Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 14, Number 32, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 2 February 1884 — Page 7

iTHE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

Wedded t6 Misery.

fx Continued from Second Page.

"Not murdered, Neil—it was not mnr der. Hear my story, and judge then God knows how I have suffered! He knows at whose door the guilt lies."

The memory of the past swept over him like a tidal wave. The story of his wrongs fell from his Hps in quick, passionate utterance, and Neil Graham forgot his own gieat sorrow in the tale of auguisb to which lie listened with bated breath. "I am that Roland Graham!" Tresham said bitterly at last. "I may deserve your coptempt, but oh, Neil! by all I have suffered, do I not deserve your pity also?" "More than that!" Gr»harri cried, Hinging his arms about him. "Rex— you will always be Rex to me! You have—you always shall have my eternal friendship. Oh, forgive me that I ever doubted you for a moment! Henceforth my trust Hhall follow you to the grave, my noble friend!"

Htiong men that they were, they were fcoth trembling with emotion, both moved to tears. "Do not despair, Neil!" Tresham said, •ere they parted. "You have my consent to win "Lois, if you can." & $

Graham snook bis head sadly. "You are going to the opera to-night? lie natd, glacing at the tickets on the table. "Yes. I wish you would join us." "Perhaps I may," Graham answered, wearily, but Tresham's face brightened as he added: "I winh you would. YQJI may jpoeet Madame de Roy."

CHAPTER X.

THE ORDKAL OP FIRE. VIFE

In the right proscenium box of the Theatre Lois was seated on the third opera night.

Ssbe looked very lovely In an evening dress of soft creamy crape, with a Marechal Neil rose in her hair.

Colonel Tresham sat beside her in a faultless full-dress suit, with a tuberose in his buttonhole—tender and attentive, but still very pale and subdued.

The opera was ''Lucia." and Madame de Roy sang divinely. Never had the great prima donna looked more beautiful, never had she acted more perfectly never had her voice sounded more like he of an el

Tresham leaned back in bis seat with that strange fascination. Every note that she sang thrilled him with ecstacy every 'movement she made charmed him completely.

Toward tbo end of the second act, the door opened and Neil Graham entered the box.

Tresham started out of a dream, when he felt his friend's hand laid lightly on his ahoulder. 1 "Abl" he exclaimed* "It is you, Nell L61*!"

She was leaning eagerly forward, drinking In every uote of that wondrous melody.

She turned as Tresham spoke, and save Nell a smile of welcome. "Hush!" she whlsffered softly, as she held out her little gloved hand. "Don't Npeak now!"

Nell tpojk the little band fft&i&ve him h.s strong fingers closed over it, and he held it unrebuked.

Treshatn's eyes were once more fixed upon the singer, and Lois was so much absorbed that she forgot herself.

Nell saw nothing but the lovely girlish profile, the soft curls that Uiunivivu owuf vm glistened a slender thread of gold, sup rtlng something that was hidden in

•Darling!" he whls •'cllnff close to uie. we will meet our fate together."

I

Kiriinu prumc, mo enjiv jjetty *\j ham,—your love least of all. O, Lois! clustered about her^ neck, on which \jy darling, forgive me!" a nianrfor ttiVniiri of crold. sun- "You shall not deny the truth." Tresham said, hoarsely. "I

Er bosom. Jit, rur uuu a a She had always worn that little chain

Too orchestra ended with a dissonant

Tresham heard It. Without a thought or any recollection of Lola, he leaped on to the stage, and was at her side In a moment.

Impelled by a wild, passionate desire to save her, he clasped her in his artus and bore her away as though she had been a chlM

She knew him In a moment'. 'As his strong arms encircled her, and her head sank upon hlsshonlder, she clung to him 'With a sense of security and trust.

Tlooking down at the beautiful face so near his own, Tresham's eyes were lighted with afire that had been smoldering for sixteen long years. ipered. passionately,

Nell turned his face away to hide a look of pain. "He does love hei," he murmured, bitterly. "She is lost to me forever."

It was weeks before Tresham was well again. During the long days and nights that he lay there stretched upon a bed of pain, there was but one thought present to bis mind, and that theught burdened with despair. He loved Madame de Roy!

