Elizabeth’s Romance
By REBECCA HARDING DAVIS
^__ _ -______j
(Copyright, by Jo»exh B. Bowles.)
Elizabeth was engaged to be mar
ried next month. John Melvin did not
like sitting under bushes, or in the
moonlight—he had enough of out-of
doors on the farm, he said. Lizzy was
paring peaches by the kitchen table
with her mother the morning the mat
ter was definitely settled.
Mrs. Woods had hoped for this for a
long time. John Melvin was as steady
as a rock, and his farm was his own,
and unincumbered. There was a great
weight lifted from her heart about
Lizzy’s future.
As for John, he, too, had been anx
ious about the matter for years. Eliza
beth was very dear to him; yet he
would never have married her if she
had been a shrew, or wasteful. But
she had no faults that he could dis
cover. He had suddenly come into
full daylight this morning.
People in the country, however, usu
ally smother emotion under the com
monplaces nearest at hand.
"Will you come out and show me
your wallflowers?”
It was the stranger from New
York, whom Mrs. Merrill had brought
over for tea. who spoke. Elizabeth
was so used to strangers that she had
not noticed him before. She went be
fore him now, glad to get away from
them all, down through the dusky gar
den-paths to the wallflowers.
A queer-looking little man. Lizzy
thought, turning to look at him sharp
ly; with a bilious-yellow complexion,
dead black eyes, and lank hair put be
hind his ears, dressed in a coarse
brown suit of city cut, the gaping
pockets stuffed with letters and
cigars.
The stranger was very friendly. He
told her he was a newspaper man.
Lizzy was dumb. Nobody who had
not lived in a country village, and
known the awe-approaching dread ex
cited by a man who has "written for
the press,” can comprehend her emo
tion. They sat there until dark
came. “We must go in, or we
will have your knight down to reck
on with me. You ought not to put
the yoke about your neck, by-the-bve,
until you had seen more of the world,
Miss Lizzy. If you were a boy, how
1 should like you for compagnon out
yonder exploring the west!”
Lizzy did not answer. If John came
down, he undoubtedly had the right to
break up this delicious dream which
the last hour had brought. Why did
she give him the right? The "yoke”
galled her. If there had been any ap
proach to flirtation in Hanlon’s man
ner, her purity would have taken the
alarm. But this intellectual sympathy
—this wish that she were a boy and
his compagnon; there was a greeting
here of soul to soul, which she had
never received from John Melvin, and
in which was no disloyalty to him.
“Must you go now?” she said.
“Yes. I have an engagement with,
with— These stupid duties are the
chain wherewith we're darkly bound,
after all, I think.” He held her hand,
pressed it slightly, and hurried away.
The truth was, it was Mrs. Merrill's
supper hour, and he had a keen re
membrance of her fried chicken and
waffles.
As for Lizzy, she sat still, to trunk.
She had learned from her favorite his
tories that in every heroic life comes
the crisis, the Imminent moment when
Fate must be met and grappled with.
She thought it had come now; John
Melvin, she acknowledged, was one of
the noblest of men, generous, honor
able to a fault, and loved her dearly.
Of Hanlon she knew nothing. He was
the acquaintance of a day. He might
he weak, cruel, a gambler, or a roue;
hut he pleased her passion or her
•whim. To be sure, Hanlon did not
love her, there was no chance that he
ever would.
Night gathered around Lizzy as she
sat. alone. Her blood grew chilled, her
head pained her. The outcry and per
secution would be terrible if she broke
her betrothal; she was not a strong
girl, and she began to cry. “But I
cannot marry him with the feelings
that 1 have!" she sobbed. “1 will go to
John and tell him all,” she cried, get
ting up. ‘
Perhaps if she had had time to reach
the house, the story might never have
been told. But a hand was laid on
her shoulder as she spoke.
“What's the ‘all’ you have to tell me,
Elizabeth?”
"Oh, John!” (There was no need to
tell all; half would do.) “I meant to
say to you,” pale and desperate, “that
it must all stop. 1 cannot be your
wife, John.”
