IMITATION

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 10093, 7 September 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

IMITATION

is the SINOEBEST FLATTERY. ' The artioles most imitated are CLEMENTS TONIO and FLETCHER S PILLS. WHYP BEOAUSE they hare the best repatation and are most la demand by the public, consequently, every dishonest trader tries to trade on their fame and renown. It I« really wonderful that the Australian people are so slow to see the troth' as regards the unscrupulous quaoks and charlatans who prey on the cre'dnllty of the Australian public. Sosroelr a week passes bnt what the Press exposes the barefaced sad shameful 1 praotices of these harpies, yet in face of all they seem to thrive, and the paper who hounds them down most thrives fattest on their, advertisements and oraoks champagne over each balanceiheet. Clements Tonic and Fletoher's Fills have never yet stooped to deception and misrepresentation. They are scientifio therapeutloal agents, and evidence •I to their value can be found in every district, and such being the case it is unnecessary to further <v*tol their "virtues.

gro OHAPTERXXI.— BAZIL'S LETTER. Alj ... The Reverend Mr Jarrat had got half- < •way through Mb breakfast before he i •KM joined by Ws daughter, who entered COI the room slowly, only half concealing a cxi yawn, a look o£ boredom on her face. Mat mourning was of the slightest, , compatible with her supposed »idow- ftfl hood, and was made in a fashion most Jo . -beoonitog to her graoefal figure if . «• There's a letter from Bazil for yoD, Mid the vicar, shortly, as he looked up, al j frowning from habit. re; . She qniekly turned her head to Ree Bh that the door was closed. "You - aeedn'tmentionblsname,"sheanßwered. "We are alone," he remarked, briefly. sa "Ifa wrong of him to write from w ] «b»t place," she said, takiup up the letter between the finger and thnmb of one hand, and examining the postmark, M ■whilst her brows contracted. oc " There's no danger, or he would not o] write. All letterß'are disinfected at g , Canoello. What does be say? toe -near asked, his dark, olear-cnt face ex- g( Bres»ing his interest. Aline made no it Immediate reply. The page she had injt opened absorbed her attention completely, whilst a look of snrpriae and disappointment settled on her face. She laid the letter down a seoond, and then read it again with an interest not - v less keen, than before, signs of her 0 perplexity'inoreasing. t "What does bo sayi" ber father repeated, anxiously. s it and you will see for your- j «lf," she replied, handing him the note, j As the vicar read and realised tbe sense of the few line 9 Bszil had written, j his face grew pale, and then brightened 3 with excitement. When he had finished -j them, he siftbed, as if profouudly re- j( lieved, threw back his small head, and glanced at his daughter triumphantly. ] He was surprised to see her leaning back in her cha ; r with an air of calmness, » cold speculative expression in her eyes, ( her face showing neither the pleasure nor easement be expected to find there. { •«&od forbid that I should desire tbe •death of any creature," he said, in an impressive voice. " bnt now that Providenoe has seen fit to remove her, I am filled with gratitude." "Indeed ! " remarked Aline, in a tone whose sharpness would at another time have angered him, bat whioh now, in the fullness of his joy, he failed to resent . "Poor Bazil. I can well imagine what « relief this must be to him, and how anxious he Is to hurry back to England that he may make you bis wife," the Vicar soliloquised, in a cheery tone. „ , , "He doesn't say so," responded Aline. " Aud as he has do intention of leaviog Naples at present, it doesn t «eem ai if he were ia a great harry to marry me." "Don't be uneasy, Aline; don t be unreasonable." her father rejcined, ■wholly mistaking the train of her thoughts. "You see what he says about being nnwilling to leave a place wht-re there i* so much terrible suffering £Dfl sneh need of help. He is a noble, nnselfish fellow to set his own - feeling* eaidethat he may benefit ethers. He is a man in a thossand." "Yes, but ba haa made no mention of bis desire to sarry me," Aline perlisted, aa if clinging to a hope. " Ifo, bat