Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 11, Number 41, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 April 1881 — Page 6
THE MAIL:
"5^.
A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.
MY MARRIAGE.
«w3
BY"THB
AUTHOR
OF "PEKKLOPB," KITE.
This story was commenced in The Mail last week. It is from the pen of a writer of experience and kigh literary culture. The scenes are laid in England. The heroine is the daughter of a poor country curate, and is one of six childreit. A noble man of twice her age, who has suddenly become wealthy by the death of an uncle, falls in love with her, and she marries him, not because she returns his love, but from a desire to relieve her father in a measure of the heavy burden he is bearing. So he? married lifo begins without any love on her part for her husband, although she has a high respect for him, and means to be a faithful wife. He is devoted and hopeful, until his hope is nearly destroyed by misunderstandings and for the need of explanations which the wife is frequently near making, when some circumstance arouses a false pride and holds back the words that would ensure mutual happiness. But we will let the writer's own words tell the story.
CHAPTER V.
The dreamy days go by. Humphrey has sketched everything that is to be sketched and to-morrow we are going away- Our boxes are packed, "Humphrey's head has been bent over Bradsbaw for hours but all is arranged at last, and to-morrow evening we say good-bye to the sea and mountains, and start for Paris.
Sirlo by side we are taking a last walk in he twilight, looking at the opal tinted »kv and shadowy sea. "Not a day longer than six weeks," I am
Having.
"Humphrey, we won't stay
any longer." Six weeks hence I shall be at home again for short time certainly—at home within sound of the longed for voices and I think it is the looking forward to this, that makes me so cheerful and joyous thin evening.
While I am speaking, the hero of my •adventure appears, sauntering along with the lazy indolont apt|on that seems habitual to mm. 1
I untile tut our fevfis nutet, fnd He takes off his hat I think he expects me to «,«, ap$ak to him but any such expectations ling, all
arl nipped In the bud. for Humphrey Th yfclkn on steadily, ana my hand being On his arm, I am forced to keep pace with hit long Steps or be left behind. "Was
it
rigiit to bow to him?" I ask
looking up doubfully into my husband's face. whom, Madgie? Iq that the fellow Mio trifed to fish out yotpr hat? Of course, dear, you did quite right," he replies.
And the hat? epUdde fttdes out of my mitid for time. I do not know that in the days to come the whole scene will return to my mental vision again, and -that thin *aine dark-eyed man is to be Douiul Bp with tny lite.
Side by side Humphrey and I are at.tin» tho
1MUW4I
in the~gntlu»ring
twiliglu, the waves lapping at our feet. Humphrey is talking or our future—ibe life he and I aro to lead together in our new home. "I can hardly believe that I am a rich man," he says at last. Often when I wako in tho morning, I forget for a moment, and think I have to go back |o to tho old existence, working for iay daily broad.".
1
"iJumphroy, will you tell me of your Ufo before you wore rich lie looks pleased at my putting the question. ••Would von care to hoar it?" he asks. "Does my lifo interest you, Madgie?" "Yes," 1 answer gravely. "You forgk how little 1 know aboutyou, Humphrey "—turning and looking at his long figure lying on the leach, his grave rugged "face upturned to mine, as I sit straight aud erect, my hands in my lap. "My life," he begins, "was merely the drdinarv existence of hundreds of men working day after day, and with uo prospect of ever boing anything else but a poor man. I was of an independent spirit, and I was too proud to go, cap in hand, to anv of my relatives. .1 learned too bitter a lesson to care to try that again. I think I told you that old Anthony ('aretains who eventually made me his heir was mv father's brother. Thev quarreled when they were wuiig men together, and my father was turned out of (Tarstairs. Uncle Anthony was in the wrong but be was the elder son, and of course did what he liked. The two brothers never saw ea? other
together. years old. When I was fifteen—a great Swkv boy, who spent half of his days uhlng in olla, my mother died and when ah© was dying, she made me prom
ise
to g« »re my unde Anthony.
Years.
