HIRED BABY, %

1 \Sev * A Romance of London Streets. *K AN Ai vi We we BY MARIE CORELLI. Re/

ANN Jin ~~ “ - ad eat ae

A dark, desolate December night—a

night that clung to the metropolis like a wet black shroud-~a night In which the heavy, low-hanging vapors melted every now and then in a slow, reluctant rain, eold as icicle drops in a rock-cavern, People passed and repassed in the streets like zhosts in a bad dream; the twinkl- ing gaslight showed them at one mo- ment rising out of the fog, and then dis- appearing from view as though suddenly ingulfed in a vaporous ebon sea. With muffled, angry shrieks, the metropolitan trains deposited their shoals of shivering, coughing travelers at the several sta- tions, where sleepy officials, rendered vicious by the weather, snatched the tickets trom their hands with offensive haste and roughness. Omnibus conduc- tors grew ill-tempered and abusive with- out any seemingly adequate reason; shop- keepers became fiippant, disobliging and careless of custom; cabmen = shouted derisive or denunciatery language after their rapidly retreating fares: in short, every body was in a discontented, almost epiteful humar, with the exception of those few aggressiyely cheerful persons who are in the habit of always making the best of everything, even bad weather. Down the long wide vista of the Crom- well Road, Kensington, the fog had it all its own way; it swept on steadily like thick smoke from a huge fire, chok- ing the throats and blinding the eyes of foot passengers stealing through the crannies of the houses and chilling the blood of even those luxurious individuals who, seated in elegant drawing-rooms before blazing fires, easily forgot that there were such bitter things as cold and poverty in that outside world against which they had barred their windows. At one house in particular—a house with gaudy glass doors and somewhat soiled yellow silk curtains at the windows—a house that plainly said to itself—*‘ Done up for show!"’ to all who cared to exam- ine its exterior—there stood a closed brougham, drawn by a prancing pair of fat horses. A cvachman of distinguished appearance sat on the box; a footman of irreproachable figure stood waiting on the pavement, his yellow-gloved hand resting elegantly on the polished silver knob of the carriage door. Both these gentlemen were resolute and inflexible of face; they looked as if they had deter- mined on some great deed that should move the world to wild applause—but, truth to tell, they had only just finished a highly satisfactory ‘‘meat tea,’’ and before this grave silence had fallen upon them they had been discussing the aa- visability of broiled steak and onions for supper. The coachman had inclined to plain mutton-chops as being easier of digestion; the fovtman had earnestly asseveratec his belief in the superior suc- culence ani sweetness of the steak and enions, and in the end he had gained his point. This weighty question being settled, they had gradually grown refiec- tive on the past, present and future joys of eating at some one else’s expense, and in this bland and pleasing state of medi- tation they were still absorbed. The horses were impatient and pawed the muddy ground with many a toss of their long manes and tails, the steam from their glossy ooats mingling with the ever- thickening density of the fog. In the white stone steps of the residence before which they waited was an almost invisi- ble bundle, apparently shapeless and im- movable. Neither of the two gorgeous personages in livery observed it; it was too far back im a dim corner, too un- obstrusive for the casual regard of their lofty eyes. Suddenly the glass doors be- fore mentioned were thrown apart with a clattering noise, a warmth and radi- ance from the ertrance hall thus displayed streamed into the foggy street, and at the same instant the footman, still with grave and imperturbabie countenance, opened the brougham. An elderly lady, richly dressed, with diamonds sparkling in her gray hair, came rustling down the steps, bringing with her faint odors of patcholi and violet powder. She was followed by a girl of doll-like prettiness with a snub nose and petulant little mouth, who held up ber satin and lace skirts with a sort of fastidious disdain as though she scorned to set foot on earth thet was not carpeted with the best vel- vet pile. As they appreached their car- riage, the inert dark bundle, crouched in the corner, started into life—a woman witk wild hair and wilder eyes—whose pale lips quivered with suppressed weep- ing as her piteous voice broke into sud- den clamor—

“Oh, lady!’ she cried, ‘for the love of God a trifle! Oh, lady, lady!’

But the “‘lady,’’ with a contemptuous sniffand a shake of her scented gar- ments, passed her before she could con- tinue her apveal, and she turned with a sort of faint hope to the softer face of the girl.

“On, my dear, do have pity! Just the smallest little thing, and God will bless you! You are rich and happy—and I am starving! Only a penny. For the baby— the poor little baby!’’ and she made as though she would open her tattered shaw! and reveal some treasure hidden therein, but shrunk back repelled by the cold, merciless gaze that fell upon her from those eyes in which youth dwelt Without tenderness.

