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“1 am afraid you are unhappy about ‘ ”thing,” says he. unrelentingly.i He is frowning. Fretting for that damned fellow, he tells himself, and the thought does not throw oil upon the waters. He seems to pause for a reply; but none coming he goes on: "To fret about anything is folly,” says he. hardly. “There is a way out of most difficulties. I dare say you will find one out of yours !" This last lover she is crying forâ€"- this loser lost by her own fear of sacrificing too much for himâ€"may be No doubt. enchained by her regainel. lovely in e. he will is glad to bere- ralled. she can write to him. and he will respond warmly. And he is a man of means. Once The Mchrmot has beer. told that he (Anketell) declines to carry out the engagement with his daughter. the old man will be pleased enough to give her to Eyreâ€"Eyre, who has undoniably good prospects. As for Duluinea her subs hive now ceasel entirely. Anketell's last words have Si ruck a Lhill to her heart. He is not in .‘ruch with her. He feels nothing for her. Her «ilistress causes him no pain It its impossible he shmld know of he unfortunate affair. and yet once again her heart dies within her. 'lhlt terrible douht returns. It was scotch- ed-â€"-not killed. Her tears dry upon her hot -'.ne'.':s.'l'his is no time for tears. Ifâ€"«if ha was at the station when she arrived, and had seen her meeting with lyreâ€"without Andy! Oh! no, no! Auyl‘hing but that! (HAPTER Xll. "lw‘ortune's Mings are made of ' Time's feathers. \\'l.i-:h stay not whilst one may mea« sure them." .H o_ r _o . 0 Hit» r4 -.llHl‘l01‘Sll'v.‘55 at hemg loved soft- ens the kecnest pang.” It has come to an end at lastâ€"this interminable drivel He has driven her up to the hack gate, has lifted her care- fully down. has hidden her a most distant good-night. Miserableâ€"fright- medâ€"leaving hope behind her, and ex- pecting a storm before her, she runs down the short road, through the farm- yard and into the house. Her father! what will he say? She shivers in every limb as she duells upon his wrath. llt uould he serious enough if it had only to do with her being out of the house at this hour. But when he hears of the sequenceâ€"the breaking off of her engagement with Anketellâ€"how will it M: then? - ‘â€" Ravigg-g firstairs at the toy of her speed, 5119 ashes into her own room, and into the arms of Mrs. Drig-c‘oll. The old woman, worn out with fear (or the fate of her darlimg, has spent the last two hours waniering from room to room anti praying loudly to all her saints. Prayers unheard ex- cept in heaven, as the gaunt old house is virtually empty. Now, seeing her nursling return to the nest, she [or- geta all the distress, the absolute tor- ture she has been enduring, and, be- ing Irish, lets the past go in the joy of the glad present. All is forgotten me that her child has returned to “ There now I There, me darlint! Take yer breath now. ’T'Ls home ye are. m' safe wid 15:}? quid. Biddy. Hush now. alanna!" squeezing her to her ample bosom. ” Arrah! who’d be able to harm ye wid me at hand? But," anx- iously. ” where were ye at all, at all ?" V “file it. me, asthoré!â€"me who nus- led yo 1”” - _ _ ' “ \i'éll, he said you had it ‘ in for me,’ or something like that. ” " Who darlin I 'lell me the name 0’ the comp u ho’d say such words 0' musty, ““616 “1.716 ’U at: “11,0u “a: u ” 0h, Bridget, how I love you!" cries the poor child, gratefully, clinging to her with all her might. “I thought you.f too, would be against. me I" ”Shh. Bridget!" saws Duk'mea’ C‘ing' ing to herâ€"”9h, __I_iridget!" ‘ ‘._L. " It “an Andy.” "Masther And)! You’ ve seen him. them?’ sags the old “omen. eagerly, " He was wid ye, Miss Dulcie, ” drawing her to the fire. “Sit down here, agra! m' tell me all about