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About The Columbian. (St. Helens, Columbia County, Or.) 1880-1886 | View Entire Issue (May 12, 1882)
:. - ' ' I"VX . ") - ' " i ' ' ' r : .. : , ! ' ' -- ' i I . , . . , . .- 1 ' i ' ' ' j '; . ! VOC II. Tr HELENS, C0LU3IBIA COUNTY, OREGON, MAY 12, 1882; . j ' . NOTloT"! ' ' . : i 1 ' : ; rn v T . : s THE DOCTOK'S STORY. It was a summer evening;, and I was standing in front of my consulting room door with my friend Horace ,Bertrim, a young and rising lawyer, when we saw two young ladies approaching. One was tall and stately and possessed a counte nance on which ; trutli and purity had fixed their stamp in unmistakable charac ters. The other was petite and graceful, and both were beautiful as a dream of fair women. As they passed they nodded in a friendly uiunner to Horace, and I noticed a friendly smile pass over the face of the teller one. I saw a flush mount to the. high fair head of my friend as ue raised ins uat, and 1 drew my own conclusions.. A9 for me, I wa completely absorbed in the statelier lady of the two, and the light of her clear, earnest eye rested for a moment on mine and haunted me after ward like a dream. , As they vanished from sight Iturned to Horace with "Who are they? Where do they live? And what relation are they to each other?" "Gently my friend. One question at a time. Don t get excited over those ladies. They are of noble blood and far out of the reach of such poor human beings as Horace Bertram, the lawyer, and Wil fried Lansdowne, the doctor."' "That does not answer my question." "I was coming to that, by easy stages. They are the great original and only daughters of Sir Gerald Wyatt, an enor mously wealthy Englishman, who came to America lar ms neaitn a lew vears since." "Sir Gerald Wyatt! Impossible!" "On the contrary, it is quite possible and verv probable. I know all. about them." "Has Sir Gerald any male heirs sons, you know?" "He has no sons. But his title and estates revert at his death, to a distant cousin his only male relative if he ever finds him. He has never seen him, and the most diligent eearch for him has thus far proved fruitless." "Where did you say they live?", "I haven't said at all yet. But if you will give me time I will say that they live in a suburban palace called the Towers." Three weeks after this conversation I met Horace again and he opened with "I say, Wilfried, that English cousin has arrived.". "Impossible," said I in astonishment. "There you go again. I tell you it is possible. I have seen him myself felt of him, and know him to be real llesh and blood, and real, good looking En glish cockney he is, too. Sir Gerald is overjoyed, and is determined that he shall marry Lucille." "Marry Lucille!" "Perhaps you'll say that is impossible. You may be right about that, for she has taken an unaccountable dislike to Guv" "Guy who?" cried I. "Guv Kadcliffe that is the English cousin s cognomen. "I'm but tell nie; you eille has taken a dislike to "Is terribly prostrate say that Lu -him, and " over it. But Sir Gerald is a stubborn old cuss, and is determined to keep the estate in the family." I waited to hear no more but rushed to my office, locked the door and pro ceeded to my safe and took out a packet of old letters. Just; then I heard a knock at the poor. I opened it and my servant handed me a note which read as follows: "Sir Gerald Wyatt would esteem it a favor if Dr. Lansdowne would accom pauy the bearer to the Towerswhere his professional services are requested." In a moment I was ready and in the waiting carriage. On the way I ques tioned the the coachman as to who needed me. "Miss Lucille, sir. She's awfully shook up, and, and there is none of 'em as can do nothing with her." We were soon at the gates of the Towers, and as I passed hastily through, the grounds, I noticed that everything showed signs of wealth, lavishly, yet tastefully expended. I was ushered into a room where I was, cordially met by Sir Gerald, who introduced me to "Guy Kadcliffe" and then proceeded to say: "Doctor, I sent for you to attend my daughter, and I mtjst briefly put you in possession of the facts of her case so that you can proceed intelligently." I nodded assent. "Women are queer creatures, you know. Now my daughter has taken it into her head to make herself sick all on account of a foolish whim. It is simply this: Mr. Kadcliffe, here, is as good a young man as one is likely to see, and I intend she shall marry him. In confi dence, doctor, I owe it to Guy's mother - who was my cousin to make some reparation for having neglected her and her's so long. Besides, I know Guy will make as good a husband as Lucille can find. "Isn't that true?" he said address ing Kadcliffe. "You