“You have no business on our door- step,’’ said the girl, harshly. ‘‘Go away, directly, or I shafl tell my servant to call & policeman.”’

Then as she entered the brougham after her mother she addressed the re- spectable footman angrily, giving him the benefit of astrong nasal intonation :—

“Howard, why do you let sach dirty beggars come near the carriage? What are you paid for, I should like to know? It is perfectly disgraceful to the house !’’

“Very sorry, miss!"’ said the footman, Bravely; ‘I didn’t see the—the person before.’ Then shutting the brougham door Le,turne| with a dignified air to

and Sa ae Co ge he aa ae a”. NT SS as

THR DAILY EXAMINER, CHARLO(TETOWN, DECEMBER 30, ‘897

ered near, and with a sweeping gesture of his gold-embroidered coat-sleeve, said majestically :--

**Do you ‘ear? Be hoff!’’

Then having thus performed his duty, he mounted the box beside his friend the coachman, and the equipage rattled quickly away, its gleaming lights soon lost in the smoke-laden vapors that dropped downward like funeral hangings from the invisible sky to the scarcely visible ground. Left to herself, the wo man who had vainly sought charity from those in whom no ocharétr existed, looked

up despairingly as one distraught and seemed as though she would have given vent to some fierce exclamation, wh2n a

| Sue ULLOPCUNATe Creature Wao stilt Mog , SENSATION Came mto ner throat ana a

feeble wail came pitifully forth from the |

sheltering folds of her shawl. She re- strained herself instantly, and walked on at a rapid pace, scarcely heeding whither she went, till she reached the Catholic ehurch known as the ‘‘Oratory.’’ Its un- finished facade loomed darkly out of the fog; there was nothing picturesque or inviting about it, yet there were people passing softly in and out, and through the swinging to and fro of the red baize- covered doors there came a comforting warm glimmer of light. The woman paused, hesitated—and tien having ap- parently made ep her mind, ascended the broad steps, oked in and finally entered. The place was strange to her—she knew nothing of its religious meaning, and its cold, uncompleted appearance op-ressed her. ‘There were only some half-dozen persons scattered about like black specks in its vast white interior, and the fog hung heavily in the vaulted dome and dark little chapels One corner alone blazed with brilliancy and color—this was the Altar of*the Virgin. ‘Toward it the tired vagrant made her way, and on reaching it sank on the nearest chair as though exhausted. She did not raise her eyes to the marble splendors of the shrine —one of the masterpieces of old Italian art—she had been merely attracted to the spot by the glitter of ‘the lamps ani candles, and took no thought as to the reason of their being lighted, thouch she was sensible of a certain comfort in the soft luster shed around her. She seemed still young; her face, rendered haggard by long and bitter privation, saowed traces of past beauty, and her eres, full of feverish trouble, were large, dark and still lustrous. Her mouth alone—that sensitive betrayer of the life's good and bad actions—revealed that all had not been well with her; its lines were hard and vicious, and the resentful curve of the upper lip spoke of foolish pride, not unraixed with reckless sensuality. She sat fora moment or two motionless— then with exceeding care and tenderness she began to unfold her thin, torn shawl by wentle degrees, looking down with anxious solicitude at the object concealed within. Only a buby—and withal a baby so tiny and white and frail that it seemed as though it must melt like a snow-flake beneath the lixhtest touch. As its wrap- pings were loosened it opened a pair of large, solernn blue eyes, and gazed at the woman's face with a strange, pitiful wistfulness. It lay aiet, without a moan, a pinched, pale miniature of suffering humanity—an infant with sor- row's mark painfully impressed upon its drawn, small features. Presently it stretched forth a puny hand and feebly caressed its protectress, and this, too, with the faintest glimmer of a smile. The woman responded to its affection with a sert of rapture; she caught it fondly to her breast and covered it with kisses, rocking it to and fro with broken words of endearment. ‘‘My little darl- ing,’’ she whispered, softly. ‘‘My little pet! Yes, yes, 1 know! So tired, so cold and hungry. Never mind, baby, mind! we wil rest here a little, then we will sing a song presently and get some money to take us home. Sleep a while longer, dearie! There! now we are warm and cozy again.’’

