot while she spoke. Heartily as he disliked and diatrusted ber, the common instinct of humanity obliged him to aak ber If sbe felt oold. 'Yes,' ahe said 'oold and faint.' *Oold and faint, Countess, on snch a night as this?' 'The night has nothing to do with it, Mr. Westwick. How do you suppose the criminal on the scaffold feels while tbe hangman la putting the rope round hia neck? Oold and faint, too. I abould think. Excuse my grim fancy. You aee destiny has sot the rope round my neck—and I feet it.'

She looked about her. They were at that moment close to tbe famous cafe kuown as "Florian's." "Take me in there,' ahe said. 'I must have something to revive me. Yoa had better iuft hesitate. Yott are interested in reviving me. I have not said what I wanted to aay to yon yet. It's bosifceas, and its connected with your theatre.'

Wondering inwardly what ahe oould possibly want with hla theatre, Francis reluctantly yielded to tbe necessities of the situation and took ber into the cafe. He found a quiet corner in which they could take tbeli places without attract

ing notice. 'What will you have?' be inquired, resignedly. Sbe gave her own orders to tbe waiter, without troubling bim to apeak for ben 'Marasohino. And a pot of tea,'

The waiter atared Francis "tared. The tea was a novelty (in connection with maraschino) to both of tbem. Careless whether she surprised tbem or not. sbe instructed tbe waiter, when her directiona bad been complied wltb, to poor a large wlneglassful of tbe liquor into a tumbler ana to fill it up from the teapot 'I can't do it for myself,' she remarked 'my band trembles ao.'

She drank tbe strange mixture eagerly. hot as it waa. 'Maraschino punch—will you have some of It?' sbe said. 'I inherit tbe discovery of this drink. When your English Queen Caroline waa on the Continent, my mother was attached to ber court, That much injured royal person invented, in her btppier hours, this Maraschino punob. Fondly attached to ber gracioua mistress, my mother shared her tastes. And 1, in my turn, learned from my mother. Now, Mr. Westwick, suppose I tell you wbat my business is, You are manager of a theatre. Do you want anew play?' 'Ialways want anew play—provided it's a good one.' 'And you pay, if it's a good one?' 'I pay llberaiiy—in my own interests.' 'Il I write the play, will you read It?'

Francis hesitated.. •What has pnt writing a play Into your head?' be asked. 'Mereaccident,'she answered. 'I had occasion once to tell my late brother of a visit I paid to Miss Lockwood when I was last in England. He took no Interest in wbat bad happened at tbe interview, but something struck bitn in my way of relating It. He said: "You describe what parsed between you- and the lady with the point and contrast of good stage dialogue. You bave the dramatic instinct—try if you can write a play. Yon might make money." That put it into my bead.'

These last words seemed to startle Francis. 'Surely yon don't want money!' hp exclaimed. •I always want money. My tastes are expensive. I bave nothing but pay poor little four hundred a year—and the wreck that is left of tbe other money. About two hundred pounds In oircular notes, no more.'

Francis knew that sbe was referring to tbe £10,000 paid by the insurance officers. 'All those thousands gone already?' he exclaimed.

She blew a little puff of air over her fingers. 'Gone like that!' she answered, ooolly. 'And Baron Rivar?'

She looked at bim with a flash of anger in her hard black eyes. •My affairs are my own secret, Mr. Westwick. I bave made you a proposal and you bave not answered me yet. Do not say no without thinking first. Romember what a life mine has been. I have seen more of the world than most people, playwrights included. I have heard remarkable stories I have observed I bave had strange adventures I have remembered. Are there no mate-, rials here in my head for writing a play, if tbe opportunity is granted to me?' Sbe waited a. moment ana suddenly repeated her str^qge question about Agnes.

Whet)'is Miss Lockwood expected to be in Venioe?' 'Wbat has ibat to do with your new ^lay, Cotfntess?.'

The COiint6ga appeared to feel some difficulty in giving that question its fit reply.. Sbe mixed another tumblerful of the maraschino punch and drank one good half of it before sbe spoke again. 'It has everything to do with my new playw^s. all she said. 'Answer me.' Francis aus^er'ed her. I 'Miss Lockwood maybe here in a yvpekj Or, for all I know to the contrary tooner than that.' I «V6ry ftell. If I am a living woman arid ifree woinah ih a week's time—or if I am in possession of my senses in a week's time (don't interrupt me I know what I am talking abotit)—I shall go to England, and I shall write a sketoh or outline of my play a9 a specimen of what I can do. Once again, will you read it?' 'I will certainly repd it. But Countess, I don't understand'-

