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ration for Whether it he state Of rofound arâ€" value, the 1 the virâ€" with these ether Anooge the cat, is he injuries »wn staire the safety, esome pet, ie question on did not igence _ in age All AT. lty. Havâ€" her bhome & her acâ€" ratory to xt traip, iched ber s feoelings & woman® s at the 48. m duver ught the lly begas ns were cle of inâ€" s of the t were Rev. Dr. â€" Wooed, period of made toâ€" I., & pro=â€" city, who rikle Miss en, Ohio, _ young OO M Kex. Dr. ned, and >uple, en~ truins of hengrin,‘* apton on an Operm impellied arriage, accepted, evebp= Te at= int og. _ thelr ns o nd ed to slon of ts pro= irieton photo= NOUVGH. zrhter &« i her inâ€" imediate ss Tingâ€" lven. Am er truak Dugdatle, rler he TS iny Coumeâ€" »llor and dignified a the arâ€" hey were : decision e in the bhusband ad elaâ€" # bride ilmost when grave hearing 16 O Filtgen ftorming als, the tate of wund arâ€" lue, the juite x riag ght= Al= IM. to dis« worth ne y larg= iA= 1 for NCO M A® h afâ€" int n& 1%. n# he at had 1@ ave ing 18â€" 18 in~ |. Ziltzan me with:" "Lady Damer, I insist on your telling me plainly, truthfully, and at once, what you havro got to tell me!" Gceorge reiterates, his eyes gleaming dangerously. _ "You shall epeak out now, at once, and forâ€" ever |" "I1 will not," she says, desperately and blindly in hber alarm. "You may not believe me, you are so obstinate!l I thought you knew. And â€"I dare not enter my husband‘s presence toâ€" night if he found out that I told you and that I was the first to enlighten you!" _ _ "You saidâ€"I understood lately that you said you thought of going abroad with some expedition," she persists; "why not go now ? It will be bestâ€" wisost, it indeed, believe me. And â€" you shall have money or anything your want to help you !" "Which d you take me for â€" a knavre or a fool?" George demands through his closeâ€"shut teeth. _ "A fool, I think! Tell me at onee what bugbear you are trying to frighten ‘"Toll me the reason why I cannot marry hoer," he repeats, exactly as he had spoken before. _ _ _____ _ "Can you not go away somewhere, and try to forgot her?" Lady Damer urges, almost pleadingly, as If not hearing him. "‘Take a holiday, and go over to London or Paris for a few weeks, and try and forget her. I will of mysell do anythingâ€"help you in anyway. I am very sorry for all this ; I have said so all along." "Tell me the reason," George says, briefly. on his damp brow. | _ He does not answer her, but she "I am afraid to go any further," | s08s a change pass over his face, his Lady Damer says faintly, and it is in | yery figure and attitude, as if a load all honesty she has spoken, "but there , has fallen on his shoulders, and the Is a reason, an absolute reason, why ’ proud head and firm throat droop, you cannot marry Miss Deane. You | and his hand clinch them.selves on cannotâ€"you would say so yourâ€" | @ith folded arm. self." l ‘"‘The name you bear is not a legal "I am afraid to go any further," Lady Damer says faintly, and it is in all honesty she has spoken, "but there Is a reason, an absolute reason, why "What terrible mistake?" he asks again, quietly, but wondering stupidâ€" Iy at the same time how cold the sultry evening has grown. How chill is the breeze from the open window on his damp brow. o C geance if ever I dare to tell you," Lady Damer says, in unsteady tones, avoiding his eyes. "Only for the girl‘s sake I would never have dared now. I must prevent that you know. I daro not keep silence ifâ€"if indeed you are under this terrible mistake." "It has been kept by me, even unâ€" der a threat of my husband‘s venâ€" "What truth?