it. " She leads the girl to the roaring wood fire that is llazing‘ up the chim- aexâ€"a fire so carefully tended in hepes )1 her darlings return. that it is now mdeed a noble spectacleâ€"and pushes \pprehemsion‘; what does she mean her into 0. big armchair. And Dulcie, worn out with conflicting passions-â€" doubts that have grown to certainties, and certainties that have once again resolved themselves into doubtsâ€"sinks into the welcome chair and drawing down the old nurse to the hearthrug beside her. pours into her ears the tale 3f the evening. With many sighs, and ” It is all over now, honeyâ€"all at an end "â€"soothing her. ” Thereâ€"thereâ€" tic now. to spoil yer purty eyes! Sure, what were ye, but a bit mistaken! Bad act-an to Masther Andy for frightenin’ ye like this! Twill be all on“ in no time. Son-a one will know of itâ€"-â€"" “ He knons of itâ€"pa rt of itâ€"heâ€"â€"" “ Miather Eyre? He's a gintloman." says Mrs. Drisooll, who has in her pock- et at this momenl the: very handsome humor be had bem'v-rd on her at putting. ' . “"Mr. fire! 1'" thinking not of Jun." “0! who. 3â€"3! dnrlin’?" “ Sir Ralph,” (nintly. "Amt. 1"“! Sure you know he’ll that her; of it I” an nuns. who, many gobs. she makes her humiliating aonfession, but in spite of Andy's dire threat. the faithful old nurse refrains from censure of any kind. “ Mr. fire! 1'” him.’ “Of “ho. $.45. dnr " Sir 1mm," faint] “ Amt, triangle! he’ll that bets; of it I‘ qualities, is frail. “ He will know. He shall know 1” says tfier young mistress, springing to her eet. ‘ “ Eh 2” Mrs. Drisooll regards her with now? “ Sit downâ€"ye’re tired. Miss Dvl- cie, dear,” says she, with all the air of one trying to cajole an angry child. “ I shall tell him I” says Dulcie, with determination. _ _ _.. ‘1' “‘2- after “ Faix, you won’t!" says Mrs. Drisâ€" coll. “ ’Tis mad ye are just now; but whin the mornin’ comes, an’ I’ve a talk at ye agin, ye’ll know. where yer right road lies.” " Oh! toâ€"morrow ’!' says Dulcie, with a groan. “Do you know he is com- ing to dinner to-morrow? Father ask, ed him andâ€" But perhaps he will get out of it now. He hates me. I know that: I’ve reasons for knowing it." “Raysons! There isn’t a, rayson in ye," says Mrs. Driscoil, with supreme contempt. “ As if any one, with an eye that waen’t yours couldn't see that he just delights in the sight of ye. Why, 'twas only yestherday I overheard yer father sayin’ " “()hl father,” impatiently. “Father wants to think as you do. By the by, Bridget,” turning a frightened face to her nurse, “ what of father? Where is he? What did he say? Was he 'aeking for me? Is he very angry ‘1" “ Wisha, me dear, he knows nothin' of it." “ Nothing?" "Ne’er a. l‘a’porth. By all the luck 0’ the war} i, Miicky Flynn took to fiftht- in’ again this evenin’ shortly afther yenâ€"“int for yer walkâ€"and the div- ii's own thrade he made of it. It ap- pears he and Danny Murphy wint at it tooth an' nail down in the village he- low, all ahout nothin’ but that ould ancient goose as Fanny soullsd to Mrs. Flynn for a ehillin’, an’ faix, between ourselves, miss, it “asâ€"damn ould, an’ Micky let into his skin like mad, an’ Danny is now ltyin’ kilt below in H4 cabin, wid the wife screechin’ over him like a burned cat." “ Not dead?” horror-stricken. " Oh, no, me dear! just a rib or two. but "t'was a most merciful occurrenre. You see, they sint for the masther at Once, an’ down he wint to Dan’s house, So much will be spared her at all (wants. “Oh!" says Duloitma, with an long sigh of intense relief. " I’ve had a grudge agim Flynn for ten years,” says Mrs. Driscoll. "He ome promised to marry me sister’s cou- sin’s nephew by marriage, an’ be niver got as far as the alther, but I forgive him now. He’s done a. good job for ye this night. And now, darlin’, won’t yv let me