She held up ber for silence, and finished the second tumbler of marasohino punch. 'I am a living enigma—and you want to know tbe right reading or me,' sbe said. 'Here is the reading, as your English phrase goes, in a nutshell. There is a foolish idea, in tbe minds of many persons, that the natives of warm climates are imaginative people. There never was a greater mistake. You will find no such unimaginative people anywhere as you find in Italy, Spain, Greece and the other southern countries. /To anything fanciful, to anything spiritual, their minds are deaf and blind by nature. Now and then in the course of centuries a great genius springs up amongst them, and be fa tbe exception which prove the ruM Now see! I' though am no—genius—I am, in my little way (as I suppose) an exception, too. To my sorrow, I have some of that imagination which is so common among tbe English and tbe Germans—so rare among the Italians, the Spaniards and the rest of tbem! And wbat is the result I think it has become a disease in me. I am filled with presentiments whloh make this wicked life of mine one long terror to me. It doesn't matter just now what they are. Enough that tbey absolutely govern me—they drive me over land ana sea at their own horrible will they are in me, and torturing me, at this moment! why dont I resist them? Ha! but I do resist tbem. I am trying (with tbe help of the good

Fundi)

to reaiat them now. At intervals cultivate the diffloult virtue of sound sense. Sometimes sound sense makes a hopeful woman of me. At one time, I had tbe hope that what seemed reality to me was onfy mad delusion, after all—I even asked the qoeation of an English doctor! At other times, other sensible doubts of myself beset me. Never mind dwelling on tbem now—It always ends in tbe old terrors and superstitions taking possession of me again. In a week's time I shall know whether destiny doee indeed decide my future for me, or whether I decide it for myself. In tbe last case, my resolution is to absorb thia self-tormenting fancy of mine in tbe occupation that I have told you of already. Do you understand me a little better now? And, our business being settled, dear Mr. Westwick, shall we get out of this boiroom Into the nice, cool air again?'

They

rose

MILLY'S FATE.

There swims no goose so gray but soon or I1U4 Will find some honest gander for a mate.

But, alas! aa she turned to embrace tbe Bed

Consciousness returned slowly, and

softly and gently.

nnfl

Milly woke up, and after tea was moved out on the wide, breezy veranda, and, while sitting idly turning tbe leaves of a book, and wondering why she oould not bave a handsome hero like the beauty theiein, she waa startled tn the latch of tbe gate, and, looking up beheld 'that man'walking ooolly towaru her. Viv'

Mllly smiled and murmured, 'Oh, dear!' to herself, then stretched out her

the door, and Miily Was frightened. No need he' walked over to Aunt'Barbaca and aaid: 'Pfii-d00 me, madauie, I called to ih-! qttire for j'our—' ?My niece,' said Aunt Barbara. 'itfbftm I found }n the orpbaijd this morning. I trust she i? not seriously hurt and, presenting, Bid" card, with a polite 'Allow me,' to Aunt'Barbara, be turned to Milly.

Aunt Barbara's face softened visibly after reading febe name, and torning im mediately to,Milly, she said: 'Millicent, this is Dr. Vanbourg, from New York thank him for bis trouble and kindness.' 'As if I were an.infant,' thought Milly, and was silent.

Then Aunt Barbara, finding Milly disposed to be grum, settled herself to talk to the gentleman, and Milly watched. 'Ob, wbat blue eyes he has! and aUch big ones, too! I am afraid of tbem,' said she to herself. 'I wonder how big his wife is, for he must be married: be Is forty or fifty, I guess,' thinks Milly.

Then the big eyes turned on her, and 'the deep voice says: 'Are you fond of reading, Miss Middleton I bave some of the latest novels with me to which you are weloome, to while away your invalid hours tben adds,'I have also a copy of Pope. Should you like It?'

Poor Milly! Again her faoe burned. •There swims no goose,' flashed into her mind. He must have beard ber! •Tbe horrid old gander!' Then aloud: 'Thanks. I bave all tbe reading I can manage.'

Tnen she contemplated tbe sunset. The blue eyes smiled and turned to Aunt Barbara

Evening after evening passed, and •till Milly was propped up with "that

and

to leave tbe cafe. Francis

privately oonotaded that the maraschino punch offered the only diaooverable explanation of what tbe Countess had said to bim. [TO

BXEOSTNRTJKD.]

Titovft the previous question,' aaid a delegate to a Montana convention. Tbe Chairman—'If tbe cbalr recollect right, tbe qoeation waa on adjourning for drlnka. Those in favor, say

yes

JL CKU4 VV» W vwvj

Poor

contra

ry minded, no. It is a vote.*: WORKISOXKX! Look to your interests and save doctor bills by naing Pr. Bull's Congb Syrup.

then contemplated the sunset. and doleftolly thtnk^

some day yoa will change your mind. It is fate, dear, I suppose/ Then aloud: 'Gocd by, Miss Mllly. I hope before ife long you will be abfe to climb all the trees on the farm,' and then in a moment be wtfs gone.