â€"what secret?" he interrupts, hoarsely, and a hand geems to tighten around his heart. "I am not donbting thatâ€"I am not doubting what you have just said in the least," she says, hurriedly, in rathor unsteady tones, and wiping her lips, which have grown fevered and clammy ; "but surely you do not need me to tell you; you must have known the truth jlong ago, well as the wretched secret has been keptâ€"*" "Because I am poor, and I am not in county gwciety?" George asks, placidly, looking down at her, tall as she is; "that does not trouble me very much, Lady Damer. I am an honest man ansd a gentleman in mind and feeling, I hops, and I love her and will be a faithful and tenâ€" der husband to her all the days of my lifeâ€"as Heavon hears me." A rigid look passes over her face, every nerve is at a tension, half dreading the thing she is going to do. "Why do you oblige me, most unâ€" willingly, to say painful things to you?" she asks, glancing at him with & frowning brow and then avoiding the steady inquiry of those clear blue eyes. "You knowâ€"you must knowâ€" you cannot marry (Gilliamn Deane. You know, apart from the fact of her being helress to a splenmdid fortune, anmd you being a poor man whose year‘s income woulid not support her for a week in the style she has been aceustomed to live, apart from the fact of her father‘s most certain heary displeasure, which would fall heavily on me, to whom he confided his daughter, as on you ; apart from all this, which are surely reasons enough for a reasonable man to give up an utterly fallacious hope," Lady Damer says, with a haugchty droop of her eyelids and a haughty toss of her head, "apart from all this, I say you know, you must know, why you cannot marry a girl of good family and high position." y e e ue 1 She knows his will leads him om to victory, and that specdiiy. She knows that, looking at him as he stands before her, brave, handsome, young, honest, strong of mind and body, that the gates of success open before him, unlessâ€"â€" Unless a deadly blow be dealt him ! A blow to maim him, _ and crush him, now in the pride of his youth, so that he shall only be able to creep on with bowed head and hopeleas Oyeflmln the obscure byâ€"ways of the world. tive Bromoâ€"Quinine Tablets celd n-.cl:v. No Cure, No Pay. h'.i::.l.o.t , __ "Scierence for his goodwill. But I mean to marry the girl I love, sooner or later, in spite of the worlkd," Heo stands, tall, and stern, and proud, before her ; a goodly man in the flower of his manhood ; strong of wili and determined of purpose, A Chln e Wesenic ie 4 W 1 q4 ,, | . @â€"[7 _9 JB 0ur social positions. I am prepared to acknowledge it with @All humility to her father, and wait :vith deference for his gocdwill Put uhy oo en"lke to his lips, "what is shameful or dishonorable in a man loving a woman, and offering her his life. I acknowledge the great diffepâ€" ence there i9 In Our sSnrin}k moustrinet Stops the Cough and Works Off the Cold. m i ‘* Do you mean that I amâ€"" he deâ€" ‘ mands, starting forward with those | gleaming eyes and one upraised arm. |** Are you telling me some cruel falseâ€" | hood of your own? Have you no ]‘ pity? How do you know who I am ? | Do you know who is my father ?" ‘"* Your mother was a peasant girl with a pretty face and easy virâ€" tue," Lady Damer answers, speaking very calmly ard not betraying the malignity, the coic, merciless hate and jealousy that smolders still in her cold, narrow nature after twentyâ€" seven years. "Her lover sent her to America when you were born and provided for her very comfortably. And she lived in America decently and comfortably enoughâ€"as such girls generally do. Sh> had been dead for some years now. And your father ‘* You are telling lies !" George reâ€" torts, his white face almost conâ€" vulsed as he staggers back against the table. " I do not know ! Tell me at once and stop torturing me, if you are a woman and not a fiend ! Who are my father and mother? What are they? What am I?" _ _ "I do," she says, drawing away fearfully. " Surely you cannot but know. Keou are even like himâ€"very like him at times. You must knowâ€"" His head droops lower as the weight of his humiliation seems to burn in his breast like a red hot brand. ‘*You have no name!" she says, tersely. " Surely you must have guessed that also. You have no legal name, no legal position." . "I guessed it was not my legal name," he answers, in a thick, low voice. " Have Iâ€"do you know my name ?" ‘"The name you bear is not a legal nameâ€"surely you know that ?"