u-ndihrese ye. an’ put. ye to bed? Ye’re worn out. I can see it; an' a poached egg an’ a cup 0’ my. that’ll be the revivin’ of ye. I’ll bring it up to ye,when yer undlxressed. Ye'll sleep aisy afther it.” But in spite of the poached egg. and the tea. Dulcinea hardly slept at all. There was half an hour here and there of broken slumber, in which uncom- fortable dreams held full sway, to the greater destroying of her peace when waking from them; but beyond that. she. law all night with Open eyes, think- ing unhappy things. and crying inward- ly with great longing for the day._ an’ niver a word has he‘ heard of your hein’ in or Out.” “ Is there no place. Left for repentance, none for pardon left ?” And at last it comes, reluctantly. as all winter mornings come, having no light of life to warm them. The sun for them lies dead. He may be there. somewhere; lint his glory is denied them. A dull, cloudy, gray, taciturn day makes i-lear the window panes to Dulcinean-m silent, so devoid of sound is it. indeed, that one might almost think of nature as lying in her shroud. A shroud typical! outside, all the world is aswathed in a white sheet- the. garb of death. During the night the soft flakes had fallen, silently, steadily; and new branch and leaf are laden with them. There has been snow before, but. noth- ing like this. And still it falls. "Through the hushed air the whitenâ€" ing shower descends, At first thin, wavering, till at last the flakes Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day, With a continual flow.” Dulcinca‘s first thought on seeing the day is that probably Anketell will not be able to come over to dinner. This should have caused her relief, but to her surprise, it causes her only a deep- ening of the depression that is weigh- ing her down. Oh, he must come! He must! How can she live with this bur- den on her mind? She will confess all to him; will bell him everything; will open to him the way to rid himself honorably of herâ€"to put an end to his hated engagement. Five! If coming, he will be here in three-quarters of an hour. The snow is still falling. heavily, steadily. It is almost impossible he should come. No one could go out on 811011 a night un- less compelled, and heâ€"why. no doubt he will be glad of the excuse to keep away. And yet something within her whispers he will come. Three-quarters of an hour! It must be .0: great deal. lea than that now. Raising her eyes to the clock. she is :3th to find it is only three min- All day she wanders aimlessly from room to room longing for, while dread- m.g the hour that shall tell her if he is, or is not coming. Toward five o clock she finds herself in the school room once again. and sinking into a chair rests her elbows on her knees and lets her lovely. disconsolate face fall into her little chilly palms. all, in spite of her many good ‘ My life's a. load 1” CHAPTER XIII utes less. What an earth is the mat her with that old clock ? She taps itâ€" Liahe-m; no, it is going. as methodicall; as ever. Will a. quarter to six even come? He is sure to arrive than. Th1 JICDwermot dining alxx'ays at six Sharp 3117! being seriously annoyed if a. guest is not on the spot some time. before- hand. H'm' often she and Baâ€"Sir Ralph hal laughed over that little ec- ccntricity of big. ‘I ‘01 -____ ‘_-L:m.3 b\uvs LUIUJ UL 3:..." A sound in the firelit room ‘iehins? her makes her spring to her feet. Oh no! not yet. Not until she has grasp ed the 1‘2 .xk of the chair, and has learn ed that the incomer is Andy. does she know that she i'a trembling from head to foot. and that her lips have grown so coldâ€"so horribly cold. N anu ”v “v---.â€".