Anthony CarttailY, 1 will aot insult mf*
riiii Kigui|(u«tiMii» it ^IIismnhn'T over again,'I %iv and then he shouted out 'Boy, —come lack *»Bat my long legs carried me aw dowu the avettue, aud I never saw «tairf jtu,*in until oniered it* gateau HI «^K|jitphn\v," 1 say, looking into flHii'NvKtli glkeening evca, Ilk*
Cwned^
»«r tfintrit: if you had crii uion that old man, lave hated ytxj." .12
on with hldg|»ry. •I teliew old
'uncle Antflony took
ts
e«
fail .1 -k- --'M I
th** Times which stated that information whereabouts wanted
V-
We are in Paris, have seen all the wonderful sights of this beautiful city and am in a maze still, in a dream ol bewilderment. "How I should have enjoyed all this with a girl friend I"- I «ay, still feeling the utter want of anything in common between my hditwlirf myself, and o*rninr fnr Rflfl to bo ifi comtaaion in
be my companion for the rest of my life* He is veiysmifw itid, sdkind that_my
He is very MtofTf* me so janainai my
copscience wproftchea n»fn^
usedto hp alway. todgtpg forthingi
when I hntf r.o~ mfoe^F^HSven Aito the snudtastshop* wU some thin#-I -wished. «b k*ve. Now I never ear© to buy anytliing- 'snd see. my ptireo is full?* And I empty a lot of gold into -my 1*1* aildtfata the coins between my lingers.
When Humphrey speaks again tfijre is a harshness in his voice that waf ijofc there before. "The wish has gone.with the powerto gratify it," he says. And I YepFace the gold pieces and come and stand by his side. .. "Humphrey," I whisper shyly, way I buy some presents for home? I don't w4nt anythingldr myself—vou have -gsyeii,** mv much—but I should like to take them home some* thing from Prris."
He hears me to tt^ end and thp speak*) in a'low poineCvoi^.0
WQNS
I
think, poor soul, she thought Ms heart would warm to his brother's son. So one dav started for Carstaics, the old family* place that had belonged to the Carstairs for
can htfrt me so much as a
speech like that you made just now!" He is angry, and I feel quite frighten Gil
VI Will dhdoseia wateh il fon 1B«L" I Say meekly. 'I think LehA wotifd like it very much."
He gives no help to me to make my
"Do vou like this Humphrey He look in down at me with an odd little smile, and the watches are choosen and paid for.
I know what I should like for Bee, I say in a cheerful friendly manner as we proceed. "You know, Humphrey, that she writes books, but nobody knows anything about It except myself and I should like to get her a beautiful russia-leather dispatch-box to hold her manuscripts."
husband after these litis is the plessan
iy
me everything belonging to him, at the last outwitting his numerous re»tives who had watched for his death so llumphroy's voice grows earnest, and he takes one of my hands' suddenly in his. "It was ail plain sailing after that, darling and now I only want one thing to make me the happiest man on earth. "And that I say, without the slightest idea of what is coming. "What is the one thing, Humphrey? "Your love," he whispers. "Heaven grant that it may bejnine one day
tU"Oifly'to
all to
better. .' not imagine what it is to be going home! "Madgie," ho says one,day, what a jt jg yforth while being married apd goqueer girl yof»*Ar6! *BdhH you care to away only to have the pleasure of t|uy anything in JPiris I ffcougj*! laches 'coming "back!" lovea snapping." He aOes net answer, but looks out of
4
"May you take presents home! Madgie, aid vou thli
Oh
irmis iere be
._j you think that
sion wa's neccessary? Shot such a thing between husband apd wife as thine and rninOT My wife thypdf-
,T"ne
•more are tears in my eyes before he
den cheerfulness that I fell in my heart Js assumed, "get your-hat Madgie, and, we will go ana choose something prettyfor Lena and Bee."
The selection of the presents occupy the whole morning but it igaocom-
Slumphrey
lished fevew* to iny satftMction. wants to purchase the most absurd things, and I laugh at his suggestions. We decided upon a gold watch tor Helen, and I go intJ ecstacies TO&'idftU 11
4*
"Would't Lena like one too?" Humphrey asks, his face beaming at mv delight. "Oh, no!" I answer, turning away de liberately from the tempting array of watches of every size ana description— "You must not spend so much money, Humphrey."
A sudden look into his eye? brings mv speech to a standstill ?, you will make me angtyj" ... a low quick voife "Why do you always speak as if ypu and Ih^ nothing in cothflttoiQi no
a
"So vou shaU darling, tho best that can be "had." This is chosen and psdd for without a bitch. I do not offend Humphrey with anv allusion to the price, and picture dear Bee's wild delight."