‘ she asks, noticlng his aspect with a cerâ€" tain selfish relief. "George Archer," she says, slowily, trembling, indeedâ€""do you not know you have not even a name to offer the girl you think of marrying and dragging down to worse than poyâ€" erty, an outcast from society and friends alike, disgraced through you?" She puts her handkerchief down and stares at him with a half frightened, fascinated stare. ‘"The likeness! The likeness!" she whispers to herself. "I think I can see the angry eyes of one face lookâ€" ing at me out of the other face with a deadly menace." laugh. "It‘s my turn now, madam ; give me the coup de grace. I mean to deny you the pleasure of torturâ€" ing me as long as you please ‘! * don‘t want to torâ€" ture you!" her ladyship says with her handkerchief to her eyes ; and the feint of tears enrages him. But the absolute truth of it is she can hardly endure to look at him. "I don‘t want to torture you. I am very sorry for you. You have forced me to speak. Ift (Giliian Deane had never come here, or you were never foolish enough to think of marrying her, this obstacle need never have been told." "Not until you say what you came here to say, and which you want to carty away with you untold to hold over my head as an unknown terrort" George says, with a short. fierce you go on. Please to open the door ir, this moment !" "I am sorry I came here," she say8, with! a poor attempt at cold dignity, marred by the twitching lips and frightened glances. "I might have let ~_10u are very rude and ungentleâ€" manly," she falters, looking about in nervous fear, in cowardly fear, such as easily besets a selfish, cruel heart. "I must excuse you, I suppose, under the cireumstances. Please to open the dmr-il "I will not, Lady Damer, unless you give me the information I am waitâ€" ing for," he says, steadily. Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride‘s On her new lord, her own the first of men." den you know what to expect. Tell me what you are hinting at ; tell it to me truthfully and fully, or you shall not leave this room! You have tortured me long enough! You have treated me badly ever since I have known you; you know you have, Lady Damer, and you know, too, I have been patient under your unâ€" kind, ungenerous treatment. â€" You know it. _I am patient no longer. Why am I not to marry â€" Gillian Deane ?" And it seems dreary years ago to himâ€"shut out in this tempest of misâ€" ery and darkness of overhanging shameâ€"since the sunlight of those eyes of love beamed on him, her beâ€" loved, her honored : i "Now !" he says, panting, white and red by turns, the sweat standing in drops on his brow, and the cold, cold grasping dread at his heart making his lifeâ€"blood chill and slow. "Now, my lady ! If you beard a lion in his it. With three striding steps that fairâ€" ly shake the old room, solidly as it is built. George crosses the floor, shuts the door with a crash and locks it, and throws the key on the table, then dashes the raised sash of the windo wdown, and stands before ‘"And let her eyes Take Laxrative Bromo Qutnine Tablets. All dnvuu refund the money if ib fails to oute, E. W. Grove‘s signature is en each box. fis. Khe is half angry with herself for the weakmindedness of this speech, which is true enough in the main ; but it has the effect she intended, and makes George regard her in a new lightâ€"as in some sort a sharer in his suffering. C ‘"‘Thank you, Lady Damer, for your proffered help," he says, coldly, but without RM**+=zess. "You must know, "It will be far the better way," she agrees warmly, "and I will help you. You said i have not been friends, I know. Yoy can, perhaps, tell why now. I could not help a bitter feeling, on account of others, before you were born. Unjust, I adâ€" mit, but I could not help it." _ "I don‘t know. Anything. Get out of this place at once," he says, slowâ€" ty and stupidly.: .. }â€"_ .. C "* What are you going to do, Gecrge?" she asks, almost softly and kindly. She has a corner in her heart for womanly pity for a crushâ€" "Well, madam, what more do you want of me?" he says, looking up at her, blankly, hardly seeing her, indeed, with his bloodshot eyes. â€" ed foe, and, besides, she knows woâ€" manly pity is her best weapon now. ‘"I could kill him oniy for hisg grey hairs," he says, inwardly. "The blackâ€" hearted traitor! To play the generâ€" ous friend and protector to me! To pass himself off as the friend of my lost parents! To educate me, and provide for me, and take all my thanks and gratitude for his goodâ€" ness to an orphan boy. To know I reâ€" garded him as the best and kindestâ€" hearted man that ever breathed. To