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MW ..________._ THE VICAR’S .. GOVERN ESS. CHAPTER XII "The mow is on the mountain. The frost is on the vale. _ The ice hangs o’er the fountain. The storm rides on the gale." -â€"-Ousley. Clarissa's letter to Georgie Broughâ€" ton receives a most tender response.â€" tender as it is grateful. The girl writes thankfully. heartily, and expreSSes al- most passionate delight at Clarissa's in- stantaneous and ready sympathy. The letter is short, but mu of feeling. . li conveys to Clarissa. the sad impres- sion that the poor child's heart is dry and barren for lack of that gracious dew called love, without which not one ofus can taste the blessedan of life. “Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth; Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth." So sings Trench. To Clarissa, just now. his words convey nothing less than the very embodiment of truth. That Georgie should be unhappy for want of this vital essence cuts her to the heart.â€" the more so that Georgie persistently refuses to come to Gowran. “ Dearest Clarissa,â€"Do not think me cold or ungrateful,"â€"â€"so she writes.â€" “ but, were I to go to you and feel again the warmth and tenderness of a home. it might unfit me for the life of trouble and work that must lie before me. ‘Summer is when we love and are beâ€" loved.’ and, of course. such summer is over for me. I know my task will be no light or easy one; but I have made up my mind to it. and indeed am thankful for it, as any change from this must of necessity be pleasant. And, besides, I may not be a governess forever. Ihave yet another plan in my headâ€"some- thing papa and I agreed upon before he left me,-that may put an end to my ! issa. promptly sinkingnback once more into her downy’wuch. "I decline tobe petrified, llcster,"â€"â€"tucking the clothes well round her. "Call me again next week." ' _ n “The master is up this hour, miss. says the maid. reprovingly; “and see how beautifully your fire is burning. "I can't see anything but the water over there. Is that ice in my bath? “Yes. miss. ~Will you let me throw a little hot water into it to melt it for you? Do. miss. I'm sure them miserable cold oblations is bitter bad for you." Per- haps she means ablutions. Nobody knows. And Clarissa. though consum- ed with a desire to know, dares not ask. Hester is standing a few yards from her. looking the yery personificaâ€" tion of all pathos, and is plainly anâ€"an- gered of the frozen bath. _ “\Vell. then, Hester, yes; a littleâ€"a very littleâ€"hot water, just. for once, says Clarissa. unable to resiist the wo- man's pleading, and her own fear of the "bitter chill ” that awaits her on the other side of the blankets. "My cour- age has flown; indeed. don't see how I can get up at all." wilfully,.snuggl- mg down even more closely into the warm sheets. _ “Oh. now get up. miss. do." implores her maid. “It is getting real late. and 'the master has been up asking for you I l l l twice already.” “Is papa dressed, then f" . "An hour ago, missile was standing on the door-steps, feeding the sparrows and robins. when I came up." “Dear papa I" says Clarissa. tenderly. beneath her breath; and then she springs out of bed, and gets into her Iclothes by degrees. and presently runs downâ€"stairs to- the great old hall, ig'here she finds her father awaiting er. I He is standing at the upper end. with his back to the huge central wm- dow, through which . “Glearlilis the red sun athwart the misty aze thich veils the cold earth from its loving gaze." . A calm. clear light illumes the hall. born of the “wide and glittering cloak of snow" which last night-flung upon the land. At its other end stand all the servants,â€"silent. expectant,â€" to difficulties _sooner than I think. I will hear what the master shall say to them tell you of it some time, when we meet." on this Christmas morning. "Poor darling," says Clarissa. “what it wretched little letter 1” She. sighs and folds it up, and Wonders vaguely what this other plan of Georgie’s can . Then she writes to her again, and des- cribes Mrs. Redmond as well as is pos- sible. ‘ " Accept her offer by return of post,” she .atlvises, earnestly. “ Even if. after a ti 1, you do no; 1k: her. all this wll be an opening for you; and I am glad in the thought that I shall always have you near me,â€"at least until that mys- terious plan of yours meets the light. Mrs. Redmond is not. of course, every- thing of the most desirable, but she is Emmble. and very kind at heart. She tall and angular. and talks all day longâ€"and all night, I am sure. if one would listenâ€"about her ailments and the seryants’ delinquencies. She is never Without a. cold in her head. and a half darned stocking! She calls the children's pinafores ‘pinbefores.'