Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 8, 1900, Page 6

ILL CHAPTER VIL (Continued.) “Stay, Harvey!” she cried, also ris- ing, and again resting her hand lightly | his on his sleeve. me to think. “Let me think. Help. words to tell you, to n this? But, don't forget, yey, that you helped to deceive me ‘0 the for-" tune of my husband. It vas you who told me that he had a was false? The sum you want is near- ly all of his entire fortune.” ut his father is rich?” That is the world’s .error. It, is Grace Hawthorne’s money,which keeps I will do anything—any- |the thing to serve you. Oh,jdoes it need i you of ‘Gra sftwnesin-his.| the. ¢: own right. Did you not “know that it }—"@es: I kescught him to go to to you. He said that he ir die than have you know I will die, rather than she it,” he declared, and oh— I done wrong to come te fa BRRD det be % ee echood the girl, and, he rreesed her cold lips on ig head. "tard you, Helen, for your conficefi¢* in me Oh, thank God! that “io me. How much dors he need, He 1? Don’t hesitat2! Tell m< i you cem thesspy ca > joa Ri) eq housand dollars,” she an- up this house—Grace }Hawthorne’s | ewaene log pwly. money which wards off ruit from Ed- oG@ranuTl rew a breath, almest of re- gar Reynolds! I—I cannot explain it'|11erom9d? amount appeared small to now. It is too long a story, /Oh,’ Har- iow? tear had conjured up. vey, sometimes I think ail T pavag “‘Taeikte sure—sure this is enough?” gained docs not repay me for what T/ she q” ‘tioned, her brain wearisd and have lost!” dhbewiktjoned with the effort to reconcile “Never mind the past, Heleno;Wers the tory she had heard with her must deal now With the fMétu¥eciiteteiow tage of him who had been her the present It is cold and‘Stepn} atid Preto aways. Harry diszraced through dark enough, God knows! r get this money from Miss Hawthotrst There can be no mistake aboyt,her far tune?” - “No! She is rich—so ric! that Had we—you and I, Harvey—but the fifti- eth part of her money, we might bave been h y to-day.” * 4 An exuliant n glistened ar- vey Barclay’s ¢ but Helen te.” it not. She was lost in hérjow thought. 3E: “You shall have this money, i v "she said, at last. “Come to = row at this hour, and I will have it ready for you. No, don’t thank me! ‘Or, stay, Harvey—you may thank me in one way. Promise me that you will never again take such desperate risks. Another time I might be powerless to serve you.” “I promise, Helen,” he answered, lifting her hands to his lips. And, as if overwhelmed by a sudden afterthought: “You do not wholly despise me, Hel- en?” “Despise you!” she echoed, now lift- ing her eyes to his face, with such a look in their depths as Harry Reynolds had never seen there—a look which would have been a revelation to him concerning the woman who for six months had been his wife. “Despise you? I have read of women, Harvey, who, beaten to ceath by brutal hus- bands, had dragged thems:lves, dying to the murderer’s fe>t to kiss the hand which had wrought the injury. Do you know, I can fancy mys:2lf just such a woman?” “God bless you, Helen he mur- mured, fervently, and one instant he held her strained to his heart. But, once outside the door, the look of tenderness fled. His features grew hard and stern. “I must strike soon!” he muttered. “This morey will stave off the inevit- able ruin staring me in the face but a little while. And how Helen ‘will act when she learns my purpose? have not so much to fear from ker. A ghost or two resurrected from the past will keep her silent. And she loves me! But the girl! Already the moths flutter around the flame! I must strike soon!” he repeated. “And once my wife, Grace Hawthorne, I think we can put your money to better uses than in supporting a household not your own.” Midnight had struck, when at Grace Hawthorne’s door sounded a gentle knock. The girl, who had gone to her room but half an hour before, rose and opened it. To her* surprise, Harry’s wife stood upon the threshold, The beautiful face looked pale, and a veil of trouble seemed to have darkened the golden-brown eyes. “May I come in?” she esked, and her ‘voice held the pitiful pleading of a lit- Ue child. A touch of pity smote Grace. In that minute she thought rerhavs she had been cold to the young wife, had not tried to love her, or she could not have failed in the attempt. She stretched out her hand with a emile, and laid it on the little fingers, whose touch fell cold, and which she felt tremble in her clasp. “Indeed, you may come in,” she an- swered. “Is Harry asleep, that you thus play truant?” “Yes, he is asleep. But I—I could not sleep. Oh, Grace, it’s for Harry's sake I am here,” and, instead of tak- ing the chair toward which Grace mo- tioned her, she fell upon