flatter me too much, Sir Gerald,' I certainly hintend to make my cousin as 'appy as is hin my power." ! "But we'll not discuss the matter now, said Sir Gerald. "She is in a fainting fit now, having been drooping and grow ing weaker and weaker from day to day since she aaw I was determined on the match." "Then, surely," said I, "there is no time to lose." I was led at once to the room of the patient. I went up to the bed where her sister was kneeling and crying as if her heart would break, and directed my efforts at ont to the resuscitation of the beautiful but 'motionless figure before me. In a short time her eyes opened and rested upon mine. She must have caught nay eager look. " I turned to her sister and gave her instructions and then sought Sir Gerald. "Sir Gerald." I began, "I perceive that yoar daughter's constitution and temper ament are of the highest nervous type She is broken by mental suffering, and to prolong the strain might endanger life itself. I beg you, therefore, if you value lier existence, not to mention her cousin's name to her until I see you again. I will be here again to-morrow morning." "Certainly, doctor; I will obey your instructions. Early next morning I was at the Tow ers again, and was ushured into the library, where Sir Gerald 1 was alone, waiting to receive me. After learning of the improved condition "of my patient, I at once opened the subject nearest to my heart by placing a packet in his hand?, saying: "This will explain to you Sir Gerald, the object of my interview, and if you need more convincing proof of what they point to I am ready to furnish them in abundance." ' . He opened the bundle, and a miniature likeness of my mother was the first ob ject that met his glance. "Addie my dear little cousin, Addie! And my picture, too tli very same one I gave to Addie on her 17th birthday. In the name of all that's wonderful, who are you? How did these things come in your possession?" J "Simply from my mother, Sir Gerald, for I am Addie Ireherne's only child Wilfred Ireherne, otherwise Lans .downe." "How is that possible?" Here is Guy Kadcliffe, who claims the same relation ship to Addie. He certainly brought no proofs ;but I, anxious to find my cousin's child, believed all he told me. If you are Addie's son, why is it that they call vou Lansdowne?" "That is a long story," I said. "My mother's marriage was one of affection, but not of prosperity. After I was born we came to America where my father practiced his profession a few years, leaving us in poverty. My mother was too proud to ask the assistance of her rich relatives, bat carried me back to our old home in England, where she soon died, unknown to her relatives, for she had adopted a fictitious name the better to conceal her identity. I then made my way back to this country, and made my way through college, and am now as you see me." "Bat who is this Guy Kadcliffe?" "Do vou remember Hugo Kascelli?" "My old valet9" "Yes; Sir Gerald; nd this fellow is a son of your old servant.," "Now that I think of it. I remember who it is 1 was trying to discover ne re sembled. And to think that I received the son of a servant I had to discharge for dishonesty, as my heir and the pros pective husband of my daughter!" It was some minutes before the wrath of the baronet spent itself. But w en he recovered his equanimity, he said : "Tell me how you know anything of Kascelli?" "My mother pointed"the father and son out to me before she died. I never for get a countenance, and I knew the fel low, the verv moment I saw him vestor day." Sir .Gerald then read the letters and proofs of my identity, and then rose and grasped me cordially by the hand and said: "My dear boj , I look upon all this as providential, and believe me I am over joyed at finding after all these years of search, my darling cousin Addie's son. You are to be my heir, and as it is my earnest desire that Lucille shall marry -r- l- -tf if will 1 s-kii 1 hi a tlin iir ti f r f m r L i-LXj Uvll f iii nuuwi v &-- n vjui, -- j jp gratitude if you not only succeed in re storing her to health, but in winning her affections. I must go at once and tell her of the changed circumstances and" VNot so fast, Sir Gerald. D not tell her all, I beg you. First examine this Gay Radchfi and dismiss him privately. Then relieve her from the fear of your displeasure. That will be better than medicine. Then as to myself, I hope I have a clearer idea of honor than to pre sent myself as a suitor for u lady's hand under such circumstances. I freely con fess that I have seen her before, and am very much in love with her. But I wish to have her mind unbiased, and win her love as Dr. Lansdowne, instead of her long lostcousin, whom her father wishes her to marry.' "A young man's romantic idea. But it meets my approval, as you wish it. ' Days and weeks passed. Lucille grew strong, beautiful and happy once more. My professional visits had been constant and my care assiduous. She was so far advanced in convalescence that I could d no longer any reasonable excuse for continuing my professional visits, and I determined to learn my fate. One afternoon I went to the Towers and found that she. was out walking in the grounds. 1 wandered out in search of her, and, remembering a favorite ar bor of hers, sought her there. I found her fixing up the trailing branches of a rose. It was ; a lovely picture, and I scarcely, dared to disturb it; but, sum moning courage, I entered, took her by the band and led her to a rustic seat. I never could tell exactly what followed; all that I know was that I was pouring forth the warmest words of love, and she was listening to me with downcast eyes and blushing face. What didI she say ? Has not that "old, old story" been often told, and as often "set two flutter ing hearts aglow ?" ' ""Are yon sure," said I, after the first burst of rapfure, "that you love me for myself just as I am ? Suppose your father still clings to the idea of your marrying your cousin what would you consider your duty then ? j Would love settle the conflict between right and wrong, Lucille?" "Ob. don ,t ask me. Wilfried. When he saw how ;truly we loved each other he wouldn't compel me to pass through the sime trials from hich I have just been released. jA.nd it would be a thousand times worse now, since I have loved another." j "Listen to me, Lucille. I, and not your father's recent visitor, am your English cousin." And then, seated to gether, while she wept tears of gladness, we talked of what you, dear reader, al ready know. Many Christinas eves have passed, and many long and happy years have frosted over the brown and golden hair.., The voices of children those of Horace and Jessie, as well as ours ?ring from the flowery terraces and shady ooverts of Wyatt Towers our ancestral home in old England. I am Sir Wilfried Rad cliff now, for the good old man who was so true a friend to me has long since been gathered to his fathers. Reinlnlsceuce or John U. Saxe. It was his custom in those dajs to make our roomy old brick home his headquarters, and to appear, satchel in hand, at uncanny hours an unexpected but welcome guest. Never happy in the matter of his toilet, he was especially comical in his badly fitting traveling clothes willi his collar crumpled and his cravat awry; still, seen at midnight dis advantage after a fatiguing journey, he was. Saxe the humorist, with ready anec dote and ability to keep even our infant eyes wide open. Passionately fond of young people, he allowed us unlimited play-fellow privil eges, crawling on all fours for our amusement, allowing us to investigate beard and to plav with the his abundan jewelry which he was so fond of wear ing. In our! sports with him he not un frequently held aloft my sister and my self, one in each hand, tossing us great girls of ten or thereabouts, as easily as if we were ball and bat. Of his own chil dren he never tired of talking; Sarah was certainly he father's idol, although she lived in perpetual defiance of his most cherished plans for her benefit. Two incidents Mr1. Saxe was fond of telling, as illustrative of. her force of will and independence of character It was the custom of the Saxe family to spend the warmest part of the summer the watering-place' being to Albauy, their home, to at Saratoga near onough make their sojonrn there feasible. It was decided, onb particular summer, that Sarah should remain at home in charge of the youiiger children, instead of ac companying her parents, as had been her formed custom. This decision roused the wrath of the young lady and awakened all that latent obstinacy which iier father claimed for her, in vain she remonstrated; her best clothing was placed undr lock and key, and her parenls departed, charcriug her to be a good girl and content herself till their return. The season was at its height, and many persons brilliantly conspicu ous in literary circles were gathered un der the Hashing of the watering-place chandaliers. j Saxe held his court at one end of the saloon on that August even ing, and sat conveniently facing the en trance door,! when a servant announced "Miss Saxe." The poet raised his eye glass to behold Sarah, a miss of sixteen, haughtily sweeping down the grand par lors, dragging after her her mother's beat winter gown of velvet, and glitter iug with her! mother's trinkets. It was warm work enduring that heavy, op pressive finery, but for three days father and daughter held there their independ ent little court at the famous watering- place, each ignorant of the other's pros- 011 CO H clear case of "Greek meet Greek." At! the end of that time Sarah was ignominiously taken home by her father and diily punished. A few years after the incident related lovers began' to seek Mis Saxe and to aspire matrimonially toward that high sfrung young lady. Of course Saxe was fastidious, and the youth of Albany fre quently quailed beneath his piercing glance and scornful words, at length one found favor with Sarah and was encour aged to come, after the father had per emptorily closed the door in his face. Letters were intercepted and destroyed, until a domestic war raged equal in fierceness to the famous one of the Koses the father commanded, the daughter defied, and the timid youth was met by stealth, admitted through the basement door, and seen at all possible risks. Finally one day supposing her father to be safely out of town. Sarah admitted her lover to the drawing irooni, expecting the course of her love to run exceedingly smooth. Unexpectedly, however, the poet came upon the scene, and expedited the de parture of the frightened youth by a ju dicious application of the toe of his boot. The lover could never be induced to court again, even surreptitiously. One marked peculiarity of Sarah's was her dislike to being designated as "John G. Saxe's daughter," a title not unfrequent ly applied to her, and as frequently cor rected by "Excuse me, Miss Saxe." Kansas City Journal. A new method of tempering steel has been published by M. Clemandot. The metals are heated to a cherry red and then compressed strongly until they are cool. The result is great hardness and an exceedingly fine grain. Steel thus treated makes excellent permanent mag nets, j Miss Lillian Taylor, daughter of Bay ard Taylor, studying art in New York, says her father never wrote up a place without making a careful study of it, which studies were tho origin of the hundred and fifty sketches lately ex hibited, which were a surprise to those who did not know Bayard Taylor painted with any other pencil than his slowing words. fAlLM MARIA AKI uat'LK SATHAJf. f made a will. All her friends j w6re as- A Iircatn .01 uuruf-r . BY ZILPHA H. SPOON'EK. More than forty years ago there lived in Ply month, Mass., on a small farm, several miles from the village, a very worthy And industrious couple who were familiarly called by their friends and neighbors.Aunt Maria and Uncle Nathan Married in early life.they put together the small amount of money which they possessed, and with a part of it purchas ed a few acres of land on which to found a home. v j He had worked steadily at his trade of shoemaking, and laid by some part of iilliurf earning. She inherited from her father about a thousand dollars, and had by her t own industry added con siderably to this little patrimony, so that her property at the time of their marriage exceeded that of her husband. Upon the land which they had bought" they built a small but comfortable and convenient cottage, furnished it as well as their scanty means would allow, and established themselves at housekeeping with a fair prospect of happiness in their united life. Uncle Nathan was industrious, econo mical and thrifty, working on the farm duringithree seasons of the year, and when the inclement winter weather came he was busily employed in his little shop, which adjoined their cottage. He made and repaired shoes, not only for his neighbors and their children, but also for people living several miles from his work-shop. Aunt Maria was a very energetic .woman. She not only attended with scrupulous exactness to all her many household duties, taking care of the house. trerariner food, making butter and cheese, washing and irouig,makin garments and mending, besides spinning wool, weaving and knitting, but her cares extended outside of the house. She took charge of the larg flock of hens and chickens and other fowls wBich were kept upon the farm, milked the cows and fed the sheep. If a lamb was feeble, it was brought into the house for Aunt Maria's motherly care and nursing. Often she would have, during the cold, raw weather in early spring, a little pen made m a warm corner of her kitchen, where the delicate or . motherless lambs would be placed on solt beds and tender ly cared for until they were able to re turn to the sheepfold. These gentle lit tle creatures would become so much at tached to her, that the did not forget her, even when full-grown sheep, bat would run to meet her and receive her caresses with seeming pleasuw? when she went into the pasture where they weie feeding. All these cares she willingly assumed that her husband might have more time to attend to the farm work, or apply him self more closely to his trade.: Besides, she thought, it would save the expense of a hired man. She sold butter and cheese of her own making, sent poultry and eggs to market, and in all ways possible, helped to in crease their joint capital. She was a woman of whom it might with trnth be said, "She looked well to the ways of her household, and ate not the bread of idleness" As time went on, they prospered, and added many acres to their small farm. They purchased quite a tract of wood land, and thus increased their resources by the sale of wood. In those days a farmer was not considered very thrifty who did not invest in land all the money he could spare from the necessities of his family. Uncle Nathan following the ex ample of the wealthier farmers, contin ued to add to his landed property, though it yielded him but a small income. Having no children of their own, they adopted two, a boy and a girl, the chil dren of Aunt Maria's brother, who had died, leaving his widow with a large family to support. " With Aunt Maiia and Uncle Nathan, these children, Henry and little Jane,,found a comfortable and happy home. They were carefully trained, receiving excellent home in struction and such book education as the district school afforded. In due time Jane was married and moved away with her husband to her new home in a distant city, and Henry went out into tho world to make his own fortune. A few years later Uncle Nathan was taken ill with a painful and slowly wast ing disease. He was unable to work or even superintend the farm labor. In this emergency Aunt Maria cheerfully accepted the increased cares which de volved on her, looking out for every thing about the farm, and attending to her usual domestic duties, besides nurs ing her invalid husband. j He lived a number of years in a feeble condition, able to be about the house, but gradually growing weaker with the slow wasting of- the painful malady. Vhen Aunt Maria went to the neighbor ing village in their neat market wagon to carry the produce of the farm and dairy, she always took Uncle Nathan with her to give him the benefit of the drive and the fresh air, leaving him at the house of a friend in the village to rest and enjoy a change of scene while she delivered to her customers the contents of the wagon and made such purchases forthe family as were needfuL At length he was no longer able to take the short, drive to town, and his faithful wife remained constantly with him, sending the produce of the farm and dairy to market by a kind-hearted neighbor. His strength failed very gradually and he finally passed peace fully away, leaving his devoted compan ion a lonely and sorrowing widow to mourn the loss of her dearest earthly friend. When Uncle Nathan's affairs were looked into, shortly after his death, it was discovered, much to the surprise of Aunt Maria's relatives, that he had not were as- tonished when this news came 1 to! their ears. Uncle Nathan had always devoted and Loving husband, and been a no one supposed that he would fail to look after the interest and welfare of his wife, when he could no longer be with her. The children not having been egally adopted would not innerit anyl of his property. : His widow, according o law, was not his heir, and could only receive her "thirds that is, a life interest in one-third of the home and of the land Thich she had so diligently toiled to se .ure. All their joint property was in her husband's name, as was at that time the almost universal custom, particularly when the property -was real "state! For a timfy Aunt Maria was entirely overcome and almost crushed by the the loss of her husband and the fear of being obliged to leave her home. Verv strange it seemed to her that Uncle Nathan's brothers should be his heirs, instead of his wife, who had been devoted tip him all the years of of their married life, and she was quite unable to perceive the jus- tice of the law. Ezra and Reulen, the brothers of Uncle Nathan, took measures at once to secure their share of the estate. They had everything apprized ; the farm and airlhe stock including even the hens and chickens. The household furniture and the carpets which she had maie with her own hands were also included among the goods to be apprized, that tne neirs at-iaw migut nave tueir mil share of the property. The Judge of Probate was as liberal towards the poor widow as was possible under the law. She was obliged to con tent herself with a meagre pittance1 when she felt that the whole property should have been her husband's, if he had been the surviving partner instead of herself. Aunt Maria did not cherish any un kind feelings towards her husband's brothers, who had stripped her of every- thing which the law