Yes he loved her. All the pent-up passion of years had burst into a name* He loved her with the whole strength and fervor of bis ardent soul, and he loved her in vain. "O, God!" he cried in the agony of his spirit. "I have not asked for happiness. Oply grant nae peace. After all I have suffered, all I have borne, spare me this."

It was a bitter struggle. He knew that the strange, beautiful woman for whom he had conceived this unreasonable passion was near him, under the same roof. He felt by some subtle instinct that he had it in his power to make her love him, and yet he was bound to Lois, bound by a hundred ties, fettered by honor, and the solemn oath that come what would, her happiness should always stand before his own. "God help me!" he said, burying his face in his hands. "This is but a fitting sequel to the paBt."

There came a day when he was able to sit up, worn and haggard, but still convalescent.

Madame de Roy had sent daily to inquire for him, but now for the first time she came to see him herself.

Tresham was seated at the window in Ills little private parlor, inhaling the perfume of the flowers blooming in a majolica jardiniere.

The great singer was clad, as she always was off the stage, in deep black. Her long silken skirts rustled softly as she crossed the room, and held out to him a beautiful hand of marvellous whiteness. "Colonel Tresham," she said, im a voice that trembled slightly, "I cannot express the gratitude I feel. I know not how to thank you."

Treshatn's hand closed over hers, and he did not offer to release it again. He sat there perfectly mute and passive, with his eyes fixed upou her face, pver which a soft flush was slowly creeping.

The memory of Lois faded away. His whole soul went out to the woman who sjood before him in her regal beauty, the woman whose hand he held closely clasped in his own. "Don't!" lie said, earnostly, as she opened her lips to speak again. "You do not—vou cannot KHOW what happiness it affords me to serve you."

She could not mistake bis look and tone, and, like a dream, she recalled the words he had spoken on that night of peril to them both.

A look—a spasm, almost of terror flashed across her face. "Hush!" she cried, shrinking back

Remember Lois!" Tresham fell ou his knees at her feet, and lifted the hem of her dress to his Hps. "I do remember Lois," he said, passionately. "I could not be such a wretch as to forget her. I mean to make her

A llioail XW —J ""-I .. you whom I love, you whom I worship, Madame de Roy! You—y0u 3U only!" ,,

She shrank still farther from him but her whole form was shaken with overwhelming emotion the color came and went In her face like a flickering fire.

As Tresham raised his eyes to her, he caught one glimpse of a possible heaven, from which he knew that he must turn away. ... ,..a ... "You love meP' he cried, passionately, holding out bis arms to her. "Darling, a in "No, no!" she answered, with desperate vehemence. "I mast not—I cannot! Love is not for me, Colonel Tres-

comfort

ever since he had known her. «»»in—n««n The opera went on in shimmering robes the audience entranced by her wonderful rendition of the Mad Scene.

wh«t

But suddenly a cloud of smoke burst forth from the left wing of the stage, and the awful, paralyzing cry of fire sent a thrill of horror to the listening multltudo. "You though

I will save you, or

She did cling to him with au abiding trust. As be clasped her closely in bis arms, and rushed through one smoke clouded passage after another, her white ciatin drees trailed on the floor, and her beautiful allvor hair, which had been unbound, »nd fell in rippling waves far below her waist, fell upon Treshatn's shoulder like a arift of snow. He never forgot that moment till bis dying day.

The air was ringing with groans and shrieks the heat aud smoke were suffocating. The oraekel of the flamea, the crash of timbers, and that pale, beautiful face pillowed on his breast, with its eyes upturned to his in a look he could not analyse.

Tresham remembered bow he fought his way out of the theatre but iust wiieo he felt the fresh air fanning his cheeks, one of the swinging doors crashed inward and struck him.

He saw it coming, and turned so as to ward off its weight from her. That was all bo remembered.

When be opened bis eyes, he was lying In his own room at the Brunswick, and Nell WHS seated by his bed-ride.

It was broad day-light, and a flood ot golden sunshine filled the room. The fire seemed very far away in Tresham's recollection but be remembered the falling door, and shuddered.

kuew it—I feel

For God's s^ke, give me the only I will never speak to

possible,

wn her. you again—never cross vour path!" Madame de Roy Let me go!" she cried, wrenching her of white satin held gkirts out of his grasp. "You know not ?d by her wonder-

his grasp.

vou ask. Even if Lois did not

what you ask. Even if Lois did stand between, there is another.'^ "Another! Whom?" "My husband."