â€"- which is quite correct, but very unpleasant; and she always calls terrible ‘turrible;' but beyond these small failings she is quite bearable." And so on. \Vhen Miss Broughton receives this letter in her distant home, she is again sole mistress of a sick-room. Her auntâ€"the hard taskmaster assigned to her by fateâ€"lies on her bed stricken to the earth by_fever. To come to Pull- ing-ham now Will be impossible. “ Will Mrs. Redmond wait for a month, or per- haps two 7" She entreats Clarissa to do what she can for her; and Clarissa does it; and the worried wife of the vicar, softened by Miss Peyton's earnest ex~ planations. consents to expound Pinnock and " Little Arthur" to the small Red- nonds until such time as Miss Brough- ton's aunt shall be convalescent. ' .“ The inaudable and noiseless foot of Time" creeps on space. and Christmas at last reaches Pullingham. SuchaChrist- mas. toolâ€"a lorious sunny Christmas mornln . ful of light and life. snowâ€" orownc on every side. The glinting sunbeam lie u on the frozen hills. klssin them wit tender rapture. as thoug eager to impart some heat and comfort to their chill hearts. “Now trees their lea y hats do bare To reverence Winter’s silver hair." The woods are all bereft of reen: the Winds sigh wearin through t am; “No grass the fields. no leaves the forests wear;" a shivering shroud envelope all the land. But far above. in the clear sky. Sol shines trium hant. Nor ice. nor snow. nor chilling last has power to deaden him toâ€"day. No “veil of cloud involves his radiant head." He smiles upon the earth. and ushers in the blessed morn with unexpected brilliancy. Innumer- able sounds swellthrough the frosty air' iweet bells ring joyously. All the world is astir. Except Clarissa. She lies, still sleep- ingâ€"dreaming. it may be. that first glad dream of oath in which all seems perfect. change css. passwn~sweet 1 Upon her pil‘rtcd lips a faint soft smile is lingering. as though loath to de- part. Her face is lightly tinged with color. as it were a "ripened rose." Up- on one arm her check is pillowed: the other is thrown. with negligent grace. show her head. _ ‘ "Half-past eight. Miss Peyton. apd Christmas morning too." says a vmce more distinct than musical. and rather reproaohful. It rushes into Clarissa’s hap y dream like a nightmare. and sen s all the dear shades she has been conjuring to her side back into their un- certain homo. _ . f The maid pokes the fire energetically. and arranges something upon the dress- ing-table with much unnecessary vigor. Clarrissa. slowly bringing herself back from the world in which Hester. however admirable. in every respect. bears no part. sighs drowsily. and sits up in her bed. - " Really that hour i" she says.'“Quite too dis raccfully late! A happy Christ- mas. ester!" " Thank you. miss The same to you. and very many of them!" "is it a cold morning 7” asks Clarissa with a little shiver. She pushes back the soft. waving masses of her brown hair from her forehead. and gazes at Hester entmtingly. as though to im- fllore her to say it is as warm as adny June. But Hester is adamant. ‘ “Terrible cold. miss." she says. With a sort of gusto. "That frosty it would palrify you where you stand." “Then I won't stand." declares Clar- That George Peyton should refuse to address them on this particular day is out ’of all hearing. His father,grand- father. and mat-grandfather had done it before im to the then serv- ants; therefore according to the primâ€" itive notions of he county) he must do the same. Yet it is undeniable that to the present proprietor this task is a terrible one, and not to be performed at any price, could escape from it be shown. Eloquence is not Mr. Peyton’s forte. To find himself standing before an ex- pectant audience, and to know they are prepared to hang upon his accents. is not sweet to him.