would allow, though sue spoKe plainly to tnem oi their un just treatment of her. When the estate was finally settled, she s.id to them: "Well, Ezra and Reuben, you ve got property tnat i ougnt to nave, out 1 am better off thin you are, for I haven't wronged anybody." Tney had nothing to say in defence of their legal rights. Like many ! other men of their time, they perhaps! hon estiy oeiieyed tnat law represented jus tice. What was Aunt Maria to do, mw that she was left alone at the age of three score years, witn small means, and no home whbh she could call her own? Her adopted daughter Jane and her husband, who lived far away from her, had all they could do to support their large family of children. Harry, the adopted son, the dream of whose J early youth had been, that " some day he would be able, at least in some small measure, to repay Aunt Maria f(jr the kind and loving care with which she had watched over his childhood, bad in his young manhood been called from jearth. In California, whither he went, hoping to gain wealth more rapidly) than ho could in his native State, he contracted a disease which forced him to return home, where he lingered a few mouths and died, j . : j Aunt Maria was indeed left desol.ite, bereft of husband and children, and a portion of. her little xroperty divided among herhusband's relatives.- jW hat should she! do? How could she ! leave the home which had sheltered her for so many happy days? Could she, at her age, make a new home for herself, or take up her abode among strangers, or even with friends who would welcome her? Long and seriously she pondered upon these matters. Dependent she would never be no, not on her best friends. She could not go to a new home she must continue to live at the old place; and yet, if she did not own it, it would never seem like her home, j At length her decision was made. She would ask Ezra and Reuben to sell her their part of the house and a few j acres of land. In fact, she would by j back again that part of the homestead which had gone to her husband's heirs, and spend the remainder of her days on the spot which was sacred to her. Having once settled in her own mind what course to pursue, she proceeded to carry out her plans. I j She had little trouble in making a bar gain with the heirs, as they were glad to have money instead of property which was encumbered by the widow's rights. An agreement was entered into that the money should be paid in small install ments. Tbe natural hopefulness and energy of her youth seemed to return to the widow,1 and she immediately began to consider how she could best earn and save money. She could no longer af ford to keep a horse, so that was dis posed of, as was everything about the farm which would be unprofitable!. To accomplish her purpose Aunt Maria toiled early and late; attended to her household ares, looked after the farm work, and then hastened up-stairs to a large room where she kept her spinning- wheel and loom. HTe, her busy hands spun the soft wool, from the fleeces of her own sheep, or plied swiftly the shuttle to weave it into cloth. Besides these industries she wove carpets and quilted bed-spreads for th6 people for miles around, and thus earned many a dollar. She took the district school teacher to board, which not onlv added to her little income, but gave her a pleasant com panion. Each passing year savr her debt diminish, till at last the whole amount was paid, and she was able to sit down contentedly by. her own fireside. She lived to a very advanced age, enjoy- I mg tne rruit or ner labor and tne re spect and esteem of all who knew her. Happiness is like the echo; it an- swers you,; but it does not oome. f made a will. All her friends The narrator said that, some years ago, he was "best man" at the marriage of a friend, who afterward proceeded with his bride to a large town in England. The lady possessed great personal charms and liad qnite - following of suitors,! the most conspicuous of whom was a young chemist, who did not, bear the most irreproachable of characters; bat shortly before the marriage this young man disappeared. The married couple j lived., very, happy for seferal months till an event happened which bears on the story. Returning from the concert one evening, the young wif o re ceised - A - slight ehill, which threatened to rest on the lungs, and medical assist ance was procured. The doctor came. and after ordering a simple precaution, he reiired, remarking that his patient would be well in a day or two. This anticipation, however, was not fulfilled, To the great grief of the husband, his wife showed great symptoms of lassitude; and the most skillful diagnosis of an emi- nent physician failed to account for the abnormal