Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 34, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 16 February 1889 — Page 7

THE _MAIL.

PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE."

[Hie Peril of Richard Pardon.

Continued from Second Pope. 'Mdlle. Rosalie arranged them," she lid. "She has the most exquisite taste. f-One for yoa, papa and one for 700, Mr. [Fleetwood."

Neither she nor my wife erer addressed til/n as an ordinary servant. He accepted iJae posy reluctantly.* A gift from the mancbi of Eanice would have delighted I him: bnt this from Mdlle. Rosalie, I saw,

TShe

repugnant to him. has been speaking in such praise .'f you, Mr. Fleetwood!" continued EuUhice. "You hare quite won her heart

You ought to be proud she is so sweet md good. Pupa," she said, as we walked f-a little aside from Fleetwood, "you have a perfume about you hare you been scent-

1

ing yourselff" "No, ray darling," I said, laughing at the question. "But now you mention It, I have had the fancy myself that there was something more fragrant than usual about me this morning."

I sniffed up, and Eunice followed my example merrily.

'I know what it is, papa," she said suddenly: "it is wood-violet. That is Mdlle. Rosalie's favorite perfume." 'Indeed, Eunice," I said, "I was not ««vare of it. Somebody has been sprinkling it upon me, I suppose. There, run fawny. Fleetwood, I waut you to go into the town for me and get me some books,

I made out the list last night." Fleetwood, at my summons, came to my side, and I pnt my hand in the breastpocket of my coat for the list I had written. I drew it out, with something soft— E

a lady's handkerchief, from which floated the faint perfume of wood-violet. As I held the handkerchief, in some astonishment, in my hand, wondering liovv it could have got into my pocket, my eyes lighted '"Vipon a name embroidered in a corner of the delicate trifle—the name of Rosalie.

Involuntarily the handkerchief fell from my hand, and fluttered to the ground, and before I had time to stoop and pick it up, Mdlle Rosalie darted forward, and, seizing it, thrust it hastily into her pocket. "Thank you," she said, softly*—"thank you so muchl"

She trioped away, and Fleetwood, talking the list which I mechanically held out to him, walked thoughtfully from the garden, his head bont upon his breast.

It was this incident of Mdlle. Rosalie's handkerchief which caused me so much discomfiture. I had no remembrance whatover of placing it there.

CHAPTER IV.

Living in some style, as may

opulj vera of af luliO' depentruub tlenmn of great wealth.

be gathered

from what I have already narrated, it may be Kiipposed that I was rich. I was not. I paid 110 rent

for

the house in which we

resided, neither was it min|ta? I money which supported it ng"* #.v my own resources. I wilV^ the peculiar nature 6f vpr

My

Mr. Wilmot was at on eccentric. He never had any g1 ... my father's business capacities and It is doing him no injustice to say that he was self-willed and obstinate, and that he entertained the idea that he should be not •only a law unto himself, but to other peopleas well. It was through his assistance that my father extricated himself honorably from his business ditHculties, and when they wore settled my uncle refused to reestablish him. "You shall live a life of ease and happiness," said Mr. Wilmot, "and shall run no more risks."

I To this end he promised my father an Income sufficiently largo to maintain the •'social standing to which he had boon accustomed. The promise was faithfully kept. At the end of every six months a sum was placed in the bank to my fathor's •credit, in fulfillment of the arraugement and Mr. Wilmot, who was and who remained a bachelor, gave us to understand that at his death we should inherit the whole of his wealth. Neither of my parents lived long to enjoy tho life of luxurious ease for which Mr, Wilmot's generosity provided, aud I, their ouly child, remained tho solo recipieut of his kindness.

Ho paid liberally for my support and edu cation and it was with his concurrence that I became engaged to the lady I married. On that occasion ho purchased the little estate in Soveuoaks, to which I took my wife, aud devised it to me in his will, •which made me also his sole heir. Therefore. as will be seeu, I was entirely dependent upon him daring his lifetime.