her knees be- side her, and buried her face in the folds of her dress. “Helen, what has happened?” ques- tioned Grace, with trembling voice. For a little while she could gain no reply, but at last the young wife lifted ther head. “I have a sad story to tell you, Grace —a story I think you have never sus- pected—I—have had to bear my burden quite alone. I do not know why I come to you to-night, except that I am des- erate. Grace, did you ever know—did you ever suspect that Harry —gam- bled?” “Gambled? Harry?” The two words were all the girl could force her white lips to utter. Helen bowed her head assentingly. “Before I go further,” she _ said, ®pesking with evident effort, and as though each word brought physical ‘pain, “I must extort from you a pledge of silence. You must promise—you ‘must swear!—never to betray my con- fidence—never, under any circumstanc- es. Will you promise me, Grace?” “Yes, I promise,” she replied. But her lips were dry, and her voice held a sound of harshness. “T—I think,” continued Helen, “that the beginning of this trouble with Har- ry was the real'zation of the loss of his father's fortune. He had always been taught to believe himself a rich “man’s son, and the thought that part of your fortune had also been entailed, fairly maddened him. He seemed to imag- ine he could regain it all. Oh, Grace, don’t make me go over the story. I can’t. It chokes me. Only he played end lost—played and lost—until he Ah! I] Op younot |tisidsdu act. Harry—a gambler. Har- rf Hesnating to come to her. ss4vde I am sure,” Helen was an- swig, and she heard the voice, as fom distance. “And you will never et” fim suspect, Grace—even by your inAnnher—that you know? He will nev. er do it again—I am confident of tha apg prow that the burden is lifted, igubtless he will be himself again. Good-night, dear, and Goi bless you!” + Mechanically Grace Hawthorne met sand returned the kiss—mechaniclly followed Fer to the door and locked and bolted it behind her. Then she walked slowly back, and sank into the chair from which she kai risen. She was no longer alone. Around her, on every side, were strewn the pieces of her fallen idol, shattered and dishonored in its fall! CHAPTER VIII. “What is Pussie?” asked Harry Reynolds, entering the library, whose sole occupant was the girl whom he had thus addressed. She was sitting, half-lost, in the depths of a great arm-chair, wholly lost in the reverie from which his voice aroused her. She glanced up, her face flushing scarlet, as though fearful he might wrong, | read her thoughts. His eyes met hers, frankly and fear- lessly. In vain she sought to find any trace of the burden which must s9 re- cently have oppressed him; in vain she tried to read in his face a single line of the pitiful story to which she had listened the previous evening, ani which had since rung in her ears with pitiless insistence, banishing sleep ani rest alike from heart and brain. The money was rothing. All that she had she would gladly have lsid at his feet, could he but have stooved to reclaim it without dishonor. Not an hour since had she put the required sum into Helen's hands. She had hers If drawn it from the bank, not allowing her chec’s, as usual, to pass through her guardian’s hands. She wondered how Helen would ac- count to her husband for the posses- sion of such a sum; but she was tco crushed to put her wonderment into words. Poor Helen! How ,she must suffer!” thought the girl; and her heart hard- ened toward the smiling cause of all this heavy trouble. “What is wrong, Pussie?’” he re- peated, as now. having reached her chair, he bent over her and gently , Stroked the hair back from her low, white brow. It was an ol! bab't of his, this ten- der, mute car-ss; tut to-day she shrank from his touch as if it hurt her. He withdrew his hand, and a much- surprised look swept over his fac>. She felt the hot tears well uv to her eyes. The mad imrulse seized her to rise, and, compelling his glance fully and frankly to meet fers, ask him to tell her of his temptation—beg him to paint it to her in colors so strong, so vivid, that it would make atonement for his fault, and once more she could feel her faith and her respect restored. But her promise to his wife kept her silent. “Have I offended you, Grac2?” Low and very sweet was the earnest voice in which he put the question. “No, no!” she said at last, answer- ing him. ‘The world is out of ger to- day. One of my illusions has been dis- pelled. It reminds me that I am grow- ing old.” He laughed. A careless, almost boy- ish laugh it was, in its freedom from all trace of care. “You are growing old, Grace? The world, indced, must be out of gear if ;age can dim our sunbeams, for you are the sunbeam of the old house, dear. 