condition. Medicine was of course prescribed freely, but with no beneficial result. Exhaustion super vened ; and at this crisis the husband telegraphed for his friend in Edinburgh to come and perform some little business. lhe summons was readily obeyed, as the friend had a sincere admiration for the husband, and the greatest respect fcr the suffering wife. Seated that night in a Midland carriage, with no companion but his thoughts.the young man recalled all the circumstances of the marriage, not forgetting the sinister incident of the disappointed appothecary's disap pearance. As he thought on all these matters, he fell asleep. He woke with a start, and foaud that he was at Carlisle. His sleep had not been refreshing for it had been disturbed by a dream that troubled him. Unsentimental by nature. he tried to laugh the fancy away; but it refused to be exercised. bull harping on some of the incidents, he reached his friend s home, and found the young wife in a hopeless condition. The husband was saddened and perplexed; and hrs friend, realizing that action of some kind was necessary to raise the mourner from his stupor, succeeding in getting him to talk about the business ho wished trans acted. They went through a number of streets conversing familiarly, when all of a sudden the husband . found himself grasped by the arm, and looked round to see his friend gazing eagerly into tbe window of a shop. Recovering himself in an instant, the visitor talked freely. and did hot volunteer an explanation of his rather erratic conduct; but on return ing to the house,he requested the servant to bring the bottle containing the medi cine last given to the suffering woman. The girl I brought the bottle, and said she had just washed it, as the doctor had or dered her to go for another dose. This was disappointing, certainly. But the friend was a born detective, and not to be balked. The girl went for the med icine. When she returned with it the young man took the bottle, and without acquainting the husband of his inten tion, left the house with the prescription. returning after a brief interval with the medicine. During the night the breath ing or tne patient became easier, and when the doctor called the next day, he was able to report symptoms of re covery. in the evening the friend, accompanied by a man of severe demeanor, entered the room where the husband sat, and re quested him to come out on a little piece of business. Th9y walked in silen?e through several streets, and at last reached a police station, which they en tered. Behind the desk there was seated a man with his face bnried in his hands. The officer on duty, without much cir cumlocution, told the business that had called them there. Addressing the hus band, ho said that the man seated in the office was charged with administering noxious drugs. When the accused stood up, the party saw the altered features of the missing chemist. A light seemed to flash over the husband's face; and after he had made all the necessary deposi tions, he hurried home. At the next Assizes, the chemist was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude; and as he pleaded guilty, the public knew nothing of the circumstances more than was contained in the charge. One of the prosecu tors, however, had manifested a great interest in the case; and as the husband and his friend were leaving the Court, he requested the latter to give him some ex planation of the manner in which his suspicions were first called forth against the criminal. The friend at once told his story. In the railway carriage.he had dreamed that he was walking through a large city which he had never visited. At length he came upon a row of shops, and at a window of one of these he observed the face of a man, debased and vindic tive in its expression and quite familiar to him. The man held a mortar and and postle in his hands, and while he mixed up some drag, there was a baleful light in j the fishy-looking eyes. Then the sharp whistle of the engine awakened the dreamer. The sequel was plain. Walking with his friend through the laby rinth of i streets could ha despise his sleeping fancy when he saw before him the actual rows of shops, while at one of the windows stood a figure that haunted his memory like a nightmare? It was a perfect revelation. When he returned and secured the medicine and prescrip tion, he I went to another chemist and procured the needed, restorative, and then called upon an analyst with the first bottle. It was found to contain a deadly narcotic; and the police anthori ties uaving oeen satisnea witn tne main facts, ordered the arrest of the jealous and wretched man, before the gailt of actual murder lay at his door. Cham bers Journal. 4- ) -