Who comes next Humphrey aikg laughing. "Jack, isn't it?'f If you wasn't tired, of punAdMn| watcher I fancy Jack would rejoice over a silver one." What do you think, Madgie?" "I am suro he would be delighted, but—"
t4No'buts,'
Anthony Carstairs
was not marrtal, h© \vas a cross, crahJod old baelielor, and was toadied, worshipped and courted l»v his relatives. ••Another beggar!" he said, when I was ushored into his presence. "I rcntomlior the scene woil—the cynical old man. with his hard feature* and aour expressM-m, and the great longlimlwd tov facing him leflantly.
or wsahall faUoutsgain.'J
««Oh, Humphrey, Bow «ood VcW tare!"
ivone passing would think that we bo most lovable bridia anA btidegroom th the world, aiii ybhftg and
well dressed, and Humphrey face is
Law, "IvfirmlV. with a feminine SJ2,h
delight at the anticipation of purchasing J"**
tb.%k.w_f.bric-". lov,ly too. CP,
Humphrey." Of
course you know what she would be says doubtfully. But tan*t lace like, a stupid sort of thing "Oh, Humphrey!"" ignorance.
ir? I lao|h at his
But whenthecap rey insists upon lace pocket IMI •"rtie prwlbnt won ing without that," beaavs. sy cobweb i» nothing.
Hum
notW
it a
[money I gasp at are Iof». vid«i
mJ0
ul'.OSt Isabel, aid ar but* with
tanov to me. ami nu»d« several attempts! to ttnd out where I lived bwt bc was uxt pr»--»t no d* -o openlv and so I never fcu*w in rv-ustv that the poor cad man wa» tr vine atone to hi*brother's son. I v»i. with poverty in Lou- W don .Vou. vhood to manhoixl, for ptnseeaionof— twen« 'i la'-, iosiur Years, trying, as that I spend mote time in choosing than mv iud make rnoner br I did over all the other praaents for I mr
tor uun,« JM "iw work on the pond at home—I can fancy, ooea tt writ me? hia t*ce when he see* It-and little fea^1 "r^~"
for Ik»n^ a modA steamboat pr Regyto "I think I shall cut it.
will be happy for some time in the t»c waxen blue-eyed baby
still have a lingering afTeclimi for dolls,
rn",. oft.niv'.-l iKwrtsick li it{andase«etl«ojto^tohea child again
diaappointuuu!. *nd enjoy soeh delights. ulvcrtmn««?nt j: Flushed and smiling, I
look op at my
TBRRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL
are made.
the pleasantest day I have yet
spent in Pans, for every hour of it has been occupied in thinking of the dear ones at home. "There is only papa, now," I say next. "Ob, Humphrey, pleaaebelp me! I do not know what to get for him." -.
Humphrey gives all the assistance in his power but we cannot arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. "Men are so hard to please,**?! flay, for I am now at mv wits* end. "Whpntbey are boys one' can give them pocket knives. I think I have given jack a knife every Christmas Sm the lgg& ten years." "A book," Humphrey suggests. "A book—oh. yes!" I assent joyfully. "The very thing! Clergymen always want books."
But the difficulty of choosing a voir time is so great that at last we purchase an inkstand for papa's study tabid at home. "And now you look tired, dear. Wo had better go home," Humphrey says "and we can finish another day."
Our visit to Paris is over at last, and endure
mforts
for every moment brings me nearer
tt v«* —0 Htrmp~b rey remarks and I cry out rap-
think that I shall see them
-night! Oh. Humphrey, you can-
that he had ho share in my gladness, that in my heart there was no room for
love for him. ,, Htunpbrey ifc *e*y kind and gentle and wheBjher Jj#ta me out at the little statioRafTjome^ bo-sa "Here are Bee and you, Madgie."
come to meet
luggage, tightly
He goes away and I spring forward and cling
rf
to Bee, with a sob in my thfoat at the flrst sound of her clear young voice. Jack gives me a boyish hug, and then stands back. "You are an awful swell, Madgie! You don't look a bit like your self." "Come!" I cry, in wild delight. "Come .Bee!
Oh, I can't believe I am at homo again!" With Bee and Jack, one at each side, I am hurraing from the station, when. Jnik fiD6ftl(8« ".Whereis Humphrey?"