know that he had won my respect and affection, and that I gave him almost the obedience of a son, and to know all the time that he was my curse and disgrace, the author of my shameful, miserab}e life, blighted and blasted forever by him! If I could trust myself i> see him once, if I could trust myself to speak to him once,"~ he mutters, almost suffocatâ€" ing. "I would tell him I should search and find the epot where my mother‘s body was buried, and over her grave curse him, living or dying, not only for the shame that he laid on me to bear as long as I live, but for the coldâ€"blooded, deliberate treachâ€" ery and cowasdice that has defraudâ€" ed me of gratitude, and respect, and affection for hiny these sixâ€"andâ€" Iwenty years!‘ Ay, curse him, my fathep !" He puts his hand to his burning head, recollecting himself with _ a start in his delirious trance of pasâ€" sion, for he vaguely heard Lady Dameor‘s voico speaking to him. Hatredâ€"hbitter, burning, vengeful hatredâ€"for the man, his lifeâ€"long benefactor and kindly friend,. The man who wronged his miserable young mother. The man who has given his wretched son a heritage of shame. One _ sentient _ emotion alone remains _ with _ him. One _ pasâ€" sion, strong and burning as the blood that courses like lava in his veins. TO CURE A COLVD IN ONE DAY And her ladyship is delighted to perceive this improvised bit of ficâ€" tion is accepted as quietly as all the rest by the unhappy young felâ€" low, who is utterly stupefied by the calamity that has fallen on him. "You are, naturally enough, I conâ€" fess, unjust to me and angered against me, as the person who has been the unhappy means of enlightâ€" ening you with the painful truth." Lady Damer says, blandly, her heart auite swelling with gratification to think how easily her end will be attained. "But as to Captain Lacy, you are quite wrong. He admires Miss Deane, as everyone does; but Miss Deane can be a marbleâ€"hearted young lady, gentle as she seems. She is very proud, too, and rather unforgiving, I fear; some of a spoiled child‘s faults, with an overâ€" whelming sense of her own dignity and importance, behaves on prinâ€" cesse, in a crowd; and, somehow or other, poor Bingham ‘sails in the north of my lady‘s opinion.‘ He is not in her good graces by any means,, and to tell you the trath, what between her wealth, and her requirements, and her spoiled child pettishness and her> purseâ€"proud father‘s charges and warnings, I shall be glad when the time comes to return that charming young lady to the paternal care." }hl!‘b- She is bait terrified by this _dumb, blind, silent emotion. _ _"Yes, much better," George says, in a quiet, clear, subdued voice. "You &re my bene{factress." ‘* You see now why Imeant it was impossible you could marry a girl in her position?" she urges softly, «longing to have some definite promise or prospect before herâ€"longing ta be gone out of the sight of that stricken figure crushed under the blow she has dealt ! ‘* Yes, I see that," he replies, starâ€" Ing at the floor still, and never moving a muscle of his expression or attitude. "‘To see Miss Deane in a different light, you mean," George says, in the same quiet, dull, passionless voice, ‘Yhere will be time in three months for your nephew, Capt. Lacy, to supâ€" plant me, and woo and win Miss Deane and hey fortune; but I shall take a longer holiday than that, Lady Damâ€" *‘ Well, having faced that difficulty and trial, and overcome it bravely, as I hope and trust you will," her ladyship continues, with the cheerful parrot speech and resignation which people are so fond of employing for their neighbors‘ benefit, "I hope you‘ll favor my suggestion that you should go away at once and take a long holiâ€" day. Go on the continent, or to America, or anywhere for two or three months," Ladv Damer says, briskly and cheerfully, rather flatâ€" tering herself that she is behaving with magnanimous kindness and genâ€" erosity, " You will be able to see things in a different light when you return." er. You may be quite sure when I leave Ireland, you are rid of me for life." isâ€"my husbandâ€"Harry Damer, and you areâ€"his illegitimate son." CHAPTER XXVL The blow has been struck, the bolt hbas been shot, but Lady Damer does not venture a glance at her victim