it's understood, xou *uo know Wflll enough how mH»h he loves job. cannot- donbt bis intention j even if he didn't love you, he could not do leu as a man of honour than make you his wife." " It's not neoessary, it a not t,t all necessary," she remarked. " How can yon say so ? her father answered, qniokly. " According to the laws of Crod and man It is necessary be «bould make yon what throngh error he • led you to believe you were." " But It cannot ba done without reusing scandal. How am Ito account for the reappearance of and re-marriage with a man whom I have told everyone ll dead : a man for whom at the present moment^ am in mourning," Aline exclaimed, hot face flushing from excitoment. "You don't nw«m to say yon are unwilling to be«.;.*>e hi* wife ? asked the Vicar, turniog v" 1 "" " om fear and Vexation. .„. . "I do mean to say I an; an willing to become a subjeot of. ridiC«'e ana ecandal," she replied, deolioijig to answer him direotly. " Oh, if that's all/ remarked tho Vicar, partially reassured. " Is it not enough ?" she burst out. "No. When yon will really hecome his wife, it cannot much matter if the truth comes ont. You were not to blame, neither was be." her father answered, anxious to soothe her and set her mind at rest. "Bat I don't want the trnth to come out," she remarked, her voice rising. "Well, i£ you wish it, he need not eoeno here. The marriage can take place In London or abroad ; and it may be supposed here that you have married your late husband's cousin and namesake." Without making reply she took the letter and thrust it into the fire. "Are you still afraid of contagion ? " ber father enquired. . "For many reasons I think it best this note should be destroyed." •'Yon are right." the vicar remarkec', anxious to pacify her, and then adding, " sTou will answer bim ? " " Yea," she replied shortly. ■" A kind, affectionate letter ?" "Would you like to dictate HP" Aline disked, irritably. The vit'M nude »? reply, but after a ( moment's silence said, as if continuing ] his thoughts, "Whata terrible death] that poor woman .met. i « I dare say sb* was no better than she should be." "B«zU says nothing tbrtS Jeadi you to , think so." " No, but her appearance did. "Be charitable towards the deed,' the vioar said. Aline did not heed bis remark, to much absorbed wag she ia dwelling on the unexpected dilemma in which she flaw herself placed. In thinking of ber Mature it bad more than once ooenrred to ber that Bazil might strive for anc secure a divorce from his wife, but that wm a step which it would take time U effect, and meanwhile many things might happen. Ailne had never counted on the death of Fanuaa Zyno, and now $hftt faot was brosght suddenly befoie

the possibilities it would surely and « 1 threatened to upset her plans and inidn ered her uaeasy= eartt >r she immediately realised that on i\oss. return to England Bazil would At tedly expect her to become his tho«< • a step which he and her father suite Id urge it was her duty to take, but ever s hich sho felt no inclination. True 1* could secure herself against being nftci ced into marriage with Bazil by lossl rving someone else, but that could stric cely be effected before the return _ of atm< man she had once considered her the i band, the man to whom she owed oppi fortune. on " Perhaps after all he may never surf ,c back," she said, slowly and lief, aghtfnlly, as i£ speaking to herself. 1 Don't give way. to snoh melancholy and «" replied her father. "Though the is in the midst of danger, I feel sure fora lin His mercy will send Bazil safe thei kto you. May that day be soon. Ger She set down her cup with a crash, thei I taking the Recond letter whion lay the the table, tore open its envelope and trai d its contents with a smile of satm- the '■Aunt Julia B aya she will be delighted Ha recaive nw; it's really wonderful cn< w amiable and affectionate she baa po( jwn since I became a rich woman, suf me remarked. Qel The vicar frowned. „W,° «• Your aunt," he said, " w«b always— th< " Ready to patronise me whenever she fro ndescended to take notice of my fee ietence." . „ «J- --« Eeally Alin*. this is th Quite true. I don't forget it, only I no feet a bad memory now that I want be make use of her, and to pay her