I have forgotten him. For a second myhusbanaha mind. "He .will soon be after us. I can't wait!" I say impatiently. "Here he comes!" exclaims Jack. And hen they have shaken banc away with Bee, leaving Humphrey to follow with Jack.
'has gone olean out of my
Down the well-remembered bit of road, ih the glowing evening sunshine, I speed with dying feet, Bee laughing beside me. And then the familiar gate is opened, and I fly in at the open aoor. _iother!" I gasp, and feel the dear, arms close round me fondly. "Madgie, my £iiid!"
For one moment I cling to her like a frightened child, and am notable to say a word, for tears will come if I speak hut
fV
raat
ftrofinmnriiiff nr tbetariiare
of attention. "And what have you dorie with syour husband?" my father says. "HavAyou ran away from hiu., Madgie?" "He is cpming," I answer, Icx^ii round me with wet eyes. "Oh, hoW have longed for you all!"
Then I turn and see my husband in the doorway. Our eyes meet and I am half repentant, half angry in an instant. What right has my husband to expect to be thought of every moment? it is most unreasonable! Humphrey looks dismal, sad aud jealous, but only for a second then he Speaks quite pleasantly to my father, and tells him about our journey,'while 1 am down on my knees, With ni
1
ging an say that ed a morsel of food for a week after went away. "He 1s quite fat now," I say, looking up and Jack explains— "Oh, yes! It was only for a week. He forgot you after that, Madgie."
I get up and leave Crib to himself. If he can forget me in a week, his lovo is not worth naving. Still it is delightful in the midst of tnem all again to bear the clamor of young merry voices. "Madgie, Madgie!" on all sides, to hear mamma siayingsoftly, "You were sadly mimed, darling." But in all the glad, loving welcome, I am conscious of Humphrey's tall figure in the background, and know that his eyes are never off me for a moment. "Madgie must be tired," I hear mamma's voice saying. "You had better let her take her things off and I fancy tea is ready."
With Bee at one side and Lena at the other, I proceed ua the staircase, the children trooping after me. "Regy—Isabel, don't worry Madgie!" my tether calls out but on this first night of my arrival his mild remonstrance goes for nothing.
On the landing stands nurse, with her welcome in her eyes.
not one
no
beaming with subdued tenderness, as he the4ov«-of«irmxi bnsband. presses my light gray glove resttng.upotf gooa mwimnu. bis arm. CHAPTER VI. hnAmn.hW-r*t"-^'^" Bee aid H*..
them dreams that I am
quite happy, not quite contented in
ur
off
with I
",®?Vstof
WJij.°aine^tfrT
my bftnd and
I look at Lena's fresh young loveliness, as her lace is reflected in the glass beside mine. She has a childlike beauty, of wfth a roundness of outline that is very literally soft and winning and ber large win
Time ning blue eyes are childlike in the ex
«v ^WtKin lo be fcreme. Smiling she draws down bek providfl^ fvr. but, with Hu^fi*wy*s as- soft silky hair to her eyebrows, and s«r-
look*
ow funny it looks, Madgie!" she says. "It seems so strange to have you married!"
And I laugh, bemnsfe I fed team coming, and am thankful for Lena's next remark. "And you hay^cut your hair, Madgie! Do yotl know, tthii.k it ia most becoming. I wonder if it would suit me?"
Loo^pBel,
"I don't know," says Bee, who a striking sort of beauty of her own laughing gipsy face, with sparkling wn, and thrown wavy hair that grows down in a peak on her broad low forehead. Shots tall and lithe, and in my "at Bee promise my hoyden sfc&er
lithe, and in my
heart I .think that Bee is the beauty of the faiisU^and jpromise great things some
There is great "high-tea" in honor of our arrival. The tea-cakes I know are Lena's making, and are as light and flaky as cakes can be. Lena is a good cake-maker, and achieves gnat suecess in that art. With her dimpled arms bare to the elbow, she transforms flour and butter deftly into cakes that for flavor and flakiness I have never seen rivalled.
The dear old faded shabby dining room gives me more pleasure than would the grandest banqueting hall, and the homely fare is more to my taste than the most elaborate feast would be. Not once during the whole meal do I address Humphrey I shall havPhlm all my life to talk to, and these' other and dearer ones but seldom I am making anxious inquiries about everything of interest around the place, especially about my garden and I am asking after every individual fowl in the yard. We have each our special favorites, and I confess it waa with a pang I gave up all claim to my own-pets when I married. "1 have taken your garden, Madgie," Helen says quietly "and it is in good order." "And said I might have your c*nary," chimes in Isabel, in her high, childish voice.
I suppose I am very foolish, but this division of my possessions hurts me it if I sounds as were dead.
One has my
another my canary and Jade Crib to belong to him now that
I am gone." I should like to take Crib to Carstairs," I say piteoufcly. "I should like to have something I had here and involuntarily my eyes go to my husband's face. He is looking at me fixedly, intently. "Crib is an awfully ugly orute," Jack breaks in. I am sure Humphrey could get vou a much jollier dog." "It would not be -her old friend," Humphrey says quietly. "And I think that Madgie would rather have Crib than anew pet."
I give him a quick grateful look, and stop to pat CriD's rough head. He is still fond of me, poor dog, and is keeping close beside me.
After all there is something sad in this home coming. I am of them, and yet not one of them now. My high Bpirita collapse suddenly I glance round the table and wonder how it looks every day with my vacant place. I feel as if I have comeback from the grave, ana am standing unseen gazing in at the open door, with bursting heart to view the place that knows me no longer. "If you loved your husband, it would be different." A voice seemed to be whispering and echoing that sentence over and over again. I do not love bim I know that if 1 were never to see him again it would not trouble me much. When he speaks, when he whispers tenderly ana passionately his great love for me, my heart beats not one sensation quicker. I am conscious only of a sense of weariness, a kind of dreary depression seems to take possession of my whole being, when Humphrey talks of love or perchance the ludicrous side of the matter strikes me, and I am more moved to laughter than sentiment.
Bee might understand such things she "piles up the agony" in her stories, slaying heroes with a disregard to human life, which is reckless and uncalled for, I tell her often, and leaving the beautiful but unnatural heroine lamenting. Bee's stories are all fire and misfortune, the possible and improbable mingled wildly together, the ridiculous and pathetic going hand in hand. And they all end badly—there is nearly always a funeral knell instead of wedding peal. "I don't know why," she says, a piteous smile in her beautiful eyes, "but ft comes naturally to me to make all my people, unhappy.'' "A contrast to yourself," I have told my madcap sister often.
Ah, Bee, with all your imagination, do you never draw a character from real life? Are you so unobservant as not to see how the wedding ring on your sister's finnr bums and CMles into her very sbul?
Three months ago it seemed possible for me to be happy with a man that I *ottong about. It seemed then a noble thin
pared no almost ling to lighten the bur-
den at homo—the unromantic and weary burden of poverty—to leave one mouth less to feed, one form less tq, clothe, hewever shigMy. As agentleman's daughter—fny.fethor'8 income was three hundred pounds a year, and there were eight children to feed, clothe, and educato—it seemed possible then to be happy as Humphrey Carstair's wife. Now I wonder if I shall ever know what it ia to be contented again.
There my husband nts at the other side of the table, and I think of
my
first
description of him to the others at home. "Oh, only a man with a beard!" I told them on returning from a tea party where I first met him.
And he is only a man with a beard still—a vahrtall man with a slight stoop In his broaa shoulders as if he had grew too fast when he was young. He i9 bending down now and talking to Isabel in the kind tones he always uses to children and Isabel seems to have overcome her shyness, and is smiling up into his face. The light falls upon bis hair, his grave rugged features, and I am wishing, for both our sakes, we had never met. He looks up catches my eye, and smiles. Some mesmeric power always seems to inform Humphrey when I am looking at bim, and I sincerely hope my face tells no tales. .1 am afraid it does, for a sorrowful smile comes into kis eyes—a sort of dumb apeal for something I cannot understand, am seliish enough but I pity my husband from the bottom of my soul. It must be a terrible thing for him to have married a woman who does not respond. to one tithe of the affection he wastes so lavishly upon her. "Humphrey," I say forcing back the thoughts that are crowding on too fest, "is our luggage to cgtne to-night
Yes they promised to send it
it-
ou
'Oh, no! I suppose it will come if they promised," I answer carelessly. And then tea is over, and we go Into the drawing-rOom, which is faded and each piece in its way, having seen hard service for many long years. The carpet may have had a patten once, hot the tread Of Many feet has worn it to a neutral tint and I believe it is only mamma now who still thinks of t*e? pattern as wMt« lilfcto On a drabground. _^ Otel mtf rtUnment of J6e house, when the curate brof^bt hofne hi* bride so mafiy long yean ago. It is a dear old room, with wide squirt wialdws, which an opea
garden is fragrant and delightful in the dusky gioom^aad the airfcaheavv with
It is papa's voice. He comes up to iue as stand at the open window, and lays one of bis thin white hands tipon my shoulder. "Yes,papa," I whisper, and lay my cheek upon his loving hand.
Poor papa! What a weary toiling life he has bad! His thin face has many a wearv line printed oti it, and biseyea
smile but sadly now. All bis life he has faced poverty, and he has worked uncomplainingly for many weary years. His children have grown up arounahim, still. "Heaven knows best," be says meekly, and goes on his way with a cheerful heart and his sweet weary face aglow with no earthly ioy. If his Master gives him souls for his hire, bo counts himself trebly blest, and he will meet his reward in Heaveu. In our hot-head-ed ignorauce we say it is a shame our father should be passed over. I do not think he would care were it not for the sake of the family. He never pushes himself forward, never asks for anything.—Shy, proud, and retiring, he goes to the wall, and the pushing ones meet with success. He stands besides me now in the gloaming, and he is talking of my future. "You will be happy little Madgie," he -says. "Humphrey is a noble, good man, and loves you well." "Yes," I falter, and feel thankful that the darkness hides my face. "You are tired, dear. Where are your spirits?" "Gone for ever," I could cry out with an agony of'regret at the irrevocable step 1 have taken but I only say quietly, "You forget how far I have traveled to-day, papa."
Ana then Jack calls out— "Here are your things, Madgie. Oh, what aheap of boxes!"
I hear them being bumped into the hall and up stairs and presently Humphrey comes into the room and walks over to me. "Your boxes have come—they are all right." "Humphrey," I whisper, standing on tip-toe. "could I get out the presents tonight?" "Of course toy darling. Come aloug, and I will unfasten the box for you."
He is pleased when I show interest in anything and I often wish he was not quite so eager to gratify my lightest desire. As we go up stairs he says suddenly in a low voice— "Madgie, what were you thinking of to-night
I know what he means, but I wilfully misunderstand bim. X,'. "Thinkingof! When?1' "You know what I mean, Madgie," he says sadly. "Shall I tell you your thoughts?" "You couldn't," I answer, with an attempt at raillerv for I was not thinking at aU." "Yes, you were, Madgie you were thinking how happy you were before I came. Am I right"'—bendiug his tall figure a little. "Humphrey," I cry in a choked voice, "If you and iare ever to have happiness, do not try to understand my thoughts now."
I am showing more agitation than I meant to do, but I cannot help it it is better for us to understand each other thoroughly. In an agony of regret and remorse I take his hand and press my lips to it, for the pain in his voice has gone home to my heart, and something within me cries out against the injustice I am doing my husband. "Humphrey," I say brokenly. "I have done you a great wrong I—I will try to atone for it!" "My darling!" he says,
I think he knows however what the confession has cost me. It is a strange place for an explanation—the landing of the wide old stair case where I used to play at hide-and-seek in the dusky twilight when I waa child. Little did I dream then that my heart would ache as it is aohing now.
I am smiling enough a quarter of an hour later, when Humphrey and I go down stairs laden with tho presents from Paris. Helen and Lena are in ecstacies, Bee is speechless with joy. and all the rest are equally delighted. Mamma scolds Humphrey for allowing me to bring such costly presents. He laughs, and looks at my radiant face. "If you had asked me what I wished for Madgie," cries Bee, "you could not have chosen anything I liked better."
The excitement subsides at last into quiet pleasure. Jack is looking at his watch every other minute,and can hardly believe it is real. Humphrey has spent money lavishly to give rae pleasure is but fleeting, after all.
One resolution I made on this first night of my return home—no one shall suspect that I am not perfectly happy, ana so I smile brightly, as if congratulating myself on carrying off the prize, when Lena says with an envious little sigh— "I wish there were more Humphrey Carstairs in the world!" [TO BE CONTINUED.] *,
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nOPI MBMHUOT 0OB* DOB IBDW wjwm IhSO ttMi fit tttm bpi it bMt
OP HEALTH at &**•». H* origta
to
aof addfaw on
ftpplkatioa to THE MTSHLCR HERB IFFTLW CO. LanoMter, 'Wo alimwtHi
WWIMMH^ TO
CERUNllEDr.