So saying, she rearranged her shawl in closer and tigaoter folds so as to protect the child mote thoroughly. While she was engaged in this operation, a lady in deep mourning passed close by her, and advancing to the very steps of the altar, knelt down, hiding her face with her clasped hands. ‘The tired wayfarer’s at- tention was attracted by this; she gazed with a sort of dull wonder at the kneel- ing figure robed in rich rustling silk and crape, and gradually her eyes wandered upward, till they rested on the gravely sweet and serenely smiling marble image of the Virgin and Child. She looked and looked again—surprised—incredul- ous; then suddenly rose to her feet and made her way to the altar railing. There she paused, staring vaguely at a basket of flowers, white and odorous, that had been left there by some reverent wor- shiper. She glanced doubtfully at the swinging silver lamps, the twinkling candles; she was conscious, toe, of a sub- tle, strange fragrance in the air, as though a basket full of spring violets and daffodils had just been carried by; then,

never ;

stinging moisture struggled in her eyes. She strove to turn this hysterical tion to a low laugh of disdain. ‘*Lord, Lord!’’ she muttered beneath her breath, ‘‘what sort of place is this, where they pray to a woman and baby?’’ At that moment the woman in black rose; she was young, With a proud, fair, but weary face. Her cyes lighted on her soiled and poverty-stricken sister, and she paused with a pitying look. street wanderer made use of the oppor- tunity thus offered, and in an urgent whisper implored charity. The lady drew out a purse, then hesitated, looking wistfully at the bundle in the shawl. “You have a little child theret’’ she asked in gentle accents. ‘‘May I see it?’’ ‘*Yes, Jady;’’ and the wrapper was turned down sufficiently to disclose the tiny white face, now infinitely more touching than ever in the pathos of sleep, ‘*T lost my little one a week ago,’”’ said the lady, simply, as looked at it. **He was all I had.’’ Her voice trembled, she opened her purse and placed a half crown Jn the hand of her astonished sup- plicant. ‘‘You are happier than I am; perhaps you will pray for me! I am very lonely !’’

scensa-

ehe

Then dropping her long crape_ veil so that it completely hid her features, she bent her head and moved softly away.

The woman watched her till her graceful figure was completely lost in the gloom of tke great church. and then turned again vaguely to the altar.

‘Pray for her!’’ she thought. ‘‘I! As if I could pray!’’ And she smiled bitter- ly. Again she looked at the statue in the shrine; it had no meaning at all for her. She had never heard of Christianity save through the medium of tract, whose consoling title had been ‘‘Stop! You Are Going to Hell!’’ Religion of every sort was mocked at by those among whom her lot was cast, the name of Christ was only used as a convenience to swear by, and therefore this mysterious smiling, gently inviting marble figure was incom- prehensible to her mind.

‘‘4s if I could pray!’’ she repeated, with a sort of derision. Then she looked at the broad silver coin in her hand and the sleeping baby in her arms. With a sudden impulse she dropped on her knees.

‘*Whoever you are,’’ she muttered, ad- dressing the statue above her, ‘‘it seems you've got a child of your own; perhaps you'll help me to fake care of this one. It isn’t mine; I wish is was! Any w->. 1 love it more than its own mother doe~ I dare say you won't listen to the likes of me, but if there was God anywhere about I'd ask Him to bless that good soul that’s lost her baby. I bless her with all my heart, but my blessing ain’t good for much. Ah!’’ and she surveyed anew the Virgin’s serene white countenance, **you just look as if you understood me, but I den’t belieye you do! Never mind, I've said all I wanted to say this time.*’

Her strange petition, or rather dis- course, concluded, she rose and walked away. The great doors of the church swung heavily behind her as she stepped out and stood once more in the muddy street. It was raining steadily—a fine, cold, penetrating rain. But the coin she held was a talisman against outer dis- comforts, and she continued to walk on till she came to a _ clean-looking dairy, where for a couple of pence she was able to replenish the infant's long ago emptied feeding-bottle, but she purchased notking for herself. She had starved all day, and was now too faint to eat. Soon she en- tered an omnibus and was driven to Charing Cross, and alighting at the great station, brilliant with its electric light, she paced up and down ontside of it, accosting several of the passers-by and imploring their pity. One man gave her a penny; another, young and handsome, with a ilushed, intemperate face, anda look of his fast-fading boyhood still about him, put his han’ in his pocket and drew cut all the loose coppers it contained, amounting to three pennies and an oda farthing, and dropping them into her outstretched palin, suid half gayly, halt boldly :—

‘““You ought to do. better than that with those big eves of yours!’’ Sue drew back aod suttidered; he broke into a coarse laugh and went his way. Stand ing where he had left her, she seemed for a time lost in wratchel reflections the fretful, wailing ery cf the child sh: carried roused her, and hushing it softly she murmured: ‘‘ Yes, yes, darling, it is too wet and cold for you; we had. better go.’’ And acting suddenly on her resolve she hailed another omnibus, this time bound for Tottenham Court Road, and was, aftex: some dreary jolting, set down at her final destination—a dirty alley in the worst part of Seven Dials. Entering it, she was hailed with a shout of deri sive laughter from some rough-looking men and women, who were stinding grouped round a low gin shop ut the corner.