â€"in fact fills him with terrors fast and deep. Yet here they are awaiting his speech. in a. goodâ€" ly row._with all their eyes fixed on his. and their minds prepared to receive any- thing he may say. ' He breathes a small sigh of relief as he sees Clarissa approaching, and gives her his customary morning kiss in a rather warmer fashion than usual. which has ‘only the effect of raising mirth in Clarissa’s mind. She smiles in an un- filial fashion, and. slipping her hand through his arm, awaitswhat fate may have in store. Her father. when he has cast upon her one reproacth lance. turns to the servants. and. wit a heightened color and somewhat lame delivery, says as follows: ' "I am very glad to see you all again â€"â€"" here he checks himself, and grows a degree redder and more embarrassed. It occurs to him after all. he saw them yesterday and the day before. and that it is on the cards he will see them again toâ€"morrow. Therefore why express exu- berant joy at the fact that he can {see them at this present moment? He glances, in his despairing fashion. at Clarissa; but she is plainly delighted at his discomfiture, and refuses to give him .any assistance. unless a small ap- provmg nod can be accounted such. Feeling himself. therefore. unsupport- e‘d. . he perforce. returns to the charge. “It is a great pleasure to me to know that no changes have taken place during the past year. I hope"â€"-(long pause)â€" "I hope we shall always have the same story to tell." This is fearfully absurd. and he knows it. and blushes again. “W'ell. at least," he goes on. "I ho e we shall not part from each other wit ~ out good cause.â€"-such as a. wedding, for instance." Here he looks at the underâ€"housemaid. who looks at the underâ€"gardener. who looks at his boots. and betrays a wild desire to get into them forthwith. "There is no occasion for me. I think. to make you a speech. Iâ€"â€"â€"the fast is. Iâ€"â€"couldn't make you a speech. so you must excuse me. I wish you all a happy Christmas! I'm sure you all wish me the same. Eh fâ€"andâ€"J' Here he is interrupted by a low mur- mur from the servants, who plainly feel it their duty to let him know. at this juncture. that they do hope his Christ- mas will be a successful one. "\Vellâ€"eh ?â€"-thank you ~â€" you know." says Mr. Peyton. at his wits' end as to what he shall say next. "You are all very kind. very..kind indeedâ€"â€" veryâ€"-â€". Mrs. I.ane."â€"-desperately.â€" Sgome here and take your Christmas- x... The housekeeper advances. ina round-. ed stately fashion. and. with an elabor- ate courtesy and a smile full of benign- ity. acceptsher gift and retires with it to the background. The others have all performed the same ceremony. and also retired. Mr. Peyton draws a dee sigh of relief. and turns to Clarissa, who. all through. has stood beside him. "I think you might have put in a word or two." he says. "But you are a traitor; you enjoyed my discomfiture. Bless me. how glad I am that ‘Christ- mas comes but one a year !' “. "And how sorry I am !" says Clarissa. making a slight griinace. "It is the one chance I st of listening to elo- ()3an that feel sure in unsurpass- a e." . _ The are still standing in the hall. At th moment a servant throws open the hall door. and Dorian and Horace Branscombc. coming in. walk up to where they are. near the huge pine fire that is roaring and making merry on the hearthstone; no grate defiles the beauty of the Gowrsn hall. They are flushed from _the “rapidity of their walk. and are looking rather more like each other than usual. "Well, we have had a run for it." says Dorian. "Not been to breakfast. I the door. carefully puts the key in her hopel' Lf younsay you-have finished that most desuable meal. I shall drop 1' 50.;bl‘88k .it carefully. I have a wretched appeti asagrule. but 3‘15‘ now'I feel as it could eat you. C131“ issa. ' “\l’e haven’t thought. of breakfast yet." says Clarissa. “I'm so glad I was lazy this mornmgl A happy Christ- mas, Dorian !” . "The same to you i" says Dorian. rais- ing her hand. and pressing it to his lips. by what luck do we find you in the ha; ’50 "ljhe seryants have just been here to receive their presents. Now. why were you not a few minutes earlier. and you might have been stricken dumb with joy atufapa's speech 3” . don’t believe it was half a bad speech. says Mr. Peyton. stoutly. .Badl It was the most enchanting thing I ever listened to lâ€"in fact. fault- less.