bacfe, m< poßulble, in her own coin." " You know the liberty of speech you ot low yourself ia distasteful to me, 1 to marked the vicar, sternly. "Does wi te ask yon on a visit? " ™ " Scarcely. I wrote to say I was 1) jine np to town this week, and she at lys she will be quite disappointed if I or. 11l not stay with her." M- " But why are you going to town r 1 w " Principally to select a house, Aline cc aawered, carelessly. " I have been in d< ommnnioation with several agents, and d ne of them thinks he has got what will w ait me in Kensington Square d "Ahonse?" the vicar exclaimed, in tl arprise. "Dq you mean to say yon d ntend to live in London ? " i "Certainly." , , . , ]• " And pray why do you wish to leave b rour father's home P " he asked. p " Beoansa it's so dall." f "If yon quit my house, he said, in n ndienation, "it will be in direct s jppoaition to my wishes. Remember * His daughter regarded him with that t serene expression whioh he knew from > long experience was the forerunner of a J home thru«fc. f "Everything I have done, my dear i father, has been in direct opposition to i yonr wishes, save my marriage with ) Bazil, and you see how that has turned i out," ehe replied, sweetly. _ ' . "Ton are incorrigible," he said, his I brows meeting, his head thrown back. "You are unreasonable." ••Aline," he sbonted, striking the table. " That is. if you reallp thought I was going to spend my life here in this wilderness, where one never feels the pulse of the world, where people are a century behindhand in their ideas and ways." "Thank God their lives are pure, wholesome, and honest — " " But stagnant I have been a month here since my return — a month that soema s year. I feel oramped, dull, suffocated, and I cannot stand it any longer." Whilst she spoke he had time to control himself, and with a calmer voice he Baid " But consider, it's not proper that a young, unprotected woman like yon should set up housekeeping." " I fail to oee where the impropriety comes ia," AHoe answered. " If yon cannot, or rather if you will not live here, then make aome arrangements to stay with jour aunt." " To live with dear annt Julia would be an Impossibility. She has your temper and so have I, and after the firßt month of araed civility we should quarrel like cala. Besides, I desire to have perfect independence. And as for 1 the conventional side of the matter, you forget that in the eyes of the world at least I am a widow and can therefore enjoy social freedom. You have forgotten that." " If I cannot compel you to remain nndcr my roof I will at least insist upon | yonr having a cbaperone," the vicar aaid. " I have thought over that," responded Aline, quieily, " and I have deotded to look out for some woman old enough to I be tolerant, and wise enough not to bora." " But," exdaimad her father, a new Idea occurring to him, " whe" thinking of taking a house you havo overlooked one point." "And that?" " Bazil's return," he answered, with the air of a uian who hits scored. "BbzU'b return," he repeated, thoughtfully. " He may not wish to sottle in London. He may prefer to live In Paris, Borne, Florence, or spend ye&rs in travelling about the world." " Ah," she said, with a self-assured smile. " Bazft would always do as I wiah, aud I should like to have a home in London to where I conld return whenever I chose." " But it's not worth while to take a honse now ; wait until he comes b^ck, that cannot be further than a month at the most," the vicar urged. " Only a month ? " she said, musingly. ■' If people went on dying aa rapidly aa they are now, none would be left alive \V- Nspleji before a month was over " " Then there is all the more reason I should ba settled in Landon before he returns. I don't want him to come here. Don't you sco that ? " It was the first argument in the conversation which appealed to her father, and be had no reply. "You might at least have consultod me at first," he said, as he rose from the table. "Why, it would only be another point on whiob we were certain to disagree, and for peace sake I deferred it as long as possible," Aline replied. He was not convinced of the sincerity or of the soundness of ber argument, but he saw that further words would prove neeless, and ia silence