Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 10, Number 50, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 12 June 1880 — Page 6
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ENCHANTMENT.
The sails we see on the ocean. Are aa white as white can be, Bat never o»e In the harbor
As white as the sails at sea. And the clouds that crown the mountain With purple and gold delight, Turn to cold gray mist and vapor *,=
Ere we reacu its bight. Stately and fair the vessel That comes not near our beach. Stately and grand the mountain
Whose hight we may never reaoh. Odistance,thou dear enchantrees, 8till hold in thy magic veil The glory of far-off mountains.
The gleam of the far-off sail
TWO FISHERS.
One morning when Spring was ifl her morn to a poet's wifhlng, All tinted in delicate pinks and greens-
Miss Bessie and I went fishing.
I in ray rough and easy clothes,* With my face at the sun-tan's mercy Sue with ner hat tipped down to her nose
And her nose tipped down vice versa. I with my rod, my reel.aud my hooks, And a hamper for lunching recesses Hhe with the bait of her comely looks,
And the seine of her go.den tresses. So we sat down on the rnnny dyke, Where the while pond lilies teeter: And I went to flshiag like quaint old Ike,
And she like Simon Peter. All the noon I lav In the light of her eyes, And dreamily watched and waited But the flsh were cunuing and would not
And ta'e baiter alone was baited. Ar when the time for departure came, My bag hung flat as a flounder But Beanie had neatly hooked Aergame—
A hundred and fifty pounder!
A FATAL MISTAKE
BY BARRETT SYLVESTER.
Author of "Fettered, Yet Free," "Clouds And Hunshiue," "Estclle's Error," 'Vnlse i'rlcle," ".Stricken
Dumb," Etc., Etc.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISS VAN DUYNB GROWS IN FAVOR. Clarice Suydam bad changed her place of residence, and she was now living in «oosy bouse on Patchen Place. The unfortuuato Clarence was not forgotten %n the arrangement of the sitting room of the new domicile, although the artist's materials were put away by tender, revjereat hands. Over the fireplace hung jtbe dead roan's portrait, draped in mourning black.
A bright tire was burning in the open grate, and gave to the room a cheerful warmth. year a window sat Clarice Suydam. sewing. Now and then a tear glistened upon her eyelashes and fell upon her hand.
BmiUe the grateful fire, her dainty feet renting on a low stool, and her head imbedded in the luxurious depths of an arm obair, reclined Miss Celeste Van Duyne, the handsome woman whom James Dalton had rescued from a life of misery.
For almost an hour, on the day of which we write, these two women sat in Clarice Suydam's sitting room, deeply engrossed in thought, and to the mind or one, imagination had lent its airy wings.
Mlew Van Duyno's eyea were -intently fixed upon the portrait hanging over the mantel.
At last she broke the long Bilence. *Mle»
1,1
8^° Sft^'a3a^
'"SS'niy, Ml» V»« Claris, without lilting her head. "You have really been
iii*9
l\ I I
a
Ktni
to
poor, undeserviilg h\e. Miss Suydam, and I do not waut to be impertinent but will you tell me whose portrait that laT' •It in the portrait of my dead cousin, Miss Van Duyne.' 'Please call me Celeste,' pleaded the young woman. 'He was handsome,' she Mid—'very handsome.' •Ay, he was handsome,' said Clarice, bittorly—'had he uot been, he might today bo alive. Beauty Is sometimes a cnr*e!'
Mias Van Duyne quickly withdrew her attention from the picturo and turned an astonished look upon Miss Suydam. "How did his features prove to be a cursef 'A wealthy lady pretended to fall in lovo with him, but she proved false because he was not wealthy also, aud then he
Clarioe paused and quietly resumed her work. •And what was the result, Miss Suydam?' •He died!' •Oh, how sadJ' exclaimed Miss Van Duyne. 'Died of a broken heart!'
Again silence reigned throughout the room. The beautiful Miss Van Duyne toyed Idly with the fringe on the arm of her chair.
Presently the silenco was again broken by her tuquiry 'Were you ever iu love? Ah, excuse me!' she said, hastily, aa if repeating the rude question. 'Once,' replied Clarice, smiling faintly, and then she turned her face toward the urimlow. •One*!' echoed Mii» Van Duyne. You should never love but once. 1 beg your pardon I see that I have stupidly blundered upon a subject which gives you pain.'
She directed her attention to the portrait again. •Do you know,' she said, tremulously, *1 bare been longing to tell you a secret, and ask vour advice as to what I shall do? I ace'm to be happy, bat I am miserable.'