â€"v “ My word! You’re growing active in your old age, says Mr. MrDermo-t, advancing cheerfully to the fire, and poking it into a glorious blaze. “ As a traveling acrobat you’d make your for- tune. \Vhat makes you bounce out of your chair like that IGuilty conscience, -â€"eh ?” with a grin. “And! I say I What a swell you are! Put om all that toggery to fascinate Anketell over again? I declare. Dulcie, you’re the biggest flirt I ever met. You are hard- ly of! with the new lover before you want to be on with the old." "I don’t want to be on “'ilth any- body 1" says Dulcinoa, crimsoning with shame and indignation. ” It’s a horrid old gown and you know ilt. You‘ve seen it fifty times, if once. If you’ve come here only to torment me-â€"on!y to ”Stuff!" says his cousin, with in- creasing ingratitude. The fact is she had something on her mind when dressing something that led to a desire to look her best before Sir Ralph on thisâ€"last evening. For that it would be his last as her fiance seems undoubted to her. It was an old gown she donned, a. shabby little black gown; but the square in front showed alove- 1y neck that gleained \x'hilter and more lovely than the snow outsile. and the soft bare arms that fell at her sides as she {razed at herself in the glass worked wonders “ith the ancient cos- tume'. â€"toâ€"makvehéffool of yourself. I hope you’_ll go away again." U " I merely,” pulling up his coat and preparincr to warm himself properly at the fire, “ made the remark that you were distinctly good to look at. Now, any one who can manage to look well in a gown fifty times old, must he a lovely girl, indeed! See ‘lâ€"it was a. compliment my dear girl! Why, then, this ungrateful virulence?” "Steffi" says his cousin, with in- “ Imagination is not my strong point,” says Mr. McDermot, modestly. speaking the truth for once in his life. “ About how ladly now '2" Mr. BIPIKH‘HIOL unmoved by her last remark, drops leisurely onto the [enâ€" der. “I say, Dulcie, how did you and he got. on last evening ‘1” . “ About as lied};T as you: could imag: me." " Well, I have kilown him for twelve long months, and never, never, in all that time was be 80â€"80 abominable to me !” “ How the deuce could you know whether he was smifling or not ’Iâ€"the HOW it ended night “as as Hack as soot E" ‘V‘At first! Not after! I saw well enough. And, besides, his voice would tell you he wasn’t smiling._” ” Abominalxle !" angrily. thoqght- â€"_f’ “Oh, no !” shaking her charming head, so that the firelight flickers from her long lashes, to the little soft na- tural fluff of hair that blows across her forehead. “ Not almminahle in that way. He was quite politeâ€"hatefully polite ; never speaking a, wordâ€"or smil- ingâ€"orâ€"â€"" smiling." “Oh! of course you are sure to put me in the wrong, whether or no." A very pretty quarrel is here spoiled by one of the combatants: giving in. “ Never mind that,” says he. “Do you mean) to tell me that heâ€"n'asâ€"well wasn’t like what a fellow engaged to you should be?" “ I can’t understand it," says Andy, wrinkling up his brows. these are so low that it doesn't take a second to do it. " Dulcie I” turning to her in a rather tragic way. “ do you think you were right after allâ€"that he was there, I mean? That he saw you, andâ€"and that other fellow ?” “Oh. no! indeed he wasn‘t I” empha- tically. “He was downright brusque. Heâ€"he quite ordered me to put. my hands under the rug!" "And you obeyed ?" “ Wellâ€"erâ€"yes. l”--sha,mefacedly -- “ 1â€" He was co cross I thought per- haps I had better.” “Oh, Andy, what a. dear you are!” says his cousin, and suddenly bursts out crying. “ But I tell you it istrue, for all tha .” says she sobbing. “He hates meâ€"he does really. and, when he comes to-night I shall tell him 311 about it and set- him free.” “Free in “From this engagement with me. You can’t see as clearly as I do. Andy. and I know he will be dehghted to got u chance of saying good-by -to me for5 over." “No," dejectedly. “Oh, no,” hang- img her pretty head so low that even a Parnellirte might feel sorry for her. " The fat-t is, Andy. that he hates me.” “ What ?