unseeing stare at the floor. "It were better surely you knew the truth now than later on," she ventures, in a low voice, deprecatâ€" for several moments. When she does so, she sees that he is standing, or rather leaning, against the table, both hands bent backward, holding the thick rim of the table. His chin is resting on his breast, and his white face downbent in an "Of course it all rests with you," she says, in the same decided way,. ignoring hbis rudeness with clever | gelfâ€"possession. "If you make her understand that the affair is quite at an end, her own selfâ€"respect will compel her to be silent. It is the: best way ; the only way. It would have come to this in the end, I asâ€" sure you," Lady Damer says, shakâ€" ing her head. "Mr. Deane is not the man to be influenced by such consid> erations as young people‘s loveâ€"{fanâ€" cies. I assure you he is not, Gecâ€"ge. A man of moneyâ€"shrewd, sordid, keen, hardâ€"headed, testing all the world by his own test of gold"â€"her ladyship says, almost "dropping into poetry," like Silas Wegg, as she "Perhaps you‘d like to dictate a lâ€"tter to her, from me, Lady Damer?" he says, with a sneer, "then your mind will boe at rest." Sho will not suffer even this to make her temper assert itself. "That will not do," Lady Damer says, decisively. "She will question, and wonder, and lament, and shed tears, and make confidences, and have hysterics, and all those other concomitants of a young lady‘s love affair." And his heart smites him sorely. Sorely Lady Damer‘s hard, contempâ€" tuous words paint a picturoe of his poor little love in her misery. "Don‘t be afraid, Lady Damer, George repeats, wondering a little that he has never before perceived that this proud and arrogant woâ€" man is physically and morally a coward. "You shall have no furâ€" ther annoyance on my insignificant account, I assure you," he says, coldly. "I resign my situation abruptly, giving my employer any reason I please for so doing, and forfeiting a certain amount of salâ€" ary in lieu of notice, which is all legally fair and square. And the young lady who has done me the honor to think so well of me, may in the future think as ill of me as she can. I shall simply bid her goodâ€"bye." f ‘"Don‘t be fraid," @eorge says, with a slight scornful smile. "The ‘bar sinister‘ isn‘t such a becoming ornament that I should care to display it very freely." "I tell you I dare not meet Mr. Damer if he suspected me of havyâ€" ing told you," she says, shivering. "He menaced me in the most vioâ€" lent language. And in his rage and vengeanceâ€"to punish meâ€"he would not care if the story got bruited about everywhere. You don‘t deâ€" sire that, surely, even if you have no consideration for me ?" "Explanation !" Lady Damer reâ€" peats, fearfully. "You surely will not toll her? It has been kept an inâ€" violable secretâ€"known to Mr. Damer and _ myself â€" only ! _ You surely will not speak of what I told you, or betray me in any way ?" she reâ€" iterates, flushed and frightened, in evident mortal fear, staring at him with a haggard face and fevered red spots on her high cheekâ€"bones. "I will write to her. I have said so," he says, impationtly, walking up and down, and wishing angrily for his visitor‘s departure. "She will reâ€" ceive a note from me with a very brief explanation about ten or eleven o‘clock toâ€"night." "She will expect to see yor toâ€" night, you know," Lady Damer sugâ€" gests, fairly trembling with excited eagerness beneath her assumed wellâ€" bred calmness. "It is but one wrong the more addâ€" ed to the big account," he mutters; "and by and by I can think of Gillian. I shall have time enough to regret her by and by." Poor little Gillian and her tendeor love have played but a very small part in his life hitherto. When the habitation has falleon in ruins about him, it costs him but one pang the more to know that the fair young rose that blossomed there for a few summer days is torn away from his sight forever. "I will see her for a minute or two â€"no, I will write to her," he says, absently and coldly, with not a faltâ€" er in his voice. "I assure you I will not detain you one instant longer than is necessary," she says, with digniâ€" fied reproof. "I must, however, ask you, for Miss Peane‘s sake, by what