â€"-1f one omits the fact that you looked as if you were in torment all the time. and seemed utterly hopeless as to what you were going to say next." James, is breakfast ready l" says Mr. Peyton. turning away to hide a smile. and making a strenuous effort to suppress the fact that he has heard one Wordpf her last betrayal. “Come into the dmm â€"room, Dorian." he says, when the man as assured him that breakfast Will be ready in two minutes; "it is ever so much more comfortable in there." Branscombe goes with him. and so. presently. Clarissa. and Horace find themselves alone. Horace, gomg_up to her. as in duty Bounds hisralll'fi round her. and S . chresseeek. p‘ ig y gently to her "You never wished me ahap y Christ- mas. he says. in the low so t tone he always adopts when speaking to women. You gave all your best wishes to Dorian." . You knew what was in my heart,” replies she. sweetly. pleased that he has noticed the omissron. I wonder if I have brought you what you like, he says. laying in her little palm a. large gold locket. oval-shaped, and with forget-me-nots in sapphires and diamonds. on one side. Touching a spring, _it opens. and there. staring u at her. is h1s_own face. wearing its kin â€" liest expression, and seemingâ€"to herâ€" to breathe forth love and truth. For a little minute she is silent; then she says softly. with lowered eyes. and a. ‘warm. tender blush.â€" Did you have this picture taken for me, alone 3" . It is eVident the face in the locket is even dearer to her than the locket itself. -- . For you. alone,” says Horace. telling his lie calmly. _ “When it was finished I had the negative destroyed. I thought only of you. Was not that natural? I‘here was One happy moment in which I assured myself that it would please you to have my image always near you. Was I wrong 'fâ€"presumptuous ?” Into his tone he has managed to in- fuse a. certain amount of uncertainty and anxmus longing that cannot fail to flatter and do some damage to a wo- man's heart. Clarissa raises her trustâ€" ful eyes to his. 2 “Please Imel" she repeats. softly, tears growmg beneath her lids: " it pleases me so much that it seems to me impossuble to express my pleasure. You have given me the thing that, of all others. I have most wished for." She blushes vividly. as she makes this admission. Horace. lifting her hand, kisses it warmly. "I am fortunate." he says, in a low tone. “Will you love the original, Clarissa, as you love this senseless icâ€" turell After .long years. how wil it be? There is a touch of concern and doubt.â€"-and something more, that may be regretâ€"in his tone. ‘ _“I shall always love you." says the girl. very earnestly, laying her hand on his arm, and looking at him with eyes that should have roused all tenderness and devotion in his breast; "For at each glance of those sweet eyes a soul . ’ g ' Looked forth as from the azure gates of ‘ heaven.” _ ‘ He 18' spared a reply. Dorian, com- ing again into the hall, summons them gayly to breakfast. ' O O O O 0 In the little casemented window of the tiny chamber that calls her mistress. Sits Ruth Annersley, alone. The bells. are ringing out still the blessed Christmas morn; yet she, with downcast eyes, and chin resting in her hand, heeds nothing. being wrapped in thought. and .unmindful of aught but the one great idea that fills her to over- flowmg. Her face is graveâ€"nay, alâ€" most sorroyvfulâ€"apd full of trouble; yet underlying all is gladness that will not be suppressed. . At this momentâ€"perhaps for the first timeâ€"she . wakes to the consciousness that the air is full of music, borne from the ,belfries far and near. She shud- ders_slightly. and draws her breath in a quick unequal sigh. "Another Ion year." she says. wear- - ily. "Oh that could tell my father 1" She lifts her head impatiently. and once more her eyes fall upon the table on which her arm is resting. There are before her a few opened letters. some Christmas cards. a very beautiful Honiton lace handkerchief. on _which her initials "R. A." are delicately work- ed. andâ€"apart from all the restâ€"a ring. set with pearls and turquoises. Taking this last up. she examines it slowly, ovmgly.’ slipping it on and off her slender finger, without a smile. and With growing pallor. _ A step .upon the stairs outside! Hast- ily. and in a somewhat guilty fashion. she replaces the ringfi upon the table. atnd drops the lace andkerchief over i . “Miss Ruth.” says a tall. gawky coun- try-girl. opening the door. ' the maister he be waitin' breakfast for you. Do ee come down now." Then. catching sight of the handkerchief. "Lal now,", she says, "how fine that be! a beauty. sure- ly. and real lace toolfigLa’l Miss Ruth. in seventeen years. ‘ William Job was born in a village of Cornwall just thirty-six years ago. His " Don't you mind him." said Mr.Dade. " It's true he's rich. Why. at the close pocket. ~- Slowly. reluctantly. she descends the stairs.â€"slowl . and with a visible .cf- fort. presses her lips in gentle greeting to her father's care-worn check. The bells still ring on joyuusly. merrily: the sun Shines; the world is white With 110W. more pure than even our purest thoughts; but no sense of rest or com- fort comes to Ruth. Oh. dull and heavy heart that holds a guilty secret._ Oh. sad (even though yet innocent) is the mind that hides a hurtful thought! Not for you do Christmas bells ring out their happy greeting! Not for such as you does sweet peace reign triumph- ant. (To Be Continued.) WILLIAM JOB’S ROMANCE. Ho and Ills'nrldc Bach Jonrneyed 3.000 .lllles lo Wed. William Job was married to Miss Sarah Ann Ennis, in the parsonage of the Methodist Episcopal Church at Morristown. N.J.. on \Vedncsday afterâ€" noon. the Rev. George P. Eckman offi- iating. There have been numberless mar- riages in quaint and staid old Morri- town. but the Job-Ennis ceremony, in some respects, differed from all the weddings on record in that town. In the first place the home of the brideâ€" groom is near Helena, Mont.. and he travelled nearly 3,000 miles to meet his bride, who journeyed even a greater distance from her home in Cornwall. England. Sweethearts, betrothed and faithful. they had not seen each other ‘ Once outside. she turns. and locking father was a miner. and the boy grew up in the mines. But he found time to study. and be stored his mind with valuable knowledge of mines and min- erals. He fell in love With pretty. blackâ€"haired, rosy-checked, brown-eyed Sadie Ennis. a neighbor’s child. Povâ€" erty frowned on William's hopes. but he was brave at heart. and at 19 years of age \Villiam told Sarah of his love. Did she love him? \Vould she be true and wait? Her answer was sat- isfactory. So on a gloomy .morning. seventeen years ago, \Villiam Job stood on the deck of an ocean steamer and watched the hills of his native land fade below the horizon. He landed in New York and proceeded direct to the copper mines at Lake Superior. .whcre he got work. It was not the kind of that he was looking for, nor what his studies had fitted him for. so he soon drifted \Vest. British pluclgand na- tive ability won. and Mr. William J ob's check for $250,000 would be honoredm Helena to-day, it is said. . About two months ago Sarah. receiv- ed a letter from her lover asking her to meet him in Morristown, .N. J. Their waiting was ended, he said. He would come to claim .her. _ She has. a brother. \Villiam Ennis. in Morris- town.~ At his home they would be mar- ried, William said. And the brave Cornish woman came. reaching there on Nov. 23. Mr. Job arrived on Monâ€" day last, and drove to 26 Harrison street, where \Villiam Ennis lives. There the meeting took place. A newspaper reporter saw the cou- ple on \Vcdnesday night. _Mr. Enniss cottage was aglow With‘ light. and. of good cheer there was an abundance. Mr. Job modestly told the star of his long courtship, and then a Mr. ade came into the room, and Mr. Emma and two more men, and they beamed upon Mr. Job. who beamed in return: When asked if he had made a fort_une in Monâ€" tana, the bridegroom replied: “Well. I've saved a tidy bit. and have some investments which are paying rather