‘‘Here's Liz!’’ cried one. and the bloomin’ kid!’’

**Here’s Liz

as her wandering gaze came back to the ‘‘Now, old gel, fork out! Tow much solitary woman in black, who still knelt ‘ave you got, Liz? Treat us to a drop , motionless near her. a sort of choking *!! © ound 0 Me 8 Me Mo Me Me SY Se Mo Me Mo Me Me SMe SM Me Me Mo Ma SN Ma 18 URS Sas AP ase ay Saas WS AP GP FICE UPA BAVA US 4 1% S4% Oye ar LULA Cc O L D C O M FO R T 3% be bo GETZ: MADE WARM s% i tomer see _. = i a a SZ even if your house isa cost” ’ SZ one. zx BS 3 as THE.... " 3% SZ a A ar M% PR CEATER % S s% 4 ae

aes

(REGISTERED) #5

will warm it up, by giving you 50% per cent. more heat with 33 per? cent Jess coal or coke, than any other stove. No clinkers. Nes coal gas. Neat.

CARRIER LAINE& CO,

Levis, Que. R. B. Norton & Co., Ltd, Char. lottetown, Sole Agents. a”

The

ee ee

' thing for the child now.’’

Liz Waiked past them steadily; the conspicuous curve of her upper lip came into fuii play and her eyes flashed dis- dainfully, but she said nothing. Her silence exasperated a tangle-haired, cat- faced girl of some seventeen years, who, more than half drank, sat on the ground clasping her knees with both arms and rocking herself lazily to and fro.

‘(Mother Mawks!’’ cried she, ‘‘ Mother Mawks! You’re wanted! Here’s Liz come back with your baby!’’

As if her words had been a powerful incantation to sammon forth an evil spirit, a deor in one of the miserable house was thrown open, and a stout Woman, nearly naked to the waist, with a swollen, blotched and most hideous countenance, rushed out furiously, and darting at Liz, shook her violently by the arm,

‘‘Where's my shullin’?’’ she yelled, ‘twhere’s my gin? Out with it! Out with my shullin’ and fourpence! None of your sneakin’ ways with me; a bargain’s a bargain all the world over! You’re mak- in’ a fortin’ with my babby—yer know y’are; pays yer a deal better than yer old trade! Don’t say it don’t—yer knows it do. Yer’ll nos find such a sickly kid anywheres, an’ it’s the sickly kids wot pays an’ moves the ’arts of the kyind ladies and gooi gentlemen’’—this with an imitative whine that excited the laughter and applause of her hearers. ‘You've got it cheap, I kin tell yer, an’ if yer don’t pay up reg lar there's others that’ll take the chance, and thankful, too!’

She stopped for kck of breath, and Liz spoke quietly :—

‘It’s all right, Mother Mawks,’’ she said, with an attempt at a_ smile; ‘“‘here’s your shiling, here’s the four pen- nies for the gin. I don’t owe you ary- She stopped and hesitated, looking down tenderly at the frail creature in her arms, then ad- ded, almost pleadingly, ‘‘It’s asleep now. May I take it with me to-night?’’

Mother Mawks, who had been testing the coins Liz haa given her, by biting them ferociously with her large yellow teeth, broke into a loud laugh.

‘Take it with yer! I like that! Wot impertence! ‘Take it with yer!’’ Then, with her huge red arms akimbo, she ad- ded, with a grin, ‘‘Tell yer wot, if yer likes to pay me ’arf a crown, yer can ‘ave it to cuddle an’ welcome!’’

Another shout of approving merriment burst from the drink-sodden spectators of the little scene, and the girl crouched on the ground, remoyed her encircling hands from her knees to clap them loud- ly, as she exclaimed :-—

‘“Weil done, Mother Mawks! One does- n’t let out kids at night for nothing! *Tought to be more expensive than day- time!’’

The face of Lig had grown white and

rigid. ‘‘You knew I can’t give you that money,’’ she said, slowly. ‘“‘I have nat

tasted bit or drop all day. I must live, though it doesn’t seem worth while. The child,’’ and her voice softened in voluntarily, ‘‘is fast asleep; it’s a pity to wake it, that’s all. It will cry and fret all night, and—and I would make it warm and comfortable if you'd let me.”’ She raised her eyes hopefully and anxious- ly, **Wili you?”’

Mother Mawks was evidently a lady of an excitable disposition. The simple re- quest seemed to drive her nearly frantic. She raised her voice to an absolute

scream, thrusting her’ dirty hands through her still dirtier hair as the proper accompanying gesture to her

vituperative oratory.