FOB
RHEUMATISM,,
Neuralgia, Sciatica, Lumbago, Backache, Soreness of the Chesty. Gout, Quinsy, Sore Throat, Swellings and Sprains, Burns and
Scalds, General Bodily Pains,
Tooth, Ear and Headache, frosted Feet and Bars, and all other Pains and Aches.
No Preparation on Mirth equals
a* a
ST. JAIVIIM
0l6
simpl*
and
eh*np
Extoriml
Remedy. A trial entaila but the comp«rative!y trifling outlay *f SO Oats, and orery one suffering with pain can haro ch«ap and piwiiivo proof of Ita claim*.
Directions in Eleven language*. SOLD BY ALL DBUOOI8T8 AND DEALERS IH MEDI0IKE.
A.VOGELER&CO., JJaUimorc, Mil-,, U. S. A.
THE ONLY MEDICINE
IS EITHKB LIQUID OB DRY FOKX bf That Acts at the Saaio Tlaie on
the Liver, The Bowels, and the Kidneys.^
Theae great organ* aro the natural ctoanoera bftheayatem. Irthejr work well/health will by perfect. It they bccoine clogged dreadful dl» oaaea are rare to follow with
TERRIBLE SUFFERING. BUtoumen, Utadacht, Dytpeptia, Jaundice1 Constipation, Met, Kidney OotHiilaints, Gravel, DteMtt, Jthevmatic Pains or
Ache*.
art developed bacaaae Um biood lf polaoned wlth th* humor* that ahoutrt be expelled naturally.
KIDNEY-WORTlujmoRI
all
neglect
these destroying ict them and you
laasw
hooaand* hare been oared* Try It and you —1 add one more to the number. Take it and ealth will ooce more gladdon yemr heart. WkyratMr laager frwatlM tetawal ef aa batfc I nky btar nek 4Mrrw frwa CMMUpatloM aa4 PIlM I
KlOT*T-Wo*T will cure yo«. Try ItKtonceand be aatiafled. YourdrogguthMit. lMcell.M. t3T Itl* pnt np In Dry Veg*teWj^Forn»j_ln' tytln cans one packago of whioh moke* *U OTquartsof mediolne. "cfijio uTluVaM f«t^T^Ci»M»tr»M Qffor the oonrenlonoe ot thoao who cannot sailIIj prepare It W
t3rtSM**01/ in either fw#u "wELLS^IilcHABDSON *COM Prop's,
(Will sendthedry poet^mld.) BVaUHVTOif, VT.
N
OTICE.
THE
Eldredge Sewiw? Machioe Office Has been changed to
Fisk'n 8ton© Pump Building, No. 117 South Third street, between Ohloand Walnut, west side.
It is Warranted. V-.i
It is the most complete, desirable machine ever offered to the public. Being the latest, It has the advnnfageof having very desirable and new improvements.
Don't buy until you see M. Harry Sfetseker, late solicitor for the "hite, will be glad to see his old eustomeis.
Office, 117 Soutli Third street, second door nth of Foots, Hunter A Co' Livery Stable.
W. H. FISK, Agent.
IANO AND ORGAN
For an artistic Job leave or send orders to KUSSXBR'd PALACE O/ MU8IC. As the only phtc (eal workmen in tblscit%, having worked both in rgan and Piano manufactories, with a fully equipped workshop at our immanil, all repairs aro executed the same as at manufactory. all or send for pampiilrt giving list of references and a treatise on how to take proper care of the piano. PARTICULAR XOTICK TO OUTRIDE
RESIDENT*.
No tcaveling afents or roMeitors employed. All call* promptly attended to either by myself Orson Albert.
Reapeetfoliy,. L. KU88NER.
Palace of Mode.Terre, Haole.
WITHOUT A RIVAL I
SPECTFOUJR
tlie celebrated
STEOE PIANOS
Being received at
Kussners Palace of Music
1 Mitkmlarfy fevtte an Inspection and eoraparlaon of the elosest and most exacting tadjR*, tor certainly User Instraments have never before been placed on sale in this city
112 a day at home easily I'Mtijr oatflt lr#e.
Asa a week. ... 0 I ad at at re A re 8d«8Dlj Tbca& Co .Augusta. Msine.