“Why not, Lizzy?” He laughed—a
wild, discordant laugh, she thought.
"We are not alike. There is not that
kindred instinct, that sympathy be
tween those born under one star,”
trying to talk the dialect of all young
women in her situation.
“What do you mean, Elizabeth?” he
said.
The man was capable of passion,
After all, and she had pushed him too
far.
“I mean that you must go on your
own road. I cannot marry you.”
“If you don't marry me, Elizabeth
Woods, my horse may break my neck,
to-night, for aught I care!” and he
flung her from him.
“John! John!” she cried, feebly.
But John was gone. The next mo
ment she heard his horse's hoofs gal*
loping down the creek road.
About ten o’clock her father came
in. “The creek bridge is down,” he
said. “I told the commissioners
'twan't safe weeks ago.”
"Did not John take the creek road
going home, Lizzy?” said Mrs. Woods.
But Lizzy could not answer for the
sudden terrible choking in her throat.
It was on Tuesday night that the
bridge fell. Thursday, Friday passed
without tidings of John Melvin. In
the village there was no hope. The
men had^been dragging the creek, and
firing a cannon over the water, in the
hope of recovering the body. Late in
the afternoon, the women about Lizzy
saw a sudden confusion in the crowd
of men and boys down on the bank.
There was a running and hurrying to
gether.
“They have found it,” they whis
pered, shuddering, to each other.
But it was only a hat which had
been dragged out of the water—a
brown felt hat, which they all knew
at once.
Suddenly there was a quick motion
in the crowd about her, an oath or
two, and a loud, cheerful voice ex
claiming:
“Where? Why, to see about Brook's
John! John!”
Alderny heifer, to be sure. Then we
went over to the county fair. Yes,
that's my old hat; it. blew into the
creek as I crossed the ford. Why,
Lizzy, child!" and he picked her up
and carried her like a baby into the
house, holding her close to his breast,
and when they were inside, kissed
the wet, pale face passionately enough
to satisfy even her.
"But you were angry with me, John?
I thought you had gone to the bridge,
meaning to die there!”
"Bless my soul, Lizzy! Do you take
me for a fool? What would I die for?
No; I wanted to see Brooks about the
heifer, and went to tell you; but you
were out of sorts that evening, and I
let my temper get the best of me. So
I thought I’d better stay away a day or
two until we had both cooled off. I
never would have known how you
love me, if you had not thought me
dead.”
"No, neither am I sorry,” said Eliza
beth. quietly.
A day or two after, John said:
“Where is that little scribbling chap
who was at Merrill’s?”
"I don't know. I had quite forgot
ten him,” answered Lizzy, which was
quite true.
That evening, however, she received
a large yellow envelope, with two or
three columns of newspaper cuttings
inclosed. She read it, growing angrily
red.
“What is it, Lizzy?" asked John,
who was watching her.
"Does that mean me?" the tears of
mortification standing in her eyes.
"By George! here's the whole story!
Pathetic incident-idyl of innocent love,
broken in upon by Death's mournful
summons. Village damsel—fair, ig
norant, uncultured, save in the art of
love—the manly Strephon for this
Chloe. It's certainly you, Lizzy, for
here is your name in full. But your
friend must have left before the end,
for here is a full account of the find
ing of my body, and a description of
you insensible upon the sands beside
it. I wonder he left you alive. Here
is a note—did you see?”
Lizzy read it:
"My Dear Miss Woods—Yon will per
ceive that I have exerted the descriptive
powers, which you were so kind as to
approve, in your behalf. The story pos
sessed fine elements for a sensational
sketch, and I willingly exerted myself
to make it as complete as possible for
you. feeling only too happy that I was
able to return the pleasure which the
hours passed in your society gave me.
Yours faithfully,
BENJAMIN HANLON.
"P. S.—Necessarily, the sketch is not
quite literal. 1 took the liberty of bring
ing Mr. Melvin's body to shore instead
of ills bat. Wo artists have our priv
ileges. you know. 1 am most happy, for
your sake, that it was the hat only which
the waters drank down to muddy death.