There are men who would have found the position irksome probably my father •did, I must confess that I did not. No fears disturbed me that, by some freak on the part of my uncle, or by displeasing him, I might find myself suddenly beggared—for to this condition it was in Mr. Wilmot's power to reduce me by a stroke of his pen.

At the time of my daughter's engagement Mr. Wilmot was absent from England, and I had no means of placing myself in communication with him. His habits of life were a sufficient Indication of the eccentricity of his character. He lived a life of absolute seclusion, so far as we were concerned, who wfculd have gladly welcomed him in our home, and rejoiced to receive long and frequent visits from him. We owed all we possessed to him: and the unselfishness of his generosity insured for him the highest meed of respect and esteem. But we saw him very seldom and. indeed, for the last three years, had seen him not at all. He was passionately fond of travel, and was in the habit ot making long disappearances. During these periods It was his whim to be troubled by no correspondence whatever, either from his friends or business agents. He wrote to them from Ume to time, but never gave an address, nor would he consent to receive replies from them except upon matiers he deemed of the highest private importance. Ail letters for him were addressed, by request, to a Arm of lawyers in London who conducted his affairs, and there they accumulated uuiil bis return home.

On the day that Mr. Clanronaid asked of me the in-fl of Eunice for his ton, 1 wrote to it lawyers, saying that I had something of Interest to communicate to Mr. Wilmot, and that I should feel obliged

to them if they would give me his address. Their reply was to the efTect that they had received strict instructions from their olient to give his address abroad to no person whatever, and that they could make no exception in my favor. I wrote again, asking, if I sent a letter to Mr. Wilmot under cover to them, whether they would forward it to him. They replied that here again the instructions under which they acted were so strict and peremptory that they could not depart from them. All letters which they received for Mr. Wilmot were dropped in sealed boxes, of which he bad the keys. Once more I wrote, inquiring whether they were expecting Mr. Wilmot's return home, and within what time. In reply they stated that they did not know when he would return. Nothing was left for me to do but to write to Mr. Wilmot, acquainting him with the fact of my daughter's engagement, aud giving him every information in my power of the standing and character of the family Into which she was about to marry. In this letter I made a delicate reference to the subject of settlements: and said that in my interview with Mr. Clanrouald I had been compel Jed to ask for a postponement of this branch of the matter until my uncle returned to England. I dispatched my letter to the lawyers, with a sense of intense dissatisfaction at the idea that it would be dropped in a sealed box, and would be read by my uncle heaven knew when.

Plainly speaking, this eccentric conduct on the part of my uncle was at this juncture terribly perplexing. Living as we were living, with all the evidences of wealth around us, there had hitherto been no necessity for the disclosure of my circumstances, which hitherto had concerned none but ourselves. Now it was different. Were my uncle in England, I had not the least doubt that everything would be satisfactorily arranged without an exposure ho himself had thrown out hints of my daughter's future prospects in life in the event of her marrying during his lifetime, and my mind was easy on the point. But in my ancle's absence, it seemed as if the engagement were at a standstill, and as if Eunice's happiness depended entirely upon his erratic movements. However, there was nothing for it but patience, and I summoned it to my aid. My wife did not share my uneasiness. "After all, Richard," she said, "your wish that our Eunice shall not be married for a year or so may be fulfilled. I do not greatly regret it myself, though if yonr uncle were at home, I should not object to an early marriage."

Her calmer method of meeting the difficulty had its soothing effect upon me, but, nevertheless, it was with a feeling of joy that one morning, among my letters, I recognized the handwriting of Mr. Wilmot. His letter, which I read with eagerness anil anxiety, was addressed from Norway, and in it I received the welcome intelligence that we might expect his return to England within three months from the date of his writing. This information enabled me to glvo a satisfactory answer to Mr. Clanfouald, who, in the course of the day, made an indirect reference to the uncompleted business of my daughter's set tlemoiits. It was not the first time that hfijmd made such a reference, and hither »ys experienced a feeling of in meeting it. Now I was

'•jtter," I said, "from 'prosent in Norway, •ths all will be ar

^.a''Mr. Clanronald, in i-y and it was only then it ,c I had never mentioned my ,, before to him—there being, I, no special reason for it. '•{. "My mother's brother," I said, "who hat made the mast handsome promises in re spect of Eunice's future." "Yes, yes!" said Mr. Clanronald, and seemed to ponder upon the name, and not with pleasure, but nothing more was saul.

My uncle's letter contained something which I then regarded as of small importance, but which, in the near future, was destined td bring about the peril of my life. It was included in the following words: "Very soon after my return to England It is my intention to pay you a visit a* lioscombe Ixdge, and to trespass upon your hospitality for a few days. Meanwhile, you can confer an obligation upon me. I have given Mr. Leonard Mortlock, a young gentleman in whom I take a deep interest, and who for three months has been my companion in my travels, a letter of introduction to yon, which he will present in person. I wish him to become acquainted with you and your family I wish yon to make a friend of him. Any social courtcsics and kindness which you can show him I shall regard as extended to myself. You will find him an agreeable and charming person, aud it will afford mo pleasure to learn that the association has been mutually pleasant."

Tho request, which could not have been more distinctly conveyed, was to me and my wife a law, and we decided that when Mr. Leonard Mortlock made his appearauce wo would ask him to make our house his home for awhile. My wife set about at once making the necessary preparations and a sitting-room and a bed-room were put in order for the expected visitor. We had ample accommodation at our disposal, there being at least half-a-doisen spare rooms in our house. Eunice assisted to make the preparations, and we were all in a state of agreeable expectation, delighted at the opportunity of doing something in return for Mr. Wilmot's great generosity. Two days after the receipt of my uncle's letter Mr. Mortlock sent in his card, and was warmly welcomed.

He was a man of good education, agreeable manners, and smooth speech and we judged his age to be thirty. Fr the conversation it was clear that he hsMi seen a great deal of the world and when I invited him to stay with us as lo~ as he wished to remain in the neighbor: -md, he accepted the invitation with cordiality. Nothing, of course, was said by us as to the duration of his visit 1 looked upon him as much my uncle's guest as ours, and he was welcome to remain as long as it suited his convenience and pleasure

He was soon at his ease with us, we with him. My wife pronounced him to be a gentleman, and I concur Rosalie said that he was uUigl.:. ^.," and was not backward in showing him attentions. "H« traveled everywhere," said Mdlle. salie "he knows everything." And she ventured the remark that It a man good to ti .v«| and see the worid "before be settleu u»wn."

This, I perceived, did not meet with Eunice's approval, whose tht fp^aUy directed toward* her r. Hsrr C.. ironakL. She was i, tes. t. he should "settle down" 1 we be .*• elled and saw the world. Stwnidttmui^i

TJ£KHE TTATTTE SATURDAY EVlgNTNGr

to me. "Yes, my dear," I said "you are right in your way, and perhaps Mdlle. Rosalie is right in hers." s.

She did not see this, however. "My way is the right way, papa," she said, with a tender smile. "It is so much better to travel and see the world together." "And you and Harry will," I remarked. She nodded, with bright eyes. "But yon must not remain awrfy from us too long, Eunice. You are all we have to love." "You shall take little trips with us, she said—"you and mamma." "Yes," I said, fondly, my arm round hex waist, "after the honeymoon." if*

Which caused her to run from the'robttl, blushing. Mr. Mortlock had much to tell us of Mr. Wilmot, whom he evidently knew better than we did. He dilated upon my uncle'e uniform kindness and consideration foz others, upon his sound opinion of men and things, upon his ripe judgment, and, incidentally, upon his strength of .character. *:. .: "What I admire in him," said Mr. Mortlock, "is, that once having taken a certain view, once having resolved upon a certain course, he is not to be turned from it by any arguments that can be advanced against it."

In my mind I considered this characteristic of which Mr. Mortlock approved as 0 sign of a dogmatic nature Dut I did not discuss it with my guest. It was not foi me to cast even a shadow of disapproval npon anything my uncle and benefactor did, and certainly not. to argue such a sub ject with a comparative stranger. During the week a small matter somewhat ruffled me. I was taking the letters out of the post-bag, preparatory to sending them tc the postoffice by the hands of Samuel Fleetwood, when Mr. Mortlock said— "I beg your pardon. I have dropped 8 letter by mistake into the bag."