Your himlmnd/" he grasped, thought—"

You thought'Madame' was merely a title? many another. own/'

staRQ

crash in a moment all was the wildest inAnv nnntl o»nfusion and fright. Tresham still had his eyes on Madame de Roy. As the flames burst forth and began to lap themselves about the scenery, she shrank back with a low, nervous cry.

title?

ou were mistaken, like I have a husband of my

Sbe laughed bitterly, and the sound of her voice chilled Tresham to his heart's core. Slowly, and with a painful effort, he rose to bis feet. "My fate pursues me," he murmured. "Madame de Roy, I crave your forgiveness."

His head sank heavilv upon bis breast there was a rustle of silken drapery, and, when ho looked up again, she was gone. [TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.],

WE do not sound a needless alarm when we tell you that the taint of scrofula is in your blood. Inherited or acquired, it is there and Ayer's Sarsaparilla alone will effectually eradicate it. „r

'NOT NEW TO HIM.

As Mr. DeWitt C. Pease of New York stepped from a Michigan Central train iu Chicago, a few days since, a bandsome young lady skipped up to him threw her arms raptuously about his neck and kissed him many times say-

1D"6,

papa! I'm so glad you baye eome." Mr. Pease threw both arms around her and held her firmly to his breast. Soon she looked up into his face and horror stood In her eye. "Oh my! you're not my papa!" she said, trying to free herself from his embrace. "Yes I am," insisted Mr. Pease, holding her tightlv. "Yoo are my long lost daughter, andT I am going to keep yon right in my arms till I get a policeman."

When the officer came ana found Mr. Pease's diamond pin in the girl's hand he said: "That's anew trick here." "Is it?" said Pease. "Well, it's old in New York."

HAI.I'/S

His lipe moved slightly. Nell bent over him, but could not^iear what he AB»Mrr»T the best Porous plaster was trying to say. ever made. The Hop PtaMer ^s com"liois la safe, B«» posed of Fresh Hops, Balsams and Gums, divine the of his «xiety, ".afe and

unhurt. Madame de Roy escaped, too, thanks to you. She was hurt a Uule, but she will soon be all right again."

A look of intense relU* pawed over Tresham1* features. "ThankGod!" he murmured, faintly. "I could not have home It to lose her."

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mnd

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DON'T MARRY A OIRL JUST BECAUSE,

BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

Oh, lovers, who fancy that you are rich in The love of a damsel who knows how to sew, Who passes her mornings at work.in the kltchen,

Your cake's in no danger of turning out doagh, Come listen awhile, as in mournful est verses

A sufferer tells what you all ought to know. And here for your benefit bravely rehearses How his cake, alas! proves the heaviest dough.

My Prudence, although not possessed of a nickel Was raised by a notable mother sad so There was nothing she could not preserve or picklSf

And her heart seemed as light as was always her dough. How often by chance, or by warm invitation,

I dropped into tea only lovers will know And though of my coming she'd no intima-

She'd afways fresh bisquits of well-knead-ed dough.

"Ah, here," I exclaimed, "is the girl for my money: Itfc not a great deal, but how far it will go With a wife who makes bread that is sweeter than honey.

And who isnt too grand, the dear thing to knead dough." With a prospect like this, I'd no reason to tarry

She owned that she loved me "a long time ago," And waen I suggested that straightway we marry,

She rose to the plan like her own lovely dough.

And what is the sequel My Home is perfection, No doubt you will think. Oh, how much you all know! My wife is fatigued with a dally inspection,

And firmly declines tho least contract with My little appeals to her conscience are slightShe's Seep In a novel when not on the go, And asks, with a smile, if Itai quite so benighted

As to think her lit only for kneading my dough! To a slight explanation she once condescend-

Her life was a burden, she hated work so And she thought, when she married, her troubles were ended,

Aud vowed never more to lay finger to dough. With satins and laces I'm forced to adorn her

She yawns over Ruskln, says Irving is "slow Wo deal with the baker who lives round the corner,

Although he puts alum, I'm sure, in his dough! 1 offer, in meekness,a single suggestion.

A marriage may last fifty years, as wefknow Things besides heavy bread sometimes cause Indigestion

Don't marry a girl just because she kneads dough. —[Century Magazine.

Rose Terry Cooke, in Waterbury American.