Mias Van Duyne covered her face with Met hands and burst Into tears. Clarice rose from her seat and walked over to the young woman's chair. Lean* jog over the back ot it, she stroked the •obbing woman's forehead and bade her confide ber troubles to her keeping, and If ahe could do aught to aaslat ber she •would.
Mias Van Duyne, still hiding her face .» broke out: 'I am so unhappy! Yoor friend, Mr.
Dalton, ba* been very kind to me, and
Se
,u are like a sister, bnt I cannot escape stigma of my former life. I am forced to remain indoors but. I were freo to go Into society, I should soon be ^Jtowned upon, were rov character to become known, althougn I really have mot been vicious—you believe that I fcave not?' 'I have no rlgbt to disbelieve yoo,' •aid Clarice, gently. 'The fact of ycor leaving your evil companions is evidence ihat you bate crime.' •Blew you tor that assurance!' sighed the lovely creature. 'Judge then,' she added, 'of how I bemoan my unfortunate love.' •Lover
8aydam, I am deeply
en
lamored o&&gentieinan whose love I
ll* JLVXxiLX A—J I do not possess, and who, if be did 1 A PAPER FOR TITE PEOPLE.
If
amored oC»a gentleman whose love I fear I do not possess, and who, if be did love me, would not take me to his heart should I tell him the whole history of my life-* •Are you sure ho- would not?' asked Clarice. •I am almost positive. From my own acquaintance with him, 1 can see that he is too proud to wed with one who has not yet escaped the wiles of ber enemies, and who -is in constant fear of being discovered and forced back to ber old life.' •Do yon wish to know what his sentiments are on that point?' 'Ob, so much!' -sighed Miss Van Duyne. •Then tell Aim your .whole history— that is, if he should ever betray a more than ordinary .interest in your welfare. If he is a true man* he will not hesitate to place you in the honored position of the wife. Oibewiae, you will have to stifle your affection. It is our misfor tune that we sometimes lore where we are not beloved Aud sometimes we think we are beloved aad the heart is yearn ing for the woeds which will bring it comfort, when an unexpected ovent keeps him upon whom we have fixed our hearts from uttering those words, and custom will uot allow us to break away the barrier thatskeeps two loving hearts asunder. We may worship one worthy of our affeetiGq,.and.yet, because of our sex, we most needs remain silent.'
Clarice's bead was bowed, and she spoke with an effort. 'Then you think you would test him if yon stood in my peaitiotrf'vsaid Miss Van Dnyne. 'What do you mean by 'tast him?'" 'Why, I mean to endeavor to get him to acknowledge whetherrhe.loves me or not.' 'No,' replied Clarice, decidedly. 'That would be unmaidenly. Let the matter take its course, and if the man whom you love should declare hie .regard for you then speak out. Theee would be nothing gained by keepiug secret from your lover.' 'You are prudish, Miss Suydam.,'she murmured to herself, aa Clarice .replenished the fire.
Shortly after Ibis conversatioa,Olanice left the room. Miss Van Duyne sat for a time looking at the portrait of Clarence Suy-d&m, and then, as if annoyed by some unpleasant thought, walked to the other end of the room, and laid herself down upon a settee.
While she reclined thus, James Dalton entered the room. 'My benefactor!' exclaimed Miss Van Duyne, rising hastily and running to him with outstretched hands. 'How I have longed to see yoo!' She pushed the arm chair near the fire and drew A low bench up beside it. 'Here is a comfortable seat Miss Suydam will bo in presently.'
James Daiton sat down in a maz9—he was always in amaze when near this woman.
Miss Van Duyne placed herself on the bench at his /e)t, and her beautiful eyes sought his face. 'Why do you get down at my feet?' said the artist.
Because it is my rightful place,' the young woman replied, blushing. 'I am your slave henceforth.' 'Nonsense, Miss Van Duyne! What I have done in your behalf I would have done for anyone who was similarly situated.'
I know that,' she murmured—'I know that. You are so good!' James Dalton was more than ever entranced. •How came you to make such an alteration in your dress?' be asked, suddenly, looking down at ber plain habiliments.