There were not more than six or seven in all, and Mr. Mortlock, selecting the one to which he referred, took it from the little pile, and put it into his pocket. It was quite by accident that- I saw it was addressed to my uncle. Mr. Mortlock, I concluded, was acquainted with my uncle's address, of which I was kept ignorant, and was in communication with him, whereas I was debarred from the privilege. It was, as I have said, a small matter, but it ruffled me. Our relative positions should have given mo the advantage in my, uncle's confidence, but this advantage

wop

held by another, who surely could not be so close to him as I was. It was, of course, in my power to ask Mr. Mortlock to give me the address but it seemed to me as if the asking of such a simple question would be a violation of my uncle's wishes, aud I therefore refrained. I consoled myself with the reflection that time was wauiug fast, and that my uncle would soon be home.

Time, indeed, was flying. Two month? had elapsed since Mr. Mortlock set foot in our house, and he evinced no inclinatior to put an end to the visit. Not in the remotest manner could I give him a hint upon the subject. It would have been a breach of hospitality and yet I felt that his visit had been unduly prolonged. I did not feel at my ease, nor did my wife and daughter. There were reasons for thi° discomfort.

First, it appeared to me that Mr. Mortlock was too strongly attached towards Eunice. His attentions to her were marked by a tenderness which was not agreeable to her or us. There had been nothing concealed from him. He knew jthat Eunice and Harry Clanronald were engaged, and he could not but see that they were devotedly attached to each other. Was it, then, the conduct of an honorable man to introduce a discordant element into this engagement? True, Mr. Mortlock might plead his growing love for Eunice as an excuse but it would have been nobler in him to have accepted the situation, and to have bidden us farewell. Instead of this he allowed himself to be unconsciously beguiled by his feelings into paying hei attentions, the meaning of which could scarcely be mistaken. Or was it premeditated on his part? Whichever was the right construction, this unexpected and unforeseen demonstration was the cause of something more than embarrassment. Should I speak aud remonstrate with Mr. Mortlock? Even in the event of my so deciding, I should have been at a loss how to approach the subject my dnties as host added to the difficulty, and my uncle's letter seemed to effectually stop the way. I read this letter over and over again, and each time it impressed itself more strongly upon me that if I offended Mr. Leonard Mortlock, or wounded his feelings, my uucle would take it as personal to himself. The interests at stake were too important to run the risk and, in deliberation with my wife, we could arrive at but one conclusion—that we must wait for my uncle's presence to solve the difficulty.

This was our attitude but wo could not control the attitude of Eunice and Harry. Eunice took every pains to avoid Mr. Mortlock and had he been either an observant or a fair-minded man it would have been impossible for him to mistake her meaning. But he exhibited no consciousness of it, and her avoidance of him did not cause him to abandon those marks of attention which were so distastefnl to her. Harry Clanronald's jealousy was openly demonstrated, and the two men, who, during the early part of Mr. Mortlock's visit, were in frequent friendly association, now seldom exchanged a word. I must say that Mr. Mortlock took this in good part, and that, so far as outward appearances went, his demeanor continued to be cheerful and well-bred, while Harry was sullen and occasionally offensive and as nothing seemed to disturb Mr. Mortlock's equanimity, Harry was placed at a conspicuous disadvantage in this antagonism. I cautioned Harry. "I cannot help it, sir," said the young fellow, "and cannot you see how it distresses Eu e? If he were not yonr guest I would te~cii him a lesson he wonld not easily forget." "Violence Is always to be deplored," I 81* avi if --'ble. If he were nuL my iLis would not continue,"x "Well, sir," said Harry, ingenuously **why not give him a plain hint to go?" "T••••« are rr .:nstai 8," I replied,

