Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 3, 1898, Page 6

ro od u i The Bri CHAPTER VIII. (Continued.) But Grace would not go. She clenched her small hands tightly on the chair back and set her teeth hard feeling that she must control herself at any cost and learn the worst at once. words wherewith to answer de » - of a Day. “No wedding!” Lady Caroline re- peated, blankly. } Then, brokenly, and in his own blun- dering fashion, but, to Lady Caroline’s quick comprehension intelligibly, Tom | told the whole tragic story of that And, though she could find no, night’s romance, and of the parting Tom’s | with the girl who was to have been his well meant expostulations, one look of | wife. her dazed eyes silenced him as effect- ually as the most eloquent utterance. } Lady Caroline listened in absolute s'- lence, with compressed lips and eyes At length, after what seemed to Grac | that shone brightly. “I will not conceal from you that in a hushed and sympathetic voice: | there is danger here—the gravest and | an interminable time, the doctor said, ; the greatest; but I think that—at | against him. least, for the present—we may—hope. An overpowering silence followed | The world called Lady Caroline Cal- ton a proud woman, and her son, ac- quiescing in that opinion, had counted on that pride as certain to be arrayed But, if that were an ene- my, the romantic element in her lady- ship's nature was sufficient to over- the announcement, the words, however, | whelm it, and that came to his a‘d. falling like a death-knell on at least! one listener's ears. Then the stillne: was broken by a light, rustling sound, and, turning, they saw that Grace had slipped gently to the ground and lay there in a swoon, Tom Carlton, who nearest, would have raised her, but Vii rent | pushed him almost savagely aside and | gathered her in his own strong arms, | “Poor thing! the shock has been too much for her!” the doctor murmured, with suave sympathy. “Well, such} cases are always terrible, and the pa- tient is, perhaps, the young lady’s—” “No, no!” Tom interrupted, rudely, and certainly not knowing what he contradicted. ‘The lady is Mrs. Erle!” The doctor smiled and settled his j glasses, with the air of a man who is} never offended and rarely surprise by anything he either sees or hears. * * * * * * “And if he should live?” Ruth asked, ing away from her sister. “My duty is to him,” Grace replied, in her quiet, steadfast fash’ but the was lo | dimmed his sight. If Lady those who, roline was disdainful of without any real claim, | presumed to consider themselves on a par with her, she was also warm- hearted, compassionate, and a loyal friend if a bitter foe, always acting on what in a man would have been called an impulse of chivalry and generous recklessness, Such impulse stirred her as she stooped to kiss her son's brow and whisper softly: “Poor boy! We will go and see them “We?” Tom echoed, quickly, for he had pictured his proud mother shrink- ing from the scandal that must ensue. “Yes—we! Poor Grace will need all her friends about her; and my place will be by my daughter’s side, for Ruth becomes my child from to-d: if She spoke with a quaint air of au- thority that well became her, and Lady Caroline seemed most good and beautiful in her son’s eyes. Tom looked at the little woman till tears Then he rose, and, mother, impulsively embracing his face Ruth could not now endure to} look upon grew dark with cruel pain, | Three weeks had passed: since the! night of Herbert Santley’s reappear- | ance. He lay hovering between life | and death, speechless, and conscious | apparently only of pain, nursed wth absolute devotion by the wife who had innocently wronged him, but to whom his return meant ruin and shame. { ‘There had been no wedding, to Mrs. | Leger’s infinite and angry disgust. Ruth had insisted that the whole trag:| ic story should be told to Lady Caro- line, without softening or amendment, and had resisted her lover's entreaties to let a private union take the place of the public celebration to which the whole neighborhood had _ previously been bidden. All festivities were, of course, out of the question. j “T will not leave Grace now. I way not desert her even for you,” she told ; her lover. “If—youre: for me when all this agony is past “If I care for you?’ the young man jaimed, almost beside himself with appointment and pain. “You are cruel, Ruth; but’—with a great gulp! and with reluctant submission—"per- ; haps you are right!” A smile like sunshine was the re- ward of this admission, and the girl ised her sweet lips to receive her lov- er’s ardent . “I am right, Tom,” she whispered, softly. “Grace has cnly me, and [ could not leave her now. But you will ; tell Lady Caroline, and let me know what she says?” With a heavy sigh her lover prom- ised to fulfill her wish, although his heart misgave him as the result of the ; commission. He knew his i mother’s | violent prejudices and quiet, immova- | ble pride, and although she had never | told him, in so many words that his; present choice was disagreeable to; her, her silence had left him very little | doubt on that point. If she had ob-} jected to Ruth Leger simply because ! she was a nobody, how much more would her opposition strengthen when a disagreeable notoriety attached to one of her family? Oppressed. by thoughts like these, Tom rode gloomily homeward. His own purpose was fixed and unaltera- | ble; his love for his spirited little sweetheart was crtly strengthened by the pity and tender reverence that mingled with it now.’ But, at the same time, he was an affectionate son, and he shrank, with a dull, foreboding pain from the confict he foresav ‘She will be cold and disagreeable; then my little Ruth’s pride will be up in arms, and I shall be fairly torn in two between them,” he thought, do- spondently, as he dismounte! at the gates of the Hall; then he proceeded to his mother’s room, with the desrer ate courage of a man leating a ferlorn hope. | Lady Caroline was quick to notice the trouble in her son’s usually cheery face, and, coupling it with the lateness of his return, jumped to the conclusion that something was wrong at River View. The thought softened her, and she greeted him with much more than her ordinary warmth of manner. “My dear Tom; it is past midnight! I was growing quite uneasy about you!” She smiled, but there was a question- ing look in her eyes; and, meeting their keen glance, Mr. Carlton seated him- self on the stool at her feet, as he had been wont to do in the days of his boy- ish troubles, and said, much in the same manner as he had then: “Don’t scold, mother—I am_ too wretched to defend myself te-night” “Wretched!” Her ladyship echoed the word with an ineredulous langh. brushing the fair hair hack from hr son's frank face. “My boy, you must be dreaming—or is Ruth ill?” If there was a tinge of sarcasm in the last words, Tom Carlton did not heed it, and he answered, hurriedly: “No—Ruth is well; but there is sore trouble at River View, and there will be no wedding to-morrow.” kissed her heartily. “TIeaven bless you, you dear crea- ture!” he cried. “You have lifted a great load from my mind, and made me feel almost happy, after all!’ Then he nt up to his room, leaving Lady Caroline, in a fluetter of min- gled pain and pleasure. She kept her werd loyally, and was over at River View so early the next morning that Ruth, who met her in the hall, hardly believed that her eyes were not playing her some strange trick. “Lady Caroline!” she cried, drawing back and looking so pale and scared and childish, with the dark, purple rings, caused by sleeplessness, round those big eyes which Lady Caroline had always thought so audaciously bright, that the heart of the elder wo- man warmed to her as it had never done before. “ it is I, my poor child! so sorry ,so grieved, for you all! do not run away, Ruth, my caughter—come here” Lady ‘oline opened her arms, and, with a little, inarticulate ery of lov- ing, grateful wonder, Ruth went to her, and, laying her head upon the elder woman’s shoulder, wept such heart- felt tears of gratitude as she had never shed on her own mother’s breast. “You are so good, so kind; and I thought—I feared—” the girl uttered, incoherently; but Lady Carcline was well certent that the sentence should remain incomplete. “I know, my dear; Tom told me all,” he whispered, soothingly. “I hope we understand each other now.” They did, without another word. The two women, who each enshrined Tom Carlton as an idol, and who had hitherto regarded each other with a somewhat jealous distrust, loved each other from that, hour. It was no small matter to the. River View people that Lady Caroline Carl- ton stocd so staunchly beside them in the dark days that followed. As a matter of course, the true state of af- fairs was kept a close secret. While Herbert ntley still lay between life and death nd any moment might re- move the barrier that had arisen be- tween them, neither Grace nor Vincent } Erle thought it well to pro im that such had eyer existed. But though they held their peace, and the doctor who was called in knew his patient only as vr. Herbert”—a friend of the family —enough had leaked Cut to stimulate local curiosity and set a thousand absurd rumors atloat. “The man was an old lover—a hus- band, perhaps,” went the covert wh s- per; and the doubt would have b. come a certainty had not Lady Caro- line interfered and set the matter at rest. “I understand that there has been much gossip about my son’s deferred wedding,” she remarked, in her trench. ant and disdainful fashion, one afte: noon, at Mrs. Beecheroft’s, where most ef the scandals were hatched, over cake and tea. “Well,” continued her ladyship, “that was, perhaps, to be ‘ expected. A place like this thrives vp- on gossip, and it would be hard to de- prive