method you are ‘going to apprise her of your changse of plans?" "Oh, yes, I forgive you, if Ihave anything special for which to forâ€" give you," he says, indifferently. ‘"Now, Lady Damer, will you leave me? I hanve a good deal to do in a very short time." " You have my kindest wishes," Lady Damer says, in a subdued tone. "And I will always speak well of you and defend you if I hear you blamed. I hope you will try and forgive me." "Ay, like Ishmael," George says, with a cynical laugh. "That‘s as it should be, isn‘t it? The son of the plebeian has no part with the son of the patricianâ€"meaning Bingham Lacy, I suppose. I won‘t take your money, Lady Damerâ€"it would bring me worse luck, and I do not need it, I can pay my way. If you will say a kind word for me, or in deâ€" fense of me, when I am out of your way forever, that is all I shall ever take from you," he says, going to the door and unlocking it. "I beg your pardon for my violence and rudeness. But what can you expect from Ishmael ?" ‘‘You speak as if I were driving | you away," she says, sighing. "I dare shiy I am)» I am truly sorry for being the immediate cause of your trouble. | Will you not accept sgomething from me if you can forgive me ? Will you not accept some money from me, George ?" her ladyship says, entreatâ€" ingly. ‘"My own money," she adds, in a whisper. ‘ "I should not dare to offer it to | you else. Let me feel I am not | driving you out of house and home." j "I mean in a tew hoursâ€"toâ€"night. As soon as I can pack up a few perâ€" gonal belongings," he says, curtly and sternly, beginning to pace about the room as if eager to commence packâ€" ing up. "The restâ€"the furniture and so forthâ€"are the property of my late employer. He can keep them for the quarter‘e rent that is ‘due. I will give my poor old servant her wages, and be off out of the place by sunrise. Will that do, Lady Damer ?" _ _ ‘"But youâ€"you mean in a few days or a week or two?" she questions, hastily. ‘"You will come to Mount Osâ€" sory again ?" however, that I can accept nothing from you, or anyone of your name. I shall leave the place at once. Forâ€" tunately there is an opening for me wlth"thll expedition. I can join at once, ; !â€" "Thanky, Marster, I believe I will | reg‘ dese heah bones. Idone brung ye a present, Marse Charles, Five | ob de biggest, fattest, sofest chickâ€" ens# my hen ‘ouse could scratch up, "Lordy ! how ole I is gittin‘!" mutâ€" tered James. "To think I done took ye fo you pa when I jax ye dat quesâ€" tion. A‘mighty free handed gemman he was, sah. Yas, sah; dey wa‘n‘t nothin‘ mean nor little ‘bout yo‘ pa.‘ | "James," put in my wife, by way of "James," I said sternly, "you know I never receive presents nor lend money. Take the chickens around to the kitchen amnd tell the cook ta buy them." "Yes, sah, I‘se right peart fer a ole man. Erâ€"Marse Charles, sah, you couldn‘ please, sah, len‘ me $5 fer my s‘ciety. Yes, to he‘p de ole man long, could ye, sgah ?" An old negro, whom I recognized as Uncle Tom Bolling‘s "Jeems," came slowly up to the porch where my wife and I were sitting. "Howdy, Marse Charles?" he said, taking off his hat and resting his stick and basket on the lower step. "Sarve ye, Mistis! Ye does bofe look mighty peart dis hot day. In a minute or two, when he hopâ€" ped off his perch, they seemed to tumble to the situation, and the lot of them made at him and drove him out of the yard. * In a minute the young chap hopâ€" ped qn a bucket and crowed back in great shape. Well, the whole batch of hens stopped everything _ and looked with amazement at the little beggar. | | f 6 l eiiik How «‘de Ole Man" Was Kooled From that time he has had to scratch for himself. He got no more help from the hens. If he could crow, he could work. See tWe moral? They never seemed to understand that he was big enough to scratch for himself until one day a rooster from a nearby stable mounted the fence and crowed. or so, and it was quite amusing to gee the old hens taking care of them around the yard. But the horsges stepped on two or three, and the rats soon got all the rest, all but one little rooster, who managed to save his bacon by sticking close to the old ones. We used to watch the antics of this little chap, who just loafed around and let the hens scratch for