Mr. Mort-

l.«-k is partaking of my jspt' ility at an* other's bidding, and grnve o:iseqaencer mIf I vi hit! ray awqu-ei. cxclaiiaed Harry "To whomf" "To r.v—to ?. 1 me *.v 1 urr«. b-Mljr. "I repud '1 mand h:«acts at iiacost at

Ber"***""*' my I remonstrated, "raid a w* depends upon the fr ond ot whom I sp it. He will soon be here, and then every !iing will be sat fight"

"It seems as if everything depended npon him,*' observed Harry, whom my. endeav ors were powerless to soothe "your future —Eunice's—minel" "To a great extent you are right. Now, Harry, say no more there are matters which I cannot at present explain to you." "I must say this, sir," said Harry, with a lofty air, and I could not but admire the young fellow, "my future depends upon no one but myself, and Eunice's future is mine. As for the rest, I must confess myself very much in the dark bnt I will try to obey you." "Thank you, Harry but I must extract a promise from yon." "What is it, sir? Don*t make It too hard." "Yon must not openly quarrel with Mr. Mortlock." "I'll not promise that for ever, sir. You must fix a time." "For two months, at all events."

It used to be Miss Pardon: it was now Miss Eunice. On one occasion, indeed, in addressing her, he called her simply Eunice, and in reply to her look of astonishment at the familiarity, said, in his, pleasantest and most agreeable manner— "Pardon me. I never think of you but as Eunice." "Papa," said Eunice afterwards to me, "I am beginning to hate Mr. Mortlock." [To to Continued.]

Heading: OtT a Tattler.

The workers of the world do not gossip, but the idle man and the idle woman, the people who do no more toiling than they are obliged to, whose brains are in a state of mental vacuity, are the pests of every community.

That was proof of a Qne character, Mm X's remark to Mrs. when the latter attempted to tell Mrs. something of anew resident's previous history. Mrs. drew her tall form up into the air, as she said to this would be betrayer: "If Mrs. Blank has any Mot on her past I prefer to know it from her. Until then I am quite willing to take her for what she seems."

The feminine Judas slunk away, still smiling, but she lost no time in saying: "Mrs. is getting very airy. I could tell some things about her."

Could she have told anything, and what did 6he knowf Nothing, absolutely. Yet her "ambiguous givings out" were worse than open enmity. Mrs. had a vague idea that Mrs. X, like most hot headed, impulsive people, had committed some youthful indiscretions which, published to the world, would shipwreck of her reputation. In point of fact, Mrs. X's chief offense was in being cleverer than Mrs. Z. Like listeners, those who allow themselves to gossip carry their own punishment with them. —Buffalo Courier.

$000 Reward

is offered, by the manuftoeturers of Dr. Sage's Catarrh Remedy for a case ei Oatarrh they cannot cure. This remedy cures by its mild, soothing, cleansing and healing properties. Only 50 cents, by druggists.

Flea for the Traction Engine.

The inception of the traction engine on the common highways of the country, I am aware, must be gradual, at least until a conf ience in them has been established. Like all established habits, especially one which antedates all known history of tts use, like the drag system by some kind of an animal, that confidence can be ,tly facilitated by the .introduction of Et (the traction motor).

The writer has had the experience in fhta employment of work with an eight horse power machine in Plymouth and Bristol counties in Massachusetts. The power of this machine was generated on the machine by steam, and notwithstanding the roads were sandy and heavy, some 200 miles were traveled in going from farm to farm, plowing, threshing sprain »t A sawing wood, etc., and this without accident. like all innovations on established customs, care is necessary, and soon the pleasure derived from the novelty of their nse would overcome all obstructions, their multiplicity wonld gradually retire the horse, and the new system would be established for all purposes. This caution is put forth in case steam is generated for the propelling power, but when electric power is used, no such precaution is required, as the objection to the former is oftener made through the fear of the one in charge of the animal than from any real fright by said animal.—**W. G. C. In Boeton Budget.