he left the room. When alone Aline, placing an elbow on the table, supported her head on one band and dwelt on her plans. She would leave the Vicarage the following morning, and establish herself in her new home as soon as possible. She had wasted a month of her life, whilst she was supposed to mourn. In London, where people had naither the time nor the inclination to watoii each other, she would enter upon her freedom. And if Indeed Basil ever returned, by that time she would be batter able to gauge herself to make ber calculations regardjog tho future. The first thing to bo done that day was id ca " oa M' 89 £enkarvan, who would ba b"! l tß to have aome message for her nephew, w£ich Alive would convey to the poet. CHAPTER 2PT.II— THE GENTLEMAN OF THE GOOD HEART. Believing that the voluntary atnbu. lance of tha " Croce Blanca'' covered & wid.r field in its operations amongst the stricken poor than the municipality with its more fully organised medical staff, Bozil offered tea cervices to the former, which were gladly eccjeDtod^

on the day succeeding the dreary O iil>;ht on which hia wiffi waa laid in in h i, he began his taik with cheerful- Baz a ft) ad what that task wbb nono but rein c encaged in working; for the peai sriaa during tbi<? terrible time, can the understand, wer bough in '.ho month of October, day slot r day the Bun boat fiorcely, relent- shri [y upon tho parched city and its fair )ken people, the heavy breathless fell ospiwe breeding the cholera virup, of t clear bine sky seeming to daze aud I resß them, the waters of their glori- of 1 bay withont a ripple on its glittering san "ace, affording them no cooling re- eki! , doi 'hose who possessed sufficient strength die , courago to venture nbroad, lay on cot floors of their churches', their hot gyi shead* ngainst the pavements, whiltt am f prayed to tho Madonna and San mi anaro, whose blood was preserved in be« ir cathedral, In whose speci-.l care I att lir city was placed, to send them tho rot montana, the north wind ; to spare thi >ir belovod oneß to save them from ole i clutohes of this insatiable death, of id not the Madonna often hoard their tn : ec, waa Bhe not full of pity for the we or. she who had known poverty asd no ffering ? They hod burned candles on w r altars, they had called out to her, mid she not protect themP Were fe; eir Bins co i>reat that she nrnat turn hi jm them ; had they forgotten her oh asts; what was It she required of go em ? Not their lives, not the lives ol in ose nearest and dearest to them ? No, >, she was full of compassion, and V ling a mother herself would hear a ]o other's crieß. tr But still the Rcourge spread, heedless a! ! the courageous efforts to restrain and s | i conquer its ravages. Thirty persona b ere attacked in one hour alone in the « iißornble little alloy of the Vicolo tl luohesca ; und whilst the cholera whb c cits heieht, in four days upwards of k ac thousand peranna perished daily, n he poor, who distrusted a municipality 8 'hich. had never shown them cars or ODsideration, and who dreaded the a octors as the disseminators of the d isease, died like rats In their holes, c without seeking medical aid, the same £ ;all, sullen patience which had marked ; ) hem in life characterising them in j \ leslh. , I Though in order to prevent a panic, < , he authorities understated in (heir mlletins the number of victims, tho ; jeoplo saw sufficient for themselves to itrike them with terror and leave them • lopeless. None knen 1 bnt, though strong in the morning, he might not be bustled to the cemetery pit by midnight, rhose who helped were often the first I to "fall. Nans, priests, and doctors, I who worked unflinchingly, heroically, j fell at their posts. In the White Orosa ambulance alone, a tenth part of its ] members and a seventh of its doctors were attacked by cholera. And all night luDg the atrong and tho stricken alike might hear the dull, blow roll of | the vehicles bearing their dead burdens | from various quarters towards the ■ common gaol. I All means of gaining the few soldi by I which they lived having vanished, the I poor wasted with hunger when not j afflicted by disease. A few of the stronger spirits aaiongat them roue in I rebellion, and added new horror to