My wife, to whom I told the story, of
fers her good wishes with mine to both
him and you. B. H."
John laughed heartily.
"Not a bad fellow, I take It; but
half-witted, I suppose, Lizzy?”
"One of the vainest, weakest men
that ever lived," cried Elizabeth, ve
hemently. "The very thought of the
man disgusts me.”
ARE PHYSICIANS’ PRESCRIPTIONS
NOSTRUMS?
To one not qualified, and few lay
men are, ter discriminate intelligently
between physicians’ prescriptioiq-^jiro
prietary medicines and nostrums, It
may seem little short of a crime to
hint even that physicians’ prescrip
tions are in any manner related to
nostrums; nevertheless, an impartial
examination of all the facts in the
case leads irresistibly to the conclu
sion that every medicinal preparation
compounded and dispensed by a physi
cian is, in the strict sense of the word,
a nostrum, and that the average,
ready-prepared proprietary remedy is
superior to the average specially-pre
pared physicians’ prescription.
What is a nostrum? According to
the Standard Dictionary a nostrum is
“a medicine the composition of which
is kept a secret.” Now, when a physi
cian compounds and dispenses with
his own hands a remedy for the treat
ment of a disease—and it is authorita
tively stated that probably 60 per
cent, of all physicians’ prescriptions
in this country are so dispensed—the
names and quantities of the ingre
dients which constitute the remedy
are not made known to the patient.
Hence, since its composition is kept a
secret by the physician, the remedy or
prescription is unquestionably, in the
true meaning of the word, a Simon
pure nostrum. Furthermore, the pre
scription compounded by the average
physician is more than likely to be a
perfect jumble—replete with thera
peutic, physiologic and chemical in
compatibilities and bearing all the ear
marks of pharmaceutical incompe
tency; for it is now generally admitted
that unless a physician has made a
special study of pharmacy and passed
some time in a drug store for the pur
pose of gaining a practical knowledge
of modern pharmaceutical methods,
he is not fitted to compound remedies
for his patients. Moreover, a physi
cian who compounds his own prescrip
tions not only deprives the pharmacist
of his just emoluments, but he endan
gers the lives of patients; for it is
only by the detection and elimination
of errors in prescriptions by clever,
competent prescriptionists that the
safety of the public can be effectually
shielded from the criminal blunders
of ignorant physicians.
Nor can it be said that the average
physician is any more competent to
formulate a prescription than he is to
compound it. When memorized or di
rectly copied from a book of ‘‘favorite
prescriptions by famous physicians,”
or from some text-book or medical
journal, the prescription may be all
that it should be. It is only when the
physician is required to originate a
formula on the spur of the moment
that his incompetency is distinctly evi
dent. Seemingly, however, the physi
cians of the United States are little
worse than the average British physi
cian; for we find Dr. James Burnett,
lecturer on Practical Materia Afedica
and Pharmacy, Edinburgh, lamenting
in the Medical Magazine the passing
of the prescription and bemoaning the
fact that seldom does he find a "final
man” able to devise a prescription
even in "good contracted Latin.”
And what, it may be asked, is the
status of the written prescription—the
prescription that is compounded and
dispensed by the pharmacist—is it,
too, a nostrum? It may be contended
that the patient, with the written
formula in his possession, may learn
the character of the remedy pre
scribed. So, possibly, he might if he
understood Latin and were a physician
or a pharmacist, but as he usually pos
sesses no professional training and
cannot read Latin, the prescription is
practically a dead secret to him.
Furthermore, the average prescription
is so badly written and so greatly
abbreviated that even the pharmacist,
skilled as he usually is in deciphering
medical hieroglyphs, is constantly
obliged to interview prescribers to
find out what actually has been pre
scribed. It may also be contended,
that inasmuch as the formula is known
to both physician and pharmacist the
prescription cannot therefore be a se
cret. But with equal truth it might be
contended that the formula of any so
called nostrum is not a secret since it
is known to both proprietor and manu
facturer; for it must not be forgotten
that, according to reliable authority,
95 per cent, of the proprietors of so
called patent medicines prepared in
this country have their remedies made
for them by large, reputable manufac
turing pharmacists. But even should
a patient be able to recognize the
names of the ingredients mentioned in
a formula*' he would only know half
the story. It Is seldom, for instance,
that alcohol is specifically mentioned
in a prescription, for it is usually
masked in the form of tinctures and
fluid extracts, as are a great many
other substances. It is evident, there
fore, that the ordinary formulated pre
scription is, to the average patient, lit
tle less than a secret remedy or nos
trum.