The Two Mrs. Tuckers

"You can make the fire while I put the hoss out," said Amasa Tucker, as he opened the back door of a gray house, set on top of a treeless hill, tracked here and there with paths the geese had made in their daily journeys to the pond below, and only approached at the back by a laue to the great red barn and a rickety board gate set between two posts of the rail fence.

This was Wealthy Ann Tucker's home coming. She had married Amasa that morning at heis- father's house, in Stanton, a little village twenty miles away away from Peet's Mills, the town within whose wide limits lay the Tucker farm and had come home with him this early spring afternoon in the old wagon, behind the bony horse that did duty for Amasefa family carriage.

Mrs. Tucker was a tall, thin youngwoman, with a sad, reticent face, very silent and capable. These last traits had been her chief recommendation to her husband. There was no sentiment about the matter. Old Mrs. Tucker had died two weeks before this marriage, but Amasa was "forehanded," and kuowing his mother could not live long had improved his opportunities—had been "sparkin'" Wealthy Ann Minor all winter, in judicious provision for the coming event of his solitude.

He had thought the thing all over, and concluded that a wife was cheaper than a hired girl, and more permanent so, when he found this alert, firm-joint-ed, handy girl living at her uncle's, who was a widower, on a great farm the other side of the village, Amasa made her acquaintance as soon as possible and nrocewed to further intimacy. Wealthy lUed better to work for her nncle than for a step-father with six secondary children, but sbe thought it would be better still to have a house of her own so she agreed to marry Amasa Tucker, and this was her home-coming.

She opened the door into a dingy room with an open fire-place at one end, a window on the north and one on'the south side, paned with old, green, and imperfect glass, and letting In but just enough light to work by. One corner, to the north, was partitioned off to make a pantry, and a door by the fireplace led out Into the woodshed. The front of the house contained two rooms. One opened into the kitchen, and was a bed room, furnished sparely enough the other was «rlor, with high-backed rush-bottom-chairs against the wall, a round table in tho middle, a fireplace with brass andirons aud fire-irons, a family Bible on the table, and a "mourning piece" painted in ground hair on the mantel. Green paper shades and white cotton curtains, a rag carpet fresh as it came from the loom—if its dinginess could ever be called fresh—and a straight-backed sofa covered with green and yellow-glazed chintz, made as dreary an apartment as could well be Imagined. Wealthy shot the door behind her quickly and went to the shed for material to make her fire. It was almost sundown, and sbe was hungry but she found only a few dry chips of kindling. However^- she did her bost, and she had brought some provisions from home, so that sbe managed to lay out a decent supper on the rickety table by the time Amasa came stamping in from the barn

He looked disapprovingly at the pie, the biscuit, the snaved beef^ and tb jellj set before blm. ain't a waister, Wealthy,' he ffrowlvu. "There's vittles enough fora township, and the' ain't but two of us." "Well, our folks sent 'em over and you no need to eat 'em," she answered,

I aint goin' to dont ye break into that fell, set it by sometime or natber somebody may be a coming' and you'll want of It."

Wealthy said no more they made a supper of" buiscnit and beef, for the {de was also ordered set by."

Sbe was used to eeonomy. bat not to stinginess, and sbe excused this extreme thrift in her hnsoand more easily for the reason that she had been always poor, and she knew that he was not rich to say the least. Bat it was only the beginning.

Hard as Wealthy had worked at her uncle's, here die found harder burdens she had to draw and fetch all the water sbe nsed from an old-fashioned well with a heavy sweep, picturesque to see, but wearisome to we wood was scarce,

TEKRK HAUTE SATURDAY BXTEMBSTG MAIL.

for though enough grew on the hundred acres that Amasa owned, he grudged its use. "I sha'n't cut down no more than is really needful," he said, when she urged him to fetch her a load "wood's allers a growin' when ye don't cut it, and a makin' for lumber and lumber's better to sell, a sight than cord wood. Ye must git along somehow with brush motner used ter burn next to nothin'."

She did not remind him that his mother was bent double with rheuma tism, and died of the fifth attack of pneumonia. Wealthy never wasted words.