Miss Van Duyne smiled. •What I wore wa9 far too extravagant for these humble suriounriiu&~, .Mr. J* ', tou,' she said, 'aad I TVM also forced to CSQBult thA
9 0i
another Mias
Suydam is better able to dress ricbly, for she has money to supply ber wants, while I am dependent upon— upon you. It would abow j* sad lack of taste were I to deck myself in my old finery.' •Admirable humility!' thought James Dalton. 'Well, throw away everything which will remind you of your former life,' he said, 'and whatever you desire in the way of clothing I am prepared to get. I make this proviso: you must order nothing of inferior quality everything must be of the very best that the market affords.' 'I should not care to do that,' said Miss Van Duyne. •Why not?' 'Because I am afraid it is too much to expect you to provide for me so bountifully. And, besides, my demands, under such circumstances, might be extravagant, for my notlous of living are high, and need to be curbed.' •Do not let that annoy you, Miss Van Duyne. You are not at all likely to make any demand which I am unable to meet. But, before we proceed any further, I must have more information in regard to your past life it is absolutely necessary, for twa»v reasons. I have not troubled you hiiu^iio, because I did not —do uot now—wish to give you unnecessary pain, but I am obliged to ask for more enlightenment.'
Miss Van Duyne's head drooped and the color mounted to her temples. She drew a »ay a few yards, as if she would gladly have escaped from the room. 'Do not be too exacting!" she moaned. 'I am not at all exacting. I wish to savo you future trouble by knowing bow to act.* «I—I cannot tell you, Mr. Dalton!' sobbed the young woman. 'You must! You must tell me all, and tell me before I leave this house.!, •AH?' •Yee, all, if you would save yonrtelf untold misery.' 'But you would put me away from you—you would detest me!' 'No, I should esteem you the more for your confidence.' •But it is such a terrible story, and— and then you would bring tbe police down upon my brother George.' •That would not be your fanlt, and you would be as guilty as he la were yon to remain silent.' •I cannot tell!' repeated Miss Van Duyne, still weeping. •Do not be foolish/ said James Dalton, In a tender tone. 'I have no time to waste to-day, and I am here, principally, to see yon, Mies Van Dnyne. Clarice will remain oat of the room until our laterview is over, and she need know nothing or what passes between us truat me, your friend, to keep sacred whatever yon disclose.'
His manner seemed to win tbe poor creature, and at last, with choked utterance and averted feee, she told him the story of ber life.
It was a painful revelation of a brother's wicked deeds—a brother who bad caused the death of a food mother by bis evil courses and turned the affection of a father for bis daughter to an intense hatred.
As she concluded her recital, Mias Van Duyne's head sunk forward upon the arm of a chair beside ber.
Jamee
Dalton made a move to goto
ber, but checked himself end sat down again.
•There is nothing in what you have told me,' be said, 'that can be attributed to wickedness on your part. Yoor brother told an infamous lie, which implicated you—told it for tbe sake of money. His plot failed, and you were both cast off. Still yoa clung to your vicious brother and endeavored to reform him. You are a martyr he la a scoundrel, and merits lunging!'
There was a pause. Presently Jauces Dalton broke the silence. •There is one thing else which I wish to ask you, Miss Van Duyne. Of whom were you talking when I met you with yoor brother on Broadway?' •That is more than I can say,' answered tbe young woman, without lifting her head. •Well, to speak plain, whose murder was he plotting?'
Miss Van Duyne sprang to her feet, as If shot, and turned toward the artist a face white as marble. •Who says he is a murderer?'she demanded. •No one has said so—do not be alkroaed but were you not conversing on that horrid topic? Did not your brother say that he would use a knife rather than allow some mysterious woman's plans to fail, and did you not tell him that he was making himself absurd, and that he bad not sufficient courage to take anotb er's life?'
Tbe color began to return to Miss Van Duyne's cheeks, and she broke into a hysterical langb. 'I remember now,' she said. 'How you frightened me! George had planned ont a burglary, which, if successful, would have benefitted Jess, the wife of one of tbe band. George was determined to see it accomplished, and he lead tbe expedition, which was a success, and no one was hurt, for no one interfered.'
A feeling that he bad been check mated crept over James Daiton. 'And that is all?' he said. •That is all, Mr. Dalton.' 'One more question—your brother bears tbe name of Ricker, does be not?' 'Yea— that is his assumed name?'
James Dalton rose from the arm chair and walked over to where Miss Van Duyne stood looking dejectedly at the carpet. 'You have done well,' he said, 'in keeping no part of your history back. From this hour I am your brother. You can remain here until I have finished some important work which I have on hand, aud I will never intrude upon privacy. You and I are placed in an ambarraasing pot-it Ion, but Clarice is also your friend, and, hereafter, when I call, if you desire it, she shall be present. That will debar all gossip. I am your brother, remember. When my business is finished, I shall furnish a house for yourself and Miss Suydam, and place you in the care of some motherly housekeeper. The house will be deeded to you, so that you can say that you are not dependent upon me for a home.'
Bv this time Miss Van Duyne was again in tears. Yon are too kind!'she murmured, brokenly. 'I—I cannot accept your generous offer—I really cannot! Ob, bow good you are!'
She caught tbe artist's band spasmodically and kissed it as she did so, her foot caught in the carpet and, in endeavoring to save herself from falling, she caught at Mr. Dalton's coat sleeve.
In an Instant his arm was about ber waist. Her bead sunk upon his breast, almost unconsciously, it seemed, and, before he thought, be kissed her crimson forehead tenderly—ajmost passionately,
Thank God you have escaped such evil society!' he said. My preserver—my brother!' murmured the beautiful woman, as she drew away from his embrace,
Further discourse wa the entrance of Clarice, and Miss Van
Further discourse was interrupted by
the entrance of Clarice, and Miss van D'-^ne excused herself, confusedlv, and
TERRE TTATTTE SATURDAY EVENING -M_A_UL
ed herself, con fusee
The letter ran thus
7
•DEAR SIR: Have you heard anything encouraging, or otherwise, in reference to the matter which so vitally concerns me? Tbe police seem to have gained no clue to the fate of my husband, and I am sick at heart waiting for some word. Please communicate with me at once.
Respectfully, MRS. RAYMOND.' 'Poor woman!' muttered James Dalton. 'I had forgotten your aoxiety. It is from the Brooklyn lady whose husband is missing,' he said. 'I have my bands full.' •You area trusty friend, James,' said Clarice. •Bosb! Is a man who tries to do bis duty such a rarity nowadays that be must be complimented? I detest such things. Let me warn you, before I go, to be careful of your charge. Tell Miss Van Duyne that it is my wish that she shall remain closely indoors until I call again.'
The day was drawing to a close when James Dalton left the house*
CHAPTER XIX.
THE MISSING MAN IS FOUSftt!'
James Daiton went directly to tbe Oak Street Police Station after leaving Clarice Suydam. He was some time in consultation with the sergeant. When he left the station, be was accompanied by the ward detective, and the two together visited the Morgue.
After a short time passed within the cold precincts of the unclaimed dead, tbe artist separated from the detective and crossed tbe ferry to Brooklyn. He took an up town car, and, by nine o'clock, he reached tbe neighborhood of the former residence of Miss Van Duyne. He atopped in a corner grocery and inquirea tbe way to tbe bouse of the paator of the little wooden church. After some difficulty experienced iu comprehending tbe roundabout instructions which weregiveu him, bo found tbe place.
Tbe wife of tbe pastor, a young, plain faced woman, usbered him into tbe presence of tbe reverend gentleman, who sat In Lis study reading. •I regret having to disturb you, sir,' said James Dalton, apologetically, 'but I should like a few momenta' conversation.'
Tbe minister closed tbe doors which communicated witb tbe next room. '1 shall be pleased to bear you, air,' be replied. •What I wish to aak is your permission to pass the night in tbe church of which you are pastor. Tbe sexton may accompany and remain with me, if yoo deaire it. Make whatever arrangement you like, but grant me permission at once to enter tbe church edifice.' •May I ask what is .your object?' said the minister, with a look of astonishments •I suspect there is something wrong with tbe occupants of tbe bouse which seta back from the street just opposite the church.' 'Are you a detective, sir?'
James Dalton opened the left lappel of his coat and exhibited a detective's badge.
Thi la la my voucher.'
•You may have tbe keys at once,' aaid tbe minister. 'You somewhat surprised due by your statement, and yet I ought not to be surprised, for I have often wondered at the peculiarities of tho people who live in that place.' •How many persons baVe you noticed, •air, and what have you noticed partlculatly out of tbe way in their conduct?' •Well, 1 should say there are at least four or five men and two—yes, two women, are all I have seen, I believe, •a to conduct, why they all act mysterious, an4 no one in the neighborhood seems to know anything about them. They appear to have no friends in this locality. Personally, I know only this of one of them: one evening last summer, toward dusk, my little boy was out in the front of tbe house playing, and, as is my wont, I whistled to warn him that be roust come in. To my surprise, my whistle was answered at a distance
Ky
came
saw her enter auch behavior rather id I was, I am sorry raw an inference not ry to tbe woman.' jaguish the features id James Dalton, ner-
boose. I odd for a 1 say, forced very complim •Could you tbe woman?' vously •No, sir, I You will not ton. have a k"
t. But I detain you. liged to see tbe sex
rof
tbe church.'
The ministe
retired from tbe room
and in a moment returned ready for the street. So soon as James Dilton was inside the chnrcb, be took the key which tbe minister tendered and looked about for a lamp. 'Do yon wish a light?' said the minis ter. •Not at present. I have some matches in my pocket, and only require to know if there is a lamp convenient. There is light enough furnished now by tbe moon. You perceives it strikes upon that stained window near the door. Be kind enough to help me raise this window.'
With tbe assistance of tbe minister, James Dalton opened a side window which faced the suspected house snfficiently to allow a clear view.
He then bade the minister good night and, locking bimBelf in, took his station at the half opened window. light shone faintly through the upper windows of the house opposite, but tbe lower part was in darkness. The time dragged slowly to the watcher. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the holy precincts except, at long intervals, the tread of some chance pedestrian upon tbe bard ground without. James Dalton's eyelids were beginning to grow heavy when he noticed the lights in the upper part of the house go out. No one had entered or come out, and tbe extinguishing of the light was evidently a sign that the inmates bad retired for tbe night. Still the artist watched till the breaking away of tbe darkness warned him that he had best leave. So his first night's wait gained him nothing.
Had the disappearance of Celeste Van Duyne put the burglars on their guard, and was there a back entrance to the house and had the men gone out that way during the night
James Dalton left tbe church and walked about tbe upper part of the oity, halt frozan with the cold, until-he heard a clock strike seven, and then returned to tbe minister's bouse.
Tbe minister met him at the door, •I shall be over again to-night,' said James Dalton. 'Very well, sir,' replied the minister, the key is ax, vour disposal.'
Althou"4• mi by his unwonted task, Mr. Stferal Aed on Mrs. Raymond, ^Muissing man, before he ned
1
cue room* Here is a letter which has been lying about for several days,' said Clarice, handing the artist a delicately perfumed envelope. •Aletter for me!' he said, wondering-
T%S#WW York. He found her
at home, and immediately she came into the drawing room. She had more color in ber cheeks this morning, and a black morning wrapper beityjl at the waistf ber &Q eas^ graceful appearance. Her hair, by a blao}c velvet band, was drawn ciear of tbe temples and did not cover ber high and intellectual forebead. She was not beautirul—not even pretty—but she was womanly and winning. 'You have come in answer to my letter Mr. Dalton she said. 'Bertie has asked for you frequently. He seems to have taken a liking to you.' •He is a fine little fellow, madam,' replied James Dalton. 'I should like to see him. Madam I am here to tell ycu what I have discevered.'
Mrs. Raymond uttered a faint cry, •Do not get excited,' said tbe artist gently. 'You have not anticipated good tidings?'
She shoe her head. •You will not be shocked theti to learn that your suspicions are verified. Your husband is dead—his body lies in the New York Morgue!' •Dead!' moaned Mrs.^8 Raymond, catching at tbe back of a chair for 6upirt—''dead I feared it!—I feared it! .eaven help me!' 1 will see that tbe body is sent here at once,' said James Dalton, somewhat affected by the young widow's grief. 'Do not distress yourself, madam. He is not—You understand what I mean?' •How can I know what you mean when I do not know where the body was found?' •It was taken from tbe East river yesterday. It has, no doubt, been in tbe water since the ninth of October, but it has decomposed scarcely any, and tb6 features are perfect. •How did his death occur?' asked the pale lips. 'Would not some future time be more propitious for the recital of tbe circumstances of this sad affair •No!' said Mrs. Raymond, in a bollow tone. 'I cannot wait! Was it accident or violence?' •Well, madam, it was undoubtedly a deed of violence. There is a stab wound over tbe beaet.' r!' muttered the widow, sigh of relief. 'I feared en bis own life!' life!' tbougbt James can she mean? It is a urder,' he said, 'and tbe .. will establish that fact all be here when tbe body ver, if possible, or, If not iej.' !e he rose te depart. __ead this awfai inquest!' moaned Mrt». Raymond. 'Wbat a sad ending to poor Henry's career!'
breath
and she that be, •TaM Dalton. plain coroner' to-day. is bro then,
As •Ob,
CHAPTER XX.
MISS OVINGTON BECOMES FRANTIC.
Mr. Ovington still kept his bed, being weak and helpless. His wound was less dangerous than had at first bees thought, and tbe doctors were now sanguine as to bis ultimate recovery.
He was carefully attended by the beautiful Maud and tbe General, who passed tbe greater part of his time in the bed chamber of tbe sick man.
Strange doubts flitted through the mind of Maud Oviugton at times when she looked upon tbe sufferer's features, and ahe would abiver as with the ague.
Tbe morning of James Dalton's revelation to Mre. Raymond, Mias Ovington sat before tbe fire in ber own apart* meats, thinking—thinking—thinking.
A cautious rap sounded upon the panel of the outer door.
I
•William Gorton!' she muttered. •What now, I wonder?' Sho admitted tbe servant and clcsed the door.
William Gorton bowed and walked toward the mantel, fumbling in his pocket as he went. •What have you heard, William •Nothing, madam,' answered the coachman. 'I merely wish you to read that.'
He drew out a newspaper, which he banded to Miss Ovington, pointing, as he did so, to a marked paragraph.
The paragraph to which he called her
attention was this: •OUT OF THE DEPTHS.—Yesterday afternoon the body of Mr. Henry Ray* mond, a young married man, who resided in Brooklyn, was discovered wedged in between the piles of Pier No. 34 East river. Mr. Raymond has been missing since tbe ninth of October. He is about twenty eight years of age. An examination of the body was made, and marks of violence found. Directly over the heart is a gash from an inch blade. The funeral of the unfortunate man will take place from his late residence, on Monroe street, to-morrow afternoon, at two o'clock. Mr. Raymond was well known both in Brooklyn and this city, and the affair has excited intense indigo nation. Mrs. Raymond has tbe sympathy of a large circle of friends.'
Maud Ovington handed back tbe paper to the coachman. Her face wore puzzled look. 'Why do you call my attention to this horrid affair?' she asked, unconcernedly. 'Because he disappeared on the ninth of October,' replied the coachman. •What of that
lHc
was about twenty eight years of »ge.' •Well?' ..., •It may be that
Miss Ovington paled a trifle. •Go on,' she said, as William Gorton paused. •It may be that he was tossed into tbe river—it may be that he rose to the surface, madam!' •How could that be?' exclaimed Miss Ovington, with increasing pallor. 'I ao not say it is so. madam but what if his body should nave been cast into the river, and what if it should have become wedged iu that dock?' 'Do you think this Mrs. Raymond could be mistaken, and do you suppose she would claim the body of another man than her own husband •I do not know, madam,' replied tbe coachman, respectfully "yet stranger thiugs have happened, audit is well to be sure.' 'Well, supposiug it is his—his tody said Miss Ovington, bangbtlly 'if it is claimed by a stranger and buried out of sight, what danger exists? There is no need of fear.' 'That is true, madam but would it not be well to become satisfied of the identity of this man? That would clear up all uncertainty.' 'You are right I will see to it.' 'You, madam 'Yes—I will satisfy my own eyes.'
William Gorton bowed low and turned to leave the room. 'One moment, William,' said his mistress, laying her band upen bis sleeve as if to detain nim. 'Let me again admonish you to be true to me you shall be rewarded handsomely. You have heard nothing of the letters?' 'Nothing, madam', •You may go.'
Miss Ovington, witb a troubled conscience and a wild, reckless feeling, left ber apartments and took ber way to her father's bed chamber.
General Granby Dumont sat by Mr. Ovington's bedside, talking witb the sick man,
I am glad that you have come, Maud, said Mr. Ovington, as his daughter entered the room. 'Why, father, dear,' murmured Maud, kneeling besiae him and caressing bis pale cheek, 'you do uot want me, to remain away from you a moment!' 'Becausd you are suob a good daughter my darling! Ab, Granby, it must be a bitter life that father leads who has ungrateful offspring—offspring who, for all the tenderness lavisbed upon them, return neglect and bate!'
A spasm or paiu passed over tbe face of Mr. Ovington as be said this, but neither Maud nor the General noticed it in the semi-darkness of tbe room.
There, there!' chided Maud—'do not talk so! You need to be cheerful if yon would improve in health.' 'Perhaps I am fooliitb, child,' replied Mr. Ovington, stroking the beautiful gold hair 'but I feel gloomy today. You still love me, my darling •Love you, father! Cau you doubt that Ido?' •No, Maud—no! But everything seems so uncertain.' 'That will do, Ovington!' eaid the General, suddenly. 'Do not think, be cause you are ill, that all your friends are about to desert you, Attend to getting well. I want to see you upon your feet.'
The following day, Miss Ovington went to Brooklyn. She was clad in sober black aud wore a heavy veil.
After consulting the city directory, she found what she wanted—the address of Mr. Henry Raymond. She arrived at tbe house just as tbe funeral services were commencing.
Tbe walks were crowded with gaping spectators, attracted, doubtless, by tbe great interest attached to the unfortunate man's death, and it was with difficulty that Miss Ovington made ber way through tbe crowd. Inside tbe door she was met by an undertaker who conduct ed ber to tbe back partof tbe ball, where a small open space afforded a view of the drawing rooms.
The ro3ms were draped in mourning, even to tbe pictures hanging upon the walls. On a table in a corner stood a basket of exotics tbe fragrance from which filled the place with an al
lmost
por
tbe decased man stood tbe bier which held tbe remains. At tbe bead of It sat tbe widow, and by her side stood her bright eyed, wondering boy.
Maud Ovington felt a sense of suffoca tion while awaiting tbe end of tbe funeral services, and several times moved back against tho railing behind her, clutching it, for support. When tbe invitation was given to tbe friends to view the body, Miss Ovington made her way toward tbe coffin, but ber veil was so thick that she was forced to lift it a trifle.
She looked eagerly upon the features of tbe dead. •It is be!' she muttered—'it isCiarence Suydam! They are burying tbe wrong man!'
She dropped ber veil, and made her way out of the house. •Maud Ovington!' exclaimed James Dalton, who stood near tbe street door, as she passed ont—'what could she want here?' [TO bb ooNrcxrxD.]
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A purely vegetable distillation entirely unlike ail other remedies.
JN
the preparation of this rcnnrtcabla remedy every lierb. plant, and bark Is subjected to distillation, whereby tho essential medical nrlnclplo is obtained In vapor, condensed and bottled. What remains In the still Is Inert, valueless, and totally Unfit lor ttso in nn organism so delicate as ho nasia passages. Yet nil snnfife are Incolnblo compounds of woody fibre all tincture*, saturated solutions.
SANFORD'S RADICAL CURE
Is a local *ad constitutional remedy, and is applied llarintt
id
administered, ll acta u, keeps tho akin moist, poison that has found 1 thence into tho blood
both directions, and it docs not seeai possible for human Ingenuity to devlso more rutioaul treat*
menu
SURPRISING CURE.
Gentlemen,—About twelvo yc-.rs aco. whllo travelling with Father Kemp'* Old Folks Concert froupe as a tenor slmrcr, I took a severe cold and was laid up at Newark, N.J. This cold brought on severe attack of Catarrh, which I battlcu with every known remedy for four weeks without avail, aud wao finally obliged to give up a most dcslrablo position and return home, unable to ting a note. For three years aiterwards I was unr.blo to sing at all. Tbe first attack of Catarrh had left my nasal
BO
hoarse as to be scurc. ly ablo to sper.k, and *. 1 tlx'Uirbt I was golu? into nrd 1 firmlybebove that had .. .- -.Miiinucd without relief they would have rnulei'id mo an c*.sy victim. When in this distressing condition, unmcnccil tho uso
OI
SAXFO'.IK'S HAPKVL ctrius a CATARI ii, very reluctantly,Ico •*, as 1 hnd tried all tl advertised reniuul -a without b- nv lit. The first doseofthls wonderful jntMllelne pavii mo the greatest relief. It ishanl'y p-jsjiblnfvir one ho«ehend nehos, eyes ache, who cnu scarcely ar. teulato disilnetlv ou account of tho rhokltig accumulations In hls'throat, to realize how much rd'ef 1 obtained from tli Urst application ofS.\xponn"9
Uadicm,
WAI/I-THM,
Have It if you have to nend to us for it. ,::h gold by all Wholesalo and IJetnll Druggists throughout tho United states and Cnnadnn, and by
WLEKS &
I'OTTKU, l'roprlctors,
lioston.<p></p>KIDNEY
I
V.
tho organ* of clrr illation, nnd neutralizes the acid way into the stomach and Tims nenre projr' esses In
OP*
guns aud throat so sensitive that the slightest cold would bilug oa a frrsh afaek. leaving roe pros* tratcd. In tn)« way contlnr.edto sullir. The last attack, thnce.wri'bt I ever had, was terrible. 1 suf feredthu most txcrurla: trig pain in my head, was
Cms. nder
Its influence, both internal and external, 1 rapidly recovered, and by an occasional uso of the remedy oince, have been er.t Irely frco from Catarrh, lor the first time in v. elvo i-nrs.
UesjKctfoUv yonrs, Ol-O. Yw HOLBROOK.
\ss.. .Tan. S, 1SW.
P. f.— 1 pufhswi-1 t:'o i:
TIDAL CPR*
iuid Wholcselo lrurf:lst«,
of GEO.