On the other hand, the formulae of
nearly all the proprietary medicines
that are exploited exclusively to the
medical profession as well as those
of a large percentage of the proprie
tary remedies that are advertised to
the public (the so-called patent medi
cines) are published in full. Under
the Food and Drugs Act, every medi
cinal preparation entering interstate
commerce is now required to have the
proportion or quantity of alcohol,
opium, cocain and other habit-form
ing or harmful ingredients which it
may contain plainly printed on the
label. As physicians’ prescriptions
seldom or never enter interstate com
merce they are practically exempt un
der the law. And if it be necessary
for the public to know the composi
I tion of proprietary remedies, as is
' contended by those who through ig
norance or for mercenary reasons are
opposing the sale of all household
remedies, why is it not equally neces
sary for patients to know the compo
sition of the remedy prescribed by a
physiciant Does any sane person be
lieve that the opium in a physician’s
prescription is less potent or less like
ly to create a drug habit than the opi
um In a proprietary medicine? As a
matter of fa'cjt, more opium-addicts
and cocain-fiends have been made
through the criminal carelessness of
ignorant physicians than by any other
means. ,
Unquestionably, there are a number
of proprietary remedies on the market
the sales of which should be prohibit
ed, and no doubt they will be when
the requirements of the Food and
Drugs Act are rigidly enforced; many
are frauds, pure and simple, and some
are decidedly harmful. Of the aver
age proprietary remedy, however, it
may truthfully be said that it is dis
tinctly better than the average physi
cians’ prescription; for not only is its
composition less secret, but it is pre
pared for the proprietor by reputable
manufacturing pharmacists in magnifi
cently equipped laboratories and un
der the supervision and advice of able
chemists, competent physicians and
skillful pharmacists. It should not be
considered strange, therefore, that so
many physicians prefer to prescribe
these»ready-prepared proprietary rem
edies rather than trust those of their
own devising.
ALL RELIGIONS IN LONDON.
Faithist Community Latest Addition
to Its Queer Sects.
The Faithist community which has
established a modest footing in Bal
ham, and whose comprehensive gospel
ranges from the creation of man to
the “glory and labors of the gods and
goddesses of the Etherian heavens,” is
the latest addition to the long list of
London's religious sects, which are
now almost as many as the days of
the year. In London the Chinaman
burns his incense stick in more than
one joss-house in the east end, the Ma
hometan has his mosque, the Malayan
his temple, near St. George's street
east; the Parsees worship the sun in
Bloomsbury, the Mormons have a mis
sion in Islington, and in many parts
of the metropolis the Buddhists and
Ancestor Worshipers perform their
strange rites. Of Christian sects in
London there are at least 300, includ
ing the Cokelers, the disciples of Wil
liam Sirgood, the Walworth shoe
maker; the Peculiar People, who pre- i
fer prayer to physicians; the Sande
manians, the followers of Joanna
Southcott, the prophetic serving
maid; the Shakers and the Seventh
Day Baptists.
WOMEN IN MEDIEVAL TIMES.
In Many Ways They Had Easier Lives
Than Their Descendants.
The women of the sixteenth century
and earlier times had easier lives than
those of our generation. To be sure,
there are a hundred labor saving de
vices to-day which were unknown to
them. But in at least two important
respects they had the advantage over
their descendants. They waged no
conflict against dirt such as we carry
on from morning till night. The Eliz
abethan had no prejudice against gar
bage in his front yard, vermin in his
bedroom, decaying rushes on the floor
of his banquet hall, or soiled lace in
his sleeves. The strength of arm and
spirit which now goes to keeping clean
was left to the medieval lady for other
tasks. Moreover, although her cloth
ing was gorgeous—rich with embroid
ery and lace, and heavy with jewels—
it was not subject to rapid changes of
fashion. The cut of a sleeve or the
hang of a skirt was settled for five
years rather than five mouths. Life
was then free from the modern terror
of “looking like a last year’s rag bag.”