°' “ He hates me I" repeated she, with rising strength that is strong enough through its grief. " That’s alt." "An-:1 enough, too," says Mr. Mc- Dermot. “Only," drawing himself up. "I don’t believe it." ' “Why should he 2” says Andy, vig- orously. “ Why, look here; you’re as nice 8. girl as I know, anyway! Oh, go to the deuce!" says Mr. McDermot. as if addressing some imaginary person at the end of the room. “ D’yo think I can't see? I tell you this, Dulcie, he’ll find it hard to get as good as you." t Mr. McDormot b suing a bar with distended eyel. “ It’s true, for all that,” forlornly. “I’ve known it for a. long time. Af- ter all," meditatingâ€"“why shouldn’t be ?H “You mean to say you are going to “11mm?" dare say it was you Who wasn't “ If "You. just tint. I can’t live with this eoret on my mind. And it is dishon )rable, too. Andy; you must see that. if he knew that Iâ€"that Iâ€"onee even thought of -â€"- Oh l"â€"miserahlyâ€"“il is very hard to say it. But you know. don’t you 9" “Yes, I kW." “Never mind," frowning painfully, "I will say it. It is a good punishment for me. If he knew I had even thought of running away with Mr. Eyre do you think he would still be anxious to mar- ry me himself?" “He might." says her cousin. “Oh. Andy 1" says Dulcinea, with keen reproach. “Well," resignedly, “it doesn’t matter, I shall tell him the truth. whatever it costs me." “But look hereâ€"â€"" “I shall tell him the truth." repeats Dulcinea. sadly. “Why should I leave him in ignorance? I shall tell him everything. It is only honorable to do I “You are looking after your own honor most carefully," says Anly, with a very unpleasant smile. “Of course," slowly, “it has never occurred to you to look after mine i' to consider that you are rather giving me away i" “Your honor !" “Yes. amineâ€"that I have sacrificed to your welfare," says Mr. McDermot. with considerable indignation and a prolonged shake of the head. "What are you talking about, Andy?" “About you and your ridiculous plans. You Will run away with an organ grinder and you won't! And. in the meantime, you let your good, kind. devoted cousin in forâ€"" ll‘Vhat 9” “Unlimited lies, if it comes to the point," says Mr. McDermot, sinking in- to his chair once more, with very dis- tinct rage written in ‘his ordinarily beaming face. ‘.Li 1" "Well, d'ye think he won’t regard them as lies when you tell him what you believe to be the truth? And I shall be the teller of them; I shall be the liar." “But what have you said, Andy 3" “Didn't ltell him you had walked to the station with me? that it was quite a coincidence your meeting Eyre there? that I hoped he would take you homesal‘ely, and let you in at the back door without the governor's knowing anything of your escapade. I didn't call it that to him, because if he found you were out, he would lay the blame on me. who had induced you to go for a walk so late at night. You can «lo as you like, Dulcie; but I wish you had told me beforehand you meant to make a confession to him. 'I should notieel so poor a fellow now as I do." “If, by speaking to Sir Ralph, you think I shall betray you, Andy, you. who have been so good to me," says Dulcinw, with a pale face, “I certainly shall not speak. I shall simply tell him I wish to put an end to our engago- meat, and shall decline to say why." ”ltis beyond doubt that he would re- gard me as a liar of the first water," says Mr. McDermot. "and yetâ€" If it can help you any, Dulcie, to let him know the truthâ€"whyâ€"generously -- “let 'him know it." She looks up at steady expression. “I could leave you out of the con» fession," says Dulcinea. “I could let him thinkâ€"that