H. JIUGO&, Lra^gist, i:r:..l'oril l.uUUiug. Each paekapro contains Pr San ford's Improved Inhaling Tube, with mi directions for uxo In all cases, rrlce, fl.W. For sals by all Wholesale and Retail Urcu'.r'Ria throughout tho United States and Canadaa. Vi:."KS ft POTTEK, General Agent!
lioston.
Muss.
EBROLUHS'
VOLTAIC PLASTER
An Electro-Galvanio Battery combined with a l.i^J.Iy Medicated Piaster con* taininj t.o c!ioicc:t medicinal Gum* end Dalsams known to modern Phar* nacy. riisr.'ershave
t\
Muss.
Bladder, Urinary and Livor Dlscoacs, Dropsy, -isr Gravel and Diabetes, are curcd by
HUNTS REMEDY,'
the Great Kidney and Liver Medicine.
SYMPTOMS OF A
TORPID LIVER.
IiOMOf
&
A
r.
nn» been before the publlo
lor ..a vvuiv, uiiil, notwithstanding the lminenso number of vemullcs lit t! form or liniments, lotio..f. paln- im is. ltd oruinury |lu»ters,tliey liavo steadily increasv.I In s..lu uu.l ii.it with universal approval, aa cvilli need by over thousand un« eoflclKil tit!i:ioiiiiil in 'irj» ss*slon. Many re* i.rl. Mo c..m a 1...' I ii I to by well* fci.owti cit'7. a 111 .is (f t..J I'nlted Ktate»t ccpit of w..lt v. .11 bo K.,.t f1 eo if rliurgo to any o:.e i.e'.r'ujr t..ci i. Improvements, !i many way*. hr.vo it mule, its suggested by cxpcrlcncn and ns-.uiitll ll bi iuve lihattiicyareuowpcrfcctln rv rv ppe f, i. I tl a *t platter in the world Qf mft'Jctne. Ail vi tro-n every anfferer in tho lmitl Is a el- !nttril. Th price lsaJcents,although thoc ft ii ulilu ..t of :.y ot: er plnBter. But, r.otv. ltli: ii./ t' cfl rta of tho proprietors to mal.elli't bwt planter In tlio world for tho least mov.ey. tiny sln.il remedy "n be bought, num* b'-rsot uiiMCr.t'Miiniis
alcrs will bo found ready to
mlsrerr se 111' »r tnot.'vft and eudeavor tosutistiiuicoi.iit.iti. Ii yua ask lor
COLLINS' VOLTAIC PLASTER
$
HUNTS REMEDY 1
cures Bright's Disease, Retention or Nonretcn* tion of Urine, Pains in tbo Back, Loins, or Bide.
HUNTS REMEDY.
cures Intemperance, Nervous Diseases, General Debility, Female Weakness anil Excesses.
HUNTS REMEDY
cures Biliousness, Headache, Jaundice, Sour Stomach, Pysi'epsi.T, Constipation and Pile«.
HUNTS REMEDY
ACTS AT ONCE on tho Kiflneys, Li ver, and ,, Bowels, restoring tnem to a healthy action, and CURES when all other medicines rail. Hundreds have been saved who have beon given up to die by Mends and physicians.
Send for pamphlet to WM. E. CLARKE, Providence, R. I. Trial size, 75 cents. Largo slzo cheapest. j'f"
SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS#
tjft*
'u-ej if» fl Z'AK-ft f*
Naasea. 1 ill costive.
TTF1 r-T~- .-nr?K5IL?TO
-M11 W :j JLn UFTli L'Ail-.' ii .' memor2|WKD^RWi^
Dr. TUTT:—DearBirr WortmrmnITHj**
They Increase tfce Apprtuc,and body to Take FUmS± tbo*
mrowoYE
5fflo?T35 Murray St, New York,
«r 4. aoAP^ar ftthome. bam pIt*
mo to
$£Uworilifs free, Address, HriNSON Portland. Maine Maine.
"Wftt
Witt
i0
DiMilnfm. Flutter*
^TTtheHeartTjbota Detore tbe eyes. aw HkfULmosni
xtigntf MtflyoflSroTProe! ff THESE WABSIHQt AXE UHHEEDED SERI0U8 DISEASES WILL
SOON BE OEVELOPEft
TOTTS PILLS «*E EWEETALLY Hcb caiesi one dote electa Bock acbssce effetllnf ajlOMtotiWMlieMfertr.
A Noted Divine says:
njC'
Ta
Fain in tSjTBaadTwjBl {ffgECtiafETulp under too stiouiacr Ecasris
& J*
xfmm.
1