—Youth's Companion.
THE LOAD OF THE LAZY.
This Man Worked Hard in His Own
Particular Way.
One of the neighborhood loafers sat
comfortably smoking his foul pipe, ac
cording to his daily custom,.in the pre
scription room of a drug store. He
was soliloquizing aloud to the clerk.
Here is a sample of liis sound, con
tented philosophy: ‘Til tell you what!
A man is mighty miserable if he ain't
got nothin’ to do, when he ain't work
in’ at somethin’. I know it—I've tried
both ways an' I find that there ain’t
nothin' that makes a man more miser
able than doin’ nothin’. But, you
know, there’s two kinds of work; one
of them is where a feller goes to work
at. six in the rnornln’ an’ works with
his hands till six at night. The other
is where a feller sits around an’ thinks.
1 ain't never happy unless I’m work
in’, but I don't believe in that first
kind of work. 1 believe in thinkin’ all
day long, an’ that's harder than the
other kind, I can tell you—you just
try it if you don't believe me; a man
is mighty miserable when he ain’t
workiu'."
In Praise of the Pie.
Laura Simmons tells in an article
why good New Englanders should
stick to pie, and calls attention to the
fact that Emerson ate it three times
a day, and says that pie is the ladder
by which New England has climbed
to its place of proud eminence. She
questions whether any sensible per
son was ever known to forage at the
midnight hour for predigested cereals
or the innocuous prune. She does not
believe that many New England ances
tors died of apoplexy, due to pie, but
counsels all to go on pie-eating, despite
the fact that the fiat has gone forth
that it is vulgar to eat pie.
SECRETARY PLAYS GOLF AND
FISHES IN CANADA.
Not Considered Great Man by Boat
man—Justice Harlan and Ohioan
Constantly Chaff Each
Other on Links.
Manolr Richelieu, Pointe au Pic,
Quebec.—“The stout gentleman over
there addresses the ball with unusual
vigor and enthusiasm,” observed the
Canadian member of parliament,
“but,” and here Jie adjusted his eye
glasses, “if it was his intention to
land on the fifth green he has taken
an easterly direction, while the green
is in the southwest. His elderly com
panion seems to be making a better
record over the course.”
By and by the stout gentleman and
his elderly companion, each trailed by
a little Canuck caddy, appeared on the
broad veranda of the clubhouse,
where the Canadian member of parlia
ment had the pleasure of being for
mally presented to William H. Taft,
secretary of war of the United States
of America, and to Justice Harlan, of
the Supreme court of the United
States of America.
If you were to ask the secretary of
war, as he sits sunning himself in the
open, with his cap tilted back from his
broad forehead, what interests him
most in his daily routine of vacation
he wouid reply, "Hardening my mus
cles, training down and tanning my
nose.”
To go over the greens, climb the
hillocks and cross,the stretch of half
swamp with Taft and Harlan is a treat
to one who likes to study human na
ture. The two men chaff each other
from the time they set out until they
leave the links with the awful bogy
still unbeaten.
The judge is 73 years old, as straight
as an arrow, with a bald head and a
halo of long, grayish white hair that
sticks out at sixes and sevens. His
eye is as keen as an eagle’s, his pro
file like a Roman and the color of his
cheeks is as red as a cherry. He
dresses loosely for golf, an old pair of
baggy brown trousers, heavy brogans,
a red golf jacket, a duck cap and, as
astonishing as this news may appear
to golfists, he carries an umbrella.
Creaking wagon springs tell when
Taft goes out to ride. He usually has
his brother as companion on these
trips, as he also does when he goes to
swim. It is in a bathing suit that the
secretary of war appears to the best
advantage. The muscles of his great
arms stand out in distinctive rolls so
easily traced that an anatomist might
label them. His chest development is
nearly as pronounced as his girth.