well." “ What is your occu ation ?" " Miner. sir; just a p ain miner. and proud. of it. too. At present I‘m sup- erintendent of the Ontario mine, which is owned by English capitalists. Yes, I'm also interested." of the ceremony he kissed Sarah and at the same time crushed a check into her hand. For how much, do you sup- ose? Ten thousand dollars. as true as 'm sitting here." The comely bride nodded assent when Mr. Job said: "\Ve go to New York on Thursday. and on Saturda we shall leavefor our new home in elena." The bridegroom admitted that he had reached the age of 36 years. and that he had been in love with Sarah for thirty-four. A FLOATING HOME. Wealthy Mrs. Canon In a Steady Ilonrdcr '* " 0n n httnmllllp. For the third time since she began to make her trips in 1898 the Cunard ship Lucania arrived in New York on Friday without having Mrs. Carson on board, and it was an event in the his- tory of the steamer. It did not seem like the same vessel with this strange boarder absent. _ Any one in search ofa good boarding house might get some good points from Mrs. Carsonâ€"address the North Atlanâ€" tic Ocean. Mrs. Carson has her home on the sea. and only goes ashore for business or pleasure. Her resent float- ing home is the stemship normal. and she is greatly attached to it. For just how many years Mrs. Car- son has been making her home on the North Atlantic nobody seems to know exactly. but she was gomg back'and forward between New ork and Liver- pool before the Lucaniawset forth for the first time. . 2 \Vhen the big Cunarder was launched and, who sent you that. no...“ my I . Mrs. Carson inspected her and conclud~ see it i” . .. » She stretches out her hand. as though about to raise the dainty fabric from its resting-place; but Ruth is before er. - "Do not touch it." she says, almost roughly for her. Then. seeing the ef- fect her words; have canmd. and how the girl shrinks back from her. she goes on. urriedly and kindly. "You have been in the dairy. Marge , and er- hapc your hands'ane not c can. an own and wash them. and come to atâ€" ten table. Afterward you shall come up here and see my handkerchief and a I my pretty cards." . She smiles. lays her hand on Msrgery's shoulder. and gently. but with deter- mination. draws her toward the door. [ed to take board on her. She selected [a roomy cabin. and setting up her lures land nenates therein, settled (own oom- fortably to enjoy her new home. l The Lucania is now_in her twenty- lsixth round trip; that is, she has cross- 'ed the ocean 51 times. Onl ' twice be~ fore the present trip has rs. Carson I been absent from the steamer when she lplunggg " the ocean blue." Therefore he crossed the ocean 46 times on the Lucania. For two years the ship has been her floating home. ‘Bla Last Resort. Why has DeQuartz taken up the [study of geology as a profession? ‘ He needs the rock. HEALTH. 23" Knock~Knee. This deformity. in which the knee is bent inward. is rarely if ever congen~ ital; that is to say. the person is no“; born with it. though of course. like many another peculiarity. it may he in.~ herited. lts usual cause is to be founu in rickets, muscular weakness combined with bad habits in standing. 8min standing. or the carrying of heav)‘ hm" dens. '1‘ he nature of knocloknca and the manner of its inception and growth may be briefly stated. First. there is weakness at the knee joints, weakness which. as we have seen may be due to any one of various causes. Then, the tendency to deformity hav- ing been established. every movement and action of the body, as in the case of all deformities. only serves to augment the difficulty. never to ram-- edv it. _ The bones themselves. grow in such a way as constantly to increase the de- formity. The inside edges of the ends of the bones of the thigh and leg grow faster then the outside edges. and thus the leg is canted outward. As may easily be seen by experiment With the roper apparatus, the muscles which. as on as the leg was straight, served by their influence to keep it so now tend. by the same influence to bend it fur- ther out of line. . There are two methods of treating and remedying knook-knce; for it is possible nearly or entirely to remedy the trouble. In early age the severest of .cases can