it of its natural food; but it may be well to hear the truth for once. Will you be kind encugh, Mrs. Beech- croft, to inform all whom it may or may not concern, that the marriage was postponed by Miss Leger’s wish, solely in consideration for a dying man? And will you please add that |imy son is not more anxious to claim {his wife than I am to receive the | daughter-in-law whom I already re- , gard as my own child?” After that, the gossips let Ruth alene, though they still kept an un- ceasing watch on River View, and marvelled over the mystery that lay behind those red-brick, ivy-covered walls. Meanwhile, Herbert Santley did not die—nay, as the days and weeks wore I feer No— little for the end,” began to utter words of hope to these who nursed the patient with such devoted care. “As he has not sunk yet, and there is still great vitality in him, his constitu- tion must be so strong that he may yet pull through,” the medical man said, cheerfully. Grace had turned from him, dizzy and faint, hating herself for the terior that came upon her as she I's‘ezed to these words. “How dare I wish him dead?’ sie asked herself, again and again, “Who am I that I should think of purchasing my happiness at the price of a fellow- creature’s life? And yet how cruelly he acted in letting me think him dead for two long years!” Grace saw nothing of Vincent in those long days. The two who had been so blindly happy together shrank from the most casual meeting. But Ruth, who loved her brother-in-law dearly, and to whom his haggard, mis- erable eyes were a_ perpetual re- proach, could not keep from talking of him, even to her sister. “If he would only go away!” she ex- claimed, in a burst of sympathy. “He might bear his pain better at a dis- tance; but he thinks only of you. If he goes now, the people will talk, of course; but anything is better than seeing him die or go mad before one’s very eyes!” Ruth spoke impetuously; and her words fell harder than she was awaie of. But Grace did not answer, only trembled and drew her breath a little faster. Her silence irritated Ruth, who eentinued, rapidly: “Of course, if—this man—dies—” “He will not die!” Grace uttered, in the slow tones of absolute conviction. “And if he lives?” queried Ruth. Her sister drew a long breath, then answered, as she had done many times before: “My duty is to him!” “It is not!It is to your true husband —Vincent Erle” Ruth cried, her eyes flashing. “You never loved Mr. Sant- ley, Grace!” o—but I married him, and swcre, with my heart, as well as my lips, to honor and obey him!” “And he deserted you, and broke the marriage bond! He must set you free, now Grace. You need be his wife no longer—nay, you never were—you were only, at best, the bride of a day to Her- bert Santley! But to Vincent, it is dif- ferent.” “Oh, hush!’ Grace rase quickly to her feet, her hand upraised, her pale face full of a new, pathetic dignity. She could not bear even her sister’s reference to him. Only she and one other knew what she had beep, and what she was still to Vincent Brle. As she thought of all that had been and must be—of Vincent's agony, of her Own despair, and of the happy dream from which she had been so rudely awakened, and the dread reality of the present ‘circumstances—her overtaxed strength yielded, and, with a bitter ery, she hid her face among the cushions, “Oh, Vincent, my darling! bear it but for you!” “Forgive me, Grace!’ Ruth mur- mured humbly, appalled at the result of her words, not thinking of the com- fort and safety there were in tho bitter tears. “I cruel and selfish; but everyone and everything seems cruel now” she added, her own tears falling upon the golden hair she pushed back from her sister’s brow. Indeed, it was hard for the mest hopeful to discern one gleam of prom- ise in the painful circumstances sur- rounding them. Though even in their own hearts they hardly dared to con- fess it, the only possible hope of each seemed to be in Herbert Santley’s death. But he grew stronger day by day, and might, with care and pru- dence, last many ye: as the dcetor assured them, with his bland, profes- sional smile. Hearing this, Vineent Erte silently prepared himself for the final crue? wrench, and Grace for the long mar- tyrdom to come. I could CHAPTER IX., AND LAST. Grace, can I speak to you to-day?” The words were spoken with a slow, deliberate significance; and the girl felt her heart leap, only to sink again. “Yes,” she replied, with mechanical obedience; she had foreseen that this hour must come. Herbert Santley watched her with an intent look, in which there was a curious, yearning pathos. Suddenly he said: * You know the Grace—I am to Hive!” “I do,” she answered, gently. “tT owe my life primarily to your care. You were very generous, Grae>; you should have let me die—out there in the moonlight, you and—Vincent?” “Oh, hush!” the girl cried, with a shudder; it seemed dreadful to her to hear Vincen’ts name from this man’s lips. “We only did what was right!” “To the man whose -presenee wronged you, Grace? Had I been in Vincent Erle’s place, with only so frail a barrier between me and happiness, I would have overthrown it. He naused for a second, his thin face flushing and his eyes lighting up with the old, fierce tire. Then he added, more quietly— “Do I frighten you? There is nocau e for fear!” “fam afraid for you, only. Docter Graves said that any excitement was dangerous.” A curious smile shone in his dark eyes. “And you fear danger—for me, my brave and generous Grace? No—be pa- tient a little longer!”’—as she shrank nervously from the touch of the thin, hot hand that enfolded hers in a grate- ful clasp. “Grace, Where is Vincent?’ She started, and, holding her hand, he felt the sudden shiver that raa through her whole frame; but she an- swered, quietly: “Gone! He left here ten days ago.” “And you have parted—forever?” “Yes,” she arswered; and there fol- lowed a long pause, one filled with ag- ny for Grace, and, with a curious mixture of pain and relief for the man in whose hands her fate now lay. She had been brave and faithful in the hour of trial; it would have been hard, indeed, had he been forced to dector’s verdict, on, the doctor, who at first spoke lit- ruin her happiness and lay her young tle of recovery and much of “waiting ; lif waste—and all for what?—to brighten his own, the existence that] ally in a very passion of pity andrelief; but she raised such imploring eA Catar rhCu red Was so nearly spent, that, but for her, would have been ended! “Yes—it is best!” he muttered, below his breath; “and yet, Heaven knows, I loved her, and perhaps, in time, might have made her happy!” He brushed away the mist that dimmed his haggard eyes, and cried, abruptly: “Grace, come here!” Pale and trembling, but with the light that made her pale face noble shining now in her clear eyes, Grace went to his side, and stood, with her hands resting on the chair-back. “Grace, say you forgive me all—my silence, my inopportune return?” “Your silence was cruel; but there is nothing else to forgive, and, if there were, I must pardon, too.” “No—you believed there was no bar- rier between you and the man you loved, and you were right! Stay”—as the girl broke in with a sharp cry of pain and terror—“hear me out! You will scon be glad you were so patient. Grace, do you not think that, with ali my heart, I love you?’ “The blood rushed hotly to the g:rl’s face, then receded, leaving her s9. deathly white that Herbert,thought she would faint. The passionate words, coming so swiftly upon others that had wakened a faint, wild hope in her heart, thrilled her with the very agony of disappointment. “I know—I know!” she cried, a des- perate, terrified entreaty in her voic “but do not speak of that now! “Yes—now.” he replied ; and the ex- citement of a supreme moment seemed to give back the old, clear fullness to the broken voice. “Grace, you need no longer fear me} or wish me dead!” “I do not!” she exclaimed, eagerly; I ask only time to—forget!”’ “And you shall have, please Heaven, a long life of sunshine, in which you may forget these dark hours ard the man who caused them, although 1 would have died to make you happy. Grace, you may recall Vincent Erle to- morrow! He is your legal husband, for you are not, and never have been, wife of mine” White as marble, breathless and trembling from head to foot, Grace listened to words that seemed the wild- est ravings of delirium. “Oh, you are cruel!” she cried; do I not know—” “Child, you know nothing,” he mur- mured, with grave gentleness—‘not even that once before I tried to die for you! Grace, did you ever guess that the death from which the French fish- ermen saved me was of my own seek- ing?” “Noi” forced from the pale Lips. you wish to die?’ “Because life was full of hopeless misery. I could not look into your sweet eyes and feel that you, though we had knelt together on the altar steps and spoken the vows that should have made us one, were not man and wife, for the wife whom I thought dead was living!” “And you knew this—and yet—” “I knew nothing,’ Mr. Santley con- tinued, with savage vehemence, “un- til you had been my wife an hour; and then—I think I must have gone mad. I know that I had but one thought—to spare you all knowledge of the cruel wrong I had done you!” He lay back, wiping away the great drops that had gathered on his fore- head. Grace did not speak or stir; her fin- gers still clutched the chair-back, and she stared straight before her, a fright- ened expression in her eyes. “Speak to me, Grace—you may for- give me now!” he said, faintly and with difficulty, for his small stock of strength had exhausted itself in that passionate outbreak. Then, as Grace did not answer, he turned his head in painful surprise. He had given her so much—hope, love, ‘freedom—was she pitiless to him still? “Grace!” he