â€"that you knew no- thing about it. That_youâ€"thought. “Butâ€"-but, indeed. Andy, Icouldn’t be such a sneak as that. You told a lie for me. and do you think I don't. value that? Noâ€"â€" 0h!" stnpping short, “what's that ?" too-4'1“ Oh, no!" m'iéerably. "that wouldn’t do; you tokl him we had walked from home to the station." “Just that"â€"gerly. “Never mind. Duléiel I've been thinking, and“ I've really come to the conclusion that to tell him everything will be the best plan“ after all. And a; for my share in itâ€"whyâ€"whyâ€"it comes to this, that I'll be glad when he knows the truth of my lying, too !" "0h. Andy! but to betray you I" “Betray me by all means! I’ll live through it. Andâ€"I dare say he will understand I did it for you; that'll set me straight with him." “That." is a thundering knock at the hall door! Misfit Dealerâ€"Mei!) (rent, I zell you dot coat sheep. Dot coat vaa made vor de Prince of \Vales." ' Guamâ€"The back 0' me 11de t' ye. ye sphnlphame. .D'ye think I'd wear a cogt made in: th' Pripcy Wales ? Met, seeing- his - mistakeâ€"Mine trient, I vould not inzult you py otter- LngypuacoafivultdbPrjince of Wake "He's coming!" says DulcineaJaint- 1y. “Andy," picking upher skirts and preparing to run, “receive him. Go into the drawing-room. Say anything â€"that I’ve a toothacheâ€"anything at all." “But you’ll come to dinner ?" in dis- may. “Yesâ€"oh. yes !-â€"I suppose I must." I “Why, I thought you were mad to: te!l him all about itâ€"to confess, as you ' “So I willâ€"so I will ; but not just now," hreathlessly. “No,” with alast backward glance. “just â€" not now. Andy!" The oldest throne or state chair in existence is that which belonged to Queen Hatshepsu, who lived. about 1600 years B. C., This throne is now in the British museum. It is made of hard “ 00d and highly ornamented, the carv- ing being very curious throughout. Round the legs there is a quantity of gold filigree work, and from these spring ovt, as it were, two cohras modeled in silver. The termination of the throne legs are well designed boots. The back 18 inlaid with silver and there are other cohras enlacing the arms, which are highly gilded. THE OLDESI‘ TIIRONE CHAIR. To Be. Continued. A SALE. with 'a pale ‘Dr. John. a. De Velri. the Tammi Ky., cocaine fiend who died in W city Inst Sunday is a. man of mym‘ He was brought to a Fan’tar'mm i treatment just a, week heron. MM and death resulted from blood NEW resulting from 130 mlmcvsses on his “I! inflicted with the hypodermic 55'1“! His body was a, soiid mass d .0“ ’Hi' daughter, MISS (‘0!‘8 \Vho‘igmy. Eat a“; is also addicted m m. m. m idrug and is undergoing ”at...“ W mitar'uun. She has luv-g. “ll ‘18 hr advanced in the \‘ive 3,3 but hher, and when brought to the. 8‘ tarium there were 110 The physicians think Hm me- Veilig are. among the pinnevrs .1.“ «name habit. Cur-aim rirv mg: n: 1 \‘t‘ i 83 in the Unity? Slutcm gum , l3€0o and it was at fi'r~’ ‘ ’ Eto be an unifiote for lhabim. It was for ”w rure Hf the ma Ephine habit. the physir'ium Ray HM,“ ‘Dfi Val-i first began the use of “'95:; morphine, and takes a st ram-:0? 1.» . the system. B: De \‘el'; M-urm us! cocaine about seven years “ti-'0 9' While the mango life of t fiend is only five years. his‘ system“ ‘90 saturated with poison {mm fifl' 0‘ morphine that. not \' 1115131111118. 04d ICE and shattered health. be ‘ .vtved 10 years lonlger than the W "99 PGI‘BOB. At the t3‘n:e ‘. he was using a. suffirient a'mml drug every day to km frdm my» ordinary persons. His case i-' With! .‘ ”HUG! and will go down in the h: 01'! 0‘ medica‘l science as one 0‘ Wombats of the ago. a....