usually be cured by. the .JlldlClOlLS and persistent use of splints, irons. e1- astcic force. or other apiaratus. com- bined with massage .an electricity. Nor must we forget in these cases to look well to the cause of the weakness. and to an ply the constitution With tonics. an to use other measures of h ionic. im rtance. ngn cases “Plihre the bones have become hardened anc “set.” however; an op- eration is imperative._ The more com- mon form of operation is to take a wedge-shaped piccepf bone from the inner edge of the thigh-bone. or to chip off the edge entirely. and so allow the leg to come back into its natural posi- tion. Then the leg is bound tigtly un- til the cuts made by the operation have entirely healed and the ligaments and muscles have become thoroughly ac- customed to their new pos1tion. I As the operation is usuall perform- ed, there is no danger of an f leg. and the effect gained is sometimes remark- able and permanent if the growth_of the bone has entirely ceased. Operation before this time is of course useless. LOW Spirits. “Low spirits " is acommon excuse for a great deal of selfishness. It is Iccrtainly a matter of doubt whether anyone has the right to be melancholy in a world so full of the graCiousness and generosity of Providence, and it is a. miserable piece of egotism to thrust ones' low spirits upon others. Melan- cholia is undoubtedly a disease. but it is one of those diseases which are large- ly. if not wholly. under control of the will, contradictory though the state- ment may seem. - ‘ There are many diseases recognized by physicians as brought about purely atients allowing themselves _ to iii:le into morbid conditions of mind. Even dreaded scourges. like typhus fever and cholera are known to be m- duced by morbid fear. Constant brooding over some fancied wrong or imaginary slight. showmg an. exagger- ated state of selfishness, which is too often considered supersensitivcness,will readily induce thalt lcondition of mind own as melanc o y. knThe selfish idler is condemned by everyone; but the one who. wastes his time in this much more foolishtmanner, groaning and com lammg until he‘be- comes a. chronic ypochondriac. often passes for a hard worker from_the very excess of trouble he takes to find trouâ€" ble... As a matter of fact. such persons accomplish very little real work in the world. The' are greater western of time than he most flippant idler of the World. because they take .away from the nerve force. and the life of others. Minus quantities,.they repre- sent much less than nothing. or they reduce the working power of all_around them, enervating them by their con- tinuous dole and plaint. _ . Strange as it may seem. a disposi- tion to melancholy often appears in children. and. if not discouraged, may develop into a fixed habit in later life. There is no cure better for such mor» bid tendencies than some,method by which the individual can get outsidebf himself and forget his own selfish in- terests and desires. I’eevishness in a youn child should be treated as a ser- ious gault. yet in nine cases out of ten the fretful child is tted. and so re- warded for his fretfu ness; and the fret- ful child, makes the complaining. mel- ancholy man or woman. A Headache Plaster. \Vhenlhe beating. thumping sensa« nation begins in the head, take equal quantities of pure cayenne pepper and flour; mix them up with water to form a smooth paste thick enough to spread like asalve. Put this upon a piece of soft paper and apply it to the back of the neck just below the edge of the hair. In warm weather it is best to wash the neck with a cloth wet with soap and water. as the 0in perspira- ation may interfere with the action of the plaster. One great advantage of cayenne pepper plaster over mustard is that while the latter frequently blui- tars. the former never dorsal). no mat- ter how slron it is ap bed. In the use of muslar . if the s in islbroken all treatment must cease until it heals but with pper when the plaster loses its ef cct another may be applied without unpleasant consequences. A Stayer. She (lookin at the clock)-â€"Dei}r me! He (tender y)â€"-Arc you surprised to find it so late? _ She (3'8Wnlllg?â€"â€"I\0. 1 am surprised to find that it is so early. I,