'"v *"7^ &

Tbe next morning Milly beard that Dr. Vanbourg had left for New York. Did sbe laugh then? I am sorry to aay tbat poor Milly cried—all to herself, though, In ber cosy little white curtained room.

And swinging ber feet dolefully from ."•"** """L, „R~VT^HIfarm her perch In the big apple tree, Mllly honse was the same as ]*sn*lt ontl11 one made awry face, and then continued her ®^rnoo" a ru^-v,«ri mfb' soiiloouv Milly wa$ watching Aunt Barbara mak'I, Aiillicent Middleton, aged nineteen, [eg pies—not a romatio hlff Anouuh Old enanih and u«rlv the result was alway8 good—and right enough'—anh there the witch laughed In ho midst of It a letter was brought in she knew sbe waa not ugly—'to fall In Ta, £ew ^°, _____ love, and dying to do it for the senaa-

tion, and Oh, dear, nobody to fall in love

with! Now I shall imagine this tree my niotnent. lover Ob you de—'

After tbat, life at tbe whitbe

mMI11?8

heart

was

•Ob!'and snap went tbe lids together setf. .. again, and Mllly's pretty cheeks became By thla time the P1^ ™_er® JJj1®_ T®® a rieclded scarlet

And, suiting the action to the words,

w,*h

Aunfc Barbara

ber

moment more «ll on ber way to tbe ^?r tllr,)e^Lau^

ground, 'to be killed/ flashed through ,e ber mind, and then -blank.

and Aant

•Never mind, dear,' said a soothing hand and hunting and decidedly manly voice. 5P®n

curiosity in a

letter. shrug-hrn__

eJed tfae

shoulders and laid it aside. Mil--ra ft l* from Dr. V.nboorgf

Bhe

Then she

sly Milly peeped out from under ber —ber fashionable aunt, who lived In lashes to see who was holding her up so

let^r ,anf

Now that was too much. Milly aat Tnen she looked at Milly,, and, smiling straight up then, but with a groan sank handed it to ber. Milly devourback. 'Thatborrld ankle, how it did «. i» 'Dear sister,' it ran, 'Mllly Is now a

Walk sbe could not, so as soon as she young lady grown, I.think it time gained courage to speak, she opened her

she 8aw

eves and said: you not lend her to me for the winter? •Oh, sir, I am so sorry to trouble you.

she added- refuse me.' •8 nlease do'not lautrh at me' I live

Then

in thatwhfto hoaae atTthe toV^tbehill! Mllly did not siop to but jumping Woo'tyougotorsomeone to Uke me 'I beg your pardon, mta, I do not like me go!'until the stern llpe emlled and to leave you alone. If you will allow beraunt consented. ,n me, I will take you home myself.' 5n th.

be lifted ber lightly in bia arms and from ber

started for tbe house, and almost before spoke was of

Milly could speak sgain, he bad reached October at last flew„Pa8^»ahd it, aud walking in at the open door, laid 11 aIh her on the sofa in the hall, touched his |n natty little traveling^suit, arrived bat and was gone. the crowded, bustling city of Jew

Milly was pretty, very preity not a York. beautiful, stately creature, but a pretty little witch with curly brown hair, laughing brown eyt-s, pink cheeks and rosy lips, an undecided nose, a dainty foot and dimpled hand, a merry nature, a foolish little heart tbat was goodness itself, and a wilful, winning way. And Milly was an orphan. Her parents having died, she was left an independent little sprig, to be grafted into the hard hearts of her cross uncle and strong minded aunt, but so thoroughly was sbe grafted, so thrivingly did sbe grow, tbat in tbe corner of this hearts the ice melted and sunshine came in. The cross uncle would smile, and the stern aunt's frown fade when she was near. She did as she pleased, and pleased all a romance was to come.

P'00*1*

T•J™

thought of her Aunt Laura

oV^i

doea 8be want?

®he ^ked

ber-

Barbara, after washing her

tl?e

so®61Ing of the J^ld.

1Can

riirt fnii and kill mvsulf married, and I am alone. Let her come Then, noticing a smile on tbestran- the first of next month that will give ger's lips, for a stranger it was, though her time to complete her wiu^ter outfit alas! lor romance, a decidedly homely before the season fairly opens. Do not

?ou

followed some family news that

d£ea«n. Tb®.

eJ®ry

J*ord

she

wl°^*

One niebt Milly was in fairy land, herself tbe queen. Admirers crowded around the little beauty till ber bead was fairly in tbe whirl againat whiob her uncle cautioned ber.

Late in tbe evening ahe was standing surrounded by a merry crowd, heiaelf the gayest of the gay, when sbe glanced toward the open door through whioh some one was just being announced, and whom did sbe see? 'That great ugly gander!' Her companions saw a momentary flash in Ber eye and a quick blush suffused ber cheek, but attributed it to some sly compliment, and all went on as before.

Milly thought: 'I hope he won't come near mel It will be very impolite If be does not! But I will teach bim a lesson if he does!'

Notwithstanding her conjectures, Dr. Vanbourg did not come to ber, only boWed pleasantly, gravely, and Mllly thinks queerly, as he watohed her every move and gesture!

After the last guest bad departed, Mliiy went to her room, and, sitting down before tbe looking glass, sbe solll^, oquized: *Ha need not think I am a baby, to bp made fun of and laughed at. I am fust as good as be Is, and a-a-a good deal better looking.'

Tben sbe blushed and hid her face in her hands as sbe thought of what handsome .Charley Landseer said to her ,that evening then she looked up, and continued 'I just hate bim—that's wnat I dora a it to

And then sk6 saw the teats homing, and she hurried, her pijeparaUons,, and tot into bedL to dream that Charley Landjseer waa. talking to her. vjitb an ugly ialae face

00,

wltb big blue eyes

that laughed at htir and made her cry. Mllly's winter was a grand auoces?. Hearts and fortunes were laid at ber feet, but Mllly's heart waa still a puzzle to herself and others. 'She did try to fall in love witk all her oulgbt, but somehow she could not fall.'

Dr. Vanbourg sbe saw but seldom, and then always at a distance, and only long enough to see the smile In the blue eyes, aud to scowl and bow ooldly iu return, and tben go home and vow sbe 'bated bim,' sbe hoped she 'never would see bim again,' and then would cry to think of It.

Reader, do yon wonder why Milly could not fall in love? And so the winter passed, and Mllly went home with a queer feeling of regret and relief, and life at the farmhouse went on tbe same as usual.

No—not exactly the same, for Milly bad changed. What was it? Sbe laughed and chatted as much aa ever, but she did not sing her fresh little songs or climb ber much loved trees sO much as formerly, and a cute little air of dignity was creeping over ber. Ann Barbara noticed it, but "was glad that Millicent was settling down as sbe did at twenty."

But Mllly, in reality, was not quite happy. Sbe did not know exactly why,

u-ffj*

everlasting ankle' and every evening though she did not try to And out. the blue eyes of br. Vanbourg smiled Onee in awhile she thought on ber while he conversed with Aunt hourg, and when abe her cheeks Barbara

would

Mllly fumed inwardly, but neverthe- 'The big, ugly thing!' ahe *0°^ loss liked to watch the "great ogiy gen- think, and then, there swims no goose aa she styled him. *Bat wheSThe wouhl enter ber mind. Then she would spoke to her, she only answered politely

burn, and she would get so mad.

dr^P."{®^F°e^1°flrhe,rhttptreh^

'I am not a baby, and will not be treat- must have been oooked for the last New

be pollteand eptertaln him, so sbe said, with gold and rosy applM.andshedi ts sweetly:

warm

tforoMfrom Mactatr and went toward of S dS ,«r.?g.to»y, miy^ber demand be b|. great arm. qnleSy

little Mlllv! 'The great big, ngly swinging her^feet, her faoe burled gander,' she said to herself, and then among the branches. turned to him with flashing eves. Suddenly she heard a iind •I won't be made fan of! I hate you. looking down, saw Dr. Vanbourg diGo away!' and before either oould apeak, rectly under her, his arms open. but not before she saw tbe pained, sor-

^11y»d**i

rowful look in tbe big blue eyes. Aunt back will you some no*' ... Barbara appeared, an5 all ag^nbecame

.a^iS nJSrE^t £35',rind ^'wbat'tonowedwe d«re not-rite, bot u^inn hitf !S«ni before she

could

Sfnier

l°at

£er I8™®*

Year's dinner. Bat bow she wished she'd never seen that horrid doctor, and said *yei' instead of 'no' to the handsome Charley Landseer. And

edasone,' she soliloquized (Milly was fond of soliloquising). At last, one evening, when Milly a ankle was nearly well. Aunt Barbara unariey juanuaeer. was oalled away and s&e waa left alone and thought, and thought, until sum with Dr. Vanbourg. Of oourse she must mer again loaded the

sbe thought,

monstrous

Blow

•Dr. Vanbourg, won't you tell me changeable little heroine. what votir wife is like?' But Mllly waa not merry one day she The doctor looked astonished, while was sad, and went Into

trees

,nto the beart of our

m0Trf

J? 3

refuse when tbe monstrous farm bell rang for

it, nl§, so low tbat even Annt Barbara's tea hestarted ."P ^er

•harp ears could not hear: tag, blushing face to his, said •I am very sorry, Mllly, and bop* There swims no goose so gray but soon or late

dr0°*"

Will find some honest gander for a mate.' 'Milly, dear, It Is fate.' And tben tbey went to supper.

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