Then there were eight cows to milk, the milk to strain, set, skim, churn or make into cheese, and nothing but the simplest utensils to do with. A cloth held over the edge of the pail served for a strsiDer the pails themselves were heavy wood, the pans old and some of them leaky, the boles stopped with bits of rag, often to be renewed the milkroom was in the shed, built against the chimney that it might not freeze therein the winter, and only aired by one slatted window the churn was an old wooden one with a dasher, and even the "spaddie" with which she worked her butter was whittled out of a maple knot by Amasa himself and was heavy and rough.

Then to her belonged the feedings of the pigs—gaunt, lean animals with sharp snouts, ridgy backs, long legs and thin flanks, deep set eyes that gleamed with intelligent malice and never-sated hunger. Wealthy grew almost afraid of them when they clambered up on the rails of the pen in their vury 'or food, and flapped their pointed #ears at her, squealing and fighting for the scant fare that she brought. For Amasa underfed and overworked everything that belonged to him.

Then there were heus to look after— the old-fashioned barn-door "creepers" that wanted food too, and yet catered for themselves in great measure and made free with barn and woodshed for want of their own quarters, and were decimated every season by hawks, owls, skunks, weasels and foxes, to say nothing of the little chickens on which crows and cats worked their will if ihev dared to stray beyond the ruinous old coop contrived for them by Amasa's inventive genius out of sticks and stones.

Add to oil tliis the cooking, washiifg, baking and sewing, the Insufficient supply of pork, potatoes and tough pies, the "bi'l'd dinners," whose strength lay in the vegetables rather in the small square of fat pork cooiied with them, of which Amasa invaribaly took the lion's share. These accumulating and neverceasing labors all wore day by day on the vitality of Mrs. Tucker, and when to these were added an annual baby, life became a terror and a burden to the poor woman.

But wHat did Amasa care? He, too worked "from sua to sun." "He farmed in the hard old fashion with rude implements and no knowledge but— kfy father done it afore me, so I am agoin'todo it now, no use talkinV One by one the wailing, puny children were laid away in the. little yard on top of Sandhill, where the old Ttfckers ana their half-dozen infants lay already a rough inclosure, full of mulleins, burdocks and thistle, overrun with low blackberry vines and surrounded by a rail fence. It bad been much handier for the Tuckers to have a grave-yard close by than to travel five miles to the mills with every funeral and they were not driven by publicopinlon in regard to monuments they all lay there like the beasts that perish, with but one slant gray stone to tell where the first occupant left bis tired bones. Two cbildnta »f Vftaalihjte••survived, AmasaancU Lurana, the oldest and youngest of seven.

Amasa, a considerate, intelligent boy. who thought much and said little, and Lurana, or "Lury," as her name was generally given, a mischievous, selfwilled little imp, the delight and torment of her little worn-out mother. Young Amasa was a boy quite beyond his father's understanding as soon as he was old enough he began to help bis mother in every way that be could devise. And when his term at the village school was over,to his father's great disgust, he trapped squirrels and gathered nuts enough to earn him money and subscribe for an agricultural paper which be studied every week till its contents were thoroughly stored in his head. Then began that "noble discontent" which the philosophers praise.

The elder man had no peace in his oldworld ways, the sloppy waste of the barnyard was an eyesore to this "booklearned feller," as his father derisively called blm. And the ashes of the wood fire were saved and sheltered like precious dust, instead of being thrown into a big heap to edify the wandering bens. That desojate garden was plowed, fertilized, and set in order at last, and the great ragged orchard manured, the apple-trees thinned and trimmed, and ashes sown thick over the old mossy sod. Now these things were not done in a day or a year, but as the boy grew older and more able to cope with his father's self-conceit, more was done annually, not without much opposition and many hard-words, but still done.

Then came a heavy blow. Lurano, a girl of fifteen, fresh and pretty as a wild rose, and tired of the pinching economy, the monotonous work, and grinding life of the farm, ran away with a tin peddler and broke her mother's heait not in the ibysical sense tnat hearts are sometimes jroken, but the weary woman's soul was set on this bright, winsome child, and her life lost all its scant savor when the blooming face and clear young voice left her forever. "I don't blame her none, Amasey," Rhesobbedout to her boy, now a stout fellow of twenty-two, raging at his sister's folly. "I can't feel to blame her. I know 'tis teore'n a girl can bear to live this way. I've baa to. bat it's been dreadful hard—dreadful hard. I've wished more'n once I could ha' laid down along with the little babies out there on the bill, so's to rest a spell but there was yoo and Lury wanted me, and so my time hadn't come." "Amasey, you're a man grown now, and if you should get married, and I s'vose yon will, men folks seem to think it's needful whether or no, do kinder make it easy for her, poor cretur! Don't grind her down to skin and bone, like me, dear, ta'nt just right, I'm sure on't, never to make no more of a woman than ef she was a horned critter don't do lt." "Mbtber, I never will!" answered the sou, as energetically and solemnly as if he were taking bis oath.