him. We might take a pointer from a lot of old hens that hang aroand the yand of a livery stable where I keep my horse. Some of the stable men took a notion to raisso a brood of chickens and set one of the hens. Bhe hatched out a batch of a dozen We coddle them too much, keep them hanging around home living on their dads until they are fullâ€"grown men, and the worst of it is, they think they know it all. A Cockerel That Crowed Himselt Out of a Snap. We have ourselves to blame if our boys aro helpless at an age when you and I were earning our own livâ€" ing. Dr. Williams‘ Pink Pills are the friend of the weak and ailing. They surpass all other medicines in their tonic, strengthening qualities, and make weak and despondent people bright, active and healthy, These pills are sold by all dealers in mediâ€" cine, or can be had by mail, postpaid, at 50 cents per box or six boxes for $2.50, by addrossing the Dr. Wilâ€" liams‘ Medicine Co., Brockville, Ont. Despite Medical Treatment, He Beâ€" ____came Weaker and Weaker, Until 1 Me Could Scarcely Sign His Name Mr. James Dauphine, of East Bridgewater, or â€" as he is better known as exâ€"Councilior Dauphine, has been a sick man for the past three years. His health gradually forâ€" pook him until by degrees he was forced to give up doing all kinds of work. He consulted a physician and took a large quantity of megicine, but it did him no good and he gradually grew weaker and weaker. lgls duties as a magistrate necessitated his doâ€" ing much writing, and being an exâ€" cellent penman io his days of good hbealth it came very hard to him when mis hand shook so much he could scarcely keep it steady enough to sign his name. His daughter. seeing his deplorable condition, advised him to try Dr. Williams‘ Pink Pills, and aflter a bit of coaxing he was induced to try them. There was no noticeable changs in his condition until he bhad started taking the third box. From that on the improvement was rapid. He grew stronger every day, his appeâ€" tite increased, the weariness and lassitude departed from his limbs, some of the lustre of his youth reâ€" turned to his eye, and by the time: five boxes were used Mr. Dauphine felt a new man. The weight of years and the burden of sickness havei rolled from his shoulders, his hands are now steady and his pen can run as rapidly as ever. He attributes his cure to the ministration of a good wile and Dr. Williams‘ Pink Pills. Mr. Dauphine is 73 years of age, but feels as young and vigorous as he did years ago, and is over ready to praise in the warmest terms the healthâ€"giving qualitias of Dr. Williams‘ Pink Pills. Bhe is only a child in feeling, poor little soulâ€"a child of habits, and mind, and judgment," Lady Damer says, with such fluent smoothness that she does not perceive she has glided just a little too far. "We shouldn‘t have waited more than two years, anyhow," he says, curtly. "She will be 21 then, her own mistress, and the possessor of a very comfortable fortune." Magistrate Dauphine‘s Deplorâ€" able Condition. improvises another little fiction dexâ€" terously. " Not if you and that poor child waited for years, if, inâ€" deed, you could ask or expect her to do such a thing as wait for years. THE FOOLISH ROOSTER. WEAK AND NERVOUS. (To be continued.) y } Help Wanted, Quick. _ Wanted, an ableâ€"bodied man to be the antiâ€"Tammany candidate for Mayor of New York. He may have any kind4 of politics he likes, provided@ he hasn‘t too much of any one kind. K his father was a German, hbis mother an Irish woman, and he was born in the Amgrican consgulate o% Italy, so much the better, providing he is really a trueâ€"blue Americat aflter all. He must be puritanical enough to suit the Puritans, but not. pious enough to be painfal to a Bow»= ery constituency. He must be cul« tured enough to catch the Morrawy Hill vote, and a good . enough .ls arcund fellow to be willing to ki the babies down in Mulberry Bend. He muet not be an old man, but just old enough. I( he has had previous experlence it wil}l be all right, - viding he made no enemies while : oo ho on ineava ie of heaven, a . C ceth thoew, abom ies rrane ‘B‘eenth street, huatm Weekly, .