1 think you scarcely can fail to recog- jnize it. How we shall hate the man who steals you from us!” “Don't!” she cried, springing to her feet and walking hastily toward the window, where she stood looking out, as she continued speaking. “I shall nev- er marry, if that is what you mean. There is no man, not one, whom I woulc trust.” His face was very grave now, and all the brightness had fled from it, as, fol- lowing her, he laid his hand upon her shoulder. * “Grace, something very serious has occurred to make you talk like this. Perhaps you will say I have not the right to-.say that there are men wo-thy of trust; and yet I think we have both forgotten that there ever was an epi- sode in our lives which might lead you to distrust me. At least, dear, you never haye doubted my love for you, though it was the pure, unselfish love I would have given a sister, had Heay- en vouchsafed me such-a blessing. I have never known my loss of one since you came to us. Sometimes, Grace. I ink my feeling for you is the truest 1M purest of my life. Don't give me our confidence, dear, unless you with sk you one question?” Barclay leaned forward and toox the 9 do so; but you will rardon me if I | paper from Grace’s: hand. “The exact counterpart of your own “ask what you will,” she answered. 4 signature, Miss Hawthorne,” he said, “It was not of Harvey Barclay you | wonderingly, ‘and it is not a hand so vere thinking when I entered?” “Of Mr. Barclay?” Simple amaze ‘mphasized her repetition of his ques- jon, “Why should I think of him?” she asked, haughtily. ‘No; it was no‘ readily to be counterfeited.” “It's an old accomplishment of Har- ry’s. He can copy anything that he sees. The counterfeiters missed a val- uable acquisition to their number when =e who occupied my thoughts, though | ye was born an honest man.” rerbaps they were engrossed with one ‘ess worthy.” “When I get hard up, Pussie, I'll, put that name on the bottom of a check. “Forgive me.Grace! I forget, per- | You'll honor it when it comes in, won't ‘aps, that I arrogate a right I do not >ossess in thus questioning you; but it was not idle curiosity which prompt- od me, you will believe that. Let me ‘e frank with you, dear. You will ot ‘est respect my confidence. When Har- -ey Barclay first entered this house, } ‘ad already conceived against him a most bitter prejudice. I had seen hin, ~mong women, and I fancied that he considered them but playthings, for +he amusement merely of the passing hour. Afterwards I was led to believe that I had done him an injustice; tha‘ Tt had viewed him through the medium of jealous eyes; that his manrer to swvomen was naturally tender, almcst caressing, but that no arricre pensee vrompted his gallantry. Had I not thought this I would have asked ycu not to receive him. But lately his vis- its have been growing s>) much more frequent, that I have watched him more closely, and I fear, Grace, the old vrejudice is returning. Certainly none of the old jealousy was revived, for Helen, I think, ratker has avoid=d him than otherwise. Dear girl! how sorely I once misjudged her!. How good and true she is! Oh, Grace, because my married life is so happy, I never wish yours, child, to be less a dream of bliss! And I could not help thinking, Pussie, that Harvey Barclay might be one of the aspirants to your hand. He has been so flattered and spoiled by women that he fancies his attractions irr: sist- ible, and certainly his manner, both to men and women, is wonderfully win- ning. But, Grace, rumors have lately reached me which point to graver, more serious faults——rumors of large amounts lost and won at play—of al- ternate spells of profligacy aud ruin— of debts of honor unpaid—of disnonor- able devices to raiss money! Grace, it will cause you no pain if I ask him to discontinue his visits here?” A minute before, and the girl had listened, softened, and touched, and comforted by the consciousness that Harry’s love and protection still were hers, as in the old days—a minut» be- fore, and the sha@ow of his dishonor had been hidden by the sunlight of his presence; but now—now, when he dared arraign another at the tribunal before which he himself should stand— when he, who so sadly needed mercy, dared be merciless—when he could as- sume the‘role of hypocrite and law- giver in one—her soul sickened and re- coiled. “Who are you, that you dare judse him?” she asked, and he shrank from the cold, harsh sternness of her tone. “Perhaps he needs your sympathy, your friendship, to save him from th's rock on which you say his honor is fast going to pieces! Other men have ben saved by women—why not he? Be- sides, what you know is rumor. Or, perhaps, you have been an eye-witness of his folly? You have seen him win and