this j period of physical and spiritual darkness i by their nightly attacks upon tho*e i ft')m whom tnouey or valuables could ! be wrenched. Throughout this time of suffering and desolation Bazil worked with an unsparing energy aud sympathetic will. In i his compassion for others he forgot himself. All that man conld do for tho afflicted he did ; battling with the-.r disease, quelling thoir fears, soothing their last moments. He grudged the time spent at hia meals ; there were nights when he never sought his bed ; none but & naturally robußt constitution conld support such fatigue. On many a morning, after spending long hours In the fetid atmospheres of cholera wards, he would hurry down to the bay and plunge into its waters, when he felt he had taken the beat means of purification obtainable. The poor regarded him with feelings of reverence ; he bedame their comfort, their hope, their consolation. Large as was the sum lie had brought with him it wa9 aoon expended, upon which bo wrote to his banker in Home asking for a remittanc ; to an, amount which fairly startled that astute business man. Never had he known euoh heartfelt pleasure as that he gained by relieving the hungry and the wretched. Now that there were no foreigners before whom they could tumble, turn Bomersaulta, or atßud on their hands with their heels kicking in the air; no strangers for whom carriages might be called; no visitors for whom ohurch doors might be officiously flung open, the urchins who gained their livelihood on the streets had but a sorry time ; and what delight their white and hungry faces and great dark eyes showed when Baz':l gave them money enough to bay as much bread or chestnuts, or perhaps maooaroni with the additional delicacy of snails, as would last them for a week ; they could scarce believe 8t first in such free-handed generosity. No child, half afraid of rough words or usage, evur pointed mutoly to her mouth a sucond time, or told him twice she was dying of hunger without gaining suoh relief as she bad never hoped for. And then the starved looking mothers with babies at their breasts, what joy to see them clutch the piece of silver that would ease their pangs for many a day, what delight to hear their tearchoked voices cillinf? a thousand blesa. ings on his head. Tboro were old cr.>nes too — feeble women who had outlived their day, all their beauty withered, and its season out as the memory of a dream to thuin, who remembered him long after ho had passed for evor from their Hvob. Aod never r.id he visit the suffering poor without bringing a bottle of good wine or some i»e to cool their parched throats, some brandy or a few of the good things his laadlady, The Signers Genevrahad prnpaired for him but which he strong and well, assured himsol/he did not neod. Before long ho was known all over the poorer quarters of the city, whern he was spoken of as the Sign'ire dol Buouo Coore the gentleman of tho good boart. Penßion&rs lay in wait for him, others he bad not seen before were brought to him, none iu-truaive, yet all anxious for help. Many were the stories of terrible distriss and incre liblo poverty that were told to him, whioh he found for himself were true. And more than once a stricken wife or mother, learning be was a doctor and a foreigner, begged bim to visit her husband or her child, for whom she would not call one of tho regular medical staff, nor one of her own countrymen. BazU freely want where be waa asked, penetrating at times into narrow, lonely, silent etreots, whose recent inhabitants lay in tho cemetery ; into evil smelling lanes and alleys of most' intolerable filth ; and entering oabins where the poor herded like cattle. At times, especially by night it was oiangeroua to visit ouch places, as Ma colleagues assured him. Nor was he without feeling that bo ran a certain risk, but though ho carried no means of dofenea ho know no fear. On more than one occasion when be was being followed, a word spoken in a dialect or sluny he o'id not understand, by one he had relieved, or ft sign made by those who . Ituoc htm, li»d ttso effect of Immediately checking *ho disputable - looking scoundrel who htd '.> "i in pursuit of him, ao that after c.vlilo Bazil became certain of bis acourity.