‘ . ; [2, P lfr> 6 \i Jerusalem‘s New Water Supply From an Ancient Spring. The Holy Land has its railway®s, electric lights and American wind« mills, and now Jorusalem is about to got a supply of good drinking water. In ancient times the City of David was well supplied. ‘The remains of aqueducts and reservoirs show this, But since the Turk‘s day the people: ol Jerusalem have been dependent om the scanty and often polluted accu» mulations of rainâ€"water in the rock< hewn cisterns beneath their feets Even this supply has recently failed, says a correspondent of the Londom Times, owing to the want of rains Distress and sickness became so gen« _eral that the Turkish Governor has at length been induced to sanct the purchase of iron pipe to brin water from Ailn Saiah, or the "Seal Fountain," at Solomon‘s Pools, about nine miles south of Jerusalem. _A pipe six inches in â€" dJiameter will bring 8,000 "skins" of water a da for distribution at "fountains" uuha plied with faucets. Solomon, in famous "Song," speaks of this secret spring, now turned to use. " My be« loved," he says, as quoted by the Times‘ correspondent, "is like a spring shut up, a fountain sealed." It is deepâ€"down subterrancan spring, wh has, from ‘the time of Solomon, flowed‘ through the arched tunnel built :a him to the distributing chamber reservoir near the northwest cornes of the highest of Solomon‘s Pools: Hall a century ago the location of this "hidden" spring, which was still, as in Bolomon‘s time, flowing intg@ the reservoir mentioned, was un known. The tunnel is roofed by stones leaning against each other like an inverted Y, the primitive form of the arch, which is also seen in the roof of the Queen‘s chamber of the Great Pyramid. The entrance to this tunnel from the spring is one of the oldest structures in existence. Tl:: piping is to be lain along the 0 aqueduct which formerly, from the time of Solomon, brought this same water to the temple area« ‘There are elcven or twelve ancient fountains here and there is the city, long unused, but now to be utilized, and from which the water may be drawn, free to all, several taps being attached to each foumg» ‘"Well, Mistis, to make de short story long, ez de sayin‘ is, when de pa‘son th‘ow back de veil for to s‘lute de bride, one ob dese heah fool nig= gers on de plantation lit a pine knot ‘n hel‘ it up in front ob ber, an‘, Mistisâ€"wid mos‘ all my eyesight gone, I seen ‘twas dat gal‘s ma dat was de bride. ‘"Sah! de perspe‘ sweats come a« po‘in‘ outer me same ez if ‘twas wats ermillon time, an‘ 1 ain‘ aquit sweatsâ€" in‘ yet. Aye, Lord ! ‘"‘Thanky, my Marster, des a littld drap. It sho‘ do make de ole man thu‘sty ter tell dat tale." ~â€"Cally Ry=â€" land, in N. Y. Herald. > ‘"Nor‘m! Bhe say she like de fira light ‘oes‘, so I say I likes de (lr; light bes‘, tov ; so den, ishe ‘low she‘ like to be mar‘ied jes‘ by de fire light, ‘n like a ola fool L say, ‘Dat suits me, honey,‘ ‘kase my seein‘ am* none to good noway, spite ob dese heah hors specs Marse Torm gib me ‘Tore he died, ‘n I (ain‘ keer ‘bout de bride seein‘ me blinkin‘ in de light like a owel. Nor‘m! So I say, ‘Dat suits me, honey.‘ t "I didn‘t want no ole ‘oman a« groanin‘ an‘ aâ€"moanin‘ roun‘ me wid de rheumaticks in her jints. Naw, ma‘am. So I jes set right up to da daughter, yas‘m, ‘n she seem ter like de ole man right f‘um de word gov Arter while I notice dat she don‘t light de lamp when I come in ter see her in de ebenin‘s. "Wellum, dis one make fo‘~â€"yas‘m, disg is de fole one, Mistis. Tâ€"other th‘ee was all likely gals, ‘n young, too. Yas‘m, dey was all young ‘gep‘n dis one, an‘ she‘s ole. "Why did you get such an old one?"* asked my wife. f ‘"Why‘d I git her, Mistia® She got me. She fool me, dat‘s hoccum. Yes‘m, she fool ‘dis nigger good. ‘T‘was this away : She were a widder ‘oman wid one daughter, a mighty sprightly, light complected gal. She favor her ma, too ; but de diffunce betwixt ‘em was in de youngness. giving the convergation a new turn, "you must have a very good wife %to raige such fine chickens for you.‘* James reflected. "Well, Mistis," he #aid slowly, "she ain‘t so good now ez some others I is had. Nor‘m, dat she ain‘t." "How many have you had, James?"* questioned my wife, with some amusement. j Sozodont # » * 256 Soedont Tooth rie 2s 2AC4 Sozodont CGood for Bad Tocth Not Bad for Good Teeth 3 THE SEALED FOUNTAIN. HALL & RUCKEL, Montreal. 1 + {