lose large sums of money at the gaming table? How came you to be present at such a place?” Her blue eyes fairly blazed as she fastened them upon his face. They were no longer softened by moisture, but the lines about her mouth were stern and unyielding as his own. A great fear oppressed him. To him there was but one solution of her an- ger. His worst fears were confirmed. She loved Harvey Barclay! i Well, there was -but one way. He must find out more about him. and the next time confront her with facts, not suspicions. She could not then refuse to listen and to heed. “I am sorry, Grace, if I offended you,” he answered, quietly. How often, as a child, had that sam> quiet tone calmed and comforted her! In the old, childish days she had only to carry any trouble to Harry to have it scattered like the mist the sun dis- pels; and now—and now, the present was too bitter. She bent her head upon her hands, and burst into sobs. “My child! Pussi2!"” he exclaimed, while he drew her to his breast. “For- give me! I little dreamei I was touch- ing-so sore a wound!” But she made no reply, and, releas- ing herself from his embrace, she dart- ed from the room, and up the stairs to her own chamber, whose walls echood for hours to the sobs which escaped from her bursting heart, and so at last restored her to calmness. CHAPTER IX. “A dangerous accomplishment—eh, Pussie?” called Harry Reynolds, one afternoon, a few weeks later, as he handed across to Grace a slip of paper, on which was written her own name— /more than that, her own autograph. Since the morning of their memora- ble talk in the library she had deliber- ately struggled to forget his fault, and to this his own manner had greatly helped her. He had seemed so unconscious of any wrong; had been so gentle, so strong, so tender; had so evidently ,taught himself to forget that shadow resting on his path, that she reeatled it now more as a dream than as a reality. Doubtless some strong, some terribls temptation had assailed him. She, knowing all, would pity, rather than blame him. She doubted not, and so her heart grew tender again. Only in these latter days Harvey Barelay’s hopes rose higher. Some- how there was a change toward him in Miss Hawthorne’s manner. She wel- comed him most kindly, she urged his oftener coming. “Here, at least, he is free from temptation,”” she argued to herself, “if Harry’s suspicions concerning him are true.” And so she fought against a half- instinctive distrust which had hitherto markefi her manner with a tinge of coldness not all his winning warmth could overcome. He was seated now beside her when Harry spoke. Latterly, she fancied, Harry, too, had been more cordial with him. _ On the other side of the room sat Helen, toying with a little boy. 1 HECCOERTIVILC PARE vou? Even if you recognize the dif- ference, you won't give me up to the clutches of the law?” A strange eect this idle, careless, ‘aughing speech made on the little group. i Helen, if she had even heard, mad 10 movement, but went on plaving with the tiny boy. A dark-red flush overspread Harvey Barclay’s face. so lark, so red, that he bent his head to hide it. A singular, almost lurid light sparkled in his eydés; his mouth twitched nervously, his hand instinct- tvely clenched. From Grace's fac> the smile died. A momentary shock showed tself on her features, and then she an- swered, half-laughingly, half-scrious- ly: “T think, Harry,” she said, “you would only have to ask for me to sign my own name to the renunciation cf my entire fortune if you needed it. No, T would not give you up to the law.” Afterwards she remembered question and answer, the scene, the tims, the place, until it seemed as if that mo- ment had forever indelibly impress:d itself upon. her memory. Reaching over, Harry took the paper Mr. Barclay had restored to her, and tore it into fragments. “So I renounce my fortune,” he said still laughing, and then the conversa- tion changed to other themes. A few moments later, and only one of them rememtered that it had ever taken place, and little he recked who so unwittingly had sown the seed, the bitter harvest it shouly reap for him. One of the most brilliant parties of the season was to take place that night. It was given by the wife of th> secretary of state, and the cards had been out more than a fortnight. Peerlessly, regally beautiful looked Helen Reynolds, as she turned from the pier glass to meet her husband’s fond, admiring glance. =, She wore a gown (one of Worth’s creations) which had been Grace's gift to her. It revealed the faultless per- fection of her form, and disdained to conceal the snowy neck and arms. “My beautiful darling!” exclaimed the young husband, rapturously; “you grow more beatuiful every day!” “In your eyes, Harry,” she an- swered, sweetly. And just then a knock sounded on the door, and to the summons to enter, Grace advanced into the room. Har- ry’s eyes dwelt on her wonderingly. She seemed to him the butterfly burst from the chrysalis in an hour. Even beside Helen's brilliant loveliness, hers demanded equal right of recognition. She was a fairer, less brilliant tyre. Her skin was colorless as a lily’s—col- orless as the dress she wore of crepe, which glimmered over satin, likewise of ivory whiteness; her eyes were blu» as the heart of the iris; the light glimmered on the red gold of her hair; but there was a change beyond all this, in which there was no change—the beautiful child he had ever thought her had gone to-night—forever van- ished! In her stead a beautiful wo- man stood. Long months ago, through bitter throes, her soul had wakened: but only to-night it burst upon him like a revelation of the moment. A ilttle murmur ran through the al- ready crowded rooms, as Harry Rey- nolds entered them with his wife and father’s ward. Instantly they were surrounded by a little host of appli- cants for coveted positions on their cerds. On Helen’s, Harvey Barclay wrote his name twice; then he took that of Grace from her hand. “Only one little place vacant?” he said, reproachfully, “and that not a waltz!” “TI am sorry,” she answered. ‘You see, it\is my loss missing so good a vartner as Mr. Barclay; but, really. I have had very little to say about the matter.’ ’ He wrote his name upon the vacant space. “At least it will give me an opportu- nity for a few words,” he murmured, in a low, impressive tone, “and there is something, Miss Hawthcrne, I must say to you to-night.” The girl glanced up with startled eyes, and half-purted her lips to speak. In that moment she remembered Har- ry’s warning to her, and part of the meaning which had escaped her now returned to her; and her impulse died a hasty death, as the band, from its hidden recess, clashed forth the sum- mons to another dance, and its fortun- ate possessor approached to ass:rt his claim. “And what is it you have to say to Grace to-night?” whisered a voice in his ear. He turned—Helen, standing directly behind them, had heard al, Without answering, he slipped her hand within his arm and led her through the bril- liantly-lighted rooms, across the spa- cious -halls, through the apartments opposite, until they reached the con- servatory, whose cool shadow already appeared a relief—no weary dancers having yet found their way there. For the moment it was as deserted as some tropical isle. The sound of the music was borne but faintly to their cars. Amid the green leaves of the rustling plants plashed falling waters. One golden-throated bird sang softly, far above their heads. It was like a scene from fairyland, into which two mortals had wandered. “What does all this mean, Harvey?” she’ said, breaking the moment’s si- lence. He slipped her gloved hand from his arm, and with folded arms across his breast, stood facing her. “It means that I am a_ desperate man, Helen; it means that I am no longer to be toyed with; it means that the effort you once made to save me failed to arrest the tide that is bearing me on its swift current to ruin; it means that I see but one plank to cling to, and that plank is marriage.” “Harvey!” she exclaimed, and in her voice rang honest suffering—“you are deceiving me! You love Grace Haw- thorne. You have made me but your dupe. Your visits have been to her, and I—I have been so blind that I have lulled to sleep my first suspicions and /let you play your love farce before my ities, Helen, ‘| it, after all? very eyes. But it shall not be—you hear me?—it shall not be!” He smiled bitterly. “Hush, Helen!” he said; some one will hear you. And listen before you utterly condemn me. I love but you.” And as he spoke the words his voice sank to infinite tenderness. “How could this child attract me when you were near—you whd need fear no ri- val? But when I said, just now that, I was desperate I used no stage phrase. I spoke the wretched, miserable truth— how wretched, how miserable, your im- agination cannot conceive. I must have money, Helen, before another thirty days has passed over my head, and that, too, in no small amount. I need not marry this girl; I do not care to tie myself up In any matrimonial knot; but once it is noised abroad that I am engaged to her, I can, without difficulty raise the amount necessary to me. Help me, Helen!” “J confessed to you, Harvey, the des- perate means I had to us? before to give you the money of which you stood in need. You know the risk I ran, You know whether I am hesitating in in assuming them. But that was a dif- ferent sort of help. I don’t love t's girl, heaven knows! but I do not ha‘e her sufficiently to wish her such a fate as to link her life with yours. No— don’t interrupt me; I know what you would say—that I would once have married you. You ar? right. I would marry you now—to-day—this hour; put I know you, for all that—know how weak, how selfish you are, and, God help me, love you only the better for the knowledge! But do not fancv me posing in the attitude of a good woman. With you I will at Ieast not play so easily-detected a role. It is not for Grace Hawthorne’s sake, but I swear you and Grace Hawthorne shall not marry; neither is it for your sake, but for my own. Ask of me any sacri- fice, Harvey, and I will make it; but her-feet shall never tread on my naked heart; she shall never fill the place I once hoped to make you my own.” “Congratulate yourself, rather, ma belle, to the good frtune which des- tined you to a happier fate. Your lines have fallen in pleasant places. Why begrudge me a similar apportionment? Don’t let us waste time in sentimental- he added, with a touch of hardness, almost brutality, in his manner. “When I said, a moment ag», I will marry the girl. What matters all its length and breadth and depth. You must help me, or I must do with- out your help; only, in the latter cas>, Iwill marry the girl. What matters Can I not see you often- er? Why should you care?” (To Be Continued.) Jim Jeffries’ Strong Arm. Maj. Hughes’ admiration for the once-mighty John L. Sullivan is so well known in sporting circles that it no longer excites curiosity or comment. The major does not regard the present- day champion as being in the same class as the once-great fighter, and his contempt sometimes leads him astray. He and Jeffries recently met in the same city, and, of cmourse, the conversation drifted around to the prize ring and the pugiists. “Why,” exclaimeed the maojor, “you fellows were not in it with Sullivan. You should have seen him in his prime. He had the toughest arm that I ever saw. The muscles were like iron, and it was impossible to indent the flesh.” “Why, Sullivan, in his palmi-st days, never had an arm such as mine,” ‘re- plied the champion, “Why ,that’s ridiculous,” retorted the major. “Well, feel this arm, then,” and Jef- fries held out his left.” The major felt the arm and found it as hard as steel. Then he thumped it, with no better result. H> might as well have struck a brick wall for all the impression that he made. He tried hard and long; then, turning to the champion, he said: “Well, I never expected to see an arm like that. I must udmit that you have Sulliyan beat a block, and I tak> cff my hat to you.” The crowd laughed, and the major felt uncomfortable. “Well, it's on you, ma‘or, saii one of the sports. “You were feeling Jeffries’ game arm. It’s done up in a plaster of Paris cast.” The major treated.—Louisvill2 Couri- er Journal. Berbohm Tree’s Othello. Beerbohm Tree will not, in his make-up for Othello, affect the negro’ visage of most of his predecessors, but will present the Moor as of a copper complexion, dressing the part in all the barbaric splendor of the Oriental. Ma- cready made up quite black, and in this he was followed by Henry Irving and Wilson Barrett. Salvini, however, will be more the mcdel of Mr. Tree. The Italian actor got his ideas thus, as related in his autobiography: “At Gibraltar I spent my time study- ing the Moors. I was most struck by one very fine figure, majestic in walk and Roman in face, except for a straight projection of the lower lip. The man’s color was between copper and coffee, not very dark, and he had a slender mustache and scanty curly hair on his chin. Up to that time I had al- ways made up Othello simply with my mustache, but, after seeing that super> Moor, I added the hair on the chin and sought to copy his gestures, movements and carriage.” es Coffee Intoxication. A visitor recently returned from Bra- zil says that the whole country is per- petually intoxicated by coffee. It is brought to the bedside the moment one awakes, and just before he drops to sleep, at meals and between meals, on going out and coming in. Men, women and children drink it with the same lib- erality, and it is fed to babies in arms. The effect is apparent in trembling hands, twitching eyelids, yellow, dry skin and a chronic excitability, ‘worse | than that produced by whisky. A Slight Confusion of Terms. At a prayer meeting in London, at which people of various sects took part, one of the speakers thus tersely ex- pressed himself: ‘What I mean to say. gentlemen, is this: If a man's heart is in the right place, it dont matter what sex he beiengs to.”—London Truth. You cannot make a little money go a long way by taking a trip to Paris with it. driving a nail, a woman either (ves it crooked or hits her finger, Lord Sayvan-De Livrus—Ah! but your leisure class in this country have no titles. : Miss Sharpe—Nonsense! What's the matter with “Hobo,” “Weary Willie,” “Dusty Roads,” and so on?—Philadel-. phia Press. Russia’s New Calendar. It is said that Russia is about to adopt a new calendar. Each year con- tains 13 months of twenty-eight days each. The main feature is its apparent stability, and in this it resembles the sovereign remedy, Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. Try it for dyspepsia, constipa- tion, nervousness or insomnia. Be sure you get the genuine. The Calamity Disseminator. “David won't come to breakfast until he has read the morning paper.” “Is he so eager for news?” “No; but he likes to find something dismal to talk about while we are eat- ing.”—Indianapolis Journal. Best for the Bowels, No matter what ails you, headache to a cancer, you will never get well unti? your bowels are put right. CASCARETS help nature, cure you without a gripe or pain, produce easy natural movements, cost you just 10 cents to start getting your health back, CASCARETS Candy Cathartic, the genuine, put up in metal boxes, every tablet has C. C. C. stamped on it Be ware of imitations. Prosaic Reasons. “So she has gone home. to her moth- er, has she? Don’t you know, it’s the saddest thing on earth to think of a trusting, fond woman awakening to find her ideals have been shattered; that she loves him no lenger; that her idol has feet of clay—” “Oh, there was nothing of that sort in it. She loves him as well as ever, but she went back to her ma because she was hungry.”—Indianapolis Press, Hall’s Catarrh Cure Is taken internally. Price, 75c. As It Seemed. “What did you find to be the most ontertaining exhibit at the Paris expo- sition?” “My husband's exhibit of American french seemed to entertain everybody the most.”"—Chicago Tribune. Mrs, Winslow's Soothing Syrup. For children teething, softens the gums, reduces tu flammation, allays pain. cures wind colic. '25c a bottle The Growth of an Authoress. Exhibit A—‘“The Doings of Doris” by Mrs. George Prunes. Exhibit B—“The Story of Gladys,” by Mrs. Henrietta L. Prunes, author of “The Doings of Doris.’ Exhibit C—‘Just Two In All the World,” by Henrietta Lemon Prunes, author of “The Doings of Doris,” etc. Exhibit D—"A Woman of Resource,” by Henrietta Lemon, author of “The Doings of Doris,” ‘‘The Story of Glad- ys,” “Just Two In All the World,” etc. Poor George!—Indianapolis Press. PATENTS. * List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. Hans A. Alm, Hankinson, N. D., penmutation lock; Thomas T. Brown, Angus, Minn., fire escape; William P. Brown, Jr., Minneapolis, Minn., grain car door; Thomas M. Crepar, Swan River, Minn., lantern attachment; Al- exander Generous, Princeton, Minn., trap-setting device; David Perry, St. Paul, Minn., dental root canal drier; Joseph Posch, St. Paul, Minn., filter; William S. Sherd, Belview, Minn., twine tension device; John C. Corcoran, St. Paul, Minn., bottle stopper. Merwin, Lothrop & Johnson, Patent Attor- neys, 911 and 912 Pioneer Press Bldg., St. Paul. What Was in the Bottle, Joe? Joe—It was mean in that winning cyclist to drop bottles along the track for the purpose of taunting his rival? Penn—What was in the bottles? Joe—Catchup’—Chicago News. KIDNEY TROUBLES OF WOMEN Miss Frederick’s Letters Show How She Relied on Mrs, Pinkham and Was Cured. “Dean Mrs. Prnknam:—I have a yellow, muddy complexion, feel tired and have bearing down pains. Menses have not appeared for three months; sometimes am troubled with a white discharge. Also have kidney and blad- der trouble, I have been this way for a long time, and feel so miserable I thought I would write to you and see if.you could do me any good.”— Miss Epna FREDERICK, Troy, Ohio, Aug. 6, 1899. “‘ Dear Mrs. Prnguam:-—I have used Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- pound according to directions, and can say I have not felt so well for years as I do at present. Before taking your medicine a more miserable person you never saw. I could not eat or sleep, and did not care to talk with any one. Now I feel so well I cannot be grateful Seadaly to you for what you have done for me.”—Miss EpNA FRED! Ohio, Sept. 10, 1899. sierra G Backache Cured “Dear Mrs. PINKHAM:—I write to thank you for the good Lydia E, Pink- ham’sVegetable Gompound hasdonema It is the only medicine I have found that helped me. I doctored with one of the best physicians in the city of New York, but received no benefit. I had been ailing for about sixteen years, was so weak and nervous that I could hardly walk ; had continued pain in my Monsen were rogaine nud pointe lenses were and a Words csnnct express tive bemsditl nave