â€" .4 ILLUSTRATED BY THE CASE 0;: DE VELI AND HIS WIFE, As an instance of the won ‘rr aunt of poison the :human 3V9! batraimed to resist. Dr. Hugh labed seven! incidents that hm under his notice during m 1 the most remarkable of whvh \! of a woman which is prolah‘y t cmarkable case on record. T h ago the doctor and his daughter found in a hovel- by Humane Off. and format friends Whn had Inst of them for a number of 5'08”, and them placed in a, Sanitarium. Mrs. De. Val-i who (fame of a pram emf. and aristocratic Snathorn [mi died about two years ago f rmn thou of the drug. “The drug halb’t is. inrrea‘ina ind country to an alarming extent." in Dr. Holdingvr. who attended Dr. W “There are now 8500.000 users of :1 drug in the United smug against 2! 000 in 1876 and it is a. fart skmml statistics that 60 per mm. 0‘ the ABSCESSES 0x BER Bonyfl She was in the prime uf .ife how“1 and {ma-eased of great v.13 My “Ml now on thfi road to rem.‘em, “'4 stories have been toid (‘onvern'mg “ De Vel‘i. 'It has been said 11m he "81 political exile from Ind)". that mm 0. mm in that country in his yo“ and fled to Amerira. and \‘ékriouq ea' theories of his early life hm ' ade aid of which are men For many yen-rs, however, Dr. I)“ lived in magnificent style. in ' Ville. 'He enjoyed a luu‘uLve pm' and was régarded as one of tho ing physicians at the city, as wen one of the MOST INTELLEC] fun, 01me Eve was highly educal- ! and and pliabed, and spoke fxuentls anumi of diiferemt language.» \f er 3 hi Hunt career of a num Mu of mm [amiavi-l'le Dr. De VP.” and Us {mil became addicted to the dmg whenm begun a, gradual slide down an ad of humanity, until about thus yd w in q'unstion ampeared :11 1.th um for treatment over a ymr at that the she was 116%.; of morphineâ€"480 grai [16â€"9 191‘ and took 60 grams at v dos». ormity of the amount «.1 1 could w 3thth widl he r93 1 £1110 fart is taken into mmi ier two grains are 00113311131941 fa ordinary petaou. The 11 0'11 {1 THE EFFEUTS 8F one. PHYSICIANS OF THE (,‘UUN'H at? more or less addicted 16 Hard habit." tern of conjecmro, as the dwar'si were tightly sealed regarding his... life. time she began. taking treatment. '1 nursing a. tube. 18 {months o‘d andd P388!!! giving the chiid the drug “h gt was only 6 days old. and by m“ "I Lt was 18 months 03d it \x'zw taking! grains 3. dayâ€"two dos-E's of Lhree 81'" each. “Na we never deprive In! 3.189 of tbs drug," said Dr. 110.1111!“ “1 W390)” to an enquiry fm'n “woodcut, “in many vaws 13:81 ‘VOULD PROVE FATA L. “\Ve simply let them use it M W hearta' content. and overvmm' tll’d sire by the treatment when Hwy 0‘ of their own viz-cord." ‘L 1 - ry HMS?” Mitford used. m (that ”W“ was :10 p343 ;.n M1293“ lake her “mmmy Berkslfiye.” As {"1 u minim"bl country mm they “MP for than suavity. courtew My! my“. fut ”“99“. One day 3155 NEW mud“ m8 t‘hJ'Ollgh a pasture m we - 1008 London mdy. There we HIS MANNERS “'ERE TEE » my W“. '.':' r;‘|" I'l‘rr..r'1 Syringe -â€" 0m- Wmnem 1‘0...‘ _v the Palm. to Kill a Ilumh 4 mean he) lI'UZPH “ salt. usin-z the salt a proportion as \xlwn the IIIâ€"bar of cx'zutklm XXI, ('HIZEN 0d. Jellies may be (“mu »- ' ' alt-ma, without the DNA.) "mm. m them lmfnr? thq ‘ whkh oflvn happvui exposed nun uf(lu¢nÂ¥si{n thermometer thW 3:! snow in this way it it be “‘91, so Um it as snow ice. A no advantage of ‘sumv 0v 13-13 water for Kuhlv u one knows. i0? is old um as the \sraier 1:1 dru “heath ' «ivmn mg :HlH [five w N (52ng! u_ urium. :mm {J a yrt‘. L .I-z-m ‘--.| "07th 3'9 stem tbs} n saniw ”I'M 24 ha Mal LOU 1’ B to follow the II WI ”Oh “'1 w m “d in place rpm. except “'1” [h called for. ' - U gggggg n which it is taken. 'to insure pure ice “I tel-must be iced in car: had in ice and salt. E III tuck in families wbe it‘d number of grunt: ml it is a simpler ma curate. no that the. I Imp for service on the El :9 _the freezer the a shun“ ‘ m or?" “H‘hiual .9 froth be housekcel’e' chubby rozen “' 1 p111 Her. 1 16mm Vhen so In t un use mint! OI Cf IS! and In: