t , ‘ ease: in might be queer"— :ss‘lgat t can: too. . -‘ yell: Carmen in Runner's, W3 HARRY-Many thanks for lutterand sitthe good advice it . I know that when a man has a thoroughly morbid state a ' candid lecture is often as ‘ , him as is a slap in the face for . _l girl. Your motive is truly out” should be ungrateful if I recognised: as each. point out that it is now three since my dear wife’s fatal acci- und that. closely as we were , _ and terrible though the shock ”have beeii‘, others have had to bear ' as severe and have borne them tirpluck and resignation. dear Harry, so far as you know ‘ . facts, your criticism is perfectly M But until you know them more fully it is impossible for you. to under- 6 my feelings aright. I will relieve , "mind by telling you things which hone, burdened my thoughts during these years and have made it impossible the to throw ofl my sadness. " ice was killed upon the second an- ,l'vereary of our wedding day. For two years our married life had been. as you .m‘lware, one of nncloudcd happiness. hat plans we made for that second to versaryl I tookthree-quarters of an hour to choose a present for Alice, and great mystery overshadowed the some- rng that she was making for me. Then ' there were the invitations to our little . party in the evening, the great question , ' u to whether we should ask the rector ‘ or the doctor—t hey were not on speaking forms—and the debate on the happiest way of spending the earlier part of the iitfshould be passed in the depths of _ 'thecountry, we both agreed, and after ,1th pondering over the local time ta- ~bletlwe settled that the 11 o’clock train should take us to Beechwood. a walk ‘und picnic tete-a-tete amid the summer glories of the forest, tea at the clean ‘littla Barleycorn inn, and so home. ‘ ‘2‘ So we settled on the eve of our wed- "ding day, and then we had our first and only q'ntu'reL 1' The ‘ circumstances were trifling enough. . A letter had come to Alice, asking her to pay a short visit, if I ‘ could spare her, to some friends she had known intimately before her marriage, "the day after tomorrow. ’ ’ I suppose I WU not in the best of tempers—worried with business, perhaps, and a trifle out of sorts—a bit jealous, too, it may be, for one of the sons of the house had been once a rival. At any rate, when she produced this letter. and told me that she would like to accept the invitation, some evil spir- it tempted me to raise objections. I could see the keen disappointment in her face, and that increased my silly petulance and jealousy till I recklessly launched out in diatribes against her friends who had sent the invitation. She defended them hotly—for Alice ‘ was always loyal—wad so the day ended . in a cold good night, leaving her pained and -unhappy, and me —- thoroughly ashamed of suspicions I knew to be . ‘ groundless and of an ill temper I was . . too proud to confess. I had a wakeful and restless time that last night. Our disagreement preyed strangely on my mind, and in the ark hours assumed a quite exag- gera d importance. You see for us it was a new experience. A “little rift" had divided as for the first time, and I could boast no more that my wife had never heard a harsh or bitter word from me. In the morningthcrowas still a. cloud between us. I knew that I was in the wrong, and yet I would not own it even to myself. Alice gave. me one little wist- ful look, expressive of a timid hope that my mood had changed. I saw that look, and for a moment I felt impelled toiling my arms round her and ask for- giveness. If only I had yielded to that impulse! I gave her one cold kiss. To 3‘ her, living or dead! . ‘ was, never gave it to her. ' Milly. 1101' me. is?” in yourself. ” ‘ flurry. I don‘t ,. would, horny opportunity. think that it was the last I ever gave While I was dressing my eye fell on . the’emull case containing the bracelet I had bought as a present for my wife. I picked.“ up, hid it in my pocket, took it‘dcwn to breakfast and, fool that I ‘I opened the letters, which were ‘ mostly on the business that was worry- , Vinyme. The rest I pushed irritably I opened them afterward, and do you know. Harry, that in one of those parcels was the gift that my wife lied been working for weeks to make .jWo breakfastcd almost in silence, but lifter the meal was over the rose and mftly round the table toward me. she put her dear hand on my shouldered lightly to! if she feared to Mild,» and.*bcnding down, she said leadicgly. “Won't you let me go, rile?” And I, or the devil that peso fitted me. coldly answered, “You may know what you will - lithe! me when you read all this. resonance condemn my brutality more liken I do myself. Don‘t judge me too ; I did, not know. how ”We 3 that a, 1’ the hall. salesmwuhmvme. sues. Then I shouted. ”Aliens", ' .9. room above. and immediately aftermy we herbivoremiuteeist as warren-“Ia - Want. an new mom reins unusual... as as myself her. The man got up behindundsc we started on that no miserable expedio ties. Neither of us said much. I looked other once or twice sidewaya Never had she read so handsome or in such glowing he lib, but there‘was an un- naturally deep flash upon her cheek. and her lips were tightly closed “tether. When we reached the station. the trainer” already in it. I rushed to the booking office, bought our two tickets 1 (I have, them new, for they were never used), seized my change and hurried my wife off the platform, reaching the train just as it was beginning to more. Alice hesitated. , ' "Get in," for goodnessmlret” I cried peevishly. opening a carriage door, and then—God forgive mo—I gave her a push, and you know what happened next. , My poor wife never spoke again, but as she lay in the waiting room, muti- ‘latcd and dying, she just opened her eyes and looked at me. Then a sad, sweet smile came over her face, and, raising her arms taward me. as I bent over her in an agony of remorse. she put up her dear face for a kiss. just as she had so often done in happier days. I stooped down, and then—somehow I could not give her that last kiss. Something held me back—a feeling of utter shame and unworthincss. A shad- ow of pain crossed her face, the arms, fell back, and in a moment the oppor- tunity had passed forever, and our span of wedded life and love had ended-«so. Do you remember that awful inquest, Harry? You were good to me that day, old fellow. No one could have proved himself a truer friend. You remember that, when I gave my evidence, I said that I tried to assist my wife into the carriage. Well, you know now that I was playing with the truth, and you will probably despise mo for it. I almost hoped that there would be a verdict of manslaughter-that I should be sent to prison. There is only one thing more to tell you. When the accident became known, I received many kind and sympathetic letters from my friends and hers. I hardly read them, for each of them was a fresh stab to me. ”If they only know 1” my conscience kept saying to me. She knows. She died cursed by my ill tem- per, without a parting kiss, and if we meet in another world what will she say to me or I to her? But there was one letter that arrested my attention and caused me far more pain, than all the others put together. It was from the lady whose invitation had caused our fatal quarrel. “Per- haps," it ended, “it may be some com- fort to you to keep the inclosed letter from her. I received it after her death —-pr0bably the last she ever wrote.” Deanmr Mar-Thank you so very much for your most kind invitation. I should dearly low to come and. see you again and have a good talk over old times. But Charlie cannot well spare me just at present. and he is so good and kind to me and so nice about every—- thing that I do not like to be away when he wants me. We are just off for a jaunt to celebrate our wedding day, and Charlie is calling for mu to start. Your loving friend. Anon. That is what she was writing while I bullied in the hall. That is what she had written, when she silently listened to my grumbling on the we}: in the sta- ton. Oh, the irony of it all! Now you can understand, Harry, why it is that I take so long getting over my loss. Ono thought, and one alone, some- times arises to comfort me. Perhaps that last movement of hers meant for- giveness, and—porhaps—whon her at» tempt at reconciliation failed, she sent me that letter as a message from beyond the grave—Odds and Ends. Not Yellow. He is a down town lawyer, and he was going to have bound the proofs of his briefs in a Certain important case in which he was engaged recently. He has a clerk, a good, plodding sort of as fol- low, not one of the kind said to be likely to set the river on fire, but one who can be depended upon. “John,” he said, "go to the printer and see about bindings for those briefs. I am not particular about them except that they must not be yellow. You un- derstand?" “Yes, sir,” said John. “You told the printer to be sure and not have yellow covers on those briefs, did you?” he said as the clerk returned. “ Yes, " said John. “I picked them out myself." The briefs came back neatly bound. As the lawyer examined them an ex- pression of great wrath might have been seen on his face. . ' “John!" he called. ”John, didn’t I tell you not to have these briefs bound in yellow?” “ Yes, ' ’, answored John in a surprised tone. “And I was very particular about it. I picked out a beautiful canary color.”—-New York Times. Vesuvius. Recent reports from Mount Vesuvius say that its eruption is steadily increas- ing in volume. A broad stream is flow- ing down north of the Attic del-Uavello in the direction of the Foeso dolla Ve- traaa. and the correct ashes. with the crater of Vesuvius proper in the center, is visibly growing. The interior plateau which stem! the lava flow appears at night all on fire. According to the measurements taken by the engineer of the observatory, the height of the menu- tain has increased by 100 meters since the present eruption began. while the fiery lake along the Atrlo has attained a circumference of 1,500 meters, and the ball: of their" emitted trestl- arm to earns. the inflame uu .cucnuurtv‘enmurmmm " ‘ ante » no r,ooo,ooo minim. "as. ‘ Womb m . zoo “ 60 400 35 u 6‘ ‘6 Winter U FOR GENTS, LADIES AND CHILDREN. N Washington Street, r covered dishes, from 29:: up. cups and saucers, from 6c a piece up. platters, from 19c up. 1 plates, from 4c up. pitchers from go up. OPEN EVERY EVENING. In,'€PhFi"K,l-‘l",dl““¢'am “‘WIV départtncut wé‘h'hd‘mauy sets Shun; arms a few cups. or saucers, othmafie'tplflel, fiddly”? covered dish, etc, and not wishing to hold these goods for those a ho Illa}. be willing to buy a short act.” build please all on our. special bargain tables and will u: l the ':5~ 6 pieces as adduced ends. These sets, wet-circle for from its to .35 each, and comprise some at lhc one, decorated were we import, but We will offer these pulses for less than you can buy the comb: local ahin Trenton were. ‘ y . . , Thistle a oldcnopportuuity for those whowish odd pieces of decorated ware, su:h as covered di-he-, platters, pl. "era. bowls, sauce tureaus, one-halt dozen cups and sanpers, plates or sauce: (libllCS. 50 decorated And-lots of sugar bowls, butter dishes, butter pads, bowls, sauceboats, spuonm, b me plates, cheese dishes, cake plates, fruit dishes, fancy mugs, etc. The prices on these goods will remain as they are now marked until they are all Sold, but we ' would ad vise an early inspection to insure a good variety. N. Bra—We, have so large size bread raiscrs, made of the best quality of tin, and usuallv sold for 90¢; we offer this week for 49c each. . ' FREE DELIVERY. OF EVERY DESCRIPTION nder In large variety and excellent value at; W.$.$TURTEVANT, North Main and Ann Streets. \ : ed~ Horse Goods . won be sold for the Next Ten Days Your ” Oeur Pfice. The cause of it, ‘Hard Times." « Cure for them, “Gold Cure" cost. Come and see at. 4/ v South Norwalk. wear! A. Dickerman 8: Son’s, South llorwalk. Connecticut. \ Evsues READ THE c v Work Done f’ronuptly. NTIN‘L JAM ES GOLDEN, 1. Editor and Proprietor. FINE ‘ PRINT- 9 as! f or warm ems “llEETn I through the open doorway to find a M comm-were twcladleu the elder new: supporting the younavr. whose face was blanched and shoes. were “gm . ed upon me as out , ‘ them 3'. a innit lei apparition. s3: 33%;? film'd’.“ m“ a was, trees the on mm m Is not autumn. emu-st when an movement), full. but what did the Ta21’3W’M “1:; know of me?" ‘ le-wdlljl'lrttlrblng. Nay. ' ’ 7” 'What a" 5h “5" W' W" Not quite .0 m, mum. w. "m terl’ asked elder. You have always And good. But every day , Or eveuhgl can look across Through windows clear and bright ‘ And see a father romp and toes Ills youngsters in the light That glows from out his are and see His wife look shilling on And kiss the babies lovingly Until the picture‘s gone. The! pull the curtain down. and then I'm cheerful as a stone And laugh-ha. he, the lolly men Who live in “rooms” alouel been so strong'aud vigo‘rons.’ “ ‘Is your name Henry Mortonl’ uk- ed the younger of me, without needing the mother's question. , “ ‘It is Wilton Robehy,’ I responded quietly. At'that instant it flashed upon me that in a desire to choose! my iden- tity I had given the name of Henry Mor- ' ton to the fortune teller. Then, with the inspiration of an anxious lover. I added. ‘But I have a coulin of that name. who bears a striking resemblance to me. ’ “My immediate reward was a revival of strength and spirits on the part of ., the young lady. The mother introduced -- , herself as Mrs. Gilsen, her daughter as Miss Gilseu. and then said, ‘Lucy, we had best get back to the hotel.’ “ ‘any Gileen?‘ And yet. it was her presence that had been conjured up as my bride to be. She was the girl of my sketch and my dreams. The next day I called at the hotel and inquired after her. I called often. We walked, drove, painted and heated together. I came to know through the. intuition of love that she was not indifferent to me. One evening as we drifted lazily through the water lilies she handed me a sketch of myself and asked, ‘Is that a picture of Henry Morton? “ ‘It’s perfect,’ I answered, though dumfmnuhd. A shadow of anger crossed her face, and she was about to tear the pic-tum to pieces when ‘ I caught her hands and suddenly showed the repro- duction of herself that I had made in Paris. It was her turn to be surprised, and who I told her of my experience at the fortune tellcr’s on Rue de Bouges, giving her the date, she quickly ex- claimed: ’ “ ‘Why, lwas there with Marcia Ar- nold. Momma. and I did Europe that season, and we two girls visited that Indian princess just for a lurk. That was where I saw Henry Morton, whom I was told fate had decreed as my fu- ture. husband. ’ “Before we rowed home it was all explained, and the sequel of our strange experience was a happy marriage. The dusky prophctoss who had confused the name of the two girls was acultivatcd fraud. it was all a trick of the mirrors, ladies. "-—Detroit F rec Press. THE ARTISTS STORY. "I tell you, ladies," declared‘hand- some and cynical Wilton Robeley, the artist, “a fortune teller showed me the image of my wife two years before I ever saw her in the flesh and thousands of miles from the place I first met her. ” “You are the last man in the world whose mind I would think obscured by the clouds (if mysticism," replied the rich Mrs. Austyn, his friend and patron. " You have never shown any patience with the charlatans who pretend to ex- pose and expound the secrets that a wise providence has ordained we should not fathom. And yet you are taxing our crcdulity with a statement that would be marvelous if true. ” V “I must insist upon my veracity in this instance,” smiled the artist. “Now, don't stop to argue, momma,” urged the elder of the Anstyn girls. “There is a story in this, and after Mr. llobelcy has told it you can reclaim him from the darkness of his superstitions and air your theories. Now, do tell us all about it," and three pretty sisters sighed their curiosity in chorus. “Just so. You dotgt ask me to er~ plain,” said the artist with a quizzical look. “I shall give you the remarkable facts and leave you to wrrstle with them. Eight years ago I was in Paris pursuing my studies and lived the life of a Bohemian from choice. rather than from necessity. We fellows held the re- sponsibilitics of life very lightly and laughed at all human phenomena that would not yield to the test of material- ism. lwaschicf among the sooth-rs and found ban-faced fraud in everything from clairvoyuncy to the piercing of the future through the medium of tea grounds. “Then, as now, I occasionally broke entirely away from my usual surround- ings and was one day suuutcring along through Rue do Boguos. As I passed one of the most pretentious houses I was startled by a scream for help and dashed Tho licsccmtion of Scenery. Ten years ago, we are assured, hardly a letter of the alphabet Could have been descriod, either on the Surrey or the Middlesex shore of the Thames, but now mills, whorvrs, hotels, chimney stacks and shuts seem to vio with one another woman battling with flames that w1th in pm. pxmmmm of the-so huge painted grout leaps and flashes were consuming the white draperies of what struck me as a consecrated altar out of place. Our combined cti'orts soon mastered the in- cipient conflogmtion. As the woman anointed my hands with some soothing lotion I saw that she was as dark as a gypsy. Her hair rippled back from her forehead in waves of blue black, her eyes were brilliant in the some deep coloring, and her strong, even tooth slum-stud polished ivory. Showus an sumo-n in size, yet the sweeping curves of [minty \voro such as to fascinate the artist, while her motions Wore as sup- pic and graceful as those of a tiger. “ ‘You are a gentleman, and there is but one way in which I can oilcr return for your service,’ she mldnsl turned to have. Her voice was soft as the notes If a lute, and her accent gzavcunsus- ptt'tcd charms to my mother tongue. ‘1 was born of royal blood in India. Through study of the sacred V’v-das and the pure doctrine of Karma I attained the power 'of divination. Your people would classify me among fortune tell- vls, but I am poles apart from tho vul- gar lturnbugs that trade upon ignorance and superstition. Promise you will come tomorrow. for I am upset by this unri- dcnt. Tin-n lwillho both ynurhistoriun and your prophet. I shall count on you, In'scur. ' “Though I nu-ntally sneercd at tho wonnm’s pretensions and lay awake half the night assuring myself that I Would never suck but out, I was at her door ttn minutes bolero the appointed time next day. She had either assumed her professitmnl air or was under the spell of her supernaturalattainments. i will not dost-rim tho ‘inncr temple of niystcrios’ to which she contlnctvd run, but in the weird effect. of its hangings, mirrors. grotesque carvings and mythic- al symbols it challenges the most hard- ened skepticism. Throwing the whole light of a golden light upon my face with a powerful reflector, she grncrul- iced upon my past life as any shrewd judge of human nature might do. Then, suddenly knitting her, brows and learn ing closer, she slowly spelled out ‘Mar- cin Arnold.’ “ 'That is the name of the girl you will marry. ' she announced in a (nearby voice, ‘and there you see her.’ “With that the lights faded to the dimncse of deep mama and there fcl~ lowed the darkness of adungeon. Oppo- sitomo as if in life was the image of the sweet and beautiful woman you know as Mrs. Robclcy. Never before had I been dominated by the tender pas- sion, but there [was fathcms deep in love with what might have been an en- chanting illnsicn or a superb painting. 80 deeply war I impressed that after leaving in a bewilderment of doubt I sketched the magnificent creature so in~ delibly impressed upon my memory. "Eighteen months later I was in sunburn California, alloying the med» cilia! virtues of the 011mm and finding placards, which are an abomination to the eye and an effectual bar to the im- provement of London from an msthetio point of view. But if any one is san- guine clit‘lugh to suppose that “business men" will give up the system on the ground that, while it annoys other peo- pin, it (have not hem-tit themselves, we are afraid he is doomed to disappoint- ment. The pl ople who gotothe expense of putting up those placards must know best win tlnr thry arc of any use, and it :‘un'hardly he l'wliwml that they would routine“ to spread money on them on- lvss they were. Whether many among thorn would 1.0. found public spirited \llllllgll to sacrifice the advantage dc— i‘iw-d from sin-luru'tirms to the mere love of the lwantifulL—which, unhappi- ly, has not that influence among ling. lishmcn which it possesses in some other annuities—we should llt' disposed to dmibt.--L-0ndrn Standard. Eating Slowly. The opinion that hurry in eating is a prolific cause of dyspepsia is founded on cmnmon observation. The ill results of bolting food how been attributed to the luck of thorn "h mastication and to the incomplete million of the saliva. upon tiw food. Two-thirds of the food which We cut is starch, and starch cannot be util~ lml in the system as food until it has been (trim l'll‘rl into sugar, and this change is principally effected by the saliva. lint time is a third roasrm why rapidity of rating interferes with diges- tion. The pl'l‘s‘t‘m'l‘ of tlnmalivary secre— tion in the stmnzwh acts as a stimnlm to the secretion of the gastric juice. Ir- respective of the mechanical function of the m th, food which goes into the stomach inmmplctely mingled with saliva paws slowly and imperfectly through the prwoss of stomach diges- tion. 'l‘hcvcfnte, as a sanitary maxim of no moon value, teach the children to out slowly, and in giving this instruc- tion by rxn‘nplo the teacher as “1'" as the pupil may receive benefit.~'l'roy 'l'iuens. Sleeping a Fine Art. Most pcrsme labor under the delusion that sleep is a natural function, and that slumber is a state that requires no pn‘paration. (liven a bed and a certain hour of the averting, and sleep follows is their simple creed. As a matter of “fact they find that they do not always sleep when they think they should, but it never occurs to them that theirtbe- cry is wrong. But it is. Sleep is a state requiring careful preparation, and with out. that preparation its best results can‘ not be obtained. 'I'lu! Minister ”III It. ”Kinmawlnskmtskcr has the more unmanageable name on earth. He says that there never Was but one individual who endeavored to designate him upon first acquaintme. ” "Who was that?" - subjects in some of the delightful seen- . cry. One morning I had weasel-at the edge of an umpire ‘ «attaching a charming of landscape. The 7 a velvet «suction of I!“ “‘7',“ “if "the clergyman who married him. unlocked at Kinney for I Went, glancedatuwd inbiulumlunithen said. if. preseason-l pronounce you man and wife.‘ "-l’lulsdelubla Cell. inc:
Norwalk Chronicler