>ne afternoon, after a long day spent iard wot): nt the Couoeohia hospital, Tde :il was on his way tn dint;, aud take inrr >W hours needed rest. Tl»o sun, still »->ii intlenn in his heat, hnd Rlmost disap- i>ui red behind the Ischimi hills. Hushing 1-,/ li serene sky, whilst twilight shadows oil re stciling swiftly do*n the green c-r,v ooa of Vesuvius. Tho g<* 3li £ht3 and imti mo laroj)' n.t the corners gleamed si»;h ritly, end it grey melancholy colour Mm 1 upon tha silent and deserted Directs i» ( ; the city. beai Bazil was unusually depressed, for one th r( his collengu»s who had worked <n the h..>d ne ward with him, a man young, oha lful, and brave, had been stricken the wti by the cholera that morning, and pro ;d four hours later. Labouring in a W oz nmoii cause, and bound by every f u ]] mpatby, tliey had been pood friunds, and d Bazil mourned him. He had seen o f ( my of the medical staff Fall ; ho had trai come accustomed to miss .sisters ami Frc tendanta day by day who nevor f1,,, turned to their pnstß, but the death oE K tri is man to whom ho had baen brought j s 3Be in life affeoted him more than that ghe the othors. And he pould not hi;lp ths inking that bin own time of activity O ul Dnld boo)) draw to an end. That night, pm >xt mornine, or thf following day, a lli ould perhupn be hi* lMt. ste This consideration, howover, had no mf iar for him, and he looked forward to o [| is end with' ut regret, bat with the an , leerful consciousness that he had dune jmethics towards relieving the sufiar- Bo i jgs of olhers. loi As hfl took bis w»r down the narrow mi r ia Santa Maria di Loreto, he heard a j, c >w pitiful sob, and glancing towards a fie littlo grey ehnroh from which the w j treefc fakes its name, he saw a lad of f 0 bout fourteen years sitting on the step, \ n iis baok against the clossd door. There „ ?as suffioiont-light for Bazil to see that he boy's curly head, which was without [„ up or but, was bent almost to hie {„ tnees, and that his phonlders, wbich had a j io other covering than a coloured shirt, C( ihook from the force of his grief. jj Bazil -went forward and touched his a , »rm, when he looked up showing a face e j ielioate in all its outlines, and grave in sxpres-'ion, lighted by eyes the darkest t > and moat molancholy imaginable. In liia surprise tbe boy ceas»ed to sob, and a the tears hung upon hi* lone black lashes. Hia natural sense of courtesy (l made him riso iinniodiately. j "Whut is the matter, my lad r j Bazil aakud. . ] The boy could not answer at onoe, j struggling as he did to restrain himself, ] bnt after a moment or two he Baid, } "My vnnther died to-day, Signoro, and ] list week ray father died, and now ( Veronica is dying," and he burst into , tears once more. " Who is Veronica ? " " VI v sister ; she was good to us all. Sb" •'■■"! cakea in the streets, and now sho ia dying. I oamo to ask the Madonna to spare her, but her churoh is shnt, and Veronica is dying, ehe is dying." •' Perhaps not. Has she seen the doctor ? " " No, Signore. My father was taken to the hospital where they murdered ! him ; my mother would not let them come to her, she said they wereasßassin.', and the grandmother sbe aajs the same. The Madonna raust do as sho likes, ' and she bo» killed them ; but I want 1 her to spare Veronica, who was alwaya good." "Wi'l you take ma to see her? | Bazl) asked him. ( "Yon, Signore?" tho lad aaid in! surprise. j " Yes, I am a doctor, but I am not an assassin — " " Oh, no," the boy esclaimed, looking him straight in the face as if ho would read his soul. "And I may be able to help her." "Able to save herP" he said, grasping at the idea, his eyes brightening. "Perhaps. Show me where she lives." The boy rubbed his tears from his eyes, pushed back the tangled mass of curly blue-black hair from his forehead, tightened the saßh, onoe red, bnt now almost black with age and dirt wbich j supported his broaches, trad after a moment's hesitation, nodded to Bazil and said, " Signore, this is the way. 1 Anu - iih a light step he set forward, almost running in his eagerness, turning his wistful face from time to time over one shouldor to see that he was followed, the sound of hia bare, fost pattering on the pavement waking the echoes of the deserted streets. (To be continued.)