While there is flesh in abundance it is
not flabby. If Taft has gained weight
or lost it since he crossed the border
the story told by the scales is kept a
government secret. Increased »
else undoubtedly reduces his
while increased appetite as sureiv ■
creases it. Taft does not diet At A°'
hotel they know this to be true “9
Among the fishermen visitor*
natives alike. Taft is not lonlm
either expert or successful red
fishing with a native boatman who
speaks bad French when he talksat
i
CopyrlKhted by C. D. Frey,
Secretary Taft.
all, but who knows how to fish and
catch ’em. To him Taft is not a great
man.
When asked what luck had attended
his trip the other day Taft looked at
the French-Canadian boatman and
with a wisdom born of politics said:
"The squadron under my command.’’
waving his hand at the boatman,
"caught 12 fish."
Young "Bob" Taft, of Yale, who goes
about in a blazer and knows all the
pretty girls; a boy of ten who likes to
read the baseball scores and wears a
mammoth pitcher's glove half of the
time; Mrs. Taft and Helen Taft, a
pleasing young miss who will soon be
in Bryn Mawr, are of the secretary’s
party. Mrs. Taft seems to be very
contented watching her husband have
fun.
TO GUARD GRAVE OF MOTHER.
Indian Woman Lawyer Opposes Re
moval of Burial Ground.
Kansas City, Kan.—In order to pro
tect the grave of her mother and to
keep the government from despoiling
it, Miss Lydia Conley, the only In
dian woman lawyer in the country,
has erected a cottage in the center of
Huron cemetery here, and with a
shotgun will drive off those who at
tempt to take possession of the prop
erty.
Vncle Sam has undertaken to sell
the property, which is the last rest
ing place of the old and famous tribe
of Wyandot Indians, which once oc
cupied the whole state of Ohio, and
which was driven slowly westward,
making its last stand in Kansas.
The government, at the request of
the city authorities, has had a com
mission appointed to dispose of the
property.
Miss Conley sought to prevent this
in the federal circuit court, but she
has been ruled against, and it was
the ruling that caused her to prepare
to guard her mother's grave when the
time comes. She says no one shall
move the bodies of her loved ones
from their last resting place so long
as she is able to lift a hand in pro
test.
Miss Conley has many of the popu
lar attributes of the Indian. It is her
boast that illness is a stranger to
her, merely by reason of the fact that
she instinctively obeys the Indian
rules of health. She can work for
days without food, and yet without
feeling fatigue. In fact, her whole
time is spent in a manner that would
put a girl less hardy out of the run
ning in a very short time.
From early morning until late at
night she is busy with her practice,
besides reading authorities to sustain
her contention regarding Indian
rights in the federal court. She has
been a practicing attorney for flte
years.
GOLF BALL HITS HAIRPIN.
Unlucky Accident by Which Scotch
(*lay*r Came to Grief.
Boston.—The story comes from
England of a golf match lost under
conditions in which a womans hair
pin played a leading part.
The Scottish ladies' gold champion
ship was played over the Troon links,
and when the Hillhotise cup scratch
competition, open to Ayrshire golfers,
was played over the same courso
Robert Andrew, the holder, had an
unlucky experience. Playing to the
twelfth hole, his ball fell on a lady 8
hairpin, which must have been stick
ing in the ground points upward, as
both points were firmly imbedded m
the ball He struck his second welt
but it went no distance, and he too
four to get on the green.
As there was no rule bearing o
the point, he putted out with j *
hairpin adhering to his ball, but
Ball with Hairpin Firmly
in It.
latter rau right round about, and^
took six on the green. ,haac«a
this spoiled Mr Andrew» cllp.
Mr. Andrew's opponent.^'o
Secret Unknown to Scl*"^ aBd
Tlie secret of the glow- 9cjeBCe.
firefly is yet un81ol^edlinacc0Bp»al9d
Their light ia entirely una
by heat.