DcafaeM Can't b« Cored

by local application, as they can not reach the diseased portion of the ear. There is only one way to cure Deafness, and that is by constitutional remedies. Deafness Is oansed by an inflamed condition of the mucus lining of the Eustachian Tube. When this tube gets inflamed yon have a rumbling sound or imperfect bearing, and when it is entirely closed Deafness Is the result, and unless tbe inflammation can be taken out and this tube restored to its normal condition, bearing will be destroyed forever nine oases out of ten are caused by catarrh, which is nothing bat an inflamed condition of the mucus surfaces.

We will give One Hundred Dollars for any esse of Deafness (asused by Catarrh) that we cannot core by taking Hall's Oatarrh Cure.

F. J. CHENEY fc OO^ Toledo, O. pM rinlil by Druggists, 76c. S4-4U

1

MATTi*

1

"Too long, Sir! Make it one." For the life of me, having no other belief but- that in a little while we should be clear of the difficulty I could not help laughing at this bargaining. ,.... .. "Make it six weeks, Harry?" •'All right, sir six weeks." "Meanwhile," I said, "yon have everything to make you happy. Eunioe love? you truly, and presently, my boy, she will be all yours."

The, cloud passed from his .face, pnd_he ran to join Eunice. Another reason for my discomfort was the behavior of Mdlle. Rosalie. Between her and Mr. Mortlock some kind of confidence seemed to be established of which I could not approve, and yet I could fix upon nothing which would warrant open oensure. They were much together: but this should have pleased me, as diverting his attention from Eunice. I had grown, however. to regard both Mr. Mortlock and Mdlle. Rosalie as inimical to my peace of mind, and I looked upon their close and certainly pleasant association as an augury of ill. Had there been any concealment on their parts I might have taken some action, but there was none Mdlle. Rosalie spoke constantly in praise of Mr. Mortlock, and he spoke constantly in praise of her. "A lady born and bred," he confided to me "fitted to grace any station. Miss Eunice is fortunate in possessing such a companion and advisor."

OUR GIRLS AT SCHOOL

CATHARINE COLE SEES CAUSE FOR A POINTED COMPLAINT.

Graduating? In White Silk and Mental Philosophy at 17 The Mothers Are Really to Blame—It Wonld Be BeMer If the Teachers Had Their Way.

It often happens that our graduated young ladies are not really thorough in anything. They never will be thoroughly taught until oo-education exists everywhere and until parents demands less show, less sensation and more study. A mother boasts that her 17-year-old daughter will graduate in the spring. Graduate in what, madam? In one show piece of music, in one show piece of painting or drawing, in one show composition. She has studied some books and knows almost enough to know that she knows nothing. Half of her school days have been spent in preparing for commencement exercises and public school exhibitions. All her training, all her ambition has led her to hurry out of childhood into young ladyhood. She has tried to get an education so she can get a beau. Fifteen-year-old school girls talk about dress and parties and beaux but boys of the same age are tossing ball, shooting ea^li other' with toy pistols, and give no more tl oughts to girls than they do to the man in the moon.

RU1N1NO THE COUNTSY^H MOTHERS.

The career of a modern young woman is as rapid and as distressing as the career of Mr. Solomon Grundy, who was born on a Monday and galloped through life in a seven days. She graduates in white silk aud mental philosophy at 17 and has a season or so in society. By 20 she is married, and at 25, when she ought to be in the very heyday of gracious, wholesome, healthy young womanhood, die is a fagged out home body and the mother af a lot of babies. Her music is gone, her drawing is gone she cannot so much as say "boo" in French, and all her boasted education is less than nothing. When she graduated it was with a flue flourish and she read amid applause the pretty valedictory, from which a discreet teacher had carefully pruned away all signs of originality, leaving only the nicely phrased platitudes and proverbs that are respectable and not too startling for unprofessional life. But now, alas! sho does not so much as look at a newspaper. She has no art of thinking, and an old woman at 25, she has accomplished nothing in lifo save a diploma and a husband. It is tho most beautiful life of all for a woman, that of tho wife and mother but this wife cannot preserve her charms in the domestic circle if she has not patiently and thoughtfully cultivated them to make them last. She hurried through the very best of her lifo. It is done with und gone. Good or bad, gay or sad, it is gono forever. Sho can never be a girl again. Vanity and ignorance rushed her through the rose garden time, when tho blossoms were fair and the orchards wero full of June'8 sweetness. It will never be June again for her.