But Wealthy was nearer to her rest than sbe knew. The enemy that lurks in dirt, neglect, poor food, constant drudgery and the want of every wholesome and pleasurableexcitement to mind or body, and when least expected swoops down and does its fatal errand in the isolated farm-house no less than in the crowed city slums—the scourge of New England, typhoid fever—broke out in Vhe Tucker homestead.

Wealthy turned away from her weekly baking one Saturday morning, just as the last pie was set on the broad pantry shelf, and fainted on the kitchen floor, where Amasa the younger found

her, an hour after, muttering, delirious, and cold. What he could do then or the village doctor, or an old woman who called herself a nurse, was all useless but the best skill of anykind would have been equally futile. She was never conscious again for a week then her eyes seemed to see what was about her once more. Sbe looked up at her boy, laid hqr wan cheek on her hand, smiled—and died.

Hardly had her wasted shape been put away under the mulleins and bard hack, when her husband came in from the hay field smitten with the same plague. He was harder to conquer. Three weeks of alternate burning, sinking, raving, and chills ended at last in the gray and grim repose of death for bim, and another Amasa Tucker reigned alone in the old house on the hill.

It is not to be supposed that in all those years Amasa the younger had been blind to the charms of the other sex he had not "been with" every girl who to school with him, or whom he met at singing schools or spelling matches, or who smiled at him from her Sunday bonnet, as he manfully "held up his end" in the village chcir.

He had been faithful always to the shy, delicate, dark-eyed little girl who was his school sweetheart, and now it was to Mary Peet he hastened, to ask her to share his life and home. He had intended to take a farm on shares the next summer, and work his way slowly upward to a place of his own now he had this hundred acre farm, and to his great surprise he found f3,000 laid up iu the bank at Peet's Mills, the slow savings of his father's iifty years. He began at once to set his house in order. He longed to build a new one, but Mary's advice restrained him, so he did his best with this. The cellar he cleaned and whitewashed with his own hands, cleaned its one begrimed window and set two more, so that it was sweet and light. The house was scrubbed from one end to the other a bonfire made of the old dirty comfortables and quilts, the kitchen repainted a soft yellow and new windows with clear large glass set in place of the diugy old sashes. The wood house was tilled with dry wood and good store of pinecones and chopped brush kindling. Anew milk room was built a little way from the back door, over a brook that ran down the hill north of the bouse, and under the slatted floor kept up a cool draught of fresh air. a covered passage connected it with the kitchen, and a door into the old milk room made of that a convenient pantry, while the removal of the old one from the kitchen corner gave to that apartment more room, air, and light. Anew stove, with a set boiler, filled up the hearth of the old fireplace, but further improvements Amasa left for Mary.

A different home-coming from his mother's she had indeed, on just such a spring day a9 Wealthy came there. The kitchen sbone clean and bright a bowl of piuk arbutus blossoms made Its at mosphere freshly sweet, and the fire was laid ready for her to light, the shininr tea-kettle filled, and the pantry suci stores as Amasa's masculine knowledge of household wants could suggest flour, butter, eggs, sugar, all in abundance, and no feast of royalty ever gave more pleasure to its most honored guest than the hot biscuit Mary made and baked for their supper the stewed dried apples, the rich old cheese and the fragrant tea ave Amasa this happy evening. Next Say they took their wedding trip to Peet's Mills In the new and sensible farm wagon Amasa had just bought, with a strong spirited horse to draw it. "I want you Bbould look around, Mary," he bad said that night before, and see what is needful here. I expect 'mpst evejythinjg is wanting^ and we canVIay out for finery. But first of all get what'll make your work easy. Your weddin' presents will come along tomorrow to-day we'll buy necessities."