‘Will I! Will 1"’’ she screeched. ‘‘ Will J let ont my hown babby for the night for nothing? Will 1? No, I won't! I'll see yer blewed into the middle of next week fust! Lor’ a’ mussey! ’ow ‘igh an’ mighty we are gittin’, to be sure! The babby'll be quiet with you, Miss Liz; will it, hindeed! An’ it will cry an’ fret with its hewn mother, will it, hindeed!’ And at every sentence she approached Liz more nearly, increasing in fury as she advaneed. ‘‘Yer Jow hussy! D'ye think I’d let yer ’ave my babby fora hour unless yer paid for’t? As it is, yer pays far too little. I'm an honest woman as works for my livin’ an’ wot drinks reasonable, better than you by 4 long sight, with your stuck-up airs! A pretty irab you are! Gi’ me the babby; ye an’¢ no business toe keep it/a minit lon- ger’’; and she made a grab at Lis’s sheltering shawL

(To be Continued.

The Schnapper of Austratra,

The king of Australian fishes is un- doubtedly the schnapper. We speak not now of the trumpeter of Tasmania nor of the blue cod of New Zealand, about which the inhabitants of these colonies are not unnaturally proud. Judging by his shape, the schnapper is an ugly fish. His color is good, but his proportions are not fair as he lics on the slab of the fishmonger. In your first introduction to a ten pound schnapper on the end of your line he strikes you as an interesting acquaintance of whom you would like to know mow. On your subsequent intimacy at table you for- get much of his unsightliness. He is, how. ever, gibbous and unsymmetrical, having astrange lump on his head, which gives him a startled appearance. This fish is al- ways caught with rod and line, and the manner of his taking is peculiar.

The home of the schnapper is in the deep sea, generally a considerable distance from the shore and in the immediate neighborhood of a shelving reef. Good schnapper fishing may, however, be had trom the rocks of the mainland or an is- land. Ivery holiday in Sydney there are hundreds who go forth to fish for schnap- pers. For this purpose it is usual to club funds and charter asmall steamer. By this means the expense is lessened, while the party is made more enjoyable. The bait is usually the flesh of mullet or other fish cut up.—Chambers’ Journal.

How He Got There,

“So our friend Bushler went to the top of Mont Blanc?’’ said cne man to another.

‘Not at all.”’

“But he said sv."'

‘True. Two months ago, when he re- turned from Switzerland, he said he had been at the foot of Mext Blattc. Since then

be has gradua!'v lied himself t- she top.” ! i

—Piak Me Up.

rs

PAAAAAAAAMARARAASARAAAA

a

See

perenne Cee eee

ee AH

Saal

SS es ? Re rms, 9% SD

NOTICE:

WHAT CAN’T BE CURED MUST BE ENDURED

But Have You Tried

A WEE DRAPPIE O’ PATTISON’S P

Give un drinking poor epirite and try the best Scotland yields.

For Medicinal Purposes adulterated whisky is dangerous.

For sidetoard purposes it 1s abominable. “A Wee Drappie 0’ Pattison’s ” is a customer always.

For sale by all leading wine and epirit merchants, and wholesale by

A customer who once tries

For Sale By All Licensed Vendors NENT EEUU EEE EY NN ®

BOV RIL.

Be SEES SS SS SSS SESE SES

eee a eS

IN%K vat

|

i

i! de

i ef

: ‘4 > 5 is re. b 4 rs

o}. “ee . . ( a

The most suitable and acceptable beverage to offer to your visitors and friends during the festive season, is

BOV RIT,

Sold by all Druggists and Grocers.

e. ot

AAKAARAASASAAAARAARR

aD;

AAEAPAAAHAAAGA AAEHHASA ABA HR

1 Ur Navid Wi

Will be seen some beautiful veses, and fancy chinaware,

suitable for christmas presents.

We have. also a couple of splendid China Dinner Sets left,

which we wil seli regardless of cost.

reductions for two wecks at

T J. MORRIS

Are You Looking

Corner of Queen and Kent Sts.

HASSE SEE EE ea ES

Fancy goods sold at

~~

FESS SESS SSE SEES SEY

:

SS

for sone useful and practical presents to give to your friends

Christmas Presents

are found in abundance at our store,

§ umerate, but we'll be delighted to show tLem to you. Special Discount during Holiday Season,

G. F. HUTCHESON

The Queen S+zeet

We haven’t time t

>

a, La 4 a

ae ¥

* Es

ie

eal

es Shy 0 ee

ae

iD

Pes oe late ig Ee

oes ters

ee

“am nies

eae