The really thoughtful and earnest teacher will bo proud of having in her ranks you^ women of 18 and 20 years of age. These minds that are beginning to act, to t.htnlf These will be worthy of her tei for they have broadened to something than bangs and beaux and sending note* chewing gum. The publio exhibition, the recitation and essay, the fine dress, the newspaper report of it all, the weeks of excitjd preparation for all this—why it is enough to turn the head of a 17-year-old girl And it does turn her head, away from her studies, away from the real why she is at school. What has she learned? Chemistry? Physiology! Botany? Mathematics? Astronomy? Philosophy? The history and all the sciences of the world? Lord! Lord! What a wise little head it is, and how sorry I am for it under its curl papers and jeweled hairpins and powder. These sweet girl graduates often do not know how to read a book or a newspaper, or to carry on a conversation. But thoy do know all about dressing, about looking finer than other girls, and having the most flowers, and about going to tho play nnri dancing tho german by the time they are 16. A child of 10 hides her book in the street car because sho is ashamed to let it bo seen that she Is still studying the United States history!

A

mother boasts that her growing

girl sits up until midnight or later studying, and that at this rate she trill finish school in a year.

HOW WILL IT BB CHANGED?

It is not a disgrace to be a school girl at 20 years and still studying lessons, but it Is almost a disgrace for us to hurry our girls along, "graduate" them and have them ready for oil life's mysteries and sorrows at an age when they should still be scampering like colts through tbe flowery orchards in the June time of their youth. At tho exhibition, tho proudest mother is the one whose daughter figures most frequently on the stagu, whose name is oftenest on the programme. How is she ever to learn that this is all wrong that the excitement and worrying preparation for all this educational highjinx is all wrong anyhow—a wnrte of lp mey, of time and brain, and that the school teacher, if only sho dared, would be the first one to cry out against it.

The very nature of her work cultivates faithfulness and honesty in the character of a school teacher. She is better satisfied when her girls are true and high minded and thorough. They thus reflect her teaching, and this is a high egotism that we all ought to have. What greater good can you «ay of me than that yon are the better woman for horning things of me, that you are truer and more disposed to honesty because of knowing me. The teacher deplores to herself tbe time wasted on learning tho flourishing Tnmdc will be a show piece on exhibition days, the long hours spent in drilling in dialogue that ought to have been devoted to sums in fractions the posing over and over for tsbWmx. if the tear her had her way, there would be no more of such exhibitions of her pupils' work, and school would be a sensation than it sometimes la—Gsthartue Cole in New Orleans Picayune.

sent

Eyery Night I Scratched Un 11 the Skin was Raw. Body Covered with Scales like Spots of Mortar, Cored by the Cntienra Remedies.

I am going to tell you of the extraordinary change your Cuticura Remedies performed on me. About the first of April lost I notioed some red pimples like coming out all over my body, but thought nothing of it nntit some time later on, when it began to look like spots of mortar spotted on, and which came offin layers, accompanied with itching I would scratch every night until I was raw, then the next night the scales, being formed meanwhile, were scratched off again. In vain did I consult all the doctors in the country, but without aid. After giving up all hopes of recovery, I happened to see aa advertisement in the newspaper about your Cuticura Remedies, and purchased then from my druggist-, and obtained almost lmmediate relief. I bejran to notice that, the scaly eruptions gradually dropped off and disappeared one by one, and have been fully cured. I had tho disease thirteen months before I began taking the Cuticura Remedies and in four or five weeks was entirely cured. My disease was ecsema and psoriasis. I recommended the Cuticura Remedies to all in my vicinity, and I know of a great many who have taken them, and thank me for the knowledge of them, especially moihers who have babies with scaly eruptions on their heads aud bodies. I cannot express ia words tho thanks to vou for wbat the Cuticura Remedies have been to mo. My body was covered with scales, and I was an awfim spectacle to behold. Now my skin is as nioe and clear as a baby's.

OEO. CETOY, MerrilUWis.

Sept. 21, 1887.

Feb. 7, 1888.—Not a traco whatsoever of ths disease from which I suffered has shown itself since my cure. OEO. lOTEY.

We cannot do justice to tho esteem

Cleanses the Nasal

Passages, Allays)

Pain and Infla-

ination, Heals th* I

A particle is a and is

,s

Graduates In Kitchen Science.

In Germany, after a girl graduates, die Is

into the country to the boose of some notable housewife, where she remains a year, learning the most approved methods of hfflitfihnld work. Some towns have started for this work, notably Hamburg. In there is a training ooUege for Eng&h housewives, at "Goodrest," near KenO-

wwtlL

la

which Cuticura, the great Skin (.hire, and utlcura soap, an exquisite Skin Beautifler, prepared from it, and Cuticura Resolvent, the new Blood Resolvent, the now Blood Purifier. are held by the thousands upon thousands whoso lives have been made been happy by the cure of 1 itching, scaly and skin, scalp and blood,'

Sold everywhere. Price, Cuticura, 60 cents Resolvent, #1.00 Soap, 26 cents. Prepared by the Potter Drug ana Chemical Co., Boston, Mass.'

BSff"Send

for "How to Cure Skin Diseases."

64 pages, 50 illustrations, and 100testimonials. I At PLES, Blackhends, d. rough, chap-

1 lit! ped and oily skin prevented by Cuticura Soup.

Catarrh to Consumption.

Catarrh in its destructive force stands next to and undoubtedly leads on to consumption. It is therefore singular that those atnloted with this fearful disease should not make It the object of their lives to rid themselves of It. Deceptive remedies concocted by ignorant pretenders to medical knowledge havo weakened the confidence of the great majority of sufferers in all advertized remedies. They become resigned to a life of misery rather than torture themselves with doubtful palliatives.

But this will never do. Catarrh must be met at every stage and combated with all our might.. In many cases tho disease has assumed dangerous symptoms. The bones and curtilnge of the nose, the organs of hearing, of seeing and of tasting, so affocted as to bo useless, the uvula so elongated, the throat so Inflamed and Irritated as to produce a constant and distressing cough.

Sanford's Radical Cure meets every phase of catarrh, from a simple head cold to tho most, loathsome and destructive stages. It Is local and constitutional. Instant In relieving, permanent, in curing, safe, economloal and never-falling

Each package contains one bottle of'the Radical Cure, one box Cntarhal So. vent, and an Improved Inhaler, with treatise prloe$1.

Potter Drug aud Chemical Co., Boston.

Pains and Weaknesses

OF FEMALES jved by the Cuticura at or, 11 new, most tifeuis and in'flster, ewpeo-

iARRH 'ffFAM BM*i,

coV

rWfEV£R

Sores, Restores th

Senses of Taste and|

Smell,

Try the Cure.

UJJL

IAY-FEVER piled into each nostril Price GO cents at Druggists

Druggli

by mail, registered, 60 cts. ELY BROS.,<p></p>Pills

Tutt's

6« Warren

Q«..

York.

J. XI. ATHET, a prominent droniirt of Holly Borings, Ml**., nnydt "Yoar pills are doing wonders in thin state.

The sale of Tutt's Pills exceed those of all others combined.

They are peculiarly adapted to mala»» rial dl*ca*e*. Oar physicians all pre» »cribe them."

SOLD EVERYWHERE. Office, 44 Murray Street, New York.

SBRADFIELD'S

FEMALE

MONTHLY SICKiNESS,

IT TKBWWHQ CWVHGE. 0t Tuirtt

BOOK'TO

SKBKADFICU)regulator

wv

do.

Hold by J. K. 80MKB,c^r.«th and ublo.

OTHER.

COT .flBlIS —r— lUMG» .ALLDRUBG. 5 lAr **T* IBATTte

ALLuHUbU' 9 25 CTS.ABOiriE

So

$55 3