Mrs. Peet had not sent her only girl empty-handed to the new house. A ood mattress, two pairs of blankets, resh, light comfortables, and some cheap, neat, white spreads a set of gay crockery, a clock, ana a roll of bright ingrain carpeting had all come to the farm house soon after the bride's arrival her ample supply of sheets and pillow-cases, strong towels, and a few table-cloths had been sent tfie day before, se this sort of thing was not needed but there was a new churn bought, and altogether new furnishings for the dairy, several modern inventions to make the work of a woman easier, a set of chairs, a table, and an easy lounge for the parlor, sonje cretonne, covered with apple blossoms and white-thorn clusters, and pails, brooms, and tinware that woula have made Wealthy a happy woman, crowdcd the over-full wagon before they turned homeward.

The old house began to smile and blossom under this new dispeusatlon, and the new mistress smiled, too.

Amasa milked the cows for her, and lifted the heavy pfuls of milk to strain into the bright new pans he filled the woodbox by the stove twice a day, put a patent pump into the old well, and, as it stood above the house, ran a pipe down into a sink set In the woodshed, and so put an end to the drawing and carrying of water.

The fat, round, placid- pigs, that now enjoyed themselves in tne new pen he took care of himself. "Ta'nt for women folks," he said. "You've got enough to do Mary there's the garden you'll have an eye on, and the chickens, if you're a mind to I'm going to build a hen-house and a ard toitrigbtoff, that'll be good enough or you as well as the chickens, and I want you shall promise if any time the work gets a mite hefty and worries you, ou'll speak right out. I can affoni to ave everything else worn out rather than my wife."

Really, it paid! It does pay, my masculine friends, to give any woman a kindly word now and then if you bad done it oftener, or your fathers bad in the past, the rights of women never would have angered or bored yoo as they do now or unsexed and made strident and clamorous that half a creation which is and always was unreasonable enough to have hungry hearls. Try it and see!

Amasa was wise above generation he bad seen his mother suffer, and learned a lesson. Mary never pined for kindly appreciation of ber work, or help in it. When she had a door cnt through into the parlor, the stiff chairs and sofa banished, the flowery curtains bung at either window, the gay carpet pat down and the new furniture set In place, with her wedding present—an easy staffed rocker—drawn up to the table, on which lay two weekly papers and Harper's Bdfagazine, sbe bad still sense enough left to make this hetherto sacred apart* ment into a real sitting-room, where every evening she and Amasa rested, read or talked over the days doings ana when the first fat, rosy baby came, and Mary was about agaio, it added another pleasure to have the old cradle beside them all evening with Its sleeping treasure.

Can I tell in words what a sense of peace and cheer prevaded this household in spite of some failures and troubles? If the rye did blast one year the two best cows die, another if a weasel once invaded the |gfw and wonderful henhouse and slaughtered the best dozen

Plymouth Rocks if sweeping storms wet the great crop of hay on the big meadow, or an ox broke its leg in a post hole—still there was a home to come to, and a sensible, cheerful woman to look on the bright side of things when Amasa was discouraged.

But on the whole, things prospered and as Amasa heard the sweet laughter of his happy children, and met the calm smile of his wife, h® could not but look back on his mother's harassed and sad experience, and give a heartfelt sigh to the difference between the two Mrs. Tuckers, unaware how much it was due to his own sense of justice and affection.

There are two morals to this simple sketch, my friends: One is, the great use and necessity of being good to your wives.

Accept which you like and need most. In the language of the ancient Romans: You pays your money and you takes your choice."

WHFN a remedy has proven itself to be a cure for consumption, and a perfect lung restorer, it should be kept in every well regulated home. We refer to Dr. Wistar's Balsam of Wild Cherry, a single dose of which will cure an ordinarycough or cold. A few bottles will cure consumption. It is very pleasant to take. 2

Excited Thousands.

All over the land are going into eos over Dr. King's New Discovery for Consumption. Their unlooked for recovery by the timely used of this great life Saving remedy causes them to go nearly wild in its praise. It is guaranteed to positively cure Severe Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Hay Fever, Bronchitis, Hoarseness, Loss of Voice, or any affection of the Throat and Lungs. Trial Bottles 10 cents at Cook & Bell and Gullck A Co. Drugstore. Large siiteS1.00. (2)

Bneklen's Arnica Salve. The greatest medicine wonder of tb world. Warranted to speedily cure Burns Bruises, Cuts# Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever, Sores, Cancers, Piles, Chilblains, Corns, Tetter Chapped Hands, and all skin eruptions, guaranteed to cure in every instance, or mouey refunded. 25 cents per box. For sale by Cook & Bell and Gullck & Co. (tf.)

Better and CheajDe^than Quinine

Moore's Pilules

KIDNEY DISEASES AND LIVER COMPLAINTS, Becaano It acts on the LITER, BOWELS «at

KIDNEYS mt the »»m« tlmo.

Beeauao It oleuuea the «ystem of the poisonous humors that dovelope in Kidney and tM. nary Diseases, Biliousness, Jaundice, Constipation, Piles, or in Bnonmatism, Neuralgia, Nervous Disorders and all Female Complaints.

Or SOLID PROOF OF THIS. IT WX£L 8UBXLT GTJBB

CON8TIPATION, PILES, and RHKUMATI8M, By FBJBK ACTION of aU the organs and Amotions, thereby

CLEANSING the BLOOD

restoring the normal power to throw off rtlssaew

THOUSANDS OP OASIS

of the wont forms of these terrible dlseMM have been quickly relieved, and in a short Uma PQRPBCTLY CURID.

PRICE, |1. LiqTJtD

iCl-S'vA?'

v-

PllPS f8#i!

!?,

A

|ltl| 1

^nudote?1"1*1

E W

DOES

WONDERFUL CURES OF

I

It-

OR DRY, SOLD BY DRCG6OT8.

"Dry

oan be sent by mall.

WILLS, BIOHAJELDSON Co., Burlington, VU

8 Send itsmp for Disry Almsnse for 18E4.

I N E W O

Wabash Scratches and Itch.

Is cured in thirty minutes by the application of WOOLFORb'S SANITARY LOTION. Bold by Bun tin & Armstrong. (Continuedfrom leut wee*.)

How Watch Cases are Made.

A late of SOLID GOLD 14 2-10 karats fine is soldered on each side of a plate of hard nickel composition metal, and the three are then passed between polished steel rollers. From this plate the various j»:irt3 of the cases—backs,centers,bezels,etc. arc cut und shaped by dies and formers. The gold is thick enough to admit of all kinds of chasing, engraving, and engineir:iing. The composition metal gives it needed strength, stiffness and solidity, while ihe vn-ittcn guarantee of the manufacturers warranting tfich case to wear twenty yean proves tlint it contains all the gold that can possibly be needed. This guarantee is given from actual results, as many of these cases have been worn perfectly smooth Ly years of use without wearing through. the gold. DUBUQUE, IA.,Dec. 14,1889.

I have used one Of your James Boss' Gold Watch Cafvv seventeen yearn. I bought it second-hand end know of Its having been u*«d before I got it, but do not know how long. It looks good for tea years longer. Did not suspcct it was a filled CSM r.aMl no informed by a Jeweler a short time sin«L I laOKt clieerfully recommend your case* to be so. are represented to be, and more.

O. MCCBAKKT,

IP *4?

Dep. Col. Int. lUt.

W

Dl*.

ArmA a M-nt »(»*(. to W*ltk CaM

FMUHw,

rhUtf

irlpUl*.for b«ntooai« lllwtrsM Ps«pfcl*t»fc»wl«g toe Juu, um»' k«7«tsac Watch Cam an uk (To b* Continued.) fc"70 A WKKK, lis a day at bomeesxily made. Oostl? £. outfit free. Address

TUCK A

Co., Aagiuw. Me.

To Dyspeptics.

The most common signs of Dyspepsia* or X^ligestion, aro au oppression at th*. stomach, nausea, flatulcncy, water-brash, heart-burn, vomiting, lose of appetite, aadjf-y constipation. Dyspeptic patients suffer ontold miseries, bodily and mental. They' should stimulate tlio digestion, and secure regular daily action of tho bowels, by too of moderate doses of J'V

Ayer's Pills.

After the bowel* are regulated, one of the** Pills, taken cach day after dinner, Is usually ,' ,' aU th&t is required to complete the em«i

ATEB'9 PILLS

are sugar-coated aad purely

vegetable—a pleasant, entirely safe, «cd reliable medicine for the cure of all disorder* of the stomach aad bowels. They in the best of aU purgatives for family use.

FHEPJJBKD BY

Dr.J.C.Ayer&Co.jLowelljMaW Sokl bj-all Druggists.