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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.
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