eried again. This time the girl made a strong ef- fort to rouse herself to answer him; but, as she pushed the chair from her, something seemed to snap suddenly within her brain. A rushing, as of many waters, filled her ears, and she fell heavily to the floor, overcome by the overwhelming weight of a great unhoped-for joy. * * * The words seemed to be “Why did * * * “Sorrow endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” The words, echoed in Grace Hrle’s ears when consciousness returned to her. She did not know whether some- one had read them while she was lying there, or whether they had recurred to her memory. But that was hardly strange, for she seemed to know nothing save that she was in bed and was strangely and pitt- fully weak, that the hands she could hardly raise to her brow were almcst those of a skeleton, and that her lh was covered with short baby-cur place of the long, bright hair of wh she had been innocently proud. “Have I been ill?’ she asked Ruth, who bent over her with a look of relief in her bright eyes. “Very ill, dear; but, thank Heaven, all is well with you know, I hope!” She laid a sngnificant stress upon the words; and Grace pondered them in silence, slowly but surely remember- ing all.. But it was nearly a week Iater that she caught her sister's hand and in- quired, with passionate entreaty: “Rath, is it true? Am I—" “Vincent’s wife? Yes,” Ruth an- swered, her bright eyes looking bright- er through glad, grateful tears. “He— Herbert Santley—told me all before he went. Could you listen to the story now?" Her sister nodded, for she was past speech. “Herbert was terribly to be pitied, dear. His wife, it seems, was mad. Two years before she had made her escape from the asylum in which he had placed her, and, after long search, the keepers had discovered a body which was recognized and buried as hers. But it was not she; and, strange to say, after Heaven knows what wild wanderings and cruel hardships, she came back to Dr. Barrett’s of her own free will the day before your wedding, and the news did not reach Mr. Sant- Jey until the marriage had actvally taken place. Grace, I will tell you the rest some other time.” For her sister was sobbing hysteric | | | | | i { i that the other went on: “I need not tell you of his agony. He heavily bribed the Frenchmen who res- cued him to keep his esé¢ape a secret. It was some comfort to him to think that he had left you rich and free. He had then no hope of seeing you again; but—he loved you very dearly, Grace; and when his wife really died, he came home, determined to fling himself on your mercy, tell you all, and implore you to marry him again. He knew that, in all probability, he had but a short time to live, and—Grace, do not ery so bitterly!” “It was so hard—so cruel!” Grace exclaimed; but Ruth said, quickly: “He thinks and says you were an an- gel, dear! You must not fret for him. The doctors have sent him to the South, and 1 think both they and he know that the end is near. And now” —the girl shook her little head with a resolute air—“we will talk no more of the tragic past. My poor little tortured sister, think only of the joy to come!” But the girl shrank with remorseful terror from the joy that was built upon ancther’s pain. It seemed cruel and selfish of her to dream of another’s happiness while Herbert Santley went, as it were, to a lonely death; and for a while she wept as one who wovlt not be comforted—even when Vincent Erle took the fragile figure in his strong arms and drew the blonde head down upon his st. “My love—my own!’ he whispered, fondly—“given back to me from worse than death! Oh, Grace, this is two- fold joy!” “For us,” she murmured, with a lit- tle shiver, but clinging close to him as she spoke; “but, Vincent—for him?’ Mr. Erle drew a long breath, then answered, gently: “Heaven help him, for his burden is heavy. But I think he will not have to bear it long. And, Grace, he can en- dure to lose you, for to him you were the bride of but a few hours; but to me”’—he stooped and kissed her with a passion more eloquent than words— “my own true wife, what are you rot to me?” (THE END.) SOME GERMAN ARMY MURDERS Detalls of the Latest Outrage in the K Country. From the London Chronicle: A cor- respondent sends us the following translation from a German paper of the recent killing of a sergeant by his officer, Count Stolberg-Wernigerode: “The following particulars are now available of the exploit of Count Stolberg-Wernigercie, captain of the Fifteenth regiment of Uhlans in Saar- burg, Alsace, who cut down Sergeant Steinhardt of his regiment. Stein- hardt was quartermaster and was or- dered off to forage. The soldiers en- gaged in cooking forgot, in the ser- geant’s absence, to insert the rubber rings in the covers of the pots, in con- sequence of which the food got spoiled. Captain Count Stolberg called Stein- hardt to account for this. The ser- geant excused himself from blame on account of his enforced absence. Later on the captain renewed his reproaches and told Steinhardt he was the lowest cur and the greatest black-guard in the regiment. Steinhardt answered that he did not think he deserved to be called that. On this Count Stolberg gave him a box on the ear that made him reel over against the wagon. Steinhardt said to two of his com- rades: ‘You saw how I was struck.’ Count Stolberg immediately drew his sword and first gave Steinhardt a cut im his leg and then a thrust on the left side of the head. Steinhardt fell down unconscious. Another account adds how Steinhardt, on first coming to, tried to stop the blood with his handkerchief and to stand at ‘Atten- tion’ till he fell unconscious again. He was taken to Hagenau, where he died without recovering consciousness. The funeral took place with full mili- tary honors, according to the ‘B. N.’ (Badische Nachrichten), which dcm- onstrates that Steinhardt’s innocence is recognized even officially. The par- ish priest in his funeral oration before the whole body of officers denounced the act perpetrated by Stolberg as one of the most brutal violence. The father of the murdered man,. himself a vetesan wearing medals for the cam- paigns of 1864, 1866 and 1870-71, looked as if he would sink into the grave of his son for sorrow and pain. The son had supported the old pensioner from his pay. Count Stolberg has been ar- rested and taken to the military pris- on in Strassburg. It is said that he has already killed an orderly of his.” A year ago a Lieutenant Von Bruse- witz, im Karlsruhe, pursued, cut down and killed a civilian who had bumped against his chair at a cafe. He was sentenced to two years’ simple im- prisonment, of which the emperor re- mitted eighteen months. Cardiac Diseases from Laughter. Laughter in itself cannot very well kill, but it may do harm. Hysterical girls and boys with kindred nervous affections are often given to immod- erate laughter, which tends to increase nervous exhaustion. Dr. Feilchenfeld relates an instructive case in which a little girl suffered from very..definite cardiac symptoms after immoderate laughter. The patient was 13 years old and had previously been free from any sign of heart disease. After laughing on and off for nearly an hour with some companions, she suddenly felt stabbing pains in the chest and was seized with fits of coughing, fol- lowed by cardiac dypnoae, very well marked. Feilchenfeld believes that the cardiac disease directly resulted from immoderate laughter. if Italy's Accession of Territory. Italy has had 294 square miles of land added to its territory in the last seventy years by the advance of the delta of the Po into the Adriatic sea. The measurement has been made by Professor Marinelli, who carefully compared the Austrian surveys of 1823 with the Italian surveys of 1893, Blood Purified by Hood’s Sarsapay a} rilla and Health is Good. “Iwas a sufferer from catarrh. One of my neighbors advised me to take Hood’s Sarsaparilla and I did so. A few bottles purified my blood and cured mgp I have remained in good health ever since.” Jas, T. Apxrns, Athensville, Illinois. Hood's Sarsaparilla Is America’s Greatest Medicine. $1; six for $5. Hood’s Pills cure all Liver Ills. 25 cents. A Wonder, “When that man came to this town,” said Rivers, “the hadn't a rag to his back. Look at him now.” Brooks walked to the window, looked in the direction indicated, and saw a swarthy son of Italy walking down the street bending beneath the weight of a sack of rags three or four times his size, strapped to his back. The historian regrets to have to re- cord the fact that this led to another quarrel betwen the two old friends.— Chicago Tribune. TO CURE A COLD IN ONE DAY Take Laxative Bromo Quinire Tablets. Ali druggists refund the money it it fails to cure. 2e. The genuine has L 1 Q on each Mblet A Good Exar Women are now admitted to lectur at Edinburg university, where they sit in the front seats. Recently eight wo. men were attending Prof. Tait’s lec- ture on the geometric forms of er tals. “An octahedoren, gentlemen. sait the professor, “is a body with eight plane faces. For examplh “Lokk at the front bench!” broke in a man from the safe ground of the back seats.—Wave. e. Could Not Keep House Without Dr. Seth Arnold’s Cough Killer. Barton, Boyd, Wis. 5c. a bottle. Mrs. E.u Nightmare Breeders. fs “T see that Laura Jean Libbey say she makes up all her plots from dreams.” “Say, she ought to win a pot of mon- ey selling chafing dish menus.”—Cieve land Plain Dealer. _ Two bottles of Piso’s Cure for Consump- tion cured me of a bad lung trouble.—Mrs J. Nichols, Princeton, Ind., Mar. 26, 1895. A lie often cripples where a cannon would be ineffective. The tramp would rather go to jai than be caught in the toils. Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. 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